by Tess Grant
“What’s up?” she repeated, trying not to grit her teeth.
“What’s a closed casket service?”
Kitty took a step backward, hand dropping to her side. “Beg pardon?” She hadn’t heard those words in a while.
“Closed casket service. This guy had one.” He patted the paper with his hand. “I don’t know what that means.”
Kitty had read those words over and over again when she had done her search of the town obituaries down at the university earlier that summer. Werewolves weren’t kind to their prey. If someone managed to escape with just a bite, he was infected for life and joined the whole cycle. If he didn’t survive, he was mangled so badly even the best of funeral directors couldn’t make him look presentable enough for viewing.
Kitty sighed. “You know how they leave the casket open at funerals so you can see whoever died.”
“Oh yeah,” Sam said. “That’s so gross. Those guys are all white and hard.”
Nice. Her little brother had a way of cutting right to the chase. “Well, sometimes people look even worse than that. So you don’t get to see them at the funeral ’cause they keep the lid closed.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “That makes a lot of sense. They should do that more often.” He nodded with all the wisdom of an eleven-year-old. “Most of those guys don’t look that great anyway. This one probably looked like a mess, wandering around lost for so many days.” He turned away from the paper. “Want to watch a movie?”
Kitty grinned in spite of herself. Sam Irish, master of the quick switch. She picked up The Observer and said, “Sure, you pick.” As Sam disappeared around the corner, she called, “Go ahead and get started. I’ll be right in.”
Kitty took the paper and sat down at the dining room table. Crossing her arms on top of it, she laid her head down. She didn’t want to read the article. Maybe she could avoid it, all of it—the duffle, the unknown spy, the closed casket funeral—for another day.
She shoved her head further down into the nest of her arms. The slightly sour smell of the ink filled her nostrils. It drove her head up after only a couple of breaths. Breathing the fresh air deep, she dragged the paper close and took in the headline. “Body of Missing Camper Found.”
A wave of déjà vu broke over her with the first line. At the beginning of the summer, she had gone through binder after binder of old newspaper obituaries, trying to convince herself the werewolves were real. They all started out a lot like this one. She was glad she was sitting down. “The body of Austin Harris, 41, was found today in Oakmont County. Harris, a sales manager from Chicago, did not return from his annual camping trip in the Manistee National Forest as scheduled. He had been missing for three days, prompting searches by local law enforcement and volunteers.” The search for Phinney had consumed all her attention; she hadn’t even heard a rumor about this one. Flipping the page, she found the last column of the article under a smaller headline shrieking “Gruesome Death in the National Forest.”
Skimming her finger rapidly down the text, she found the line she had been waiting for—“Closed casket service to be held at Belkins and Waite Funeral Home, Chicago.” Phinney had told her Oakmont County had the highest percentage in the state of unsolved deaths and disappearances. About half the obituaries in the county also had the words ‘closed casket service’ in common.
Grabbing the calendar, she counted days, hoping against hope that the dates wouldn’t match up. In her heart, she knew the truth. Even a gambler down on his luck could figure out this was a good bet. Start with a couple days for Harris’ vacation, throw in three days for him to be missing, add in a search day or two. Bingo—her finger had traced across the calendar squares to the one with the tiny black circle for the full moon. The outdoorsman had gone down the same night Phinney had. While she’d been burning the cabin, somebody else had died. The bunched-up envelope in her pocket weighed like lead; she was pretty sure she knew what it said now.
I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to hear it, a childlike singsong filled her brain. Kitty wanted to shove her fingers in her ears.
Sliding the envelope out, she held it away from her with two fingers. She was acting like an idiot and she knew it. The letter had to be from one of the spotters—the group Phinney had used to track the werewolves—and it wasn’t going to say anything she hadn’t already figured out. She slid the letter between the pages of The Observer. She could read it tomorrow.
The truce between Kitty and her mom had been family first. Kitty had taken an extended view of the words—if she quit hunting, the werewolves would come looking for her. So she hunted to keep Sam and her mom safe. But for one night, she wanted the words to be simply what they said.
Family first.
She shoved the newspaper with its explosive cargo underneath a pile of paperwork from school. Walking around the corner into the living room, she plopped down on the couch next to Sam. Their mom sat curled on the other side. Kitty had seen this movie at least three times, but Sam loved it—the bad-to-the bone villain who turned out to be the good guy in the end. It wasn’t bad when she let herself go and believed it.
“So what part are we at?” she asked.
Chapter Five
Kitty stubbed her toe at the top of the stairs and half-stumbled, half-jumped down the risers. She rubbed blearily at her eyes. Weren’t Saturdays for sleeping in? Toe still throbbing, she hopped around the corner into the kitchen.
Cupboard doors hung open and Anne barked out a list. “Veggie soup, chicken broth. Oh, better put down saltines and peanut butter too.”
Sam sat at the table, agonizing over his cursive writing. Maddie lay at his feet offering moral support. “Wait, wait. Chicken broth. Now what?”
“Saltines,” said their mom, peering out from behind the cupboard door. She gave Kitty a smile. “With no salt. Glad you could join us, sunshine.”
“How could I not? Sam sounded like a herd of horses when he came up upstairs.” Kitty wandered toward the dishwasher to grab a clean glass. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother give Sam a thumbs-up.
“Really?” her mother asked. Pulling her head back into the cupboard, she said, “That’s too bad. Did I say bananas?”
Sam giggled.
“You two are such liars.” Kitty crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of sun tea. She poured herself a full glass and carried it to the table across from Sam. Maddie’s tail thumped as Kitty approached, and she shifted position to lie between her two charges.
“I don’t know where you picked up that tea habit,” her mother said, shaking her head. “But you’re rolling through the bags. Better put tea on the list, Sam. And maybe some whitening toothpaste. Your teeth are going to look like you’re ninety soon.”
Kitty smiled and ran her finger around the rim of her glass. Phinney had taught her more than shooting werewolves.
“Mom and I are going grocery shopping,” Sam said, scratching away at the paper.
Kitty took a drink of her tea, watching as his writing sloped dangerously downhill. “Okay. Don’t forget peanut butter. And bananas too.”
Sam made an arrow at the bottom of the page then turned it over to the other side.
The cupboard doors banged shut. “Kit, can you take the recycling out and load it in the car? I want to hit the bins by the high school before the store.”
Kitty downed her tea. “Sure. Are they by the door or in the workshop?”
Sam chimed in. “It’s all over the yard. I hauled most of it out already…while you were in bed.”
“Hmm.” Kitty checked his list. He had finished adding peanut butter and bananas and had started doodling. She tapped the page and said, “Cheese, bread, chicken.”
Sam swatted at her hand. “Hey, I’m getting there. Go outside.”
Kitty grinned. Add this morning on top of last night’s movie and she could almost forget that she didn’t have a normal life anymore. Grabbing the keys off the counter, she headed into the yard. Holy cow, she tho
ught as she looked at the cans and piles of plastic. There was enough recycling stacked out here to save the world. She started slinging brown bags stuffed with paper and crushed milk jugs into the car.
It only took a few minutes before she was back in the house. Her mother was still head-deep in the refrigerator and calling out items for the shopping list. Sam worked on the list, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. Kitty settled into her seat and dug her toes into the warm ruff around Maddie’s neck. Her mother’s voice filled the background with comforting everyday words—cucumbers, yogurt, English muffins.
Sunshine streamed across the nicked table, highlighting the old finger-painting stains and teeth marks on the edges from Sam’s toddler days. Her fingers bumped along the nicks. Safe, real. And if she wanted to keep it that way, she’d better get down to business. First up, take a look at that letter and the newspaper again. Find out where Austin Harris died and get it plotted on the map. Darn it, the maps were in the duffle, which was buried in the woods.
Back up. Get the letter and newspaper first.
Swiveling around in her chair, she checked the corner of the counter. Oh, that is so not good. Completely bare. The pile of junk from school along with the current newspaper was gone.
“Where’s all that stuff that was sitting on the edge of the counter?”
Anne pulled her head out of the fridge. “Out with the recycling. We’re green now. The school should consider that when they send home so much stuff.”
“I needed the Observer that was in there. It had,” Kitty thought fast, “the schedule for the football games in it. I promised Jenna I’d go to all the home games.”
“Well, green means gone.” Anne smiled brightly.
Kitty rolled her eyes. “That’s catchy, Mom.” She lifted her eyebrows in a question.
“Check the newspaper bag.”
The screen door slapped shut behind Kitty. On top of everything else, she now had a clean mother to deal with. Opening the trunk, she began pulling bags. The newspaper bag was about halfway in, and Kitty pulled issue after issue out. They went back to July. She wondered why nobody had done the recycling all summer then realized that had been her chore. It had taken a backseat to her new job.
She found the issue with the big bad headline about halfway through her search. Flipping the pages, she felt her nerves twitching until the letter fluttered out and hit the ground at her feet. Avoiding the brown blotches, she picked it up with two fingers and shoved it back between the pages of The Observer. She should stop acting stupid. It wasn’t blood. As if some spotter who had gotten chomped had made it his last act—crawling to the mailbox to drop in this note to her. Right. Like he carried paper and a stamp with him. It was probably ketchup from the guy’s lunch, so she needed to quit acting brain-dead and more like a hunter.
She collected the newspapers strewn around the driveway and began filing them into the bag. Her mother came out of the house, purse in hand, and Sam followed clutching the list.
“Find it?” Anne asked, crossing the grass.
Kitty held it up.
“Try to grab it early next time. My goal from now on is to get this stuff out of here before it grows roots.”
Nodding, Kitty headed for the house.
“Let’s go, kiddo.” Anne and Sam climbed into the car and fired it up. Kitty stood on the steps and waved.
Safe inside the house with her precious cargo, she tossed the paper on the table and poured another glass of tea. Leaning against the counter, she took a sip. The silence felt thick—almost palpable—but it comforted at the same time. Everything that had happened since the night of the last full moon had been a constant background scream in her brain. She needed a minute or two in peace. The clock ticked, and underneath the table Maddie snuffled at her front paw.
Kitty grabbed the loaf of bread on the counter, pulled out a slice and put it in the toaster. After a minute, she slid in a second slice. Maddie had been working hard this morning too—wagging her tail, lying under the table—and she deserved a little treat. Kitty could never feed her toast when her mom was home. A little breakfast, a little tea, and Kitty would be ready. She might even have enough time to sneak out and get the duffle, but she wanted to reread the article one more time and open the letter.
The toaster took an eternity. Like most other things around the Irish house, it was on its last legs. Her dad, Nate, needed to get back from Iraq before the whole house crashed down around their ears. Kitty could have jogged to the mailbox and back a few times while she waited for the bread to pop. Instead she ran upstairs to put on sturdy clothes that were up to this morning’s task. Her pink froggy flannel pants and the scrub shirt she had liberated from her mother’s closet weren’t the attire for this job. It would go better in jeans.
Maddie ate the toast Kitty offered her in three seconds flat. Kitty took a little longer to finish her own slice, eyeing the letter in between bites. K. Irish. That was her. Phinney had kept the names of the spotters secret and she had assumed he’d kept her involvement secret from them too. Apparently not. She was the only one who didn’t know. What else had he kept from her? Kitty shook her head. That was a road that would take her nowhere.
Reaching for the letter, she took a deep breath. No time like the present. She ran her thumb under the flap, and the paper lifted easily, barely held down in the center.
All that blood on it loosened the glue. Kitty gritted her teeth. Stop it, she reminded herself. It’s probably chili.
She pulled out a single sheet of white paper. Unfolding it, she saw two lines in the same dark heavy writing as the envelope. Here and there, a letter smeared, but it was readable. Her body registered the words before her head—heart beat ramping up, sweat springing out on her palms. She felt paralyzed. The note wasn’t from a spotter.
I saw what you did.
That was all the first line said.
She read it one more time. I saw what you did.
The toast in Kitty’s stomach churned uneasily, and for a minute, she thought it might make a second appearance.
Oh geez. What was she going to do? She started to rock back and forth. Her eyes dropped to the second line. It was only a cluster of eight numbers—97060780. She didn’t know what that meant. But that first line …that was clear enough. The shadow in the woods had tracked her down.
Chapter Six
Kitty swayed back and forth. Her index finger floated up from the table to coil in the wing of hair hanging from her clip. When she was little, she twisted her bangs around and around her finger when she was upset. Her mother had hated it and all the snarls it caused. Phinney, please, help me. First you and now this. Kitty yanked her hand down. She wasn’t a little kid anymore. She might want to curl up and wail but she wasn’t going to.
She felt like some cartoon character, walking around with a cloud of grey-black grief and guilt trailing over her head. Throw in a heavy dose of fear and her cloud was now streaked with an angry red. It felt nearly unbearable. If Phinney had been here, he would have known what to do. He always had.
Why had he chosen her? She couldn’t do it.
Kitty threw the letter halfway across the table and it folded in on itself. She began to rock again.
Maddie’s woof of warning came three seconds before the knock on the door. Kitty stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat.
Her gaze strayed to the letter on the table with its not-so-subtle message. Was it the author?
A second knock sounded from the door—a little louder and a little longer. Kitty pushed to standing. “Let’s go, Maddie.” She snapped her fingers and the retriever rose and followed her to the entryway. Opening the heavy storm door, her gaze landed straight on the dark sedan in the turnaround. It was a police vehicle. The odd light near the side-view mirror gave it away as did the red and white bubble sitting unused on the dash. She drew her eyes back to the tall man standing on the steps right in front of her. Between seeing him the night of the fire and at the
search, she felt like she knew Melville pretty well already. Deep down, she’d been waiting for him to show up. The only surprise was that it had taken him this long.
A warm flush started at the base of Kitty’s neck and moved upward. Maddie whined at her feet, and she leaned down to place a hand on the retriever’s head. “Shhh,” Kitty soothed her. “It’s okay, Mad.” Petting the dog gave her a few seconds to get her act together. Her head whirled, leapfrogging ahead to the ride handcuffed in the back of that car.
The detective cleared his throat purposefully, and Kitty stood to face him. The screen bulged inward with the pressure of his hand. It wasn’t his hand causing so much strain; it was the badge in it, pushing against the screen. She guessed he did it so she could get a close-up look at the shiny little thing. Seeing he had her attention, he said, “Detective Melville, Oakmont County Sheriff’s Department. Can I come in? I wanted to speak with you.”
“Do you have any identification?” she asked hesitantly, tilting her head back to look up at him.
He grimaced, shaking his head. Tapping the badge against the screen, he enunciated very clearly, as if she might not understand, “This is my identification.”
Kitty ran through her options. Somehow, shutting the door in his face didn’t seem like a good choice. Maddie’s head swung from her to the detective, trying to gauge Kitty’s feelings about the stranger. “Yeah, okay. Come on in.” Unlatching the screen, she shoved it toward him. He caught it as it swung out and pulled it open. He was inside fast, light on his feet for all his size.
“I’m glad your mother taught you to be cautious but really I’m one of the good guys,” he said as he entered. “You are Kathleen Irish, right?”
She nodded wordlessly, brain still rocketing ahead to all the horrible possibilities he represented. He looked her full in the face. Her gut—still in knots from the letter—wrung down even tighter and her mind stopped dead. His eyes were bright and hard—a keen-eyed hawk hypnotizing the mouse it plans on having for supper.