Wolfheart

by Hallie Lee

  Wolfheart

  also by

  Hallie Lee

  Paint Me Fearless

  Wolfheart

  The Shady Gully Series

  Book 2

  Hallie Lee

  Wolfheart is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Wolfheart

  Copyright © 2021

  Hallie Lee

  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-952474-87-3

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-952474-88-0

  Cover design by David Warren.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations for review purposes.

  Published by WordCrafts Press

  Cody, Wyoming 82414

  www.wordcrafts.net

  “Everyone thinks they have the best dog.

  And none of them are wrong.”

  ~from The Canine Commandments

  W.R. Pursche

  For all the best dogs who crossed the Rainbow Bridge this year…especially, my Lucy Belle.

  Contents

  Prologue

  PART I

  Holed Up In Some Kentucky Holler

  Enlighten Me

  People Rising From The Dead And Such

  But I Didn’t Sing

  A Good Pair Of Khakis

  Fireman

  PART II

  Beaming Like A Music Aficionado

  Turnip Truck

  Communion Goldfish

  It’s On The House

  Fresh Box Of Handcuffs

  Big Scary Wide Eyes

  PART III

  Tofu Burger And Carrot Sticks

  All Part Of The Pageantry

  Like A Roll Of Toilet Paper

  A Stroll Down Hummingbird Trail

  The Long, Nasty Evening

  Tony Chachere’s

  PART IV

  Hania

  Doomsday Netflix Series

  Bad Juju

  Spirit Warrior

  Buford And Gerty

  Final Farewell

  Acknowledgements

  Note to Readers

  Prologue

  T

  he good folks of Shady Gully wouldn’t be surprised by my actions. Not on a night when the moon drooped hazily over the swamp, and the air dripped with pre-storm humidity. As usual, the folks of Shady Gully would assume I was up to no good.

  And they’d be right.

  As the irony caused me to stumble, I stilled my body, and slowed my breathing. Within seconds I became one with the animals who guarded the night. The snakes that slithered along the cypress trees. The owls that hunted for prey. The cicadas oblivious and intoxicated by the sound of their own symphony.

  On this night, I felt a kinship with the shadows that wandered in the suffocating heat. Like ghosts, they seemed to cry out, desperate to be remembered. I tipped my head in recognition of them all, even as blood stained my own hands.

  I shifted the lifeless body in my arms, carefully lowering it to the ground. I stood slowly, my back aching with the strain. It took me a while to find the shovel, as my legs were awkward with arthritis. Regrettably, I was no longer young.

  The shovel was in its usual place. Always four clicks behind the cypress tree festooned with umbrella shaped moss. Not everybody could find the shovel. Only my people. The Creek People. Or who some in Shady Gully referred to as—the Creek Freaks.

  My gaze swept over the sticks, rocks, and feathers strewn amid the dirt. I understood the purpose in their placement, appreciated the memories and reverence in each trinket. I shook off the unwelcome emotion as it rose within me, focusing instead on the dig.

  Within minutes my brow grew moist with sweat, and the gore on my shirt dampened the skin on my stomach with blood. Probably where I’d tucked the body close against mine on the hike to the sacred land.

  When a sudden flicker of lightning created a floodlight across the ground, I realized the hole I’d dug was big enough. Too big, in fact.

  “Stop putting it off,” I hissed loud enough to wake a snake from its slumber. The water moccasin slipped into the marsh, deciding I wasn’t worth the effort.

  I picked up the body, gently placing it into the grave. Why gently, I wondered? Gentleness had never been a word used to describe him. And God knew he hadn’t been gentle tonight.

  I shoveled dirt atop the grave at an emotional, feverish pace. Anything to temper the memories that threatened. The emotions that came uninvited.

  Fury.

  When the hole was nearly covered, I knelt next to the grave. Mumbled a prayer.

  Regret.

  I pulled a ragged blue wolf from the pocket of my jeans, and cradled the worn, scruffy material against my forehead. The stuffed animal’s eyes seemed to skewer me with disappointment. I mumbled another prayer.

  Grief.

  I carefully placed the blue wolf into the grave. The hell with the consequences, I thought. At least now the torment was over.

  I allowed myself one more glance, one more memory.

  A flash of jagged light lit up the southern sky, and thunder pounded the ground. I watched as the storm descended on Shady Gully, Louisiana.

  Because it had come to rage.

  Chapter One

  Holed Up In Some Kentucky Holler

  Luke

  W

  hile I wasn’t actually present when my sister Micah was born, I’d be willing to bet she came into the world talking.

  “I can’t believe I wasted all those years in school.” Micah sighed dramatically. “And for what? A stupid job I hate. I mean, I’m only twenty-three, and my life is ruined.”

  Because I felt her eyes on me, I did what every big brother would do when faced with an emotional, I-hate-my-life meltdown. I resisted eye contact, remained focused on the road, and gripped the steering wheel like a bull rider latches onto a flat braided rope. Anything more, or less, would have surely inflamed her tirade.

  “And I’m not even getting paid anything.”

  “You’re getting paid—” Too late to swallow my words, I accepted my fate like a washed-up bull rider.

  “Not enough. I have to live with my parents. How embarrassing is that?” Micah ducked her head forlornly. “I spend my whole day with my face in somebody’s mouth. It’s so gross. I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

  “Your face? Really?” I side-eyed her. “If that’s the way you’re doing it, I think the dental hygienist school ripped you off.”

  Unamused, she glared. “They overbook me. I barely have time to eat lunch. My patients are always grouchy.”

  “Before or after they see you?”

  She ignored me, pointing toward a sign. “Remember to take a right up here. By the pharmacy.” She carelessly twisted the cap off a bottle of fingernail polish, and proceeded to touch up her glittery nails.

  “I know where to turn.” I eyeballed the wobbly bottle. “Be careful with that. Don’t get that on my seats—”

  “I’m not. Right here,” she pointed. “Luke, turn.” Although a thick sheet of rain and wind obscured the street sign, I managed to turn before annoying the driver behind me.

  I blamed my parents, who’d encou
raged her incessant babbling at infancy. And my brother Petey, who’d rejoiced when he met a lively, animated spirit to match his own. While my whole family romped in their own playground of gaiety upon Micah’s birth, I, at the young age of four, had been forced to become the serious one.

  I’d had no choice really. Someone had to look out for them.

  I glanced at my sister, who still looked like a child with her petite frame and bouncy blonde hair. Even with her endless chatter, I enjoyed her cheeky personality. “You sure are bossy for somebody needing a ride to work.”

  “Just trying to keep you out of traffic.” After the required amount of nail-blowing and hand-waving, she shrugged. “Especially with the bad weather today. Did you hear the thunder last night?”

  I nodded, let her prattle on about the weather as I surveyed the flow of cars heading in and out of Belle Maison. Despite the scattered limbs and debris from the storm, the roads looked well maintained. Tall pine trees the color of evergreen framed either side of the highway, giving the city a quaint, small-town feel.

  “Mama and Daddy lost their electricity.”

  “I used to think Belle Maison was so big,” I mused. “When I was a kid anyway.”

  “It’s bigger than Shady Gully.”

  “Not really,” I said. “And yet, look at all this hustle and bustle. It’s what happens when you incorporate. Businesses come in. People build houses. You get more firemen and police—”

  “And somebody lost a tree by the crossroads. Lightening sliced it clean in half.”

  “Stop trying to change the subject. In fact, to both hold your interest, and make my point, let’s take a trip to Micah’s world. As scary as that might be—”

  “Oh please,” Micah rolled her eyes. “You do know everybody in town avoids you because of your obsession with incorporating Shady Gully?”

  “I’m serious. How great would it be to find a good job right at home in Shady Gully? And not have to drive all the way to Belle Maison to go to work?”

  “First of all,” Micah jabbed one of her pink nails in the air. “I’m not driving. You are. And don’t get me started on my stupid job again.”

  I hesitated, wavering between a variety of lectures, weighing out the risk and reward ratio on each. I opted for the more pressing, obvious pickle. “Well, if you hadn’t wrecked your car, I wouldn’t be driving.”

  “I didn’t wreck it,” Micah said defensively, turning her attention to her phone.

  “You backed into a patio table at the Cozy Corner.”

  “Charlie Wayne moved it,” she argued. “It wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  I sighed, exasperated. “You’re right. How dare Charlie Wayne rearrange his furniture.”

  As she tapped her glitter tipped fingers in agitation, I tried my best to ignore the sparkly pink smudges that dusted the gray interior of my car. “Micah, you just need to be more careful. More aware of your surroundings. This time it was a table. Next time it might be something—bigger.”

  I turned left on Medical Plaza Way, a long tree lined community that led to the dental clinic where Micah worked, as well as several Urgent Cares and Physician offices. As a flash of lightning brightened the early morning gloominess, I glanced at Micah, whose fascination with the weather had been replaced by the tantalizing allure of social media.

  “The good news is, Bubba said your car is almost ready. He and Daryl are painting the back fenders today.”

  “I can’t believe you hired those two.” Micah scrolled on her phone. “Much less Petey, who’s never in town.”

  My thoughts drifted to the auto body shop my Aunt Robin helped me buy after I graduated business school. Since it was the only one in Shady Gully, and I priced competitively, folks seldom ventured into Belle Maison to have their cars repaired. I employed a few people, like Bubba and Daryl, who were my parents’ age, and until now had never had health insurance, or held steady jobs.

  I also hired my brother, Petey—or inherited him—since he’d worked for the failing body shop before I bought the business. Petey was a decent body man, but he was an even better public relations man. He was good with the folks who came in, forever dazzling them with his infectious smile and his memory of family particulars. “How’s your Aunt Edna?” he’d ask with genuine concern. “Is she still battling the flu?” Or “I think I found the perfect puppy for Joey,” he’d say as he keyed up a picture on his phone. “This little fellow is at the humane society. I reckon he’d take Joey’s mind off losing Rascal.”

  “Bubba and Daryl do good work,” I told Micah.

  “Luke, you can’t fix everything. Or everybody.” She twisted in her seat. “I wish you’d just chill out and get a life. Instead of trying to change the world.”

  “I’m not trying to change the world,” I countered. “Just Shady Gully. And speaking of Petey, how long is he going to stay in Lexington? What’s going on with him?”

  Micah shrugged, “For all I know he’s holed up in some Kentucky holler drinking moonshine.”

  I suppressed a chuckle.

  “Mama said he’s visiting Aunt Robin. Hanging out with Violet and Sterling while his shoulder gets better.” She looked up from her phone. “I wouldn’t come back either if you were still paying me.”

  “It’s okay. He needs some time to rest his shoulder.” Petey had had his own fender bender under the hood of an ancient Ford Mustang.

  “Maybe if I injured my hands, I could go to Kentucky and have fun with my Aunt and cousins and drink moonshine.”

  Robin wasn’t really our aunt. And her twins, Sterling and Violet, weren’t really our cousins. Not technically anyway. We’d all grown up together, as had our parents, and we thought of one another other as extended family.

  “You think the dentist would still pay me?” Micah asked, “If I hurt my hands?”

  “Doubtful. You’d still have your face.”

  I tapped my blinker as we approached the Medical Plaza. A few employees wearing scrubs sipped coffee under the awnings of their respective offices. One looked particularly familiar.

  “Maybe I could work at the post office?” Micah tugged her rain slicker over her shoulders. “I could deliver mail like Bella and her mom.”

  “Who?”

  “Bella. My friend from across the creek. The one with the voice.”

  It was impossible to keep up with the random rhythms of my sister’s conversations. “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” I said.

  “Remember Mama was all worked up because Brother Jesse wouldn’t let Bella try out for the church choir? Which is just crazy, because she has the most amazing voice. If he’d let her sing, his attendance would skyrocket—”

  “Is that Tammy Jo?” I asked casually. “The girl in the scrubs?”

  Micah glanced up from her phone. “Yeah, she works at the urgent care now.”

  Petey’s ex-girlfriend. When had they broken up? A year ago? Two years ago? Sometimes I marveled at the way my brother flitted from one project to another. One passion to another. One girl to another. He’d casually offer up a humble grin and a flippant explanation about how things had run their course, with the added assurance that it had all ended well.

  “Anyway, Mama gave Brother Jesse a piece of her mind at the church fair. I think he’ll live to regret his decision,” Micah went on. And on.

  I envied my brother his easy-going manner, as well as the way people were drawn to him. Sometimes I even wished I could bounce from thing to thing, without purpose or direction. Just happy to be on the journey.

  “They’re done,” quipped Micah as I pulled to the curb. “You should ask her out.”

  I felt my face heat up as she eyeballed me. Flustered, I scrambled for a comeback as a text sounded on Micah’s phone. She glanced at it as she opened the door. And then she stopped.

  “What?” I asked, unsettled by the stillne
ss of her usually frenetic body.

  When she turned back to me, she appeared stricken. “I’m not sure. Something happened last night across the creek.”

  “From the storm you mean?”

  I waited as she read the text again.

  “No,” she said finally. “Somebody was murdered.”

  Chapter Two

  Enlighten Me

  Sheriff Rick

  W

  hen I arrived at the crime scene the ground was wet, and a light mist dripped from the trees, but the hellacious wind and rain had stopped. The lifting of the storm provided me with a perfect sightline to my knucklehead deputies. All two of ’em.

  After removing the wrapper on a nugget of strawberry taffy, I popped the morsel of heaven into my mouth, and moved to confront whatever version of hell had descended upon my town.

  “Here he comes.” Max pocketed his phone. “Magnum PI.”

  “No,” disagreed Quietdove. “That’s Sam Elliott.”

  I slipped on a pair of latex gloves, and peered at them both. “I’m younger and better lookin’ than either of ’em.” I snapped the latex. “Now tell me how you two maintained the integrity of my crime scene. Go on, impress me.”

  “We got here about the same time as the paramedics,” began Quietdove. “Once we realized the victim was deceased, we set up barriers. We did a walk through—”

  “Touch anything?”

  “No sir,” he answered. “Not a thing. Just documented our initial observations. Talked to the witnesses.”

  “Witnesses?” I stopped. “Enlighten me.”

  When Quietdove seemed hesitant, Max stepped in. “The victim’s daughter, Meadow, and her granddaughter—”

  “Bella?” I asked, disheartened. “Who called it in?”

  “Meadow did, but she was pretty upset, so Bella talked to the operator.”

  I muttered an expletive, followed by hollow words of regret. “Poor Miss Peony.” I glanced at Quietdove. “I’m sorry.” I patted his shoulder.