Page 27 of The Witch's Orchard
I shook my head.
“Girl, you’re a crow.”
A laugh, instinctive and raw, had escaped my throat. I felt myself smiling, matching Leo’s grin, but inside I felt some powerful truth in the label. Almost like holding a real, living, oil black crow in my hands, the notion felt both familiar and dangerous. Soft and sharp at once.
“A crow?” I said, nudging him with my shoulder to get more of an explanation.
“Damn straight,” he said. “Always sticking your beak into the messes others shy away from. Raising a ruckus no one wants heard. Digging out truths no one wants seen.”
Now, on the street, I look back at Night Owl Cop, clearly in charge, probably the sheriff. He’s got the attitude of a guy who looks at my height and weight and thinks I can be pushed around. But, like Leo said, I’m a crow. And crows are wily.
I puff up my invisible feathers, spin my keys in my hand, and say, “I’m a little pressed for time.”
Night Owl steps in front of me, arms crossed, and says, “We can do it now. Or we can do it down at the station.”
“Okay,” I say. “What’s the word?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you need to have a word with me. What is it?”
Behind Night Owl, I see Hard Fat press his mouth into a tight line. The color in his cheeks deepens. He’s got a pair of very defined dimples when he smiles. They make him look too sweet to be a cop.
“You’ve been going around town asking questions,” Night Owl says.
“Correct.”
He takes a step closer to me, says, “About a ten-year-old case.”
I match his move. Then, hands on hips, I stare up at him and say, “I’ve been asking questions about three little girls who disappeared one summer ten years ago, two of whom were never seen again and one of whom—”
“One of whom is myniece.” The word comes out like a hiss.
“Oh,” I say. I finally get around to reading the name tag on his chest.
Sheriff Jacobs. So, obviously related to Kathleen and her daughter, the once-missing Olivia Jacobs.Great.
“My niece is a vulnerable young woman,” he says. “Whatever she went through—”
“Which she won’t talk about.”
“Shecan’t—” Jacobs growls.
“Either way. Max Andrews hired me to look for his sister. That’s what I’m doing.”
“You think we haven’t looked?”
Hard Fat steps up, puts a hand on Sheriff Jacobs’s shoulder.
“Sheriff, she’s just doing her job.”
I’m still matching Jacobs’s glare but, in my peripheral, I see Hard Fat shift his attention to me. “Ms. Gore, did you actually question Olivia?”
“No,” I answer, still looking at Jacobs. “I just talked to Kathleen.”
“Well, there ya go,” Hard Fat says.
Jacobs narrows his eyes at me.
