Thunder Moon

by Lori Handeland

  The fire department had arrived ahead of me, as had Cal. A scuffle was going on near my front porch. Cal and the fire chief held on to someone who seemed to be fighting to get inside.

  “What’s going on?” I called.

  The three men stopped struggling and turned. One of them was Ian.

  “You’re okay,” he said.

  “Not really. My damn house is on fire.”

  “I told him you weren’t in there, but he didn’t want to listen,” Cal said.

  Ian had been trying to run into a burning building to save me? I couldn’t help but be touched. Because I was, I turned away to look at my house. I almost wished I hadn’t.

  The roof was completely engulfed. There wasn’t much I could do except watch the fire department do their thing and wonder what had fallen from the sky onto my house. Whatever it had been, it wasn’t there any longer.

  Ian and Cal joined me, staring at the flames, too.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked Ian.

  Cal took one glance at my face and left.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Was the house on fire when you arrived?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you didn’t see what started it?”

  “You’re thinking arson?”

  I hadn’t said that, but I found it interesting that he’d heard it.

  “I’m a cop,” I said. “I think a lot of things. What did you see?”

  “I drove up, and the roof was on fire. I thought you were inside. The place was locked. I pounded on the door, shouted for you; then those guys grabbed me.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. You may as well go.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  His voice was too loud, and I winced, then glanced over my shoulder toward Cal, who, from his scowl, had heard. He took a step in our direction, and I shook my head. I didn’t need my deputy to step in when I had man trouble.

  “I’m a big girl, Doctor. I can take care of myself.”

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “Certainly not with you,” I snapped.

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  Too bad. Despite all my protestations to the contrary, I wanted to sleep with him, to hold him and have him hold me. If I’d lived in another town, one that wasn’t so small, so conservative, so judgmental... No, that wouldn’t matter.

  If I’d been a different person, one who didn’t care about what was real or true or right, I’d have agreed with him that a missing wife was as good as a dead wife. But I wasn’t and I didn’t. However, that didn’t keep me from wanting what I couldn’t have.

  “Thanks,” I said softly. “But I can’t.”

  “Grace, you have to listen to me—”

  I held up my hand. “Not now. Please.”

  He pressed his lips together. “It’s just that I came over here with my speech all prepared and then—”

  “My house was on fire.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Grace?”

  The fire chief, Sam Makelway, strode up. He’d taken over recently from Joe Cantrell, who’d been the fire chief as long as my dad had been the sheriff. Sam was more than qualified since he’d joined the department right out of high school.

  A few years older than me, Sam was broad and tall, with short red hair and a round, pale face that got ruddier and ruddier the closer he got to a fire and the longer he had to stay there. Right now his facial barometer hovered between salmon and rose, and I let out a relieved breath. Couldn’t be too bad.

  Sam had been in the same class as my brother Gene. They hadn’t been pals—my brothers had been pals only with one another—but they’d been friendly enough. I liked Sam. He knew his job, which made mine so much easier.

  “We’ve got it under control.” He waved at the roof, which was only smoking now, no longer shooting spiky tendrils of flame toward the slightly lopsided silver moon. “Looks like just the top room is ruined.”

  “Well, I guess that’s better than—” I stopped as I realized what that meant.

  Ian took my arm, shook it a little. “You need to breathe.”

  I not only couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stand, so I sat with a thud on the ground at Ian’s feet. Both men went to their knees next to me, Sam bellowing for Cal to call the paramedics.

  “No,” I managed, then drew in a loud, gulping breath. “I’m okay.”

  I wasn’t, but I didn’t need a paramedic. No one, nothing, could fix this.

  Grandmother’s papers had been in that third-floor room, and now they were gone.

  It was as if I’d lost her all over again.

  Chapter 24

  Ian’s long fingers wrapped around my wrist as he took my pulse. From the expression on his face, he didn’t like what he’d found.

  “You need to calm down.”

  Cal hovered; so did Sam. They weren’t used to me sitting around on the job. The way I’d hit the ground, they probably thought I’d fainted. How would that appear to the general public?

  Lake Bluff sheriff faints at the sight of her house on fire.

  Not that I wouldn’t have every reason to, but people liked their sheriffs tough. Which was understandable. I forced myself to my feet.

  “I’m good.” I yanked my wrist out of Ian’s grasp, even though his fingers felt pleasantly warm and dry against my cold, clammy skin. “I just thought of all I kept in that room. Things that can’t be replaced.”

  “You can’t be replaced.”

  What I saw in Ian’s face made me glance away. “What do you think started the fire, Sam?”

  Sam stared at me for several beats, decided I wasn’t going to swoon, and got on with it. “Hard to say. I’ll have the investigator over here first thing tomorrow. You better not stay tonight. Even though the lower floors weren’t burned, there’s going to be water damage and the smell—” He spread his huge, hard hands. “You’ll have to hire a professional cleaning company.”

  “Ka-ching.”

  Sam grinned at the evidence I was back to my old self. “Yeah. But you’ve got insurance, right?”

  “Of course.”

  My dad had been big on insurance. We’d had a couple of crosses burned on our lawn back in the old days—which weren’t all that old.

  When Dad had taken over as the first Cherokee sheriff in Lake Bluff history, there’d been some who hadn’t been as happy about it as we were. We’d never been quite sure if it had been the Cherokee sheriff part they objected to or the African-American part. Maybe both.

  If it hadn’t been for the sparks I’d seen tumbling from the sky, accompanied by the supernatural shrieking, I’d have figured someone who wasn’t happy about a female Cherokee, African-American, Scotch-Irish sheriff had lit up my roof to express their point of view. From Sam’s expression, he’d had the same thought.

  “I’ll take care of it from here,” I said.

  Sam returned to his men.

  I considered going inside, maybe grabbing some clothes, but I knew from past experience with other fires that everything I owned would smell like wet charcoal. I was going to have to live with what I had until I could buy new underwear and enough casual clothes to last me a few days. Luckily I kept some spare uniforms at the office.

  I hated to knock on Claire’s door this late and scare the crap out of her, so I decided to rent a hotel room. We had plenty in town, and since the Full Moon Festival was still several weeks away, there should be a lot of vacancies.

  “Stay with me,” Ian said.

  I didn’t even dignify that with a glance, let alone an answer. Instead I strode to where Cal was talking into his car radio. I meant to tell him where I’d be and get gone, but as I approached, his words made me pause.

  “She’s dead?” he asked. “They’re sure?”

  “Dad,” Jordan said with a scorn that made me want to reach through the radio and strangle her, “I think people know what dead looks like.”

  “Not as often as you’d t
hink. I’m on my way.”

  He glanced at me. “You heard?”

  I nodded. The sound of a car starting made me glance over my shoulder. Ian had at last taken the hint and left.

  “Who’s dead this time?”

  “Merry Gray.”

  “But—” I stopped before I blurted something I’d have to explain later. I guess Merry did fit the profile. She was dying.

  “But what?” Cal asked.

  As far as Cal knew, we’d only had a rash of deaths. I wasn’t going to tell him about the supernatural questions. He was a straight shooter, an eternal Marine. He’d never believe in aliens, or anything else out of the ordinary, and I didn’t have time to convince him.

  “I’ll take the call,” I said.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No.” I was going to have Doc go with me. “I need you to hang around here. I—” I forced my voice to break. It wasn’t that hard. “I can’t do it.”

  Sympathy washed over Cal’s face. “Of course.” He tried to pat my shoulder, fumbling the gesture and smacking me in both the chin and the neck.

  I stepped out of his reach. “Where’d they find Merry?”

  “Died in her bed, I hope in her sleep. Poor woman.”

  It would be nice if we had a plain old death for a change, but I doubted it. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to stay in town. You can raise me on my cell.”

  Cal lifted a hand in good-bye and took off with long, sure strides toward the huddle of firefighters on my lawn.

  In the past few days, Doc had moved up on my speed dial to the number-one position. He answered on the second ring, and I gave him directions.

  “I’m getting real sick of seeing your number on my caller ID.”

  “Be honest, Doc: Did you ever really like it?”

  * * *

  Merry’s house stood on one of the many side streets in Lake Bluff. Despite the hour, the place was lit up like the Fourth of July. Merry’s husband, Ted, opened the door before I even knocked. His face was pale and tear-streaked. He tried to speak and choked, then turned and walked into the living room, leaving the door open.

  I’d dealt with hysterical relatives before, but they were usually women. Ted was six-four and weighed about three hundred pounds. He was a mason, and his hands were as big as bricks. I guess size didn’t matter when it came to heartbreak. Still, Merry had been sick a long time and, according to all the gossips, there’d been no hope. I don’t know why I’d thought he’d be ready for the inevitable by now, but I had.

  “Ted.” I inched into the room, not wanting to disturb him but needing to ask questions. I was going to try to finagle an autopsy out of this man—it wouldn’t hurt to actually have permission from the family member on record—but I couldn’t do it if he was incoherent.

  He tried to speak, but his chest kept hitching like a child who’s sobbed too long and too hard.

  “Take your time.” I perched on the edge of the couch.

  He stood by the window. “She—she—she—”

  “I know,” I said gently.

  “She wasn’t supposed to die? She went to the doctor yesterday. She was in remission. It was a miracle.”

  I wondered what Walker had put in that jar. I meant to find out.

  “What, exactly, did her doctor say?”

  “Just that. Remission. She had more time.”

  “How much?”

  “He wouldn’t say, but then—” He lifted his huge hands and let them fall back to his sides, helpless.

  “Tell me what happened tonight.”

  “She went to bed early; she always did. I watched the news, then I heard this horrible noise. I went up and she was—” He choked and began to sob again.

  I wanted to check on her, but I didn’t want to leave him. Thankfully, Doc arrived.

  “Stay with him.” Before Doc could protest, I hustled up the steps.

  Merry lay on her bed. If it weren’t for the expression on her face, I’d have thought her sleeping. Her body was in repose, thin hands folded over a concave stomach. But her eyes were wide open, her mouth twisted in pain or fear.

  I pulled the sheet over her face and returned downstairs, jerking my head at Doc, who joined me in the hall. Ted still stared out the window, shoulders shaking.

  “Same as all the others,” I said. “Her face, the shrieking before she died. Except, according to Ted, she’d just gone into remission.”

  “She wasn’t dying?”

  “Not today.”

  “I told him I needed to do an autopsy.”

  I stifled an inappropriate hoot of happiness that I wouldn’t be the one who had to ask.

  “He was agreeable. I’ll do it right away. Maybe this isn’t even related.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, but I didn’t think so.

  * * *

  I called Ted’s sister to come and sit with him, then left Doc to deal with Merry. I headed for Ian Walker’s place; I didn’t even take my vehicle, just stalked downhill toward Center Street.

  His building was dark except for a tiny glow on the second floor. I pounded on the back door loud enough to wake everyone on the street. Luckily, all of the establishments nearby were retail. Walker was the only person who lived above his business.

  He opened the door and smiled. “I’m so glad you—”

  I put my palm in the center of his chest and shoved. He stumbled back a few steps and I followed, kicking the door shut behind me. “What did you give her?”

  He rubbed at his sternum. “Who?”

  “Merry Gray.”

  “We already had this conversation, Sheriff. I’m not going to tell you.”

  My steps echoed on the wood floor. He stood his ground, chin lifting, the smooth silver light of the moon through the windows glancing off his cheekbones and nose, sparkling in his dark hair, and playing hide-and-seek with his eagle feather.

  Why was it that in the darkness he looked like a warrior and in the daylight he just looked like a man? Without the feather, no one would ever mistake him for Cherokee between nine and five. After midnight, he could be mistaken for nothing else.

  “You think you can take me?” he murmured.

  I stopped with the toes of my sandals just brushing his bare feet. He’d removed his jacket and tie, loosened the buttons at his throat, rolled up his cuffs. His skin gleamed in the half-light. Taking him took on a whole new meaning, one I was tempted to explore—until the moon’s glow glanced off of his wedding ring.

  “I don’t have to take you; I can get a warrant.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I wanted to scream. He made me so mad.

  I took several breaths and tried a different tactic. “What’s the big secret? She went into remission. I’d think you’d want everyone to know what a great doctor you are.”

  “Remission?” His brow creased. “Really?”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I am. What I gave her—” He paused, shrugged. “I’m glad she’s better, but I had nothing to do with it.”

  “She not so much better as dead.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Yeah, things change fast around here.” I headed for the door. He wasn’t going to be of any help, and if I stayed I’d only want to jump him, which just made me madder at both him and myself.

  I slammed the door, then stood in the silvery light trying to think of what to do. I wasn’t trained for paranormal investigation; I was getting nowhere and people were dying.

  If they were people. The committee was still out on that.

  Regardless, beings that inhabited my town were turning up dead, sans hearts, and I had no idea why. Pretty soon someone besides me was going to notice the epidemic, and then there’d be real trouble.

  Inside I heard the faint mumble of Ian’s voice. Either he was talking to himself or he’d called someone. I inched closer to the door, noticing that I’d shut it so hard, the latch hadn’t caught, and now it stood open a few inches.

&n
bsp; “A woman in remission died tonight.”

  Who could he possibly be calling about that?

  “I gave her one of my healing potions. Herbs, vitamins. Nothing major. Believe me, if I could cure cancer, I’d be doing it.”

  My lips curved. Wouldn’t that be something?

  “I know it doesn’t make sense. The Kalanu Ahyeli’-ski steals the lives of the dying.”

  The what?

  Chapter 25

  While I wanted to bust right in and demand answers to a whole lot of questions, I forced myself to remain where I was and listen.

  “No one’s reacted to the feather.”

  His feather? I’d reacted to it, though I certainly hoped he wasn’t sharing how.

  “Buzzard,” he continued, “just like the legends said.”

  Buzzard feather? I flashed on the huge black feather I’d found in my office at home—the office that was now toast.

  What was Ian Walker up to? Who was he? And who was he working for?

  “I’ll keep searching.” His voice faded, and the stairs creaked as he went up them.

  I leaned back as his shadow passed in front of the second-story window. Before I confronted him, I needed some answers. Namely, what did a buzzard feather repel and what was a Kalanu Ahyeli’-ski?

  Leaving the door ajar—I’d definitely be back—I headed for the sheriff’s department. The place was quiet at this time of night. My third-shift dispatcher, a semi-retired lawyer by the name of Catfish Waller, manned the phones. Catfish was the only lawyer left in Lake Bluff. Since we didn’t have much need for a lawyer that worked out well.

  Catfish had requested employment when his insomnia had gotten so bad he never slept a wink between midnight and 9:00 a.m. He not only was responsible, but he also knew the law. If I could only get him to stop writing his memoirs during his shift. Not that there was all that much else to do, but he had a bad habit of reading them to anyone who would listen. There’d been complaints.

  “Grace!” he greeted. “Chapter seventeen, where I lose my virginity.”

  Oh, God.

  “Sorry, Catfish, gotta hit the Internet. Maybe later.” I made a dash for my office.

  “Real sorry about your house.”

  “Thanks!” I locked the door behind me and pulled down the shades. I didn’t want Catfish deciding he really needed my opinion any more than I wanted him seeing what I was researching on the Internet.