by Lynn Lorenz
Man, he wished Mark were there with him. They’d had such a good time at the other festival. He hadn’t laughed so much in ages, or danced. Mark had not only been sexy as hell, he’d been a good time, a fun guy in his own right. Someone Bobby could see spending the rest of his life with, and not this woman.
“Cher, what size?” a woman asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.
He turned to Sarah and cocked an eyebrow.
“Medium, please.” She looked pleased as punch and still hadn’t let go of his arm.
He leaned forward and spoke into the small window where the worker waited to take his order. “One medium, please.”
“Flavor?”
Sarah looked at the list of flavors painted on the side of the shack. “Nectar. With condensed milk.” Bobby repeated her order.
“Three dollars.”
He paid, and they moved to the next window to get the snowball and waited with the others.
“Are you having fun?” Sarah asked.
He shrugged. “Well, I’m sort of in charge this year, so I’m all over the place. It’s more work than fun.”
“Oh. Well, you’re doing a great job!” She beamed at him.
When someone called out the order, he went up, got it, and gave it to Sarah. After the first taste, she rolled her eyes and ran her tongue around her lips. “Delicious. You sure you don’t want a bite?” She held up a spoonful. It looked good, but man, he wasn’t going there, because snowball wasn’t all she was offering.
“Look, Sarah. I’ve got to go. I have to announce the next band“—he checked his watch—“in ten minutes.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “Sure. Will I get a chance to see you again?”
“I’m not sure. I have a lot to do today and tomorrow,” he added as he made his escape. He gave her a final wave and then headed as fast as he could to the main stage.
He groaned. Couldn’t she get the message? Did he have to come out and say it? Did he have to shout, Let me alone. I’m gay?
Damn. He was on edge. He had to calm down. She’d thrown him off; that was all, and he’d tried to be as nice as he could, but he knew he could have been nicer.
His thoughts turned to running in the swamp. If he were on edge, so must all the pack be. Especially with a full moon this weekend. What had Scott said about running in the swamp during the festival?
Usually they encouraged it, to keep up the mystery of the rugarou, and make the tourists think they got their money’s worth. A few of them howling out in the swamp was good for business in St. Jerome and had been for decades.
Bobby stopped dead in his tracks.
“Merde,” he whispered. Mark was out there this weekend, in the swamp camping. And he was looking for evidence of wolves. What if he heard the howls? Damn. Even worse, what if he got actual footage of one of them as a wolf? Proof positive.
He looked around, trying to see if he could spot Scott. His only hope was to get Scott to cancel whatever runs he’d agreed to for the weekend, or the pack, and Mark, would be in danger.
»»•««
“Attention, please!” Bobby tapped the microphone as he stood on the stage. “Can the contestants for the contest please make your way to the right of the main stage to get your numbers?”
He hadn’t seen Ted or Scott all afternoon, and now it was five thirty, and festivalgoers packed the parking lot in front of the stage. Bobby looked out over the sea of red cups and relaxed. They’d made their losses up for sure by selling beer.
Off to the left side of the stage, a group of about twenty or so formed, milling about, talking to each other. None of them wore costumes. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine.
On the right side, a pack of rugarous congregated, laughing and pointing at one another’s costumes. There were some great ones this year and some not so great. Bobby could already guess which ones would win. They hovered around the table where three of the pack members’ wives worked, giving out number badges that stuck to their costumes and checking off names.
The contestants were finally ready.
Bobby glanced at the group on the left. They didn’t look happy. He shrugged it off and stepped up to the microphone to call up the first contestants.
“Can numbers one through five come up?” he called out.
The people mingled, sorting themselves out, and the first one came up the stairs.
“Hey!” A woman came up the steps on the other side. “I said, wait!”
Bobby turned to her. What the hell? Behind her, the small crowd advanced on the stage. To his right, the contestants shuffled onto the stage, fangs dripping fake blood, matted long fleece hair, rubber claws, and fluffy tails.
He held out his hands to her. “What’s going on? We’re having the costume contest now.”
“Oh, no! You have to explain to us what happened!” she shouted and pointed up at the tree. He recognized her now. The woman from the pilgrim bus tour.
Bobby looked up. Merde. The image of Jesus that wasn’t there. His gut did an uneasy roll.
“Can we talk about this later?” he asked, his hand covering the microphone.
“No! Now! Where is it? Where is Jesus?” she shouted, her face white and hands clenched. From the people behind her, the cry rose, “Where’s Jesus?”
Someone from the crowd below yelled out, “He’s everywhere!” The crowd laughed. Oh no, that wasn’t making it any better. Not by the fire in this woman’s eyes.
“You promised us we could see him on Monday! But he’s gone! Desecrated!”
Bobby wanted the floor to drop open and swallow him. Please, God, no. Just please don’t do this to me.
One of the rugarou ran behind Bobby and up to the woman, growling and waving his paws at her. “Aooouuuuu!”
She shrieked, “Devil’s spawn!” and swung her purse at him, making solid contact with his head and taking him to the floor.
Bobby turned to the pack of make-believe wolves. “Wait! Everyone stay put!” he ordered. With one arm held out at them, he stuck the other out toward the pilgrims, who now had taken over most of the stage.
He knew he’d lost complete control when someone hurled a red cup filled with beer at the stage. It hit one of the rugarous, and with a great roar, he dived off the stage and into the crowd, followed by several of those waiting to come up on stage.
The rest of the contestants that were on the stage surged stage left and attacked the wayward pilgrims, the fight waging behind Bobby, as the women swung purses with deadly accuracy.
No way was he getting sucked into this mess. Years of law enforcement training kicked into gear. He had to duck a few swings and purses before he could corral the pilgrims’ spokesperson. “Listen to me. Get your people off the stage right now, or I’m calling the cops and having you all dragged off to jail.”
She must have believed his threat, because she turned to her people and gathered them up, separating them from the rugarous by swinging her purse at them. “We’ll be waiting over there.” She called out, pointing to an area near the church.
“Thank you.” Bobby exhaled and ran his hands through his hair.
Now, the wolves.
With no one to attack, the rest of the contestants leaped off the stage and into the crowd. In front of the stage, the melee continued. Beer cups flew in every direction. People screamed, laughed, and shouted.
Bobby did the only thing he knew how to do. He pulled out his cell phone and called for backup. As he explained what was happening to the dispatcher, he caught a lone figure off to the side.
Father Peder.
The man held his gaze, then shook his head.
Bobby thought, yep, it’s all my fault.
Chapter Eighteen
Mark pulled his car over to the side of the street and let two cop cars with lights and sirens screaming full tilt go past. He watched as they pulled into the festival grounds near the church.
“What the hell’s going on?” he muttered.
Ahead were more cruisers parke
d at all angles along the street. Something big had gone down at the festival; that was for sure. Mark frowned, trying to decide what to do.
His plans for interviewing people looked as if they were going down the drain fast. Perhaps he could salvage something from this mess if he gave it some thought.
Damn, he’d really been looking forward to going to the festival and not just to interview people, but also to get some good food. The last festival he’d been to had been with Bobby, and he’d had a blast. Best time ever.
A hard pang of regret hit him right in his heart, and he rubbed his chest with one hand as if the pain were actually physical. Man, his life these days consisted of wallowing in regret for all the things he’d done and not done.
What would it be like to live a life with no regrets?
Mark made a vow right there to do it—live his life with no regrets. He’d do what his heart told him to do, he’d speak the truth no matter how hard it was to take, he’d let the one he loved know about it every day, because someday, he’d have that special man in his life.
He just knew it.
But for now he put the car in gear, pulled out into traffic, and made his way past the festival grounds. Ahead was a fast-food place; it wasn’t as good as the food might be at the festival, but it was fast. He waited in line, moved up to place his order, then to pay, and finally inched the car to the pick-up window and got his bag of burgers, fries, and a shake.
When he passed the festival, the cops were still there. Maybe tomorrow he’d come back, get some food there, and do the interviews. After all, he had all weekend, and there was no rush.
Mark headed back to his camp in the woods, munching on the burger as he drove. The less garbage he took to the site, the better. Although he wondered if the smell of meat would bring the wolves to him. Not a bad idea, if it weren’t for all the critters it would attract also.
He ate the last of the fries just as he parked. He gathered all the trash into the bag to leave in the car as he finished his shake. He had another long night in front of him, but at least he didn’t have to depend on granola bars for a meal.
»»•««
Bobby sat on the stage, his legs dangling over the edge, staring out at the near-empty makeshift dance floor, and held the ice pack to his jaw. Damn, that last punch had been a hard one, especially since it had been from a pack member, one dressed as a rugarou. Man, they’d both been shocked. Terry Thibaud had been swinging at someone else, and Bobby had stepped between them to break it up.
Then, bam!
Terry had finally stopped apologizing after Bobby had growled at him and sent him off to find the ice pack. Now the man hovered in front of him.
“I’m so sorry, sir.” Terry looked pale, and his hands shook.
“Relax, son. I’m not going to arrest you or come after you. Should have known better than to get between you guys.” Bobby shook his head.
The cops had broken up the fighting, sent the ones not injured or too drunk to drive home with family members. The rest of the festival seemed to limp along, like a dog with three legs. At least Scott hadn’t shut it all down. Thank God for small miracles.
“Are you sure?” Terry didn’t seem to know what to do with himself.
“Sure. Besides, this won’t last long.”
Terry leaned in and lowered his voice so no one could hear. “Gonna change and run with us tonight?” Terry and Bobby both knew a change would reverse any damage done. Well, any damage that hadn’t killed him outright.
This was the first Bobby had heard there would definitely be a run, and he sat up. “What run?”
Terry blinked, then stammered out, “Just a few of us. For the full moon, you know.” He shrugged.
“Did you get clearance from Scott?” Bobby narrowed his eyes at the man. He’d forgotten about calling the run off.
“I didn’t set it up, but I’m sure.” He looked around, spotted another pack member coming toward them, and waved to him. “I got to go now, Bobby.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about it, son.”
“Right.” Terry gave him a quick smile and then dashed off to meet the young man. Looked like T-Beau from the convenience store, but at a distance Bobby couldn’t be sure.
He pressed the ice pack to his jaw again and surveyed the damage. Some of the workers had begun cleaning up the dance floor, some sweeping the cups and trash from the floor, and some mopping it down as patrons waited on the sidelines.
“Hey, do you still want the band to play, Mr. Cotteau?” A young man with an accordion strapped to his chest shifted from one foot to another.
He’d scheduled them to play from after the contest to closing, and it was eight o’clock now. He’d have to give back his deposit if he sent them home, and they couldn’t afford that now.
“Yeah. Might as well set up. We don’t close until ten p.m.” Bobby got to his feet and went to the back of the stage to help bring out the microphone stands for the band.
Once the band had set up, he took up his duties as MC and introduced the band and its members, reading the information from a four-by-six index card.
The band nodded to everyone, then broke into a rousing rendition of “Jambalaya,” and people started dancing again.
Bobby headed to the festival’s headquarters tent to sit down and figure out the damage from the contest, not even trying to think about dealing with Father Peder’s wrath or finding Mark. He had no idea if he’d have to give registration money back or not. Father Peder might insist they stop selling beer for the rest of the festival.
He groaned at the loss the festival would sustain. If it were too bad, they might vote to stop doing it altogether in the future, and he’d hate to see that happen. It brought in so much money to the town, even if the festival itself didn’t make money.
He entered the tent and found Scott waiting for him there.
“Hey, Bobby.” Scott shook his head, hand resting on the butt of his firearm.
“Don’t say it. Just. Don’t. Say. It.” Bobby slumped into a chair and accepted the red cup Scott handed him. “This better be a beer.” He took a quick look. White foam. “I need this with a bourbon back.” He took a sip and sighed. “How bad was it?”
Scott laughed. “Not too bad. In the end, we sent most of the folks home. Only a few wound up at the station. No one went to the hospital.”
“Father Peder is going to have my hide.”
“Well, at least everyone will be talking about it.”
Bobby frowned at Scott. “You’re not helping.”
Scott shrugged. “You know we’ll all be laughing at this tomorrow, right?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “You might be. But it happened on my watch. And Father Peder is going to blame me. If I hadn’t brought in the beer…”
“Hey, man. The festival would have gone belly-up and you know it.”
Bobby nodded.
“Cut yourself some slack.” Scott leaned over and clapped him on the back. “It’s a great festival. And tomorrow will go off without a hitch.”
“I hope so.”
Bobby sat back. “So, what do you know about the face of Jesus being messed up?”
Scott looked up. “What?”
“Yeah. That’s what the fight was about. Some of the pilgrims who were supposed to visit it on Monday saw it today and got upset. And rightly so.” Bobby gave him a hard glare. “Talked to your mama lately?”
“Mom?” Scott scratched his head. “You don’t think she—”
“Took matters into her own hands? Yeah, I do.” A stunt like this was just what Darlene would do.
Scott exhaled. “I fussed at her about it, but I never told her to do anything to fix it. I swear.”
“I believe you. Your mama’s got her own mind, and once it’s set, it’s set. You tell her for me, come Monday, she better be here bright and early to face those pilgrims and explain what happened.”
“Sure thing. I’ll drive her here myself.”
“Oh, this is where you’re
hiding!” Sarah Guillory’s voice filled the tent.
Bobby groaned and slumped farther down into his folding chair. Scott looked at her, eyebrows up, and then shot Bobby a quick look.
“Hello, Sarah.”
“I heard about the…little upset.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Scott looked from Sarah to Bobby, now only one eyebrow cocked up.
Bobby shook his head. “Thanks, Sarah, but no. It’s all under control now.”
She gasped. “What happened to your face?” She rushed to Bobby’s side, placed her hand on his arm, and stared at the slight bruise.
“I should have zigged, but I zagged.” Bobby shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, if you say so.” She put her hands on her hips. “Nothing a little change won’t cure, I always say.” She smiled at him and then turned to Scott. “Going out tonight?”
Scott frowned. “Out where?”
She blinked and cocked her head like a little bird. “Why, I thought I heard a few of the guys saying they were heading to the swamp tonight. I figured they were going to give the tourists a thrill. Howling at the moon, that sort of thing.”
Bobby and Scott shared a glance at each other, and right then Bobby remembered what had been bugging him, itching at the back of his mind, but with all the chaos tonight he’d forgotten.
“Mark’s out there.”
“Who is Mark?” Sarah asked, swiveling her head between the two men.
Scott stood and glanced at his watch. “What time did you say, Sarah?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember a time. But I know some have already left.”
Bobby surged to his feet. “Merde, this is bad.”
“Maybe after your run, you could come by—” Sarah began, but Bobby and Scott rushed out of the tent, leaving Sarah, mouth still open.
They headed to the exit.
“We’ll take the cruiser,” Scott said as they made it past the gates. People in the crowd around them stepped aside to let the two men pass.
Bobby got in and buckled up as Scott turned the engine over.
“If Mark gets evidence of wolves, I’m not sure how I can convince him not to go public with it.”
