“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.
SIXTEEN
A Conjuring from My Dreams
Woods—especially at night during a storm—have a way of making you feel like someone’s watching you. We run a little faster to the only place I know no one will come looking for me.
Breathless, I stop and peer up at the old cave Adaire and I used to explore. Exposed tree roots finger like a thick brow over the cave’s opening, a dark eye. Kudzu vines string down the hillside, an endless flow of green tears. Rain runs down the mountain, creating a thin veil over the opening.
My hand grips the top rung of the chain camping ladder Adaire and I left hanging here years ago. I look down behind me. Before I can ask Rook if he’s coming, he leans forward, his body shrinking into a dark blur, then shifting into the feathered form of the crow. One becoming the other before he can even come close to touching the ground.
Incredible.
A wisp of wind and a flutter of wings swoop past me. There’s a dark gap as he shifts back. Rook stretches out his hand for me.
“Show-off,” I mumble and take ahold. His grip firms as he hefts me up with one swift pull.
Face-to-face, we stand there. Only the drizzling rain and our ragged breaths keep us company. Years of scattered moments is all we’ve ever had. We stare at each other, getting a good look to hold us through the next lapse of time.
