Cold Moon

by Tess Grant

  The second werewolf perched above her. The only thing keeping it from dropping down on her was the punji stick that impaled it.

  Kitty went flat on her butt in shock.

  What a homecoming.

  She sat in the mashed grass in her gorgeous green dress with one werewolf dead and another still twitching above her. A single drop of blood landed on her face. Hot and viscous as a tear, it tracked across her cheek before smoking away into oblivion.

  Another drop of blood hit her cheek. She dabbed at the hot stickiness of it. Looking down at the dark smear on the tips of her fingers, she hissed in disgust as it vaporized.

  Above her, fur sloughed and the human form beneath hung limp for a blink of an eye. Backlit, Kitty could only register a silhouette before it withered and scattered under the watchful eye of the moon. She listened and waited. Where was the third werewolf?

  Late October was too chilly for insects, so Kitty didn’t have them as a barometer of the forest’s mood. She thought the silence eased a little, settling back into that late autumn tucking-itself-in-for-winter quiet of the woods. Where was that little bunny? It’d be a good indicator if the wolves were gone. She’d probably come close to squashing the critter in the so-called excitement of the moment. A slight movement caught her eye—the swivel of an ear, then another. The tiny thing still hunkered down in the flattened grass where Kitty had first knelt to wait. Maddie raised her head as it took a few tentative hops but lowered her head to her paws in exhaustion as it left the clearing. The third wolf must have moved on after it killed the deer. Kitty heard a few snaps in the underbrush and the rustle of leaves, but Maddie didn’t raise her shaggy head again.

  Kitty massaged the dog’s ears. “Worn out by all the excitement, huh? Me too.” She contemplated the empty clearing ahead of her. “Time to get packing, old girl.”

  Kitty stood, which was no small feat in the skinny skirt. She started yanking the punji sticks out of the ground and piling them on the tarp to hide them. Her head whirled. That little stunt with the second wolf coming over the top of the boulder had been no accident. If not for the hapless doe luring the third away…she shuddered. How many were up in that werewolf sanctuary to the west Phinney had inadvertently left for her?

  She tried to crouch down to roll the tarp but the dress defeated her. Pulling the skirt up into a bunch about mid-thigh helped her gain a little mobility. She looked at the stack of spears on the tarp then down at her legs. Her feet were already mud below the ankles. Might as well blacken up her knees while she was at it. Dropping down, she started shoving, winding the tarp into a tight roll.

  What was she going to do next full moon? She didn’t know any better way than what she had just done.

  Part of her brain whispered, “At some point, you’re going to have to stop leaving Joe behind.”

  Kitty sighed in answer and swiped the back of her hand across her nose. It was beginning to run after all this time out in the cold. With the adrenaline pumping she hadn’t felt the chill, but now goose bumps popped out all over her skin.

  She sat back on her heels, taking a break from the stubborn tarp. What was the real problem? Did she not trust Joe in the field? Phinney had taken her on as an assistant and she had been as green as they come.

  “Exactly,” said the insistent little voice, only now it had Phinney’s gravelly tones. “Your daddy didn’t raise an idiot. Get some help. You can work through the learning curve.”

  Kitty grudgingly agreed with the voice. Being dead wasn’t much to be proud of. And if tonight was any indicator, if she didn’t have someone covering her back, she was going to be in trouble.

  Her fingertip strayed to her lips, and she thought of Joe, dark and angry, leaning against the wall in the gym. Then she thought of the softness of his kiss. What if he got bitten?

  “That won’t happen,” the gravelly voice barked. “All he needs to do is cover your back and you take care of the rest. It’s cake.”

  Taking care of the werewolves might be cake. Apologizing to Joe? That was humble pie, and she was about to get served a big slice.

  Shoving both the image of Joe and Phinney’s voice out of her head, Kitty struggled to heave the tarp over, to leverage it under the lee of the rock for safekeeping. Her knees ground into the dirt and her back popped, but it didn’t budge. She laid her head down, the damp tarp rough against her forehead and the smell of old canvas filling her nose. The day seemed a hundred years long already, and she couldn’t handle the one simple task that would allow it to end. Giving up, she sighed, turned around and sat down on the bundle. Her eyes stung and she sniffed.

  Then she heard it.

  Whistling.

  Maddie perked up immediately. Heaving herself up the dog started down the path, plumy tail waving. The carbine lay three feet away, but Kitty didn’t pick it up. Dwarves might whistle but werewolves never did.

  Joe walked into the clearing, Maddie at his side. He still wore his homecoming getup but his jeans looked more at home in the woods than her silk. She wanted to yell. Anything still out there could have picked him off on the walk down, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have any energy left. Besides, she was too relieved to see him.

  Joe stopped a step away. “Figured I’d better whistle. Last time I came out here unannounced, you tried to brain me with a shovel. Would have been here sooner, but Jenna wanted the scoop on that big wet kiss you planted on me. Unfortunately, telling her didn’t get me anywhere near her arm.”

  “And?” Kitty asked. Her voice caught in her throat.

  Joe shook his head and plopped down on the tarp next to her. “I lost her. She hit the girl’s bathroom shortly after you left and I missed her coming out. Either that, or she’s still in there.”

  “What does that mean?” Kitty put a hand on his arm. “Is she or isn’t she?”

  “It’s a definite I don’t know.” His head cocked as he took in her muddy legs and crumpled dress. “You looked better at school.”

  She was happy to see him but underneath her stomach roiled. Strolling through the woods whistling wasn’t a healthy choice. He still thought it was a game. She had to convince him otherwise.

  His arm curved around her shoulder and he rubbed his hand up and down the goose bumps. Against the chill of her bare arm, his fingers burned. “I kinda liked the way you said goodbye. Do we get to try it again? You know, ’cause you’re so glad to see me?”

  Kitty stood up abruptly, clenching her fists at her sides. “Don’t you get it? This is serious.”

  Joe didn’t move from his seat. “Then why are you trying to do it alone?”

  Kitty blinked. Maybe he understood it better than she did. Instead of answering the question, she pointed at the tarp. “I can’t get this hidden.”

  Joe crouched down next to the bundle of punji sticks. With one push, it flopped into its resting place. Picking up her jacket, he placed it over her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. “You need me, sister. This operation is a mess.”

  He’d gotten that part right anyway. Her knees hurt, and her shoes were ruined, and someone was going to die, and it would all be her fault because she wasn’t as good as Phinney. “I’m so sorry. Will you help me?”

  He put his face on a level with hers. “That was the plan all along, right?”

  Kitty buried her head into his shoulder and the tears started. She hoped he couldn’t feel them through his sweater. When his fingers curved around the nape of her neck protectively, she knew that he could.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kitty propped herself against her locker, her messenger bag with the night’s homework parked between her feet. Joe waved his arms around in an exaggerated impression of Mr. Grable. “So you see, class, when combining Boyle’s Law—or is that Charles’ Law?—with Avocado’s number…”

  Kitty laughed. Chemistry could always use lightening up. She waved her hand in the air. “But Mr. Zubowicz,” she whined, “where does the groundhog fit into all this?”

  Joe became s
uddenly serious, running his thumb and forefinger over his chin. “I’m glad you asked, Ms. Irish. Let us clarify the nomenclature here. We are dealing with the mole, another furry creature, yet much smaller than the groundhog. The mole—” He flung his arms wide and nearly whapped Sam in the head.

  Her brother ducked. From underneath Joe’s arm, he said. “Mom sent me in to find you. She said you’d better hurry up.”

  “Okay,” Kitty said, more than a little irritated. “Any idea why?”

  Sam puffed out some air and rolled his eyes. “You’re in big trouble.”

  A few other seniors passed by on their way out the door, and one added helpfully. “Yeah, me too. Don’t worry about it.”

  Kitty waited until they passed, then raised her eyebrows skeptically at Sam. “I’m always in trouble. What I’d do this time?”

  Sam started spinning the dial on her locker. “Some lawyer called Mom and said he needed a meeting with you today.” Sam puffed out his chest in his best imitation. “It has to be today, Mrs. Irish.”

  Kitty looked from Sam to Joe and back to Sam. Didn’t she have to be arrested before she needed a lawyer?

  Joe raised his eyebrows. Grabbing her bag, he slung it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.” Reaching over, he laced his fingers through Kitty’s. When she didn’t move, he gave a little tug to get her started. “So how’s that fast ball coming?” he asked Sam.

  A lawyer? Kitty couldn’t figure that out. She did have to be arrested first. Sure, she’d been put on warning by Melville’s visits, but she’d have to contact a lawyer not vice versa.

  Joe pushed the school door open for her. Kitty hadn’t even realized they’d gotten that far; the hall had been a blur. Joe had brought her out by the office. The Irish car idled at the end of the walkway; her mom must have parked there to avoid the bus traffic at the student exit. Sam headed straight for the passenger’s door, and Kitty laid a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the left. “Back seat, bud. Like always.”

  Sam glowered but took two steps over and climbed in.

  Joe gave Kitty’s hand a final hard squeeze and handed over her bag. With a wave at Anne, he walked back into school.

  Her mom steered away from the curb once Kitty fastened her seatbelt. “I’m sure your little brother spilled the beans about the lawyer. Want to tell me what this is all about?”

  The side of Anne’s face facing Kitty looked neutral so far. Kitty threw up her hands. “Would if I could.”

  “Hmm,” Anne muttered. She too started mimicking the lawyer. “I have to see her today, Mrs. Irish. Surely you can get her out of school.” Anne turned onto the main road. “He needs to look in all those books of his to see if he can find a sense of humor.”

  Kitty stifled a laugh. Her mother actually could see the funny side of things.

  The law office of Rubens, Caswell and Land was in the old center of town. Attached to the local coffee shop on one side and squeezed on the other by one of the antique stores, it was fashioned after a skinny brick row house.

  Kitty followed Anne into the reception area. Her mother marched up to the secretary’s heavily polished wooden desk. “Anne Irish. Mr. Land called this morning and said he needed to meet with my daughter Kathleen this afternoon.”

  “Oh yes.” The secretary smiled. “We’re expecting Miss Irish. Please follow me.”

  She was friendly enough. Maybe that was a good sign.

  The secretary led them down a narrow hall to the second door on the right. Twisting the knob, she opened the door and gestured them in. “Make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Land will be in momentarily. Would you care for some coffee or a Coke?”

  Sam opened his mouth, but Anne interrupted. “We’re fine, thank you.”

  “Mom,” Sam whined as the door shut. “I coulda had a Coke.”

  One glance from Anne silenced him, and he plopped into a chair sullenly.

  A dark wooden desk covered with papers dominated one side of the office. Two wingback chairs sat in front of it—one occupied by Sam. Built-in bookshelves lined the wall behind the desk. A small round conference table was to the left of the desk, four chairs spaced evenly around it.

  The door cracked open again, and an overly pale and pudgy man entered. He looked as if he’d never seen the sun, and Kitty realized there were no windows in the office, only the soft glow of lamps. He smiled, but from the way his face twisted, it seemed like it hurt to do it. “Good afternoon. Thank you so much for seeing me on short notice.” He gestured to the conference table. “If you would have a seat over here, we can begin. It won’t take long.”

  Anne sat down, and Kitty took the seat next to her. Sam moved over from his perch by the desk. Kitty hadn’t seen him so quiet in a long time. She had to admit this development didn’t look good, and heat crawled up her neck. She would feel a lot more comfortable out in the woods.

  “I am Mr. Land, one of the partners here at Rubens, Caswell and Land.” He stepped to his desk and picked up a folder. Returning to the conference table, he settled in the remaining chair. “It was specified that this meeting be held on Veteran’s Day, but when I realized that actually fell on Sunday, I opted to call the meeting this afternoon. So, again, I thank you for accommodating my request.”

  Get on with it, Kitty wanted to scream. What is this about?

  The same frustration played over Anne’s face.

  Mr. Land cleared his throat and shifted both himself and his papers around. His voice was monotone and bland and Kitty found it hard to concentrate.

  She studied the painting on the wall. It was the hills above Oakmont, an autumn haze blurring the lines of the forest above the river. She wondered if they had a spring, summer and winter scene to hang up as well, a pretend window into the world outside. One word—and one elbow jab from her mother—brought her to attention. What had Mr. Bland—oops, Land—just said?

  “Mr. Phinney,” he repeated, looking at Kitty pointedly, “asked me to draw up this paperwork and administer the transactions stipulated within it in August of this year. His timing, of course, was fortuitous in that he went missing at the end of that month.”

  Kitty furrowed her brow. Phinney? What would he have been doing here? She tried to imagine him in this soft young man’s office and the thought made her want to laugh. Phinney wouldn’t have been impressed with Mr. Land. The flask would have made multiple appearances solely to irritate.

  She could hear it, see it.

  “I don’t drink in my office, Mr. Phinney.” Mr. Land would rustle the papers on his desk blotter.

  Phinney would lean back in the chair opposite him, tilt the flask up, and shrug. “That’s okay, Mister. There’s really not enough for both of us.”

  Kitty nearly sniggered and dropped her head down to hide it. Her mother poked her hard in the leg with her index finger, and Kitty raised her head trying to appear composed.

  Land glared at her. At some point, he had pulled out tiny reading glasses, and they perched on the end of his pug nose. “There is a lot of legalese in the document, and with your permission I will skip to the portion of the document that pertains to the company at hand.”

  He cleared his throat again and snapped the papers in front of him. “My principal residence on Phinney’s Lane, Oakmont, Michigan, and the surrounding acreage shall be sold as one parcel to Mr. Neville Thompson of Key West, Florida. All proceeds from the sale, following the settlement of taxes, are to be held in trust for the use of my friend, Miss Kathleen Jane Irish. She may use these funds to attend a college of her choice. Eligible expenses include tuition, books, and room and board if living on campus. Should Miss Irish fail to select a college for whatever reason by her twenty-fifth birthday, all funds in the trust revert to the Veteran’s Administration to be earmarked for the Veteran’s Home of Oakmont.”

  Land paused to let the words sink in.

  Kitty’s breath caught in her throat. She looked to her mother, but Anne Irish was frowning at the lawyer as if she didn’t understand. />
  Kitty understood enough. Oh geez, Thompson is going to be so mad when he finds out I burned his cabin down.

  “Exactly how much money are we talking about?” her mother finally asked.

  Mr. Land seemed a little startled by the question. “I believe the money would cover the first two years depending on the college Kathleen chooses. Used judiciously and augmented by scholarships or work study, there may be enough to cover the entire degree.”

  Sam managed to squeak out, “Holy crow, Kit. You’re rich.”

  “Why would Mr. Phinney leave Kitty money?” Anne asked incredulously.

  Land directed his gaze toward Kitty, a question in his eyes.

  Kitty bit her lip. How could she say it without crying? “We got to be friends this summer.” The tears started rolling, and she rubbed at her cheeks. “He helped…I….” Kitty shook her head. “We helped each other out.” She gave up and dropped her gaze to the polished tabletop.

  Why would Phinney have done this? He held out a duffle full of guns in one hand and college in the other. What kind of a choice was that? Kitty had one road, and it didn’t lead to a dorm room.

  “I nearly forgot,” Land said. “Mr. Phinney asked that I read this particular Bible verse at this time in the conversation.”

  He smirked a little as if he doubted Phinney’s sudden conversion. The lawyer’s piousness made Kitty want to deck him, and her hand clenched into a fist underneath the table. Still, if she were being honest, she had to agree. In all her time at Phinney’s cabin, she had never seen a Bible—not even one of those little Gideon Bibles left in hotel rooms.

  “Let us not weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” Land laid his papers down, leaned back from the table and put his hands together in a steeple under his chin.

  Complete silence reigned.

  Kitty gazed down at the fist in her lap. Slowly she uncurled it. She remembered Phinney handing her the .45 on their last night together.