Eating Crow (The Birdman Series Book 1)

by Hayton, Lee

  EATING CROW

  LEE HAYTON

  Copyright © 2017 Lee Hayton

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Cover design by James T. Egan, www.bookflydesign.com

  Dedication

  With eternal thanks to Kat Lind, the SIL Creative team, the Ds, and our fellow boot-campers at Phoenix Prime.

  Rise up from the ashes, people.

  Phoenix Prime is a Ph.D. level workshop that spans approximately four months. It uses applied industrial psychology to address components of writing, marketing, branding, business, contract issues, and productivity that combine Creative Writing and Business perspectives.

  The participants will create a portfolio to showcase their work alongside students in doctoral programs in several major universities. The objective, in addition to expanding the professional growth of all the participants, is to study the impact of the independent author-publisher on the commercial fiction industry.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A Free Short Story for You

  About the Author - Lee Hayton

  CHAPTER ONE

  As the taxi turned into her street, Victoria Collins’ anxiety-ridden stomach flared with pain. It felt as though it was trying to crawl up her esophagus as the ulcer’s teeth sharpened, biting deeper.

  Home was not where her heart was. Or her stomach.

  The drab asphalt streets, gray as the morning sky, lowered her mood from depressed to suicidal. When she’d abandoned her home a year before, Victoria had hoped it would be the last she saw of it.

  Now, a deposition and a civil suit against her for unlawful killing dragged her back again.

  Fun times.

  Even with her early-morning flight, the Florida morning had been spectacular to behold. A sun tinged yellow through to pink had its gentle rays reflected back from the cerulean blue ocean. A dusting of white fluff had been the only delineation between sea and sky.

  Landing in California, the plane had descended through layers of fog until the sun was a distant memory. The sullen heat sealed tight with a pollution lid.

  Only a few doors from her house now. Acid rose from Victoria’s stomach in a stinging burp. What she needed, was to head back to the carefree sun and sand of Florida. The antacid bottle tucked inside her bag would have to suffice, instead.

  Victoria swigged the pink liquid, her eyes screwed up in disgust against the chalky taste. Tossing it back into her handbag, she raised a shaking hand to her brow to wipe the acrid drops of sweat away.

  The cab pulled into her driveway just as a dark shape walked behind the closed drapes of her front bedroom. Senses jamming into high alert, Victoria took note of the house. Curtains drawn in some rooms, open in others. A car parked outside. Front door ajar.

  The house should be empty.

  The shadow moved again. Too far away for Victoria’s straining eyes to get a detailed look. Close enough to know it wasn't an errant play of light.

  “Wait here,” she ordered the driver, opening the door with one hand while the other searched in her handbag for a weapon. Not for the first time, Victoria wished for her old police-issue Glock.

  “No, you pay.” He waved a hand at the meters' baleful green light. “Pay, or I call the cops.”

  With her leg propping the door open, Victoria fumbled out the cash. She upped the total by ten but held onto the notes as she pushed them through the plexiglass slide. When the cabbie tugged, she repeated, “Wait here.”

  Once he nodded, she let go, getting out of the backseat. A shocked tinkle of broken glass inside the house was chased by the staccato burst of a curse word.

  The heavy cloud obscuring the early morning sun dipped the driveway into cold shade. A breeze whipped fall leaves into a rustling pile of red and orange danger signals against the fence.

  Victoria sprinted up the drive with determined steps, then pressed her back to the adobe wall. Her heart skipped, and muscles tightened around her ribcage. With her right cheek flush with the rough orange plaster, she followed its curve to tilt her head around the corner.

  The back-door landing was empty.

  Dipping her body low, Victoria shoulder-skimmed the wall as she ran for the door. Her fingers located the house keys—the only weapon on offer. She gripped the main key between her thumb and finger, the remainder splayed between her fingers. Her hand tightened into a fist.

  At the doorway, Victoria cautiously placed her ear against the pebbled glass. For a long moment, all she heard in her fear was her racing heartbeat. A tear of sweat slid down her forehead, into her eye. The salt stung.

  A low hum from inside indicated conversation or television.

  With her left hand, Victoria pulled her mobile phone from her jeans pocket. Without looking, she keyed in the local sheriff's office number from memory. The call connected, ringing as she slipped her key into the lock and turned.

  The door swung open, already unlocked.

  Shit! What did her useless property manager think she was paying him for?

  Two hundred dollars a month to collect the mail and mow the lawns, and he couldn't even keep the damn house locked. She may as well have hired ten-year-old Nathan from next door, paying him in candy.

  A man shouted from the front of the house, followed a second later by the slam of a trunk, then a car door. For a second, Victoria was hesitant to leave the back door. Then she shook her head and raced back to the corner. Just in time to see her cab reversing into the street.

  “Hey!” A black man ran across the lawn, shaking an angry fist at the fast-escaping vehicle. “What the hell?”

  “County Sheriff's Office,” a tinny voice said from the phone.

  Victoria whispered, “I'm at 245 Vendegard Drive. There's a burglary in progress. Can you send someone to assist?”

  “Repeat that, caller?”

  “245 Vendegard Drive,” Victoria said louder, flinching against the noise. “Burglary in progress.”

  The back door slammed open, and Victoria turned in fright, keys raised protectively in front of her face. A teenage girl stared back at her, worried eyes wide, mouth agape.

  “Dad!” the teenager yelled.

  A rustle of movement behind her. Victoria spun around again, in time to see the black man skid to a stop. His massive shoulders were level with her head.

  “Sorry, Ma'am,” the phone voice said. “Can you confirm the house number?”

  Victoria lowered her keys to her side. “Cancel that,” she said, disconnecting the call.

  The sun appeared, its reflection glistening from the dark skin of his arms. His shirt was only partially buttoned above a pair of strident sweatpants. The label and seams showed—inside-out. Wet hair dripped rivulets down his face.


  “Is that your luggage?” His voice was gentle, with a lilting cadence. French? African?

  Clearing her throat, Victoria circled the man at a safe distance. After a quick glance down the drive, she flicked her eyes back to his. At least the cabbie had dumped her belongings out, before abandoning her.

  “Yeah, that's mine.” Victoria backed away one step, another. She only stopped once her nerves signaled the space between them was comfortable. “This is my house. Can you tell me what you're doing here?”

  She waggled her mobile at him as a vague threat and the knuckleduster as a direct one. Ridiculous. Given his height, the man could keep her inferior frame out of striking range with one long arm.

  With a shake of his head, his expression relaxed into an amused smile. “You have the wrong address, lady. This is my house. We've been renting it for the last six months.”

  After one nod to his daughter, she retreated inside. The teen’s face was still confused, but the immediate crisis was over.

  For Victoria, the crisis had just begun.

  That useless, cheating, property manager.

  #

  “I really had no idea,” Arnaud said, his voice ashamed and apologetic.

  Victoria believed him. It was the fourth time he’d said it. If she felt any connection to him, she might even care.

  But there were enough problems on her plate without piling on this stranger and his daughter. She’d retained his name, Arnaud Jean-Louis, and that of his daughter Grace, but hoped her short-term memory wouldn’t be taxed with retaining them much longer.

  Victoria shifted in the passenger seat, blinking in the strong morning sun. Now the gray smog had lifted, the bright rays pelted her like a spotlight. A thumping headache beat a painful tattoo on her temples. All she wanted was to be left alone in her house. Wallowing in its ocean of sad memories.

  Instead, she got to pay a visit to the weasel agent who’d been cheating her. Not to mention cheating Arnaud and Grace. Her stomach gave a hesitant nibble, tentative panic held in check just beneath the surface. Once this mess was sorted, she’d be free to let it roam unchecked.

  The real estate office was one of a dozen shops in a strip mall. Each shop the same size, the same style. If it weren't for the signwriting, there'd be no differentiation. A far cry from the naturally evolved mishmash of architecture constructed along the city’s Main Street.

  “How much rent have you been paying?” Victoria asked as the vehicle nosed into the parking lot.

  Arnaud turned his face away, and Victoria let the question drop. Her father had also been of a generation that never mentioned money. The young folk she'd spent time with in Florida during her respite were the opposite. Each one permanently bragging.

  Anyway, chances were since Arnaud was illegally renting, it was cheap. Cheap enough to know better, maybe. Probably.

  “I'm here to see Willis,” Victoria announced to the receptionist—Lisa—barely pausing in her walk to his office. When Lisa jumped to her feet, alarmed, Victoria waved a hand at her to sit.

  “I'm sure he'll be happy to see me,” she announced with confidence. Pretty certain it wasn’t true, she walked into his depressing corner box.

  After a ten-minute castigation that didn’t even scrape the surface of her anger, Victoria yelled, “At the very least, pay this good man back the rent he's given you.”

  Willis stood up from his seat in indignation, but Victoria’s glare of rage made him think twice. He meekly sat down again.

  “I'd also insist that you refund the management fees I paid, but at least this gentleman managed to keep the place from being burgled.”

  Willis leaned forward with his palm pressed flat on his chest. “Look now. I know I should've sought your permission—”

  “It's good you know that.” Victoria crossed her arms and lifted her chin defiantly. “It was hard to tell when I arrived home this morning to find it invaded by complete strangers.”

  “Well now, that wouldn't have happened if you'd let me know you were coming.” Willis cleared his throat. “As per our signed agreement.”

  Victoria closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nostrils. She pressed her thumbnail into the flesh of her forefinger, using the pain as a focus.

  “Our signed agreement said you'd keep the lawns tidy and collect the mail. Make sure the place didn’t look empty.” She opened her eyes and pierced him with a stare. “I missed the section where you rented it out while I was gone.”

  “Look, Miss Collins, I'm happy to refund your fees, but Mr. Jean-Louis did have the use of the place. He would've had to pay rent to somebody.” Willis held his hands up and shrugged. “I can't just refund him.”

  “Keys,” Victoria demanded, her hand outstretched. How dare he call her Miss? She was in her forties for God’s sake.

  Willis opened a cupboard stuffed full of lock boxes and located her address. “Here you go. Now, I'm sure that Mr. Jean-Louis will be happy to vacate early given the circumstances, and I'm happy to return this month's rent—”

  “I don't care what you're happy with, Willis. You're going to refund the entire rent he paid for the entire time he was in my house, or I'm calling the police on you, right now.”

  Willis opened and closed his mouth like a fish failing to breathe air. “This is hardly a police matter.”

  “You handed my keys over to an unknown man and collected money from him in return for a property which wasn't yours to rent. It's fraud at the very least.” Victoria waited for a beat, her head tilted to one side. “In fact, I think given the amount of rent we're talking about, it may classify as a felony.”

  For the first time, the forced charm that Willis had displayed since she burst into his office fell away. His mouth slackened, and his cheeks grew pale. “There's really no need, Miss Collins.”

  “There is a need. Very much a need.” Victoria waved at Arnaud. “For a start, this nice man and his daughter have to find a new residence. He'll probably have to take time off work to sort that out, and they'll certainly need to book out a hotel room.”

  She barked a short laugh. “Unless there's another house on the books you can illegally rent out to them.”

  Arnaud jerked his head toward Victoria, his eyes opening wide. “I can't move now.”

  He moved a step forward, hand raised, then stopped and forced his arm back down by his side. “I mean, I can’t stop work now. This is the only job I've had where I still have time with my daughter.”

  “See,” Victoria said, pointing at Willis. “So you'll pay for their hotel until you find them a nice place they can rent legally.”

  Willis's shoulders slumped, and he opened a drawer to the side of his desk. “Fine,” he said, as though he was doing them a favor. “What was your rent?”

  Victoria moved out of the office to give Arnaud privacy. She bumped into Lisa, who blushed, ashamed to be caught out listening at her boss’s door.

  “Do you have any other units available?” Victoria asked. “An empty hotel room isn’t a great place for a teenage girl to come home to every afternoon.”

  Lisa shook her head. “Not at the money he was paying. It'd be double just to get them a one-bedroom in this market.”

  Victoria nodded her understanding. Having a college nearby pushed the prices up in its wee bubble.

  Willis raised his voice in anger, and both women turned to look at the closed office door. After a moment of heated debate, the volume dropped back down to a low hum.

  “Doesn’t Willis have his own place for rent? The least he could do is offer that.”

  “Give me a minute,” Lisa said, tapping away at her computer. “It’s on a long-lease rent at the moment,” she said after a few minutes. “The tenants are paid up.”

  Victoria shrugged and sat down to wait. It wasn’t her worry to sort out.

  “Are you back in town for work?” Lisa asked.

  Victoria started to nod, then shook her head instead. “I'm being deposed in a lawsuit. The lawyers insist
ed I hang around town until they resolve it one way or the other.”

  The receptionist blushed again and looked down at her hands. Long shining nails topped with French tips. Victoria felt a quick flinch of jealousy and curled her own fingers into her palm. Nerves had her nails bitten to the quick.

  “I wanted you to know that I think what you did was really great,” Lisa said, gaze still fixed on her hands. They trembled until she clasped them together. She clenched them so hard that her knuckles shone white.

  “I was friends with Abby, you know,” she said, her voice choked with sadness. “Abby Rushton.”

  Victoria's throat closed, but she forced a polite smile before the receptionist raised her head. She couldn’t stop her eyes glistening, though. Victoria tilted her head in recognition of the thank you.

  She never wanted to think of Abby Rushton again. Along with the other slaughtered teenage girls, Victoria thought of little else.

  Lisa leaned across and touched Victoria’s arm. “I'm so glad you got the bastard.”

  #

  Arnaud dropped Victoria at the corner of her street before driving off to work. Judging by the tense line of his jaw, it would be a close-run battle for him to get there on time.

  Victoria's luggage sat waiting on the back stoop. She'd dragged it there from the driveway but hadn't felt comfortable putting it inside until she'd sorted out the housing arrangements. Now that Arnaud had his refund, she felt less worried about moving it inside.

  After wandering around her house for five minutes, Victoria felt more as though she was encroaching on someone else’s space than having come home. None of her personal items were on display anywhere. A short hunt revealed her possessions wrapped carefully and stored in boxes in the garage.

  It would feel invasive to pack away somebody else's belongings, so she left her own where they were.

  Victoria wondered what she would have found if she’d given Willis notice she was returning. An empty house? A cleaned-up version of the one she left? Was it possible to eradicate the evidence of a six-month tenancy? Or, would she have felt that everything was strange, out of place, anyhow?