A Light So Cruel (Pioneer Falls Book 3)

by Heather Davis

  Morgan followed me and took a seat on the arm of the couch. “She had banker’s boxes in her car. I didn’t have a good excuse to ask what they were, but they had typewritten labels with dates from the last few decades.”

  I flashed back to the boxes Maggie and I had unloaded at Mr. Gray’s house. “Did Ms. Wilson take them from the historical society last night?”

  Maggie came around the corner, bringing more cartons of tea. “What’s this about the society?”

  “Just that Morgan saw Ms. Wilson with some boxes.”

  Maggie shrugged. “She offered to help me organize them into collections.”

  “What?” I stopped wiping down the table and gave Maggie a look of disbelief.

  “She’s a volunteer. I don’t chase away people who offer to help. Even the cranky ones,” she said. “She’d asked about looking through them last night, and this morning she came by for the key to the house on her way to school.”

  “But she’s writing a book about Pioneer Falls,” I blurted out.

  “What kind of a book?”

  I pitched a desperate look toward Morgan, who said, “A historical retrospective.”

  “Well, then, you’re right—her kindness has a motive.” Maggie gave me a strained smile. “Even if she’s killing two birds with one stone, I’m grateful for the help. Those boxes have been gathering dust down in the town archives for decades. I pulled the ones with pictures upstairs for the displays, so I can only imagine what she’s finding in these are boring minutes from town hall meetings, election data, anything that hasn’t been digitized yet.”

  My stomach felt a bit queasy. “I wish we could’ve gone through them first,” I said.

  “Well, she’s going to return them, silly!” Maggie set the tea boxes on the counter for me and went back to the kitchen.

  “What does she think she’ll find,” I muttered, wiping down the next table. “We know Mr. Lindstrom has the hunter and the wolf photographs.”

  “It could be purely Millicent related,” Morgan said, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Maybe.” I sat down across the table from Morgan. “But Ezra was at Maggie’s meeting last night for more than just civic goodwill.”

  Morgan’s smile was grim. “You could be right.”

  “We need to know who the hunters are. Who the wolves might target next.”

  “You can’t just go ask Nathaniel, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No, but I do know someone who might talk.” Yes, one person who maybe knew something and owed the guy I loved a favor.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, I headed up Bob Murphy’s steps with a bag of freshly baked almond–poppy seed muffins. I only had about an hour before school, so I hoped this fact-finding mission would be quick.

  The place was painted the color of spearmint gum and accented with forest green trim. A stack of firewood, jigsawed together in a symmetrical row, ran along the edge of the garage, which was large enough to house an RV. I knocked and waited, second-guessing my scheme of visiting Bob. But before I could chicken out, the door opened a crack.

  “Oh, hey there,” Bob said, reaching a bandaged hand out to unhook the chain.

  “Sorry to come by so early, but I thought you and your wife might like some fresh muffins from the coffee shop.”

  The door swung open wider, revealing Bob’s outfit of saggy sweatpants and a faded Seattle Seahawks football jersey. Bandages wound around his neck and he had reddish scabs on his cheeks and lips. “Well, that’s thoughtful of you,” he said, taking the bag. “The wife ran out on an errand. She’ll be sorry she missed you.” He seemed like he was about to close the door on me, so I took a step closer on the threshold.

  “May I come in for a moment and visit with you?” I said quickly. “I mean, until Flo gets back? It’s a shame I missed her.”

  His smile twitched, but he moved out of the way to let me inside. “Well, sure. I’m not sure we’re fit for company, but you’re welcome to wait.”

  Inside, I found at least a dozen eyes staring at me from trophy mounts of elk, deer, and even a stuffed fox. I tried not to let my distress show, but when I walked past a dead squirrel frozen in mid-nibble of an acorn, I shivered. No wonder Bob had been so psyched to kill a wolf. He was a collector as well as a hunter.

  “It’s like a nature museum, isn’t it?” he said, noticing my gaping at all the animals in his cavernous living room. He smiled proudly.

  “Something like that,” I said, swallowing.

  Bob moved a large stack of unopened mail from the crowded surface of the coffee table, clearing a spot for the bag of muffins. Then he pulled one from the bag and parked himself in a camo patterned recliner. As he kicked out the footrest, he waved me toward the matching couch. “My wife mentioned she’d seen you and your boyfriend at the coffee shop the other day. Man, I’d like to shake his hand. If he hadn’t pulled me out of the office, I woulda been a goner.”

  “Yeah, it was lucky we were out.” I lowered myself onto the sofa and tried to focus on Bob. “I don’t know much about how the investigation is going, but my father interviewed you at the hospital, right?”

  He nodded. “I hear they have a suspect in custody now. Mac Williams called over to tell me.”

  “Why do you think some random stranger would’ve set your place on fire?”

  Bob ran a hand over an unburned spot on his chin, regarding me. “You might say intimidation. I mean, they scrawled a graffiti message earlier.”

  “I saw that,” I said, giving him an encouraging nod.

  “They didn’t take anything, not that I could tell, anyway. I’d been over there after the vandalism was reported. I’d left, but the door must’ve been unlocked, because your father called me to come lock it. But then someone hit me over the head and well, you know the rest.” He sighed and then took a bite of the muffin. Then, quickly, before he’d even finished that bite, took another bite, stress-eating style.

  “So you have no idea why they’d target you?” I asked. “It seems so strange. And after the string of bad events in the town.”

  “I know why you’re here,” Bob said.

  My stomach dropped. “You do?” I said, shooting a glance toward the nearest exit.

  “You’re trying to connect this to the Bowman-Gray murders. It was no secret Rick Bowman and I were friends.”

  My voice sounded a little strangled as I said, “You spoke in favor of the wolf shooting at the town council meeting.”

  He shrugged and gestured toward the nearest stuffed squirrel. “I’m a hunter. I admit I had more than one reason for wanting that open season.”

  “Were you there the night Rick Bowman died? Were you one of the guys dressed as zombies?”

  Bob raised a bushy eyebrow. “How did you know about the zombie costumes?”

  “Oh, Cooper…he gave an account to the police.”

  Bob eased back in his recliner and then took another bite of the muffin. After he’d swallowed, he said, “Yeah, I was there.”

  The hair on the back of my neck tingled. “You and who else?” I said, in as casual a tone as I could muster. “Maybe the other people are in trouble, too?”

  Bob took another bite of the muffin. “Did your father send you over here to question me unofficially? Because you two seem to be drawing the same conclusions.”

  I sat up straighter on the couch, trying to project some confidence. If there was any chance that Bob suspected Dad and I had been the wolves that were there that night, then this conversation could take a pretty ugly turn. “You don’t want to save the other friends of Rick Bowman who were there that night?”

  Bob finished off the muffin. “You mean the other hunters.” His face seemed to pale a little. Maybe I’d jogged the memory of the grisly death, the gray wolf tearing Rick’s throat out. “I still can’t explain what happened,” he said in a quiet voice, a change from his normally booming tone. “What I saw… Gray, he wasn’t human when he attacked.”

  �
�What?” I gave him a sideways smile. “C’mon, Mr. Murphy. What are you talking about?”

  He paused for a moment, seeming to consider me thoughtfully again. “I haven’t told anyone but Flo this, and she thought it was the painkillers talking,” he said, “but it was a wolf that killed Rick, a wolf that Mrs. Gillingham shot, a wolf that turned into a naked Mr. Gray.”

  I let out a long exhale and tried on a polite smile. “You’re tired,” I said. “I should go.”

  “No,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “You think I’m plumb crazy now, but the others from that night saw her shoot a wolf. You can’t tell anyone. They’ll think I need to see a psychiatrist. But I’m not the only one who saw it.” He lowered the footrest of the recliner as if he meant to get up, wincing a little.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked, actually feeling for the guy. What I could see of the burns didn’t look too bad, but I could imagine there were other places covered and bandaged now that had been injured too.

  “Sure, my pain pills are in on the kitchen counter.” He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

  I went to the wood-paneled kitchen, with its antler cabinet and drawer pulls and woodland-themed dish towels. I took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water, then found his prescription bottle on the counter. When I returned, Bob was still in that pained state, his eyes closed, his mouth tight. I felt sorry for him, to be honest.

  “Here you go,” I said, holding out the water and pill bottle.

  He opened his eyes and took them from me, shaking a few tablets into his hand then popping them into his mouth. “Thank you, Lily.”

  “You seem to be in a lot of discomfort,” I said.

  “Ah, I’m a tough guy,” he said, managing a half-smile. “It’ll take a lot more to kill me than a few burns and a bump on the noggin.”

  I proceeded carefully. “So you think someone was trying to kill you. Mrs. Murphy must be so scared.”

  He set the bottle and the glass on the side table next to his chair. “She is.” He folded his arms across the front of his football jersey and cast a glance toward the door. “We haven’t slept well since the fire.”

  “And what if they come back? What if it isn’t that kid in custody?”

  “Lily,” he said, giving me a flat stare. “It’s probably not a kid. It’s changelings, werewolves, something not-human.”

  I served him a patient smile. “Say I believe you—the creature torched your place. Aren’t you going to warn the other hunters who were there that night?”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna tell the sheriff, ‘Hey, watch over Mike’s house ‘cause there might be a werewolf firebug after him next’?”

  “Mike Lindstrom?” I said, barely able to control my excitement at the confirmation.

  Bob frowned, but shrugged. “He was there.”

  “Who were the others? I mean, isn’t it worth protecting them?” I leaned forward, giving him an encouraging smile.

  “Dang it! I’d rather know who the remaining werewolves were and take them out!” Bob said, sitting up taller in his chair, the pain temporarily forgotten. “One of the wolves was smaller, female, maybe,” he said as he scratched at the edge of one of his bandages.

  I tensed a little. “Rick never told you who he suspected might be the wolves?”

  A car pulled up in the driveway. Probably Flo returning from the store. Just when things were getting good too, I thought.

  “No one believed his ramblings about werewolves!” Bob said, shaking his head. “We wanted trophies. Bagging a wolf is a big thing. He had all kinds of names of townsfolk he was throwing out. Heck, we all thought he was nuts. Now, I wish I’d taken him seriously.”

  The front door opened and Flo called out a cheery “Hello!”

  “In here,” Bob shouted back.

  I got up from the couch, realizing that Flo would put a damper on more admissions from Bob. “I’ll head out.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to run off. You know, we’ve had a lot of food and flowers dropped off, but you’re the first real company who’s spent time. Thank you,” Bob said, true gratitude lacing his words.

  “I’ve got to get to school,” I said.

  “Oh, Lily,” Flo said, entering the living room. “Did you bring that handsome boyfriend of yours? We really need to have you two over for dinner sometime to thank him.”

  “No, no. You don’t have to do that. Have to get going. ‘Bye!” I hurried out of the house.

  Bob hadn’t moved from the recliner, but he called out good-bye and thanks for the muffins.

  Outside, I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Lindstrom. He probably knew who else was there that night.

  I thought back to the folder of festival photos Tom Lindstrom had hidden from us on the staff’s drive. Was it a conscious choice to hide his dad’s involvement with the zombie crew? Maybe Tom knew more than he was saying—more than finding an old photo of a hunting society. Maybe he knew his father was a hunter who’d seen at least one werewolf transform.

  ***

  That day at lunch, I made a point to sit at Tom’s table. He normally hung out with his friends, but it was early in the period and they were still in the food line.

  “Hey.” I set my brown bag down and lowered myself onto the bench.

  He swallowed his bite of sandwich and said, “Alicia and Jeanie out sick today?”

  “Just mixing up my lunch appointments a little.” I pulled out the container of salad from my bag and shook the little tub of dressing. I stirred a little of the dressing into the greens and chicken with my fork. “Hey, so I found a file of photos you took at the festival. What was up with hiding those?”

  His gaze dropped to his sandwich. “Oh, I shoved them somewhere by mistake and could never find the folder again when I searched.”

  I nodded as if I believed his story. “Some good costume photos in there. We could’ve used them for the paper.”

  “Alicia’s were better. Mine were random crowd shots.”

  “Yeah, but a few showed your dad in his zombie costume, and he was pretty creepy looking. I barely recognized him,” I said, hedging a little. I hadn’t been through all the photos yet, but he didn’t know that.

  Tom took a sip of pop. “Truth? I didn’t want any pictures of him published in the school paper. Something happened with my dad that night.”

  “What happened?” I said, taking a bite of the salad.

  “He missed the costume contest and the dance and came back rattled, washed his makeup off, threw his costume in the trash. Not sketchy at all,” he said, adding a nervous laugh.

  “But if it had something to do with the Gray-Bowman murders, they already have the facts and the killer,” I said.

  “Didn’t know that at the time.”

  “I get it. But who was he with in the photos? I mean, he was only one of the zombies, right? Who were the others? I know Bob Murphy was one,” I added, dangling what I’d learned.

  “I saw him in the photos,” Tom said, picking up his sandwich again. “And Mr. Pinter.”

  “What? What was our school librarian doing shooting at wolves?”

  “Shooting?” Tom gave me a funny look and set down his sandwich. “Dad’s been sleeping with his shotgun next to his bed. I didn’t know why, but now you have me thinking. And then there’s the photograph of his great-grandpa in that hunting group.”

  “Has he said anything to you about it? About the hunting group?”

  “Not yet. But I’m digging into history a little. We could blow the lid off this town’s secrets. I mean, hunter clubs, astronomy weirdoes? There’s enough for a full issue. Ms. Wilson had the right idea. This town is strange. It’s time we all knew the truth.”

  My skin prickled with goose bumps, but I forced another bite of salad, pretending things were just fine. I hadn’t expected Tom to be so psyched about uncovering history. The wolves in town wouldn’t like that.

  In fact, Tom might make himself as big a target as his father, just by
doing what I was always trying to do—uncover the truth.

  ***

  That afternoon I hustled down the hall to fifth period, hoping to catch Ms. Wilson alone in her classroom before the bell, to confront her about the boxes she’d taken from Maggie’s, but she already had company. Mr. Pinter, the school librarian, was handing her a stack of books that she then stuffed into a canvas shopping tote.

  My skin prickled, remembering Tom had mentioned seeing him in the zombie photos. I had trouble reconciling that with my earlier experiences with Mr. Pinter. He’d been helpful before when my father had been missing. He’d provided maps and geological surveys that I’d used during the search. It made me shiver to think maybe he’d had another reason to help me find my dad. Had the hunters suspected Dad even then?

  I ducked back around the corner, pretending to fiddle with a locker’s combination as Mr. Pinter exited the classroom. He didn’t seem to notice me.

  Ms. Wilson looked up and smiled as I entered the room. I noticed she was back to her normal put-together appearance. Her gray dress was accented with a forest green belt and matching ribbon at the hem. Her dark hair swooped into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her cat-eye glasses dangled from a pretty chain.

  I went right to her desk. “What’s happening with your ghost investigation?” I asked, jumping right in. “Are you putting it in your book?”

  “Why?” Ms. Wilson’s scarlet lips formed a tight smile.

  “I think you should let it go. All of this, in fact. Millicent was a real person in town. And the ravens.”

  “Oh, yes, the ravens,” Ms. Wilson said, getting out of her chair. “There were some contemporaries of hers who wanted to put a stop to her raven rehabilitation.” She glanced at the big clock on the wall; students were filing in around us for class. “She began by rehabbing injured birds, that’s what the cages were in the backyard. Quickly, it escalated into feeding multitudes of birds. An unkindness of ravens. Neighbors complained about the noise, the mess, the petty robbery of little trinkets. You know, gifts from the ravens.”