by Zoey Kane
“I’m going to step inside the house for just a second,” Zoey called back over the sound of the fire’s roar. “You start watering the house!” She slipped through an unlocked side door.
Sometimes Claire hated being the daughter in the relationship. Even now, at age twenty-five, she couldn’t get her mother to take some good counsel. The fire was too out of control, she knew, for a measly garden hose to make a difference. She jogged over to where her mother had entered, and stepped inside, anxiety tearing at her chest. The hallway was thankfully clear, although she could feel the intense heat from the powerful white smoke.
“Mother, get out of here this instant!” When she didn’t hear nor see a response, she stepped inside a bit more and stomped her foot. “Zoey Clementine Kane, don’t make me come in there after you!”
Zoey appeared, hefting a box. She ran back to her daughter, and they hurried outside together. “This was all I decided to get,” she said, stumbling off to a safe distance before dropping the heavy load. She crumpled to the ground with a sigh.
“What is all this?” Claire asked, peeking inside at the variety of messy paperwork.
“Business papers,” Zoey breathed, her chest heaving. When Claire gave a well-deserved glare, Zoey added innocently, “What? Sometimes there’s really important stuff, so I just threw them into this box I found.”
The fire truck pulled up, its lights and horn blaring. It came to a stop close to the Kanes, large tires smashing the wild brush. Four firefighters descended lithely like Spiderman in their yellow uniforms. In the peeking light of the waking sun, they could see two out of four of them were quite strapping, maybe could’ve even posed in their own calendar.
One with a handsomely square jaw and bright blue eyes asked, “You two okay? Anyone else in there?”
“We’re fine,” Claire said, sitting on the cold ground with her mother. “Nobody else.”
“Okay, ladies, we've got this.” He grabbed a hose and took off running just as a tanker truck came barreling right up to the home. They now had enough water to handle the fire.
Zoey wiped some sooty stinky hair out of her eyes. “You know,” she said to Claire, “instead of calling me out of there early, you could have at least let me have the good fortune of being saved by that cutie.”
Claire knew she was kidding. She smiled and said, “Knowing our luck, it would have been Stinky to the rescue,” she teased, referring to one of the others.
“I suppose you’re right.” Zoey leaned back, her hands behind her in the dirt, propping her up. She drew in a deep breath before saying, “Could you heft this box into the car for us?”
As the two headed to the car in the pale light of dawn, Claire was happy some professionals were dealing with the fire. Walking along the uneven earth, the box lightly bounced in her slender arms. She glanced down at it as the lid popped open. One page in particular caught her eye. Across a bank statement, it said, “Jack Jude Tilford.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Tilford!” Claire repeated as they drove away from the ranch. “Can you believe it? It can’t be some coincidence.”
“I agree,” Zoey said. “But what does it mean? What does all of this mean? First, Jack says his dog’s been murdered when he hasn’t, then his ranch is ablaze, and now this? He’s the old legendary werewolf?”
Claire was nodding until the last point. “No, Mother!”
“What then?” Zoey’s brows raised in offense. The red Lexus slowly drove along the windy bend of the road.
“Jack isn’t the werewolf.” Claire tilted her head. “There’s no such thing as werewolves.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“He’s a descendant of Blaine Tilford. The man—not werewolf—who was new to Rottenwood and killed some men.”
Zoey nodded, pursing red lips that were accented by a smudge of black ash on her chin. “They say Blaine up and disappeared after Oly’s relative beat him in a fight, right?”
“Right. Very interesting,” Claire said, wishing she could use Google on the road. “There’s just so much to this mystery that I don’t understand. We need more puzzle pieces to see the full picture here.”
“Keep that box at your feet, honey, and don’t mention it.” Zoey drove on with a new determination in her light brown eyes. “I’m starved, and we’re still going to Smiley Jack’s”
*
They walked through the door of the diner with sooty and dusty clothes, and ash across their faces. This drew attention throughout as eyes began to focus on the duo. One man spoke up, saying what others were thinking. “Not only do you two smell like a raging fire but you look like you’ve been in the middle of it.”
Zoey replied for all to hear. “We have been in a raging fire. Claire and I managed to get three horses out of a burning barn. The last one I rode out as the barn exploded like a fire bomb.” She threw her arms up to make the point.
Mouths dropped in awe.
Zoey continued, “Claire here was also managing hysterical horses as we both ran them into a distant paddock. She reopened the paddock’s gate just in time, right as I rode in with the last horse, a runaway mare who wouldn’t be lead out from the fire.” Her hands clenched into fists with emphasis, reenacting the scene. “All I could do to get her out of her stall was throw the gate open, leap on her back and kick her sides till she bolted outta there!” The dramatic gestures continued along with her urgent voice.
The diners lowered their forks to their plates, listening intently.
“I used the lead of the halter to direct her into the gate that Claire had opened at the right moment, so the other horses wouldn’t hysterically rush out and run back into the burning barn!” Zoey took deep breaths to accentuate the wildness of it all. “Then after the horses were gated, we had to run to find a water hose to try to save the house which was already burning up on one end.”
“Ooooh,” the crowd exclaimed in amazement. Even Claire was entranced, as if reliving it.
“While I left Claire to fight the fire, I darted into the house to save what I could, but the fire was quickly eating its way through the house! I charged out of there as a fiery timber came swinging down at my back.”
Claire knew the last part was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was fun nonetheless.
“Anyway,” Zoey said, calming down, “the fire department got there just in time, and four of them took over dousing the flames.” Her tone changed to completely nonchalant as she ended, “So, how has everyone else’s morning been?”
A man yelled from the back, “Well, whose house and barn was it?”
“Jack’s!”
People drew in a fast breath of astonishment and began to murmur. Somebody called to one of the waitresses, “Go get Jack!”
The waitress quickly obeyed, nodding.
Jack soon burst through the kitchen door. “Somebody say my house is on fire?!”
All fingers pointed to the duo.
One look at them said it all. “Is it burnt down?” he asked them.
“The fire department is there,” Claire said, “and I think you might have to sleep on the couch tonight.”
He rushed to the entryway and grabbed his jean jacket off a coat rack, hurrying out without another word.
As Zoey and Claire threaded their way to an open table, one old man said, “Order anything you want whatsoever. Your breakfast is on me, dear ladies.” He was sitting with two older women, all smiling in awe.
“Don’t forget to have some pie after that breakfast,” one of the ladies spoke. “He can afford it!”
“Thanks!” The Kanes beamed.
*
When the two arrived back at Moonshadow Inn, they noticed Mr. Worsen sitting behind a desk in an open office. Clifford was relegated to the chair in front of him, but he looked comfortable enough. An arm draped over the back of his chair, a leg crossed over a knee… showing off his big paw slippers.
The Kanes paused and listened in, just beyond the open door. At this point, Cliffor
d said, “I’ve listened to everything you’ve had to say, and I’ve decided I be smarter than you.” He changed his position, leaning forward for an intense eye-to-eye with Worsen. “I be true owner of this establishment, and as long as I make the payments you can’t do one thing to me or this place. Be you got that?” He growled, his bottom lip quivering and his top lip raised.
“I assure you I understand that,” Mr. Worsen said in his annoying voice. “I haven’t got high expectations regarding that, however.” His face was tight, his body stiff.
“Get out of my office, Worsen!” Clifford snarled. “And I don’t want to see you without your skunk ears.”
Mr. Worsen’s complexion was rather gray at this point. He raised himself from the chair, gathered up some papers and walked toward the door.
Zoey and Claire jumped behind a tall potted plant. The banker came out and headed the other way.
The next thing, Clifford was standing in front of them, smiling. “You two look natural and interesting, all hiding in leaves like that. You smell funny! Hiding won’t prevent that. However, my admiration grows for you two rolling in ashes to throw off your scent from enemies. I know a secret, I do. Woo-woo.” Then he headed back into his office.
The two, who hadn’t moved a muscle, looked at each other. “Well, Mom? How come you were speechless?”
“Because I’ve never been so caught, hiding behind a potted tree.”
“Showers?”
“Definitely! Help me, Claire.” Zoey had a look of desperation. “A twig got caught in my hair.”
SIXTEEN
After the mother and daughter had each taken a shower and changed into nice but comfortable clothing, they settled back down on their favorite spots on the L-shaped sofa. Claire pulled up a browser on her phone to do some more research.
Zoey leaned back, thinking things over. “We’ll put Jack’s box in the trunk and then give it to him from there. He’ll think it’s always been there, that we didn’t snoop around and find his real name. If we don’t say anything different, I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
Claire simply nodded, her eyes fixed on her phone.
The elevator door buzzed with the announcement that it was Joseph. Zoey got up and opened it. “Another letter for you, ladies.” The bellboy stepped inside and passed it over. He stayed standing there with an air of curiosity
Zoey opened it up and read aloud. “Dear Zoey and Claire, you have my deepest gratitude. You saved my horses from a terrible death. And I still have two thirds of a house, which you contributed to keeping from absolutely burning down.
“The firemen told me you saved a box of my paperwork. As long as you’re in town, and want to eat at my diner, your meals are on me. Please. Yours truly, Jack Jude.”
“Okay, that didn’t sound so bad.” Claire relaxed, leaning her head back against the sofa’s cushion, closing her eyes.
“You two are heroes,” Joseph said, a smile of admiration across his young face. “Everybody’s been talking about it, down in the lobby.”
“Oh, really?” Zoey said, batting her long lashes in flattery.
“Yeah!” he said. “I heard the barn exploded and you came bursting out of it on a horse just in time! Like a scene from an action movie. That must’ve been soooo cool. Think you’d want to do something like that again?”
“Not in this lifetime,” Zoey said smiling. There was still a slight hitch in her hip. “How have things been with you, dear Joseph?” she asked.
“Uh, well…” His straightened his bellboy cap on his brown curls. “Have you seen that banker guy? Mr. Worst?”
“Worsen?” she corrected with a smile, and Claire sat up higher in the sofa to hear.
“Yeah, he’s like some big banker or something. Anyway, guess what that loser did?!”
“What?” the ladies asked.
“Well, I just overheard him talking on the phone with the AP Daily Bugle. I guess they’re on their way here with a camera crew. They’re going to try and make a joke of Moonshadow Inn, all because Clifford is now the owner. I guarantee it. That banker guy is so messed up.” He shook his head in concern.
Zoey’s mouth opened with no words.
“Anyway, I warned Clifford just before I headed up here. Clifford’s going to try talking to the media at lunch, but I have a bad feeling about that, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, no,” Zoey said. “We’ve got to be there, Claire!”
The inn’s phone rang again, startling them. “I’ll get it this time, Claire, honey.” Zoey went over and picked it up. “Hello? Yes, it be.” Her eyes lit up. “We’d love to. Okay, we’ll look our best. Yes, we’ll be there in thirty-five minutes.”
Zoey put down the phone and said to Claire, “We’ll have to postpone our lunch date to two o’clock with Stewart. In forty-five minutes, we’re meeting the media with Clifford. He wants us to sit at his table for lunch. I’m putting on my shimmery lapis blouse and strappy heels. You’d look great in your creamy sheer-shouldered one.”
“Great. I’ll wear my black pencil skirt and Dolce and Gabbana heels. We’d better hurry!”
*
As the ladies exited the elevator, Mr. Worsen was standing in the lobby talking to someone. They overheard the banker smugly saying, “Now we’ll see how fast we get that idiot out of here. Then I will be corporate manager of this inn.” He was gleeful.
“No kidding?” Zoey paused her steps to interrupt.
The banker seemed gleefully happy to see the Kanes. “Yes. Maybe now you’ll take drinks with me at lunch, ahem-hum-hum.” His face had a sheen of perspiration.
“We can’t,” Claire informed him, her dark hair in a sleek French twist. “We have a date with Clifford.”
The mother and daughter continued walking, not caring to see his fallen expression. “Mom,” Claire said. “I literally imagined him rolling his hands together in evil anticipation.”
Joseph caught up with the ladies. He led them into the dining area, and over to a table set out a bit in front of the others. “Clifford asked me to have his table’s chairs facing the media.”
“Anything for Clifford,” Claire replied.
“Also… he wants you to leave room for him in the middle, so take the chairs on either side.”
“Ho, boy! What did we get ourselves into?” murmured Zoey.
Finally, everyone was seated at tables, except for a couple of cameramen. It was apparent that there was much more than just the AP Daily Bugle in attendance. Joseph soon entered from a back door and approached the center of the now busy room, not wearing his usual bellboy hat. He clasped his hands and said, “Ladies, Gentlemen, your host, Clifford Martin, will take questions after lunch is cleared away. Please enjoy your meal, first.” He returned to the back-side door, exiting.
Clifford entered, wearing his fox ears, paw feet, and most surprising of all—a bit of false fur cascading out of his partially unbuttoned dress shirt. There were a few surprised gasps as the media flashed cameras at him.
“Oh, dear,” Zoey said, her heart sinking to her stomach. Claire shot her a worried glance.
Not seeming worried in the least, however, Clifford gave a modest bow to the crowd and joined the Kanes at their table. As soon as he was seated, a door from the kitchen opened, with Joseph appearing once again. Joseph held it for six waiters holding up silver trays. They each wore fox ears.
The cameras were snapping and rolling. This time there were pleased chuckles all around as the wolfy waiters dispersed the fragrant food: rabbit, glazed carrots, potatoes in white sauce, served with house salad, and finished with berry cobbler in warm vanilla cream. Mr. Worsen sat with a pompous smirk at a table of reporters, obviously looking forward to the questions and answers portion of their meeting.
Upon finishing, Zoey blotted her pink lips and thanked Clifford. “I loved your wonderfully organized dinner to the absolute professional serving from your waiters. You are a bit of a showman.”
He took a sip of coffee and agreed. “I be.”
<
br /> “Tell me, what is the secret you know?” she continued.
His face got serious and he looked from Zoey to Claire, and then said, “There be one who runs the woods, but don’t belong. Blood drips from teeth not his. He sees you. He sees you. Don’t trust a dark moon. Toast a silver moon.”
The reporters came in like a flood.
“Why are you a wolf?”
“How long have you owned this inn?”
“Why do locals call it The Howliday Inn?”
“Do you ever feel like biting people?”
He answered, in order, “Why are you fat? Five years. Because. I am vicious, but I never bite anyone from the inn.” The last answer drew chuckles.
Then someone pushed a mic in front of Zoey.
“Aren’t you two the Kanes?” one asked. “And you are friends with Clifford Martin, a werewolf?”
“Absolutely to both your questions,” she answered, smoothing some long hair over a shoulder. “He runs a well-managed inn, even the Moonshadow—or, rather, Howliday—Inn. We love it here, and he is very clever. How was your meal by the way?”
“Wonderful!” A smile followed the answer.
“Yes,” she went on. “Claire and I totally recommend this inn and its manager-owner in every way. Very entertaining. Were you entertained?”
“Totally,” a man sandwiched between other reporters said. “So what you are saying is Clifford Martin is part of a clever show for people who come here.” He returned the mic close to Zoey’s mouth.
“Yes.” Zoey blinked her lashes in happiness. She could tell the reporter completely understood things from a certain marketing perspective. “He helps raise vacationer interest in the inn.”
The sandwiched man said, “So to reiterate, you are saying Mr. Martin here plays his part as a werewolf for his guests”
Zoey laughed. “Call him Clifford. Everyone does. Like I said, clever. He never departs from character.”
Claire chimed in, leaning toward the reporter, “Ask any of the guests who were here the night we arrived. They’ll remember Clifford’s game he hosted, called The Great Werewolf Chase. It was an absolute delight. Everyone had a ball.”
