A Forest So Deadly (Pioneer Falls Book 2)

by Heather Davis

  Chapter Six

  Later that afternoon, leaves cartwheeled down the sidewalk, adding more ambiance to the Harvest Festival decorations along Main Street. The door chimed as I entered Pioneer Perk, glitter from the cat cutout showering down on my shoes.

  Maggie sighed behind the counter. “Next year, we’re going minimalist with the decorations,” she said, looking up from counting out a customer’s change. “I swear we’re going to be sweeping up after this disco kitty until Christmas!”

  I hung my stuff in the back of the coffee shop, washed up and donned one of the denim aprons. The delicious smell of lemon pound cake, the special pastry of the day, perfumed the air. There was always something homey and comforting about the smell of Maggie’s baking. I couldn’t remember my mother ever doing it, but I’d been only three when she had disappeared. I liked to imagine, in the fantasy of the family life we didn’t have, that my mother baked. That the air had been filled with the smell of cinnamon and ginger. That we’d been happy then.

  But of course, my mother hadn’t been happy once she’d found out the secret Dad had been hiding.

  “You finish Wuthering Heights yet?” Maggie asked as I came out to the counter. “I’m telling ya, I don’t know why people love that book. All those Catherines and that awful Heathcliff. Give me a Mr. Darcy any day.”

  “Me too,” I said as I passed her, heading to the couches near the window to clean up the shop’s newspapers and a few cups left behind by the mid-afternoon crowd. “Fingers crossed my paper isn’t as bad as I think it is.”

  “I’m taking a quick inventory and then working on payables,” Maggie said, walking by with a clipboard in hand. “Let me know if you get busy.”

  “You got it.” In between steaming frothy milk and pulling shots for lattes, I outlined the Harvest Festival background article in my spiral notebook. Maybe on my break I’d get a chance to interview a few merchants.

  “Any blueberry scones left?” Morgan asked, shaking his boots to remove the glitter accumulation on them. My heart lifted seeing him coming through the door, which was becoming almost a regular thing on my afternoon shift. The best part of my day.

  “I think I can find something for you.” I leaned across the counter to kiss him. Then, I poured a drip coffee and warmed up a scone in the toaster oven behind the counter. “Your order will be up shortly, sir,” I joked.

  “Brilliant.” He handed me some cash and then took his coffee to one of the tables at the side of the room. I stole glances at him while I waited for the timer to ding on the little oven. As I pulled the hot scone onto a plate and added a pat of butter and a tiny cup of preserves to the plate, Sheriff Polson and my father entered the shop.

  Dad hadn’t yet returned to the force after his leave, so seeing the two of them together caught me by surprise. The sheriff wore her typical uniform, the top just a little tight across her midsection and her close-cropped hair showing her age at the temples. Certainly some of that gray had come from recent events. Dad wore jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and a black fleece vest. It looked like a social outing. Maybe.

  I beckoned Morgan over to pick up his order. I’d planned on delivering it, but now I was kind of trapped behind the counter. Dad narrowed his eyes, seeing Morgan.

  Morgan offered Dad a little smile. “Mr. Turner.”

  The sheriff shot Dad a questioning glance.

  Dad cleared his throat and put on a smile. “Sheriff Polson, meet Lily’s friend, Morgan McAllister.”

  The sheriff nodded at him. “Hello there. I think I saw you at the twins’ birthday party a couple weeks ago.”

  “Aye. Nice to see you again, ma’am.”

  I mouthed Sorry to Morgan. He gave a shrug and smiled as he took his plate to his table.

  Dad turned back to the sheriff. “I can get this. You want to score us a window seat, boss?”

  “Sure. And I’ll take an oatmeal cookie, Lily.”

  When the sheriff had gone, Dad asked, “Is Morgan here everyday during your shift?”

  I tried not to read too much into his furrowed brow and thin-lipped smile.

  “He stops by most days.”

  Dad unfolded his wallet and pulled out some bills.

  “The sheriff usually orders a latte, you want a drip coffee?”

  “Sure, that’s fine.” He slid the bills across the counter. “We’ll talk more about Morgan at home.”

  “What are you doing with the sheriff? Following up on Ivan‘s file?” I handed him his change. “I looked at other animal attack photos. Mauling deaths don’t look like that. And it’s hardly ever wolves.”

  Dad gave me a hard stare. “You have to stop. You have to let this go.”

  I moved to the espresso machine and packed the portafilter with grounds, then started foaming the milk

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take that cookie now,” Sheriff Polson said, coming up alongside Dad. “I’ve got to get back to the station.”

  “Oh, sure.” I set aside the hot pitcher of milk and used tongs to pull a cookie from the baked-goods case and slid it into a small bag for her.

  “Thanks,” the sheriff said. “Coffee’s to go, as well.”

  “You’re working?” I said, frowning at Dad.

  “No, getting cleared for duty. I’ll be back at work on Monday.”

  “Desk duty to start, very light,” the sheriff said. “Don’t worry.”

  I grabbed a to-go cup and finished making the latte, then poured Dad his cup of drip.

  “We’ve discussed the PTSD and how it might affect me,” Dad said, giving me a look that meant shut it. “We’re outlining a plan together.”

  “PTSD?” I murmured. “Right.” After they’d gone, I headed over to Morgan’s table and took a seat. “Did you hear that? He’ll be back at work soon.”

  “And he’s still angry with me.”

  “That’s my fault with the bowling alley thing,” I said, touching Morgan’s hand.

  He wrapped his fingers around mine. “It couldn’t have helped things.”

  “What if they didn’t murder Ivan?”

  “Perhaps they didn’t,” Morgan said. “But your father might have a point that drawing attention to the case isn’t a good idea.”

  “Don’t take his side,” I said, punching his shoulder with my free hand. “I wish we knew where the pack was that night.”

  “Didn’t you say there was a wide range on the probable time of death? I’ve read exposure to the elements can muddle things when it comes to timelines, too.”

  “That’s probably true, too.” I squeezed Morgan’s fingers. “Listen, would you be willing to talk to them? Find out their whereabouts those nights before Cooper discovered Ivan was gone?”

  “We’ve no reason to believe anything they say.” Morgan released my hand and took a sip of his coffee. “Your father’s right about that one.”

  “Am I imagining things, or are you trying to shut down my investigation?” I asked. Morgan arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

  I heard Maggie coming out from the back room. I got up from the chair and pretended to wipe down a neighboring table.

  But she wasn’t having it. “Right,” she scoffed, sticking her pencil in her messy bun. “I saw that.”

  I kissed Morgan quickly and ran back behind the counter. “The rush ended. And Morgan was just leaving.”

  “Who needs a rush when you’re around a hunk,” Maggie whispered loudly.

  “Stop using the word hunk immediately.” I threw Morgan an apologetic smile.

  Maggie laughed. “Are you done with that bathroom cabinet project, Morgan?”

  He stood up and brought his empty plate and cup to the counter. “Getting it sorted, dear Maggie. Had to come in for some sustenance.”

  “Speaking of which,” Maggie said, “I have a slow cooker filled with barbecued pork simmering in the kitchen of the main house. Get yourself some dinner when you’re ready. Oh—wait here a second.” She ducked around the corner and returned with a paper bag. “My fre
sh-baked rolls, new recipe I’m testing. Have a few with the pork.”

  “Maggie, you keep feeding me and I’ll never leave.” He grinned at her and then slipped his coat and green scarf on. He stopped at the counter to plant a kiss on my cheek.

  Maggie leaned her elbows on the bakery case as he exited. “Oo-ee. Do you think he has a much, much older brother?”

  I smiled. “You’re spoiling him.”

  “He makes you happy,” she said, winking. “And I like happy employees.”

  “Right.”

  “I do,” she insisted. “Oh, I missed the mail pickup today. Can you run these bills down to the post office before they close?” She handed me a couple of envelopes.

  I nodded and slipped them into my apron. While she headed back to wash her hands so she could take over the counter, I started a fresh pot of drip coffee for the next rush. Maggie had always treated me like family, and I’d never been more grateful. The fact that she was extending her care to Morgan made me love her even more.

  ***

  The post office smelled of plastic tape, a hint of floor cleaner, and old-man cologne. And something else that reminded me of wood pulp—it could have been sawmill residue in the air, or maybe it was just the old pine paneling. Shadowy light from weak bulbs in the metal fixtures overhead dappled the empty lobby. A wall of mailboxes stood across from the service counter, where the postmaster, clad in his light blue shirt and navy cardigan, worked on a towering stack of packages.

  “Hi, Mr. Gray,” I called out as I dropped Maggie’s letters into the outgoing slot.

  “Good evening,” he said, barely looking up.

  I pulled out my spiral notebook, figuring while I was there, I might as well multi-task with an interview. “Could I please get a quote from you for an article about the Harvest Festival? It’s for the school paper.”

  “I suppose so.” His weathered hands smoothed the postage stickers over the brown paper–wrapped parcels in the stack on his counter. “Closing soon, though,” he said, looking up.

  “It’ll only take a second,” I assured him. “Maybe you remember something about its history? Maggie told me this used to be a tradition years ago. Maybe when you were mayor of Pioneer Falls?”

  His bushy white eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah, the old days.”

  “Right.” I pulled out my phone to record his answer.

  Mr. Gray conveyed the stack of packages to the bin behind him while muttering beneath his breath. I caught the word forest.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  Mr. Gray returned and placed his hands on the counter, steadying himself. “Hasn’t been a festival for decades.”

  I gave him an encouraging smile. “So, back when you were mayor?”

  He shook his head. “Been postmaster a long time. It’s easier for me to work these daylight hours,” he said, rubbing a hand over his whisker-stubbled cheeks.

  “Mayor’s more of a twenty-four-seven gig, right?”

  “Round the clock, even the dead of night,” he said, lowering his voice. “Made it hard to live a normal life.” His gaze lingered on my face for a long second.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out if he was trying to say more with his eyes than his words. “So, um… What’s your favorite memory of the festival?”

  “Can’t say I have a favorite. But I can tell you my strongest recollection is the opening night of the last festival ever held. A couple disappeared during the costume contest and were found later, dead in the forest.”

  My stomach dropped. “What? Was it an animal attack?”

  Mr. Gray’s stare made my blood freeze.

  “Of course not.” He glanced toward the lobby of the post office, where two ladies had come in to hang up a poster for the church bazaar on the bulletin board. He leaned on his elbows toward me. “The police chief said it was a possible murder–suicide, but I had my doubts. The tragedy was enough to cast a pallor over the festival. Town council voted to end it.”

  My skin prickled with goosebumps. “That’s horrible,” I murmured. “Do you have any, well, happy memories? This is supposed to be a puff piece—you know, upbeat.”

  He shook his head, as if to clear a mental fog, and then scratched at his whiskers. “Well, there used to be a kids’ parade. I’m not certain they’re doing that this year, but it was one of the most popular events. Let’s see…one year, some hooligans stole all the pumpkin pies from the bakeoff. Never did solve that heist.”

  “And what about the traditional timing? Why not on Halloween, like other towns?”

  A sad smile drifted across Mr. Gray’s face. “It’s always on the full moon closest to Halloween. Several people claimed they didn’t want to associate it with the actual pagan celebration of All Hallow’s Eve. I’m sure others had other reasons, too, but that was the official story.”

  “Thanks,” I said, switching off the recording app on my phone. “So, after the tragedy happened, you didn’t want to have the festival anymore?”

  Mr. Gray clicked a light switch somewhere, and then came out from behind the counter. The lobby was empty now as he walked me to the door. Dad’s “Missing” poster was still up on the bulletin board, so I stopped to take it down and toss it into the recycling bin.

  “You really want to know why we ended it?” Mr. Gray flipped the Open sign to Closed and then turned to me, a serious look in his eyes.

  “Yes.” I reached for my phone, but he placed a hand on my arm.

  “Off the record. The festival provided people cover to conceal their identity. A recipe for tragedy. Crimes go on with no accountability. All the town in one place and no one sees anything. Costumes, crowds, confusion. The vulnerable become targets.”

  A chill whispered along my neck. It seemed like this was some kind of pet theory he had, or an ax he’d been grinding for a long time. “Seems a good reason to call it off.”

  Mr. Gray nodded as he held the door open for me, and I noticed the wrinkled skin of his hands. He was probably the oldest resident of Pioneer Falls. But obviously, his work ethic was way better than most people, considering he was still on the job at his age.

  “Thank you. I’ll make sure you get a copy of the paper.”

  “Getting dark soon. Be careful out there,” he said, closing the door behind me.

  ***

  I hustled back toward the coffee shop as the antique street lamps clicked on, lighting Main Street with a warm glow. Ahead of me, Cooper stepped out of the hardware store. He wore a brown work jacket and jeans showing a few patches of dirt. He seemed to notice me and quickened his pace on the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” I called, catching up to him. “Wait up!”

  “Can’t talk. Just picking up something for work,” he replied as he tucked a paper bag under his arm.

  “Me, too. I mean, I had to run an errand for Maggie.”

  Cooper opened the door to his work truck and got in. I climbed in the passenger side before he could lock me out. “Hey—I need to talk to you.”

  He placed his hands on the wheel and gave me an annoyed look. “I have to go.”

  I gave him a tentative smile. “I just want you to know we met with the other wolves.”

  “What?” Worry creased his forehead. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Look, they’re scary and definitely shady, but we don’t know for sure they killed your dad. And if I can find out who really did—”

  “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.” Cooper’s blue eyes darkened in the shadowy light from the street lamps. “You don’t have to try to prove to me that being around wolves, that this whole lifestyle, that being a Protector is safe. It’s not.”

  My throat tightened. “It could’ve been someone else.”

  “Right.” Cooper’s lips twisted with a slow smile. “Wolf pack arrives. Dad dies from wolf attack.” He leaned back against the seat, letting out a frustrated breath. “I mean, that’s pretty simple.”

  “That doesn’t make it th
e right answer. It’s never been investigated because it’s too easy to pin on the wolves!”

  Cooper slanted a glance at me. “What do you want from me, Lily? Really.”

  “I want to help. Isn’t there anything about this that doesn’t add up to you? Anything?”

  Cooper dug in his pocket and pulled out a flip phone. “Here you go. My dad’s phone. I found it when I was cleaning his room the other day. He’d been texting someone, I don’t know who, but he’s got them listed as Honey Lips. And it’s definitely not about his bee hives.”

  “Did you call the number? Or tell the cops?”

  He shook his head. “Whoever it is, they wanted to keep their relationship secret. Felt like betraying my dad to bust it wide open.”

  I took the phone from him. “You want me to find out who it is?”

  Cooper shrugged. “This lady deserves to know that he passed. If she didn’t already know about it.”

  “You found the phone in his room? So it wasn’t on him when he died.”

  “No.” Cooper’s eyes reddened. “I have to get back to the cemetery. One of the gates needs a hinge fixed before I leave tonight.”

  I pocketed the flip phone. “I’ll be discreet. Thank you.”

  “Hey—why is it so important for you to prove those wolves are innocent?”

  “It’s not all about them. It’s about you.” I leaned over and gave him an awkward side hug that he tried to shrug off.

  “Go on,” he said, shooing me out of the truck.

  Back at the coffee shop, Maggie seemed frazzled, finishing a line of frappes and whipped cream–topped drinks for the cheer squad who’d swarmed in on their way to the football game. Fawn stood at the back of the pack. She gave me a little wave as she passed.

  “Thank goodness you’re back,” Maggie said, motioning me behind the counter. “I’m drowning in froufrou drinks!”

  We were so slammed for the next few minutes, I didn’t notice the guy on the couch near the windows—not until after the rush was over and the squad had cleared out.

  Nathaniel. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt under a navy peacoat, some kind of checkered pants and black shoes. His dark hair was brushed back, clean looking, and there was a slight scruff on his chin. I worried that he’d get up and confront me at the counter, but Maggie was hanging around, trying to restock the fridge with ingredients we’d just blown through. His expression grim, Nathaniel got up and set his coffee mug in the bus tub. I felt his gaze on me long after he’d gone, as if the impression had been branded on my skin.