Cold Moon

by Tess Grant

  Anne patted her shoulder. “I know,” she said. “Amazing how everybody pulls together when they have to.”

  A canopy staked between the crowd and the rubble billowed in the humid morning breeze then sucked in, jerking at its ropes. Underneath it the local hiking club in matching khaki shorts and green t-shirts manned long tables covered with maps.

  “I gotta go find Sam,” Anne said, flapping her son’s neck scarf.

  Kitty angled away from her mother and cut between the tent and the main bulk of the crowd. She needed to make sure she got the section with the granite overhang to search. Common sense said they would assign that to the group from the VA home—it was the closest, barely down the slope a quarter mile or so. She could outrun them—get out in front and rebury it. Maybe all the old guys had cataracts, and they wouldn’t see the disturbance. If worse came to worse, she could enlist them to be her brothers in arms. She could hope, couldn’t she?

  Three dogs came from the direction of the lane with handlers next to them, and any hope she’d been conjuring up disintegrated. Kitty didn’t know if they were cadaver dogs or arson dogs or search and rescue—maybe one of each. A German shepherd and two Labs, and all of them looked like they could find a dead mouse in a full dumpster.

  “Hey.”

  Kitty spun around. Jenna stood two feet from her, chewing on her bottom lip. Her sequined navy and pink “Peace, Love and Dance” tank top stood out in sharp relief against the beige tones the other searchers wore.

  “Hey,” Kitty said. “Honor society?”

  Jenna nodded and looked at the ground. No wonder her old friend was uncomfortable. The fight they’d had the last time they’d seen each other—over Kitty’s summer friendship with Phinney and her moodiness since her dad deployed to Iraq—had been a doozy. Kitty had always deferred to Jenna, but she’d finally refused. She hadn’t spoken to Jenna since the day she walked away from that fight.

  Jenna rocked back and forth on her feet for a few seconds. “Sorry,” she said finally. “I know he was your friend.”

  Yeah, he was. “Thanks.” Kitty’s gaze flicked to the cabin, and when she looked back,

  Jenna was gone, fading away to a patch of color in a sea of bland. That was it? She supposed it was as good a start as any.

  Kitty faced the table under the tent. She could see the maps from here—topographic maps like she and Phinney had used. All she had to do was choose the section with the duffle bag in it and volunteer to cover it. If she were first in line, the veterans might get assigned a different section. Kitty stepped under the canopy and one of the hikers looked up.

  “We’re not starting yet,” he said.

  Kitty nodded. “I want to be first in line. I have a date this afternoon.”

  The hiker pursed his lips in disapproval, and Kitty smiled and shrugged. She sounded like an idiot, but it was all for a good cause.

  The big detective Kitty had seen the night of the fire approached the tent from the other side. Seeing him again made Kitty feel faintly nauseous and she fought the urge to run. Knowing the adversary was half the battle. The man had been tall enough from far away. Up close he looked huge. His thick hair was cropped close to his skull and he was dressed for a stroll downtown, not a hike in the woods. One stick across the toe of his polished wingtips and that shine was history. Even in the muggy heat of late summer, his dark suit coat was buttoned shut. He extended a hand to the dog’s handlers.

  “Why dogs?” One of the green-shirted hikers behind the table whispered. “Isn’t it a little late, especially with that rain washing all the scent away?”

  Kitty was too far away to eavesdrop on the detective so she took the next best conversation. She bent to tie her shoe, leaning forward a foot closer to the two volunteers.

  “Melville assumed he was in the fire. They had some bone person from the university come down to search the scene along with the crime lab and didn’t find any remains. I think the dogs are a last hope sort of thing.”

  The dogs pulled at their leashes, eager to get to the job, but their handlers made them sit. Kitty swallowed her unease. The cabin wasn’t a problem, but the woods might be a different story. The duffle smelled mostly like her. She had practically lain on it when she rolled down the steps. Between that, the sweat, and the smoke, it might go undetected. Phinney had buried the punji sticks and that would work against her. How many weeks ago had he buried them? She had a time window of full moon-to-full moon. If he’d moved fast, which an eighty-five-year-old didn’t always do, she had four weeks for the scent to fade. If he’d waited until the last minute, she had four days. That and a rain.

  Two of the handlers started walking the German shepherd and one of the Labs up the hill. Melville trailed behind them. Trying to get closer, Kitty walked down the table toward the side nearest the cabin. She noticed the hiking club all had the same map. They hadn’t known Phinney very well. The old man was different in the woods—sucking some power out of the very trees. He might have been old and tired on the porch, but put him in the woods and he left her behind. If he had really been out there, they would need to throw a wider net than that.

  One of the handlers knelt next to her dog, stroking it. She stood and the dog kept his eyes on her. The woman spoke a few words and they entered the wreckage. Kitty tried to orient herself. They’d entered at the far back corner where Kitty guessed the old man’s bedroom had been. She’d never actually been in that section of the cabin. The dog put its nose down and started working. Most of the crowd quieted, watching. Working from one end of the wreckage to the other, the handler and the dog scrambled over the hillocks of debris. The second dog went in after the first had made two sweeps.

  The dogs worked the rectangle for a few minutes, passing each other as they walked back and forth on their sweeps. They got closer to the front edge of the cabin and the knotted muscles in Kitty’s shoulders eased. They were going to go all the way through it. Of course they would; there were no remains there to smell.

  Kitty leaned over the table and put a finger on one of the volunteer’s maps. “Can I take this grid? I’m—”

  The German shepherd reacted first. It stopped dead, nose down hard against the junk littering the ground. The hair on its shoulders and along the ridge of his back rose, and he began to growl. He paced out a circle, hunkering down as if to attack.

  Kitty pulled her finger back as the hiker stood to watch the commotion.

  The shepherd’s handler yanked hard on the leash. “Watson. Stand down.” The dog continued to pace.

  “What’s going on?” A low hum started in the crowd behind Kitty.

  The shepherd’s handler flapped her hand at the Lab, and the second trainer brought the dog over. The response was immediate. The second dog whined, put its tail between its legs and ran. Stumbling through the piles as the dog pulled, the woman went to her knees in the rubble and dropped the leash. The dog vaulted the foundation wall and disappeared in the direction of the parked cars.

  “Beginner dogs. What is this?” The buzz of voices over her shoulder grew louder.

  Detective Melville jabbed a finger toward the last dog, crooked it, and the handler brought it at a trot.

  The third dog hit the patch of suspect earth and started digging, barking violently. As the ash turned, it backed up, afraid of the scent it released. Its rump hit the shepherd who snarled and lunged forward.

  “What is that?” The hiker closest to Kitty asked. “Is that a hit?”

  It was a hit alright. A hit on the last place a werewolf had gone down.

  ****

  Melville sent the dogs home. Too panicked to work the woods anyway, they were useless. The crowd and volunteers seemed a little dispirited after the professionals’ failure, and Kitty got the feeling everyone was just going through the motions. That worked to her advantage. A sloppy search increased her chances of getting home free.

  She managed to be first in line at her end of the table. “That grid,” she said, pointing to it on the volunte
er’s map. “Can I search that one?”

  The man looked up at her questioningly.

  “I live around the bend from the end of the lane.” Kitty made a half-circle with her finger to show where around the bend was. “I know that section pretty well. If anything looks out of place, I’d know it.” She nodded, trying to look earnest.

  He was unimpressed. Kitty could read his face. The first person in line and already there were problems. “I’m not assigning that part of the map. Check at the other end of the table.”

  Crud. So much for her plan. Kitty got out of line. The line was mercifully short at the other end, and Kitty jumped behind the last person. While she waited, she checked positions on all the people she knew. Her mother had been roped into first aid duty and Sam handed out cookies. She squinted toward the tree line. She wasn’t sure but that might have been Jenna disappearing north. That worked. She’d be south of everyone who had reason to watch her.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  The throat clearing in front of her brought her to attention. A gap of five feet stood between her and the table. She jumped forward. “Hi.” For the third time that morning, she planted a finger on the little square. “I live near here, and I know this section pretty well. Can I have it?”

  The woman checked a list next to the map. “That section’s already been assigned. To a J. Zublowski and the group from the VA.”

  Kitty’s stomach dropped. She’d known the VA would get it—it was downhill. But that other name… “Wait…who?”

  The woman squinted at the paper again. “J. Zubonewich,” she sounded out.

  She’d butchered it, but Kitty managed to decipher the name. “Zubowicz?” As in Joe. “Could you just put me with that group? I know them.”

  The hiker ran down her list again. “I suppose,” she said. “All the rest of the sections are pretty well manned. We had a bigger turnout than we expected.” She paused, tapping her pencil. Coming to a decision, she said, “Sure, hon. What’d you say your name was?”

  Kitty checked over her shoulder. The meadow was emptying fast. Joe and five elderly guys stood near the tree line. “K. Irish. Thanks.” She jogged off before the woman could reply.

  “‘Bout time you got here,” Joe said as she approached. “Me and the boys been waiting for you.”

  Kitty nodded. “You and the boys?”

  “Sure. This is Bud.” Joe gestured around the semi-circle. “Earl’s over there, Clarence, Frank and Jimmy.”

  Kitty lifted a hand. “Hey guys.”

  Joe inclined his head toward the white-haired crowd. “The boys here said they’d take this end of the section. You and I get further in.” He dropped his voice. “That way they don’t have to walk so far.”

  Kitty gave a thumbs up and followed Joe into the woods. “How’d you know?” she asked, keeping her voice low so the one behind her—Clarence or was it Earl?—wouldn’t hear.

  “Know what?” Joe asked sweetly.

  Kitty’s glare could have scorched earth.

  “Ah,” Joe said, waving a forefinger at her. “You’re not the only one who can hear a conversation at ten paces.”

  “What?” Kitty stopped.

  Joe grabbed her wrist and tugged her along, glancing sideways at her and grinning. “You spent an awful lot of time underneath that tent up there.”

  Kitty understood. While she’d been keeping her eyes on Melville, Joe had been keeping his eyes on her. She didn’t know whether to hug him or slug him.

  They followed the path—the same one Kitty had stumbled down after burying the duffle—about halfway to the granite overhang. To the east a faint voice called and it repeated further north, rising and falling with the cadence of Phinney’s name. No one in Kitty’s group bothered. The veterans knew the chances of an eighty-five-year-old still being alive out here after four days, and Kitty knew the truth.

  Joe opened his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Kitty cut in before he could call. She didn’t want to hear her friend’s name echoing off the trees. “Why don’t you guys spread out and search from here back to the meadow? Joe and I’ll go on until we meet the next group, then come back this way.”

  Clarence nodded and the boys immediately broke apart and spread out. They were men of few words—they must have come up with this plan on the way over. Watching the line of them fade away into the trees made Kitty’s heart ache. With their slow frail movements, they weren’t anything like her Phinney, but seeing them here was enough to make her eyes swim with tears. Putting her head down, she trudged down the path. For a few steps it was silent behind her, then she heard the rush of footsteps as Joe caught up.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Joe asked.

  Kitty didn’t answer. She didn’t know what Joe was looking for. She was looking for a way to get rid of him so she could hide that damn duffle.

  On her right a fallen limb the size of a construction worker’s arm and nearly as knobby arched over a small depression in the ground. Don’t look at it, don’t bring any attention to it, she told herself. The entrenching tool lay half hidden in the shadows, and if Joe….

  Twigs and leaves crackled as Joe dropped to his knees and crawled halfway under the branch. “What is that?”

  Kitty stopped in the middle of the path and took a deep breath before she faced his direction. “What?” Her voice came out flat, not excited the way it should. She should be fired up, as if Joe had found Phinney curled up in there or something equally amazing that would help bring him home.

  Joe scuttled backward onto the path using two knees and an arm for support. The other arm held the shovel curled in tight against his chest. He scrambled to his feet and held it out to her. “What do you think? It’s one of those old army e-tools. Back before ‘e’ meant electronic.”

  Kitty wrapped a hand around the seamed and pitted handle, picking at the rust dotting the blade with a fingernail. “Looks old enough, but it also looks like it’s been out here awhile.”

  Joe’s face fell. “So you don’t think it’s anything?”

  “I think we’re supposed to be looking for footprints or scraps of cloth caught on the bushes…stuff lost people leave behind.” Kitty shrugged. “I don’t think he’d be out here burying something, do you?”

  Joe’s face grew dark. “What makes you think he was burying something? What if somebody was burying him?”

  Kitty’s stomach flipped. Had the police mentioned foul play? She’d assumed they had thought Phinney had gone a little Alzheimer’s and wandered off. “Fine. I’ll bring it along.” She about-faced on the trail. She needed to regroup. This wasn’t such a bad development. At least she had the shovel now.

  Ahead of them the path forked, but they were coming at it from the wrong side. The trail they were on continued forward to the clearing while the other angled back toward where the VA boys searched. When Kitty had missed the way home and ended up back at Phinney’s meadow that had been the path she should have taken.

  Kitty stopped at the vee. “Joe, why don’t you go that way? I’ll go straight and finish the back end of this section.”

  He glanced down the trail. “That way heads back toward the boys.”

  Kitty pointed. The trail bent to the right a short way down. “Not for very long. If he was going out of the woods—and not into it—he might have taken that trail by mistake.”

  Joe nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll check. And you’re going to finish up here, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Joe walked away, stooping now and then to peer into the undergrowth. Kitty watched until he was around the bend, spun on her feet and ran. One hundred yards further on, she burst into the clearing and stopped to listen. How close the other searchers were she didn’t know. She sifted through the noises she heard—soft wind, leaves rustling, her breathing. No birdsong but that could have been because of her own hasty entrance. The area next to the rock looked better than she expected. In her head, it had become horrific—the duffle sitting right on the ground in plain v
iew, the punji sticks poking up at all angles. Instead it looked decent enough that it was possible some searchers might have walked right by. The leaves piled in odd hillocks here and there, and some spots were swept bare. To an indiscriminate eye, it might appear some other searcher had gone over and kicked the leaves around. She debated leaving it as it was. She had maybe five minutes before Joe realized he was on the path to her house and came back.

  She could make it look better. Charging across the clearing, she used the e-tool to push the leaves around. The tarp of spears was far enough under the overhang that its leaf covering looked natural. She would leave it. Tunneling down to the duffle, she assessed. Dirt actually covered it. Could she re-dig the hole? Probably not. Spreading the blanket of leaves around evenly, she stepped back. Better. Maybe a stick or two? She grabbed a few branches brought down in the wind and tossed them around. It would be like art—paint a landscape that would fool anyone who gave it a quick glance.

  Backing up to see it from another angle, she walked straight into Joe. His arms closed around her waist to catch her as she stumbled. “Hey, Kit,” he breathed into her ear. “What ya up to?”

  Kitty dropped the e-tool in shock. Fingers clawing at his arms, she scrambled away. “Geez, you scared me. Where did you come from?”

  Joe’s eyes studied her face. “Your house. But then I’m betting you knew that.”

  Kitty stared at him, breath coming hard. Her heart pounded. What should she say? She needed to get it together. Another screw up because she wasn’t thinking. C’mon, Kitty. Phinney taught you better. Anticipate. She bent to pick up the shovel. Straightening up, she shot him a defiant look. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”

  “You’re right,” Joe answered. “It looks very natural. Almost like it wasn’t arranged.”

  She shoved past him, shoulder bumping into his arm. She could feel it building again—that storm inside. She’d held it together as long as she could, but her control had frayed to mere ribbons.