Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 106, No. 4 & 5. Whole No. 648 & 649, October 1995

Crazy Bird by Dorothy B. Davis

© 1995 by Dorothy B. Davis

For her second, published fiction, New York City resident Dorothy Davis takes us to the beautiful northerly regions of New York State. But as the city dweller in her story discovers, there can be as much danger in the wilder regions of the Adirondacks as on city streets. Ms. Davis makes her living as an editor.

All righty! I’m gonna take a chance and open my door and see what’s out there. I jest hope it ain’t Crazy Bird.

Whooo-eee! What a storm! Snow’s coming down like dumptrucks was unloading it!

Hey, what’ve we got here? A lump of person on my doorstep. Nearly buried in the snow! Hey, you still alive, stranger?

Aw. He can make noises! He’s still with us. Well... good! He don’t look like Crazy Bird to me. Of course, my eye-sight ain’t what it used to be.

Listen, stranger, you got a choice. You want to jump on out of this blizzard and into my house, or die of the cold out here?

That a nod? You want to come into my house?

All righty, my friend, come on this-a-way. Towards the light! Come on! That’s it! How in blazes did you get through my woods in this weather?

What’s that?

Aw, it’s all right. Don’t mention it.

Don’t be all day about it though, it’s cold out here; we’re jest like two petunias in the Arctic.

All righty. Jest another goldarn minute now. Let me close this door. Oof! Wind’s blowing in. Too strong for me! Can you give me a shove with it, stranger?

Thank you. Now, jest let me shoot this bolt back in. And lock it with my key. There. Whoosh! Cold as a freezer out there, but kinda like an icebox in here. Well, take your pick.

You choose to stay in here? Well, you didn’t exactly catch my drift. I meant take your pick, as in “ice pick.”

Aw, don’t look at me like that with those big scaredy-cat eyes. I’m jest joking, you’ll get used to me.

Lucky I finally heard you anyway.

You say you was pounding on my door and kicking it at least an hour before I opened it?

And all that time I was setting in here thinking it was jest my old oak trees knocking on my roof like they always do when a storm gets into them. And when I finally figured out where the noise was coming from, I was scared to open my door in case I might be letting in... CRAZY BIRD!

He’s a dangerous one is who he is. I’ll tell you all about him once I get you settled.

Come on now, down this hall to where it’s cozy. Before you freeze to death out here. Come on, my friend, don’t stand on ceremony.

Your feet are froze? You can hardly stand on them! Well, in that case, lean on me, and somehow or the other the two of us’ll make it down the hall, step by step together. What’s your name, stranger?

Pleased to meet you, Harry. I’m Connor. Here we are now! Okay, Harry, now jest let me help you out of your coat.

Why, it’s jest a raincoat, ain’t it? There ain’t even no lining in it!

Stop your worrying, Harry. I ain’t stealing it. I’m jest hanging it up on this old clothes tree of mine, here by my back hall.

Yeah, it’s deer antlers. My grandpaw made it. He dug them right out of the deer’s skull.

Sure, with his big hunting knife. I always carry it with me, here on my belt. See? Sharp, ain’t it? Hey, what’s the matter with you, Harry?

Nothing? Funny, you sure look like it is.

Okay, I’ve sheathed it again. You can open your eyes now. Okay, Harry, step right on over here to my hot seat, right by my roaring fire.

Big, ain’t it? And it’s burning real good and smooth and even in there. No snap, crackle, and pop to my fires! Now, you jest settle yourself down in this big old overstuffed chair of mine, right here close in by the fire. AND YOU AIN’T GONNA GET OUT OF IT AGAIN, HARRY, till spring’s really sprung!

Aw, what’s the matter? I jest meant you ain’t gonna want to get out of that chair till it’s warm again outside, ’cause it’s so comfortable! Now, let me help you pull your boots off

Okay, okay. I’ll be more careful. Errrf. Errrf. There! Well, I’ll be, jest look at this fancy stitching, will you? These must be real expensive, Harry. ’Course, they’ll need a good working over with saddle soap once they get dried out. Hey, they ain’t lined, neither. These are more spring than winter boots, these are!

Aw, you wasn’t expecting a sudden snowfall?

Not in April?

Well, you must not be from around here. You from the city?

Jest a lucky stab in the dark. Well, let me tell you a thing or two, Harry my friend. You got to expect these sudden snows around here. Till... July, at the very least.

’Cause this here is the Adirondacks. The North Country. Why, up on our peaks the white stuff comes down the whole year round. Golly, these boots sure are beauties. They’re gonna look mighty good on me!

Jest joking again, Harry. You’ll get used to it. Now, if you’ll bear with me a minute, I’ll jest put your boots down the end of my back hall here.

To my mud room. Where I always keep boots. Okay by you?

Yeah, this old house of mine still has a mud room. It’s a big old house, it is. Been in my family for generations.

Along with the woods.

That’s where you got lost? What was you out there in my woods for, anyway, Harry, in the middle of the night? You ain’t that pesty out-of-town developer who’s been trying to get my property, is you?

Aw, you don’t know anything about that. You was jest out for a walk in the country, when this storm broke out unexpected-like and you couldn’t find your way back to your car. And then you saw my house all lit up like Christmas.

That’s some kind of luck, that is!

But why was you doing your walking around up here?

You’re thinking of buying a vacation place in the area? You mean one of them flimsy summer houses that are springing up around here like toadstools after a rainstorm, displacing all the animals?

Yeah? Now, what would you want to do that for?

You like to be where it’s wild? Well, you come to the right place then, Harry, but I don’t know about roundabouts. Why, with all the new houses going up, the deer are starting to look like lawn ornaments.

Aw, and you think it’s safe to live in these parts, where there’s no need even to lock your—

Yeah, I did bolt my door, Harry, and lock it. I used a key.

You don’t look so good all of a sudden. You better put your feet up on this here ottoman. That’s it! Bum those toesies. Get that frostbite clear out of them.

Good. Now I’ll cover you up to your chinny-chin-chin with this here afghan.

Thanks. It’s real special to me. My maw made it.

Aw, forgive me, Harry. Now I’m having my own sudden storm. Here I am crying like an old woman. Even got to get out my handkerchief.

Aw, that blood on my handkerchief, it was jest a nosebleed, Harry. Maw died sudden-like when I was real young. Left me all alone. She sure did do beautiful work. That afghan of hers is a pure work of art!

I’ll be better in a minute now.

Whew. Now that squall of mine’s over with, let’s see. How’re you doing, Harry?

Why, Harry, your teeth are chattering! And I thought for sure you’d be warm by now. You know what? I think we both could use a nice hot cup of tea right about now. Sound good to you?

Good. I hoped it would. In fact, I already got the kettle on the boil.

That reminds you, you got to use the phone? Sorry, but you can’t, Harry. Darned thing went out in the storm.

Yeah, still got my lights.

Aw, well, that’s ’cause I got me a generator, Mr. Smarty-Pants!

So, if you don’t call your wife she’ll worry? Come on, Harry. You mean she’ll fret about a bum like you?

Jest joking again. You sure is quick to take the bait!

Well, she’ll just have to fret. Nothing can move through a storm like this one. But what are wives for anyway?

Naw. I never could get me one.

That’s right. I don’t have no wife. No friends, neither.

You never would’ve guessed it? Well, it don’t matter anyway. Sometimes I do get lonely, though which is why I’m glad you stopped by. I got so much to tell you about, Harry...

What’s that?

Tea first!

Yeah. I was almost forgetting about it. Okay, here I go now.

Hey, Harry-in-there, you know what? I think we both of us deserve a little something in our tea, don’t you? Something rum or brandylike and strong. To scare away the chills. Keep you from getting your death of cold. You agree?

Good, pardner! I’m dolloping it out in the cups right now.

Okay, Harry, here’s your nice hot toddy tea... Why Harry, your hand’s a little shaky! Aw, I’ll jest put the cup right down here for you on this doily.

You know, Harry, you might as well face the fact you’re stuck here for the whole night, with me for company. You ain’t going nowhere in that storm out there. Why, jest listen to that saxy wind wail! And you can’t see out them jitterbugging windows neither for the snow drifts. ’Course, it’ll probably all be gone by the time you leave here.

So what about we drink to each other with our special toddy tea. Okay?

Good! Here’s to you, Harry.

Hey, let’s drink to tonight. To NIGHT! SKULL!

Aw, it’s Swedish, I think. You know, Harry, I hope you’ll like these stories I’m going to tell you.

Crazy Bird’s in them. He’s the star of them and they’re about death. Harry, I hope that’s not too strong for you?

It’s not? You like murder stories? Naw, I meant your tea! I was hoping your tea wasn’t too strong for you.

Good. So now you jest make yourself comfortable there — your feet up to the fire, my maw’s afghan covering you up like a blanket of grass and flowers, the tea I made especially for you, with a little kicker in it, heating up your insides — and you jest listen to me tell you my tales.

It all started back in the winter of ’37. In the days when winter was winter, and the cold, cruel old man settled in early and overstayed his welcome by several months. When one day you’d be slogging and sloshing through wet brown leaves piled in layers all atop each other like soggy cornflakes in the bottom of your bowl, and, say, a furry gray squirrel might be scampering along the furrowed branches of an elm tree, the vibrant yellow-leaved boughs making a shiny backdrop, and beyond them the watery blue-gray sky, and then the squirrel might pop down into its hole atop the tree trunk, as though he was getting ready for something we didn’t care to think about, didn’t yet sense with our merely human senses. And it seemed like only the next day down would come the snow, like it is tonight, dumptruck style, until, by the next morning, it’d be nearly knee-high to a twelve-year-old, which is what I was at that time, and be clinging like shaving cream to all the bushes and trees.

So one day that winter, Paw and me were out making our rounds on our property, in our heavy jackets and sturdy winter boots. We had our guns with us, and we was shooting anything that moved — crows, squirrels, chickadees, raccoons, rabbits, deer.... And once we hit an animal we’d leave it where it lay, bleeding in the snow, jest for the fun of it. For Paw’s fun, that was, not mine. He forced me to do it. I never, never would’ve done it otherwise, for I love all animals. Especially them big crows, so sleek and shiny and smart! Aw, Paw was a cruel man. And cruel to me. Forever hitting me, or kicking me, or even hauling off with both fists and beating me. And for no reason at all except he took pleasure in doing it. If I missed a target, for example, he’d sock me in the jaw for missing what he’d call an easy shot. ’Course, he missed most of his shots too, drunk as he usually was. But I couldn’t say a thing about his lousy aim, or he’d deck me again. So out there with him in the woods I was scared, like I always was when I was with him. Never knowing what he’d take it into his head to do next.

Now, Crazy Bird lived in those woods too, and he blasted the heck out of everything in sight when he was in a mood to. So Paw and me knew we had to be careful of him. Anyway, one day we heard all this blasting coming from jest off the path leading to Ridley Pond, and when we got there we came upon a man lying dead, face up in the snow. And the dead man was Crazy Bird! He’d been shot three times through the chest. You could see the holes through his jacket. And he was lying in a puddle of his own blood! Well, this was a shock to the two of us, but especially to me, since I was so young. But I didn’t want to let on to Paw that it was, of course. I wanted to appear to be a big man in front of him. So, since there was nothing that could be done, I went back to call the authorities while he stood guard.

Well, what with one thing and the other, it was almost two hours before Sheriff Clem and his deputy and me arrived back at the scene. But when we got there, Crazy Bird was gone. And in his place lay Paw! Shot through his chest two, three times, with holes through his jacket too, and lying in a pool of his own blood, jest like Crazy Bird had.

No need to tell you, this sure looked bad for me. Since all they had was my word that it had been Crazy Bird there in the snow before. “Now, Sheriff Clem,” I said. “I know this looks bad for me, sir, but why would I lead you to the scene of my own crime?”

“To make it look like you didn’t do it, of course,” he replied, steady as spit.

“I’m innocent, I tell you. Crazy Bird must’ve done it!”

“Thought you told me Crazy Bird was dead,” said the sheriff.

“He must’ve been faking it. Setting us up. Waiting here until I left, and then jumping up to kill Paw!”

“Or maybe,” said Sheriff Clem, helpful-like, “someone else was lurking around here too. The one who shot Crazy Bird maybe?”

“It could’ve happened that way too,” I said. “But the way I see it, Crazy Bird is the more likely culprit.”

“Well then, if either one of these things is the case,” said Sheriff Clem, “why don’t you jest tell me where the footprints are? And where’s the bloody trail of Crazy Bird being pulled away from here? Snow’s as smooth as glass clear around. Except of course for the tracks of you and your Paw. And his end here, where he fell dead. And yours go right on up to him and then veer off toward your house. Now, if Crazy Bird was here, like you say he was, how’d he get away? Fly off in the sky?”

“That’s right,” I said. “That’s what he must’ve done. Sure he can fly!”

Well, Sheriff Clem jest stared at me then. Now, them marks in the snow was indecipherable to me at first. But then I saw that what he said was true. Two sets led up to where Paw lay, and only one track led away. And that one track was mine. “Well, maybe Crazy Bird jest hopped from one of my footprints to the other, and that way he didn’t leave no prints of his own.”

“Well then, he must have mighty tiny feet for a grownup,” said Sheriff Clem.

Well, Sheriff Clem didn’t put no stock in my stories about Crazy Bird. Naw, he said that, unlike some people he could mention, snow didn’t tell no lies. He never even bothered to look for Crazy Bird. So Crazy Bird stayed on the loose, ready to do mischief again. While I was tried as a juvenile. But the court couldn’t find me guilty, as hard as they tried. They jest didn’t have enough evidence. It was all too circumstantial. For one thing, they never did find that gun. Still, nobody believed me, and they didn’t believe me about Crazy Bird, neither. I wondered where he’d flown off to. It jest wasn’t fair. He was scot-free right away to do mischief again. And I worried about what he might do next.

And he struck again soon enough. The following spring he got my maw! She had found the gun that killed Paw, you see, in her flower box, and it turned out to be mine, and she jest couldn’t believe that Crazy Bird was the one who had used it on Paw. Naw, she wanted to see me put away. I’d thought she’d be glad Paw was gone, ’cause he’d beaten her too. But she wanted me gone too. And me her own son. But she never got the chance to turn me in, anyway, ’cause the next morning, she took violent sick and died in the hospital before the week was out. And I guess if she said anything about me there, it must’ve jest sounded like she was raving.

Now at lunch and dinner the day before she got sick, she’d eaten a big stew she’d made for herself that had lots of mushrooms in it she’d gathered from the woods. And somehow some death angels had gotten mixed in there, from the deadly amanita family. It was a wonder how they got in there, for Maw was wise to poisons. But she jest wasn’t wise enough to the ways of Crazy Bird, I guess.

You can’t tell toadstools by the taste, Harry. I never eat mushrooms but I’m told toadstools are jest as pleasing as good mushrooms is. And it’s only later, when the room starts spinning around...

Aw, come on. It’s probably jest in your mind, Harry! It’s tea what was filling up that cup, not poison mushrooms! You sure is a nervous sort, ain’t you, Harry?

So, anyway, when Sheriff Clem got called in again, the day Maw got taken away, he was suspicious of me all over again. Even when I showed him the footprints I’d found outside leading into the kitchen, right up to the stove, and back out again.

But once again, there wasn’t sufficient evidence to find me guilty, or even to hold me, and I went free. There was always the possibility, you see, that Maw had made a mistake in what she’d gathered. But most folks around here didn’t buy that. Naw, I’m afraid they thought I’d poisoned my own maw! I combed the woods with Paw’s rifle, searching for Crazy Bird. But I never came across so much as another footprint of his. Aw, he is clever, he is! You didn’t happen to come across him when you was outside there, Harry, did you?

Naw, I didn’t think so. Nobody ever sees him coming till it’s too late. Not even me.

Well, in the opinion of the law, I was too young to live alone. So my Aunt Barb and Uncle Bert, on Paw’s side, came to live with me here in this house. They’d jest been tenants elsewhere, so they was glad to come. But they was even meaner than Paw had been. I tried to make the best of it, figuring I had only a few years to go to legal manhood, when I’d be rid of them. But when I was nearly sixteen, I woke in the middle of the night and overheard them talking, right here in this very room. And they was talking with none other than Crazy Bird hisself! And what they was discussing was a plot to kill me, as I lay sleeping — so they could get their hands on my house and my land. Jest like that out-of-town developer wants to do now, Harry! Believe me, I was scared.

What’s the matter, Harry? I thought you said you liked murder stories?

All righty, so, to continue, I didn’t sleep another wink that night, wondering what I was going to do. I decided I’d better make a run for it at the first opportunity. But, as it turned out, Crazy Bird must’ve jest been pretending to be on their side. Because the very next night, Crazy Bird took Grandpaw’s hunting knife—

What’s wrong, Harry?

Anyway, he took this here knife, and he slashed both their throats with it, from ear to ear. Like this! While they was asleep! Then he disappeared again!

Me? Aw, I was away when it happened. I’d run off that day to my friend Jeb, the next town over. Jeb swore for me that I was with him, so I got clear again. This time I sought out Crazy Bird to thank him. But once again he was nowhere to be found. He chooses when to show hisself. I jest can’t control him!

What’s that? You should learn to speak up, Harry.

Naw, no one believed that story, neither. That’s why no one comes around here. Except people who don’t know no better, like you, Harry. People who get lost in the woods, see my lights. And when they get here, they bring Crazy Bird back again. It’s like he jest lays in wait for them or something.

That’s right, Harry. He jumps out at me when I least expect it. I got to watch out for him all the time. I had to watch out for him when I opened the front door to you. You didn’t see him come in, did you, Harry?

Naw, I didn’t think you did.

But somehow he’s gotten in here with us anyway. And he jumped out at me when I was least expecting him to.

Why, out there in the kitchen, when I was fixing you your tea.

He told me the brandy was jest to hide the taste of the strange leaves he concocted it out of, that he found in my kitchen cupboard, next to my sink.

Why the dried leaves of the foxglove flower. Digitalis purpurea. Grows out back here in July.

You’re feeling ill now, Harry?

Well, it’s better than dying in a blizzard. You had your choice, you know. I asked you if it was okay with you, before I brought you in here.

Aw, come on, you’re not all that young! You’re awful ANXIOUS, Harry, if you ask me.

Well, I’ll be! You’re right! There goes my telephone. Yeah, it’s in my kitchen. Must be the electric company calling. The lines must be fixed now.

Well, so what if it’s still snowing and blowing outside like a high-speed fan in a chicken coop, and these windows look like they’re drowning in the feathers?

Okay, okay, so the phone never went out, Harry, and okay, so somebody is calling me on it. You didn’t think I had any friends? Well, if you must know, Harry, it’s my oldest son, George. He calls me every night to check up on me. Ever since Pandora died, he worries about me.

Pandora was my wife... of fifty years. And she was great at making afghans. Doilies too.

Okay, so I was married. No, Harry, my maw didn’t die when I was twelve. She lived to be seventy-eight.

So I lied, Harry!

Aw, you’re not sure what to believe now? Well, why don’t you get up and answer the phone and see for yourself?

You feel too wobbly? Figures. The paralysis from the tea must be settling in your toes.

Well, if you’ll excuse me, Harry, I don’t want to worry my son more than I got to.

Hello?.. Jeb? How are you, old pal?.. Can’t talk now. Yeah, that’s right! Yeah, he swallowed it. Dinner tomorrow at three, same as usual. Carry on! Bye-bye, Jeb.

Yeah, Harry, that was my son George.

Jeb... George. What’s the difference? So I lie about some things, Harry. You gotta get used to it!

Yeah, right, Jeb’s the one who gave me my alibi the last murder I told you about.

Well, yeah, maybe there’s been others. I get visitors, I told you.

Aw, so you don’t think it’s that I’m kidding? You think I’m... crazy! Me, Harry? Naw.

Why, Harry, you’re all pale and sweaty. You wonderin’ what the truth is about Paw and Maw and Aunt Barb and Uncle Bert?

Well, before I tell you, I’ll tell you something else, Harry, about them deer antlers that your coat’s hanging on. That old deer laid his antlers right down there on the ground, jest so my grand-paw could pick them up and make a nice coat rack out of them. He didn’t have to use his knife at all!

I didn’t think you’d believe that one, Harry. Well that story happens to be jest as true as the fact that your tea is jest plain tea. So why don’t you take another sip of it and see?

You’re scared to?.. Well then... I GOTCHA, HARRY! I GOTCHA! And guess what, Harry, the best part is — you didn’t fool me first. Looky here what old Connor found in your coat pocket, Harry. A gun! That’s why you didn’t want me to take your coat away from you before, wasn’t it? And look what else I found in there. A copy of a back-dated deed to my house and property, signing it all over to Cain Development Company. Forged with my signature! So you ARE the guy who’s been trying to get my land offa me. I thought you was, Harry. Jeb got suspicious too when he seen you get outta your car this evening. He called me before you got here. Who else’d be sneaking around out here on all these acres at this time of night anyway, with snow starting to fall? But you didn’t get me after all, Harry. I got you!

Hey, Harry, what’s the matter with you now? I don’t think you heard a word I jest said. Why, you’re shaking as bad as them windows is and... Hey, Harry, don’t you get it? You wouldn’t drink your tea, so I said GOTCHA!

Harry?

Harry?

Well, I’ll be...! Aw, Harry, what’d you go and die now for? Spoiling all the fun we was gonna have. I was jest joking. I said gotcha ’cause I fooled you into not drinking any more of your tea, even though it was jest plain tea, Harry. Whoo-eee! That old Crazy Bird has gone and scared you to death. I tried to keep him out, but HE GOTCHA, HARRY!