Chapter Fifteen

Dumber Than Dirt

The shadow of a bird sails along the highway, following slightly ahead of Raelean's car. She's rambling on about how lousy the Watering Hole tips are and how maybe she should make her way over to Nashville and find an up-and-coming music star at a honky-tonk to hang around with.

The crow shadow splits and divides, from one to many, and I smile.

They speckle the sky, a soft black veil. Their ebb and flow like ripples in a river against the orange and purples of the eventide.

"Whoa." Raelean leans forward over her steering wheel to get a better look. "You seeing this? There's so many." Her voice a marvel.

And yet it's only the one, Rook just divided. "We're in the hour of crows," I tell her. "It's when the day is no longer but the night is not yet."

Raelean eases back, watching me. "That sounds really beautiful and creepy as shit. Jesus, Weatherly." She shakes her head. "Are they gonna, like, swoop down and peck our eyes out or what?"

I huff a small laugh. "No. It means the crows are gathering at the end of the day for a night's rest."

As we come upon the cluster of buildings ahead, the crows veer off route into the canopy of the trees. The smell of a far-off summer rain fills the car.

"You've got to be dumber than dirt to be going in there after what you've already pulled at the Rutledge mansion."

I glower at Raelean. "Some friend you are. Oh, wait, don't pull into the sheriff's lot," I say as we approach the building. "Do a drive-by first and let me see who's there."

Law Road, named after Jessup Law and not the sheriff station, always has a steady flow of passersby. The garbled rumble of her Camaro chugs as we slow down so I can make sure Oscar's deputy Bronco is there—he's my only chance at not getting arrested immediately.

"Shit," I say when I don't see it. "He's not here."

It's only Callie, who mans the dispatch desk. Everyone else must be on call. I have Raelean park the car over at Quickies, probably the last place for miles that still has Classic Coca-Cola.

"There's always a dominos crowd that gathers on Friday nights," I say to Raelean. "I'll wait there until Oscar gets back."

"I'd wait with you," Raelean hurriedly says as I get out, "if I didn't have to get back to work."

I lean into her open window. "That's fine. I'll figure it out." Off in the distance, a dark figure steps within the cover of the trees, disappearing behind the deli.

"But if you're still here later," Raelean says as she starts to drive off, "or need bailing out of jail..."

"Yeah, yeah." I clip a wave, hoping that won't be the case. I wait for her to ease down the road, out of sight, before slipping behind the deli myself.

Just like at the mansion, as soon as I'm behind the building and catch sight of the picnic table, I'm transported back. Two summers after Papaw passed, I walked down here by myself once. I asked Bubba Dunn, the owner, how much bologna and crackers I could get for a dollar. I think he must have felt sorry for me because he gave me the bottled Coke, the bologna and crackers, and a few five-cent bubblegums. I thought I'd hit the jackpot. I skipped outside with my loot to the picnic tables by the pond out back.

It was the clattering of the trash can lid that scared the devil out of me. I about dropped all my goods. Then I saw him, young Rook cowering behind the trash bin he had just been pilfering through. He was longer than his clothes with how much he'd grown since the summer before. Rough for the wear as well. It hurt my heart something bad, knowing he had to scavenge food from the trash. Shame kept him from looking me in the eye, but it was me who deserved the shame. Never occurred to me he didn't have a home—or a dollar—to get himself something to eat.

We shared that bologna and Coca-Cola while we counted turtles sunning on a log. We bragged about how many tadpoles we could catch in a single scoop. And discussed how a dragonfly got its name because it didn't look anything like a dragon or a fly really.

When I finally asked him where he'd been the past year, Rook couldn't remember. Time had a way of disappearing for him. Long gaps between being a boy and a crow.

"Why are you back?" eleven-year-old me had asked him. Not intending to sound rude or ungrateful; I just didn't understand.

"The deaths. The souls. They always bring me back to you." He said this in a way that stole my heart. He's held it ever since.

That week, Mr. Allen Roberts had died—that's why Rook had returned. I tried to save the old man after he fell off a ladder, trying to pick peaches from his tree. But it seemed the good Lord wanted him home, and there was nothing I could do. Or so Grandmama had said.

Waiting for me now, Rook sits on the top of that same picnic table, bare feet on the bench seat. Handsome as the devil now, too.

"You following me?" I say, smirking. I take a seat next to him. The road and the sheriff station's parking lot are both in view from back here.

"Should I be?" He thumbs my chin to the side, getting a good look at my cheek. Heat flushes my face; I wonder if he saw Lorelei clock me.

We sit there a few quiet beats. Suddenly, I feel thirteen again, about to have my first kiss.

A car comes down the road and I perk up, but it's not Oscar.

"Are you waiting for him?" Rook's soured gaze focuses across the road at the sheriff's station. It's the way he clamps down his words that makes me realize he's aware Oscar and I were together once. Guilt sends my eyes to the ground. I had wondered if that's why he's stayed away these past few years. I've also wondered if there were women he was with in those lost gaps of time. But I don't have the nerve to ask or desire to know.

"It's not like that between Oscar and me. Not anymore." I look up at Rook. "It hasn't been for a long time."

The tension in his shoulders loosens; the softness in his eyes returns.

"I need to talk to him, about the case. I have a theory," I start. "About how Adaire died." I tell him about Adaire's visions, my time with Gabby Newsome, Lorelei's necklace—that got me a busted-up cheek—the damaged car bumper and supposed dead deer, and well, everything.

Rook doesn't doubt me like Raelean. Or think I'm off my rocker like Davis. In fact, he listens intently to everything I have to tell him as if it's gospel.

He nods, understanding. "Then I hope Oscar will help you." I hope he will, too.

The back door to Bobby's deli kicks open, startling us both. But it's only the butcher taking out the trash. He eyes us briefly, then goes back to dumping the bag when we prove to be nothing of interest.

A random crow lands on the power line near the road and caws out once. "A friend of yours?" I say, not holding back a laugh.

He laughs. "We really need to do something about that smart-mouth of yours." His eyes dip to those very lips. My thoughts tip sideways.

The crow squawks again, annoyingly loud. Then it dashes off into the trees. Another car comes down the road, still not Oscar.

A thought occurs to me. I quirk my head at Rook. "Do you know who I am when you're in that form?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He bobs his head. "Kind of. When I'm here—" he fans a hand in the air, referring to Black Fern "—when I'm near you, the crow lets me have control." It's odd to hear him refer to the crow as a separate being. But I guess he must be. "Through his eyes, I see souls. I can find you that way."

I love the idea of this. "And when you're not here?"

His brow scrunches up. "It's like a smoky dream. Everything is dim. There are flashes of sights and sounds but a dark filter covers my memories. And I feel far away. I'm not Rook or the crow but something else. Something lost."

"So you're not free." It isn't a question. It's a realization that he's bound to me, my gift, and the mercy of the crow.

"Time passes in odd gaps for me, and the crow does most of the living," he admits.

But that's not living at all.

"Hey." He ducks into my line of sight. "I'm here because of you."

He is.But Davis's words keep shoving themselves around in my head. You gotta stop clinging to her. It's not a healthy way to grieve. What if Rook is something inside my head that I created to cope? I touch his hand to anchor myself.

He feels real.

Across the street at the sheriff's station, I notice Oscar's Bronco has returned. Must have missed it while we were talking.

"Don't go anywhere." I stand. Rook does, too. "I might need a rescue."

"Let's hope so." He falls backward and scatters into the crow before his body even hits the ground.

Drops of rain begin to dot the thirsty pavement as I cross the street and head toward the station. The front doorbell announces my arrival with an electric biz-bong, a frazzled sound that's crankier than my alarm.

Callie Wilson—a woman who's birthed four kids and looks like she's going to pop with number five—does a double take as she sees me. Thankfully, she's tied up on the phone with another call ringing its next place in line. I pan a small wave hello.

Oscar, standing in the office hallway, looks up from the paperwork he's flipping through. "Well, you're making my job pretty easy today. Come to turn yourself in?" His disapproving stare tells me everything I need to know. Then he straightens a little taller when he spies the shiner bruising over on my left cheek, despite Aunt Violet's attempt to cover it up. "What the hell?" He tilts my chin to the side to get a better look.

"Assault and battery?" I try.

Oscar frowns. "Is this before or after you illegally entered the Rutledge's private quarters?"

"Does it help if I tell you I had a ticket for the tour?" I wince, wishing I still had that crumpled brochure.

"What would help is if you would stay away from that family and let me do my job, Weatherly. You stirred up a hornet's nest out there today. They called in the sheriff personally. Apparently, you upset Mrs. Rutledge's sister something terrible. Do I even want to know what that's about?" Before I can answer, Oscar's attention slides over to the glass door as headlights pan across the building. He lets loose a long sigh and a soft swear. The Rutledge's shiny red Corvette parks out front.

"Rebecca and Lorelei are coming in to file a restraining order," he mumbles. Something the court usually deals with, but I'm sure the judge can't be bothered while he's out fishing. "You better pray they don't press charges, too."

"Please, hear me out first." I glance urgently over at the door; if they see me here, it'll be all over with. "I swear it's important. I found evidence today, evidence to help the case." The urgency in my voice is enough to give him pause. He notices the plastic Walmart bag I'm holding. "Please." I lay my hand lightly on his arm. Oscar's posture softens at my touch. It feels wrong to use our past to implore him, but I'm desperate.

"Go wait for me in there." He points a finger in the office he just walked out of. "And for God's sake, keep out of sight and your mouth shut. Got it?"

I zipper my lips shut and slip into the office just as the door chime buzzes another staticky biz-bong.

"Hello, Mrs. Rutledge. Lorelei. I'm Deputy Torres." There's a quiet pause where I can barely hear that it's Rebecca talking. "I've got a small matter to deal with first, but Callie here will help you get started on the paperwork. I'll be right along shortly. Callie, can you show them to the break room, maybe get them a cup of coffee? Thank you." Then Oscar's silhouette shadows over the frosted glass door and he enters.

"This better be good." He points to the chair where he wants me to sit, while he perches on the edge of his desk. His folded arms a stern warning.

"I think Lorelei Rutledge killed Adaire." I vomit the words.

That handsome face of his slips to annoyance. "You said you have evidence for your case. Adaire's case is closed."

"What if I find something that opens it back up?" I tug that Walmart sack up in my lap protectively. The drizzle of rain outside picks up pace, tapping louder on the building's tin roof.

He exhales heavily. There's only a hairbreadth of his patience left. "I'm listening."

"Adaire knew she was going to die. She saw it coming." That's how I start. This, Oscar does not question. He already knows what I can do, and I'm sure he's heard whispers of the other peculiarities that run in our family.

"Three days before she died, she had a vision. She knew I was going to be in trouble. She told me Gabby had the answers, and she gave me a key." I debate if I should tell him that I think it belongs to that box that's in the picture they have of my mom. "She said ‘find the scales of justice, she holds the truth.' Then today, after Lorelei assaulted me, she had on a necklace, the scales of justice—which is the astrological sign for Libra in case you didn't know." He stares at me flatly. "Now I thought it would be justice for me, but now I'm thinking she meant justice for herself. We found this tin box."

"We who?"

"I," I swiftly correct.

He lifts a questioning brow.

"I found this tin box with Adaire's instructions, so kind of like we did it together." Jesus Christ, Raelean would murder me herself if I got her into trouble.

"Found where?" He growls his words.

"Out at this farmhouse—"

"You were at the crime scene?" He snatches up the box, his anger coming at me like a dagger.

"Not technically. Well, maybe...but that box was inside the farmhouse, which was not part of the crime scene. Technically," I reiterate.

He reads Adaire's note. "She was right about what? What's this droplet of rain? Riddled tongue? Where are you going with this story? This is all just random blather. Where's the evidence?"

"I'm getting there! Jeez, Louise." Out front, the door chime announces another person's arrival, shrinking my borrowed time. "Gabby is the riddled tongue, she talks in circles. She gave me a blue glass droplet. It's a family heirloom, my family's." I show him the bottle stopper. "When I asked her where she got it, she said she got it from the pocket of a dead deer. She was there when they hit a deer; she said so herself. Except I don't think it was a deer at all but Adaire. And I don't think it was Stone Rutledge or his car that hit her."

Oscar's incredulous flat stare says the last of his patience just evaporated. He stands, throwing up his hands. "I cannot believe you wasted my time with this tall tale. Rain droplets and a deer with pockets and riddles hidden in empty tin boxes." He tosses the button tin on his desk. "Seriously, Weatherly?"

The door rattles with an urgent knock, Callie peeps her head inside. "Sheriff called, um..." She slips a look to me, then back to Oscar. "It's pretty serious. He needs you out at the Rutledge place, ASAP."

Oscar turns his scowl on me.

"What?" I hold my hands up in innocence. "I told you everything. I swear!"

"I'll be there in a sec," he tells Callie, and she smartly ducks out. "I'm not finished with you." He grabs his deputy hat and Bronco keys.

"Hey, what about what I just told you?"

"It ain't evidence." He snugs that Stetson hat onto his head and goes to leave.

"Stone's car doesn't have a scratch on it," I blurt. It's enough to keep him from leaving. "That red Corvette doesn't have a mark on it. Go look for yourself." I fan a hand toward the front door.

"It's called a repair shop, Weatherly." He shakes his head and grabs the doorknob.

"Not repaired in a week, though," I pop again. He pauses. "The court hearing was a week and a half after Adaire's death. Stone's Corvette sat on Main Street that same day. Shouldn't it still have been in the shop? Talk to Jimmy Smoot. He towed Stone's car after that day in court because of a flat tire. He would have seen if there was some damage, right? If he hadn't had it repaired yet? If Stone's car hit—" The words catch in my throat. "If he ran over something," I say through gritted teeth, "deer or otherwise, where's the damage? No car gets repaired that fast. Not around here. Especially not an expensive sports car like that." There's a nugget of question in his eyes now.

"It's still not evidence," he says as he turns.

"Lorelei's driving her father's car," I try to get out before he closes the door in my face, but I'm too late.

"Where's her car? Huh?" I say to the empty office and drop into his desk chair. "Ask rich girl about that, will ya?" I give his Rolodex a spin with my finger.

I don't get more than two swivels back and forth in his desk chair when I notice the tab on the folder Oscar was perusing through when I arrived. WEATHERLY WILDER, reads his scratchy writing. An icy fear creeps up my neck and flushes my skin.

A ding at the front door. I glance up a half second. When nothing comes of it, I spin the folder around and open the manila flap.

On top is the medical examiner's report for Papaw. A diagram of his body and notes scribbled in the margin, a document that's painful to read. Underneath it, a complaint filed from Mrs. Phillips about the time I "healed" her husband. I remember how ungrateful she was that I talked the death out of him; she gave me an earful about it, too. Then a Xerox copy of Dr. York's notes from the day I tried to talk the death out of Ellis Rutledge. The next page is from a yellow notepad where Oscar has written down a few names and dates, people I've used my gift on. There are several more Oscar doesn't even know about.

But it's the words scribbled in the margins that catches my attention.

Unknown drowning victim???

My soul drops to the floor like a sheet.

Hand quivering, I slide the next page out. It's only a few sentences. Three, actually. An intake call to dispatch from fifteen years ago.

Augustus Wilder called in to report a drowned child he and Jonsey Hayworth found by the river. But when the deputy arrived to collect the body, Augustus informed him they were mistaken. It was only a patch of waterlogged dark carpet hung around a downed branch.

Somehow, I feel naked. Exposed. My secret lying here for all the world to read. If only they knew what they were reading. But clearly Oscar suspects something.

One small note turns over in my head. A patch of carpet? Adaire saw a vision of a boy by the river. I could have sworn Papaw and Bone Layer found that boy. I kissed him. Made a wish on a crow feather and brought him back to life. Didn't I?

Yet, the police report is telling a different story.

Two more doorbells ring out front. Urgent voices jostle around on the other side of the office door. From the silhouettes of Stetson hats, I can tell it's a room full of law enforcement. I slam the folder shut. A rumble of thunder stampedes above. Two counts later, a crack of lightning zips across the sky. It lights up the sliver of window above the file console behind Oscar's desk. And it's clear that's my best way out now.

Feetfirst and belly-side down, I wiggle my way out and hope like hell someone out front doesn't notice two flailing legs kicking out the side of the building.

The four-foot drop is enough to give my heart a good scare. The button tin and all its contents dump on the ground. Hurriedly, I pick up Adaire's note from a tiny puddle and dry it on my shorts. Once I'm sure I've got everything back in my little collection plate of evidence, I spin on my heels and run smack-dab into Rook's chest. A liquid purr pours down my body at the sight of him. Rain soaking his black hair and spiking his lashes. His firm body pressed up against my palm.

"It's you." Surprise lifts my voice.

"Were you expecting someone else to rescue you?" Rook raises a scornful brow. The parking lot lights barely reach this far back, but there's a wolfish glint in his eyes.

"I was just..." I thumb over my shoulder to the window I just crawled out. "There was no other way I could... I didn't actually expect you to—" Nerves tangle up my tongue.

A sly smile slides across his wet lips.

"You." I sour my expression to one that I hope appears unimpressed. "If you consider this a rescue, then you're sorely mistaken. I was escaping just fine on my own." I swipe the pounding rain from my face, looking more like a drowned cat by the minute.

Voices of others out front push their way toward us. Rook slides an arm around my waist and spins us into the dark shadow of the building.

The rich smell of pine and earth shove itself in my face. I become acutely aware how smooshed up I am against him with a fistful of his drenched shirt clenched in my hand. My heart thunders inside my chest.

A commotion has us both looking toward the rising chaos. Light flickers from inside Oscar's office.

"We should go." Rook's words whisper against my ear. Before I can agree, he grabs my hand, and we disappear into the woods under the cover of the rain.