Eating Crow

By Kiki Curry Winters

Born and raised in Waxahachie,Texas, Kiki currently works from her studio/gallery, SKYPONY, in Dallas, Texas. She is also co-director of the Gallery at MidTown in Dallas with her husband Douglas Winters III.
Self-taught in the medium of fiber art which began her career as a life-long artist. Formal training began in San Miguel de Allende at the Institudo del Arte and private instruction in silver-smithing and painting. Her colorful and textural painting dance with the vividness of her artistic experience in Mexico. It was there in San Miguel where she saw her first encaustic exhibition of a famous Mexican artist. Years later, she has developed her own style of encaustic wax art with a flair of textures and layers of rich color.
Kiki is a published author of Crows Calling, a suspenseful murder mystery available on Amazon. Soon to be released is her sequel, Eating Crow to be published in the Spring of 2015 by Xlibris Publishing.
Before her training in San Miguel, she spent four years on the road as a standup comic as the opening act for Tony Stone. She has been a guest on Howard Stern and published in a popular nationwide magazine.
Kikis art is represented by Wild Holly in Carefree, Arizona and Cherokee Mountain Gallery in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Her art can be seen at SkyPony Studio and Gallery at Midtown in Dallas.
www.kikicurry.com
www.skyponystudio.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503538528

Kiki Curry Winters

KIKI CURRY WINTERS Born and raised in Waxahachie,Texas, Kiki currently works from her studio/gallery, SKYPONY, in Dallas, Texas. She is also co-director of the Gallery at MidTown in Dallas with her husband Douglas Winters III. Self-taught in the medium of fiber art which began her career as a life-long artist. Formal training began in San Miguel de Allende at the Institudo del Arte and private instruction in silver-smithing and painting. Her colorful and textural painting dance with the vividness of her artistic experience in Mexico. It was there in San Miguel where she saw her first encaustic exhibition of a famous Mexican artist. Years later, she has developed her own style of encaustic wax art with a flair of textures and layers of rich color. Kiki is a published author of Crows Calling, a suspenseful murder mystery available on Amazon. Soon to be released is her sequel, Eating Crow to be published in the Spring of 2015 by Xlibris Publishing. Before her training in San Miguel, she spent four years on the road as a standup comic as the opening act for Tony Stone. She has been a guest on Howard Stern and published in a popular nationwide magazine. Kiki’s art is represented by Wild Holly in Carefree, Arizona and Cherokee Mountain Gallery in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Her art can be seen at SkyPony Studio and Gallery at Midtown in Dallas. www.kikicurry.com www.skyponystudio.com

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Kiki Curry Winters.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 01/30/2015

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

546791

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

About Domestic Abuse

Epilogue

Dedicated to Douglas E. Winters III

Douglas is the most amazing artist I’ve met. He is always surprising me with his relentless pursuit of pushing his creative talent. I admire him on many levels. He has been my mentor with my art career. More of his wonderful artwork can be purchased at our art gallery, SkyPony Studio in Dallas, Texas. View his work at www.skyponystudio.com.

Thank you Douglas for the beautiful artwork on the cover of Eating Crow. Thank you for your constant love and support in work, life and play.

Chapter 1

The axe soon forgets, but the tree always remembers. (Shona saying)

This time of year, this time of day, blackbirds met daily near dusk on the old pecan tree outside her window. Branches had the appearance of black fluttering leaves as the birds noisily chatted and hopped excitedly about from limb to limb refreshed from the late afternoon, summer downpour. Zoe swept the colorful patchwork of cut hair from the floor of her beauty salon thinking of each customer she had worked on earlier today by the color clumps on the terra cotta tile floor. She stopped to stare out the window, captivated by the chattering birds all seeming so excited to tell their story of the day. Cocktail hour is what she called it. She could imagine the feathered adventures of their day; where to find the perfect dried grass for nest renovations, where to find the best ripe berries, and day old fries behind the Burger House. All the things that were so important and exciting to birds were being discussed in a noisy fashion before nesting in for the night. They almost made her happy. Almost. She stopped sweeping, gazing out the window to watch the birds.

With her nose pressed against the window, a blackbird broke away from the group to land on the windowsill in front of her face. She backed, startled, feeling like the bird would crash into the glass pane. The bird landed on the ledge and stared Zoe directly in the eye, and began pecking, pecking, pecking at the glass. Weird, thought Zoe with an uneasy feeling.

She turned, leaned the broom against the wall, picked up her handbag and retrieved the note she had found under the seat of her car while searching for her umbrella this afternoon. She sat down in her beautician’s chair to gather her senses. As she reread the words for the fifth time this afternoon, as if they would somehow, miraculously change, the paper shook in her trembling hands. Her chair faced the mirror, which usually reflected her gossiping clients, but now her troubled image. Zoe’s natural-curly, shoulder-length brunette hair was still damp and in ringlets around her oval face, from getting caught in the afternoon downpour. Just running the brief distance from her parking lot in front of the shop was like being sprayed with a the full blast of a garden hose.

The front door of the shop opened, Zoe quickly tucked the note away back into her pocketbook and got up to continue her sweeping. Bobby strolled in like he owed the place, as he always did, full of piss and vinegar, as he would aptly describe himself. Hi, doll, he came over to hug Zoe. I have a late appointment tonight. Are you done for the day?

Yes.

Bobby noticed Zoe’s sullenness, Why so glum? Don’t tell me, it’s the A-hole again.

Zoe just sighed, tried to brush off Bobby’s comments, and continued to sweep without responding to his probing question and his concerned stare.

Bastard. What did he do now?

Zoe laid down the broom, sat in her beautician’s chair with a frown that made her look older than her thirty-five years. Again, she sighed deeply. Tears began to well in her eyes. She began to speak, but her voice broke and tears streaked down her face.

Bobby came to her, put his arm around her shoulder and stroked her back. It’s okay, sweetie. Come on. Let it out.

Zoe was different this time, Bobby thought. He could swear she was afraid rather than just being distraught from being married to Travis Cole. Her body shook as she began to sob harder.

Bobby had worked for Zoe Cole for five years now. Well, not really ‘for’ her, but as a beautician in her little shop, called The Wild Hair, on North Rogers Avenue, in the small town of Waxahachie, Texas. Four of those five years, Zoe was the most fun person he had worked with. The last year, the year she married Travis Cole, was a change for the worse for Zoe. Poor Zoe. Bobby wished for a brief moment he could beat some sense into Travis, if only for the pure pleasure of it. But, that would be lowering himself to the redneck’s standards. His anger swelled observing Zoe’s eyes, obliviously puffy from crying. What now? It was always something with that dirtbag. What did she ever see in the man, anyway? I knew he was bad news the minute I laid eyes on him. I know a good man when I see one.

It wasn’t easy keeping secrets from Bobby. He was better than a woman when it came to intuition and Zoe had given up trying to hold back information from him. His clients used him as much as a therapist, as they did for his remarkable skills in cosmetology equal to Jose Eber. And, for Waxahachie, Texas, that was something.

Bobby laid down his keys, sat in his chair next to Zoe and said, Come on, sweetie! What gives?

Sighing deeply, Zoe relented, picked up her pocketbook, and retrieved the piece of paper that had been tormenting her since she found the note. Here. This says it all. Read.

Silently reading the note, Bobby gasped at the ending sentence. His dark eyes widened, as he glared at Zoe. If you don’t take this to the police right now, you are a fool.

What can the police do? You know what they’ll say. ‘We can’t do anything to him unless he harms you’. By then, it will be too late.

Where did you find this note? Bobby snarled his lip and waved the note away from his body as if would infect him.

Under the passenger seat of my car. Travis borrowed my car yesterday because his Bronco was in the shop. I was trying to find my umbrella, as you can tell by looking at me, it wasn’t there. I found that note instead. Zoe flipped her fingers through her wet hair.

Who’s Cindy? Bobby looked down at the note deciphering each word like an interrogator.

I have no idea, she shrugged.

Travis has never mentioned anyone named Cindy?

No. Zoe shook her head, and wrung her hands.

What are you going to do? Are you going home? You’re obviously in danger. I’ve been telling you to leave that useless scumbag ever since you met him. Why do you stay with him, Zoe? Kick the bum out. He’s been using you. Can’t you see it, girl?

Zoe recalled the day she met Travis Cole. She had made a trip to Dallas to pick up hair supplies for her beauty shop, and coming back, on Interstate 35, her front tire blew. Struggling with the spare, the harsh wind whipping her skirt, a vehicle pulled up behind her. A tall, lanky, good-looking man got out and came up to her and just took over the task of the tire change. Afterwards, she offered to pay him. He asked if she would have coffee with him and pointed to place up the road where truckers hang out. They laughed and talked for hours. Then, she had trusted him, a stranger on the road, with piercing steel blue eyes. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He had entranced her. She knew it. Charmed her the way a snake will captivate it’s victim before striking. And, that is what she had been. His victim. Now, he was proving to be the snake.

Zoe married Travis Cole after knowing him for only five weeks. She had known so little about his background. He was a master of deception, always manipulating the conversation back to Zoe. Now, it was easy to see how naive she had been. She could see the bitter truth within weeks of their marriage. But, she wasn’t a quitter. Desperately she tried to make their marriage work. The things she did to please him were ridiculous. Unaware of his temper before they married, he kept it well hidden at first, as men like Travis Cole did. Men like Travis Cole were smooth and charming with years of practice. He had his moves down, tested, and proven. More than once, Zoe had come into work; her eye blackened, or bruises on her arms. Her excuses of running into things no longer worked with Bobby and many of her regular clients were beginning to question her about constant ‘clumsiness’. The truth was, Travis’ bitter jealousy and dominating personality had turned to violence more times than she could count. Every time, he had come back to beg her forgiveness, declaring his love for her, promising never to hurt her again, and blaming it on the alcohol. Time after time, she had forgiven him, and believed that things would get better if she would just do things to please him, or even worse, blaming herself to warrant such abuse.

Zoeeee…hell-ooo?

Uh, what? She jolted back to reality.

I said, what are you going to do? At the very least put a damn restraining order on the sucker.

That would be a worthless piece of paper to him. Like waving a red flag to a bull. You know he’s not one to respond to orders. I have to be careful how I ask him to take the trash out. And restraint - he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

Yeah and there are a lot of other words that redneck doesn’t know the meaning of, Bobby said, preening his hair in the mirror. I know two words he does know: Shoot. Gun. He makes me so mad he almost makes me want to go straight just so I could whip his ass to Memphis.

Sometimes I daydream about being back in the old West, 150 years ago, and I could just shoot him and be done with it.

Well, girlfriend, this is Waxahachie—a dry county in the twenty-first century. They won’t let you buy alcohol here, but the courts in this county totally resonate if you shoot an ass like him. Hon, if I played on the other team, I’d do ya in a heartbeat. Do you want to come stay with me for a few nights until you can get your head screwed on straight? No pun intended sweetie.

No. Damn it! It’s my house! He is not going to run me off! My grandmother gave me that house and I love it.

Tell him to leave! With your constant bruises you have full rights to a restraining order. Take that damn note and show the cops. They might just put him in under surveillance.

Zoe got up and nervously paced. She held her head, running her fingers through her hair to air dry the remaining dampness of her damp ringlets.

Bobby watched her and spun his beautician chair around to face her. You’re scared of him, aren’t you? And, you should be. He’s white trash, Zoe! For God’s sakes, yes, he’s good looking, yes, you’ve told me he’s good in bed, yes, he’s hung like a horse, but, come on girl, you know that stallion hasn’t stayed in his stable. He’s lied to you about so many things and not even to mention his brutality. How much more are you going to take? I don’t understand how you’ve lasted this long. What is his goddamn spell over you? You are a beautiful, sexy woman, for Christ’s sake! Is your self esteem so low that this … this creep is who you’re going to settle for the rest of your life? Pull the damn band-aid off and be done.

Lies, yes there had been too many to count, her memory now clouded with all the deceit. How many lies could be told in a year? A month? Daily? Before they were married, Travis bragged about his successful business, his employees, how many years he had been in business. Sure it was a blue-collar welding operation handed down by his father, a successful family business, he had convinced her. Lies. All lies. The welding shop, Zoe found out, was owned by Kent Thompson, who Travis then convinced her was his employee. Actually, the opposite was the truth. Now, Travis was not even employed. Looking for a job, he told her when she would come home. Nothing in my field available. Eight months he had been unemployed, his breath smelling of alcohol when she came home. If he even came home. She dare not question him. That is when the abuse began. What could she believe? Nothing.

Still pacing, Zoe didn’t know where to start answering Bobby’s questions.

Throw his ass out! What’s to stop you? Call the police. Surely they’ve been to your house enough to recognize the address. Ask the police over, then tell him to leave!

It’s not as easy as all that, Bobby.

Why not? What could you possibly still see in him?

Bobby … I….

You are scared aren’t you?

Zoe stopped to gaze out the window at the cackling black birds and wrung her hands. Yes, she was scared. Terrified. Living with Travis Cole had been the worst decision she had ever made. No, marrying him was the worst decisions she had ever made. The chanting of the black birds seemed to be saying leave him … leave him … leave him. She had hinted once to her husband of the possibility of him moving out. An hour later, she walked into the garage as he was cleaning his .357 Magnum. When she asked him why, he had told her, ‘you can never tell when I might need to use it.’ His cold, hateful eyes sent a chill through her giving her nightmares. If she kicked him out, what could the police do to protect her? What if he shot her while she was sleeping?

Leave him, Zoe! Bobby’s voice interrupted her daydream again sounding somewhat like the birds.

What?

I said, leave him! Come stay at my house, just for a day or two. You can’t go home after finding this. Bobby held the note and reread the last sentence out loud to make his point, ’My darling, it is only a matter of time for us to be together and we will have all the money we need from the life insurance to begin our new life.’ Zoe! My Heavens! What life insuran—

The front door opened and Bobby turned to see his evening client walk through the door.

Zoe rushed to the restroom to avoid any more prying eyes. Questioning was not what she needed now. She didn’t even know what she needed. Her thoughts turned to the possibility of getting a gun for protection.

She turned on the water and splashed it on her face. The cold water felt good on her swollen eyes. She used a washcloth to compress over them while sitting on the toilet lid to compose her thoughts and come up with a plan. Maybe staying at Bobby’s house was a good thing to do. Her instincts were telling her that she shouldn’t go home. She reapplied make up and tried to look presentable. People in the small town were already suspicious enough without contributing more to the gossip pool.

The phone rang and Zoe could hear Bobby’s muffled voice say, Can I take a message? She’s in the restroom.

Bobby. I can take the call. Zoe exited her shelter and headed for the phone and answered, Hello?

The voice on the other end was Kittye Katz, her long-time friend from Austin. Girlfriend! How are you?

Zoe’s face brightened when she heard Kittye’s voice. Kittye!

Did I catch you at a bad time?

Zoe walked into the back storage away from prying ears of Bobby’s client. Not really, she lied, trying to hide her emotions.

Girl’s trip! You’re in!

Slow down. What’s going on?

I know it’s the last minute, but Cheyenne’s uncle has offered us his houseboat on Lake Powell for a week. Free!

Kittye, Lake Powell is in Arizona!

Lake Powell is fabulous and especially on a houseboat. Heather, Cheyenne, me, you—our old gang back together again. How cool is that? You cannot say No!

Well, it’s not—

Zoe, you’ve got to come! Kittye persuaded. It won’t be the same without you. I know, I know, it is a last minute invite, but Cheyenne just called this afternoon. Her uncle lives on the boat and had to go out of the country on business and he asked if she wanted to enjoy his boat.

But, my clients … when are you leaving?

Tomorrow. Heather and I can pick you up.

Tomorrow! Yikes! You don’t give a girl much notice, do you?

Would Travis mind? Kittye asked.

There was silence as Zoe’s mind whirled back to her situation.

Kittye paused then asked, Zoe, is something wrong? You don’t sound yourself.

I’m sorry, Kittye, I’ll call you in a couple of hours. I have something urgent I need to take care of. Without another word, Zoe hung up. She rubbed her eyes and wondered what to do. It was hard to think of her dear friends, Kittye and Heather at the moment. Her mind was filled with confusion and fear. Zoe had held the dark secret of her abusive husband from everyone, including her closest friends. The reason Bobby knew about Travis’ abuse is because of the bruising. She couldn’t hide away from Bobby’s inquisitive nature, although she tried, at first, and finally gave into to his relentless questioning. Bobby had her best interests at heart. He only wanted to protect her, she knew, although at times, she found his prying annoying. Kittye and Heather could never know what she had gone through this past year with Travis Cole. It was too degrading to admit having married a man like him. No, they could never find out what hell he had put her through. Now, this note she had found put a different twist. Abuse was horrid enough. Over the last year, his evil ways had slowly come to surface, but scheming her demise was too shocking for Zoe to comprehend. Could Travis really be so evil? Why does he hate me? How could he have an insurance policy on me without my knowledge? How did he get the money for a policy? Zoe sat on a stool and rubbed her forehead, lost in the questions plaguing her.

After thirty minutes of pondering and pacing, Zoe decided to take up Bobby’s offer of spending the night at his place. Travis would be mad as hell if she did not come home. Silly, she thought, I’m worried about him being angry with me, and here’s proof he wants me dead. She looked down at the note again and reread it for courage: it is only a matter of time until we’re together and we will have all the money we need from the life insurance …

There was a soft knock on the door of the storage room. Zoe? asked Bobby, his voice filled with worry.

Come in, Bobby.

He entered and walked over to her, Well? What are you going to do?

I’m going to take you up on your offer to stay at your house tonight.

Tonight? Then what? Are you going to take this note to the cops? You need to throw the bum out, dear!

Please, Bobby, keep your voice down. I don’t want your client to overhear what is going on. Listen, I’m leaving. I’m going by my house to pick up a few things then go to your place. Let me check if I still have your key. She dashed to the restroom where she had left her pocketbook and checked her key ring and found Bobby’s key.

He was hot on her tail. Find it?

Yes.

When I get through with my client tonight, I’ll lock up and bring us a pizza.

Zoe didn’t feel like eating but said, Sure.

Beware of Sassy, the malevolent attack cat.

Zoe smiled slightly at Bobby’s attempt to lighten her spirits. I’m going to slip out the back door to avoid your client. I can’t handle any more gossip. Waxahachie is too small a town to have rumors flying around.

Good idea, sweets. Be careful when you go home. Maybe you should call first to see if Travis is there.

Alright, I will. Zoe dialed home. The line rang until she heard her own voice on the answering machine. She hung up. No answer, Bobby. See you later tonight when you get home.

As she drove her lime green Volkswagen Beetle home, Zoe organized her thoughts carefully about what she would pack; clothes, toiletries, and the stash of money she had been hiding away from Travis. He had become such a drain on her finances, she resorted to saving behind his back, and telling him her business had slacked off. She hit the remote, opening the garage door, and was relieved to see no truck in his parking place. Immediately, she ran to the bedroom, pulled out the suitcase from the top shelf of her closet, and began frantically throwing clothes into it without folding. Behind her panties, in the back of the drawer, was an envelope that held her cash. Her heart raced when she felt the size of the envelope. She looked inside. Empty. After counting it a little over a week ago, she had saved over ten thousand dollars. What had he done? How did he expect to get away with this? Frantically, she dug through her drawer, not wanting to believe her savings were gone. She pulled out the drawer, dumping the contents on the floor. No money. The thief had stolen it all. Probably to purchase insurance on her life.

She stormed from the bedroom, suitcase in hand, and noticed the message light blinking on the phone. She hit play. The first message was from Kittye about the girl’s trip. Kittye’s voice cheerfully chatted about where they were going and to call her immediately. She left her home and cell number. The next message was from Travis. His raspy voice said: I’m going to be a little late tonight, babe. See you about ten-ish.

Screaming at the answering machine, Zoe was enraged, In your dreams, asshole! She turned off the lights and toted her bag to her VW Beetle.

Travis Cole ordered his fifth beer for himself and Eddie Elsworth. They sat huddled, talking low, at the end of the smoky bar called The Boxcar. The bar was in Ennis, Texas, twenty-miles from Waxahachie down the road from an adult video store he frequented called MegapleXXX. A billboard on the highway at the turn off to The Box car read: STOP THE PORN BE REBORN with an illuminated Jesus with hands outstretched. The Boxcar got from being constructed of four railroad boxcars; the theme inside was a rustic train motif, Tuesday nights were slow, guaranteeing privacy for their conversation.

Eddie was hunched over in a low whisper, and said to Travis, Are you sure you want to go through with this, dude?

Travis pulled out the wad of cash he had stuffed in a brown sack from the back pocket of his jeans and laid it down in front of Eddie on the bar. This should answer your questions—all five thousand of them. Ironically, she’s paying for it—ha-ha. His laugh had a cruelty about it.

Eddie swilled his beer, picked up the paper sack and peeked inside, fanning the hundreds with his thumb like a magician preparing for a magic trick.

Count it if you’d like. It’s all there. Five thou now, the rest when you accomplish the job. Just like we agreed. Make sure you make it look like an accident.

Be right back. Eddie left the barstool and went to the men’s room to count the money in a stall to avoid being seen. Returning, he said, When?

Tonight.

Done, Eddie chugged the remainder of his beer and exited The Boxcar without another word.

Travis Cole sat alone at the barstool admiring his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He brushed his fingers through his dark hair and rubbed his chin. The bartender walked by glancing his way. Travis gave her a wink and ordered another beer.

Bobby’s house was on the south side of Waxahachie close to the neighborhoods of the famous Gingerbread Trail. Victorian, Gingerbread, Gothic Revival, and Queen Anne homes, many over a hundred years old, were the focal points of the annual event which celebrated the architecture of the old homes and the town’s history. The town was named after nearby Waxahachie Creek, a Tonkawa Indian word for cow. Rumor had it, the actual meaning was ‘cow chip’ and the Indians had named the white settlement not disclosing the true translation as a dirty trick on the white man.

Bobby’s small frame house was a three-room shotgun house built at the turn-of-the-century developed to separate the blacks into an independent community away from the whites. The neighborhoods had been historically preserved giving the feeling of time travel.

Zoe pulled onto Marvin Street and turned up the stereo full blast, more to cloud her mind than clear her thoughts, half listening to Tommy Castro blasting ‘Suitcase Full of Blues.’ How appropriate, she thought, about throwing her clothes into her suitcase. Her anger now replaced with betrayal and dismay. One too many times she took his abuse. She was done. The note convinced her and gave her the courage to take action. It embarrassed her that she had fallen for his manipulation. Her friends could never know what he had put her through. Many times she lied, or just avoided her questions when Kittye would ask, How are you and Travis doing? Are you happy? It was easier to lie than let her know the horrible truth of what her marriage had devolved to.

A wave of fatigue swept over her. Although the air was brisk, Zoe rolled down her window to invigorate her confused thoughts. The rain had chased the people inside tonight. Only one car was behind her on the deserted streets. Lights from the gingerbread homes glowed a yellow reflection on the wet sidewalks. There was a pinon scent in the moist air from a nearby fireplace. She was just a few miles from Bobby’s