Boo Who

by Rene Gutteridge

  A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “I’m ready, Alfred. You know that.”

  “Okay. Good. I like your attitude. Now listen, you will have two chefs helping you, plus a cake designer, ready to do your will.”

  Ainsley could hardly believe it. “That’s amazing.”

  “You’ll receive a shipment of designer catalogs, probably tomorrow. Look through them. Create a budget. I have a lot of resources, but we’re still going to have to watch what we spend.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ainsley, I’ll be in touch. Call me if you need anything.”

  She hung up the phone, nearly paralyzed by the dozens of thoughts clamoring for her attention.

  “Okay, I put the box in the garage,” Wolfe said, clapping the dust from his hands. “What do you want me to do now?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but too many words wanted out at once.

  CHAPTER 22

  MARTIN WATCHED THE MAYOR, in his fancy sunglasses and tropical shirt, walk past his office. To Martins extreme relief, he didn’t stop in. Earlier, he’d spent an hour listening to the mayor’s thoughts about starting to jog every day, just to get in shape. Martin thought he was subconsciously aware how much his legs were showing.

  Martin held his breath until the mayor went into his own office and shut the door. Last night, he’d found a fascinating clue to the town’s history. And maybe clues to some other mysteries as well.

  He’d found an old map of the town dating back to the late 1800s, buried underneath a loose board in the library. An X seemed to show the location of something in the foothills. Late in the night when he’d hiked up to investigate, he’d found five shacks, nearly dilapidated. He’d been aware of two of them, but according to the map, there seemed to be a precise reason for their location.

  They were all laid out exactly the same, with an area for bunks, a small wood-burning stove, and heavy wooden bars to lock them from within. As Martin had stood inside one, the walls seemed alive with whispers. These shacks meant something, but he didn’t know what.

  Beyond their location, there were few clues left. He’d found an old and torn blanket, an empty milk jug, and a letter that was now only inky smudges. All he could make out from it was, I have found a place … Whatever it said, the letter did not seem to have been sent. He’d found it tucked in an unmarked envelope that had slid between two floor planks.

  In the still night, cold beyond measure, Martin had stepped out of one of the shacks, intending to go home. But he heard someone in the woods, causing a frightful stabbing in his heart. He rushed back into the dirty shack and closed the door, opening the peephole slightly to try to catch a glimpse. He’d been so excited by his discovery on the map that he’d forgotten about the ghost people wandering around.

  At first there was nothing, though his pounding heart told him to stay put. And then, in the shadows, a figure moved. Martin covered his mouth, trying not to scream. As his eyes focused in the dark, he realized he was about to encounter one of these strange people who’d now invaded their town.

  He started hyperventilating and stepped away from the peephole. But curiosity drove his eye back to it, and what he saw through it nearly made him faint.

  Melb Cornforth, of all people! Her long shadow trailed behind her as she slowly walked through the woods, head tilted high as if she might just start howling. What in the world was she doing in the woods at this hour? When she’d finally passed out of his line of sight, Martin fell backward into a nearby post and let out a yelp. He felt as though he’d traipsed smack-dab into one of Wolfe Boone’s novels.

  Was Melb one of those people? Had she been captured by them and now turned to the dark side? How was he going to tell Oliver? Should he even tell Oliver? Maybe Oliver was one of them too!

  Martin gasped. Maybe the mayor had succumbed to them as well. Maybe he hadn’t lost his mind … Maybe he’d lost his … his … soul!

  Opening the door slowly and praying he wouldn’t be captured, Martin ran down the wooded hill as fast as his white legs would carry him and slept only minutes the rest of the night.

  No wonder I’m so tired, he thought. At the front office door, just a few feet from their desks, there was a knock. The mayor, carried away with thoughts of island women, hardly noticed. Martin sighed and wondered who would knock at the front door of the mayor’s office. He opened the swinging glass door, but there was nobody there. A crawling feeling of fear, reminiscent of last night, made him shiver. Looking down, he noticed a small envelope at his feet, tied up with brown string.

  He looked around once more, then picked up the envelope and opened it carefully.

  His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly read the small words: Your answer lies in the pages of Black Cats.

  “What are you doing?”

  Martin gasped, stumbling forward while trying to turn around. The mayor stood behind him, trying to see what he was up to.

  “N-nothing.” Martin stuffed the note in his pocket. “Nothing.”

  “Well, listen, I’m going to take an early lunch, maybe take a jog in the park. It’s a beautiful day; why not soak up some sun, eh?”

  Martin couldn’t even begin to nod.

  “You want to join me?”

  Martin shook his head. “No. Um, I’ve got to go to the bookstore.”

  Wolfe stood on the sidewalk outside what used to be Sbooky’s bookstore. When Wolfe announced his retirement, the S had been taken down, and it now just read Booky’s, which had conjured up a lot of rumors in the gambling community.

  In the afternoon chill, Wolfe debated his next move. He didn’t need the money, but he needed a sense of self-respect and, on a practical note, something to do in the middle of the day. Oliver’s job offer, at the time, had seemed reasonable. Now he understood why the job market was so tight. There were jobs out there, but some were more desirable than others. And the fact of the matter was that Oliver was very good at what he did, had a gift for it. Wolfe, on the other hand, was gifted in other areas.

  As he stared through the shop window, he felt a certain exhilaration. He loved books, always had. Why not be surrounded by them every day? And he could certainly sell a book!

  Without any more thought, he entered the store. A simple jingle alerted the manager, who was busy with a box of books. When he looked up, his eyes grew wide. “My golly, it’s you!”

  Wolfe extended his hand. “Wolfe Boone.”

  “Of course I know you! Your picture is all over the place here.” He smiled and pointed to the various posters. “When you retired, we thought we were going to have to change focus, and we did. We’re opening up a new romance section. But to tell the truth, your books still sell very well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m Hardy Bishop, the manager.”

  “Dude!”

  Wolfe glanced up to find Dustin, the usual “dude behind the desk.” He remembered he had quite a fondness for vampire novels.

  “It’s him!” Dustin jabbed his finger toward Wolfe, gawking shamelessly. Mr. Bishop tried to maintain his pleasant candor.

  “And this is Dustin,” he said without enthusiasm.

  “Actually, Dustin and I have met.”

  “Sure have,” Dustin said. “Took that Polaroid of him.” Dustin pointed to the taped picture hanging from the counter.

  “So Mr. Boone, what can we do for you?” Mr. Bishop asked.

  “Well,” Wolfe said with a chuckle, “I’m looking for a job.”

  “No way …,” Dustin said, and was curtly hushed by Mr. Bishop.

  “You’re looking for a real job?” Mr. Bishop asked.

  “Writing is actually a real job, believe it or not, but since I’m not writing anymore, I thought I might be good at selling books other people have written.”

  “You’d be a dream,” Mr. Bishop said, cutting his eyes to Dustin, who was using two bookmarks for drumsticks.

  “I’d love to work here,” Wolfe added, after Mr. Bishop was silen
t for a moment.

  Mr. Bishop’s eagerness turned solemn. “Mr. Boone, I’ll be honest with you. I simply do not sell enough books to justify having two employees.”

  Wolfe’s heart sank. “Oh. Sure. I understand.”

  Mr. Bishop paused at a private thought, glanced up at Wolfe, turned to Dustin and said, “Hey, Dustin, can you go clean the toilets?”

  “Ah, man …,” Dustin moaned.

  “That’s it! You’re fired!”

  Dustin’s mouth fell open. “I’m fired?”

  “I’ve had all the backtalk I can stand from you, Son. ‘Dude’ this. ‘Man’ that. You’re lazy and unreliable, and I keep thinking one of these days you might get a clue and step it up a notch, but you never have.” “But … but …,” Dustin’s cool evaporated like his sense of vocabulary. “Wait a minute,” Wolfe said. “Mr. Bishop, you don’t need to fire Dustin.”

  “But you’d be a much better employee.”

  “True,” Wolfe smiled, “but you can hire us both. Tell you what. I’ll work for free. You don’t have to pay me until I increase your business enough that you can afford me.”

  Mr. Bishop slapped the counter with a stout laugh. “Is it a deal? Can Dustin keep his job?”

  Mr. Bishop looked Dustin up and down and sighed. “I guess.” “Thank you!” Dustin hollered. “I won’t let you down!” “You’re welcome,” Mr. Bishop said. “Now go clean some toilets, will you?”

  “Ah man …,” Dustin sighed and shuffled to the back room. “When can I start?” Wolfe asked.

  Mr. Bishop stared into the air. “Hmm. You can start tomorrow if you’re willing to tackle my newest problem.”

  “I’m willing to do whatever you need, Mr. Bishop.” “Terrific,” he sighed. “Because to tell you the truth, I was not looking forward to it.”

  “Well, anything has got to beat selling used cars,” Wolfe said.

  “Okay. I need you to read all the new romance novels coming in and pick out the top twenty.”

  Martin was so deep in thought that he nearly passed the bookstore. Backtracking a couple of steps, he turned and walked in. To his right, an entire shelf lined with Wolfe Boone books immediately caught his attention. He stood in front of a selection of what looked to be hundreds of books, Black Cats dominating most of the space. The store carried hardcover, softcover, and audiobooks, just for starters. Martin was scratching his head trying to decide what he should do when the manager approached.

  “Hi there. Looking for a new Wolfe Boone book, I presume?”

  “I know I want Black Cats,” Martin said. He studied the bookshelf. “Looks like a mighty thick book.”

  “Four hundred and ninety pages,” the manager replied. “Each page more tantalizing than the last.”

  Martin sighed. If he’d been talking about an appetizer, he might’ve sold him. “You don’t know if there happens to be CliffsNotes to this book, do you?”

  The manager chuckled a bit and said, “Not that I know of. But I know how you can get a quick summary.”

  “Really?”

  “Hey Wolfe, over here.”

  Martin looked over the shelf to see Wolfe’s head moving toward him. A warm blush began at his neck.

  “Martin,” Wolfe said, shaking his hand. “How are you?”

  “Um … fine. I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “Starts work tomorrow,” the manager said.

  “Oliver fired me,” Wolfe said sheepishly.

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

  “He asked me if there were CliffsNotes to Black Cats, and I told him I thought you could give him a pretty good summary.”

  Martin was horrified, and he knew his coloring showed it. “Listen, it’s not how it sounds. I’m a big fan, Wolfe. Really. I just, well, it’s just that …”

  “No need to explain,” Wolfe smiled. “It’s okay.”

  Martin glanced at the manager and said, “Can I have a second with Wolfe?”

  When they were alone, he leaned in toward Wolfe. “This is quite embarrassing. It’s just that I need information, and quickly.”

  “Information about what?”

  “Black cats,” he said, then wished he’d had a better answer. Should he tell Wolfe? Could he trust him? These days, everything—everyone—seemed so bizarre.

  “You know my book is fiction,” Wolfe said.

  Martin nodded. Now he looked like a fool. What was he going to do? “Listen,” Martin finally said, “let me buy you lunch. I’d just like a summary of your book, a little more detailed than what’s on the back cover.”

  Wolfe hesitated, and Martin could see perplexity strain his warm smile. But then he agreed.

  After they’d ordered their food at The Mansion, Martin said, “I know this sounds strange.”

  Wolfe nodded. He couldn’t imagine what Martin was up to. The man seemed to be reading his mind.

  “There are just some strange things happening in this town,” Martin said. “I know I’m not the only one noticing the weird people walking around, coming in and out of the woods like ghosts.”

  “I’ve seen a couple,” Wolfe said. And indeed they were strange. Enough to spark a book idea, if he wrote such books anymore.

  Martin nodded. “I’ve seen more than a couple, and”—Martin said, lowering his voice, his eyes shining with mystery—“some of ours …”

  “Really.”

  “I don’t want to talk about too much of what I know,” Martin added as Wolfe started to ask a question, “but something is going on with this town, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  “So what does my book have to do with it?”

  “I’m not sure, except you wrote this book about black cats, and we have a lot of black cats, and maybe you answered some questions about our town without knowing it.”

  Wolfe had to laugh. “You’re suggesting a prophecy of some sort?”

  “Well, nothing that dramatic, but I’m just curious about the story. Maybe it holds the key.”

  The key. Missy Peeple’s strange allusion whispered in his ear. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”

  “Tell me what it’s about.”

  “Basically, people in a town full of black cats begin experiencing bad luck. The residents decide they need to get rid of the cats, thinking them responsible for the curse. But it seems the harder they try to rid the town of the cats, the more bad things start to happen.”

  “That hit the bestseller list, did it?” Martin said with amusement.

  Wolfe laughed. “Somehow, yes.”

  “Okay, well, what types of things started happening to the town?”

  “Different things, in and of themselves not strange. But when they all started happening at once, people believed something was going on. For instance, the well went dry. And there were grass fires. The church burned down. People from other towns heard rumors about the corn they sold and stopped buying it. Different things like that.”

  “How did they figure out it was the cats?”

  “They didn’t. But out of desperation they decided the cats were cursed and they needed to leave.”

  “Were the cats cursed?”

  Wolfe grinned. “Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t, but the people’s paranoia caused even greater things to happen. The very thing they feared came upon them.”

  “Well that sounds creepy,” Martin grimaced.

  “You should read the book,” Wolfe winked.

  Martin’s eyes widened. “The black cats don’t start possessing the spirits of the townspeople, do they?”

  “No—that’d be silly.”

  “Right.”

  “Martin, does this have anything to do with your search for the town’s history?”

  Martin leaned forward. “I can’t say much. But yes. I believe there are many things missing about this town, and I want to know why they’re missing and what they are.”

  “The makings of a good mystery.”

  “It’s more than that,” Martin said. “It could e
ven be scandalous.”

  Wolfe laughed. “Even better.”

  Martin smiled, but then it faded into shadows of thought. His blank stare was replaced by a gaze directed at Wolfe. “Unexplainable things are happening around here. But I happen to believe all things have an explanation, if you dig deep enough.”

  Wolfe said, “Then let’s find this town a happy ending.”

  Martin’s tired features revived. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I think you’re onto something. The problem is, there is a lot of mystery surrounding so much of this town … and many of its people.”

  Martin nodded. “But something about what you wrote will give us the answers.”

  “Why do you believe that?”

  He paused. “I got a note. Don’t spread this around, okay? But this morning a note was left at the office telling me that my answer lies in the pages of Black Cats.”

  Wolfe leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. Deciphering an encrypted message in his own book was going to be somewhat daunting. He sighed, and his gaze found its way toward the front windows of the restaurant.

  There, standing in one of the windows, was Missy Peeple, her beady eyes staring back at him. Martin seemed oblivious to everything but his hamburger. An eerie chill raced down Wolfe’s back, and with one blink, she was gone.

  Martin looked up and stopped chewing. “Are you okay?”

  Wolfe nodded and picked up his tea. If he didn’t know better, he would think Missy Peeple was a character that might have leapt straight out of the dark corners of his imagination.

  CHAPTER 23

  “DR. HASS!”

  The shrill sound of his name being screamed nearly caused him to fall out of his chair. All morning he’d been working on a plan to open the practice he’d meant to start in Skary. And his next appointment wasn’t scheduled for another fifteen minutes. The only noise he’d heard was that cat trying to convince him to let her in.