The Last Storyteller
Ravenscar Shifters Book One
∞
Michelle Dutton
Other books available by Michelle Knowlden
The Abishag Mystery Quartet
Sinking Ships: An Abishag’s First Mystery
Indelible Beats: An Abishag’s Second Mystery
Riddle in Bones: An Abishag’s Third Mystery
An Eggshell Present: An Abishag’s Fourth Mystery
Deluded Detective Mysteries
Jack Fell Down
Egrets, I’ve Had a Few
The Admiral of Signal Hill: a 1922 California mystery
Orange Ranch Brides (Michelle Dutton)
Lillian in the Doorway
The Last Storyteller (Michelle Dutton)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Beginning
An excerpt from Lillian in the Doorway
An excerpt from Sinking Ships: An Abishag’s First Mystery
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
She’s dead.
Leaning into the soft breeze from the train window, Miri felt a glimmering of grief. No tears. Only a small tightening in her throat like remembered sorrow.
The train angled around a curve and a coastline of rocks and waves hove into view. She tasted salt in the air. Diving and calling, gulls circled the train. The tracks turned again, hiding the ocean behind limestone hills. The gulls paced the train seconds longer and then winged to the sea.
Fourteen years ago, Miri had so hated her sister that she fled their home and refused to return. Not when her nephew was born seven months later. Not when Miri’s boyfriend, Trey, adopted the boy and christened him Jeffrey. Not when Elise, pregnant again, married Andrew McVey last Christmas.
Idly, she held the memory stick in her hand. A record of stories she’d collected in the past fourteen years. During all that time, the hate had turned to contempt. Elise had been fifteen and flighty. Obviously still capricious since she’d married a McVey. Or was capricious. Miri’s throat tightened again.
She wouldn't think about Trey. That pain went deeper.
She’d left Los Angeles hours ago as dawn crested Antelope Highway. They passed through miles of the rarely-visited-California of farms, microchip factories, pewter workshops, ranches, and art colonies. Memories of her childhood and Elise pressed against her as she recognized the clefts of the hills and the scent of home.
A flock of starlings swooped near and suddenly scattered when four ravens aligned themselves with the train, soot-colored wings pumping, sharp eyes peering through the windows. All but one peeled away, soaring on warm winds from the Sierras. She leaned back in the seat, hoping to melt into the shadows, but moved too late. The raven fixed on her, his eyes like black beads piercing the dim compartment and fourteen years. His throat feathers—distinctly marking him Stevens bloodline—ruffled in a gust. He then cut away to wing leisurely to the station ahead.
The train chuffed to a stop in the town of Ravenscar. She was the only passenger to disembark. As she stepped onto the platform, small suitcase in hand, she looked for the town sheriff. A moment later Jonas Stevens appeared at his office door with a wide smile. He dropped the shoes he carried, hurried across the planks in regulation socks, and swept her into a hug.
She’d left Ravenscar at eighteen, but that didn’t explain why Sheriff Stevens seemed short now. Probably because everyone was tall in Los Angeles. The town looked small in comparison to LA too. Peering over his shoulder at the quiet street shaded by scrub oaks, palms and olive trees, she relaxed in his comforting embrace. When he released her, his eyes swam with tears. She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see that hers were dry.
When they settled into the police car, he jingled keys as he studied her. She mustered a smile. “I’m fine. You can tell me.”
“It’ll be a small casket,” he said.
She already knew that. When Jean called with the news last night, she’d started with “It’ll be a small casket.”
“How did she die?”
His eyes shuttered. Starting the car, he said, “Best to ask your folks.”
As they idled in the four-car parking lot, the cruiser pointed to downtown Ravenscar—all six buildings of it.
“Bet it looks different to you now, don’t it?”
His gaze sharpened on her again, so she turned to look out the window. The terminal with the attached post office and sheriff’s station looked the same. Rafe’s Diner, the gas station, and Fuller’s drugstore across the street hadn’t changed either. Even the peeling sea-green paint, cracked sidewalks, and posters in the windows looked as she remembered them.
She frowned. Gesturing to a storefront that used to sell liquor and birdbaths, she said, “That’s new.” Then her finger dropped when she read the sign.
“Yeah.” Stevens shot her an uncomfortable look. “Trey’s IT business got to be too much for working just from his barn. He opened a office here in town ‘bout three years ago.”
Forcing her gaze off the Romero Technical Solutions storefront, Miri stared so hard at Rafe’s café that Jonas asked, “Want to grab a sandwich?”
She shook her head. “Jean knows I’m coming. I expect she’s prepared something.”
The sheriff grinned. “Jean’s probably prepared enough for an invasion.” He would know. Jean was a Stevens too.
As they bumped down the road (some of the holes were new), Miri couldn’t stop herself from looking into Trey Romero’s office. The storefront was dark, and she felt a surge of relief that he wasn’t there. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him. Even if the whole village didn’t turn out for a burial, he’d be expected to bring Jeffrey to his mother’s funeral. The longer she put off seeing him suited her.
“How are your daughters?” she asked. She didn’t care, but he’d wonder at her not asking. By nightfall, everyone would know about it and think that the city girl was too full of herself. Then somebody would talk to her father who would have to talk to her. And she couldn’t do that to him, not when he’d lost his youngest.
The sheriff chuckled. “Larkspur made me a grandpa, did you hear? Boy twins two years ago, smart as their mom. She married one of the Fuller boys over at the orchard. You ever see their olive oil down Los Angeles way? They ship out of state too.”
After they passed the last building at a sedate fifteen miles per hour, he accelerated to forty. The lane to the real Ravenscar was only slightly better than the street behind the station, but bad roads discouraged strangers.
“Marigold’s still in school. Got a medal in diving last year. I been beating the boys off with a stick.” He smiled proudly.
“And Hyacinth?” His middle daughter had been in her class.
He hesitated, sliding her a furtive look. For the first time, she saw the gray in his hair and wondered if her father had aged as well.
“She does office work for Trey.”
She blinked. Ah, that explained his discomfort. “Does she? I thought she was going to cosmetology college after high school.” Her heart rate increased, but she managed to keep her voice steady. She congratulated herself for even sounding a little bored.
He relaxed. She must have fooled him. “It was an uphill battle getting our ladies to trust their hairdos to anyone but Betty or Reen. So she did one of them online secretarial courses. She answers the phone for Trey and does his books. Does the orchard accounts too.”
She couldn’t help asking. “She never married?”
He shook his head. “She was seeing one of Rafe’s cousins for a bit, a McVey. Her mom and me discouraged it so she moved on …” Then he clamped his lips shut.
&nbs
p; “To Trey?” She kept her voice light. Even raised an eyebrow at the sheriff and half smiled.
She must have convinced him again that she no longer cared a jot for Trey. He exhaled with relief. “So Cinthy says. Don’t see much of him as he’s busy with the kid and that job of his, but the town would like to see him married. Being the last of his bloodline and all. And her mom and me would like to see her settled.”
“Of course.” She let her attention drift to the telephone poles that lined the road and the ravens perched on the wires. She felt sick and wondered if she’d paled as he talked. Trey and Hyacinth? Was Trey insane?
The knuckles on her fists whitened. Would she be able to bear seeing them together? She gritted her teeth. If she could stand seeing the son Trey and Elise made, then seeing him with one of the high school mean girls should be easy.
The cruiser cut through the hill that separated the public town of Ravenscar with the real Ravenscar. He slowed as they exited the tunnel, and Miri inhaled sharply with the sight of home. The village grew from an abandoned quarry, with a multi-leveled rookery housing high schoolers, young singles, and a few newly-marrieds. It looked like the cliff dwellings of the Anasazi.
Painted peacock colors and pastels, the village homes sprawled at the cliff base and on either side of a creek that ran through the valley from the Sierra mountains to the sea. Most were box-shaped with square windows but with the wry humor of her people, some looked like birdhouses with round windows and pegs for perches.
Some houses sat cheek-to-cheek as certain bloodlines liked living close to extended family. Groves of fruits trees and padlocks separated other houses. A few homes were so distant from each other, the neighbors couldn’t see their porch lights at night.
She remembered every family in every apartment and in every house. She knew the blood she shared with some and the stories she shared with all. But not the stories that continued spooling after she’d gone.
The village school sat on a small rise near the road midway through the town. The sheriff slowed the car to a crawl, and his face crinkled into a smile. “It’s ‘bout three. Been awhile since you seen kids flying outa school?”
She didn’t bother answering. Loosening her seatbelt, she leaned over his driving arm and her pulse quickened. Parents stood on the roadside, talking in clumps, their attention on the open doors and windows of the emerald green two-story building. Iron stairs ran to the second floor at the back of the building. A crenellated rooftop gave the school a vaguely fortress look.
In Ravenscar, children started school at the age of eight and occupied six classrooms on the bottom floor till the age of twelve. High school ran from thirteen to sixteen on the second floor. Except for maybe a McVey or two, every kid tested out of school at sixteen.
The cruiser was still rolling when a whirling cyclone of black shot from doors and windows of the second floor, circled the school and headed skyward. Two specks broke from the storm and veered at top speed towards the police car.
When the birds swooped over the hood, the sheriff swerved and slammed on the brakes. Miri’s head hit the windshield. As they’d been coasting, it didn’t hurt much. Jonas shoved the gearshift into park and turned her head towards him with a gentle hand.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “It …” But he didn’t wait. He vaulted from the car and ran across the street, shouting something she couldn’t hear.
She stepped outside and leaned against the door, feeling a wave of dizziness. Maybe she’d hit her head harder than she thought. Or maybe the bright sunlight caused the patina of sparkles on the road and cars. Or maybe she’d gone woozy because they’d almost hit the boys.
The black cyclone melted back into the school.
“Trey!” Jonas shouted. One of parents, jogging up the rise to the school entrance, half-turned, and waved at the sheriff. “I’m on it, Jonas.”
The sheriff shook his fist at him. “Second time this week. Haul his sorry butt to my house tonight. And bring his sidekick too. Enough is enough.”
Even from a hundred feet away, Miri saw resignation on Trey’s face. “I hear you …” Seeing Miri near the patrol car, he went silent.
For a long moment they stared at each other. Miri felt the blood drain from her face and her bones went impossibly light. Still dazzled by the sunlight, the building seemed to vanish, and only he remained. He went rigid, first with shock and then with fury. Trey spun around and disappeared through the school’s open glass doors.
As the sheriff trudged to the car, she slipped inside, fingering the tender spot on her forehead so he couldn’t see the expression on her face. She was afraid he’d see the yearning so she concentrated on the confusion. Although the two boys had skimmed over the hood fast, she’d had the time to identify both. One was a Towe and Fuller and the other a Corbin (like her) and McVey, the latter obviously the leader of the two and easily recognizable by the McVey crown and the Corbin flight feathers.
So which one was Trey’s?
CHAPTER TWO
Trey Romero paced in front of the fourteen-year-olds’ classroom, still fuming and still knocked-sideways from seeing Miri. Jeff, of course, was the last one to leave. His buddy Vince’s eyes widened seeing Trey, and he tried to sidle past him. Trey grabbed him by his shirt.
“Nice try, kid, but you’re busted.”
“S’okay, dude.” His son flicked at Trey’s hand holding a fistful of Vince’s shirt. Trey considered dragging both boys from the school by their collars, but a passing teacher frowned at him. He let Vince go and turned on Jeff.
“Dude?” Trey shot Jeff a fulsome look. “Let me say, dude, that the two of you are six-ways-to-Sunday in trouble. Sheriff wants to see you both at his place tonight.”
Vince slid an uneasy glance at Jeff. “Do my parents gotta know?”
“You took so much time dressing that I had time to call your dad and tell him.”
Vince shivered. “Oh, man.”
“You can say that again.” He nudged the boys to the door. “Get in the truck. I’m taking you home.”
He dropped off Vince first. Oren Towe stepped off the porch when he pulled into their driveway. Vince shivered again when he saw his father, but straightened as he climbed out of the car.
“Get in the house,” Oren said before his son could say anything. Exhaling with relief, the boy raced inside.
“I can pick up Vince and take both boys to the sheriff tonight,” Trey said. “I expect this is mostly my kid’s fault. He should own up to it.”
Oren leaned into the car and stared at Jeff who looked at the cab’s ceiling with his best I-don’t-give-a flying-fig attitude. “Whoever’s idea it was, Vince didn’t have to go along with it. I’ll take you up on the offer of a ride, but I’m going too. Sheriff can be too soft. I’ll make sure the punishment will hurt for a good, long while.”
Jeff shut them out with his earbuds. When Trey was sure Jeff couldn’t hear him, he said quietly, “Kids came close to hitting the windshield of Jonas’s car. Scared the stuffing out of me.”
“Yeah.” Oren spat meditatively into his dead wife’s petunias. “They’re more feathers than brain at this age.” His lips quirked. “I remember us doing something similar when we were kids.”
Trey wanted to hold onto his anger longer, but he felt his lips curl upwards. “Like that time at Fuller’s barn?”
“Like then, yeah.”
Trey put his truck in gear. “I remember that was your idea.”
“You remember wrong.” Oren stepped away from the truck. “See you after dinner?”
Trey nodded. As he backed down the driveway, he glanced at Jeff. The kid had slumped in the seat, a finger twitching to the music, studiously ignoring Trey.
It was a short and silent ride to the ranch.
Jeff tried to get to the house without speaking to his father, but Trey stopped him before he reached the door.
“After you change, tell Mrs. Jenkins we’ll have dinner at six. Then see me in the barn.”
A hundred steps to his office, Trey stalled at the barn door. The last thing he needed was to deal with … He took a calming breath.
“Hyacinth. Didn’t I tell you to go home at three?” He tried to give her a wide berth as he circled around her to get to his desk, but she leaned in close to brush up against him in a manner she probably considered sexy. He considered it cat-like and annoying. And her musky perfume made his eyes water.
“You did, boss.” She hitched her shapely bottom onto his desk, wrinkling a report he’d hoped to finish that afternoon. “But after you left, I took a few calls that I figured you’d want to hear posthaste.”
He stifled a sigh. “Who called?”
She inched closer. “Would you like some coffee first? I made a fresh pot.”
He gritted his teeth. “Who called?”
Hyacinth dragged out the drama of two simple software issues for the next twenty minutes. It took another fifteen minutes, three broad hints, and an outright demand that she leave before she finally sashayed from the barn. A minute later, she poked her head over the file cabinets that served as a wall to his office.
“Boss?”
“Hyacinth,” he said not even bothering to contain the exasperated tone in his voice. “Whatever it is can wait till tomorrow.”
“Sure,” a small, familiar voice on the other side of the cabinets said. “I’ll come back in the morning.”
He stood so quickly that he overturned the coffee Hyacinth insisted on pouring before she left. Swearing, he mopped it up, trying to salvage the report.
“Miri?”
She circled around Hyacinth. “Hello, Trey.” A tentative smile came and went.
“Well, well.” Hyacinth looked from Miri to Trey. “Did the temperature in here suddenly plummet?”
“No,” he said shortly. “You were going home, yes?”
The Last Storyteller (Ravenscar Shifters Book 1) Page 1