Crow's Caw at Nightmoon Creek Read online

  His abrupt change leaves skid marks in my mind.

  “Here’s what I need to tell you.” He scoots his chair around the table until our shoulders touch. He’s not emanating the steamy scorch from before so the gesture comes across as safe, unthreatening.

  “I thought about what you said about the cat and his scratching the wall in the same place. So when I got home last night, I got my drill out and drilled the biggest hole I could in the wall, figuring if there’s nothing back there I can easily repair it. The cat seemed to go nuts. He rubbed all over my legs while I did it, yowling like a lunatic. It was weird.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Damn straight. Then, I got a penlight out and peered into the hole. Guess what I found?”

  “I don’t know…rats?”

  “Bones, Mercedes. I found bones back there. Big bones, not small rodent bones.”

  I shiver. “What do you think it is?”

  “I think it’s a human skeleton, that’s what. And I think ARC knows it’s in there. That’s why they wanted me to plaster over everything and erase all signs of Mrs. McMurphy. They couldn’t risk anyone finding it.” He presses close to me. “Here’s my theory…I think Mrs. McMurphy had a spell cast over the house so shifters and magics could easily find the house. You know, like a beacon or signpost or something. I told you, she gave people a secret code to follow the magic to her house.”

  “It did call to me when I was young. I don’t know why but I was always drawn to her house. When we got interested in boys, well…” I shrug.

  “Right,” Lennon says. “And maybe the skeleton had something to do with the spell cast, I don’t know. Anyway, I made a plan to tear down the wall this evening when what should arrive on my doorstep by special courier this morning?”

  “I don’t know, what?”

  “A termination notice from ARC. They want to inspect the property in two days and they want me to get moving…get outta dodge as they say. It’s like they know I know something.”

  “Whoa,” I say, both fearful of him leaving and fearful of ARC. “Don’t get ahead of yourself in a bout of paranoia. Do they own the house?”

  “Not sure. I think it’s still held in trust by Mrs. McMurphy’s estate lawyer. All I know is I was granted tenancy as part of this gig.” He sips his coffee and nibbles his muffin. “So, in two days’ time I need to cut open the wall, see what’s inside, and repair the wall. Good thing I got let go of my job, huh?” He winks at me.

  “Always a silver lining,” I say, and I think, with you, I sense this is true. You experience harsh realities but still make time to play.

  “Right. So.” He looks at me earnestly.

  “Yes?”

  “I wondered if you wanted to do some sleuthing with me. Come over and help me tear down the wall. We can do it this evening after Hawke and I have got good and muddy in the hills. Better yet, let’s do it this afternoon.”

  “Why not?” I say. “I can skip my pottery. I’m working on sculpting someone’s head. And I’ve got nothing planned for tonight, so sure.”

  “Excellent,” he says, and I almost think he means it.

  Before we prepare to leave, I ask him, “Oh. Did you agree to have coffee with a chubby young woman with no self-esteem whatsoever?”

  He frowns. “No, why?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. My assistant said she saw you and asked you to hang out with her sometime and you said yes.”

  Lennon shakes his head. “I saw someone staring at me and Hawke when we sipped from the ley line energy, but no, I didn’t chat with her. I nodded to her, but that’s all. It seemed only fitting to acknowledge her. I doubt I’d have agreed to hang out with her. She looks like she hates herself.”

  “Yeah,” I say, wondering why she lied to me. “I think she does.”

  At the police station, Chief Rickman is standing in the reception area, peering at a report when I wander in, soaked from the deluge of rain outside. The receptionist is nowhere in sight. “Good morning, Chief. Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  “Sure,” he says, stepping toward the counter.

  “In private?”

  He glances right and left, then says, “Sure. Come into my office.”

  When I enter his messy office, he closes the door behind me. “What can I do for you?” He gestures to a chair opposite his desk and sits in his big, comfy, office chair.

  “First, why’d you tell me I was high the other day? Make it sound like I was wandering through the woods like a stoned lunatic?”

  “It seemed to fit—you, alone in the woods, naked.”

  “I thought you knew what the caches of clothes you keep finding are for.”

  “I’ve heard things. I’ve heard some of the citizens of this town can…I don’t know…appear differently. I try to ignore it.”

  “Come on, Chief. You can turn a blind eye to us but we exist. We have a right to be here, same as anybody. Think of us as the new gay rights cause. We want to be out and proud.”

  Chief Rickman sighs. “I’m sorry, Ms. McCartney. I may or may not have seen someone shift, as you call it. I’m keeping my knowledge to myself. But still I have to keep the peace among the townsfolk and my staff. The officer who grilled Lusk is new. He isn’t privy to the eclectic population in our town…you know, the so-called shifters. I went with the high as a kite story.”

  “Yeah, well…” I shake my head. “You know I didn’t do it, you have to know.”

  “We’re pursuing all leads. We’re in the middle of an active investigation,” he says.

  “Have you spoken with Mark Smyth? Bill Holloway?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because Bill had a violent fight with Elena the night she was killed. And I overheard Bill accuse Mark of having done it. Then he threatened Mark with not telling what he did the night she was killed. Marcia, over at Geek Beans, said she found him rooting through the garbage dumpster at two in the morning. She said he sounded all suspicious. And what was he doing in the dumpster in the middle of the night, huh?”

  Chief Rickman gives me a blank stare. “We’ll take that under advisement. Make a few calls.”

  “Come on, Chief. I listen to people without their knowing when I’m in crow form.”

  “There are rules to what we can and cannot accept as proof.”

  “The rules don’t apply when it comes to shifters.”

  “Look, Mercedes. I appreciate what you told me but I still have to abide by human laws. You know that.” He gives me a hangdog look. “But I do appreciate what you’ve told me and we’ll look into it.” He gets up, apparently indicating I’m dismissed.

  “Please tell me you’re not thinking Lennon is a suspect,” I say.

  “It’s an active investigation and I can’t share it with you,” he says, stepping toward the door.

  One of his staff rushes toward the door. He knocks on the door and Chief Rickman leans outside.

  “What is it?” the police chief asks.

  The other officer hands him a slip of paper and whispers to him.

  The words “ARC” and “something strange” catch my ear.

  Chief Rickman turns to me as the policeman strides away. “I’m sorry, Ms. McCartney. I need to leave. Another incident has arisen.” And with no other words, he ushers me to the reception area.

  #

  Back on my bike, I head toward the activist organization called Nature First.

  The office is in a small building on Simpson Street in New Town, a few blocks from ARC’s office. Designed to protect the environment from over-development, it’s run by Carey Christenson, a shifter friend of mine. He’s also the head of the Domestic Violence hotline where I volunteer. When I got the anti-development ball rolling, I handed the baton off to Carey, and he’s run with it, tirelessly. He’s got the energy of a wolf pack and he isn’t even a shifter.

  As I approach the fire station, Bill Holloway stands by his truck in the parking lot. He’s standing like an idiot, dressed in his big, yellow, protec
tive fire coat.

  “Hey,” he yells to me.

  “Fuck off,” I yell back, flipping him the finger, glancing at the traffic zooming by. No way to cross the street without getting flattened like a pancake. I pedal harder.

  He takes off at a sprint, bolts onto the sidewalk and grabs my handlebars before I can veer away.

  My front tire twists to the right. I fall with a shriek and crash to the concrete, landing with a sick thud on my hip and elbow. “What the fuck, Holloway,” I shout, disentangling from my bike, leaping to my feet. I right my bicycle and throw my leg over the frame, ready to take off.

  “Not so fast, bitch,” he says, in an icy tone. He straddles my front tire and looks directly into my face, both of his meaty hands curled around my handlebars. He’s got hairy knuckles.

  Ew. Somethings are better left unknown. I stare at the dark brown tufts bunched atop each finger, thinking, dark hair on his hands…blond hair on his head. The asshat bleaches his hair! How could I have missed that all these years? Probably because I avoided him, even when he dated Elena – especially when he dated Elena.

  “You’d better stop snooping around.”

  “Who says I’m snooping?” I stare into his horrid, too handsome face, searching for dark roots in his vanilla hair. Yep, there they are. What a fake.

  “I’ve got eyes everywhere,” he says.

  Marcia, I think. Marcia must have told Chantal I stopped by, and Chantal and Bill are friends. “Yeah, well your eyes are wrong.”

  “Not these eyes,” he says.

  The fire chief steps from the station. “Holloway,” he shouts.

  Bill ignores him. “I’m watching you.”

  “Oooh, I’m so scared. You’re nothing but a bully,” I taunt. I’m pretending to be as tough as he is, but tendrils of fear clutch the back of my neck, like small, icy fingers. “I’m fairly sure you killed Elena and I plan on proving it.”

  “You’re full of shit. You were caught near the body.”

  How does he know? I narrow my eyes. The strangest chill overtakes me. Unlike the weird shivers I keep getting, this seems like a full body freeze.

  “Holloway!” the chief yells louder.

  “You’re being called back to your kennel. Let go of my bike.”

  “I’ll let go when I’m ready to let go. Mind your own damn business and stop getting your nose into everyone else’s.” He stabs a finger at me, the same way he jabbed one at Mark.

  “Holloway! Get your ass over here and leave the woman alone.”

  “Yeah, leave the woman alone. I can get you arrested for harassing me, an innocent, helpless woman,” I jeer at him.

  “You’re anything but innocent and helpless, bitch.” He actually sprays saliva in my face as he speaks.

  I palm my face to get his nasty spit off.

  The chief lumbers toward us.

  Bill glances at him and steps away from my bike.

  “Is there a problem, Holloway?”

  “No, nothing, Chief. I thought she was someone else. My mistake, Miss, uh…” He acts like he doesn’t know my name.

  “It’s McCartney and you know it, jackass. We’ve known each other since high school,” I say to the chief.

  “Get back to the station, Holloway. Now!” The chief aims a forceful gaze at Bill.

  “I was Elena’s best friend. I’m Mercedes McCartney. I’ve seen you at some of the demonstrations I’ve organized to stop the development of Nightmoon Creek.” I hold out my hand.

  He shakes it and says, “Chief Beyer. Of course, now I remember where I’ve seen you. I hope your organization wins. It would be a shame for such a beautiful area to be developed.”

  “Why, thank you,” I say, pleased by his support.

  “Sorry about Holloway,” he says, as Bill slinks away. “He’s under a lot of stress since his girlfriend died.”

  “She wasn’t his girlfriend. He was her tormentor.”

  The chief gives me a noncommittal expression and nods. “Sorry again. Do you need any medical assistance?”

  He glances at my arm.

  I turn to see blood dripping from my arm. Jesus Maria, I think. “No, thanks. I’ve got somewhere to go.”

  “At least let’s clean it up. One of the paramedics can bandage you.”

  I sigh and follow him to the station, hoping to avoid Bill Holloway. He’s gone from merely a dick and murder suspect, to a prime, abusive douchebag. And if he wasn’t on my radar before, he is now.

  So now I’m dressed like a homeless person, I think, as I zip to the office of Nature First. I’ve got a huge welt on my hip, already turning vivid colors like a painting by Gauguin, and a wicked gash on my elbow. After he dressed my wounds, I had the paramedic staple my pants together and duct tape my jacket sleeve. This was a fairly new jacket, super warm and extremely comfortable. I grind my teeth together as I ride through the drizzle that’s begun to fall. Fucking Bill Holloway.

  When I enter the office, it’s humming with activity and conversation.

  “Wow, what do you think caused the explosion?”

  “Did you hear that blast?”

  “Did you see it? It was a gusher.”

  “Whole office is wrecked. They’re going to have to regroup. Hopefully, somewhere far, far away.”

  “Hey, guys,” I say, trying to catch their attention. “What happened?”

  Carey turns to me, his wiry, slender body fluid with energetic movement, his light brown hair crackling around his head as if sparked with electricity, like a mad scientist, and his blue eyes shining bright. “It was ARC. Apparently, someone put explosives in the plumbing or something. Every pipe in the entire building burst, causing a tsunami of water. It was awesome.”

  Hmmm. Could Lennon be some sort of water wizard, in addition to being an otter shifter? “Really? When?”

  “About an hour ago. I was headed over there to confront them with a new petition. I saw the whole thing go down.”

  “See anything odd, like an otter?”

  His forehead bunches into a frown. “An otter? No, why?”

  “Just a hunch. So what happened?”

  “The entire office building blew up, water spraying everywhere. Doors and windows blasted from their hinges. I’ve never seen anything like it. Some of the water was steaming hot, too. I’m sure it caused major burns.” He glances at my stapled pants and duct taped sleeve, and his frown deepens. “What happened to you?”

  “Bill Holloway happened to me. He caused me to wreck my bike.”

  “Asshole. Can’t stand that guy.”

  “Me, neither. So back to ARC, did you hear they started recruiting workers for what they’re calling Nightmoon Oasis luxury condominiums? I call it Nightmoon Nightmare.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to contact you. They bypassed the injunction we had in place to stop development until a hearing was conducted. Apparently, their ringleader has an in with a politician. And…” His gaze slides back and forth at the other activists. “Come with me,” he whispers.

  I follow him into his tiny office, glancing at the clutter and papers covering his desk.

  He closes the door behind him. “We’ve been fighting an uphill battle ever since this project began, right?”

  “Uh huh. It’s been tough. Endless paperwork, red tape, slogging through public records. I’m glad you’re at the wheel.”

  “Yeah, I’m good with numbers and finding meaning in bullshit. It’s like a chess game to me. But you know how things took an ugly turn about six months ago?”

  “Yeah. Everything almost came to a standstill. I figure ARC got seriously threatened by our progress.”

  “They did. They now have a wizard on the payroll.”

  “A wizard? Are you sure?”

  “I’m as sure as I can be. We have an informant on the inside. He told me they hired a nightshade wizard in the last six months. That’s probably one of the reasons they got through the injunction we had in place.”

  “What’s a nightshade wizard?”
>
  “Someone not to be messed with, that’s who. Nightshades practice dark arts. They convene in the shadows. They’re wealthy bastards with time and endless streams of money on their hands.”

  “What kind of damage do they do?”

  “Whatever suits their fancy. They’ll use any means, even murder, if it results in getting the job done. They love these big development projects because its money in the bank. You know that fellow with the bizarre comb over hair who builds gaudy, garish buildings with his name emblazoned across the front?”

  “Yeah. His name rhymes with rump. He’s a dick and a half.”

  “Well, imagine him practicing the dark arts, just because he can.”

  I shudder. “Do you think this wizard had anything to do with Elena’s death?”

  “Oh, Mercedes,” Carey says. He folds his skinny body around me and gives me a long, long hug. “In the excitement, I failed to acknowledge her death. I’m so sorry.”

  I accept Carey’s bony embrace until I feel tears forming. “Uh, thanks, buddy.” I ease away from him, surreptitiously wiping my eyes on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve come to grips with it. I’m determined to find out who did it. It sure wasn’t me. Did you know I was held for questioning?”

  He looks at me, perplexed. “Why you?”

  “I was out there. I found the body.” I shudder.

  “Doing that thing you do?”

  “Shifting? Yeah. I went out for free flight. It ended up being not so freeing.” I grab my elbows and rub them as if I were cold. More like numb, from not letting my feelings out.

  “I’m so jealous. Me? I’ve got nothing but a bright, human mind.”

  “And you’re an incredible asset. You’re needed. No one sees the big picture as well as you.”

  He smiles, seeming pleased with my praise.

  “So what can we do to stop the build? How close are they to breaking ground?”

  “Close. The waterworks will prove a setback but not a real deterrent. They’ll set up shop elsewhere. Our informant said bulldozers are scheduled to start clearing the trees next week.”