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- Herausgeber: Joslyn Chase
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
One suspicious death. One key to what happened.
Innocence and malice, hatched in the same nest, ends in tragedy for one family.
Father Tonio Rinaldi helps fold back the layers exposing the rotten egg, standing by to pick up the broken pieces.
One girl holds the key to the truth. Can Father Rinaldi guide her into revealing it?
Fans of Jeffery Deaver, Ruth Rendell, and Daphne Du Maurier’s short stories will love reading The Broken Bird. Grab your copy today!
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Contents
Title Page
Free Book!
The Broken Bird
THE STORY
Get more chilling stories
More books by Joslyn Chase
Sample from Steadman's Blind
About the Author
Copyright Information
THE BROKEN BIRD
GET THE ENTIRE COLLECTION…FREE!
The Broken Bird is part of the short story collection
No Rest: 14 Tales of Chilling Suspense
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the growing group of readers who’ve discovered
THE STORY
The idea for “The Broken Bird” sparked in my mind when I read Ring Lardner’s great classic story, “Haircut.” The idea of innocence and malice nesting together frightened and intrigued me and the story just unfolded, layer by layer, each one revealing a bit more of a very disturbing picture.
As dark as it is, I like the hope and humanity that shine through in this story, for there are always blessings to be counted.
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When Father TonioRinaldi was five years old, he’d gone for a walk with his grandfather and found a dead bird on the sidewalk. It was a baby, its graying pink skin fuzzed over with wisps of down, eyes bulbous in the tiny head, a beak like sharpened yellow lips protruding above the broken neck. A black line moved and writhed over the defenseless body, and Tonio had been horrified to see it was made up of miniscule ants.
He began to cry.
Grandfather carried him home, and mama gave him milk and cookies. Tonio wanted to know why the bird had fallen from its nest and mama said there were likely too many babies squirming about and he’d been accidentally pushed. Or perhaps he strayed too far and fell.
Grandfather said maybe the bird was sick and had been shoved from the nest to make more room for the healthy birds. Mama clucked her tongue at that and sent grandfather out to the mailbox.
That had been his first encounter with death, and the memory came persistently into his head all these years later as he stood on the front lawn of the Bradshaw home, staring down at the sheet-covered form on the concrete walkway. That had been their baby. Sixteen years old, but a nestling still, and now a cold mound on the sidewalk, drawing ants.
Tonio bowed his head and uttered a prayer. Summer was over, and a bleakness filled the sky, leaching the color and life from it. Autumn had long been his favorite season, invigorating him with its crisp air and spicy scents.
This year was different.
The team of police personnel moved around the scene, taking photos, preparing to remove the body. They nodded to Tonio as he mounted the front steps and hesitated at the door. It stood open, and Preston Bradshaw caught sight of him, coming to meet him in the foyer.
“Father Rinaldi, thank you so much for coming.” His voice was subdued, his face taut, the skin stretched over bony plains. “As I mentioned on the phone, Julia’s mother is ill and elderly. She’s devastated by what happened, and we thought you might give her some comfort.”
“I’ll do everything I can for her. For all of you. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
Over Preston’s shoulder, Tonio saw a woman he took to be Julia Bradshaw. She leaned forward so that her long, raven-colored hair fell across her face like a curtain, giving her a scrap of privacy in her grief. A small, beautiful child curled into the corner of the sable leather sofa, face solemn, eyes bright. To Tonio, she looked like a miniature Italian princess, or a Madonna. Her exquisitely delicate features were the type that appeared on canvases across Europe. Two detectives, in plainclothes, sat in kitchen chairs facing the couch. A glass coffee table had been pushed aside.
“Thank you, Father. We’re all shocked, and the police are trying to determine whether it was an accident or if—” He swallowed and rubbed a hand across his brow. “There’s a possibility she may have taken her own life.”
Tonio reached a hand to brace the man, to impart warmth and support. He did not know these people, but he thought he’d known others like them. New to Westland, he’d hardly had time to unpack his suitcase and stock the refrigerator before getting the call from this distraught man. Father Macklin, Tonio’s predecessor, had filled him in regarding some of the town’s history and its more colorful and spiritually needy characters, but Tonio knew it would take time to learn the names and needs of the community he’d come to serve.
“Will you take me to your mother-in-law?”
“Julia gave her a sedative and she’s sleeping now.”
“I’m sure that’s the best thing,” Tonio said. He took a step back. “I can return when she’s awake, if you prefer.”
“Please, Father, I’d like you to stay. For the rest of us.”
“Yes, of course.”
“The police are just finishing with—”
“Preston!”
Julia Bradshaw’s voice pinged from the living room like the pluck of a tightly-drawn string. Preston hurried to her side and Tonio followed, positioning himself at the edge of the family circle as a signal he was willing to step in, if needed.
“They want to question Miri, and I won’t have it! She’s only eleven. Why can’t they just leave us alone?”
The woman detective held up a hand, as if to forestall a flood.
“Mrs. Bradshaw, the last thing we want to do is distress you further. We can come back at another—”
“No,” Preston said, sitting beside his daughter and pulling her against his side. “I’d like to do it now, if that’s all right. Do you feel up to it, Miri? Are there some things you want to say about what happened to Tara?”
The girl’s dark, curling hair framed her pale face like swirling clouds. Her eyes were wide and troubled, yet dry, her gaze searching. Tonio recognized, as Preston had, the child’s need to speak, to be acknowledged as part of the family in this time of tragedy.
“I want to answer their questions, mommy. I want to help.”
Preston raised an eyebrow at him, indicating an armchair, and Tonio took his seat in the circle. This is what he did, what Christ would do, in his place. Stand with the bereaved, mourn for those who mourn, and comfort those who stand in need of comforting.
He nodded a greeting to the detectives, and they exchanged names. The woman was called Dent and the man, Guthrie. Dent perched on the edge of her chair. Her eyes were sympathetic, a faded blue mixed with specks of gold, and crinkled at the edges. The short hair that crowned her skull was so fine and fair that it fairly floated above her head. Like a halo.
