forehead. “The twisted ankle turned out to be a broken hip as well. By the time they realized and put him in the hospital…” She shrugged. “He got pneumonia and slipped into a coma. I was the last one to interview him.”
“Wow!” said the teenager.
“Wow, indeed, young Jeremy,” Martin Crawford said ponderously. “One never knows when history is going to be made. That’s why you must stay alert, keep your cameras ready, and act as if this is the last bird you’ll ever photograph before it goes extinct. The same with your disabled veterans. Any one of them could pop off without a moment’s notice, is that not right, Anne?”
She murmured agreement, but before she could expand on her answer, Crawford said, “Now these eight pictures of a fledgling Vultur gryphus were taken just as it stepped up to the edge of the cliff to try its wings for the first time. Had I not been watching carefully, I would have assumed it was waiting to see a parent return with food.”
Jeremy sighed and dutifully turned his eyes back to the screen. His eye was caught by one of the thumbnails at the top of the screen. Each tiny picture represented a separate file and this one looked like a Gulfstream jet.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the file.
“Which?” Martin moved his cursor to the top. A click of the mouse and the whole line of thumbnails was replaced by another line. He clicked a few more times, but that picture never reappeared. “Oh, dear. I’m always losing my place.”
“It was a small jet,” Jeremy said.
“Jet? Oh. Probably one of those puddle jumpers that one must use to get off the beaten paths. Now here’s an interesting group of—”
“Could I talk to you a minute, Martin?” Anne said, interrupting him. “Outside?”
“Certainly.” He pushed back his chair and handed the mouse to Jeremy. “Just keep left-clicking,” he said. “I’m not sure, but this may be the file where I came across some nubile young women bathing in a river. Very naughty of me to take their pictures before they realized a man was within miles, but you may be amused.”
He stood and followed Anne, who had already grabbed up her coat and opened the door, letting in a welcome wave of fresh air.
Once they were out on the porch, she turned to him and said, “What the hell’s going on?”
“Going on? You asked me to speak to the lad about my work.”
“You’re supposed to be filling him with enthusiasm for a rewarding craft. The adventure of travel. The dollars and cents of selling an article. Instead, you’re narrating a very bad travelogue and putting us both to sleep.”
Her cousin looked offended and stepped onto the ground so that he could sit on the edge of the porch. The pasture that spread out and away before them was a palette of subtle browns and burnt sienna. Tufts of pale yellow broomstraw and patches of dried weeds with dead flower heads waved in the light breeze that blew up from the creek. Dark green pines swayed majestically in the distance and the pasture itself was dotted with tiny green seedlings. In another few years, those pine seedlings would reclaim this pasture if no one mowed it or built houses out here.
At the bottom of the slope, two large vultures were perched on the ruined masonry wall that stuck up from one side of that concrete slab. Two more circled overhead.
“You’re acting like a caricature of a pompous British colonial,” Anne told him. “I almost expect you to say, ‘Pip, pip, old chap,’ or ‘Cheerio!’ Naughty of you? Oh, please. If you didn’t want to talk to him, why didn’t you just say so?”
“I could hardly say no when I’m using your mother’s hospitality to gather material for my article, now could I?”
“No is all you’ve been saying since we got here, beginning with that disgusting odor you’re wearing,” said Anne, who had carefully positioned herself upwind from him.
“Eau de vulture vomit?” He chuckled. “They do insist on regurgitating on me if I’m not careful when I handle them.”
“You handle them?”
He realized instantly that he had slipped and smoothly recovered. “I’ve banded a couple, yes. I thought I’d leave the information with the local wildlife service in case they wish to follow up on my observations. But you’re right and I apologize for my behavior. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. My editor’s getting impatient, so I’m hoping to wrap this