A Light So Cruel (Pioneer Falls Book 3)

by Heather Davis

  Ms. Wilson lifted her chin, seeming to weigh whether she should say something more. “Fine. I had an experience,” she said, lowering her voice. “A visitation. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  A chill whispered across the back of my neck. All I could think of was that this had something to do with what the ravens showed me. “Tell me what you saw,” I prompted, closing the door and returning to face Ms. Wilson.

  She cleared her throat. “This house—I believe you know it belonged to Millicent Cardew’s family. Millicent’s father was a carpenter, and he built this place.”

  “I get it—you like mysteries, so you rented this place because it might be haunted and…surprise! It is?”

  Ms. Wilson waved at me. “Hold on. I only wanted to steep myself in local history. That’s why when you came to me before the Harvest Festival with the info for the paper about the murder of Millicent and Charlie, I reacted so oddly. I’d known the Cardews were a founding family, but I didn’t know the whole story of Millicent.”

  “So you went looking for it.”

  Ms. Wilson shook her head and led me over to the walk-in closet at the end of the room. She turned the handle. “It went looking for me.” With one hand she clicked on a nearby light.

  Ms. Wilson pointed to a shoe box on a shelf. “When I moved in, I found this in a closet. A collection of clippings. I thought it was neat at first,” she said, laughing a little. “But then she visited me.”

  I swallowed hard against the dryness of my throat. I wasn’t the only one who’d seen Millicent? I forced myself to exhale.

  Ms. Wilson turned out the light and we stepped back out. “I feel silly telling you all this, since it was probably just a bad dream. But I saw Millicent standing in my bedroom one night, her finger to her lips. Now you know why I asked you to keep things quiet.” She issued another nervous laugh as she shut the closet door. “You don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I believe in a lot of things.” I stared at the board in front of us, looking at the yellowing clippings. They were all about the discovery of the bodies. Nothing about any kind of trial, or inquest into the killings. Some of them looked familiar from my own search, back when I’d wanted to write about it in relation to the Harvest Festival, since the murder had been the reason for the annual festival’s demise.

  “As far as I can tell from the articles,” Ms. Wilson said, “some folks in town claimed it’d been a murder–suicide, not a double homicide. But there was no proof of that. No motive.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I murmured, but I also remembered they were buried together in the Pioneer Falls Cemetery. It didn’t seem normal for a killer and victim to be placed in the same crypt. It was pretty opposite of what you’d want to do.

  “Ghosts, murders,” Ms. Wilson said, shuddering as she moved toward the door. “You’ve lived most of your life here, right? Do you think this kind of thing happens a lot in Pioneer Falls? Paranormal stuff?” Her shoulders were stiff, angled like they were stressed, tense.

  “I guess no more than other towns,” I fibbed.

  She pulled the door closed behind us. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t gossip about this at school. I have the feeling you’re someone who can keep a secret. Am I right?”

  I nodded. I could keep a secret with the best of them, when it was warranted. I returned to the party, avoiding Tom and sticking with Alicia the rest of the night.

  The boards and the timelines were so odd, but then again, so was Ms. Wilson. I couldn’t help wondering if this was really about Millicent, or if Ms. Wilson was looking into other things around town, like the creeper ravens. Or maybe even us.

  Chapter Four

  “You sure he’s here on a Sunday?” Morgan said, peering into the dark windows of the caretaker’s quarters at Pioneer Falls Cemetery the next night. “He didn’t mean for us to meet at his place?”

  Fingers separated slats of the blinds and Cooper’s gaze swept over us. There was a pause and a few clanks, like he’d tripped over something inside. Then the light clicked on and he opened the door to let us in. “Thanks for coming.”

  “What’s with all the paranoia?” I handed Cooper a carrier of drinks from the coffee shop. “Is this about the sirens earlier? Dad said it was just a vandalism call at the auto shop.”

  “We’ll get to that.”

  When Cooper had first been back from the Army, he’d lived here, but now the room was less homey, more garage-like, the scent of his green tea replaced with the smell of motor oil and grass clippings. A selection of tools on a peg board and a work bench stood on the opposite end of the place—everything Cooper needed to maintain the only graveyard in town.

  “Dad can’t make it. He’s on duty tonight,” I explained, sliding my rain jacket off my shoulders.

  Morgan hooked his coat on the rack and then took mine to do the same.

  Meanwhile, Cooper took a seat at the table near the kitchenette. His face was grim, his hands steepled like he had bad news. He was still in work clothes, and I could smell a little sweat, like he hadn’t been home yet to shower.

  Morgan and I joined him at the table. I set the tray of drinks between us, but no one reached for the cups.

  “Strange wolves arrived today,” Cooper said. “Saw them at the bowling alley earlier.”

  “You were hanging out there?”

  Cooper returned my sharp look. “What? I like Nathan’s sliders. Also, I’m trying to build trust. Get us all on the same page,” he said. “Anyway, I saw rough-looking dudes hanging out in the parking lot. One of their rigs had an Oregon license plate.”

  “And you’re sure they’re wolves?” I asked.

  “No offense, but I could smell it on them. They stank of it.”

  “The reinforcements Jonah spoke of,” Morgan said. “Preparing for a turf war with the Turners?”

  “Or maybe trying to zero in on the hunters?” I said, sharing a look with Morgan, thinking of our interaction at the Laundromat the day before. I’d been the one who had shared the tidbit about the missing town records detailing the wolf attacks. Maybe it’d only made things worse.

  “So they arrive and the same day Murphy’s Auto Shop is vandalized,” Morgan said, nodding at Cooper. “No coincidence.”

  “That was my thinking,” Cooper said. “Bob was an easy guess for a hunter. Low-hanging fruit. He’d been at the target practice Rick Bowman held.”

  “And he spoke at the town council meeting in favor of shooting the wolves,” I added.

  Morgan let out a low whistle. “Nathan probably caught his scent when the hunters gathered the night of Mr. Gray’s murder.”

  “You’re right.” I took a deep breath, trying to force down the dread rising in my gut. “Jonah and Nathan told us they watched us all get attacked. They might’ve tracked the hunters after.”

  Cooper sighed, as if he’d expected better of Ezra’s pack. That surprised me—maybe he really had been seeing them in a new light. “So what do we do with these new wolves? I want to have a plan in place before we tell your father, Lily.”

  “He’ll say do nothing,” I muttered.

  Morgan pried the lid off his drip coffee and took a sip. “Typically, packs bring in outside muscle when they’re expanding territory. They won’t hesitate to take out anyone who gets in their way.”

  “Bob Murphy’s the warning shot,” Cooper said. “What do they expect him to do, run away from town? He’s got a family here.”

  “A warning is one thing, but what if they escalate?” I asked. “They might try to pick hunters off, one by one.”

  “Lily…” Morgan began. “I don’t like it either, but they’re hunters.”

  “That’s still not right,” I replied.

  “Anyone who shot at a wolf—or who believes there might be werewolves in Pioneer Falls—has already dug their own grave,” Cooper said, setting down his cup. “Think of yourself. Your family.”

  I crossed my arms, feeling the chill of the room. That calculated resolve was probably better f
or our survival, but I didn’t like it. I knew my father wouldn’t either.

  Morgan scooted his chair closer to mine, his arm circling my shoulders. “We’ll tell your father tonight, lay out everything that’s happening. Get his take on things,” he said, softening his tone.

  “You think he’s going to stand by and let wolves attack people in the town?”

  Cooper cleared his throat. “Hunters. They’d be attacking hunters.”

  “And all they need is one,” Morgan said.

  Cooper nodded. “One target who’ll lead them to the others.”

  ***

  “Well, this is just great,” I said, getting into the truck a few minutes later. “Why can’t hunters leave us alone. I mean, why do they hate wolves? Rick Bowman had a personal vendetta, but those other people, I don’t get.”

  “I reckon some of them didn’t believe in werewolves, at least not at first,” Morgan said. “They were hunters in it for the wolf trophies. Sick blokes.”

  As soon as I had the truck running, I put the heat on full blast. Freezing rain tapped against the windshield as I pulled the truck away from the cemetery. Behind us, Cooper secured the iron gates.

  “Take you home?”

  “Your house,” Morgan said. “Your father’ll need to know about the strangers.”

  We craned our necks as I drove slowly past the auto repair shop. Spray painted graffiti screamed “You’re dead!” on an exterior wall. Broken glass glittered in the driveway. Plywood was tacked up over the big window.

  “They waited until dusk,” Morgan said, thoughtfully.

  I stopped the car, idling for a moment. “I heard sirens about five o’clock, just after the Bible study group came in and ordered all their drinks. So many hot chocolates.”

  I was about to pull away when I saw a beam of light flicker under the door, as if someone was moving around inside with a flashlight. “Did you see that?”

  “Probably Murphy trying to clean up,” Morgan said.

  I shut off the engine. Before Morgan could stop me, I’d hopped out onto the pavement and walked toward the shop.

  Morgan caught up to me. “When you charge into places, wait for me, at least,” he whispered.

  I waited a beat and then pushed on the door, which gave way. Maybe the lock had been picked or Bob had forgotten to lock up earlier. I stepped inside. The office was dark, but I could make out a desk toward the back of the small room, and behind it, a couple filing cabinets. A few of the drawers were opened, papers scattered around. The air smelled of stale coffee, orange-scented hand soap, sweat. I picked up a couple things, trying to read in the faint light. They seemed to be invoices for engine parts and other bills.

  A jacket with a chest patch embroidered with “Bob” hung on the back of a worn vinyl chair. I sniffed at it, getting more of the not-so-pleasant smell that was distinctly Bob Murphy.

  Morgan put a hand on my shoulder and then held a finger to his lips. I heard footsteps. He pointed toward the front door. Suddenly, the hair on my arms stood up. Whoever had been here a minute ago had doubled back. Maybe they’d returned to finish the job.

  I started backing up slowly toward the office door, but Morgan moved toward the interior windows that looked into the garage bays. That seemed like a good exit route, until we saw the flashlight beam glance off the glass. Morgan ducked down low, pulling on my hand to get down. We might be trapped on two sides.

  “Crap,” I muttered, looking over my shoulder to see if we could crawl quickly toward the bathroom behind the desk area, but we didn’t get the chance.

  “Breaking and entering?” My dad stood in the entryway, one hand on his gun belt, the other on his flashlight, which swept over us.

  I motioned for him to get down. “There’s someone in there,” I whispered, but it was already too late.

  Cans rattled as someone tripped over stuff in the garage. We scrambled to our feet. Dad bolted after us to the door that led to the repair bays, reaching for the panel of light switches. Meanwhile, Morgan opened the door and rushed inside. Fluorescent lights crackled on overhead as I followed him.

  Morgan turned around. “Lily, stay back.”

  “Morgan!” Dad called, reaching him. “You, too. I have this.”

  As they jostled for position, a door slammed at the back of the bays. Whoever it was ran into the night.

  I spun around and raced toward the office door that led out to the parking lot. In a few seconds I was running toward the side of the building. Rain pattered down, making it harder to see who was out there, or to smell them. In the distance, a figure in a dark-hooded raincoat jetted toward the woods behind the shop.

  Morgan and Dad were searching around Bob’s office when I pushed back through the door. They were carefully pulling open drawers of the file cabinet. Lifting lids on some storage boxes.

  “Male wolf,” I said. “Can’t be sure who it was. Scent’s muddled by the rain.”

  “So someone tries to scare Bob by vandalizing the shop, but returns to search it later? Maybe someone who thought Bob might have the missing town records?”

  “Someone?” Dad gave me a funny look. “Bob didn’t get a look at who made the mess and sprayed graffiti on his building,” he said. “I took his statement earlier.”

  “Perhaps he forgot to lock up,” Morgan said.

  “And a strange wolf just happened along?”

  “It’s possible. And maybe that’s why the scents seem muddled.” I told him about Cooper’s sighting of the new wolves at the bowling alley.

  Dad let out a long frustrated sigh and took a seat in Bob’s chair. “Yep. Could’ve been them if they’re doing Ezra’s bidding.”

  “Cooper and I will keep an eye out for those blokes,” Morgan said. “He had a feeling they’d be trouble.”

  Dad pushed up out of the chair. “Son, you’ll stay clear of them. You think after the beating you and your father gave Ezra and his sons, they aren’t holding a grudge?”

  “Sir, I can handle myself,” Morgan replied. He lowered his brows, his jawline hardening. “I have for many years.”

  “Spoken like a true lone wolf,” Dad said, stalking out.

  I put the boxes back how they’d been so we could leave. “You’re not a lone wolf.”

  “I know. That’s his version of an insult,” he said, a sad smile playing on his lips.

  ***

  Morgan and I abandoned the idea of hanging out at my house, since we’d already run into Dad. The last thing I wanted to do was to be cuddling on the couch with Morgan when Dad came home in a bad mood.

  Instead, we headed to Morgan’s apartment above Maggie’s garage. It was private and cozy, even without a fireplace. After a few hours, I realized it was time to head home. I didn’t really have a curfew anymore, but I still wanted to be home by the time Dad got off work. Reluctantly, Morgan accompanied me down the steps of his place, though I assured him I could walk home alone.

  “You really have to go?” He cupped my chin and gave me another kiss.

  “Trust me, I don’t want to.”

  Something acrid on the breeze tweaked at my nose. Smoke. Hot metal. Flames licking up old pine timbers. Morgan smelled it too.

  He paused in Maggie’s driveway, sniffing the air, his nose pointed in the direction of the center of town. “Fire!”

  We ran toward Main Street. Hours earlier, we’d been chasing a figure through the auto repair shop, and now, as we rounded the corner, we could see the building was engulfed in flames.

  “Lily, no!” Morgan held out an arm, stopping me from running forward.

  I dug in my pocket for my phone. “We’ve got to call for help.”

  Others approached the scene, gawking from the sidewalk, pointing and yelling. As I dialed for help, an explosion rocked the fiery structure. A gasoline tank must have burst, sending a ball of flames up into the night. I gasped, ducking down though we were far enough way from flying debris.

  A few seconds later, sirens screamed in the distance. Someone else
had already called them for help. I put my phone away and rose from my huddled position, feeling shaky on my feet. My eyes watered from the thick smoke. “Who did this?”

  “Stay here,” Morgan said through clenched teeth. Then he tore off toward the burning building.

  “Wait!” I yelled, but he was out of my reach.

  I watched in horror as Morgan threw open the office door. Smoke billowed out of the entry, black and thick. He pulled his scarf over his mouth and charged inside. I screamed at him, but he didn’t pause. I was about to dash across the street after him, but the fire truck pulled up.

  Firefighters jumped off the rig, and one of them grabbed me. “Stay here!” the guy commanded

  “My boyfriend, he went inside!”

  The glass in the office door’s window shattered, scattering fragments across the pavement. I screamed for Morgan.

  “You’re not going in. Let us do our job!” the firefighter said, as I struggled against him.

  Meanwhile, the other firefighters attached their hose to the fire hydrant. I fought to get free, craning my neck to see if I could make out Morgan in the smoke. The guy wasn’t letting me go. Tears rushed to my eyes as I imagined Morgan trapped inside.

  As I stopped fighting, Dad’s squad car rolled up, screeching to a halt, lights flashing. He scrambled out and ran over to me, pulling me free of the firefighter. “Lily! What are you doing here?”

  “Morgan,” I said, pointing at the blazing building.

  The firefighters turned the hose on the garage section of the building. Deputy Mac arrived and started moving back the people who were watching from the sidewalks near the florist shop. Water sizzled as it hit the flames. The hiss of fire retardant foam hitting the blaze added a new strong smell to the air.

  Meanwhile, Dad ran over to tell the fire chief that Morgan was inside the building. My heart lifted a little as two responders charged in through the open door of the office. A couple seconds later, helped by the firefighters, Morgan emerged, dragging a seemingly unconscious Bob Murphy.