A Murder of Crows

by K. J. Emrick

  Jon smiled in that way he had when he knew he had the upper hand with a suspect. “Well, we could always continue this down at the police station, I suppose.”

  “Hold on,” Darcy interrupted. “This isn’t helping anything. I might have a way to clear him as a suspect right here and right now, Jon. It would save everyone a lot of time.”

  Both men looked at her with questions in their eyes. “How?” Jon asked.

  Darcy smiled. “My aunt showed me a way.”

  Chapter Eight

  “This is stupid,” Brad said.

  Darcy and Brad sat in chairs, still in the back room of the bar, facing each other. She held his hands in hers. Jon didn’t look happy about any of this, but he stood back, watching.

  “Just trust me,” Darcy said to Brad. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “So, you’re what? Some kind of psychic?”

  “Something like that.” She tried to remember the instructions that she had read in her aunt’s book. Breathing was key, along with physical contact like they were doing now. The other part of it was strictly an effort of reaching out with her life force, similar to what she did during a communication to contact the dead but different at the same time.

  “She consults with the police all the time,” Jon put in, trying to make what they were doing seem rational. “She’s helped me solve several cases.”

  “By holding men’s hands?” Brad quipped. “Must get a lot of dates that way.”

  Jon’s face darkened, and Darcy figured now was a good time to start.

  Which was when she saw Jeff.

  She tried to ignore him, but he leaned his ghostly face down in between her and Brad, screaming words at her that were muted and distorted. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make the words come through. She knew how frustrating it was for ghosts who weren’t able to get their message across. Darcy felt almost sorry for him.

  Almost. She still wasn’t over the sting of seeing him with Marla.

  She closed her eyes, trying to ignore him, but the whispery shouting continued. Even in death he was annoying.

  Breathing in and out and in again, she held her breath and focused on the feel of Brad’s hands in hers. Then in and out and in again, and push out with her life force.

  She felt it, just like Millie had explained in her book. The humming heat spread out from her hands and across Brad’s and she could feel the way it—

  Jeff screamed in her ear and she winced, turning and slapping at the air with her hand. His visage smeared like smoke before he backed away from her, angry and surprised. “Go away!” she shouted at him.

  Brad looked over at Jon, his eyes wide. “Uh, don’t worry,” Jon said to him. “There was a fly on her neck. Big one.”

  “Look, man,” Brad said to him, “I don’t care if she’s full on crazy. If you believe her when she says I didn’t do this, that’s all that matters to me.”

  Sighing, eyeing Jeff warily before closing her eyes again, Darcy settled her thoughts and went back into her breathing techniques. In and out and in again, hold it. In and out and in again, hold it.

  She concentrated on his hands and felt that same heat seeping out from her, covering his skin. He must have felt it, too, because his fingers twitched. Four times she repeated that process, then she opened her eyes on the exhale.

  Nothing. There was nothing there.

  If there had been murder on Brad’s conscience, if he had killed Marla or anyone else, she would be able to see bloodstains on his hands. That’s what her aunt’s book had said in one of the more advanced techniques for those with the gift. The book was a little fuzzy as to whether the psychic stains would be visible to anyone else, but they were supposed to be plain as day to her. She’d never done this before, of course, but she knew that she’d done it the right way. It had worked just like it should have.

  Which meant Brad was not the killer.

  “He’s clean,” she said to Jon, letting go of Brad’s hands. He took them back, staring at them in front of his face.

  “What did you do?” he asked her. “That was…intense.”

  “Calm down, big boy,” Jon said to him. “The point is, she says you didn’t kill Marla. That’s good enough for me.”

  Jeff tried getting Darcy’s attention again now that she was finished with her psychic investigation. She waved her hand through him again as he got too close, making his specter gasp and clutch at his chest as if she’d physically hurt him, which was absurd, but leave it to Jeff to be melodramatic even in death.

  “What about the rest of it?” Brad asked them. “What about my friend leaving the bar with me around four, and going straight home? Hard for him to kill anyone if he was home.”

  “Assuming he stayed home,” Jon pointed out. Brad glared at him.

  Darcy was having a hard time watching Brad and Jon. Jeff kept getting in the way. “Jon, can we go now, please? We’ve learned everything we can here, I think. Plus, I need some fresh air,” she added, glaring at Jeff. He managed to look offended and started shouting at her again, the sound of it like someone trying to scream underwater.

  ***

  Out on the sidewalk, Jon turned them up the street and away from the bar, waiting until they were gone until he said anything. “Jeff followed us in there, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Darcy admitted. “I’m sorry. I’ve told him to leave us alone. I just can’t get rid of him.”

  “You can’t, like, point him toward the light or something?”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” Although at this point she really, really wished it did. “I need to find out what’s bothering him so much and that’s the only way he can be free to leave this realm for the next.”

  Jon snorted. “I would have thought his secret affair with Marla would have been a bad secret enough for anyone. With that cat out of the bag maybe he should just go find his door and stop pestering us.”

  Jeff floated up in front of Jon, screaming at him in jibberish. Jon kept walking, perfectly oblivious to Jeff’s anger.

  Darcy couldn’t help but giggle.

  “What’s funny?” Jon asked. At the same time, Jeff turned to her and mouthed the same words.

  Darcy laughed again, covering her mouth with a hand. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Jeff is really overreacting. About something.”

  “And that’s funny?” Jon was upset at her. She could tell. He shook his head and looked up the street again. “Look, never mind. Why didn’t you use that little trick back there when we were at the police station? If you could tell Brad wasn’t the killer couldn’t you do the same for Riley Mason?”

  “We didn’t really need it at the time. You were sure Riley wasn’t the killer. That was good enough for me. Plus, I wasn’t invited into the interview. How do you think the Ryansburg Police would feel about me using paranormal abilities to identify a murderer?”

  “Good point,” he said. They walked on in silence after that, Jeff included. Then, a few streets over he said, “Listen, Darcy, about this whole Jeff thing.”

  She cringed, waiting for whatever was coming next.

  “I really don’t know what to say. I know he was your husband. I know he treated you badly, and now we both know it was worse than you thought. But it seems like you’ve changed. You’re still you, but something’s different. I think all of this has maybe soured you on marriage in general. You just need to know. I’m not him.”

  “I know you’re not Jeff,” she said immediately. Still, she thought he might have hit the point closer than she wanted to admit. No matter what her feelings for Jon, she had taken a while to even agree to them moving in together. Now, she was shying away from the very thought of marrying him. And it had nothing to do with anything Jon had done.

  “Then don’t choose Jeff over me, now that he’s back for you,” he said to her.

  “Jon, it isn’t like that. I have to admit that seeing him now has dragged up a lot of feelings. I’m…confused, sure.”

  “So,” he said, “this woul
d be a bad time to ask you to marry me?”

  She nearly tripped over her own two feet. Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him, trying to figure out something, anything, to say.

  He saved her from trying. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s get back to the police station and talk to Phillips again. He needs to know what that video shows.”

  She walked along with him, knowing in her heart there was so much more she should tell him, so much she should say, and not able to breathe a single word of it.

  ***

  They were led through the police station by a different junior officer, a kid really, with pimply skin and a scrawny neck. He brought them to Officer Phillips’ desk then disappeared quickly.

  Jeff, angry screaming ghost, followed them the whole way. Her aunt had never shown her any techniques for blocking a ghostly presence. Their focus had always been on reaching out to trapped souls and helping them. But Jeff was really starting to make her wish she had the equivalent of ghost-be-gone.

  Mark Phillips looked up from a variety of forms spread out across his desk. “Oh, hi guys. Sorry, I’m trying to write up the arrest sheets on our friend Riley Mason.”

  Darcy wasn’t sure she’d understood him correctly. “You’re arresting Riley?”

  “Well, yes. That’s what we do to murderers.”

  “When did you prove he murdered Marla?” Jon asked. “The last I knew there were still some serious questions.”

  “I can’t say there aren’t still some loose ends, but that’s always the way of it, right? We’ve got plenty enough for probable cause. I’m sure he did it. The District Attorney can worry about the rest.”

  Jon sat down in a chair on this side of Phillips’ desk. “Mark, we saw the security video from the bar. Riley never left with Marla. She left with some other guy. Then he stayed at the bar until four in the morning. It proves what he said to us in the interview.”

  Jeff stopped screaming and started pacing back and forth instead, shaking his head. Darcy watched him, trying not to make it obvious to the other officers in the room that she was keeping an eye on a ghost.

  Officer Phillips nodded along with everything Jon had said. “Right, right. I know he didn’t leave with her. But the window for the time of death is sketchy. I figure Riley found Marla again after he left the bar. He probably wanted to continue their flirting, and she didn’t, so they argued and he killed her.”

  “What about his friend Brad’s statement?” Jon pressed.

  “What statement? That they left the bar together?” Phillips sighed, his eyes level on Jon. Then he sat back from his desk and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up. “You need to remember this isn’t your case, Jon. I appreciate the help you’ve given me, but we’re working this, and we’ve got it in hand. Now, I know Marla was a friend to the both of you, and I understand why you’re taking such an interest. But don’t try to tell me how to do my job.”

  Jon started to say more. Darcy stepped close and put her hand on his shoulder. She squeezed to get his attention.

  On Officer Phillips’ right forearm was a tattoo. A tattoo of a crow.

  Jon saw it, too. He knew what Darcy was trying to tell him. “All right,” he said. “I understand. Wouldn’t want someone from out of town getting into my cases either. We’ll head back to the hotel and wait to hear from you. Okay?”

  “Actually you might want to just go home,” he said, taking both of them in with a meaningful glance. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  “Well,” Darcy put in. “I’m actually here for a conference so I’ll be in town for a few more days, just in case you need me for something.”

  “Sounds good,” Phillips said. “Thanks for understanding.” Standing up he put his hand out to Jon. The crow was dark against his skin.

  Jeff crossed his arms and gloated with a told-you-so smirk.

  ***

  “What does it mean?”

  Jon and Darcy were back in the hotel room. She held the coin in her hand, turning it over from clover to crow and back again. “I’m not sure. Officer Phillips is definitely involved somehow.”

  “Have you asked Jeff?”

  She frowned and rolled her eyes. “Now he doesn’t want to be chatty. Apparently he thinks he’s gotten his message across. He told us to beware he crow, and now we have a crow on a coin, and a crow on Mark Phillips’ arm. It’s got to be connected.”

  “Yeah, but the only reason we know so is because Jeff said.” Jon looked around the room, as if he was trying to see Jeff. “We can’t exactly call your dead ex-husband in to testify on the stand.”

  In the corner, Jeff sulked.

  “So we have to do more legwork,” Darcy said, ignoring Jeff. She knew better than to feed into his moods. “How often do you end up doing that anyway? My gift can point us in the right direction but I know we need the proof…”

  They needed more guidance, she realized.

  “What?” Jon asked her when she trailed off. “What is it?”

  A thought had occurred to Darcy. She didn’t like it, but it might be the only way.

  “I need to do another communication,” she told Jon. “I need to call up Marla again. I’m just not looking forward to what I might see this time.”

  Jon took her hands. “I’ll be right here with you. And remember. Whatever she can show you is in the past. You can’t let it hurt you. It can’t change what you and I have now.”

  She leaned into him and let him hold her close. “I know,” she said.

  Knowing didn’t change the way she felt, though.

  Chapter Nine

  The fan in the bathroom whirred as it worked to clear out the smoke from the candles circled around Darcy once more. Jon had hopped up to sit on the sinktop. Jeff moped in the bathtub again. She had drawn the curtain closed across it before she started, but she could still sense him back there, being annoying. Annoying and silent.

  Calling up the images of the fog in her mind she reached out to Marla. She was even more reluctant to come forth this time, and it took Darcy some effort to make the contact. When she did appear, she turned and crossed her arms, not looking right at Darcy.

  Ha, Darcy thought to herself. Not calling me names now, are you?

  “Marla. Did Riley Mason kill you?”

  Marla’s specter shifted from foot to foot. There was a tugging sensation like an invisible rope between them. Marla wanted to leave, but Darcy’s will kept her here in this place between life and death.

  Finally, Marla shook her head. No. Riley Mason wasn’t the killer.

  Okay. That was what Darcy and Jon had already figured. None of the pieces fit with Riley as the murderer. Too many holes and questions.

  Like this next one.

  “Can you tell me who killed you?”

  Marla nodded, her smoky form drifting away and then pulling back into sharp focus. Wherever this was leading, Marla did not want to admit to it.

  She looked at Darcy finally, her eyes darkening with menace. “The crow.”

  That was as indirect an answer as she had expected. Darcy had faced angry spirits before. For the most part, there was little they could do to the living. Strong ones could throw objects at your head. Angry ones could make you feel uncomfortable or prickly or cold or hot. She’d been through that, and worse sometimes, and she wasn’t fearing it from Marla.

  The answer Marla had given her, though, surprised her. The crow had killed her. Jeff had confirmed already that Officer Mark Phillips, with the tattoo on his arm, was the crow that he and Marla kept talking about. Beware the crow, Jeff had said before Darcy and Marla had gone out to that bar. Somehow, he had known Marla would run into Mark Phillips here in Ryansburg.

  So how had he known that? And, why would Phillips, a police officer, want to kill Marla?

  Marla’s spirit rushed forward at her, right up close to Darcy’s face, angry and screaming and terrifying. “You don’t get to know! I had him when you didn’t want him! Jeff was mine! MINE!”


  Darcy nearly fled the vision. Spectral image or not, what Marla had just done sent cold chills up Darcy’s spine even as her heart began racing. She had to calm herself down before she lost the connection between them altogether.

  Suddenly, she realized that was what Marla wanted.

  There was a deeper mystery here, something that even in death Marla didn’t want to admit to. Something involving her and Jeff together, obviously. Something that had gotten Marla killed.

  Darcy locked her gaze on Marla’s and held it, forcing the spirit back, making Marla bend to her will. “Show me,” Darcy said. “Show me what you and Jeff did.”

  Marla shook her head so hard she started to wisp into streaks of color and light. Darcy leaned forward, sending more of her will into the conjuring. “Show me, Marla.”

  The swirling clouds of mists around her snapped into clear focus so violently that Darcy knew her real body had jerked in surprise. She hoped she wasn’t scaring Jon. She also hoped he didn’t try to wake her from this.

  She needed to see this.

  Marla, younger by a few years but still the red headed beauty showing off for the world around her, was talking to an old gentleman with thin, snow white hair. They sat at a small kitchen table, and even though the old man was dressed in a checkered shirt and khaki slacks, Marla was dressed in a prim black dress and a white shirt and a black suit jacket. Not her usual style, Darcy reflected. This outfit was more appropriate for a business woman.

  “As you can see, Robert,” Marla said to the man, pushing a piece of paper across the table to him, “your assets will be well taken care of. We will hold them in trust for you, and guarantee you a five percent return on them. That’s better than any banking institution in the state can give you.”

  Darcy didn’t understand. Marla had never been a banker or anything like that. At least, not that she knew. So what was going on here?

  Robert lifted the sheet of paper with shaky hands. “Well,” he said. “It all looks good to me, but I’m still not sure. I have more than enough to live on the rest of my life. I’m comfortable. I’m really not sure I should take the risk.”