Dawson looks a bit confused by this. “I don’t know. Maybe Raul lost them, I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not a detective or a cop. It’s not my job to figure this out. I’m tired.”
“But you think Raul had pets with him,” I press. “Why?” I know Dawson’s tired, but this is important. I’m going to keep pestering him with questions for as long as I can.
Dawson gives a frustrated groan. “I told you, Penny, I don’t know!” he says. “You’re asking so many questions. I just think it makes sense. That was why he wanted my map so badly. He wanted a place to take his pet dogs or wolves or whatever out on hikes.”
“Dogs love hikes,” I say.
“Especially out in the Never Summer Peak area... that’s what he wanted the map of so badly.”
“Oh, yeah?” I say. “Is that what he said?”
Dawson nods. “He didn’t want to buy the map until I promised him that the whole topographical layout of Never Summer was on it. He said he needed to get up to the summit.”
Hm. Now that’s interesting.
Hillcrest is nestled in a valley between three peaks, and Never Summer Peak is our guardian hunk of rock to the east. Never Summer blocks the sun on the east side of town until eleven in the morning. For a few dark days during the dead middle of winter, the behemoth Never Summer Peak will only allow sun to strike Hillcrest for a sliver of time, from one to three.
But what does Raul’s interest in Never Summer Peak have to do with Marty? I circle back to my original line of questioning.
“Back to Animal Control Marty,” I say. We reach another street crossing. Now I can see the hill, at the bottom of which lies the Hillcrest Inn. Soon, we’ll be to Dawson’s home—where his shower and bed await him. I can sense that Dawson’s looking forward to ditching me by going into his house.
I only have a few minutes left with him.
“What do you think Marty has to do with all of this?” I ask. “You think Marty was maybe there to...?”
“To do his job?” Dawson says. “He’s in charge of controlling wild animals in Hillcrest. Like I said, I think wolf-dog hybrids are illegal, in Colorado at least. And that print in Raul’s room was very large. Either a big dog, or, like my dad thinks, a wolf. The print was bloody. My dad showed a photo of it to Marty. I’m not surprised that Marty needed to check it out.”
“But why at night?” I ask. “Why did he have to break in? ”
Dawson shrugs.
We turn onto main street and walk a few steps in silence. Then I speak up again, half to myself and half to Dawson. “And what does Sarah have to do with it? She’s helping your mom with marketing... she has a Bernedoodle named Hermes... she’s on the town council... she’s the director of tourism...”
Dawson speeds up a bit, and I jog three steps to catch him. “Wait up,” I say.
“Um, do you think we could be done here?” Dawson says. He’s rubbing his forehead again. “No offense, it’s just... I think I just need some quiet time. You’re kind of giving me a headache.”
I’m giving myself a headache.
“Oh. Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Dawson.” For nothing, I think to myself. I fall back and let him speed up and pull away from me.
I’m left alone with my thoughts once again. This time, however, as I get on my bike and start to pedal, I’m not trying to figure out my next steps.
I know exactly where I’m going.
The fingerprints on that knife weren’t Sarah’s. They weren’t Marty’s. They weren’t Dawson’s.
That leaves me with two suspects: The man in the trench coat, and the man in the grey beanie.
And now that I’ve talked to Dawson, I think I have an idea where I might find at least one of them.
The wolves with dark fur probably stick together, right?
If Raul, who I am fairly certain was a Tenebris wolf, was interested in Never Summer Peak, there’s a good chance the other visitor to Hillcrest is too.
I would love to have a chat with Mr. Grey Beanie Werewolf himself.
With this in mind, I turn my bike down Balsam Road, and start biking east, towards the trails that will lead me up into Never Summer Peak.
Chapter Nine
I can see Never Summer Peak. It towers over the east end of town like a rocky sentinel, guarding Hillcrest from the threat of tomorrow’s rising sun. It’s afternoon now, so the sun has slipped by for the day, but I know that tomorrow morning, Never Summer Peak will cast a shadow over Hillcrest once again.
I’ve heard of at least one trail that leaves town and winds its way up towards the Never Summer summit. I’ve never hiked it.
It’s appropriately named Never Summer Peak Trail, which is easy to remember. Where does it start?
For twenty minutes, I ride along the roads on the east edge of town, looking for a sign that points to the Never Summer Trailhead.
I’m glad that I’m dressed in black pants, a hoodie, and my high tops. I’ve been wearing lots of dresses lately, and a pair of new-to-me cowboy boots that I bought from the Antique Haven, neither of which are ideal for biking. Dresses can create too much of a breeze, and my cowboy boots tend to slip off of my pedals at less-than-awesome times. Come to think of it, is there ever an awesome time for your boot to slip off of your pedal?
Exactly. No.
I spot a trail sign and stand up on my pedals to gain some momentum up a narrow, one-way street. As I ride, pavement turns to dirt, and the street becomes even narrower.
And bumpier.
The houses along the side of the narrow street get progressively farther and farther apart, and then stop altogether. After about a quarter of a mile of riding, I reach a sign that states “Welcome to the Never Summer Peak wilderness area”. Beyond it, the narrow, bumpy dirt road dwindles into nothing but dirt single-track.
I wish I had a mountain bike.
My town cruiser will not be able to handle the steep, winding trail ahead of me.
There’s only one way for me to proceed: By foot.
I dismount my bike and lock it to a sapling next to the welcome sign. Then I start to hike.
Now, I’ve grown up in Hillcrest, so I know a thing or two about hiking. Our small town is surrounded by wilderness, so it’s an activity that nearly all of us are raised on, from preschool on up.
I know that I’m supposed to start early.
I’m well aware that I should know the area, be with someone who does, or bring a map.
I’ve been told a thousand times that it’s best to wear layers.
And of course, I know that I should bring plenty of water.
But just because you know something, does it always mean that you do it? I mean, I also know that I’m supposed to eat green leafy vegetables and floss my teeth every night, yet I survive mostly on cereal and baked goods from Annie’s cafe, and I’m lucky if I floss three nights out of the week.
Okay. Fine. One night.
I’m working on it.
As I walk down the trail, I start to think about all of the ‘rules’ of hiking that I’m currently disregarding. Tilting my chin up, I look at the afternoon sunlight, as it streams through the butter-yellow and rusted-gold aspen leaves. It’s well past lunch time. No early start here! The sun will set in a few hours, and I don’t have a headlamp with me. At least it’s going to be a nearly full moon tonight.
I have only a vague idea of where this trail leads. I know it’s going to wind its way up towards the summit of the mountain, but I don’t know any details. If I get off of the path by mistake, I could get lost in a hurry. On top of that, I don’t have any sort of jacket or hat with me, in case the temperature drops. I’m by myself. And on top of all that, I’ve barely eaten all day, and my water bottle is nearly empty. I drained it while I was being questioned by Officer Braxton, a few hours back, and never refilled it.
Crap.
I’m not really in the best position to track down a werewolf.
But if I don’t do this, who else will?
With that question i
n mind, I start moving even faster.
My stride is long and determined. The trail gets steeper as I go, but I refuse to slow down my pace. I hustle up the path as if I’m bounding up a staircase two steps at a time. To motivate me, I play music on my phone at top volume.
Needless to say, after two hours of this I’m sweaty, thirsty, tired, and questioning my plan. Plus, my phone battery died, fifteen minutes ago.
Now, I can’t even call for help if I need it.
Was bounding off into the wilderness in search of a werewolf the best course of action? Did I really have to play music on my phone for the last two hours?
Really?
I stop to think about it. My sweaty cotton tee shirt is clinging to my body beneath my hoodie, and as soon as I stop moving, a chill sets in.
I shiver.
I pull my water bottle out of my bag.
Empty.
I already knew that. I just hoped that somehow I’d missed a drop at the very bottom that might whet my parched whistle.
Nope.
I cross my arms over my chest, and do a little ‘hug myself to ward off the chills’ dance. It’s a lot like my ‘I need to pee’ dance, but with more upper body wiggling.
As I run my hands up and down my arms, creating friction, I look around me, peering out into the shadowy woods.
I’m getting close to the tree line. The pines and aspens up here are scraggly and short, stunted by the high alpine environment. Soon, the trail will take me out from the cover of the thin and scraggly trees, onto an open rock face.
I can see, through this last little stand of trees, that the mountain’s peak is not far from me. Though it’s hard to judge distance without trees, I guess that it’s about half a mile away. The rocky face is tinted pink. The sun, across the valley, is sinking lower. The sky is a dusky greyish blue, with some faint hints of lavender.
I’ve almost completed the whole hike up this mountain, and I haven’t picked up one sign of a werewolf.
Not one print.
Not one howl.
Not one clump of fur.
I furrow my brow, thinking hard as I consider my options.
Return down the mountain
Keep heading up the trail
Stay where I am
Go check out that flickering orange light, that I can see through the trees.
Yes! I’m not kidding. That really is one of my options now! I’ve just noticed a flickering orange light. It looks like a fire.
Ahhhh. The thought of warming up by a fire sounds beyond delightful. It really doesn’t look far off, either.
D.
I’m definitely going to go with option D.
I step off of the trail and begin bobbing and weaving my way through the trees to the right of the trail, working to keep the firelight in view.
I keep my footsteps light. I’d rather catch a glimpse of whoever built that fire before they catch a glimpse of me. There is a murderer on the loose around Hillcrest, after all!
I keep sneaking through the woods until I can see a figure, sitting next to the fire.
It’s a man.
He’s alone.
Even though he’s sitting in the shadows, I can make out his dark beard and his grey beanie. He’s the second man I saw enter the inn on the night that Raul died. When he jumped out of the window, he turned into a black wolf.
I’m relieved that it’s not the Lux werewolf, sitting by the fire.
If luck is with me, this Tenebris wolf is a good guy.
Just in case, I check in my messenger bag and verify that my gun is there and ready to use. It is. I see the little pearl handle. I also spot my handcuffs. I pull them out, get them into the ‘loaded’ position, and slip them into my sweatshirt pocket. Then I step out from behind the tree.
The man looks up. He’s in a squatting position, pushing around logs in the fire with a stick, but at the sight of me he stands. He looks nervous.
“Hi,” he says. “Can I help you?”
“Hey,” I say, stepping further into the clearing around his fire pit. “Sorry to bother you. I got a really late start on my hike, and I caught a chill. I spotted your fire, and...”
He seems to relax. He looks at the fire. “Go ahead,” he says. “Warm up, if you want to.”
I step in closer to the fire, and hold my hands out to it. Warm air meets my freezing fingers.
“Oh my goodness!” I say, turning my hands this way and that. “The heat feels so good. Thanks.” I smile at the guy.
He returns my smile. He has warm, twinkling eyes.
I don’t think they’re the eyes of a killer, but I probably shouldn’t jump to any conclusions just based on the quality of the guy’s twinkle. What kind of PI would do that? No—I have to ask some questions.
“Are you camping up here?” I say, to start things off.
I’m been known to jump into my interviews a bit too abruptly. I’m working on easing into things.
The guy nods. “Yeah. For a few nights now.”
So far so good. Time for my next question.
“Are you a werewolf?” I ask.
Hm. Well, that was a little bit abrupt, but what can I do about it? I already saw this guy change into a wolf before my very eyes, and if we’re going to make any progress here, I can’t beat around the bush.
To my surprise, my question doesn’t seem to catch him off guard.
“Yeah,” he says. He’s been looking into the fire, but now he turns and meets my eye. “Are you a witch?” he asks.
My eyebrows rise, and I feel my eyes grow wide. “Excuse me?” I say, completely taken aback.
He doesn’t back down. “A witch,” he says. “You’ve gotta be a witch. I saw you—last night at the Hillcrest Inn. You were standing on the sidewalk when I chased after Zeke. I was wondering why you didn’t scream when you saw me shapeshift. The only thing that makes sense is if you’re magical yourself.”
“I’m—Yes. I’m becoming a witch.” For some reason, I feel the need to clarify this. “I’m mostly just human, though. You picked that up, just because I didn’t scream?”
He chuckles. “Believe me, if you didn’t have a background with magic, what you saw last night would have short circuited you.”
Short circuited! That’s what happened to Chris. The phrase fits the look on Chris’s face, when I showed him the ball of light, perfectly.
He continues. “You would have either screamed or fainted. Instead, you and your friend just watched. Plus, you’re dressed in all black. You’re too pretty to be a goblin, and you don’t have the dental structure of a vampire. You’re not transparent like a ghost, so that leaves—”
“Witch,” I say with a nod. Then, for some strange reason, I grin. It feels good to be talking about magic, and I find that I like being recognized as a witch. Plus, this guy called me pretty. What girl doesn’t like a compliment now and then?
The man in the beanie smiles again, too. This is going well. He reaches out his hand.
“I’m Silas,” he says. “Silas Switchback.”
“Penny,” I say. “Penny Banks. Are you... are you a Tenebris werewolf?”
He smiles wider. “Yeah, I am. You’ve done your homework, haven’t you, Penny Banks?”
“A little bit of research,” I say, adjusting my glasses.
Silas is still looking at me. It’s in a friendly sort of way. There’s a glint of curiosity in his eye as he studies me.
After a moment of silence, he speaks. “When I heard that the Earth Portal was open, I also heard a little bit about you. Magical beings were saying that there was a new coven guarding the portal. They said the leader of the coven was a girl named Penny. They didn’t happen to say how smart you were.”
Well! Now he’s called me pretty and smart.
I’m really starting to warm up to this guy!
I try to sound casual as I say, “My friend Max told me a thing or two about the history of wolves.”
“Doctor Max Shire?” Silas says. “I heard
he was hanging out here these days too. That guy is a brainiac. Have you read his book, ‘The Curse that turned into Love’ then? Is that where you learned about the Tenebris Clan?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t read it yet,” I say.
“Oh!” Silas exclaims. “You really should. Be warned—there are some spicy sections.” He wiggles his brow, causing his hat to move up and down.
“So I’ve heard,” I say. Then, to get our conversation back on track, I quickly follow up with another question. “You said you chased after Zeke. I saw him—he was the man in the trench coat and the white hair pulled back in a ponytail, right?”
Silas’ grin fades. “Yeah, that was Zeke all right,” he says. “I was chasing him—but I didn’t catch him.”
“Have you seen him since?” I ask.
“No,” Silas says, shaking his head with disappointment. “He’s kept out of sight. I think he might be nursing his wounds.”
“Wounds?” I ask.
“Zeke was injured,” Silas says.
He squats down by the fire again, and reaches for a stick that is lying on the ground. Using the stick, he starts moving around the logs in the fire. As he rearranges them, the flames, which have been beginning to die down, flare up higher.
He keeps rolling the logs and the fire grows even more. I squat down too and hold my hands out, enjoying the warmth from the renewed fire.
“How?” I ask. “What happened?”
Silas glances over at me. “It’s a long story,” he says. “You sure you want to hear it?”
Now that I’m even closer to the fire, I’m really getting warm. I pull my sweatshirt hood down off of my head. I take off my bag, too, and set it down at my side. There. I feel comfortable. Toasty. Relaxed. Ready to listen.
“I didn’t skip lunch and hike up this mountain not to find answers,” I say. “Yeah, I want to hear your story.”
“You skipped lunch?” Silas says. He hops up to his feet and moves away from the fire. I hear the rustling of a plastic bag. “Oh, shoot,” he says. “I’m out of hot dogs. All I have is stuff for s'mores, and some apple cider.”
S'mores?
Apple cider?
Yep. The Tenebris clan of werewolves are all right, in my book. There’s no way this guy can be a murderer. A murderer wouldn’t offer up a delicious dessert and refreshing cider, would he?
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 27
