A Circle of Crows

by Kelsey Kingsley

  The ache of missing Gracie was then front and center in my mind, piercing my heart and blossoming into a radiating heat that burned all the way down to my toes. I stared into the wood paneling behind Rick’s upholstered armchair, imagining that, if I just looked hard enough, I would see her face in the knots and grain, when Rick cleared his throat and stood from the chair.

  “Well, I should tend to the lawn,” he announced abruptly. Then, turning to TJ, he asked, “Would ye like to help, laddie?”

  My son sighed as he stood from the sofa. “I guess so. Nothing else to do around here.”

  The two left the living room, and as the backdoor shut, the house became cloaked in a heavy, suffocating hush. A clock ticked away the seconds somewhere deep inside its walls, and I was all too aware of the rise and fall of my chest. Every second and every breath, was another my sister was denied, and I thought of her. I thought of her eyes and forced my mind to recall her voice, until tears spilled over my cheeks and into my lap.

  “God, Gracie,” I whispered to the universe, hoping she could hear me.

  Then, I fell asleep, with the hope I wouldn't see her ghastly face in my dreams.

  ***

  Some time later, a sweaty TJ woke me up with a nudge against my shoulder. In his hand, was my cellphone, and he said, “It's Dad. He wants to talk to you.”

  In a fog and wondering how long I had slept, I managed to sit up to take the phone from my son. Putting it to my ear, I laid a hand over my eyes and muttered, “Hey, Tom.”

  “So, not only did you pull our son out of school to go to Scotland, but you somehow managed to get him wrapped up in a fucking murder investigation?”

  My ex-husband’s brash, accusatory tone startled me from my groggy stupor, and I narrowed my eyes in quick defense.

  “You know why I brought him with me,” I replied, immediately angry. “It was a chance to get away to clear our heads, and—”

  “And put yourselves in danger,” he concluded, a blend of anger and fear chilling his voice. “TJ told me you’re staying at some detective’s house because he’s afraid you’re being followed, and at what point were you going to call and tell me what was going on?”

  “Tom, I—”

  “You’re not a stupid person, Rosie! And that’s why I can’t understand why you’re doing this!”

  My heart raced, desperate to defend myself and my actions, while finding no other explanation than, “It all just happened so quickly, I haven’t had a chance to call. I’m sorry. But we’re okay—”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re okay to me.”

  “I was thinking I should send TJ home, actually.”

  “What?!” TJ shouted from beside me. “I don’t want to go—”

  I cut him off with a slash of my hand through the air as I continued. “I can get him on the next flight home. But I’m staying.”

  Tom sighed heavily. “Rosie …”

  He had always had this way of patronizing me, and it never failed to piss me off. But I knew it came from a place of genuine care, and that knowledge kept my shoulders from tensing with any new determination to shut him up.

  “I need to do this, Tom,” I pressed. “The cops here are ruling her death as an accident and it’s not. Someone killed Gracie, and I cannot come home until I know for sure that they have the bastard who did it.”

  “But you don’t need to get yourself killed, too,” he replied, his voice a gruff whisper.

  “I won’t,” I insisted, while knowing I could never promise something like that. “And TJ is safe right now. We both are. But like I said, I have been thinking about sending him home. Because you’re right; he shouldn’t be involved in this. It’s not good for him to be here, and it’s not helping me at all to worry about him.”

  He hesitated, and part of me hoped he would demand I send our son back to him. If I could have made the choice over again, knowing what I know now, I never would have dragged him onto that plane in the first place. I would have come alone and held tightly to the assurance that my only son was safe at home. But just as I’d hoped he’d demand for TJ to be with him, I also hoped he’d insist it was fine and that he was only overreacting, as foolish as I knew it was to hope for a lie. I just didn’t want to be left alone.

  “I’ll look into flights,” he finally said, and my heart soared as my stomach plummeted.

  “Okay,” I replied, nodding.

  “I’ll text you the details when I book the flight,” he said, relieved. “Are you sure I can’t get you a ticket, too?”

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head. “I know it sounds crazy, but I need to do this. I can’t explain why, I just—”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Rosie,” he replied, using the tone I had fallen in love with so many years ago. “Whatever you need to do, I accept it, even if I don’t understand it. I just want you to be safe. Please. And if you won’t do that for me, do it for TJ. Okay? Don’t do anything stupid, for him.”

  I sniffed a sad little laugh. “I never do.”

  “I know. But now really wouldn’t be a good time to start.”

  We said our goodbyes and I hung up to face my angry son, betrayal heavy in his sorrowful eyes. He shook his head and snatched his phone from my hands, before standing from the couch and heading toward the entryway steps.

  “This is bullshit,” he shouted, close to tears. “You wanted to do this together. And now, you’re sending me away.”

  Sighing, I scrubbed my hand over my face. “TJ, your dad is right. Keeping you here could be putting you in serious danger. You’ll be a lot safer at home and—”

  “Yeah, and what about you? You don’t need to be safe?” he mocked, sneering, and furrowing his brow.

  I opened my mouth to reply, when the front door opened. My lips clamped shut, as I steered my eyes toward the doorway, and in walked Alec, looking even more unkempt than he did when he left that morning. His eyes bounced between us, obviously noting that mother and son were once again in the middle of another heated argument, before they settled on me.

  “Rosie, can I speak to ye for a moment?” he asked, dropping his messenger bag unceremoniously beside the armchair Rick had occupied earlier that day.

  “Sure,” I said, standing and unofficially putting an end to the conversation with my son, who took the hint and huffed his way up the stairs, where we heard a door being slammed shut.

  Wincing, I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “What're ye apologizin' for?”

  I motioned toward the stairs with lazy flourish. “You know. That.”

  “Ye were fightin' again?”

  “Always,” I grumbled, as I opened my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “I told his father I think it’s time he goes home.”

  Alec nodded. “It's a good idea. This situation …” He frowned and mirrored my stance, before shaking his head. “I don’t like where it's headin'. Hell, if I'm bein' honest, I don’t like the idea of you bein' here either.”

  Scoffing, I looked away from his insistent eyes and the way they seemed to silently beg me to leave on the next plane with my son. “Well, I'm going to tell you what I told my ex. There's no way I'm leaving, not now. I need to make sure that—”

  “I didnae say I don’t understand it,” he interrupted, his tone soft yet firm. “And clearly, ye've already made yer decision, and I'm not gonna try to change yer mind. I'm just grateful ye've also decided to take yer son out of the equation. That's one less thing to worry about.”

  Turning back to him, I nodded firmly. “His father is looking into flights now.”

  “Good.”

  Then, I asked, “Did you find anything out today?”

  Alec sighed and loosened his arms, as he walked to the couch and sat down. “Aye. I received a call today from a woman, who had discovered a bloody shoe in the woods near her house.”

  “The woods where you found Gracie,” I guessed, my voice a hoarse whisper.

  I watched him nod. “I
t was hers,” he replied.

  Nausea settled in my gut like a stone, and I blew out a heavy breath as I dropped into a chair. Alec scrubbed a hand through his hair, pushing the strands into even more disarray.

  “There's no blood on the stone, either,” he continued, with a fresh air of heated frustration and anger. “Not a fuckin' drop.”

  “You saw it?”

  He nodded, training his eyes on me. “I answered the woman’s call with Finley, and we went into the woods together. He seems as suspicious as we are, but …” He pulled in a deep breath and shook his head.

  “You can't trust him.”

  “No. I havnae ruled him out yet.”

  His shoulders sagged then, and his chin dropped to greet his chest. I imagined I could see the weight and loneliness he carried, the heaviness of being forced to handle this case by himself. Gracie would have hated that. She was a giving, selfless person who never liked a single drop of attention to fall in her direction, and now, she had it all. Every last bit.

  “I still want to see the stone,” I reminded him, and he lifted his head to meet my eyes.

  “Not tonight,” he replied firmly. “I've already been there today.”

  Fiery persistence spread up my spine and down my arms, reaching my fingertips, and curling my hands into tight fists. “You said you'd take me. You can't just expect me to sit around here doing nothing when there's so—”

  “I'll take ye tomorrow,” he cut me off, raising his voice. “We'll go when it's dark, to keep anyone from seein' us, but I willnae go back there tonight and risk raisin' suspicion.”

  My hands loosened against my thighs, and I released a long-winded breath, as I nodded and said, “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

  Sighing, he replied, “If ye really wannae do somethin' tonight, ye're welcome to come with me to the inn. But that's all I'm doin'.”

  Without a moments’ hesitation, I stood up and crossed the floor to the doorway, as I said, “Well, then, I guess we're going to the inn.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ROSIE

  TJ wasn't happy to be left out of the action, but I didn't give him a choice when I told him that I was leaving with Alec to go back to the inn. Knowing that someone out there had tampered with Gracie's belongings, I couldn't find a single reason to risk his safety by bringing him with us. But there was no way I could miss out on looking further through her things, especially while they still held onto her scent. I imagined, that if I closed my eyes and held one of her shirts to my nose, I'd be able to convince myself that she was actually there, and on the car ride to The Whispering Crow, I realized I was looking forward to it.

  “Ye can change the station if ye'd like,” Alec grumbled from beside me, busting through my foolish reverie.

  I hadn't been paying attention to the radio before, but now, I listened to Van Morrison's “Into the Mystic,” and my mouth spread into a small, melancholic smile.

  “My mom loves this song,” I told him, reaching out to turn the volume up.

  “Hm,” he responded, nodding.

  “Every weekend, she would open up all the windows in the house and put Van Morrison on while she cleaned. She'd turn the volume up so loud, the neighbors could hear, and she'd give Gracie and me cloths to polish the furniture and dust the TV.” I turned toward the window and smiled at the burnt orange sunset. “We would dance and sing and turn it into a game. I mean, when we got older, we realized we were only doing chores and it stopped being a good time, but back then, we had so much fun.”

  Emotion wrapped its cold, bony fingers around my neck and squeezed until I parted my lips in a silent gasp. “God,” I said in a choked whisper. “Gracie had to be, I don't know, only three or four back then.”

  I tried to recall what she sounded like, as a three-year-old girl, but couldn't. My eyes filled with tears at the cruel reality that all of life is fleeting, and that every second passed is another we can never get back. I hated how our parents had rarely taken pictures of us as kids. Especially when we were polishing and dusting the furniture, while listening to Van Morrison.

  In a hurry, I reached out and began to jab at the buttons on the console, in a desperate attempt to find something to listen to that wouldn't rekindle memories I'd rather keep buried.

  “It doesnae help any to not think about her,” Alec said, as I settled on The Beatles' “Blackbird.”

  “I know. I think about her all the damn time,” I replied, turning my gaze to the passing trees, cobblestone roads, and old buildings that have seen far more than I ever will. “I just don't want to think about her right now.”

  He grunted a sympathetic sound, before saying, “Then, let's think about somethin' else. Ye said ye always wanted to come to Scotland.”

  I sniffled a laugh because Scotland always made me think of Gracie. It was one of the many things we had bonded over in adulthood. But still, I appreciated his attempt to make me feel better, and replied, “Yeah, I've always been in love with Scotland. Or, I should say, the idea of Scotland.”

  Alec guffawed, made a disgusted sound, and asked, “God, why?”

  I laughed incredulously. “Seriously?”

  “All right,” he relented, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. “The big cities—Glasgow, Edinburgh, hell, even Inverness—I can see the appeal. There's shite to do, and shite to look at, but this?” He thrust a hand toward the windshield.

  I sighed and settled into the seat. “You're going to make me get into this now, huh?”

  “I'm genuinely curious.”

  I turned to him then, which was a mistake. Because the setting sun painted his face in shadow and light, emphasizing the structure of his triangular nose and the sharp, crisp cut of his jawline. My heart stuttered at the loosened tie around his neck, and my tongue dried, as my eyes drifted down his wrinkled shirt sleeves, to the rolled cuffs at his elbows. No one man deserved to look that good, not ever, and I was suddenly far too aware of how alone we were.

  “Um,” I said, hoarse and wishing for water, “well, have you ever heard of Outlander?”

  His groan didn't surprise me. “Oh, Christ. You're one of them.”

  “What? An Outlander fan?” I asked, mocking defensiveness.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I nodded with a healthy dose of pride. “I've been a fan for years, and yeah, the show is great, but the books are so much better. I read the first one when I was a teenager, and loved it then, but I reread it when I was going through my divorce. And … I don't know. It just … gave me somewhere to go, I guess. Like, when everything else was going to hell around me, I escaped to Scotland with Jamie and Claire, and it made everything better again.”

  As we turned onto Devonshire, I waited for Alec's gruff reply. A dash of mockery or perhaps a snide remark about falling in love with a foolish fantasy. But he said nothing, as he pulled up to the uneven stones lined up at the curb and pulled the key from the ignition. I looked to him with uncertain expectation, and when he caught my eye, he immediately looked away.

  “What?” he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

  “That's it? You have nothing to say?”

  He hesitated, keeping his crumpled-brow-stare on the steering wheel, before saying, “Three years ago, my wife had been pregnant. I had never wanted children with her, but when I knew I’d be a father, I was happy, and I thought we could make things work between us. But then, while I was at work one night, she lost the bairn.”

  I clamped my teeth shut and swallowed, then replied, “I'm sorry.”

  “Of course, it affected her differently than it did me. She was more open to expressin' her emotions, and she found groups of women to talk to. Y'know, other women who had experienced miscarriage. It helped her a lot, and that was great for her, but I didnae talk. There just wasnae anythin' to say. Talkin' didnae change things, and it didnae bring the bairn back. So, I buried myself in my work,” he said, wrapping his hands around the wheel and keeping his eyes on its worn, black vinyl. “It was probably
the worst thing I couldae done but focusin' all my attention entirely on the horrible things that happened in the lives of other people made my own life feel not so terrible.”

  He cleared his throat, then without another word, left the car. Taken aback, I let his confession settle against my heart as I climbed out after him. Together, we walked down the sidewalk toward The Whispering Crow's entrance, when he suddenly stopped and took my arm, turning me toward his stony glare.

  “All I'm sayin' is, I understand the need for an escape,” he said needlessly. Then, added, “And, as horrible as the circumstances are, I'm glad that yers brought ye here. For whatever it's worth.”

  ***

  I held my breath as Alec slid the key into the lock, and as he turned the knob, I squeezed my eyes shut, in an attempt to brace myself for what we might find behind the door. What I expected to find, I couldn't say. Perhaps the killer was now hiding beneath the bed, just waiting for our eventual arrival. Or maybe the ghost of my sister would be found, perched at the end of the bed, one thigh crossed over the other, with her footless ankle, bouncing and swaying through the air in a carefree fashion.

  When Alec pushed the door open, I gasped, afraid to open my eyes. But as he stepped inside, I heard him stop and ask, “Rosie, are ye all right?”

  Slowly peeling my eyelids open, I peered into the room, to find it barren of both Gracie's grinning ghost and her killer, and I nodded.

  “Yeah,” I said, breathless, before stepping inside after him.

  As he shut the door, I surveyed the room, searching for any change since the last time we'd been there. But it was like one of those hidden item games—what's different about these two pictures? I studied the floral bedspread for any new crease, the drab carpet for any fresh imprint, the lampshades for any tilt or misalignment, but the longer I looked, the more my frustration built.

  “I don't know what the hell I'm even looking for,” I admitted, dropping my arms to my sides with defeat. “Everything looks the same as it did last time.”

  “I didnae expect anythin' to change,” Alec told me, hurrying past me to the stack of Gracie's belongings. “We're not dealin' with an idiot. He’ll know we've been here.”