The Puffin of Death by Betty Webb Page B

an odd thing to say.
    My befuddlement must have shown on my face, because she explained, “That was my modeling name, ‘Dawn.’ No last name, just ‘Dawn.’ Ben’s a Talley. You know, Talley, like the restaurant chain. It’s the family business.”
    Talley’s specialized in New American Cuisine, which is to say, gussied-up hamburgers and ten-ingredient omelets named after movie stars. For a while there’d been a Talley’s in Gunn Landing, but it eventually closed for lack of business. The one in San Sebastian was still open.
    I tried to sidle my way past her to get to the door. She sidled with me. Exasperated, I said, “Look, Dawn, if you overheard my conversation with Inspector Haraldsson, you know he told me to mind my own business. I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you. Besides, even if Haraldsson decides your husband is a suspect in the killing, which I doubt he will, Ben can afford to hire a top-notch attorney. He’ll be cleared in no time, and then you can continue on your tour.” A stretch of the truth there, perhaps. Especially if Ben had packed that Glock.
    â€œI’m not hiring some crooked foreign attorney who’ll charge and arm and a leg and do nothing.”
    Before I could point out that here in Iceland we were the foreigners, she rushed on.
    â€œBen has no alibi, you see. When I woke up this morning, it was around five and already light, and he wasn’t in the bed next to me or in the shower, either. When I was dressing he came back from wherever he’d been and he was wearing his heavy jacket. His hands were freezing, like he’d been outside.”
    â€œYou spent the night here? At Hótel Brattholt?”
    â€œIt wasn’t on our original schedule but then Simon, you know he treated us all to this trip, don’t you, all of a sudden he asked Oddi, our tour guide, to drive us down here late last night so we could get over to that cliff early.”
    â€œWait a minute. Did you say Simon Parr paid for your trip?”
    She gave me an incredulous look. “You think the other birders could afford this trip on their own? As soon as Simon won that big Powerball, he started planning it. First class all the way, air fare, hotels, food, private tour guide, whatever, he took care of the whole thing. Maybe he looked like an idiot with those ridiculous sideburns he’d started wearing, but he wasn’t stingy. Anyway, as I was saying, earlier in the evening he was all excited, saying he’d heard there’d been some kind of Egyptian bird spotted down here, a hookah or something.”
    If she didn’t know a bird’s proper name it meant her husband was the birder. “I think you’re talking about a hoopoe, but those birds are…”
    She didn’t let me finish. “This morning, when I asked Ben where he’d been, he told me he’d been out enjoying the fresh air. But I’m really worried! What if he did kill Simon?”
    Belatedly, I snuck a quick look at the bathroom stalls. They appeared empty, but appearances can be deceiving. Lowering my voice, I said, “Dawn, you shouldn’t go around saying things like that to anyone, including me. The wrong person might overhear you.”
    She ignored my warning. “You can help us, I know you can! I’d ask Elizabeth what to do because she knows all kinds of stuff, but she’s upset, and she’s gone back to the hotel in Reykjavik anyway, and these awful Icelanders, they want to jail everyone who doesn’t look like them!!” The waterworks started again.
    Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem…
    Oh, who was I kidding? I couldn’t stand to see anyone cry, not even a woman with an advanced case of xenophobia. Sighing in defeat, I asked, “All right. Why, exactly, do you think the police might arrest your husband for killing Simon Parr?”
    â€œBecause of the fight.”
    â€œFight?