Shifting Dreams (16 page)

There were small alcoves carved into the walls with candles, matches, and one pair of abandoned sandals that looked like they belonged to a teenage girl. A hideout? Drinking spot? He looked around. There was no trash or graffiti. If this was a place the kids gathered to misbehave, he saw no evidence of it. He could hear running water coming from somewhere. This must have been the location of the seventh spring.
 

He saw the silver body of the coyote at the edge of his light and he turned the flashlight toward him. It was definitely the oddest coyote he’d ever met. They were shy animals for the most part, happy to avoid humans and keep to themselves. But this one…

The animal put his head down, lapping at the rocks. No, not the rocks. Caleb moved closer. A sandstone pillar, two or three feet wide, rose up from the floor of the cave. It was only three feet tall or so and a large basin had been cut into the top, forming a pool of clear water that spilled over the edge and into a small rivulet that ran into the darkness. It was the small stream of water that the coyote was drinking. It must have been fresh.

Maybe it was exhaustion combined with an hour-long jog. Maybe it was the strange mood that the wind and the scent of blood and the memories of his grandmother had worked on him, but Caleb Gilbert strode to the pillar, stuck his face in the cool water, and drank as if his life depended on it. Deep gulp after deep gulp, he drank the spring water like mother’s milk as the wind whistled outside and the night birds sang. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted.

And when he was full, he walked back to his trailer and fell into the deepest, most peaceful sleep he’d ever had.

Chapter Eleven

Two nights later, Jena heard the knock on the door. She’d just put the boys down to bed and was drinking a cold beer, exhausted after another day of condolences. She tensed at first, then, recognizing the distinctive heavy step, stood and ran to the door, pulling it open.

“Daddy,” she cried before flinging herself into her father’s arms.

“I’m here, honey.” He held her and rocked back and forth for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Better get inside. The boys asleep?”

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Just put them to bed.”

He moved into the front room, his presence immediately taking it over. Thomas Crowe was built like a rock, six feet tall with shoulders broad as the canyon. The Cherokee blood of his ancestors was strong in his face, which was dark with grief and anger.

“I landed at Max and Beverly’s an hour ago,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Her father’s natural form was a raven, not half as fast as Jena’s hawk. “You must have flown for hours.”

“We were in Colorado. Your mom’s driving back with the trailer right now.”

He sat in the old recliner that had been his chair for as long as Jena could remember. She walked to the kitchen, calling out, “Are you hungry?”

“I will be in about an hour, but for right now, one of those beers looks good.”

“Got it.” She grabbed one from the fridge and walked back to the living room.
 

Her father was staring at a picture of the family over the mantle. They had taken it last Christmas and Tom had an arm around his tiny mother. He had his father’s size, but looked just like a Crowe. According to Alma, he was the picture of his namesake, the ancestor who had seen the vision of the canyon from thousands of miles away, guiding the wanderers into the desert where they had found an oasis. The original Thomas Crowe’s natural form had been a raven, too, the very first avian shapeshifter in the Springs.
 

“You were in the air when I called Mom, weren’t you?” She handed him the beer and sat on the couch.

Tom blinked, as if just waking up. “She came to me. I thought it was a dream at first. Haven’t seen a spirit in so long. I left right after she did. Max filled me in on the details when I flew in. It’s… not real yet.”

Like a few others in their family, Tom and Jena could sometimes see the spirits of those who had passed. Usually only family members or close friends. Jena hadn’t seen one until the boys’ dad had passed away and Lowell had kept her company on the drive back home to the desert.

“She tell you anything?” Her voice cracked.

His black eyes glittered. “Nothing about who killed her. Who was it, Jen?”

She tried to clear her throat, but her voice still croaked. “Don’t know yet. I think it was a cat. I’m pretty sure, but Jeremy—”

“The McCann boy?”

She nodded. “He’s working with the new police chief.”

“This is the outsider that Alex brought in?” Jena nodded and her father let out a disgusted sound. “What the hell was that boy thinking? That man isn’t going to be able to figure out a damn thing without knowing the whole truth. And he can’t know that. He’s not family.”

Jena shrugged and wiped her eyes. “I’m sure Alex wasn’t expecting the man to have to solve a murder the first month he was here.”

“This is the guy living in one of Mom’s trailers?”

“He seems like a decent guy, but…”

Tom leaned forward, tension hovering in the air around him. “But what?”

Her father was almost seventy years old, but like most shapeshifters, looked about twenty years younger. She wouldn’t bet against him in a fight. Not in a hot minute.

“Nothing. It’s nothing, Dad.”

“He giving you problems? I won’t put up with it, Jena.”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s just… He’s a good detective.” Her voice cracked again. “He knows we’re hiding something. And he’s persistent. I don’t think he’s going to give up on this case until—”

“What’s the official word? You ask Ted?”

“She’s encouraging the examiner at the county to list it as an animal attack, even though it’s unusual.”

Tom frowned. “What’s unusual about it? It was an animal attack. We just know it was murder, too.”

“She was shifting, Dad. It was the full moon, and she was shifting when he killed her.”

He frowned. “So?”

“The cat—or whoever it was—caught her mid shift. At least that’s what Ted thinks. She’s never seen it before either, but the wounds…” Jena blinked back tears when the image of Alma’s mutilated body flashed to her mind. “The wounds were… stretched. The edges twisted, so it looks almost like they healed partially. That’s what’s giving the medical examiner fits. It looks like an animal attack, but not a normal animal. And the claw marks grew when she turned human again, so they don’t look like a cat at all. They look as big as a bear or something.”

Tom settled back in his chair, pain evident in his eyes. When he finally spoke again, there was a tremor in his voice. “Let them classify it however they like. They’ll give up when there’s not an easy answer. That’s the way ordinary humans work. They can blame it on a
chupacabra
for all I care. Just make sure Ted knows they leave her body alone.”

“Dad—”

“They leave her alone, Jena. As much as possible. The last thing any of us need is some doctor digging into our medical history.”

Their bodies were normal, for the most part. But any researcher studying the town would quickly find it unusual to have a small town where none of the children ever had broken limbs or got sick. Most of the old people lived remarkably long with no chronic illnesses, and everyone healed exceptionally fast. Ted had done a few studies of her own and Jena knew the results hadn’t been shared with anyone.

“I’ll talk to Ted’s mother in the morning. I’m sure the cats understand the seriousness of the situation. And since you’re fairly sure it was one of them—”

“I’m sure. I don’t know who, but it was a cat’s claws. It wasn’t just the claw marks on the body, but there were marks at the back door.”

“He scratched to get in?”

She nodded. “And Grandma let him in. So she knew him.”

“Or her.” Tom raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t ever underestimate a female cat. As a rule, they’re far more vicious than the males. I’ve learned that by experience.”

“Fine. Or her.” Jena took another drink, then leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes. “It was too soon,” she whispered.

Her father moved next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I know.”

“I know she was old, but…”

“We take our elders for granted.” Tom squeezed her shoulder. His voice was rough with grief. “We get to keep them for so long, we start to take for granted they’ll always be there.”

“I’m really angry, Dad. Someone stole her from us. From the boys.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I’m angry, too. This is going to be dealt with, Jena. It doesn’t matter what the police do. We’ll deal with this our way.”

“People around here are really good at keeping secrets.”

He nudged her shoulder. “And others are good at seeing what’s hidden.”

“Are you and Mom going to stay for a while?” Like many of her father’s generation, Cathy and Thomas Crowe had taken to wandering during their retirement. Older shapeshifters had raised their children, taken care of their responsibilities to the Springs, and mastered their shifting abilities. It was easier for them to blend in, so many in their sixties and seventies took to traveling until their elders passed away and new responsibilities were thrust upon them. The Crowes were a small clan, and her father was the oldest now.
 

“We’ll figure it out, honey. Don’t worry about it.”

“When’s Mom going to be here?”

“A couple days at most. She’s been on that headset thing on her phone the whole trip, if I guess right. She’ll take care of the memorial and the church stuff. You take care of you and the boys.”

“Can you help at the diner for a while?”

“Course.” He squeezed her arm and Jena leaned into his shoulder. “Whatever you need, Jen.”

The next day, Tom was behind the grill and Jena was wiping down counters when Caleb came in. He tipped his Stetson before sitting down and setting it on the seat next to him.

“Jena, a word?”

It was just after eleven o’clock, but there were a few patrons in the diner. She had the urge to run to him and away from him at the same time. “I’m pretty busy right now.”

“You’re gonna have to give me some answers eventually.”

She kept looking at the counter. “Am I a suspect?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I don’t have to talk to you.”

She could see him grit his teeth. Part of her was annoyed by the perceptive officer, but the other part…

Well, she kind of loved him for it. It probably would have been easier for him to believe what the county believed. After all, Jena knew the truth. Most normal humans saw what they wanted and dismissed anything that seemed out of the ordinary. But Caleb hadn’t. He’d seen the outrage done to her grandmother and was determined that Alma Crowe would have justice.
 

Blinking back tears, she said, “I can’t talk about it, Caleb.”

He leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. “Do you know who did it?”

“No, I don’t. I promise.”

“But you know more than you’re telling me, don’t you?”

“Caleb, I—”

Tom’s voice broke into their quiet conversation. “Something I can get for you, Chief?”

Caleb drew back and examined the older man before he held out his hand. Tom took it. “Mr. Crowe?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m very sorry about your mother, sir. I’m focusing all my energy on solving her case.”
 

Tom glanced between Jena and Caleb. “Didn’t the coroner decide it was an animal attack? It’s tragic, but—”

“The county,” Caleb interrupted, “is still determining cause of death, but my investigation is ongoing.”

Tom picked up a bar towel and started polishing glasses. Jena could tell that every eye in the diner was glued to the two men. Old Mr. Campbell. Mayor Matt, picking up lunch for Missy, who was home with the new baby. Allie’s dad and one of the Quinns.

Tom said, “Doesn’t sound like there’s much for the police to investigate. If there’s anything to find…” Tom glanced around the diner. “We’ll find it. We take care of our own, Chief Gilbert. You can be sure of that.”

His smile was polite, but Jena could see the anger burn in Caleb’s eyes. “Well, no disrespect intended—I know she was your mother—but she was part of this town, and that makes her mine, too. She served me pie and invited me for coffee that I never got to join her for. That makes her mine.” Then Caleb looked into Jena’s eyes for a minute before he glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the diner he could see watching him. “And Alma Crowe was murdered by someone she knew. In this town. Under my watch.” He stood up from the bar and slipped on his hat. “And that, Mr. Crowe, makes her most definitely mine. Have a nice day, Jena.” He tipped the edge of his hat toward her, then strode out of the diner.

Tom and Jena watched him walk to his truck, slamming the door before he backed out and headed back in the direction of the station.

“He seems like a good man,” Tom murmured, picking up another glass as Jena blinked back tears. “But he’s just a man.”

By the time Jena’s mother arrived the next day, the memorial at the church had already been planned. The flowers were ordered, the minister secured. Cathy Crowe, in her typically organized fashion, had arranged the entire event on her phone while pulling a 28-foot trailer over the Rocky Mountains. Sometimes, Jena was intimidated by her mother. Today, as she sat in the full church, listening to others sing the praises of the grandmother she had loved, she was just relieved.