Barking at the Moon

by Nene Adams

Lunella stroked its ears, murmuring under her breath. After a moment, she shifted and gestured to Annalee with her free hand. “Come on over here,” she said. “When I tell you, release the lever.”

  Annalee had never been so close to a live wolf. A musky scent came from its fur. Curious, she held out a hand and, after glancing at Lunella for permission, gently touched the wolf’s ruff. The fur was much softer than it looked, like silk against her palm.

  “Uh-huh, that’s nice,” Lunella said with a small, approving smile. “That’s real nice. Now let’s get him out of this trap. Ready?”

  “Okay, okay, yeah.” Annalee knelt down and positioned herself, her hand on the lever.

  At Lunella’s nod, she depressed the lever. Lunella did the same. The trap sprang apart and the wolf stood, limping a few steps away on three legs, its injured left foreleg held curled against its chest. The plumed tail hung low, as did the massive head.

  Annalee got to her feet. The wolf sidled further away, its muzzle wrinkling into a snarl that displayed big, sharp teeth.

  “Quit that!” Lunella thumped the wolf on its shoulder.

  Bending over at the waist, she manipulated its injured leg while Annalee cringed, waiting for the inevitable snap of those wicked jaws. The wolf tolerated the touches with astonishing patience, whimpering occasionally, but showing no inclination to bite.

  “The bone’s not broke that I can tell. Can you get home by yourself?” Lunella asked, as if the animal could understand her. “If you can, just go on. I’ll take care of stuff here.”

  The wolf eyed her in what Annalee could have sworn was a sour manner, but it turned and limped off quickly, disappearing into the forest.

  Lunella straightened, tucking locks of hair behind her ears. She kicked the trap and scowled. “Damned poachers,” she said. “Ought to be put in their own traps, you ask me.”

  “That type of leghold isn’t illegal in this state,” Annalee pointed out, not yet prepared to address the Twilight Zone weirdness of a wolf apparently obeying the young woman’s commands. Perhaps it was a tame animal, a pet? If so, it was mighty damned intelligent.

  “That shit’s illegal on Skinner land.” Lunella gazed angrily at the trap and the steel chain wrapped around the base of the hickory tree, holding it secure.

  “Then it’s poaching and you have a legitimate complaint, which I’m happy to make official by filing a report, starting an investigation and arresting the people responsible.” Annalee remained calm, slipping into her law enforcement role with practiced ease. She would deal with the oddities later, once she had a chance to assimilate what she’d seen and experienced. “Are there any identifying marks on the trap?”

  “Belongs to them no ’count Gunns,” Lunella answered. “There’s a sort of cartoon rifle scratched onto the jaw, near the spring lever on the right.”

  Annalee squatted down to check and found the mark right where Lunella said it would be. “Okay, I’ll have to bring this into the office for evidence. You got a bolt cutter?”

  Lunella nodded. “Over to the house.”

  “I can take some pictures with my cell phone, but I have to tell you that the worst the Gunns will face is a fine if they’re found guilty. There’s not a judge in Daredevil County that’ll give out jail time for poaching. Hunting’s a popular pastime.”

  “Then what good is man’s laws? What in the hell has that ever done for us?” Lunella’s shrug, the hard set of her mouth and the flicker of resignation in her expression told Annalee this wasn’t the first time she’d felt screwed over by the law. “Come on, let’s go,” Lunella went on. “Just leave it be. Me and mine’ll deal with the problem our own way.”

  “I don’t want you or your family doing anything foolish, anything that can’t be taken back,” Annalee said firmly while they trudged back to the trail at a more reasonable pace. “I don’t want to see y’all end up in court or in jail over this, okay?”

  Lunella didn’t answer. Her silence became grating after a while.

  Annalee felt as if she had been judged and found wanting. “Look, if an animal trap belonging to the Gunns injures a person, then I can charge them with reckless endangerment and whatnot, maybe get some jail time depending on the offender’s record. You catch anybody on your property without an invite, you call me and I’ll arrest ’em for trespassing. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Man’s laws,” Lunella scoffed.

  Annalee took Lunella by the shoulder, feeling the shift of solid muscle and bone beneath the soft flannel shirt. A momentary flashback struck her—the touch of another woman’s body straddling her in that damned erotic dream she couldn’t seem to shake. She pushed the unwelcome memory away and said, “I’m serious about not doin’ anything rash.”

  “Then we let them do what they want, when they want, where they want?” Lunella snarled, her eyes turning gold. She pushed forward, right into Annalee’s space. They were almost the same height, but Lunella seemed to loom over her. “Them Gunns got no right to be on our land, Sheriff. Our land! They got no right to hunt us, trap us, hurt us…”

  Annalee’s heart thudded faster. Jesus Christ, the woman was sexy! Lunella’s shyness was appealing, sure, but when her temper flared and she got a bit more aggressive, showing the steel beneath the softness, it made her want to howl. She forced down the disconcerting flare of desire and became aware that Lunella’s expression had changed, somehow narrowing and becoming more feral, her face more angular and pointed.

  Suddenly, Lunella sniffed the air, much as she had done before. Her posture—head slightly back, nose tilted up, nostrils flaring—reminded Annalee of a hunting dog questing for scent. A brief thrill of anxiety replaced desire’s pangs. She had showered that morning, but she had undergone some strenuous activity since and had sweated like a whore in church, as her grandfather would have put it. Had her deodorant given up the ghost? She would have tried for a surreptitious sniff of her own, but Lunella was too close and too observant.

  After a moment, Lunella’s mouth curved into a wide grin showing an awful lot of teeth. “Let’s go on up to the house,” she said calmly, appearing to have forgotten or put aside her fury at the Gunns’ poaching and the law’s ineffectiveness.

  “Uh, okay, sure,” Annalee stammered. She was uneasy about the way Lunella gazed at her, an odd combination of surprise and what seemed to be a kind of amused affection, like Lunella saw something unexpected in her, but not unwelcome.

  They began walking again, except this time, Annalee noticed that Lunella had become more solicitous toward her, holding aside tree branches until she passed, taking her wrist to guide her around obstacles. She found the attention disquieting, even as a part of her welcomed it. In Lunella’s presence, she felt stripped of artifice, her inner core exposed without making her vulnerable. Undeniable electricity crackled between them. Every casual brush of Lunella’s hand or body against hers was both a torment and a delight.

  Reminding herself she was the sheriff and had a job to do, Annalee tried to maintain some professional distance from Lunella, refusing to allow her insane attraction any leeway. She’d almost convinced herself the discipline was working when at last she and Lunella broke through the tree line into a clearing, and she got her first view of the Skinners’ house.

  More like a compound. A single main building with a wood shake roof stood in the center, a large two-story structure built from mossy weathered logs. A covered porch stretching across the entire front of the house was made colorful by hanging baskets full of impatiens. A tall oak tree in the yard held a satellite dish.

  Smaller buildings were scattered around the cleared space, including a henhouse inside a fence. There was no grass to be seen—far too many trees on the perimeter for the necessary sunlight to filter through the canopy—but the ground was covered in a mulch of brown pine needles and chipped bark. A couple of old Ford trucks were parked to one side.

  A pale blur streaked across her vision. The image resolved into a wolf, smaller than any of the ones A
nnalee had already seen, running up the porch and through the main house’s open front door. The impression she got from her fleeting glimpse was of a half-grown adolescent with gangly, too-long legs and an awkwardness that would disappear with age.

  Another pet, perhaps? A rescue animal? She turned to ask Lunella, but the question was forestalled by the fond look on the woman’s face.

  “That’s Daisy,” Lunella said. “Come on. I’m pretty sure Uncle Ezra’s to home.”

  Going into the house, Annalee was immediately struck by the smell, a strong musk laced with more than a hint of what she could only describe as “wet dog.”

  The living area was huge, apparently taking up the bulk of the ground floor. No carpeting, she noted, just wooden floorboards scuffed and scratched and bleached from years of scrubbing. The walls were whitewashed and undecorated save for a couple of woven Pendleton blankets in bright colors and geometric patterns, one of which she recognized as an Iroquois turtle design. Three leather sofas had seen better days, with fluffy white stuffing leaking from holes in the cushions and arms.

  Ezra Skinner heaved himself off a sofa when she and Lunella walked into the room. He was a big bellied man, tall and heavy boned like his family, his hair the same wheat-blond color as Lunella’s. His eyes were sherry brown, good humored, but somewhat guarded. “Sheriff Crow,” he boomed, thrusting out a hand. “Good to see you.”

  Annalee took the offered hand, wincing when his grip ground her bones together. “Mr. Skinner. How are you today, sir?”

  “Never been better,” he replied. “Snared some beautiful rabbits. Goin’ to take the boys huntin’ white-tail this weekend. Maybe get some boar too.”

  It wasn’t hunting season, but the man was free to hunt and trap on his own land, so Annalee didn’t make a fuss. “I need to ask you about—”

  “Lassiter,” Ezra interrupted. “Sit down, Sheriff. Can I get you a drink? Beer? Sweet tea? A cold Coca-Cola?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Lunella asked, “Aunt Rachel in the kitchen?”

  “Sure, honey, sure.” Without shifting his gaze from Annalee, Ezra flapped a shooing hand at Lunella as if she was a pesky fly.

  Annalee was about to start asking questions when Lunella broke in. “I found a leghold trap just off the trail,” she said in a low, growling, unbearably sexy tone. “One of the Gunns’ traps. Bear was caught in it.”

  That got Ezra’s attention. His eyes narrowed. He tensed. “Is Bear all right?”

  “I’m pretty sure his leg ain’t broke, just bruised. Told him to go home.”

  “Well, go on and tell your aunt, girl. The sheriff and me are goin’ to talk business.” Ezra waited until Lunella left the room. He said, “If I catch them Gunns on my land—”

  “I hope you’ll call me so I can come and arrest ’em rather than take the law into your own hands,” Annalee said, trying her damnedest to show him her sincerity. “Mr. Skinner, I do appreciate your concern, but I can’t condone startin’ an armed conflict. You shoot any Gunns on your property, unless they’re in your house and threatening your family, I’ve got to arrest you for manslaughter at least. The exact charges’ll be up to the district attorney. I don’t want that, sir, and I’m sure you don’t want that, either. Maybe a jury would acquit, but even if they did, the shadow would haunt you for the rest of your days.”

  Ezra nodded slowly. “I respect your honesty, Sheriff. That’s a rare thing, these days.” It seemed as if he might add something else, but he asked instead, “So what-all do you want to know about that no-good sumbitch Lassiter?”

  Annalee took off her hat and tucked it under her arm. Her hair was damp with sweat, and more sweat had gathered between her breasts, leaving her feeling clammy and unpleasant. Recalling the way Lunella had sniffed the air around her, she fought not to blush. The thought that Lunella had been smelling her…well, that was kind of embarrassing and a lot more of a turn-on than she might have believed before it happened. Almost as intimate as a kiss.

  Wrestling her mind back to the case, she asked, “Mr. Skinner, what can you tell me about Reverend Lassiter?”

  He moved over to the sofa and sat down, the cushion sinking under his weight. “Lassiter was one of them Bible-thumpin’, holy rollin’, hellfire-and-damnation preachers.”

  “I hear he had a grudge against you,” Annalee said, keeping her expression neutral. She found a seat on the sofa opposite him. The scarred leather cushions were covered in a fine dusting of dog hair, which she ignored even though her every movement sent a small cloud of dust and dander rising into her face and up her nose.

  Ezra snorted. “Grudge ain’t a strong enough word, you ask me.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “It’s family business.”

  Annalee scratched her nose, stifling a sneeze. “Mr. Skinner, this is a homicide investigation. You can answer my questions here, or we can take a trip to the sheriff’s office, but I promise you, sir, I will get answers one way or the other.”

  At first, she wasn’t sure how Ezra would react, then he grinned, showing teeth as prominent, profuse and sharp as Lunella’s. “I like you,” he said. “You’ve got what they used to call moxie, so I’m findin’ myself inclined to tell you a little story.”

  She gingerly settled back against the sofa cushions. “I’m listening.”

  “John Delano Lassiter weren’t always a preacher,” Ezra said. A shaft of sunlight illuminated his face, throwing the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes into prominence, like slashes of ink on his skin. Beard stubble gleamed silver on his cheeks and chin. “Don’t quite know when he got religion, but before he took the Good Book so much to heart, his name was Shadrach Rafferty. His mama was a Skinner—my second cousin, Jerusha.”

  Annalee made a mental note to look up Shadrach Rafferty in the system to see if he had any prior criminal record. If so, he wouldn’t be the first man to camouflage his sins behind a Bible. “Would he be related to the Raffertys that live over to the cemetery?”

  “Yes, that’d be the ones, though Jerusha left her husband when Shadrach was six years old, and as far as I know, Alonzo Rafferty drank himself to death shortly thereafter. His liver was shot. Them Raffertys ain’t a damn bit of good, as you ought to know. Nothin’ but a bunch of chicken-rustling sneak thieves, too fond of gettin’ liquored-up.”

  “What about Lassiter—I mean, Shadrach?” Annalee prompted.

  “Shadrach—maybe I ought to call him Lassiter anyhow, be less confusin’ for the both of us—was brought up here mostly by my own mama and daddy.” Struck by the syrupy yellow light streaming through a window, Ezra’s irises seemed to turn the color of gold. “Look, Sheriff, Lassiter almost died when he was a young man. There was this sort of accident, see, and that created some bad blood between him and us.”

  “What happened?”

  For a moment, Ezra’s gaze went distant, as if recalling the past to mind. His focus returned to her. “I ain’t at liberty to say,” he said.

  Annalee frowned. He had been cooperative thus far, why the reticence now? “Mr. Skinner—”

  “No, don’t ask me ’cause there’s some things I’m not gonna tell you.”

  She studied the man’s stubborn expression and decided not to press him on the issue. “Okay, fair enough. Did you have any contact with Lassiter?”

  “Not so much. I knew he was in town, but we ain’t exactly cozy.”

  “Why did he preach against you?”

  Ezra shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Who knows why a man’s heart makes him act in one way or t’other?”

  Annalee thought his answer evasive. “Lassiter’s preaching had nothing to do with the ‘bad blood’ you say was between y’all?”

  “I can’t tell you what was going on in the man’s head,” Ezra said with a sour twist to his mouth. “Maybe he had a grudge, maybe not. We ain’t spoke in many years.”

  “But surely you were angry about his preaching?”

  “Don’t know exactly what La
ssiter had to say or how he chose to say it. Not like me and mine was invited to his church, Sheriff.”

  Annalee decided to abandon the unproductive line of questioning. No point wasting time on Ezra’s reasonable denials. She could return and press him harder on the topic if or when it became necessary in the course of the investigation. At the moment, she needed more answers and was unwilling to alienate him without cause. She asked, “Can you account for your whereabouts last Wednesday evening?”

  He squinted at her, a slight smile returning to his face. “I was here at home with my wife, my three sons, my daughter, my niece Lunella…you see, Sheriff, quite a few people was here all damned night. Feel free to ask ’em all.”

  Which was no kind of alibi as far as Annalee was concerned, but she would let it slide unless the evidence led her to believe otherwise. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Lassiter? Did he have any enemies?” Besides you went unspoken.

  “He was never a good boy,” Ezra said. “Oh, he tried and we tried, but he never really fit in around here. And then he grew hard, Sheriff. Hard in his heart. He went away and he came back a hardened man, a man on a mission.”

  “What mission was that?”

  She thought for a moment he was going to reply, but a teenage boy walked into the room. The boy was blond, of course, and brown-eyed. A Skinner for sure. The boy’s complexion was clear except for a nasty red rash around his mouth. Not acne, she believed, but perhaps an allergic reaction. The painful looking welts were scabbed over.

  “Hey, Daddy,” the boy mumbled.

  “Johnny, shouldn’t you be in bed?” Ezra seemed half-amused, half-concerned.

  Annalee didn’t catch Johnny’s reply.

  “You ought to know, Bear got caught in a trap,” Ezra said, his fist clenching. He seemed to control himself with an effort. “Them goddamn Gunns.”

  “He okay?” Johnny’s bottom lip cracked when he spoke. He wiped away a trickle of blood on his chin with the back of his hand, smearing crimson along his jaw.

  “Lunella says so. Why don’t you go out there and check on him? And take somethin’ to your little brother while you’re at it. An ice cream, maybe.”