Clinton nodded. "I would've thought that too, but Howie's wife is insistent that he wouldn't do that. He was supposed to be at work today for a viewing, and according to her, if he says he's going to be at work, he is. He's totally reliable."

"I wonder what happened," Myrtle said, a hint of worry in her tone.

"What about the reporter from New York? Rory?" Clinton changed the subject.

"He's not missing, is he?" Anna asked quickly.

"Not that I'm aware of," he said. He watched the color rise in her cheeks. She likes the guy, he thought. "Has he been in town today?"

"I haven't seen him," she answered more slowly. "You don't think he's a part of this?"

"No, but he might've seen the hikers."

A loaded pause ensued. Both women appeared shaken up. Strange things were happening in the Crossing, things that left a person feeling on edge.

"Well, I just stopped for coffee," Clinton said, going to the machine near the counter and preparing a cup. The aroma perked him up some. "I've got a lot to do."

"It's on the house," Anna said as he reached for his wallet.

"Thanks." He put on his hat and headed for the door. "You two take care. And watch out."

The closing door shut out their response. He waved goodbye to Jimmy and got in his car. He was headed back to the office where too many things waited. He should've bought some lunch before he left the store. The car's air conditioner drowned out his heavy sigh.

CHAPTER 37.

"I just don't know what's going on in this town," Myrtle said after Clinton had left the store. It was bad enough what happened to those poor boys, but now other people were coming up missing. She didn't like it at all. Not at all.

Anna shrugged. "I don't ever remember such bizarre things going on around here."

"Not for a long time." Myrtle's stomach stirred a bit, thinking about the last time such strange occurrences happened. She'd only heard stories of it, spoken in an offhanded manner, and she always thought of them with a touch of humor, dismissing the tales as silly. But if the stories were true, could it really happen again?

"Have you seen Joan?" Anna asked.

Myrtle shook her head. "No. I checked with Lillian before I came over here, and she hasn't seen or heard from Joan either. She's probably worn out from worry. I'm going to go check on her now."

Jimmy was slumped in his rocker when Myrtle walked out to the porch. He's fading fast, she thought sadly. She left him undisturbed, retrieved Boo, and walked up the road toward the cafe. The temperature was as bad as yesterday, and she was thankful she'd remembered her bonnet. As she pa.s.sed the antique store, Travis came out. He locked the store, attaching a handwritten 'Be Back Soon' sign in the window.

"Lunchtime?" Myrtle asked him. Boo growled.

Travis nodded. "That dog's never liked me," he said, falling in stride with her. "Too bad the cafe's not open. I'd rather eat there than try and scrounge something up at home."

"Joan's too worried to think about opening the cafe."

"Have you seen Douggie and Pam?" he asked, waving a hand at the art gallery. "They haven't been around since yesterday."

The gnawing began in Myrtle's stomach. "They're not at the gallery?"

"Nope. I checked earlier today. I didn't see them."

She halted and looked at the store. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. I didn't see them close up last night either. And they're not at home. I checked on my way here this morning."

The uneasiness that had been eating at her for the past couple of days had grown into a full-fledged worry. She'd been coming to the Crossing for so long she'd lost track, but she couldn't think of a stranger summer. "The store is locked up, right?"

"Yep. Not that they're missing much business on a weekday, as slow as it's been..."

"I hope nothing happened," Myrtle grimaced, starting down the road again, Boo plodding along beside them.

Travis laughed. "They probably took off for a couple of days and didn't say anything. You know those ex-hippie types."

"I'm going to check on Joan," she said as they reached the cafe.

"Have a nice afternoon." He continued on up the road.

Myrtle went on the porch in front of the cafe. The front windows were shut tight, the blinds drawn. It was graveyard quiet. It seemed odd that the picnic tables were empty and that no one was coming or going. Boo made a low noise deep in his throat.

"Shush, you're giving me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s."

She stepped to the door. A 'Closed' sign hung in the window. She knew that Joan and Samuel rarely locked the door, but she knocked anyway, not wanting to surprise Joan, or her helper Manuel, if he was around. After waiting a minute, she turned the k.n.o.b.

Boo growled louder. "What's the matter with you?" she asked him. He answered by plopping his behind squarely on the porch.

"Fine, then. You can stay out here." She patted him on the head and went inside the cafe. A wall of hot air hit her as she stepped into the cafe. "Joan?" Myrtle called out softly. No answer.

The main dining area was bathed in shadows, dust dancing in the shafts of light that seeped through the cracks in the window blinds. She went on through the empty room and into the kitchen. Overhead fluorescent bulbs brightened the room with unnatural light, but no one was around. The faint smell of something burning lingered in the air, but she saw no signs of recent cooking. She stifled a sneeze as she went to a door that led into the lodging part of the bed and breakfast.

The deathly quiet pulled at her, and her arms broke out in goose pimples. She called out Joan's name again, this time softer. She stood still for a moment, but heard nothing. She wondered if Joan was asleep somewhere. The poor woman was already worn thin, and the rest would do her good. Myrtle tiptoed through a small entry area and to a door marked 'Private', where Samuel and Joan had their personal living quarters. It was hotter in here, and the burning odor was stronger, and fetid. Beads of sweat popped up on her forehead. The hair at the base of her skull began to tingle. She was about to go through the door when she heard a voice.

Myrtle hesitated, not wanting to interrupt. The door was partially open, and she began to back away when she saw Samuel through the partially opened door. His back was toward her. Her heart flipped in her chest, and a chill running up through her spine cued her to some kind of danger. She threw a hand over her mouth before she could say anything.

Samuel turned part way around and she got a better view of him. He looked like a beggar. Hair and mustache tousled, clothes wrinkled. And a foul stench emanated from him. It a.s.saulted her nose, reminding her of the smell of Ed Miller's cabin. She was about to say something when Samuel spoke.

"I call you."

At first Myrtle thought Samuel was talking to her. Dread gripped her, and she stayed where she was, too cautious to move. But his eyes stayed focused straight ahead. She shifted quietly and saw Joan, who was standing in the middle of the room, staring at Samuel, her face impa.s.sive. She appeared hypnotized.

"I call you," Samuel repeated. His voice sounded disembodied, not like the good-humored Samuel everyone knew. Joan nodded her head in response to him. Joan stood immobile, her features expressionless.

A wave of fear shot through Myrtle.

"It is time." He raised a hand and pointed toward a door at the far end of the room. Joan did not protest, but began walking in that direction, her steps slow and plodding. He fell in behind her, never looking the other way. If he had, he would've seen Myrtle standing on the other side of the door, terror etched on her face.

Joan and Samuel disappeared from her view. She stood rooted to the same spot, her hand still covering her mouth. She wanted more than anything to let loose her screams, but she knew that it would draw attention to her. And she did not want to address the unspeakable evil that she had seen in Samuel's face.

She finally slumped back against the wall, tears blurring her vision, her thoughts racing. She needed to tell someone about this. Sheriff Truitt? He would think she was insane. Who would believe her? It only took her a moment to settle on an answer.

CHAPTER 38.

"You get your stuff ready to go, you hear me?" Gino D'Angelo stared hard at his son.

Nicholas nodded silently, twirling his fork in his hand. The spaghetti on his plate was barely touched.

"Answer me," Gino raised his voice. "And stop playing with your food." He slapped at Nicholas' hand. Noodles went flying across the corner of the table and onto the floor. Nicholas sat rigid, unable to move for fear of his father.

Mary D'Angelo coughed nervously, then got up quietly from her chair and went into the kitchen, returning with a rag. "Now see what you've done," Gino said as she cleaned up the food.

Nicholas mumbled an apology.

"What?" Gino leaned over, his thick arms on the edge of the table. "What did you say?"

"I said I was sorry," Nicholas said, a little louder. He watched his mother go back into the kitchen. Geez, he hated her as much as he hated his father. She took everything from the jerk! And she never sticks up for me, he thought. Never.

"You mind yourself." Gino flicked a big hand at him, palm open. Nicholas flinched. Gino chuckled. "You better be scared." Gino stared him down, until Nicholas dipped his head, gazing at his plate.

"Now, what was I saying?" Gino asked, taking a big bite of noodles and tomato sauce. Mary had finished cleaning up, and she was back at her place opposite Gino, her posture tense.

"Uh, you were telling Nicholas to get his stuff packed up," Mary said softly, forcing her red lips into a smile. Her makeup was extra heavy today, but it couldn't hide a dark blemish on her left cheek.

Gino stuffed another bite into his mouth. "That's right." He seemed oblivious to the tension palpable in the room. "I want everything packed up by the time we get back. Once your mother and I take care of things with the rental agency and get a flight, I want to be ready to go."

"What about the sheriff?" Mary asked.

A deadly stillness fell over the room. Nicholas' head was down, but he looked askance at his mother. She was staring at her plate, her lips a thin line of fear.

"What did you say?" Gino asked, his voice neither loud nor soft, but eerily calm.

"Nothing," she whispered.

Nicholas slowly moved his eyes the other direction, spying on his father. Gino was looking coldly at her. His silence was worse than him raising his voice in anger.

"I'll get everything packed," he said to distract his father.

Gino continued to stare at Mary. He looked from her to Nicholas and back again. "Good," he finally answered, still looking at Mary. "I'll handle the sheriff. Besides, they don't need us to stay. We had nothing to do with Mick's disappearance."

Nicholas shifted his eyes again. His mother was smart this time. She nodded her head once and focused on eating. Stand up to him! he screamed silently. But he knew why she didn't. Because she was scared, just like he was. He finished his lunch as well, even though he had no appet.i.te. His stomach was in a knot from the anxiety he'd had locked inside all morning.

His father had been on edge since the moment Nicholas got up. He spoke to them in angry, clipped tones as he stalked around the cabin, looking for his fishing equipment. Even after spending an hour at the lake, his mood remained unchanged. Then the sheriff had stopped by to see what else Gino could tell him about Mick and Nicholas' activities of late. Clinton had also asked to speak to Nicholas. He overheard his father from the bedroom, lying to the sheriff, telling him that Nicholas and his mother had gone for a hike and wouldn't be back for quite some time. He wanted desperately to tell Clinton what he had seen the other night in the woods, but he knew what would happen if he came out of his room. That same fear kept his mother in her room until the sheriff had gone.

But the visit had left Gino even more irritable. He didn't like that there was attention being focused on him, or on Nicholas. Once Clinton had gone Gino announced that the family was going back East, away from the trouble in the Crossing and Clinton Truitt's questioning. Since that decision, he had acted with manic precision, organizing what would need to be done before they left: clean the cabin, take care of the early departure with the rental agency, arrange their airline tickets the list went on.

"Nicholas, clear your plate and go get started," his mother said to him.

"I want things cleaned up around here," Gino said as Nicholas pa.s.sed him on the way to the kitchen. "We're going down to Boulder, so you'll have plenty of time."

Nicholas nodded and went to the sink. He filled it with water and poured in the soap, one ear tuned to his father's movements.

"Mary, take your dishes into the kitchen and go get ready. Let Nicholas clean up the rest."

Nicholas heard chair legs sc.r.a.ping on the floor, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as his mother got up from the table. She cleared the dishes and brought them into the kitchen, slipping them into the soapy water. She didn't say a word to him, but left the room. He heard her go into the bathroom, then heard water running.

Gino came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. "You stay here, understand?" He crossed his arms and glared at Nicholas.

"Yes, sir." Nicholas continued washing dishes.

"Those other punks aren't around anymore, but I don't want you out messing around."

He stayed silent.

"What?" Gino barked.

"Yes, sir."

He heard his mother come into the kitchen. He snuck a glance at her. She had spruced up her hair and threw on more makeup, but it didn't hide the fear in her eyes.

"Let's go." Gino grabbed a set of keys off the counter. "We won't be gone for more than a few hours." He clipped Nicholas on the side of the head, just hard enough to sting. Then he left the room, grumbling at Mary. Nicholas gritted his teeth as he attacked another dish. The front screen door slammed.

"Jerk," he said under his breath. He looked out the window over the sink. "I hope you die."

His parents were walking down the short path to the road, where the rental car was parked. Mary walked a step behind Gino, her head down. As they approached the car, two men stepped out from the trees beside the road. Nicholas didn't recognize them. As he watched, the two men appeared to be talking to his father. Nicholas stretched over the sink, trying to see them better. But the sunlight sifting through the tall evergreens created too many shadows, obscuring their faces. In what Nicholas knew was his father's angry stance, Gino put his hands on his hips, his back went straight as a pole, and his head bobbed up and down. One of the men stepped forward and said something else to him. Gino stopped moving and stood still. Then his hands fell to his sides and his body relaxed. The man turned to Mary and tipped her head to look at him. She didn't resist his touch, but nodded her head at him. Gino nodded his head as well. The man signaled and Gino and Mary followed the two men down the road, disappearing around a bend.

Nicholas gazed outside, puzzled. His father was so determined to get down to Boulder, he was surprised that he and his mother would have gone with the two men. He dipped his dishrag in the soapy water. Maybe the men were with the sheriff's department, wanting to know more about him and his friendship with Mick. If his father was being questioned more, this would make him even angrier. Nicholas wiped the sweat off his forehead. That would mean one thing: that he had better watch out.

He finished cleaning up the lunch mess and went into his bedroom. A fan stirred the heavy air as he dragged his suitcase out from under the bed and started pulling clothes from the closet. He had a lot to do before his parents returned, and he wanted to have it all done when they came back. No sense in asking for more trouble.

CHAPTER 39.