House of Wolves (Silver Moon Series Book 1)

by L. S. Slayford

  Luna’s fingers hovered before turning the page. Would it be wrong to read the intimate thoughts of another person, especially when that person was a family member, and deceased? Thoughts and emotions warred in her mind, until curiosity cut through respect of privacy. Luna finally flicked through the pages.

  Most dated to her mother’s early twenties, back when she and the man she would eventually call her husband were already dating. Love flowed from the words, and Luna couldn’t help but be captivated at the strength of her parent’s relationship. Her mother went on to describe the proposal, their wedding, and their honeymoon to New York. Every page, every word, was written with passion.

  Near the back, one entry popped out.

  Today I told George that we’re pregnant. It feels strange, almost surreal, that there is a life growing within my body. He was so happy, he picked me up, spun me around the room, and then realised he needed to be gentle with me and quickly sat me down on the couch. It was funny, watching him treat me as though I were made of glass. I told him he wasn’t hurting the baby or me, but he swore to treat me as though I was fragile. It was so sweet, almost comical in one way.

  Everything was going great until this evening. We had settled in for the night, enjoying a private meal when Frank turned up. Out of all his friends, I dislike him the most. I much prefer Mike. He’s so sweet and kind. George and Frank took a walk in the woods, leaving me alone. When they returned, they went into George’s study. Frank left with a large envelope. George refused to tell me what was in there or what he wanted. He remained quiet with me for the rest of the night. He doesn’t realise that I know he went back into the woods when he thought I was asleep.

  I wish he would tell me what was going on. He’s always in those woods.

  Luna sat on the floor and flicked to the next page, unable to stop reading.

  I have decided that morning sickness is the worst thing to ever happen to a woman and shouldn’t have to be endured. Pregnancy is supposed to be the best time of your life and instead of enjoying it, I am spending most of my time hunched over the toilet! If I ever survive this, I swear I am making this child clean toilets for the rest of their life, as well as George!

  Speaking of George, I swear that man is keeping secrets from me. He’s been looking after me well, making sure I’m resting, bringing me tea in the mornings and trying to remind me to eat in the five-minute breaks before I throw up. But there’s something he’s hiding. I can feel it. It’s in his voice and his eyes.

  Every night he keeps sneaking off to the woods when he thinks I’m asleep. He’s always fully dressed when he goes out but when he comes back his clothes are messy. Is he having an affair? Could it be that he has a beautiful mistress waiting for him in the middle of the woods? I bet her skin isn’t flushed from being sick with his child.

  George has been going every night. He tells me it calms him down, allows him to relax, but tells me not to go in there myself alone at night. I know wolves roam the woods; their howls reach me even here though he tells me they are far away. They sound beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I wish one day they would come closer to the house, but only if they don’t try to eat me.

  Luna hurried onto the next entry, dated to a few weeks later. The words seemed hurried, the pen used in anger. What happened between her parents back then?

  Another night and he’s gone. This time he’s come back with scratch marks on his shoulders and blood on his shirt! He thinks I don’t know, but I do. I’m sick of all the lies. Tomorrow night I’m going to follow him and find out for myself just what is going on in those woods.

  The words came to an abrupt stop on the last pages of the journal. Luna closed the book, the confusion etched on her face a mirror of her heart. She stretched out her legs as her mind once more swirled with thoughts.

  Nothing about this seemed familiar. Her parent’s relationship had seemed strong and loving when they’d visited her in France. They’d hold hands walking along the cobbled streets, kiss gently beneath the stars or in the flickering glow of candlelight over dinner much to her disgust as a child. The love in her father’s eyes blazed for all the world to see when he looked at his wife. Hell, half her school friends got a kick out of teasing Luna about how they acted in front of everyone.

  Did Dad really have an affair whilst Mum was pregnant with Michael? Luna pondered. It just didn’t feel right. Not to her.

  But then, nothing felt right anymore.

  Seven

  For the first time in twenty-seven years, Luna sat in a police station. She’d been the boring good girl all her life and had never gotten into trouble, much to the dismay of Samantha who had a rather panache for getting into mischief at school.

  Only a small town, Westfield’s population hovered around five thousand people. It boasted a long road with stores lining each side, a junior school on one end, and a high school which sat opposite the station. Michael’s and Chase’s garage sat on the northern end of the road and faced a rather shabby-looking bar. Groves of trees behind the commercial area mostly hid residential buildings, but Luna spied glimpses of peeling paint and shuttered windows.

  Large bushy trees grew all around, giving the entire area a sense of quiet. The whole place screamed rural small town. Luna couldn’t imagine it saw a lot of trouble, hence the small police station.

  Housed within an ugly squat building positioned in the heart of the street, someone had attempted to give it life with several potted plants positioned here and there.

  It didn’t work.

  Michael sat beside her in the waiting area, the scent of his cologne wafting through the air. Sweat dripped off her skin, soaking into the fabric of her clothes. What Luna wouldn’t give for a working air conditioning right now. She wondered how long it would take before she melted into a little puddle beside Michael’s feet.

  Thoughts of what she’d read earlier clashed against each other in her mind as they waited for the sheriff to come out of his office and talk to them.

  She couldn’t remember how long she’d sat on the floor of her father’s study, clutching onto the decades old journal hiding the intimate thoughts of a woman now lost to her. Questions burned, and her mind ached with the desire to answer them.

  Michael had returned home to inform her that the sheriff wanted to see them earlier than originally planned. Reluctantly, Luna had placed the diary back on the bookcase and grabbed her shoes and bag. Michael hadn’t asked why she was on the floor, nor why she was crying. Maybe he wasn’t bothered. Maybe he’d found and read them years ago.

  When we get back, she told herself, I’m going back to find the others. There had to be more. No one wrote just one diary. Maybe she’d find out more about her father’s night-time activities.

  The creak of a door rang out, and Luna’s head snapped upwards.

  “Michael, come on in,” a gruff voice told them.

  Michael stood up and offered her his hand. Forcing a small smile to her face, Luna took it. Exhaustion rocked her body. Jetlag had caught up and merged with the restless night on the couch, but she forced herself to follow her brother to the sheriff’s office.

  The room Michael led her into was cold, despite the heat. At least one room in the building had working air con. Cream walls that had once been white twenty odd years ago held no artwork to give it a softer look, and the filing cabinets were the colour of gunmetal. Open white blinds covered in a thin film of dust allowed natural light to flood the room, but no personal touches gave it life or warmth. It was a stark contrast to how the offices at her law firm were decorated with rich colours, materials, and always dozens of plants and flowers.

  An old weathered desk stretched in front of the window, with a beast of a man behind it. So, this is the town’s head of police? Cold grey eyes flicked between Luna and Michael, set in a plump, ruddy face that informed her that Sheriff Briggs clearly liked his food. A portly belly strained against his clothes, refusing to allow him to get close to the desk.

  Luna dislike
d him immediately.

  Old plastic chairs were offered, reminiscent of those she’d suffered at school, but they took them anyway. Silence reigned between the three for a moment before Briggs finally reached for file on his desk. “Thanks for coming early. Seems Janice forgot I’ve got an appointment this afternoon.”

  “No problem, Sheriff,” Michael said, his voice neutral.

  The sheriff nodded and flicked open the file. Gunmetal eyes rose and flipped to them both. “First, let me say how sorry we all are for the deaths of your parents. It wasn’t something any of us were expecting,” he told them, his voice low and gruff, as if he was talking around a mouth full of gravel.

  “Neither were we,” Michael responded, his tone flat.

  Nodding, those cold eyes settled on Luna’s face. “Never thought we’d see you again, missy. Think you must’ve been, what, five when you were last here. Some of us believed George and Sherrie adopted you out.”

  “Six,” Luna corrected, brushing a lock of her blonde hair from her face, forcing her tone to sound polite. Where was a hair tie when you needed one? “No adoption. Just a good boarding school. But I’m back now.”

  Nodding again, Sheriff Briggs grabbed his cup and grimaced at the taste whatever it was in it. Either it was cold or just tasted bad. Luna bet it was both. “Right, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he jabbed a fat finger across the page. “Monday evening, George and Sherrie England drove back in your father’s truck from Brad and Sally Nieves house after dinner. They left around nine p.m. Just after the turn-off onto their property, your father somehow lost control of the vehicle and crashed head-on into a tree. Sherrie died instantly from head trauma. George a few hours later in hospital. Cause of death, massive blood loss. Most likely from having his arm ripped off by the force of the impact.”

  Luna felt all the blood drain from her face. Michael hadn’t informed her of everything.

  Cold eyes glanced upwards from the file and darted to her brother. “Sorry for the graphic details, but it’s best you know. Rumours can spin out of control and you don’t want your sister hearing that crap.”

  Luna didn’t say a word. She didn’t trust herself not to cry in front of this stranger.

  Michael cocked his head, his face expressionless. “Do you know why the crash happened?”

  The sheriff flicked through the file, searching and finally locating the relevant information. “We’re not rightly sure, son, but the most probable cause is alcohol.”

  “Alcohol?” Michael said, disbelief lacing his words.

  Making a steeple with his fingers, Briggs gave him what Luna could only assume was an expression of compassion but couldn’t quite make it stick. “Both Brad and Sally confirmed that your dad had a few beers that night, so it’s a possibility. We ordered blood tests but for some reason the hospital seems to have lost the bloodwork. Damned idiots. Can’t get the staff anywhere these days.”

  Michael shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Two beers wouldn’t make Dad drunk. You know that as well as I do.”

  Luna had to agree with him. Her father and drunk driving didn’t go in the same sentence. He’d always been responsible.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Sheriff Brigg’s portly belly jiggled as he tried to locate another piece of paper in the folder. The fake compassion dissipated, and a look of nonchalance swept across his face. “What can I tell ya, Michael? Perhaps your parents were in the middle of an argument at the time and your dad didn’t concentrate on the road enough. Maybe he swerved to avoid hitting an animal. We all know you got those wolves on your land for whatever goddamn reason.” Stony grey eyes fixed on Michael’s face. “My best bet is that your father was drunk and crashed trying to avoid hitting something.”

  Luna took a deep breath. “But without the blood work, you can’t prove that. Is that right?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.

  For the briefest moment, Sheriff Briggs looked at her, his eyes not as friendly as when they first stepped into the office. Not that it was friendly even then. “I’ve asked the hospital to run more tests, so we should get the results in a day or two. If they don’t lose them again.”

  “Was there any evidence of foul play?” she pressed, watching his face for any tell-tell signs. Emotion rushed through her when he scoffed, but Luna couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. Disappointment or relief? Perhaps a little of each?

  “Not a damn sign. The only evidence of foul play was the damage to the tree the truck rammed into. Sorry, Miss England, but it was either a case of drunk driving or a pure freak accident.” His eyes narrowed again in her direction. “Why’d ya think it was foul play?”

  Luna shook her head and forced her tone to come out lighter than what she wanted. “Just a question. Back in France we hear horror stories about crimes in America. I just wanted to make certain nothing like that had happened to our parents.”

  A crease formed between the sheriff’s eyes. “Do Europeans really think America is that bad?”

  Nerves took hold and Luna reached up to wrap a lock of pale gold hair around her fingers, tugging slightly. Damn this nervous habit. At her age it felt so childish. “Oh yes. France has a much lower crime rate than America.”

  Silence fell on the room for a brief moment before the sheriff leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and continued. “We couldn’t find anything unusual about your parents’ deaths. No signs of murder. Anyway, we’re just waiting on the toxicology reports for your father and then, providing everything’s in order, we can close the case. The bodies should be released for burial tomorrow.” The sheriff’s gaze flicked back to Luna. “I expect you’ll be heading back to France where it’s safe, yeah?”

  Ignoring the barb, Luna shrugged and released her hair. “Once everything has been sorted here, then yes, I’ll be going back. My boss has been kind enough to give me some extra time if necessary, but I can’t expect them to keep my job open forever.”

  Michael leaned forward, his brow etched in confusion. “What do you mean by ‘providing everything is in order’?” he asked, his head tilting to one side.

  Grey eyes flickered back to Michael. He sucked in a breath before replying. “It means providing your dad wasn’t doped up on drugs or drunk out of his head, it can be written up as an accident. If something does show up in his system, then the state can claim compensation from his estate for damage.”

  “Damage to a tree?” Luna scoffed. The idea seemed preposterous.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Sheriff Briggs flipped the folder closed and pulled a face. For just a fleeting second, Luna thought she could see satisfaction rolling through those gunmetal grey eyes. “What can I tell ya, it’s just the way the law works.”

  Luna opened her mouth to respond but whatever words sat on the tip of her tongue were silenced by a rap at the door. A few seconds later, a ginger-haired deputy clutching a blue file appeared in the doorway, the lines of his face painted with exhaustion. Faint scratches crisscrossed his cheeks. “Here you go, Sheriff. This should be everything you asked for.”

  The sheriff reached out for the file, his clothes straining as he did so. “Ah, thanks, Deputy.” He raised his chin. “How’s the face?”

  Touching one of the marks, his features scrunched up with mortification. They didn’t look particularly nice. “Yeah, no issues. Sarah rubbed some ointment on them. Can’t believe I did that.”

  Shutting the door behind him, they watched as the sheriff shook his head. A snort followed. “Marks ain’t such a bad deputy, but he’s a damn careless fool at times. He was out at your parents crash with me. Slipped on a pile of white stones and scratched his face on some nettles.”

  Eight

  Luna pressed her body against the truck door, her head resting against the window. Frustration and grief flowed down her cheeks in silent rivers as Michael drove silently back towards the house only one of them called home.

  The meeting hadn’t gone the way she’d expected.
Not that she really knew what she expected. She’d been aware that the police believed it could’ve been due to drinking, but actually hearing it from their mouths was an entirely different thing. It didn’t feel right.

  Confusion crashed against the confines of her mind like turbulent waves, pulling her under, drowning her in thoughts.

  Her father had always driven safely, but even she knew that the most experienced drivers could make mistakes in the heat of the moment. Could he be right? Luna wondered, vaguely noticing the town fading into forest-lined roads.

  She tried to recall the last time she’d heard her parents arguing. Nothing came to her. Every time they’d visited her in France or England, they’d been filled with laughter and love. It didn’t make sense.

  Maybe he’d swerved to avoid hitting a deer or one of the wolves as the sheriff suggested. That seemed more plausible than arguing or drunk driving. Especially when Dad always harked on about responsibility, to take control of our actions.

  But how much about her parents did she know? Realisation dawned.

  As much as she hated to admit it, not very much. The only insights she had came from their few trips to France each year. For all she knew, In Europe her father conducted himself as the pinnacle of virtue around her but a raging drunk at home.

  Responsible, my arse, she thought bitterly. Why did rules apply to everyone else but not them?

  Sunlight streamed onto her face, but it did little to warm the ice chilling her blood. As they turned onto the road that cut through the property, Luna forced herself to look away from the window and turned to her brother. “Was it all a lie then?” she asked, defeat lacing her tone.

  Michael slowed the truck, the sound of gravel drowning out the groan of the air conditioning. “Was what all a lie, sis?” he asked, his voice strained.

  “Your last visit with Mum and Dad. When we got back from the bar and you’d had far too much to drink, Dad lectured you for hours on responsibility. He told you part of being an adult was being accountable for your actions, about always being in control. That too many bad things could happen if you lost it. Was it all a lie? Was Dad not as responsible as he made out to be?”