Mayor Orthell hesitated. “This needs to be off the record.”
Campo turned off the small recorder and stuck it in his pocket. “Done.” His hand still on the recorder in his pocket, he turned it on again.
The mayor looked toward the skull, lost in thought. He turned back.
“I was approached by a person who wants to remain anonymous. A person who knew how much I wanted to save those buildings. After all, most of them come from where my ancestors originated and they have always held a special place for me.”
“Most of them?”
“Yes, the one from the fjord was not in the original plan. The benefactor requested it be moved here also.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t say. It was a small price to pay to bring this opportunity to Ravens Cove.”
“What else does this very generous patron get out of it?”
“Of course he will get some of the profits. The rest is a gift.”
“He?”
Tommy Orthell flinched. “I said he’s anonymous.”
Campo snapped pictures of the cabin’s interior before they made their way to the mercantile, hotel and cannery. The interview ended at the house.
Orthell walked Campo to his car. “The friend of Ravens Cove is dead serious about being left unnamed. And he gets very upset when things don’t go the way he expects.”
“You know me. I’m the epitome of tact and diplomacy.” Campo smiled.
“I mean it. Don’t try to find out who he is.”
“I hear you. I’ll keep it under wraps.” Campo shot another smile at him over his shoulder before he drove away.
“He’s a problem.” A disembodied voice spoke as clearly as someone was standing next to him.
“No. He’ll do as I say.”
“He’s a problem.”
“Please. Let me take care of it.”
“Who are you talking to?” Brandon McGill walked toward the mayor, holding out a book.
“Jenny told me you were here. Thought I’d deliver this to you; sounded like you wanted it as soon as it got here.”
The gold lettering on a dark sand background glinted in the afternoon sun.
“The Legends of the Denali—a Comprehensive Collection,” he read aloud. “Thanks for bringing it to me so late in the day.”
“Who were you talking to?”
Orthell gave a small chuckle. “Me, myself and I.”
Brandon seemed to accept the explanation. He looked at the old buildings. “They look much more foreboding than I remember.”
“Good. That’s what I’m hoping for. After all, the Forgotten Place is foreboding. Add the events of last fall and we have a real tourist attraction.”
“I see what you mean. Well, then, you’ve done a good job.”
Brandon turned and walked back out the circle to Main. He looked at his watch and picked up his pace. It was almost three and he didn’t want to be late.
The farthest thing from Kat’s mind was a meeting with Brandon McGill at three o’clock. She had been roped into the report after Bart had searched her out at Grandma’s. Then the vet had called about the white wolf.
“Dr. Carl has not been able to make a decision,” Bart called out from his office.
“Why not?”
“It has a skin infection. So bad he can’t even be touched. When Carl tried, he almost lost a hand. He’d be treating himself for a bite if he hadn’t gotten out of the way in time.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Doc gave him a mild tranq so he could get intravenous fluids and antibiotics into him. Says he won’t know anything until that animal starts feeling better. He also said he doesn’t hold out much hope. It’s really sick. Even if the infection’s the cause of the aggression, it may not matter. He could die from the illness. Sorry, Kat.”
“Don’t condemn him yet.” Kat grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
“I’m going to see Doctor Douglas. The report’s done.”
“Thanks and no I don’t need anything else right now.”
Kat managed to shrug her coat on before she stepped into the cold. Brandon McGill watched in astonishment as she sailed past Jo’s.
“Be back in a few.” Ken walked to the door and out. Kat was already yards ahead of him. He’d need to run to catch her. He looked at the icy sidewalk and opted for a fast walk.
“Hey, Kat.”
Ken watched as Kat marched her way up the street, oblivious to whoever was calling her name. Ken followed the voice and realized with satisfaction it was Brandon standing half in and half out of Jo’s door waving to Kat’s back.
Ken did an about-face, stuck his hands in his pockets and started to whistle. He’d catch up with Kat later. He sauntered back into the station to wait for Bart who, after a long discussion that had turned into a battle of wills and logic, had finally agreed to take Ken to see Grandma.
Kat sailed into the vet’s office and rang the bell on the front counter. Nyna popped out from the back.
“Hi, and what can we do for you today? Is BC okay?”
“He’s fine. I heard about that wolf, though. Is Doc Carl here? It sounds like he’s going to put him down.”
“Slow down. He hasn’t decided that yet.”
“He can’t. That creature deserves a chance.”
“An animal that is a danger to people doesn’t get a chance. You know that.” Nyna answered.
“I don’t agree.”
Doc Carl walked out of the back. Bart had called with a heads-up on Kat’s disposition and to let them know she was headed in their direction.
He smiled that knowing doctor smile. Kat turned to launch into her sermon on the rights of animals.
He held up both hands. “Kat, I didn’t say we were putting him down. I said it didn’t look good. But for the good of all, if that animal continues to lunge and snap at me, he will have to be put down.”
Kat bit the inside of her bottom lip. She made a decision.
“Can I see him?”
Doc Carl sighed. “Do you promise not to get within arm’s reach of the kennel?”
“Yes!”
He motioned her behind the swinging half door of the counter and escorted her to a large room full of mostly empty kennel suites. Two of Fergy Jensen’s mushing dogs were in residence. At the far corner, isolated from the barking huskies, lay a hulk of a canine. His fur was glossy white. His breathing was steady. He was hooked up to an IV. Kat tiptoed to the kennel.
“He’s tranquilized for his own good. He had to be in a tremendous amount of pain. I’m not sure he’ll make it through the infection, Kat, even if he is a good animal. His body is ravaged.”
Kat looked up into the Doctor’s eyes and nodded. The animal had the appearance of one that had been wasting away for a long time. Upon closer inspection, large patches of fur were missing. Boils, red and rageful, gathered in clumps like menacing flower petals. His breathing was labored.
“I don’t understand why Gary, or anyone for that matter, would let an animal go through this torture.”
“I don’t either, Kat, but I’ve seen it more than I care to. People look at animals as things. Not like living, breathing, creatures of God. Good stewardship is hard to find and, of course, I see owning an animal as a huge responsibility.” He smiled at her.
“When will you know?”
“It’s gonna take at least forty-eight hours to see if he can fight the infection. After that, we’ll see what we shall see. I won’t put him down unless I have to.”
“I know. Sorry to bust in here. Just got to me that he was abandoned the way he was. If we hadn’t gone out there looking for Gary that poor beast would have died from this raving infection and starvation. No living creature deserves that. I don’t understand God. How can He not care and stop this stuff?”
“That’s a question for Pastor Lucas and a good one at that.”
“Well, enough ranting for one session.”
“Anytime, anytime.”
T
hanks, Doc. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“How’s Bart?” Nyna called out from behind the desk.
“He’s doing okay—busy with this stuff, though.”
“Bet he is. Hey, does Bart like cookies?”
“He’s the original cookie monster.”
“Great. Would you take him these? Fresh baked last night.”
“Be happy to.” She took the bag, gave Nyna a big smile and started back for the police station.
Bart was driving toward her and slowed. “Going to Grandma’s. What’s that?”
Kat held the package out toward the truck. “Oh, these are for you—from Nyna.” She stuck the bag through the window.
Ken smiled. “Told you so.”
“Told him what?”
“Never mind, you want to come along?”
Kat looked at her watch. It was three-thirty. “Oh for the love of Pete! I missed an appointment. I need to run. I’ll catch up with you later.” She took off toward Jo’s. She scanned the small eating area.
“Seen Brandon?”
Laura Talen, the new hire, walked to the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.
“He left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Rats.” Kat felt terrible, but she also felt a little relief. She had kept the appointment to prove to Wendy and more to herself that she was moving on from Kenneth.
“Thanks.” Kat turned and headed to the door. She considered crossing the street to the library, then decided to call Wendy instead.
“What’s up, KittyKat?”
“Want to go to Mrs. Tellamoot’s for a visit?”
“Not my idea of excitement for the evening ahead. Why?”
“Well, you know she lost her dog in December.”
“He lived a long, long, long life.” Wendy emphasized that Benny, Mrs. Tellamoot’s half-wolf, half-husky had lived far longer than anyone would have expected. He had died at the ripe old age of seventeen, a dignified age for any dog.
“I want to do a wellness check on her and talk to her about that white wolf Bart retrieved from Gary’s.”
“You mean, you want to do a placement check for an abandoned, neglected, and possibly dangerous canine.”
Kat didn’t respond.
“Okay, girlfriend, I’ll come and get you. Where are you?”
“In front of Cassie’s. I’ll meet you here.” Kat caught her reflection in the salon window. She had chopped her unruly hair off in a hurry a week ago. It looked like it had been through a bad blender experience. Her always-present cowlick stuck up at the crown of her head, somewhat tamed by the generous gel she had used to plaster it down this morning. She ran her hands down both sides and the natural wave, now natural spikes, popped back into position.
Why do I care? She asked herself.
Because I want him to know what he’s missing. She answered.
“Vanity thy name is Kat Tovslosky.” She walked into the salon and made an appointment.
Wendy drove up to the curb, slamming the brakes and sliding into a parked position.
“Jump in.”
Kat hurried to the passenger side. Wendy turned a U in the street and they headed out of town to Mrs. Tellamoot’s home.
Brandon McGill watched as his no-show of a date and her sidekick sped past. He waved but Kat didn’t notice. She was in an animated conversation with her best friend. A frown replaced the smile he had thrown on. He turned, opened the library door and disappeared inside.
Johnny Campo’s research of the news’ archives began as a routine examination of the history of the Old Town buildings, and looking for facts to support a possible boon to the Ravens Cove economy. Instead, the old investigative reporter had replaced the fact-finder as the research progressed. The official news story at the time was that the citizens of the Forgotten Place had succumbed to an unknown disease. But one article had added another reason for the destruction of the town. It was a piece slanted more to disparage the Alaska Native as superstitious then to address the facts. But it was there just the same.
Interviews with some of the villagers who had been away fishing and hunting that summer, left more questions than answers. It was reported that every person in the village, young or old, was found with broken legs. Their necks were ripped open as if they had been attacked by animals.
“But that would have been impossible.” He pondered aloud. “Someone would have shot the animal or animals, before they could kill the entire village.”
The only survivor, Mita Podratshrell, told the returning hunters about the slaughter. She rambled on about small, nasty- looking people scoping the village days before the deaths, punishment for being unfaithful to their god, and not listening to her husband’s warnings of a disaster to come. Her account was attributed to the delusions of a traumatized mind. A footnote said Mrs. Podratshrell had succumbed to the shock and died a few days later.
An unnamed photographer snapped a few pictures of the scene. Those pictures had somehow made it into the Ravens Cove archives. Dozens of people lay in the streets, their legs in unnatural positions, their throats open. A note on the back of one photo read, “the photographer met his untimely death when killed by wolves.”
No bad press. The photos were never revealed and the village was quarantined. The rumor that the people were ravaged by a rare disease took hold. Campo thought. Two names of the villagers came up over and over: Mita Podratshrell and a certain member of the hunting party, one Oliver Podratshrell. It was noted in the log that his occupation was: Religious Leader. He was the second to discover the dead. The rest of the hunting party was a day behind him. Another footnote said that Mr. Podratshrell had died of natural causes before the hunting party got back to the town.
“You do have some explaining to do, Tommy Orthell.” Johnny Campo grabbed his coat and headed to town hall.
Ravens Cove had not yet yielded to nightfall by the time Johnny Campo reached the town hall.
“Need to see Orthell.”
“He’s gone for the day, Mr. Campo,” Jenny, the all-business assistant replied.
“I need to talk to him—tonight. Do you know where he went?”
Jenny stopped typing, looked over her reading glasses and studied Campo. “Urgent?”
“Urgent.”
She sighed, weighing her loyalties between the mayor and the town council. The mayor might give her grief but Campo could get her fired.
“Think he went over to Old Town. He said something about the lights and heat giving the electricians and plumbers trouble.”
“Thanks, Ms. Crandall.” He hurried down the ornate stairs. Johnny Campo’s instincts told him to wait until morning. His need to print a hot story overcame the warning bells. The weekly paper came out the next day and this story would be a news maker.
The north wind picked up as Campo made his way through the courtyard of Old Town. Dark trees groaned under the weight of the gale. The sound reminded Campo of rusted hinges creaking as a long-closed door was opened.
He lifted the old Nikon camera and snapped a picture. Old Town was an unwelcoming place at night—perfect for the spooky story that had already begun to weave together in his mind. He dropped the camera when a dark shadow caught his eye.
“Mayor?” He called to the blackness.
He moved to the small cabin and tried the door. Locked. The same was true at the mercantile. Lights poured from the windows in the upper floor of the old house. He made his way back into the courtyard and paused at the boulder. A dull glow pulsed from underneath. He stooped to get a better look. The glow disappeared. Imagining things. He continued to the old house.
He whirled to the sound of loud footsteps. He spun back toward the old house to the sound of shuffling. Spooky old place. He jogged up the steps of the old house and gripped the door’s handle. It gave under the pressure.
Glad you missed this one, Tommy. Campo took one step. A grotesque crack broke the silence. Sharp pain shot down his legs and he dropped to his stomach. His horrified scream broke the s
ilence.
“Shut up, mortal.” Child-size hands took hold of his arms and dragged him down the porch. He pulled forward but could not break free. Ragdoll legs fell in opposite direction. The skull came closer to his view. Once parallel to the skull, the small hands released and his body came to rest. He pushed with his legs but renewed pain was the only response. He lifted his head and saw both legs broken at the knee and turned upside down. A scraping sound drew his attention to the rock. A bright yellow and red glow came from underneath the skull. Four hands pushed him sideways until he fell into the hole beneath.
Mayor Orthell ran to the window of the mansion. He looked over the courtyard, silent except for the howl of the wind through the trees.
“Must have been an owl.”
The mayor left the house and surveyed the quiet town square. “I’m home for the first time in my life. He took a satisfied breath, smiled and made his way to Main.
Orthell never saw his precious house shake with an invisible force. Nor did he see the upstairs attic begin to glow as a round portal of energy appeared in its wall. A body flew through the portal and shattered the dormer and the silence of Old Town as it tumbled with a sickly thud to the courtyard below. Johnny Campo continued to bleed, having lost his neck and heart only moments earlier. The body deflated like a balloon as all his bones melted into liquid.
Cassie Martin huddled into her coat on her way up Main. Her thoughts were on her warm apartment and a hot cup of chocolate. A loud plop shattered those thoughts and brought her to a stop in front of Old Town. “No Trespassing. Violators will be shot,” was nailed to one birch column. Cassie heeded the sign as much because of the warning as the unwelcoming feeling created by the spotlights and the weird rock centerpiece.
Cassie squinted toward the courtyard to locate the source of the noise. A dark shape obscured the light in front of the old house. She tiptoed up to the right post and leaned in to get a better look. Sweat beaded her upper lip in spite of the freezing temperature. She reached a shaky hand into her pocket and punched the speed dial number for the sheriff.
Bart had rightly predicted the tension between Kenneth and Grandma—immediate and strong. What he had not foreseen was the backlash directed at him.
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