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something Saxby was saying, and then watched Saxby smile. It seemed like he was going to let them stay in the reserved spots. Settling back against her seat, Rachel closed her eyes and listened to the snatches of conversation floating around her. From what she could tell, the birders comprised an eclectic bunch—young and old, rich and poor, experienced and relative beginners. Based on some of the terms being bantered about, several were clearly professionals—people who either specialized in bird-related areas or had made birding their postretirement profession. Across the aisle were a housewife and her daughter, a student from the University of Georgia. A doctor, a dentist, and a lawyer rounded out the seating, with at least one pseudo-auto mechanic giving someone directions on changing the oil in a BMW. This was a bus full of people, Rachel decided, who came from all over, united by only one thing—a desire to see birds.
    A burst of static caused Rachel to open her eyes. The passengers quieted, and Saxby rekeyed the mike. “Hello.”
    “Hello,” the groupies in the front parroted.
    “Are we ready to go birding?”
    “Yes,” the groupies replied.
    “I can’t hear you in the back. Can you all hear me?”
    Heads bobbed.
    “I asked, are we ready to go birding?” Saxby raised his voice and held out the microphone.
    “Yes,” the busload responded.
    Rachel sipped her coffee.
    As if on command, the old Greyhound sputtered to life. A white mist spewed from the vents, and a murmur rippled through the bus. Saxby leaned toward the driver—a tall, well-built man with a short brush haircut. He grinned into the rearview mirror.
    “It’s okay, folks,” he said in a deep Southern twang. “It’s just the swamp cooler kicking in.”
    The ladies in the front giggled.
    Saxby smiled. “This is Dwayne,” he explained, gesturing toward the driver. “One announcement: Evan Kearns can’t be with us today. He was scheduled to be my co-leader, but some changes have occurred in the weekly program, and he needed to stay behind and orchestrate things.”
    Rachel and Lark exchanged glances.
    “We’ve been more than compensated for his loss, however. We have several people taking this trip who are more than qualified to take his place.” Saxby pointed out two men seated in front of Lark and Rachel. “Would you two mind raising your hands, gentlemen? Folks, if you have any questions about what you’re seeing and you can’t find me, these are the guys to ask.”
    The bus lurched forward, and Saxby grabbed for a handrail. Rachel instinctively checked her watch. A definite on-time departure!
    “Now, we have a half-hour’s drive to the ferry,” Saxby said, “so sit back, relax, and let me tell you a little bit about Sapelo Island.”
    His voice droned on with information straight out of the program book, and Rachel leaned over to Lark, keeping her voice low so no one could hear her. “He’s really more Sean Connery-ish than you think.”
    “Oh, please.”
    Rachel put her finger to her lips. “Seriously, he’s got the nicely trimmed moustache, the beard, and his eyes are to die for.”
    Lark wrinkled her nose. “Right, if you’re Dorothy’s age.”
    “Is that what bugs you, his age?”
    Lark checked to see if anyone was listening and then leaned closer to Rachel. “Remember how I said he had a reputation?”
    “The Indiana Jones of birding.”
    “Right, well the same goes with the ladies, and rumor has it he likes them young.”
    “How young?”
    “Too young.”
    “Do you mean like underage?”
    “Not that young.”
    “And you don’t approve.”
    “No!” Lark looked shocked. “Do you?’
    Rachel had never given it much thought. She knew a few couples with age differences, and they seemed happy. Meanwhile, she and her ex-husband had been close in age, and look what had happened to them.
    “Doesn’t it bug you when movie heroes are paired with women half their age?” Lark asked.
    “Maybe a little,”