One for sorrow,
Two for mirth
Three for a funeral,
Four for birth
Five for heaven
Six for hell
Seven for the devil, his own self
It doesn’t always happen the way you think. Barney Ferguson was a good cop slated for retirement at the end of September and somehow ended up in a ditch—that’s where they found him.
There were no visible signs of foul play and he was off-duty when it happened but something about his death didn’t sit right with me and Maddie Hayes, my assistant agrees…which in itself is remarkable because she downplays everything.
“Something’s off,” she mumbled tersely when I told her the details and I simply nodded and got to work figuring out what it was.
It helps that I have privileges with the police since I consult with them and in turn I get fodder for the mysteries I write. It’s symbiotic, but it works for us. Maddie, besides being my book shepherd, helps with the research.
She’s a Jill of all trades, I guess, and I couldn’t get along without her, but don’t tell her that. I found with Maddie, the less said the better and I don’t ever gush—even if she does something spectacular, which she regularly does, but I pretend it’s simply expected, which by now it is.
Maddie’s already scoping out leads and sketching a timeline, so this looks like our next case, but because it’s Barney, this one’s personal and whoever’s the perp had better worry because we’re coming for him.
And as Barney would say, with his lop-sided smile, “You can count on it.” And I can echo this sentiment because we’re both totally pissed.
“Why that place?” Maddie suddenly hisses.
I can see it’s been bugging her, especially because of its reputation.
“Ravenwood? Yeah, it’s got a bad vibe. I try to avoid it.”
“So what the hell was Barney doing there?”
“Beats me,” I shrug, “it gave him the creeps too.”
“Why didn’t he call us like he always did? We were his back-up.”
She’s getting over-wrought and by now I’m gently needing the knots out of her shoulders, but to no avail. Nothing’s working ‘cause nothing makes sense.
Barney’s not The Lone Ranger type—hell no, he cautioned us about freelancing.
And Maddie’s got a point—what the hell was he doing there—and alone, in the night?
I don’t want that to be the mystery of the ages. We’ve got to solve this case and make things right.
But Maddie’s on a roll and has to vent.
“I warned him off that place, you know—he asked me, Blake, about a week before this happened if I were superstitious and I told him flatly—any place where crows gather spells doom and gloom…and I was right.”
“It’s not the crows, Maddie—this was something else. They’re not to blame for what happened to Barney.”
“How can you be so sure? My Irish granny warned me about Morrighan, the warrior goddess. She often appears in the form of a crow accompanied by others. It’s a sign she’s watching and signalling back-off, or else. Well, now we know what ‘or else’ means.”
I shake my head slowly, “I can only tell you this—crows have helped me solve many cases. You can call it what you like—magic or augury, but they’ve led me down ways I’d never discover otherwise.”
“C’mon, Blake—you’re a psychic, for god’s sake—why do you think Barney kept you on as a paid consultant?”
“Because he couldn’t sell it to Emma Laine, his boss, by calling it what it was. Consultant sounds more professional, but regardless, I don’t have it all. I need help.”
“From crows?” She croaked, sounding a bit hoarse herself.
“They’re intelligent and mystical…and help me sometimes, and this one time I need their help… a lot”
She frowns and looks dubious but I shut her down for once…and that’s not an easy thing to do with Maddie Hayes when something’s stuck in her craw—this time, it’s me and crows and maybe working with them to solve a crime.