A Turkey of a Day

  Heather Graham

  Slush Pile

  Copyright © 2024 Heather Graham

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Connie Perry

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Angela Hawkins Crow is delighted! It’s Thanksgiving Day and it seems that her world is going well—she and Jackson are home and about to enjoy a real holiday together with their children, Corby and Victoria.

  All is going so well, until . . .

  A strange sound from the basement brings them both racing downstairs. Victoria is playing in her room, and Corby is supposed to be playing with his cornhole game.

  And he is, except . . .

  They hear the sound again. Jackson investigates. And caught on a tree, tied by a leash is a turkey. There is no sign of Jimmy.

  Corby doesn’t want to give away a friend’s situation. But his good buddy Jimmy Rodgers has run to his house for help. Jimmy is still getting over the death of a beloved cousin. The turkey had been purchased for his parents to do a natural meal with the bird raised and prepared by themselves. But Jimmy had fallen in love with the turkey and people came to his house and he was sure they’d come to kill the bird, even though he’d been told that if he needed the pet so badly, he could keep it. Weird pet, but . . .

  But as Jackson and Angela prepare to head to the house to see what they can do, they’re stopped by a guardian Jimmy never knew he had, the spirit of his long-lost grandfather.

  A Turkey of a Day

  Yah! For once, a holiday was approaching, and all was quiet at the office.

  Of course, it wasn’t quiet across the country or even beyond. But they also had units across the country and beyond who were dealing with the strange, frightening, horrific, or weird events that never failed to occur within humanity across the world—holiday or no.

  But Angela Hawkins Crow was excited. Or maybe excitement wasn’t the right word; she was strangely at peace.

  They had enjoyed a pre-holiday dinner at the office yesterday with everyone in the vicinity; they’d even managed special Zoom calls with those in the field. It had been nice, joyous—and also a time when they’d all gotten to be thankful for each other, for their families, for the fact that at the Krewe they were far more like family themselves than just co-workers.

  And today! Today she was already in the kitchen. Pancakes for breakfast, then later they’d go about doing the whole Thanksgiving thing with their own little family—herself, Jackson, and the kids, Corby, and Victoria.

  And they were lucky! It was time, indeed, to be thankful. Corby was a teenager in high school, and he was still one of the most decent kids anyone could imagine. Victoria was growing up to be a sweet child as well, not quite ten years old, but already aware of so much that was so important!

  And they were going to have a day together. A real family day, something that was precious and rare since Jackson headed the entire Krewe along with its newer units, and she was second in charge, head when it came to research and discovery and their tech units and more.

  But they were off! Ready off for the day!

  Jackson walked into the kitchen, and she smiled. He’d actually slept late! His dark hair was a wild mess over his head. He was wearing a worn terry robe, and she still thought of her husband as one of the most impressive men she’d ever met. His heritage was mixed Native American and Northern European; he was tall and fit and had the best cheekbones one could imagine.

  And she loved him more, she realized, with each year that passed between them. They were incredible partners at work.

  And at home. Both loving and caring for the children, neither ever assuming their own work more important than the other’s, and both ready to pitch in for anything necessary with their home or their kids.

  It was an unusual life. Because they were unusual and managed unusual people, but in was equally an amazing life.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” she told him.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” he replied. He made a face. “Um, guess I need a wake-up shower, but I wanted to see if you needed anything . . .”

  He broke off, his brows shooting up in question as they heard a strange squawking sound from the basement.

  “The kids—”

  “They’re up. Victoria is in her room playing with her make-up. Corby was out in back playing with the cornhole game,” Angela told him.

  Jackson, tattered bathrobe and all, quickly hurried down the basement stairs at the rear of the kitchen.

  Angela followed him as quickly as she could.

  But when they reached the basement, there was nothing to be seen.

  Another door led out to a little stairway that led up to the yard. When they reached the yard, Corby was there.

  Right where he should have been, throwing the little bean bags at his cornhole game.

  But he turned to look at them. And Angela knew that something wasn’t right.

  “Hey, Mom, hey, Dad!” he said.

  Angela smiled in return but glanced at Jackson. He glanced at her in turn and they both nodded.

  He was a good kid. No, a great kid. They adopted him from strange and rough circumstances several years ago; and they had been proud of him ever since, loving him more every day if possible. He didn’t lie to them; he owned up to mistakes, and he was wonderful with his little sister.

  And because he was usually so good . . .

  They knew something was wrong.

  They both faced him; he looked at them in turn and his eyes fell.

  “We heard something really strange from the basement,” Jackson told him.

  Corby’s continued to look down.

  “What’s going on?” Angela asked softly.

  “Nothing,” Corby said.

  “Don’t lie to us, son,” Jackson told him quietly.

  “Um, what if the truth would hurt someone else?” Corby asked, almost whispering.

  “You know that we don’t hurt others, Corby. You know to trust us,” Angela said.

  Corby took a deep breath and looked toward the basement stairs and then to the trees that grew to the rear of the yard.

  “Um, the noise. It was . . .” Corby paused, his face scrunching up. “I’m sorry; I made sure there was no mess. It was a turkey.”

  “A turkey?” Angela repeated, glancing at Jackson.

  Then suddenly, their son couldn’t talk fast enough. “It’s Jimmy Rodgers; his folks bought the turkey. I guess they wanted to have their own for the last weeks going up to Thanksgiving. They watched and fed it, that kind of thing. But, um, Jimmy started to care too much for the turkey and someone came and he heard his parents going with whoever and his mother was upset and . . . well, he figured that the men had come to his house to kill the turkey for them for Thanksgiving, and so he grabbed the bird and came over here. And, Mom, Dad, please don’t be upset! Jimmy has had it hard since his cousin got killed in that automobile accident. They were so close. So, anyway, he somehow made a pet out of the turkey and . . . he’s crying, so afraid they’re going to kill it, and he knows he’d never be able to eat it and . . . anyway, I guess his mom had said that he could keep it, but then the men came and he heard people shouting and . . . don’t be mad at me, please! I had to help Jimmy. I mean, people keep parrots, right? And parakeets. And even pigeons! If a turkey is helping Jimmy . . .”

  His voice trailed. He looked at the two of them in misery.

  Jackson looked at Angela.

  She’d met Jimmy’s parents a few times. Jimmy and Corby were in the same grade at school. They seemed to be nice, decent, caring people. If Jimmy’s mom had said that he could keep the turkey . . .

  “I have an idea!” she announced.

  “I’m ready to hear it,” Jackson assured her.

  “I, um, well, we have lots of fish and shellfish in the freezer. I can take it out now, and we can see if Jimmy and his folks want to come over and have a bit of a different Thanksgiving dinner with us. What do you think?”

  Corby’s eye lit up. “Shrimp, yeah! That won’t be like eating anybody’s pet! Um, I shouldn’t say that. But not anyone I know, anyway.”

  Jackson shook his head but smiled slowly. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Corby repeated.

  Jackson nodded. “Call Jimmy out of the woods. We’ll put the turkey back in the basement, get Victoria, and head over to the Rodgers’ house and give them our invitation. Although, Corby, I don’t know who came to his house, and I can’t promise you that Jimmy’s parents will agree.”

  “But we can try!” Corby said. “Jimmy!” he shouted. “Jimmy, come on out—my parents have a solution to the problem!”

  He was excited when he spoke, happy.

  But no one emerged from the trees.

  Jackson started across the yard. Corby meant to follow him. Angela wasn’t sure what instinct seized her, but she caught him by the shoulders. “Let Dad go,” she told him.

  “But—”

  She was soon glad that she had

stopped Corby. Jackson emerged from the trees appearing perplexed.

  Stranger still was the fact that he was leading a large turkey on what appeared to be a thin leash and collar, the type that some people bought to walk small dogs or even cats.

  “Corby, I need you to get in the house. Take the turkey. And you’re responsible for watching your sister right now. Stay inside and keep the door locked.”

  “Dad, what’s wrong? Where’s Jimmy?” Corby asked.

  Jackson took his son by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I need you to help me so that your mom and I can find Jimmy. The turkey was back there; Jimmy was not.”

  Alarm filled Corby’s expression as he looked at his father.

  Jackson returning with the turkey and not Jimmy had alarmed Angela, too.

  Had the kid just abandoned his precious turkey? Most probably not.

  She moved closer to her husband and son, softly saying, “Corby, we need you to be strong. The dogs are in the house, and your sister is upstairs playing. Right now, we need you here so that—”

  “So that you can find Jimmy or what happened to him!” Corby said. He swallowed hard. Corby knew what his parents did for a living—and that their jobs were also true vocations. They had met the boy they had adopted on a case years before.

  And discovered as well that he was a kid with their own peculiar, “special” talents.

  “Right,” Jackson said. “I’ll be honest with you son, and you be strong and brave for your mom and me. I don’t know where Jimmy is; we intend to find him. You go upstairs and keep an eye on Victoria. Your mom and I will head for the Rodgers’ house. Wait—get the turkey into the basement first.”

  Corby nodded and turned to head for the house.

  Angela looked at Jackson. “Did his parents see him and decide just to leave the turkey and bring him home and ground him—”

  “Parents don’t make their kids bleed,” Jackson said darkly. “What the hell is going on with that family?”

  “Bleed?”

  “I saw what looked like a little splash of blood on the leaves back there. Enough to make me wary.”

  “Let’s get over there and find out. I can’t believe they would really hurt their child.”

  “They wouldn’t!”

  The simple statement surprised them both.

  Angela turned to see that an elderly man was now standing at their side.

  And Angela knew . . .

  It was an elderly dead man. A spirit who had remained on earth.

  “Jimmy’s parents didn’t hurt Jimmy—they didn’t hurt anyone!” The ghost spoke anxiously. “They’re all in danger!”

  “What—” Jackson began.

  “You see me!” the ghost exclaimed with relief.

  “We do,” Jackson assured him.

  “They seized Jimmy because his dad wouldn’t give them what they wanted!”

  “What do they want?” Angela asked.

  “The codes. The codes to a vault in a jewelry store,” the ghost said. “Please!”

  “We’ll head over; we’ll stop this!” Jackson promised. “Angela—”

  “We need a plan,” she said.

  “You knock like a friendly neighbor; I’ll be back up.”

  “Let’s do it. Oh, wait! I’m not armed and you’re wearing a bathrobe!”

  “True—let’s move fast!”

  They ran back into the house, the ghost in tow. Hurrying to the bedroom, Jackson grabbed jeans and threw on a T-shirt and a jacket—along with his holster and gun.

  Angela retrieved her Glock, throwing on a jacket as well to cover her gun and holster.

  They quickly left their house, moving across the street and down to the Rodgers’ house. Jackson stepped back.

  Angela hurried to the door.

  She knocked hard. “Mrs. Rodgers! Hey, it’s just Angela from across the street! Mr. Rodgers? I’m sorry; we really need to see you—”

  The door opened. Jimmy’s mom looked at her and swallowed hard. She was evidently trying to appear normal.

  Angela couldn’t remember her first name!

  “Sarah,” the ghost whispered to her. “It’s Sarah!”

  “Sarah, hey!” Angela said. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve been going crazy. I haven’t been able to find my phone, and Jackson suggested I might have left it over here the other day, that maybe it fell by the sofa where I was sitting. I know it’s Thanksgiving; I’m really so sorry to bother you, but please, may I come in and look! Oh, I know you have guests, and I do apologize!”

  The woman was trying so hard to behave normally, but Angela’s request left her staring into space.

  Then a man spoke.

  “Sarah, invite your friend in!”

  “Oh, thanks! Like I said, I’m so sorry to interrupt you all!” Angela said. As she stepped in, she smiled at the man who had spoken, taking in the rest of the Rodger’s living room as well.

  Only one man. And Jimmy’s dad was seated in a chair near their mantle.

  She was sure that meant that the second perp was in a room—with Jimmy. And the threat was surely that Jimmy would be killed if there was any problem.

  “They have my grandson!” the ghost said with dismay.

  “I’m Angela, from across the street,” Angela told the stranger, shaking his hand.

  He was a young man, mid-twenties, she thought. Dark shaggy hair, light brown eyes, about five-eleven and slender. He appeared both hardened and angry and somewhat anxious.

  Drugs, she thought. And that’s what it might all be about. Jimmy’s dad was the manager at a jewelry store—one that carried precious stones and high-priced jewelry.

  “Yeah, you’re pretty rude,” the man said. “Find your phone and let us get on with Thanksgiving!”

  “Again, I’m sorry!” Angela said. “I’ll try to hurry!” She heard a squeaking sound, as if a chair had moved. The sound was barely discernible, and she hoped that no one noticed it—or that she had heard it.

  The sound didn’t seem to register to the man or to Sarah Rodgers.

  Sarah just stood there, silent.

  “Oh, man, I’m sorry, too!” the man told her, probably realizing that if he was trying to appear like invited guests—and keep from anyone else knowing that something sinister was going on—he needed to be a bit more polite. “I’m Joe. Joe Smith.”

  “Joe. Nice to meet you. Thanks—and thank you, Sarah!” Angela said. She hurried over to the sofa, dropping low to search the floor, hoping the ghost would join her.

  He did. “Get to Jackson. Tell him front bedroom,” she said.

  “Right!” the ghost said. “They moved him, they moved our boy!”

  The ghost left her. Angela continued to make a show of searching for her phone, and then finding it.

  She stood, pretending to just talk “turkey” with Sarah Rodgers while she studied the man in front of her, trying to determine if he had a weapon on his person.

  The odd thing was that it appeared as if he did not.

  But then he twisted, and she saw that he had a small handgun stuffed into his waistband at the back.

  He didn’t need to wave it around.

  If another man had a gun on her son, there was no way on earth Sarah would do anything other than exactly what she was told.

  “So! Sarah, I understand Jimmy has fallen in love with the turkey you decided you wanted to feed yourself before Thanksgiving. Did you decide to let him keep the animal as a pet?”

  “I . . . well, I mean, a turkey,” Sarah murmured.

  “We wanted to take out that bird the minute we got here!” the man who had introduced himself as Joe said lightly. “It’s a turkey, not a pet!”

  “Hey, people have dogs, cats, horses, lizards, parrots—why not a turkey?” She asked, grinning.

  “Because it’s a turkey!” Joe exclaimed. Then he frowned. “Then again, you’re right, living, breathing . . . well, lots of things we eat are or were . . . I mean, I love turkey. But I guess if a kid is in love with a turkey . . .”

  “He needed something,” Sarah said softly.

  “Well, we didn’t kill the turkey,” Joe muttered.

  Then Angela heard it, the commotion from the bedroom.

  Jackson had figured a way in.

  She drew her own gun before Joe could go for his.

  “Don’t make me shoot you, please, Joe. I think you may be a nice guy. A nice guy in need of some serious help. It’s so easy to have drugs with friends as a lark—and then find out you’re addicted, and they then become expensive as hell while they’re killing you!” she said.

 

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