Owl or Nothing

by Willow Mason

  “Like hell, it’s not.” Harold moved a step closer, poking his forefinger into Marshall’s face. “You killed my little girl. I’ll never forgive you.”

  Marshall grabbed the finger and twisted it, making the elder man scream in pain. “You’re the one responsible for Gabby’s death. Did you think you could buy her way out of every piece of trouble she got into?”

  “Hey, you.”

  It took me a second to work out the voice was talking to me. I turned with a guilty smile, trying to channel innocence. A woman with grey curls and a pink flowered sundress stared daggers back at me. “Hey,” I said with a small wave.

  “What’d you think you’re doing, standing in my neighbour’s driveway? If you’re casing the place, I’ll warn you right now I’ve taken a picture and I’m happy to send it straight to the police.”

  I jerked back a step. “Now, hold on. We’re not doing anything wrong.” My palms flicked up to either side. Don’t shoot. “And we’re certainly not ‘casing’ the place.”

  The woman tilted back her head, so I was staring straight into the bird’s nest of hairs inside her nose. “You’re standing in a driveway while the owners are at work. What precise flavour of wrong is it you’re not doing?”

  Silvana rubbed the back of her neck. “We’re eavesdropping,” she admitted, jerking her head towards Gabby’s house where the voices grew steadily louder. “We worked with her at the bar and dropped by to pay our respects. It seems respect isn’t something either of those guys is into.”

  A smile blossomed on the woman’s face, matching the large camellia flowerheads dotted across the fabric of her sundress. “You knew Gabby?”

  “Ever since she started working at the Barnyard,” I said, and dropped my arms down to my sides, feeling ridiculous. “It was a real shock to hear the news yesterday.”

  “I’ll say. When I read it online this morning, I spat out a mouthful of tea.” She guffawed and held a hand in front of her mouth, eyes widening in horror. “Sorry. It’s the shock. I keep acting inappropriately.”

  Silvana stepped forward and took her arm. “You don’t need to apologise for anything. We know exactly how you feel. Are you from the darling pink stone house over there?” She nodded her head.

  In less than a minute, Silvana had the woman’s name—Wilma Fairisle—along with an invitation to morning tea, and a phone number for good measure.

  As I sat down at the table in her front parlour, I felt my head spinning. Given another half hour, Silvana would probably be written into her will.

  “Now, I’m not one for gossip,” Wilma said, sitting down and swirling a pot of tea. “But that lad Marshall has lived across me for a good number of years now, and I’ll tell you straight, he’s not one for fidelity.”

  “He cheated on Gabby?” Silvana asked with wide eyes, as though that news could shock her bohemian soul.

  “Just last week,” Wilma whispered, colour growing in her cheeks as her gaze drifted across the road. The two men were still arguing, this time Marshall the one jabbing a finger into Harold’s chest. “She stormed out one night and his previous girl turned up a few hours later, all ready to console him.”

  “Who’s the previous girl?”

  Wilma shrugged. “Agnes. Allison. Audrey. Something like that.”

  I waited for her to fill us in with more—her lips practically vibrated with all the secrets she couldn’t bear to keep to herself—but the shouting over the road abruptly stopped.

  Our heads turned in unison toward the scene. A large gasp could have been all or any of us. Marshall punched Harold full in the face and the man tottered then fell backwards like a tree. A thump reverberated as he hit the ground, his body landing on an old tarpaulin that rustled like dead leaves.

  “Goodness,” Wilma said. “I should probably call the police.”

  “He’s coming around.” Silvana’s voice contained a tinge of disappointment. She was probably thinking of the wrestling shows on television. I’d come in once and seen her eyes glued to the screen, licking her lips while the large incisors of her wolf form grew and grew.

  “Would an ambulance be better?” Wilma asked, staring at her phone in consternation. “Or will that just land them in trouble?”

  “It looks like Mr Mulligan’s in trouble already.” I pulled my phone out, then hesitated. If I called through to PC Bryant and he came out, wouldn’t he want to know exactly what I was doing here? I tucked it back in my pocket. “We should leave it for a few minutes and see if they’ve worked things out.”

  “What’s her dad so worked up with Marshall for, anyway?” Silvana turned to her new best friend, pushing the hand holding the phone down to the table. “Has he come around before, yelling at him like that?”

  Wilma’s eyes stayed fixed on the house across the street. “Not as bad, but yeah. There’s been trouble before. He gave him the rough side of his tongue when Gabby moved out last week. And a few months before that.”

  “They did seem to have a volatile relationship,” I observed. “Me and my boss were just discussing it last night.”

  “Exactly,” Wilma said. “I was more surprised than anyone when she dropped by yesterday to say they were engaged.”

  “She came over yesterday?” My voice sounded like an echo. “What time was that?”

  “Oh, early. Gabby never bothered with me unless she had something to show off about. It wasn’t really the engagement she wanted to talk about, just the bling on her finger.”

  I exchanged a quick frown with Silvana. “Did you tell the police?”

  “Of course, I did.” Wilma picked up the phone again, her thumb hovering over the buttons. “I even told them it wasn’t the first time I’d seen that ring.”

  “What?”

  Wilma smiled as she met my gaze across the table. “Yeah. It’s a bit of a shocker, isn’t it? Marshal recycled the ring he’d used the last time he got engaged. Not that I let on to her. I’m not a monster.”

  Silvana’s eyes were gleaming with interest. “Who did he give it to before?”

  “Angie. April. Whatever the previous girl’s name was. She must’ve given it back when she caught Marshall cheating on her.” Wilma lowered her voice and leaned across the table. “I bet she wanted to give him a black eye instead.”

  “I would.” Silvana crossed to the window, hooking the net curtain back for a better view. “Now they’re both crying.”

  “Show’s over,” I said, standing ready to leave. “We’d better check on our friend and make sure she’s okay.”

  “You’ve got another friend outside?” Wilma asked with surprise. “You should’ve told me. I’ve plenty of room spare for another.”

  I could imagine the expression that would mar her face if Dee sat on the table, enjoying a nice chocolate digestive. “She wouldn’t want to bother you, but we should get on.” I checked my watch and gave myself a shock. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you.” Wilma screwed the top of the biscuits closed and shoved it into Silvana’s hand. “Take these for your journey and come around again whenever you like. I’m usually here.”

  I would have refused the offer, but Silvana was munching on a biscuit by the time we reached the end of the drive. “D’you know which girl she was talking about?”

  “No, but I guess Gabby could fill us in. Can you see Dee anywhere?”

  Silvana tipped her nose into the air and gave a long sniff. “She’s near the porch.”

  By the time we crossed the road, Dee joined us with an excited expression on her little face. “Guess what?” she squeaked, hopping from one side to the other.

  “Marshall got engaged to Gabby on the day she died, and it was his second time around?” Silvana delivered the words in a flat tone, then crunched into another digestive.

  “Oh, you know.” The wind fell out of Dee’s sails and I picked her up and put her into my breast pocket, feeling guilty.

  “It’s good to have confirmation,” I assured her. �
�Since we only had the word of a nosy neighbour. Did Gabby tell you the name of his previous girlfriend?”

  “Zelda Tomkins,” Dee said, peering at the two of us with suspicion when we burst into laughter. “What?”

  “Just the name,” I said. “We’d heard it began with an A.”

  “Nope. Not only that, does the surname sound familiar to you?”

  It did. From actors, writers, singers. Nobody I could think of with a closer relationship than that off the top of my head.

  Dee’s face took on a satisfied expression. “She’s the mayor’s daughter. I guess Marshall prefers his girlfriends to be rich.”

  Chapter Seven

  I was an hour late to work, but since my boss was still in the slammer, there was no one there to reprimand me. When I threw the door open, a warm cloud of hops and spirits welcomed me, the effect of hours of sunlight heating spills on the old wooden floors.

  With the windows thrown open to let in fresh air, I quickly ran a mop over the worst of it. Usually Barry would have performed the task before he went home but last night hadn’t offered him the opportunity.

  “Do you fancy a hangover cure?” Silvana asked, shaking an expensive gin bottle with contents equal to my weekly wages. She cracked the top without a care. “Do you have any nice tonics?”

  “Just what’s on tap. And I don’t have a hangover.”

  “It’s just a phrase, Liv. Not everything needs to be precise.”

  Silvana hopped onto the bar and stared in wonder as I turned the bottles to line up the labels.

  “The police will be finished up here, won’t they?” she said, more of a statement than a question.

  “Until they release Barry without charge, I’m not sure.”

  I knew what was coming next but didn’t move a finger to stop Silvana as she walked across and lifted the warning tape. Apparently, the police were interested in Barry’s office, the women’s bathroom, and a portion of the backyard patio.

  “Your boss needs to learn some of your organisational skills,” Silvana called out from inside the office. “His accountant must think he’s a nightmare.”

  “His accountant is his brother-in-law and I think Barry is one of his few clients. Whatever he thinks, he knows enough to keep it to himself.”

  While Dee ate through the leftover beer nuts, curiosity drew me into the office, behind my friend. After one glance, I nodded. “Most of this mess is down to the police, not my boss.”

  The surface of Barry’s desk was covered in white powder, along with the filing cabinets along the wall and the windowsill. I don’t know what the police had hoped to learn from that—perhaps that Barry had fingers and used them?

  “He keeps his receipts in a shoebox,” Silvana said with a disdainful click of her tongue. “What kind of businessman does that?”

  “The same kind who also loads them into the computer accounting program as soon as they arrive.” I scanned the box quickly, not seeing anything untoward. “It’s only a mess if he gets an audit, and who cares if the taxman finds it painful?”

  Silvana snorted. “Yeah. Stick it to the man.” She hooked an eyebrow up, narrowing her eyes. “You gave the excuse of an audit to the weirdo journalist. Is there something in that?”

  “Not that I know of. Tax is my go-to when I don’t want people to stick their nose in, and you’re the one brought it up just now.”

  “Ouch.” Silvana slid a notebook across to me. “Are those wages for real?”

  I flicked a glance at them and nodded. “Yeah. Even the model for working shifters in Beechdale doesn’t earn as much as a newbie human wastrel.”

  “There should be laws about it.”

  “There are.” I flipped the book closed and pushed it back to her. “The mayor and council agreed we could be paid less because we posed more of a risk.”

  My friend pulled her upper lip back, revealing gleaming incisors. “If they don’t pay me equal, I’ll show them risk.”

  “That’s exactly what they’re worried about.”

  As Silvana examined Barry’s collection of photos, I sat down at his desk, pulling drawers open and checking out the contents with a thrill. Another ledger, not the computer-generated printouts but a hand-written book, was in the bottom drawer. I pulled it out, expecting it to be from years earlier, and found instead it was for the current year.

  “Look at this,” I said with a delighted snort. I held my finger on an entry and shoved the book towards Silvana. “No wonder Barry can afford to pay Gabby more than me.”

  She stared at the scribbles with a slight frown. “I don’t understand accounting.”

  “Gabby’s dad Harold is making regular deposits into the bar payroll account,” I said, hugging myself in glee. “Barry’s not paying her anything. Her dad bought her a job.”

  “For realz?” Silvana laughed. “No wonder she stayed employed with such a terrible track record.” She pressed her elbows together, leaning forward, and batted her eyes. “Do you think Gabby’s daddy would pay for me?”

  “Not in any legal way.” I shoved the book back in the drawer, feeling immeasurably happier about life in general. “It explains why he didn’t bother to confront her over the missing money, too. The amount Gabby helped herself to was nowhere near what she earned.”

  “Except he did.”

  Silvana reminded me of the reason Barry was in the police holding cells. The neighbour who saw them arguing.

  “But Wilma saw her the next morning and she told the police that.” I sat back in Barry’s chair, feeling dumbfounded. “They’ve got his alibi already, yet they’re still holding him!”

  “It’ll avoid all those awkward questions in the media about if they have a suspect yet.” Silvana sidled out the door, eyes attuned to the top shelf liquor again. “The cops can say yes with full honesty while being left alone to chase down the real killer.”

  “At the expense of Barry’s liberty.” I followed Silvana back to the bar, the tips of my ears flaming red. “I’m calling Bryant right now and telling him they can’t do that.”

  “Shouldn’t you open the bar instead? At least that’s something you know will have a positive result. Besides, I wouldn’t mind staying on the payroll for another few hours.”

  I checked my watch, then saw the small crowd forming at the front door. “Fine.” I texted a quick message to the police station, using all caps and far too many exclamation marks. “But if they haven’t let him go by tonight, I might slip the truth to a journalist we know.”

  Speaking of the devil, Caleb showed up within a few minutes of opening, as though he’d been lying in wait close by. “Do you want to share war stories?” he asked as he slipped onto a bar stool with unusual grace. “I’ve found out a few new interesting facts.”

  I motioned to the other customers to buy some time, mulling over what I could afford to disclose and what must be kept secret.

  “Ugh, it’s another mouse,” he yelled, drawing all my attention. “Quick”—he pulled off his shoe and waved it above his head—“move back and I’ll get it.”

  “Poo-ey!” Silvana held her nose with one hand and pushed Caleb off his stool with the other. Only his quick reflexes saved him from a nasty spill. “That’s the bar mascot you’re trying to stink to death with your foot odour.”

  “You can’t have a mouse as a mascot.” Caleb turned around the few diehard patrons, finding no support. “It’s a health code violation.”

  “Your socks are a health code violation,” Silvana quipped back. “Now stop stinking us out and settle. I thought you were a journalist, not some sissy afraid of a tiny rodent.”

  “Tiny but powerful,” Dee called out, flexing her arms.

  Caleb’s mouth fell open and his eyes took frantic jerks around the room. “Did you hear that? It can talk!”

  “She,” I said, putting a pint of lager on the bar as a peace offering. “And of course, she can talk. She’s a shifter.”

  “You know,” Silvana said with an evil twinkle in her ey
e. “The sort who’s tearing poor lost hikers limb from limb.”

  To his credit, Caleb climbed back on his stool and took a large gulp of beer. “I didn’t know shifters came in mouse form.”

  “There are shifters in all kinds of animal form,” I told him before leaving to serve another customer down the bar. It took a minute before I came back, bringing with me a shot the man had shouted me. Usually, I wouldn’t drink on the job but boy, that one went down smooth.

  Silvana was still taking care of the befuddled journalist. “Just this morning, we signed in our newest residents, a red fox and a bat.”

  “My sources all swore shifters only came in predator form.”

  “Nah.” Dee moved over to the bowl of beernuts and helped herself. “There’s twice as many come as prey.”

  “Or did,” Silvana added with a wink. “Some of them didn’t make it.”

  “They eat each other?” Caleb’s voice faded away to nothing.

  I couldn’t stop the rush of fury rising inside me, but I tried my best to keep the emotion off my face. “Everything in the animal kingdom feasts on prey, not just shifters. If it weren’t for us, you’d have crushed Dee under your boot.”

  “Good point.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending it into a spiky fortress that I longed to tame. “Please accept my apologies.”

  “What about all the shifters you’re accusing of heinous crimes?” Silvana sat on a barstool along from Caleb, nudging him with her toe. “You’ve been badmouthing them for the past two days.”

  A lot of the bar had fallen silent during our conversation. No wonder. At a quick glance, I’d judge the ratio of shifter to human at six to one. Lots of my fellow infected worked night shift and dropped by the bar for a nightcap early in the day. Others were after non-judgmental company. Something Caleb wasn’t offering at all.

  “I stand by my research. The incidents of harm coming to people innocently navigating the woods around here are increasing. You can’t convince me the spike is due to anything but the shifter population.”

  “Is that because your brain stopped functioning?” Silvana asked, earning herself a smattering of applause.