“Your horse threw a shoe?”
He pulled a smile. “Actually, my Bronco’s got tires.”
“Is something injured?”
“It’s a little past doctoring. And it’s … gruesome.”
She drew herself up. “I’m assuming we’re not talking human.”
“No, I have a coroner for those deaths.”
“Okay then.” She came through the gate. “Show me.” She preceded him out to his vehicle.
“You may want to hold your breath. They didn’t die fast.” He opened up the back, then, giving her a warning glance, tore open the garbage bag. The smell was a force, excrement and gore. He should have pulled the bag out of the car first. But he didn’t want her to have to bend to the ground to examine them. “Can you tell me what you see?”
She pressed her lips together, more sadness than repulsion in her eyes. “The damage seems to be to their sides.”
“Look closer. Where the fur is shaved. Sorry. If you don’t mind.”
“Stitching?” She looked up. Her right eye twitched. “Not a natural predator.”
He understood the effort it took her to stay calm. “Have you seen much cult activity with animals?”
“Not really.”
“But you’d know what to look for?”
“I wouldn’t look for stitching.”
He nodded. “That’s what I thought too. Well, thanks. What do I owe you?”
She shrugged. “Consider it a service, and pass the word that I’m here.”
“I told an officer this morning. He’ll be by with his pug, Marlene.”
Back inside, Liz watched the police chief drive away. He’d seemed sensitive and trustworthy beneath his startling good looks. Most people would not get past the surface, but she always looked inside, searching for the best—and the worst. It was inside that mattered, the substance of a person.
“He’s nice.”
Though quiet as a ghost, Lucy seldom caught her by surprise, their bond so tight she sensed her before hearing her. Liz nodded without looking away from the window. Lucy was never fooled by appearances. The chief had substance.
“Would you like to meet him?” Liz murmured.
“Don’t tease.”
“Really.” She watched the Bronco stop at the street, then pull out. She’d recognized in Chief Westfall an acquaintance with grief, lodged in the faint lines around his eyes, the creases beside his mouth. Maybe he would understand. “I think you could.”
“Not like this. No one should see me like this.” The pitch of Lucy’s voice rose. “And I’m afraid. So afraid.”
“You don’t have to be.” She turned at her soft crying. “It’s all right.”
“No,” Lucy wailed. “How can it be?”
She hated it when Lucy cried, the way it tugged as though the sorrow lodged inside her as well. “Do you trust me?”
Lucy sniffed. “How can I not trust my own sister?”
How indeed? Raw emotion caught her. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She waited, but Lucy didn’t answer.
Jonah drove with all the windows open to the office and left them open in the lot even though he’d recently cautioned Officer Sue Donnelly not to leave her vehicle unsecured. The smell would be deterrent enough for any thief. He went inside, and Ruth put a hand to her nose.
“Not to be rude, Jonah—”
“I know.”
“Moser’s on the clock. Why don’t you go home and shower?”
He had intended to type his report while the details were fresh, but, as with the smell, he doubted they’d fade anytime soon. He turned around and drove home. The shower took the smell out of his skin and hair but didn’t help much with the residual in his sinuses. He changed into a spare uniform and went back to the office.
Ruth sighed with relief as he approached, ending with a giggle.
“Yeah, yeah. Next time I’ll let you all handle it.”
“I must have heard Moser wrong,” she called after him. “I thought he said the raccoons were sewn together.”
He entered the office without answering. He’d like to keep that quiet for a while and figured there was at least a ten percent chance he could. He filled in the report and filed it in open cases, animal cruelty—the closest classification he could make.
After he brought his computer out of hibernation, he scoured all the local incidents involving animals, widening his region to include not just the county but adjoining counties as well. The incidents he found involved baiting or neglect. Unlicensed or out-of-season hunting. One wrongful butchering. None mentioned joining.
It could be nothing more than a sick prank, and he’d ignore it except for the eerie nature of the deed. Animal cruelty could indicate dangerous pathologies, and in this there had been intent and premeditation. There’d been surgical prep. The person who did this had not merely intended the creatures to fight but to tear their own flesh apart. He would have the thread analyzed and receive results in a month or two.
He looked up when Moser came in.
“Just letting you know I’m going home.”
That time already? No wonder his back felt petrified. As chief, he made his own schedule but often worked longer hours than the others. Determining the direction and strategic mission of the department, managing his people, coordinating assets, and allocating resources kept him plenty busy, but he still maintained hands-on interaction with his officers and the people they protected. He stayed abreast of serious crimes and handled many of them himself.
The raccoon thing was just weird enough to warrant his attention before passing it off. And it took his mind off the rest. The day was almost over, and it wouldn’t be back for another year. His hands clenched. His nostrils flared. Not now.
He forced his focus back to the research, but there wasn’t that much more he could learn, so he locked up and drove slowly through Old Town. The shops were closed up for the night, but he saw lights at the Half Moon. He parked and stared a long moment, then made his way around to the back and rapped his knuckles on the door. He heard shuffling, then her voice.
“Who is it?”
At least she was cautious.
“Me.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Open up, Tia.”
She cracked open the door, frowning. “What?”
“Can I talk to you?”
“As Police Chief?”
“Partly.”
She pressed her forehead to the door and pulled it open, the epitome of reluctance. A lambent glow from a dozen candles honeyed her mahogany hair and olive skin. Dark brows arched over onyx eyes, reflecting the flames.
He said, “I don’t think you should be working past dark.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re giving me a curfew?”
“I just don’t think you should stay here after dark and walk home alone.”
“Why not?”
Because someone had ceremoniously slaughtered animals on her walking path? “I saw something that concerns me.”
“Something …”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not go into it.”
“Look, Jonah—”
“I’m just saying don’t be out alone right now.”
“But you’re not saying why.” She braced her hands on her hips. Even with her small frame and stature, no one could mistake her strength. “If you won’t give me more than your opinion, I can’t make an informed decision.”
“You could trust my opinion.”
She tipped her head back, forking both hands into her lion’s mane, and scrutinized him. “You look awful.”
“Yeah, well.” She knew what day it was. Because he’d kept up a good professional front, no one else had noticed, at least not commented. But this was Tia, who never withheld comment. “I’ll walk you home if you’re ready.”
“I’m doing my accounting.”
“You can do it in the daylight.”
Again the hands to the hips.
“Tell me why you’re worried.”
“Can’t you ever just take advice?” He matched her glare, then backed down. He was probably blowing it out of proportion. Seeing her this morning had kept her too near the surface, a bad idea on any day. A worse one today. “Fine. Lock the door behind me.”
“Of course.” Just enough barb to make it sting.
He drove home to his cabin tucked away from both the new, sprawling mansions and the little, old Victorians like Tia’s. He removed his jacket and weapon belt, locked his sidearm and backup in the gun safe, then opened the collar of his shirt and entered the den. From the corner shelf he took the bottle of Maker’s Mark and rubbed its dustless surface.
He ran his thumb down the label, removed the stopper, and slowly passed the throat beneath his nose. The spirits rose up and constricted his nostrils. His taste buds quickened, saliva glands moistening with anticipation. He imagined the fluid in his throat, remembered the heat like it was yesterday.
Today of all days that heat would comfort, fogging the memories that filled his mind in stark relief. He would welcome the fog, deep, deadening. The voice of desire whispered in his ears.
“You do not control me,” he whispered back, closed it up, and set it on the shelf.
In the bedroom he undressed and collapsed onto the bed. Almost over. Just a few more hours.
With Jonah’s uneasiness pricking her nerves, Tia made her way up the wooded path. Had he invented an excuse to see her alone, or was his concern real? He’d offered to walk her home, a troubling thought at the best of times. She jerked a glance over her shoulder when a pine cone fell from a tree, then expelled her breath.
She moved on, annoyed with herself as much as Jonah. She reached the side street and yelped, pressing a hand to her chest when Piper slipped out of the shadows beside her.
“Sorry!” Piper clasped her hands to her chest. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her own fault for letting Jonah get to her. “What are you doing out here?”
“Going … home.”
Tia released her breath. “I thought you were inside already.” Rising as early as she did, Piper had been early to bed as well, like the bright-breasted finches that disappeared at sundown and popped up again with the dawn.
“A bunch of us were playing Cranium at Java Cava.”
“Oh.” Tia climbed the single porch step. “I guess I’m just jumpy.”
“Because of the chief?”
Tia stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“I saw him leaving the shop.”
Great. She unlocked the house door. “He doesn’t think it’s smart to be out alone after dark. He was cautioning people.” Except, it appeared, Piper’s crowd. Had she been personally targeted by whatever he saw? No, he would have told her that. It was his hypervigilance, and it made her crazy.
Piper followed her in. “Did he say what happened?”
“He didn’t give me any details, just said we shouldn’t be out. Would you like some tea?” She went to the kitchen and dropped several tight knots of jasmine pearls into two mugs, then put the kettle on to boil. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Jonah had seemed genuinely shaken. As he’d stood across from her in the candlelight, she had glimpsed the rumple-haired boy in a trouble-hardened face.
Her first memory of Jonah was at the top of a slide, knees drawn to his chest, the other kids griping from the ladder for him to go already. His eyes had looked enormous until she realized the sockets from his eyebrows to his cheekbones were bruised purple. He’d looked at her and slid to the bottom, then sprang lightly to his feet.
“What happened to your eyes?”
“Mom stomped the brakes too quick. I hit the dashboard.”
“Didn’t you wear your seat belt?”
He shrugged. “Why bother?”
Years later she’d realized what he meant.
She shook herself. He’d delivered his warning, and she had passed it to Piper. She poured the steaming water over the pearls and handed Piper her mug. Lifting her own, she inhaled the exotic fragrance of the gray-green leaf buds unfurling in the cup.
She looked past her reflection on the window to the black night outside and remembered another blacker night. Lord, it had been grim, had tainted so much afterward. No wonder he’d looked so wretched today. Could she not have been kind?
She shook her head. If she gave him anything, showed any weakening, he would use it.
Piper came up beside her, ghostlike in the glass. “Are you all right?”
“Just tired. I guess I shouldn’t work so late.” She sipped her brew and savored the mellow flavor. She’d leave at a reasonable hour from now on.
“You could have played with us. I wish I’d thought to come get you.”
“I’m too competitive for big group games.” As a child she had won at a rate that endeared her to no one. “I prefer Parcheesi with a mug of tea and a fire crackling in the fireplace.” Purely the luck of the dice.
“What’s the scent on the waxed pine cones?” Piper’s eyes glittered.
Tia drew a breath, almost smelling it as she said, “Butterscotch.”
“Perfect.” Piper laughed.
Okay, it was nice having her, even if she pushed and pried. They sat and talked until Piper’s yawns grew contagious.
As Tia went up to bed, Jonah’s troubled face pursued her. What could have bothered him enough that he felt the need to warn her? She shouldn’t have been rude, not this day especially, but she couldn’t stop it. She blamed him for so much. And he deserved it.
Three
The only gift is a portion of thyself.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Stifling a yawn, Piper handed an apple turnover to a man with marble-shaped eyeballs. She’d stayed up so late with Tia, sleeping had felt like blinking, but for the first time they’d been more than landlord and guest, spinning threads of friendship with their words.
“They’re just out of the oven,” she cautioned, “so the filling might be hot.”
Sarge usually served the customers, but a spasm had seized his back, and he’d gone to sit in the warm kitchen. When she first started working for him, he had seemed plain mean, but now she knew it was pain that made him snap, like a dog bruised in places invisible under the fur.
She checked her watch. Two minutes left on the bear claws. She’d get back there before Sarge even thought of bending to remove the sheet from the lower oven.
“Just one second,” she told the woman coming in the door, then ducked into the kitchen. The timer had begun to shrill, but Sarge didn’t go for it. He lay writhing on the floor.
Piper rushed to his side. “Sergeant Beaker? Sarge?”
He was gasping for words. She lunged for the phone on the kitchen wall and dialed. “This is Piper at the bakery. Sarge is in trouble.”
After the emergency dispatcher had taken her information, she hurried back to his side. Yes, she had called him an evil elf, sent withering looks through the wall after his tirades, but that was before. The timer was still shrilling. She jumped up and removed the bear claws, then knelt again and took his hand between hers. “Hold on, Sarge. Help is coming.”
His fingers felt like chilled carrots. Piper pressed the back of her free hand to his flushed cheek that felt as hot as hers got leaning over the oven door. He seemed to be trying to order her around, but she couldn’t catch a word.
In minutes, Chief Westfall walked through the door, smelling woodsy and looking rugged and more together than when she’d first seen him. “Ambulance is on the way.” He crouched down and took the old man’s other hand. “Hey, Sarge. Hanging in there?”
Sarge jammed a finger toward her. “You! You interfering—”
Chief Westfall looked up from his crouch. “Go on out front. I’ll stay with him.”
With one look back at Sarge’s face, she carried the tray of bear claws to the case. The shop had been hit by a people wave. Oh, boy. She pulled off the oven mitts. “I have no idea who’s fir
st.”
Two people spoke their orders at once, and a third said, “Where’s Sarge?”
“Sarge is … not doing too well.” A buzz passed through the crowd as she wrapped a lemon scone and a raisin bun and handed one to each of the two who had ordered together. She scooted to the end of the counter and rang them up.
Good thing Sarge had made her learn the register, but this crowd would wipe out the case, and she wasn’t in the kitchen baking replacements or the lunch rolls. How had Sarge done it before she came?
Her head spun with all the demands as people realized they’d get whatever was left if they didn’t order first. She threw up her hands. “Make a line. If you don’t get what you want today, write it down.” She dumped the basket where people could leave their business cards to win a freebie. “Put your requests in here. They’ll be half price tomorrow.”
She could bake according to the requests. People who didn’t come in every day might come twice in a row for a half-price offer. As far as she knew, Sarge had never done half price on anything except the day-old rack, and there usually wasn’t much left on that. He might howl if he knew, but the ambulance had arrived, and she’d keep it to herself until he was strong enough to holler without hurting himself.
Tia startled as the ambulance stopped outside the bakery. She had just reached her back door but detoured to Sarge’s, praying Piper had not injured herself with a mixer or suffered a burn or cut. She pushed open the kitchen door. Piper was nowhere in sight. Instead she saw Sarge on the floor, with Jonah supporting his head as the EMTs came through from the front.
“What happened?”
Jonah levered himself up, giving them room to work. “Piper called in the emergency. I don’t know if he fell or what.”
“She’s okay?”
“A little shaky. I sent her up front to handle the rush. You know how Sarge is.”
From years of experience. He could hardly force words out, yet he was still arguing, purple-faced, with the emergency team. Jonah had removed Piper from the line of fire, and he squatted back down, speaking softly to Sarge, again diverting the tirade.
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