Blown Away by Shane Gericke

accompanied Daddy on the killing beaches of D-day, then on hundreds of deer hunts and fishing trips to the North Woods.
    Fully mule-trained, she hustled down to the kitchen and threw back the final cup. She rinsed the Three Little Pigs, gulped cranberry juice, a Power Bar, and three tablespoons of French vanilla— I’ll cut back tomorrow —then headed for the driveway. Ten minutes to the station, ten more to sign out a police cruiser and radio, then out on the street, where she belonged.
    â€œWhat are you still doing here?” Emily blurted. Despite their “conversation” on the landing, she never dreamed Shelby would stay this long. The lively Lab never gathered moss when there was somebody to play with somewhere. He barked, then started head-butting the post holding up the mailbox. Whatever was prompting this behavior must really be something.
    That’s when she noticed the flies dive-bombing the box.
    â€œChrist on a crutch,” Emily muttered. “You hitch a ride from the cemetery?” She shooed them from the mailbox door, pulled it open, stared slack-jawed.
    Goose head. Duck heads. Black with crusting blood. Eyes milky and staring back into hers.
    The three missing pieces from the Riverwalk.
    Each with a familiar white card slipped between its bill.
    She opened her mouth but nothing came out. I fell asleep after my shower, and this is a bad dream, right? She closed her eyes, pinched her inner thigh, slowly reopened.
    No dream.
    â€œThat’s what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it?” she said, light-headed. Shelby thumped his tail but, seeming to sense Emily didn’t need more distractions right now, made no other move.
    Emily punched her cell phone’s redial. “Branch,” the familiar voice boomed.
    â€œRemember how we decided Lucy wasn’t a message to me?” she said without preamble.
    â€œEmily?” Branch said. “Where are you? What’s the matter—”
    â€œRemember?” Emily persisted.
    â€œYes,” Branch said.
    â€œWe were wrong. I just found three heads in my mail box.” Her voice was steady, thought processes efficient. Which surprised her, because at the moment she was frightened half to death. “Two ducks and a goose. They belong to three decapitated birds I found on the Riverwalk this morning during my run.”
    Long pause. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
    â€œYes. Each beak contains one of my police cards. Like Lucy had at the cemetery.”
    Longer pause. “You still home?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œStay out by the street. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there in six minutes.”

CHAPTER 6
    Monday, 1 P.M .
Sixty-five hours till Emily’s birthday
    â€œAll this for a bunch of birds?” Emily groaned. Her lawn was as crowded as Easter church with cops, detectives, bomb dogs, CSIs, and firefighters. Even a sawhorse team from Public Works to keep rubbernecks at bay. Yellow tape was everywhere. It was monumentally embarrassing.
    â€œLet’s talk,” Branch rumbled from behind.
    Emily turned, saw he’d changed. At the cemetery he was detached—fascinated, certainly, but ultimately a bystander, like her. Here, on his home turf, Branch was Alpha Wolf, protecting his pack from marauders. His expression was harder, lips flatter, eyes wide and darting, looking for the scat and broken twigs that signified the presence of the Other. A warmth washed over her. Even though she could take care of herself, she was happy to see the department bare its teeth on her behalf. “Did you find those three…uh, bodies?”
    â€œIn the bushes, right where you threw ’em. We need to talk about that.” He answered his ringing cell phone. “Hey, Marty, good timing. I was just gonna call you. What? Geez, he’s a tricky scumbag. OK, sure, I’ll go first.” He peered into Emily’s mailbox as he sketched the crime