The store was a mess when I arrived. Strewn pumps and stilettos and, in the middle of it all, twisted wings, blood pooling like spilled oil—a crow, haloed by shattered glass.
My stomach was a pit: I recognized the white patch on his chest. This is Charlie.
Janelle, the ratty shopgirl, said something, muffled by the roaring in my ears. It couldn’t be Charlie. Charlie, my lunch break companion. Charlie, who coveted bits of foil. I even gave him my engagement ring after my husband passed—skydiving accident near Lake Superior. His chute was faulty, rigged. I was a wreck when that happened. Yikes. I’d tried to sue the skydiving company, then the instructor, then the people I’d bought him the parachute from. I’d even gone after the pilot.
“He knew the risks, Ms. Rothscowitz. He loved the sport, and he knew the risks.”
Without Charlie, I’d have lost my mind for sure.
“He wouldn’t have hit the window.” I heard myself say.
“What?” Jenelle said.
“Too smart,” I murmured.
And I was right. Charlie knew when my lunch breaks were.
He could unwrap a caramel. The window couldn’t fool him. I looked around the ruined store. Someone did this.
“What a mess.” It was Corbin, the store owner. Gaunt, tired eyes. He gestured at the flapping banner beyond the broken glass. “On sale day too.”
I sobbed. Sale day. Just yesterday, I’d given Charlie one of the shiny brass tacks I’d used to hang the banner.
“She’s gonna freak,” Janelle hissed to Corbin. I wiped my eyes.
“Well,” Corbin stammered, shrilly. “Anything with blood’s gotta go. And, the bird,” he added nervously.
Janelle fell to collect the ruined shoes. “I’m vegan,” she explained, slinging the black plastic bag over her shoulder and leaving me with Charlie.
I picked up the carnage. Charlie must’ve been thrown, I reasoned. He wouldn’t have flown into the window. Someone must have thrown him.
I looked at his body again and sobbed. I couldn’t work like this. I lifted him into a shoebox and rushed outside.
Across the asphalt, Janelle was rummaging near the dumpster.
“What are you doing?” I asked, creeping up behind her.
Quickly, she shoved the bag of ruined shoes into a bush. “He said to sell them anyways!”
I gasped.
Janelle touched my arm. “Listen,” she pleaded. “We can split the profits!”
I flinched away, imagining traces of Charlie’s blood on my cardigan.
“Murderer!” My pulse pounded in my ears. “Want the shoes for yourself, so you cover them in blood, make it look like a mistake!”
Janelle blinked, feigning confusion. “Sorry?”
“Murderer,” I shouted again, speeding towards the office.
“Crazy bird bitch!” Janelle shouted behind me.
“It was Janelle!” I shouted, bursting into the office. “She threw Charlie through the window! For the shoes!”
Corbin frowned. “What?”
I took a breath. “She broke the window, smeared Charlie’s bloo–”
“Charlie?”
I held up the box.
Corbin paled. “Lenore, no.”
“She–”
“Lenore!” Corbin rubbed his eyes. “Please.”
“She killed him! For the shoes!”
“As far as I’m concerned, those shoes are garbage.” Corbin shook his head. “Please. You’re telling stories again. A bird hit a window. Take a seat outside and come back when you’re calm.”
I sat in the parking lot, shaking. Micah, the lanky warehouse boy, eyed me from the railing. Usually, Charlie perched on that railing.
Most days Micah cawed at me and threw crumbs of bread like I was a pigeon. Today, he spoke.
“The insurance’ll be nuts.”
I straightened. Insurance.
A line of ants marched between his feet, and he began crushing them. “Like, really nuts”
Yes. Too good to be true. The way he smeared the poor bugs made me think: Janelle was opportunistic, skeevy, but no killer. Her words echoed back to me:
“I’m vegan.”
Corbin though. A failing business could drive people to murder, no doubt about it. But I needed proof
“I’m going to the restroom,” I said.
Micah grunted.
Corbin was at lunch. I had to act quickly. I crept towards the office door and darted inside.
Corbin’s desk looked like the work of a deranged mind: papers, receipts, reminders, crushed empty coffee cups. I stood transfixed. He must have been the killer.
“Lenore?”
My head snapped up. Hulking and backlit was the stooped silhouette of Corbin.
I opened and closed my mouth. Then, with a steadiness I cannot explain, I spoke.
“I know about the insurance scheme.”
“What are you talking about?” He stepped into the darkness. Despite the desk between us, my heart hammered. I could picture Corbin’s hairy hands squeezing the life out of poor, shivering Charlie.
“You killed Charlie.” My voice was impossibly calm. “For the insurance on the store. I know about people like you, hurting innocent people to make a buck. When my Edgar–”
“Lenore,” Corbin said slowly. “I don’t even have an insurance policy.”
The silence was crushing.
I stood, frozen. “No insurance policy?”
He shook his head. “This is ridiculous. You’re fired. Leave your name tag and go.”
I put the shiny brass tag on his desk, fighting back tears as I ducked through the still ruined shoe store. If they had no insurance, why kill Charlie? Why all this blood and shattered glass?
Janelle scowled as I passed, my neck red with shame, and it hit me:
Crazy crow bitch. Telling stories again. Micah’s taunting caws. This wasn’t for insurance. It was far simpler: they wanted me to go.
My reeling thoughts froze when I got to the SALE banner.
Before me was a wall of glitter, a shining, shimmering expanse. For the first time, I saw the world through my friend’s eyes, and it was magical.
I’d been wrong: Charlie hadn’t been thrown away. He’d seen the shine and plunged through it. No scheme to resell shoes. No phony insurance claim. No mystery.
But there was a killer. With tacks and a hammer, I’d laid this trap.
At first, I was wracked with sobs, but the minutes passed, and my wailing did too.
I realized that Charlie died happy. He died chasing that glimmering something he’d always craved.
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