A Murder of Magpies (9 page)

As I stepped outside, I blew on my hands for warmth. Tall evergreens spiked the autumn
sky, and snow flurries whipped around the air. Built directly off the church, St.
Anthony’s school was red brick covered in ivy. Rows of arched windows stood out like
bared teeth, and at the center of the top row was a nook for a statue of St. Anthony
of Padua. The church was also red brick with an imposing bell tower below a greened
copper steeple. The cross atop the steeple could be seen above the dark forest surrounding
all of Black Orchard, and the melancholy drone of its bell tolling Sunday mornings
echoed for miles farther.

Ward bounced, rubbing his hands together. “We should go, get off campus before anyone
sees us. Besides, I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Coffee break, anyone?” Chloe asked and jingled her keys. She led us to the back row
of the parking lot when Jonah stopped and scanned the next row, startled.

A familiar energy caught me. Constant, unwavering.

Fifty feet away, Dad leaned against the Chevy, a cigarette between his fingers. He’d
quit smoking six years ago, mostly to stop Mom’s nagging, and replaced his addiction
with nicotine gum. Until that afternoon.

“Damn.” Jonah steered me between two parked cars, ducking to hide his six-foot frame.
Chloe and Ward crammed in beside us, but my vision was pinned on my father. I spied
the black dress flutter as Sister Tremblay drifted across the lot. Dad’s spine stiffened,
matching the hardness of the nun’s posture. She held out her hand, and he shook it
like a good southern gentleman. Yet his stare was cold.

My jaw flexed, and I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop from spilling out chaotic
energy. Nothing hollered, “Notice me” like breaking a row of headlights in a parking
lot.

“Scandalous,” Chloe clucked. “Sister Tremblay and your dad meeting in private. It’s
personal. Why else wouldn’t they be in her office? You think nuns take a vow of celibacy?”

Ward shushed her. “Pipe down, Blondie. You’ll get us busted.”

Maybe it was Chloe. Maybe it was Ward. It could have been that we were all too nervous
about ditching class and making loud mistakes, but Dad’s head snapped up. “Polly,
hold on a second.”

Dad checked the aisle and between the cars. I curled in a ball, heart thundering in
my ears, and I looked from Jonah to Ward, mouthing, “What do we do?”

Ward indicated to weave backward through the cars, but Dad was too fast and stood
over us. His voice was stern. “Magpie.”

Take me to the gallows now.

Sister Tremblay joined his side, and a dark gloom washed over me, the same sickly
grime I felt inside the school. I steadied myself against a car. Sister Tremblay pursed
her lips, which were dry and split, a drop of blood rising to the surface.

The closer she came, the less I could breathe. I had to get away, and I bolted, sprinting
across the lot. The wind smacked my face until my cheeks were numb, but my hands burned.
I wiped my palms on my skirt as if I could scrape off the skin. I had to get Sister
Tremblay’s smile off me.

Jonah caught up with me, and his arms were warm around my shoulders. “Calm down.”

“That nun.” I gasped. “There’s something off with her.”

A shadow formed on his cheeks.
What do you mean? You think she knows?

Before I could answer, Dad reached the sidewalk. “Why’d you run from me?”

“Not you. Her.” I pointed to Sister Tremblay. “Why are you meeting that woman?”

He retrieved his cigarettes, lighting a new one as he devised something to say. “Now
don’t go jumping off a cliff. The good sister and I are having ourselves a chat. Nothing
more.”

His answer sucked.

Cardinal rule: Some rules need to be broken. Especially if you’re being jerked around.

I prodded Dad’s mind. He blocked me by focusing on the glowing cinders on the end
of his cigarette.

Something was up.

I persisted, “
Dati
, that woman isn’t right.”

He tipped his face skyward as he exhaled. “This is not how it looks. Sister Tremblay
and I have some issues to work out, all right? Now get to class.”

“
Dati
!”

That hard air about him again. “This isn’t your business.”

I whipped away, every muscle in my body cramped. He was never this short with me.
Jonah? Yes, but never me.

I tossed my father a wary glance as Ward guided me back inside school and out of the
cold morning. My father was smart. I trusted that he looked out for us. He warned
us to be mindful of prying eyes.

Hopefully, he took his own advice.

Ward

Sometimes I missed the lights of Rochester, Minnesota. Nice city. I couldn’t say the
same for the people shouting in my old building. This house—hell, all of Black Orchard—was
quieter than a church at midnight. Here, I lay awake because of the wind sighing in
the attic.

At least living by the woods, I didn’t have to deal with trick-or-treaters. No one
came to the bleak house surrounded by the foreboding gate, but I still carved a half-dozen
jack-o-lanterns and nestled them among the dead leaves on the front porch, their orange
glow lonely against the night. At my old apartment, Drake only got tricks. Lots and
lots of tricks. Some in stiletto heels, some in fur coats and probably not much else.

Oliver screamed over the baby monitor. I set aside my crossword puzzle and trudged
upstairs to the nursery. My nephew sat in his crib, face red and tear-streaked, and
I lifted him up, murmuring the words Heidi crooned during the night. “You’re okay.”

His fingers clawed my hair as I sank into the rocking chair beside his crib and patted
his back. I caught my reflection in the window and coughed. A month ago, I’d have
given them the crazy look if someone said I’d be babysitting. A month ago, I was still
in Drake’s apartment.

The studio unit where I’d lived with Drake was a matchbox, cluttered with takeout
containers and overloaded ashtrays. The water in the pipes was glacier-cold in winter
and lukewarm on sunny days. I remembered standing on the roof, my shirt sweat-adhered
to me as I stared at the street. A metal sawhorse, shears, my blowtorch—all my tools
scattered around me. The roof’s door squeaked as it opened. Louis, this guy I palled
around with after bumping into each other at an Arcade Fire show, squinted in the
July sun and hollered, “Man, I trusted you! What are you doing with my girl?”

I’d lit a cigarette, sneering. “Giving her what you can’t.”

He’d come at me, throwing me to my back. The heat from the roof had scorched my skin
as I tried to deflect his flailing punches.

It wasn’t easy to forget all the hitting, the fighting, the anger at being stuck in
a shitty life. The acceptance that things wouldn’t get better. They had, even with
Oliver’s chubby hands batting my chin as I wrestled him into a cloth diaper, attempting
to decipher Heidi’s cryptic notes on folding and fastening the damn thing. Was I so
dense I couldn’t fold a piece of fabric? So it wasn’t perfect. At least the kid had
what he needed.

Food. Shelter. Parents. Lucky guy.

The day I fought with Louis was the same night I last saw Drake. I had to piss about
midnight and found Drake passed out near the toilet with a syringe in his arm, mouth
hanging slack like a rubber mask left out of a costume bin. I checked his pulse. Alive.
Kind of. It wasn’t an overdose this time, only his typical drug stupor. By morning,
he’d disappeared.

After three weeks, his lawyer stopped by. Peeking through the peephole in the door,
I zeroed in on the guy in the sweltering hall. He had a pig’s button eyes, and his
suit smelled like fish tacos. In five minutes, he stank up that apartment.

“I’m sure you guessed Drake was arrested again.” He spoke flatly. No surprise. No
apology. We were used to Drake’s bullshit. “He was busted in an underground opium
den. He pled out to get court-ordered rehab. You know the drill. Find someone to stay
with.”

Usually Mr. Lawyer Man was able to dig up Drake’s Hooker of the Week. My father had
some money socked away from his years as a singer, but he’d always been as famous
for his love of opiates as he’d been for his gravel voice. That time was different.
No one came. No ditz in a leopard print nightgown swung by to make pancakes while
not getting cigarette ash in the batter. It took until September before one of my
teachers noticed I was wraith-gaunt and coughing despite that I’d quit smoking. Sometimes
you’re so desperate, it doesn’t matter what you say when someone asks if you’re okay—they
know you need help.

At some point, Drake’s brain fired the synapse with Heidi’s married name, and beckoned
by a caseworker, she drove to Minnesota. Heidi had twelve years on me and sat across
the table in a clean, blue dress, tapping her fingernails as we played twenty questions.

Was I on drugs? Uh, no. How many times was I arrested? Enough. For what? Stupidity
since that’s what got me caught.

Over diner coffee and scrambled eggs, she told me I was moving to Wisconsin. No choice.
The court granted her emergency guardianship, and I packed my duffle bag. I doubted
she liked it any more than I did.

Sleep didn’t come easily in this house that whispered at night, but I could count
on a few hours where my brain blacked out.

The front door slammed. Heidi’s footsteps echoed off the woodwork. Babysitting detail
complete. If she thought I’d guard her demon baby at her every whim, she could forget
it. I bounced Oliver in my arms to soothe him before taking him to Heidi. He whined
until my half-sister unbuttoned her top, at which point he became excited and I became
very weirded out. She stroked his head and asked, “How’d it go?”

“The kid hates me,” I said, rooting in my pocket for my iPod. Damn. Left it upstairs.

Bernadette tottered out from the kitchen and dropped at my feet. I hoisted her onto
my lap. Her fur was grimy, but I was rather gross when we met. All was fair.

“I think you need to get used to him,” Heidi said then cooed at Oliver, tapping his
nose.

“So did I pass your test?” I asked. “I mean, Oliver’s still alive and the house didn’t
burn down.”

Heidi lifted her chin. “What test?”

“I’m shocked you trusted me to babysit.”

My half-sister’s lips narrowed. “I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Ward. I think you’ve
been through some crap, and Lord knows Drake’s good at messing up and hurting others.”

I tsked. “I don’t see how he hurt you, and if he did, you still turned out okay.”

“I wasn’t always this person, Ward.”

The phone rang. I jumped, and Heidi’s neck cracked as she whipped her head in the
direction of the phone. Casual calls didn’t come at ten on weeknights. Drake might’ve
been a drunk-dialer, but he was an every-seven-days guy. Our last conversation went:

Drake: You doin’ okay?

Me: Better than if I was with you.

Drake: I’m clean, buddy. We’ll move to California, live the high life.

Me: Was that a pun? Shut up.

Drake: Now, hold up. You’re no better than me. I’m your dad.

Click.

Chris appeared in the doorway with the phone, his face long. “It’s about Drake.”

Of course, it was.

Heidi took the phone and listened, promising to be in touch. Only one call made people’s
skin the color of raw potatoes. I sank into the couch, a cold moat winding through
my stomach, and enfolded Bernadette in my lap. The dog snuggled close, and I ran my
hand over her head and down her back again and again. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t
want to care.

Heidi passed Oliver to her husband and touched my shoulder. “Ward, I’m sorry.”

I patted Bernadette’s bony sides. Her leg kicked as I hit her ticklish spot. I wouldn’t
cry for that son-of-a-bitch, instead, burrowing my face into the crook of my elbow
and coughing.

Heidi rubbed my back. “You’re okay.”

If I could believe that, I would. God, I would.

Depositing Bernadette on the couch, I bolted upstairs and flung myself onto my bed
with my pillow covering my head. I shoved my headphones in my ears and switched on
my iPod. The drums were a frenetic backdrop as the singer screamed. Yelling wouldn’t
help. It was all noise.

Shut up.

I’m your dad.

Heidi opened the door. “Chris and I don’t want you to be alone.”

A skosh late, wasn’t she?

I bit my lower lip. Hurt like a mother.

Chris took Heidi’s place at my door, kissing the back of her head before he sent her
away. He felt along the walls of my room, the sketches I’d drawn of the woods, line
doodles of Bernadette’s whiskers and shiny nose. It used to be his office, but he’d
never said a word about giving up his workspace for me.

“We’ll drive to Rochester tomorrow,” he informed me.

“Have a blast.”

“You don’t have to decide right now if you’re going to Drake’s funeral,” he said.
“But you might want to grab some stuff from the apartment.”

“Oh, great, and bring the plague here.” I didn’t want anything from my life there.
“All his stuff can all be burned. I don’t give a damn.”

“Like I said. We’ll leave in the morning,” Chris said and shut my door.

A gooey tongue licked my fingers hanging over the edge of the bed. Bernadette was
on her hind legs, wiggling her ass as she waited for help onto my bed. “Not now, girl.”

Her ears drooped. Like I could resist hurt doggy kisses. I lifted her off the floor,
and she circled several times before laying her head beside mine, her dog smell overpowering.
I once asked Drake for a dog. He told me to make some money walking the beagle across
the hall. Then he took the money and bought an eight-ball.

Don’t think about Drake. Can’t do anything for him
. I believed in God, but didn’t believe God wouldn’t give people more than they could
bear.

I got up from my bed and wandered around the room until the promise of distraction
put me in front of the computer Chris let me use. If it weren’t so late, I’d be outside,
putting the finishing polish on the lightning rod wind sculpture. After a moment of
mindless surfing, I noticed Jonah signed in to instant messenger.