hollow, I heard a metallic noise from above. I looked up and gave a little jump.
A murder of crows, some three dozen in all, lined the upper branches of the birch tree. Three dozen pairs of steely black eyes stared down at me. Their spokesman was on a low-hanging branch and he reproached me insistently: caw caw caw . His fellows clicked their beaks rapidly in concurrence.
“Quiet down,” I said.
The birds clicked even louder.
My hand found the key, just where it used to be, and it turned in the padlock. The wooden door to the barn opened reluctantly. I peered in cautiously at first and saw with relief that Lilly’s corpse had been removed. I hoped Rebecca had given her a decent burial; whatever the imperfections of her life, the young woman plainly merited as much.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I gazed around the small enclosure, not sure what I was looking for but looking nonetheless. The slatted walls were bare. Loose bales of hay lined the perimeter of the room. In the center of the dirt floor, like an awful beacon, lingered an irregular dark stain. I gulped and stared at the shadow of Lilly’s final moments.
I tried to picture the scene as it had been several weeks earlier. Could someone have attacked the girl outside of the barn and later moved her body inside? The sheriff had dismissed the possibility, and as I looked around now, I couldn’t detect any signs of blood underneath the dirty footprints leading in and out of the barn. Surely, given the amount of blood that had flowed from the fatal wound at her final resting place, moving her injured body would have produced some kind of trail.
For the first time, I focused on the fact that the bale of hay against which Lilly had been reclined had been positioned to the side of the barn door, and her body had been facing away from the door when we had found it. Someone walking silently might have entered the barn without her knowing it, especially if her perceptions had been dimmed in some fashion. Perhaps she had fallen asleep in the barn and been set upon before she couldawake and react. Or perhaps the whiskey Prickett thought he’d detected had played a role.
I crouched and looked around the barn from Lilly’s vantage point in those final moments. What had she seen, sitting there against the bale of hay? Whom had she seen?
“Who’s there?” shouted a familiar voice.
In one motion, I rose to my feet and turned. Rebecca was standing in the doorway to the barn. There was a shotgun clutched in her hands.
“Hallo,” I said with a weak smile.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. The gun in her hands was pointing toward the ground a few feet from where I stood, and while she didn’t shoulder it, she did nothing to lay it down either.
“I needed to see again where Lilly died,” I said. There seemed no way around it. “I thought perhaps I could find something, something the sheriff had overlooked, that might show who did this.”
“You shouldn’t have come onto my property without permission. I heard from a neighbor there were two men walking about today, stirring up trouble about Lilly. From the description, I was afraid it was that corpulent publisher. And you.”
I nodded. “I’m on your side, Rebecca,” I said. “I’m trying to help—”
“I don’t need your help. Or want it.”
At that moment, there was a great fluttering behind Rebecca and the crows took the skies as one, screeching in angry tones. Immediately Rebecca swung around, raising the gun to her shoulder and advancing out of the barn as she scanned the horizon. Her finger was coiled on the trigger. I took a few steps forward so I could see out over her.
Someone or something had unnerved the crows. But the cause of their sudden flight was nowhere to be seen. We were all alone.
I was about to say as much when Rebecca swung around again. The shotgun was still at her shoulder and this time it was pointing straight at my heart. Less than ten feet separated
A murder of crows, some three dozen in all, lined the upper branches of the birch tree. Three dozen pairs of steely black eyes stared down at me. Their spokesman was on a low-hanging branch and he reproached me insistently: caw caw caw . His fellows clicked their beaks rapidly in concurrence.
“Quiet down,” I said.
The birds clicked even louder.
My hand found the key, just where it used to be, and it turned in the padlock. The wooden door to the barn opened reluctantly. I peered in cautiously at first and saw with relief that Lilly’s corpse had been removed. I hoped Rebecca had given her a decent burial; whatever the imperfections of her life, the young woman plainly merited as much.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I gazed around the small enclosure, not sure what I was looking for but looking nonetheless. The slatted walls were bare. Loose bales of hay lined the perimeter of the room. In the center of the dirt floor, like an awful beacon, lingered an irregular dark stain. I gulped and stared at the shadow of Lilly’s final moments.
I tried to picture the scene as it had been several weeks earlier. Could someone have attacked the girl outside of the barn and later moved her body inside? The sheriff had dismissed the possibility, and as I looked around now, I couldn’t detect any signs of blood underneath the dirty footprints leading in and out of the barn. Surely, given the amount of blood that had flowed from the fatal wound at her final resting place, moving her injured body would have produced some kind of trail.
For the first time, I focused on the fact that the bale of hay against which Lilly had been reclined had been positioned to the side of the barn door, and her body had been facing away from the door when we had found it. Someone walking silently might have entered the barn without her knowing it, especially if her perceptions had been dimmed in some fashion. Perhaps she had fallen asleep in the barn and been set upon before she couldawake and react. Or perhaps the whiskey Prickett thought he’d detected had played a role.
I crouched and looked around the barn from Lilly’s vantage point in those final moments. What had she seen, sitting there against the bale of hay? Whom had she seen?
“Who’s there?” shouted a familiar voice.
In one motion, I rose to my feet and turned. Rebecca was standing in the doorway to the barn. There was a shotgun clutched in her hands.
“Hallo,” I said with a weak smile.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. The gun in her hands was pointing toward the ground a few feet from where I stood, and while she didn’t shoulder it, she did nothing to lay it down either.
“I needed to see again where Lilly died,” I said. There seemed no way around it. “I thought perhaps I could find something, something the sheriff had overlooked, that might show who did this.”
“You shouldn’t have come onto my property without permission. I heard from a neighbor there were two men walking about today, stirring up trouble about Lilly. From the description, I was afraid it was that corpulent publisher. And you.”
I nodded. “I’m on your side, Rebecca,” I said. “I’m trying to help—”
“I don’t need your help. Or want it.”
At that moment, there was a great fluttering behind Rebecca and the crows took the skies as one, screeching in angry tones. Immediately Rebecca swung around, raising the gun to her shoulder and advancing out of the barn as she scanned the horizon. Her finger was coiled on the trigger. I took a few steps forward so I could see out over her.
Someone or something had unnerved the crows. But the cause of their sudden flight was nowhere to be seen. We were all alone.
I was about to say as much when Rebecca swung around again. The shotgun was still at her shoulder and this time it was pointing straight at my heart. Less than ten feet separated
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