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“Your fount of knowledge lives here?”
Birdie’s house looked like an abandoned wooden mill from another century. The structure leaned slightly to the left, as though the wind had been pushing it over slowly but surely for decades.
“It’s how she keeps a low profile. Not everyone can live in a castle, you know.”
“According to everyone in town, I live in a heaping pile of stones. I don’t think they’re too envious.”
“They’re not envious of the costs involved in renovating and maintaining a house of that size, that’s for sure.”
“Look on the bright side,” I said, exiting the car. “I’m getting a free bed this week.”
As I started toward the front door, Kane redirected me. “We don’t need to go to the front door. She’s around back.”
“How do you know?”
He pointed to the sky. I looked upward to see about a dozen crows circling overhead.
“Feathered friends of yours?”
“No, but they flock to Birdie, pun very much intended. If they’re up there, it means she’s on the back patio.”
I realized he was still holding my hand. He seemed to notice at the same moment because he let go. An awkward moment of silence ensued.
“Do you trust her?” I asked, desperate for the moment to pass.
Kane’s response was unequivocal. “Yes.”
I nodded. It took a lot for Kane to trust someone. We had that in common.
Together, we rounded the corner of the house to the backyard. A woman sat beneath a plaid blanket that covered her lap, its frayed ends skimming the ground around her. Her stark white hair and a face like a graticule suggested she was at least eighty years old. A pair of glasses hung on a chain around her neck, the silver metal gleaming against the backdrop of her dark green sweater. A set of bright orange and black Tigger slippers poked out from beneath the bottom of the blanket. It was an eclectic look.
Her whole face brightened when she laid eyes on Kane, giving her a youthful glow. “Well, my day just got a lot better.”
“Lorelei Clay, I’d like you to meet Kristabel Danvers.”
“No need to be formal. You can call me Birdie like everybody else. Everybody I like, anyway.” She winked at Kane. “Not to worry. Any friend of Kane’s is a friend of mine.”
“Need a hand?” Kane motioned to the large bag nestled against her chair.
“No, thanks. They’ll get annoyed if you do it. They’re spoiled now.”
Birdie reached into the bag and produced a cup of food. She scattered the contents across the patio with a flourish. Within seconds, the crows appeared. Dozens of them landed on the lawn and patio, pecking to their hearts’ content.
“What do you feed them?” I asked.
“I like to mix it up, so I surprise them now and again. They appreciate a variety. Today I’ve got seeds, pistachios, pecans, and corn.” She patted the bag. “A homemade blend.”
A crow flew closer to Birdie’s chair and left a shiny object at her feet.
“I think he dropped something,” I said.
“Oh, he definitely did.” Birdie leaned forward to collect the object.
“Does he bring you trash?”
“Trash?” Slapping her knee, she howled with laughter. “My dear, this is a crow, not a raccoon. Crows bring gifts.”
I shrugged. “One raccoon’s trash is another crow’s treasure.”
