All in all, it hadn’t been a bad day. Just as Jolene was leaving for the night, my Halloween stuff arrived from the market. I tipped the high school kid, who said his shy hellos to Jolene (who didn’t seem to think he was all that stupid, judging by the blush to her cheeks), and set them inside. There would be time to arrange them tomorrow. I turned the sign to “closed,” waved to Jolene, locked the door, and began closing curtains.
I yanked the curtains sharply at first, and then…just stopped. I was transfixed by the sunset’s dying light playing on the rain rivulets running down the window panes. They trickled down in straight lines and sometimes, without rhyme or reason, took sharp turns to make new downward rivers. It was hypnotizing. When I finally shook myself loose and looked at my watch again, a full twenty minutes had passed.
Embarrassed for daydreaming, I quickly closed the rest of the curtains and hurried upstairs to change. Ed had texted me earlier and said he was taking me to a more rustic, homespun sort of dinner. So I thought jeans would be in order, a lacy bra, and a slightly tighter sweater.
I turned to and fro in front of the mirror. Not bad. I couldn’t decide whether to let my hair grow longer or keep it trimmed. It hung just to my shoulders and had a nice swing to it. Longer might get in the way of working, though. In the summer, I often wore it in a ponytail.
My watch said seven fifteen when I trotted downstairs. Ed was there at the door on the dot.
He was in his civvies: a leather bomber jacket, dark sweater over a button-down shirt, and dark jeans. I’d forgotten how handsome he was. He leaned in to give me a quick kiss, maybe to remind me what I had to look forward to.
Grabbing my coat, I accompanied him to his car, the sheriff’s black and white Interceptor as it turned out. I looked around at the dash, at the CB radio, the laptop attached to the center console, the holsters for guns. As he started the engine, he checked the radio. “Sorry,” he said when he saw me noticing. “We’ve had a missing persons case and I want to monitor the situation.”
“Missing person?” My heart grew cold. Had it begun again?
“Yeah,” he said, backing up and aiming down the street into the heart of Moody Bog. “A jogger. Went missing yesterday morning. We searched the trail but didn’t see anything. We never really had much crime here, but sometimes there are outside elements, like Hansen Mills.”
Hansen Mills was where his brother Doug had his biker gang. They had warned me about staying away from Hansen Mills, but I figured, sooner or later, I’d be invited back, and by “invited,” I meant “abducted.” Again. I wondered if that’s what happened to the jogger.
“I hope it’s not anyone I know. I mean, I’ve only met a few people…”
“Nichole Meunier. Ever hear of her?” When I shook my head, he turned into the rain and switched on the windshield wipers. “She usually kept on her place down in the hollow. Organic farmer. A friend called when the animals started making lots of noise.”
“How awful. Is anyone taking care of the animals?”
“Her neighbors. We’re a pretty tight bunch here in Moody Bog. We take care of our own.”
And know each other’s business, was the other unspoken thought. Ed already knew about my transgressions with Ruth Russell, but never went into detail. I was dying to ask how much he’d heard but kept silent.
We didn’t drive far. There wasn’t any driving too far within the precincts of Moody Bog, though there were other homesteads up in the hills surrounding the town center, and, apparently, some farms “down in the holler.”
We moved down the curve of the road. On the right was a white clapboard church, just like in postcards. Idyllic. Steeple and all. But there was a secret there too, one I had yet to explore. Why had the custodian put a pentagram in his closet? I had run into him at the Chamber of Commerce get-together, and he seemed like a crusty old bird. But he wasn’t part of my Wiccans. I had to find out more about him. I didn’t want any of Doug’s Ordo offshoots anywhere near me.
“Kylie, did you hear me?”
Oh shit. I hadn’t. “I’m sorry, Ed. What did you say?”
“I said that I hoped you’d like some of our local fare. Are you a fish fan?”
“Very much. Ate a lot back in Huntington Beach.” And speaking of where I came from…“Hey, Ed, have you ever heard the name ‘Strange’ mentioned when the locals talked about the founders?”
Before answering, he pulled into what looked like a shack on the crest of a hill overlooking the dark Atlantic below. There was light coming through the gingham curtains and plenty of cars filling the surrounding parking lot.
He got out and came around to my side just as I grabbed for the handle. I couldn’t recall ever having a man open the door for me before, and here was Ed doing it a second time. I blushed as I got out. The rain had let up, so we walked like normal people instead of running inside like something was after us. The restaurant smelled of butter and crab cakes and toasty loaves of bread.
We grabbed a gingham-covered table in the busy and tiny restaurant, with a small votive candle flickering between us, and paper napkins at our places. Peeling off our jackets, he took both and hung them up by the door. I guess there was no chance of someone walking off with mine with the sheriff present.
“It’s cute,” I said of the restaurant.
“And it’s real good home-cooked food.”
“You must go out a lot. Or do you cook?”
“I cook a little, but not like this. I do a good clambake, though.”
I smiled. It was all so cliché, but I guessed clichés came from some grain of truth at one time or another.
The waitress came up with her notepad. “Hi, Sheriff. Hi, Ms. Strange.”
“Oh…hi…” I checked her nametag. “…Megan. You can call me Kylie.”
“Will do! What can I get for you folks tonight?”
“I’m going to let the local order for me.”
Ed smiled. “We’ll both have the chowder and lobster rolls. And a couple of Bog Brews.” He smiled again. “That’s our local microbrew.”
We settled in and he leaned toward me, resting his arms on the table. “So…to answer your question about the ‘Strange’ surname…I can’t say that I have heard it associated with the founders. I would have told you to ask Karl Waters, but…” We both seemed to give him a moment of silent memorial. But if “Strange” was not a founder name, then chances are Ruth wasn’t my cousin. Except that I had seen the name on her papers, hadn’t I? “Ruth Russell would know more about that,” Ed went on. “But speaking of Ruth…I heard a rumor about that Knitting Social. You never did get done telling me what exactly happened.”
I dropped my head on my hand. “Jeez. I am really embarrassed about that. I don’t know what you heard, but that’s all I was doing in her library, just looking for relatives…and I found them.”
“Really?”
“By the way, what exactly did you hear?”
“A few things. That you were stealing something from her, that you crashed her party—”
“I was invited!”
“That you made a scene and had to be thrown out.” He was looking at me steadily.
I rested my hands demurely one over the other. “I didn’t make a fuss,” I said primly. “I took myself out of there…before she could throw me out. She caught me. But I wasn’t stealing anything. I was just looking.”
“Why didn’t you just ask her?”
“Because I believe in asking forgiveness rather than permission. She might have said no.”
“She’ll certainly say it now.”
“I know. But I plan to go to the library and see if anyone else has any archives. Someone must.”
“And you really did find your name?”
“I thought I did. I was pretty rushed. But if it is true, then it looks like Ruth and I are cousins…distant, but still. I…recently remembered that my grandfather lived somewhere hereabouts. I used to come here for the summer when I was very small.
”
“To Moody Bog?” He seemed surprised that anyone would come here.
“I’m not sure of that. I don’t remember where we were exactly. And my mom…passed away a few months ago. There’s no one left to ask.”
“I’m so sorry, Kylie. Were you close?”
“Yeah. We were. And it’s funny that I didn’t remember anything about Maine before. But I think the last time I was here I was six. So that was over twenty years ago.”
“I’ll ask around, if you’d like. I know some old-timers who might know.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
We chatted some more. He told me about his home life, giving me a few insights about Doug, the black sheep, who couldn’t seem to fit in. I talked about California. Our beers arrived and not too long after that the clam chowder in small bowls, with a heap of warm rolls in a basket. I gorged myself on the savory soup and soft bread. And then the lobster rolls arrived. Hoagies stuffed with chunks of mouth-watering lobster. I was happy to devour it all.
We each had another beer and hung out some more to let our food settle. I would have liked to take a walk, but once we got outside, it was bone-chillingly cold. Instead, we got into the car and Ed gave me a driving tour of the area, pointing out the highlights, the different neighborhoods. I saw the high school, the combination elementary and junior high, some of the farms, though we couldn’t see much in the darkness. The clouds had cleared, though, and the moon and stars gave their own light to the freshly rain-swept countryside. I could make out the occasional barns and farmsteads in the distance, their chimneys puffing with blue-gray smoke lit by starlight.
Between the rustic fences lining the road, the warm vintage street lights, the cozy houses with their pumpkin-clad porches, I liked Moody Bog. I felt good about most of its inhabitants, especially the handsome sheriff. But the effect was slightly dimmed by what else was here, what I had unwittingly brought to it. And I began to wonder if I had ruined the idyllic nature of Ed’s village, if I was responsible for changing it in ways that could never be repaired. People had died, after all. And that was on me.
Something had to be done about the Booke. It couldn’t be allowed to harass some other little town in another three hundred years. Bricking it up in a wall had obviously not protected the town as Constance Howland had thought.
Ed’s phone chimed. He clicked it and put it to his ear. “Bradbury here.” He listened, offering an occasional, “Yeah…yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Police business?”
“Yeah.” He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “Someone else has gone missing between here and Hansen Mills. The daughter of one of the dairymen up there. My deputy is on it with the help of the staties.”
“Oh. Do you have to go?”
“No. They’ve got it covered, but I’ll be briefed early tomorrow.”
“How old was she?”
“She was about twenty, I think.”
“Do you think this has to do with the other one? The jogger?”
“Not enough evidence yet to link them. But it’s suspicious. You know, one of the things I like about being sheriff here is the lack of big-city crime. Like I said, we have the occasional theft and kids getting out of hand, even the occasional bit of drunk driving. And it’s not as if we weren’t trained.” He shook his head. “Dammit, I know every one of these people here. They’re my people, and I take it personal when someone murders or kidnaps them.”
What could I say? I wanted to comfort him, offer him platitudes like “You’ll get ’em, Ed.” But I knew that was a lie. Because you couldn’t arrest a succubus. And I’d already killed it. How would he ever resolve this for himself? I could see how mired we would soon get with the layers of lies I would be obliged to tell him, and I didn’t like the look of it.
“Then these goats went missing,” he went on with a grumble.
“What about them? Someone planning a barbeque?”
“If it were only that simple. Last time this happened it was my brother doing his stupid witchcraft. He was sacrificing them. Can you believe that?”
I sure didn’t like the sound of that. I wondered if Doc knew the kind of spell you did with a goat sacrifice. Probably too many to nail down.
Ed huffed an exasperated sound. “And the worst part of it is I kept it off the record. Do you know how much trouble I could be in if that ever got out? I can’t let it go a second time. You see what I mean about Doug getting third and fourth chances? I don’t know what to do with that idiot. If only he’d dump this stupid witchcraft crap.” He glanced at me sheepishly. “I don’t mean any offense. I know you and Doc’s Wiccans are close.”
“But they don’t do animal sacrifices. Frankly, I can’t see any of them having the stomach for it.”
“That’s good to hear.” He looked relieved. “I mean…I was pretty sure about them, but to have you vouch for them, that means a lot to me.”
The smile he offered meant a lot to me.
He pulled up in front of my place, put the car in park, and turned off the engine. I could see him wiping the police business out of his mind. “But we aren’t supposed to be talking about that. This is a date.”
“Would you like to come in?”
“Love to.”
We unbuckled, but he was damned fast getting out and coming around to open my door, almost before my seat belt could reel itself in.
I unlocked the front door, switched on a lamp, and hung my coat on the hall tree. “Would you like some coffee? Or how about some relaxing herbal tea?”
“I’m not much of a tea drinker.”
I faked an arrow to my heart. “Right where I live!”
“Sorry. I guess I’m not your demographic.”
“That’s okay. Coffee…or something else? I have brandy.”
He followed me into the kitchen and didn’t speak as I pulled down a bottle from the cupboard. Since I didn’t own snifters, I grabbed two wine glasses. “I hope this is okay. I’m not a connoisseur, I’m afraid, but someone gave this to me and they seemed to know what they were talking about, brandy-wise.”
I prepared a tray with brandy and glasses and brought it to the living room area, where I ran the shop. Ed got the fire going as I poured. He looked down with a frown at the pentagram on the floor, but he didn’t ask and I didn’t offer.
As we sat together on the sofa and sipped, I realized that this was exactly what I had been looking for when I left California: a man like this by my side, the future sprawled before me.
I turned to Ed with a pensive expression. He put down his glass, suddenly slid forward, and cupped my cheeks. There was no hesitation on my part. I met him halfway. His mouth was soft and warm and he opened to me. The sweetness of it soon turned to heat. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing him closer. The brandy-flavored kiss deepened. I felt his heart thudding against my chest…or was it mine? I just wanted more of him. He drew back only enough to nip at my lips, my chin, and then to drag sucking kisses down my throat to the base. He murmured a soft, “Kylie…” before his lips moved up my neck to my ear and left soft kisses behind it.
His hands were at my waist and slowly crept lower until fingers slipped underneath my sweater’s hem, teasing my tingling skin. I was this close to lifting that sweater up myself, but I liked the feel of his large hands, the nipping and hard breaths at my neck. My hands were doing a bit of exploring on their own. He had a hard, muscled chest. I could feel that even through two layers of sweater and shirt. And just so he knew exactly where I was in the process, I dropped my hand to his lap…and squeezed.
He jolted for a second, breath hitching, before his hand seemed to get the go-ahead and slid fully up under my sweater, and with a groan I felt in my bones, he found a handful of breast.
I threw back my head and let him push the sweater up over my lacy bra. He dropped his head there and I clutched his hair in my fingers, gasping at his warm lips and breath. My eyes were
half-lidded when I tilted my head just that much.
The curtains to the front window were slightly parted and I happened to glance toward them. I wasn’t worried that someone would see. My shop was yards and yards away from the nearest house and surrounded by woods.
First, a shadow. Then, a figure appeared in that small opening and glared through the window. Erasmus!
CHAPTER THREE
I screamed. Ed sprang back and fell to the floor. I stood and yanked my sweater back down.
Ed looked up at me with glazed-eyed shock. “What…what…?”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I thought I saw a…a rat. Um, right over there!” I pointed vaguely away from the window.
Ed made a half-hearted laugh and leaned his arm on his upraised knee. “A rat? Seriously?”
“Yes. I…I have to put out a trap.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I just hate those kinds of things. I can’t stand the thought of them.”
“Well…I’ll put it out for you then…”
“No, that’s okay. I think the mood has effectively fled.”
He dropped his head and ran his hand up over his sweaty neck. “Okay. All right.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Clearly it wasn’t. Especially after he rose. Those were some tight jeans. “I’ll…leave you to it then. If…you’re sure.”
“Yes.” I hugged myself.
He nodded, resigned. He strode to the door and grabbed his coat but didn’t put it on. I sympathized. I really did.
Erasmus’s timing was superb as always.
Ed turned at the doorway and took my hand, pulling me in. His kiss was rough at first but then softened. “I had a good time tonight. Despite…” He gave an exasperated sigh. “At least this time I wasn’t knocked unconscious.”
“There is that. I’m really sorry. Maybe…your place next time. If you still want a next time.”
“I do. I’ll cook. And I promise, there will be no rats…or owls…or badgers or anything else.”
“It’s a date.”
“I’ll call you.” He kissed me again, turned, and got into his car.
Deadly Rising Page 3