Cold Moon Page 7

  Melville.

  A patrol car sometimes parked there in the half hour around dismissal time to handle the after-school rush and any kids who had developed a bad case of lead foot during the school day. Either the detective had gotten demoted, speeding had gone up a notch on the department priority list, or some bigger fish floated in the school pond. Kitty slouched down in the seat as they drove past. She stayed low until they were nearly out of town.

  “Are you and Jenna on the outs?”

  “What?” Kitty pulled her gaze away from the side-view mirror. She couldn’t see any cars behind them, but Melville might be keeping his distance.

  “You and Jenna. She’s looks…I don’t know…lost?”

  Kitty instantly felt ashamed. She bit her lip, trying to remember the last time she’d paid much attention to how Jenna felt. Other than the day of Phinney’s search, they hadn’t spoken since the summer. They had pretty much gone their separate ways since Jenna made the dance team and Kitty made the werewolf-hunting team. Kitty thought that if Jenna needed her Jenna would ask. Maybe not.

  “We haven’t seen much of each other lately,” Kitty finally said. “Guess I’ll check into it.”

  Zoe nodded and Kitty resumed her watch out the mirror. Still nothing back there.

  By the time she got home, Kitty was pretty sure Melville hadn’t followed them. Maybe he’d been watching to see if she would do anything out of the ordinary, and a trip home with a friend didn’t count. Of course, the detective didn’t know that the closer she was to home, the closer she was to the killing ground.

  She checked her watch. She would give it ten minutes or so to be sure. Letting Maddie out of the workshop, she sat down on the steps to wait. The time crawled by, and not one person drove up or down the hill past her driveway. After seven minutes, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  Ready or not, here I come.

  Kitty pulled open the side door from the workshop to the main barn area. Maddie, always the protector—unless it came to werewolves—padded into the barn ahead of her, woofing balefully to scatter the cooing pigeons roosting in the rafters.

  Kitty unraveled the duffle bag from its blue plastic cocoon and pulled both toward the workshop. Closing the door behind her to forestall any swoop-ins from avian invaders, she laid the tarp out flat to let it dry from its contact with the wet duffle. Turning to the olive-green canvas bag, she unzipped the main compartment. Phinney had packed it full of the tools of their trade, and she had slid the .45 and the bullets in the night she had dug up the duffle. She brought that out first. Placing it on the workbench, she examined it. She hated its heavy ugly shape; she hated what she had done with it. It needed a cleaning but was none the worse for wear for its few days in the mouse-infested barn wall and its time in the wet duffle. The rain hadn’t penetrated more than the outer layer of the heavy canvas.

  The M1 carbine came out next. It was small, light, and built like a tank. Elegant as any sixty-seven year-old lady born of the Depression and just as sturdy. Kitty caressed the polished wooden stock. She had a soft spot for the little rifle. Memories of Phinney, sunny afternoons, and lemonade on the porch came to mind but she pushed them away roughly. She was on a schedule. She had enough time to snap it tight against her shoulder and slink around the workshop. Maddie regarded her from a sunspot by the door.

  “What?” she asked the dog. “I’m practicing.”

  Pawing through the remainder of the bag’s contents, she pulled everything out but opted to set aside only the legal envelope. The rest she piled in a heap, safe, wrapped tight in tattered towels or plastic bags. Propane torch, crucible, molds, already cast bullets, topo maps. All there. All ready for round two.

  All ready for me to take on alone.

  Kitty took the envelope and the damp duffle to the steps. Sitting, down, she flung the duffle out onto the grass to dry in the still-warm sun. Maddie, feeling the tension in Kitty, low-crawled across the door’s sill to settle next to her.

  “Ready?” she asked the dog.

  The envelope sat on her knees. The old man’s dark scrawl across the paper was exactly as she remembered, “IN CASE YOU NEED IT.”

  “I need it,” she said and popped the little metal tabs holding it shut. Its contents slid out in a bundle. Lying on top was an embroidered military unit insignia—the kind soldiers stitch onto the sleeves of their uniforms. It was Phinney’s Big Red One, signifying the First Infantry Division Phinney had served with in what he called the ‘good war.’ She smiled and caressed it.

  “I really miss him, you know?”

  The dog’s tail thumped once. She was at it again—wag once for yes and twice for no. Kitty wrapped an arm around Maddie’s neck and buried her nose into the retriever’s soft hair. “You and that tail know everything, don’t you?”

  With a sigh, Kitty set the patch next to her. Leaning down off the step, she pulled one of Sam’s rejected rocks from the rutted path to use as a weight to hold the pile down. Photos were next. The first two she had seen before. One was of Phinney and his wife Grace on the night they’d gotten engaged. She remembered the photo from their talks on the porch. His son, David, trapped forever young and in uniform, was next. Vietnam’s waving elephant grass formed his background.

  The third photo she had never seen before. It was Phinney’s meadow, all brilliant sunshine and wildflowers. The two of them floated in the foreground. Her head was thrown back laughing and Phinney wore his infectious little boy grin. There were no guns, no targets, no hint of darker things to come. Only a young girl and her friend on a careless summer afternoon. Kitty felt tears rising. She had no idea who had taken the photo or when. Probably one of the spotters, come to report some grisly kill and stopped cold by the sheer ordinary joy of it all. Flipping it over, she saw writing.

  “I love this one,” the old man had printed.

  Kitty laughed, although it sounded a little shaky. “Me too,” she answered.

  She pulled the lined paper up next, his writing covering it. Underneath it was a battered faded bandana, one of Phinney’s hankies. She laughed again.

  “Did you think I was going to need this?” she asked the air. She had postponed long enough. Time for the letter.

  Dear Kitty-

  Things haven’t gone quite the way I planned. If they had, I wouldn’t be writing this. Maybe you’ll never read it. That would be good. Maybe you will and that just means you need to hear from me.

  There’s a good chance that something we thought was finished isn’t.

  “That’s an understatement,” Kitty muttered. “All we did was start the ball rolling.”

  I thought there was only one person in this town nowadays that could take over my job. Then I met you. Think about that when you feel like you can’t do this or it hurts too much. You are who you are and you are strong.

  I’m sure you’re wondering about that other person. We never wanted you to get involved. He’d have my hide if he knew. Sometimes life has its own plans though, and you ended up with me. It’s a damn good thing too, since apparently whatever it takes runs in your family.

  Kitty read the last line twice. Puzzled, her eyes leapt to the next paragraph.

  Your dad…

  That was all Kitty could manage. The hot tears finally spilled over. Fast and sneaky, one ran down the side of her nose and splattered on the page before she could catch it. She rubbed furiously at her cheeks with the heel of one hand. With the other, she blotted at the single splash with the bandana before it could smear Phinney’s heavy bold printing.

  She stood up, putting the letter on the step under Sam’s rock. Pacing up and down the two-track leading to the house, she wiped uselessly at her flowing eyes. She gave up and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Daddy, I wish you were here.

  Her throat ached and her nose clogged. She felt miserable from crying, and she wasn’t even sure what she was crying about. These were a little girl’s tears. None of this would have happened if Nate Irish hadn’t deployed. He would have s
hielded her from all of it.

  Something else surfaced, rising from some deep dark hiding place and shoving the little girl aside. It could have been anger; maybe it was its close cousin resolve. It spoke clearly, almost a demand. No vague whispers or childish sniffles but a ribbon of hard shiny steel in her head. Quit hiding behind Daddy. Stand on your own. Everything she had done this summer she had done on her own. She and Phinney. Kitty swiped at her runny nose. What if her dad had been here? What if he had been the one who had been bitten?

  She could handle this. Bring on round two.

  The decision made she turned, her tight face easing, and headed back to the step. Her back straightened, her arms dropped to her sides. The ache in her throat subsided. She would be her father’s daughter.

  Picking up the letter, she read the last of it.

  Your dad has been a spotter for me for years. He knows the woods around here as well as I do—it was only natural. It progressed to the point that we figured he would take over for me. Then Iraq came along and I figured I would just wait. Instead, I got the better partner.

  I’ve left you a list of the spotters along with a few notes about who’s best at what. They’re your intelligence team. Protect that list. You lose them, you lose knowledge. Knowledge is key. If you need to run some strategy past somebody, stick with the ones I’ve marked. I’ve given you Thompson’s number if all else fails, but he’s starting to slow down a little and may not be your best bet.

  Thompson was no older than Phinney. Even dead, Phinney could make her laugh.

  As for you and me, I probably should apologize for setting you up to solve my problem, but I’m not the apologizing type. You may be hurting, but you did the right thing. Hold onto that.

  A dark scrawl finished the letter. A circle with a couple of bumps and a tail—Phinney. Underneath it was a small notation. In tiny letters, it read, I’ll be around.

  Kitty had no idea what that meant. “I’ll be around?” she repeated. She looked up at the bright blue sky of Indian summer and the scarlet maples sparking against the brown oaks. “Where?” she said, the word tasting bitter. The second time, she screamed it to the trees and it made her throat raw. “Where are you?”

  Maddie sat up and barked. The fall breeze freshened, and some old leaves swirled as they caught the eddy. The little whirlwind moved down the two-track toward the workshop steps, leaves dancing and rising higher in the currents before dissolving right before it reached her.

  Kitty shot a sideways glance at the retriever. “Okay, that was a little weird.”

  Maddie leaned in and licked her cheek in agreement.

  Chapter Ten

  “Kitty, I don’t understand your hesitation.” The guidance counselor rearranged some papers on her desk. “When we talked about college last spring, you were very eager. What has changed since then? What’s holding you back?”

  Kitty glanced down at her lap to hide a smirk. I wonder if she knows that Oakmont County has the highest rate in the state for unsolved disappearances and deaths. Does she ever think about that? She settled for a shrug. “I don’t think college is in the cards right now.”

  Ms. Olivera pursed her perfectly lined lips. The dark red bow made Kitty wonder about her own lips. She had run a quick smear of pink gloss over them this morning, but it was long gone by now.

  “I know you’re probably feeling some anxiety right now with your home situation, but we need to do the paperwork. An actual decision can come later.”

  The counselor tapped a number two pencil on Kitty’s file. Her fingernails were as gorgeous as her lips and in a matching shade—shiny maroon half-circles. Add in that softly waving dark hair and no wonder all the boys loved to be called to her office. Kitty eyed her own stubby nails. At least they were clean—no oily residue from cleaning the guns.

  “Kitty.” Ms. Olivera’s voice pulled her back to the present. The guidance counselor sounded peeved, leaning forward across the desk. “Let’s submit the applications to a couple of colleges now. Decisions can come later but don’t miss the cut-off dates. You’re a solid student. Don’t lose the momentum.”

  The only momentum here is from all this crap steamrolling over top of me. Kitty opened her mouth to state her case. Olivera’s eyes glinted hard and eager at the prospect of her protest. Kitty snapped her mouth shut and settled for a nod.

  “Good.” Ms. Olivera looked pleased to have beaten down another defenseless student.

  Kitty came out of the office but instead of turning left—the fastest way back to second-hour government—she turned right. An extra 300 steps or so around the central square of the school’s layout would give her a couple of minutes to think.

  The counselor had been right. A year ago she raved about going to college. Back then she had a father at home and a friend named Jenna who wanted to go to school with her. Phinney had been some eccentric body orbiting the edges of her tiny world. It was all different now.

  If the counselor had caught her even three weeks ago, she might have gotten a different reception. Some faint hope had stirred in Kitty that it might be okay, that the mangled edges of her life might knit back together into something that resembled normal.

  But fate stepped in one more time, and apparently the plan wasn’t to have her pick up where she had left off. Instead it included Detective Melville and a whole lot of werewolves. They clung to her, dragging her down with bloody claws and ripping teeth. And Phinney…the slightest thought of him made her chest ache. Even if she could pull off the whole midnight hunter routine a second time, a tortuous scar would always distort the place where he had been.

  Was college supposed to fit in somewhere amongst the mess? Kitty envisioned her grandmother, waving a gnarled finger at a bowl of ice cream. “It’ll slide in the cracks, sweetie. You’ll have room for it.”

  She doubted college slid quite the way fudge ripple did.

  Kitty marched back toward the discussion of the two-party system in class, using the joint lines between the industrial tiles on the floor as a guide to keep her from running into the wall. The little brown specks soothed her jangled nerves as they flowed away beneath her feet. She skidded to a halt when she saw feet approaching from the opposite direction. She knew those shoes.

  Joe didn’t smile when she looked up. He looked as if he were testing early winter lake ice for stability. One false move and he would be engulfed by an unspeakable chill. “I thought you were going to flatten me.”

  “I still might, so watch out.” She tried to make it sound like a joke.

  Joe backed up a step and raised his hands palms outward. “Good meeting with Olivera? When you got called out, I knew I was next. It’s time for the assault on the undecided.”

  “You know the routine,” Kitty said. “There’s no room in her world for anything but college.”

  “You were dying to go last year.” Joe narrowed his eyes and his forehead creased. He locked eyes with her and Kitty was the first to look away. “What’s up, Kit? I feel like there’s a whole lot I’m missing out on.”

  Kitty sighed. This keeps getting better and better.

  Her shoulders slumped a little and Joe took it as a sign of a truce. His grin came back. “Hey, how’d it go with your mom the other night? Mine wasn’t so good.”

  Kitty screwed up her face. “It didn’t start well, let me tell you. But it got better after I told her the real reason you came down.”

  Joe quirked an eyebrow in surprise. He leaned in close and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You told her I helped you dig an old Army duffle out of a hole in the woods?”

  Kitty shook her head. “I told her,” she enunciated very slowly, “that you asked me on a date.”

  Joe’s face brightened immediately. “I did? Great!”

  Kitty could only thank her lucky stars that Joe was such a good friend. At least, she didn’t have to agonize over this part of what she’d done. She smiled up at him.

  “So,” Joe started then paused as if confused. “Where did I say
I was taking you?”

  Kitty bit her lip. This part wasn’t so great. Maybe she should have told her mom they were going to Danby’s for burgers. “Homecoming.”

  “Oh yeah.” Joe nodded in agreement and puffed out his chest in feigned pride. “’Cause that’s the kind of guy I am.”

  Kitty laughed. “Thanks, Joe.”

  He reached out and pushed a stray wisp of hair off her forehead. His fingers lingered on her temple about three heartbeats longer than they needed to. A soft heat came from them. “My pleasure.”

  A thought occurred to Kitty. “Have you seen Jenna?”

  Joe dropped his hand and shrugged. “Hmm. Not lately. Why?”

  “I’m worried about her. Zoe said she’s acting…I don’t know. Different.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on her,” Joe answered. “Gotta run. Time for my piece of the Olivera college pie.” He started around her then stopped with a squeak of his Chuck Taylors. “Mom’s picking up the little kids tonight. You and I are going the long way home. Got some catching up to do.”

  Kitty watched him strut down the hallway and around the corner. She needed to cross something off the list of things she’d been avoiding. It was a long list and Joe was the nicest thing on it. No time like the present.

  Chapter Eleven

  The car jounced down the narrow lane.

  “Geez, Joe.” The words jerked out unevenly as Kitty swayed from side to side. “What is this?”

  Joe grinned as he tilted toward Kitty then reversed direction with the next pothole. “Didn’t you pay attention in local history last year? This used to be a corduroy road.”

  Kitty put her hands on the dashboard to steady herself. “And that means….”

  Joe looked self-righteous. “I knew all those notes of yours were doodles. It’s an old logging road. Tree trunks laid down for traction. This one’s down to dirt now. Loggers hauled the trees in on them before dropping them down the big rollways to the river.”