Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4)
Page 2
“They ran an article on that here, as well,” said Merle, draining his coffee. “It gives me the creeps just thinking about it. They say it’s a wolf-like creature, black as the night, with a hunger that can’t be sated.” Merle shuddered and moved closer to the fire. “I read they’re offering a hefty reward for proof of the creature’s demise, but you couldn’t pay me enough to spend one night in that forest.”
“What does this have to do with you, Willie?” asked Garrett mystified. “I know you lived in the Lonely Wood for a long time. Surely you don’t believe these wild tales?”
“Oh the tales are true enough, Garrett,” said Willie. “I’ve heard things in the night that would make your blood run cold. Seen the tracks with my own eyes too; they were as big as a dinner plate.”
“And you’re going off to hunt this thing?” asked Garrett.
“Think of the tale it will make, Garrett, not to mention the trophy.” Willie stood and made a motion as if he was drawing back his famous bow. He panned to his left and let fly with his imaginary arrow as he passed his sights over Merle. “They’ll sing about us for years!” he bellowed.
“Us?” asked Garrett, the truth of Willie’s visit dawning on him.
“Of course,” agreed Willie. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and I could use those eyes of yours to watch my back. What do you say, chum? How about it? Surely, you wouldn’t deny your Uncle Willie one last great hunt?”
* * * *
The apartment section of Merle and Garrett’s house was accessed through the main office and designed as an open concept. The entire back area was one large room, with Garrett’s bedroom area immediately to the left of the door on first entering. On the same side of the room, just past Garrett’s bed, was suspended their newly acquired global view unit or G.V., as it was commonly referred to. Merle had been given a small couch from one of their elderly clients and had placed the furniture as far back from the G.V. as the current layout of the room allowed.
Across from Garrett’s bed, a kitchen table and chairs offered a place to take meals, and toward the back of the house, a wood stove, counter area, and water pump were located along the back wall. A rear door led outside to the back yard and the woodshed. Above the first floor, a balcony ran the length of the right side of the building, and Merle’s loft, containing his bed and furniture, could be reached using a set of narrow stairs on the right hand wall, just off the kitchen counter.
It was the morning following Willie’s arrival, and Garrett and Merle were sorting clothes by Garrett’s bed. Willie had gone out, to purchase supplies, leaving Garrett and Merle deep in a heated conversation.
“You can’t be serious?” argued Merle. He threw a folded shirt onto the bed. “You’ll be gone for a month?” The little dragon flitted back and forth across the room from Garrett’s bed. Merle’s wings hummed agitatedly, keeping him suspended above the floor as he scooped up another shirt to fold.
“Quit your pacing,” urged Garrett. “You’re making me tired.” When Merle ignored the suggestion, the man continued. “You’ll manage without me. Besides, you’re the one who suggested I needed a vacation.” He folded a pair of underwear and rammed them into a large duffle bag, before grabbing the shirt Merle had just folded.
“A vacation, yes,” snapped Merle, “a week on the beach, with Coral rubbing lotion on your back, pina coladas and dancing,” he explained.
“It’s almost October, and I’d be more likely to get wind burned than sunburned,” returned Garrett. “Besides, Coral and I are just friends. You know that. “
“This adventure of Willie’s is crazy!” exclaimed the dragon, throwing the shirt down without folding it. “Who in their right mind would want to hunt a beast like the Deepbrook Devil?”
“There is no such beast,” argued Garrett, sifting through the mound of laundry on his bed. Lifting a sock, he sniffed at it tentatively. Shrugging, he tossed it and its mate into the bag.
“What if you’re wrong?” persisted Merle, wagging a finger in Garrett’s direction. “Those legends go back hundreds of years. The people of the Lonely Wood have to be seeing something.”
“The Lonely Wood,” mused Garrett, “nice place.” Tying his bag, he tossed it on the floor beside two others, before lifting his mattress. Using his foot, he pulled a maple bow from its hiding place. “It’s not the beast that concerns me. Willie is not telling me something.”
“Then why don’t you just ask him?” insisted Merle. “Save all the hassle of this trip.”
“He’s paying for the whole venture,” said Garrett. “And I owe him. He’s been like family for twenty years. If he needs me now, then I’m going to be there for him.”
Merle threw his hands up in resignation. He knew what it meant when Garrett got that look on his face. “What about our meeting with the guys from the local cable show?”
“You’ll have to take it on your own. I trust your judgment.”
“And this case you’ve been working on? You can’t abandon it.”
“You’ve helped out on stakeouts before, Merle. And don’t pretend you don’t like the action of those midnight chases. I’ve left you a ‘to-do’ list on the counter, and my notes from the case are at the back of the notepad.”
“Great!” huffed Merle, “as usual, your opinion varies greatly from mine on what can be considered midnight action.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared balefully at his friend.
They were interrupted by the back door exploding inward. P.C. stumbled into the room, actuators whirring, an unhealthy hum filling the apartment. Garrett frowned, one corner of his blanket held firmly in his hand as he adjusted the bedspread. “P.C.,” he scolded. “What have you been up to? I know that sound and you’re overheating.”
“No wonder the door never closes properly,” mumbled Merle.
“Cleaning… up,” came the metallic response from the back counter. “Hose… sprung,… oil… leaked,… initiating… top… off… procedure.” The metal man opened a bottom cupboard and came up with a jar of dark liquid.
“Here we go, again!” screeched Merle. “What were you rolling in this time?”
Garrett wrinkled his nose as he approached the automaton. “P.C.,” he said, getting the robot’s attention. “Where were you cleaning?” he asked. “Obviously, you overexerted yourself in your zealousness. You’re lucky it was only a hose and not something more expensive.” He eyed the robot critically, noting the yellow dust and smelly brown substance coating the robot, again.
“Potty’s… shaft,… a… disgrace,” exclaimed the metal man. Carefully he poured the jar of fluid into an opening in his belly. “As… usual,… I… have… to… do… the… dirty… work.” Finished replacing his fluids, he turned to Garrett and waved a bent rod under the man’s nose. “I… jammed… my… toilet… snake.”
Merle groaned and flew up to the balcony above them. Garrett could hear his friend banging around in his dresser drawers. Ignoring the dragon, he held a hand over his nose and waved P.C.’s appendage away. “Look,” he said, examining a multitude of shiny scratches covering P.C.’s head and shoulders, “wherever you were cleaning, is off limits. You’ve gone and damaged yourself. If you need something to do, there is a pile of laundry beside my bed.” He stepped back from the automaton, waving a hand in an effort to clear the stink. “You can take care of it after you clean yourself.” He pushed a button on the side of P.C.’s wrist and released the damaged toilet snake. “I have to send this to the smith, now, and it won’t be cheap!” Garrett growled and fired the bent tool onto the back counter. “Like we don’t have enough bills to pay!” He shook his head at P.C. before going to close the back door.
Merle descended from the upper level, a bottle of spray cologne in hand. Holding his breath, he shot off a quick misty spurt of perfume in P.C.’s direction.
“Halloo,” came a call from the front office.
“Back here,” answered Garrett.
The door swung inward and Willie poked his head into
the room. “Goood moorning,” he drawled jovially.
“Come on in,” said Garrett, waving the older man through. “Coffee’s on the stove. I’m just about finished packing.”
“Right-o, chum,” said Willie. He sauntered into the room with a wave at Merle.
Garrett noticed his friend had removed his boots again, and watched with interest as Willie made his careful way to the back cupboards. Garrett located a hunting knife from within his dresser drawer and pretended to examine the blade as Merle showed Willie where the clean coffee mugs were stored.
“Smells like eggs,” said Willie, waving his hand over the kettle. At last, he was satisfied it was not too hot and poured himself a coffee. He missed the mug at first, and the stove hissed as the liquid hit the hot metal.
“Not quite,” quipped Merle, working his spray cologne again. Seeing Garrett flash him a frown, he continued hurriedly, “But I can put some on if you would like?”
“That’d be great,” agreed Willie, “Nothing like a good breakfast to set the pace of the day.”
Garrett watched Willie pull his brown bottle from a pants pocket and add a shot to his drink. Nodding to himself, he added his knife to the collection of packed goods and made his way to the kitchen table. Pulling a chair out for their guest, he waited until Willie was seated, before fetching his own coffee and sitting down.
“Sure is cold out this morning,” said Garrett. “The wood in the woodshed has a sheen of frost on it.”
“Yup,” agreed Willie with a grin, “ground’s crunchy. It’s harder to find fresh tracks when the ground is frozen. A fellow just has to look a little closer, though.” He sipped his coffee.
“So we’re still a go for this hunting trip?” asked Garrett meaningfully.
“Of course,” agreed Willie. “I went down to Gulliver’s this morning, like you suggested.”
“Any problems finding the sign?” asked Garrett. “The print is a little small,” he laughed.
“Nope,” said Willie, taking a drink. “It was right where you said it would be.”
Garrett nodded. “Did you find one you like?”
“Oh yes,” said Willie rubbing his hands together. “I rented us a beauty. We won’t have to worry about the cold, that’s for sure. According to Gulliver, it’s the king of covered wagons. It has a fully waterproof cover, with an additional pull out canopy; four wheel suspension; two full-size bunks; a built-in cook stove; and more cupboards and storage than two men could possibly fill!”
“Sounds great, Willie,” said Garrett. “What do I owe you?”
“Just your company!” returned Willie warmly. “Finish your coffee and we’ll go have a look at her. She’s parked out front.” Without thinking about it, Willie retrieved the brown bottle from his pants pocket and was pouring another shot into his coffee, when he caught himself. Realising what he was doing, he stared across the table at Garrett and chuckled. “This will take the chill out of the air,” he said embarrassedly. “You want some?”
Garrett cleared his throat and nodded. “Sure, Willie,” he said, with as little hesitation as possible. Turning to Merle, he noted the concerned look on the dragon’s face. “Make sure P.C. gets himself cleaned up, Merle,” he said. “I have a couple more things to pack, but I guess we’ll be off this morning.”
“Sure,” said Merle, pawing at his neck. He flew off to the back counter to start on Willie’s eggs. For once, Garrett noted, the dragon didn’t bother to complain.
Willie tucked his bottle away and nodded to Garrett. “Why so glum, chum?” he asked. “This is going to be some adventure!”
2
That’s What Friends Are For
Garrett scratched the horse behind the ear, and smiled when the animal nudged his arm. “Eddie and Gerdie, you said?” he asked Willie as the bowman tossed another bag into the back of the wagon.
“Yes,” agreed Willie. “Though, I’m not sure which is which.” Willie pulled the canvas flap down over the back of the wagon and secured it with a corner rope. Garrett frowned.
Rounding the back of the wagon, Willie stopped when his foot hit something squishy. “Sheesh,” he exclaimed, and hobbled over to the front gate. Leaning on the fence, he wiped his boot in the yellowed grasses as he called for Garrett to take the driver’s seat. “You know the streets better than me,” he said, examining his boot. After taking several more kicks at the grass, he made his way to the passenger’s side of the wagon. He stopped suddenly, wincing as he stubbed his toe on the iron rim of the wagon’s wheel. He shuddered with pain and then hauled himself up onto the bench.
“It’s not your morning, is it?” asked Garrett knowingly. He looked at Willie’s boot and the dark manure coating the outside of the leather. “You missed a spot.”
“Ah well,” sighed Willie, looking over. “What’s a road trip without the smell of horse manure?”
Having hovered by the front gate the entire time, Merle finally flew around to Garrett’s side of the wagon. “So, you don’t know how long you will be?” he asked, wringing his hands.
Garrett looked to Willie, and the bowman shrugged. “Depends on how much sign there is,” he said. “But don’t worry Merle, if that Devil dares to show his nose in front of old Willie, I’ll have him downed and stuffed before you can miss us!”
“Oh, that reminds me; speaking of downed, Mr. Parks was just out back complaining about that oil trail P.C. left. He said Mrs. Parks tripped in it and threw a hip. He was not happy at all. He followed the trail to our backdoor.”
Garrett sighed. “Send her some flowers and see if you can help the big guy out with chores until his wife is feeling better,” he offered. “The mess will need to be cleaned, as well, before someone else slips.”
“You can’t be serious?” whined Merle. “P.C. causes the devastation, and I end up paying for it?” The little dragon hummed with agitation. “You better not be gone too long.”
“A month at most,” assured Garrett. “It’ll take us five to six days with the wagon to reach the inner hills, and then Willie can track his monster. I should think we will be bored with the whole affair within a week.”
“We’ll see, kiddo,” said Willie with a grin. “It’s about the outing anyway; the open skies, a forest to explore, and a warm campfire to share a story around. If we happen to bag us a monster - all the better.”
Merle looked unconvinced. “What should I tell Coral, if she calls?”
Garrett reached for the wheel brake and released it. Slapping the reins, he got the wagon rolling. “Tell her, you sent me on vacation!”
* * * *
Dusk had arrived and the wind grown cold when Garrett finally decided to stop for the day. Unhitching Eddie and Gerdie, he took care of the horses before setting up their campsite. He pulled out the awning, built a ring of stones, and lit a fire. Yet throughout all of the activity, Willie did not stir in the back of the wagon.
Garrett knelt beside the flames and added butter to his frying pan, burning his fingers on the handle. He barely noticed, lost in thought as he was. He had driven the wagon all afternoon, by himself, and was not sure what he was feeling inside, now. Was it anger? Perhaps pity? Whatever the case, he knew that mostly he was sad.
The morning had started out great, with he and Willie reminiscing about old times and adventures long ago enjoyed in the company of their friends. Garrett had commented on all of the great sites Deep Cove had to offer as they drove through the town, and Willie had seemed generally interested. Then, as they had passed the giant sign advertising Gulliver’s Wagons, Garrett had pointed to the large billboard depicting Gulliver, a covered wagon, and two beautiful girls draped on the businessman’s arm. “He looks much older, now, doesn’t he?” he had asked with a chuckle.
“Who?” asked Willie, not comprehending.
“Gulliver,” said Garrett, pointing to the twenty foot sign attached to the adjacent building.
“I wouldn’t know, chum,” said Willie, “Never met the man before this morning.”
Garrett remained silent as his old friend struggled to get back aboard the bench. At last, seeing his pal safely settled, he had licked his lips and chosen to say nothing. Who was he to chastise an old friend that wanted to cut loose on their road trip? Willie prattled on, slurring his words and mumbling about nothing for a quarter of a mile before toppling backwards into the back of the wagon. Garrett was so surprised by this, that he actually dropped the reigns. Retrieving the leather straps, he halted the wagon and drew on the brake. Stepping over the bench, he straightened the man’s almost lifeless body. Garrett placed a thumb and forefinger over the man’s eye and opened each in turn. Willie continued to breathe heavily, and Garrett shook his head. He stood over his friend, uncertain whether he should continue on their journey or head back into town. Deciding he would talk to his friend about moderation when the man awakened, he had thrown a blanket over Willie and returned to the front of the wagon.
Adding a chunk of ham to the frying pan, Garrett looked up when the rear flap of the wagon was thrust aside. Willie blinked in the fading light and made his way outside. Turning his head from left to right, he searched his surroundings in the weak light. “There you are, chum,” he said with a forced smile. Cautiously, he walked over to the fire. His hair was ruffled and his clothing wrinkled. One boot lace was undone and the right side of his shirt was untucked, hanging out below his jacket.