Cold Moon (Full Moon Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “What the hell is going on?” Even though Joe shouted, it faded away in Kitty’s brain to background static.

  Slanting out from behind a nearby tree was a shadow. Long and narrow, it still had enough form for her to recognize that it was human. Turning she faced it, but it was already drawing away, the outlines of the shadow breaking up over the bumps of the undergrowth. Scanning the trees, she couldn’t even find the source.

  Joe hadn’t been the only one watching her hide the duffle bag.

  Chapter Three

  “So you gonna talk to me yet?” Joe threw the football at Kitty’s baby brother Sam with a nice spiral. He’d played so often with both Sam and his own little brother, Eric, that his throw had the long-practiced gentleness of an older sibling.

  Sitting on the porch, Kitty bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. Anne had taken them camping for Labor Day weekend so she’d managed to avoid Joe’s questions for a few days after the search. She’d even managed to evade him the first couple days of school, which hadn’t been easy considering he was in three of her classes. Tonight he’d just kind of shown up. She’d walked out the door and there he was playing ball with Sam. “Talk to you about what?”

  Sam’s return pass went wide and Joe darted her way to snag it. Stopping in front of her, he shook his head. “Yeah, you’re right.” His voice grew sarcastic. “What would we possibly have to discuss? You’re so coy, Kit, and so clever too. Like I’d never notice all the…strangeness.” Sam’s cough sounded a little forced and Joe spun his direction. “Up high,” he called, lobbing the ball.

  Kitty shrugged. Picking one of the yellowing leaves of her mom’s day lilies that poked through the railing at her legs, she shredded it into thin strips.

  Joe leapt the other direction to capture another errant ball. He passed the ball back, then returned to the porch, plopping down on the step below her. “How ‘bout a break, Sam? I need to beat on your big sister a little bit.”

  “Good,” Sam said, throwing the football down on the grass. “She needs it. Mom says she has growing pains.” He grabbed his bike from where it leaned against the maple tree and rode close to the porch. Putting one foot down, he leaned close to Joe, whispering conspiratorially. “Really, she’s just a pain in the butt.”

  Sam sped off fast enough to miss Kitty’s groping fingers and Joe laughed. “I like that boy.”

  “Well take him with you when you go, dude. Which can be any time now.” Another leaf buzzed through Kitty’s shredder.

  Joe leaned back against the porch railing, turning halfway in Kitty’s direction. “Now, now,” he said, waggling a finger at her. “I don’t think you’re allowed to be cranky. I, on the other hand….”

  Kitty stared across the road at the woods. The first hints of scarlet peeked out as the trees moved in the wind. All her secrets lay hidden in there. If she didn’t dig them up first, somebody else would. She wondered for the umpteenth time who had been watching her the day of the search. Melville came first to mind.

  Joe raised a hand and began ticking off fingers with the other. “You make a big deal to the hiking club about needing to search a particular area. You send me off on a branch of the trail that you know goes to your house. When I come back, you appear to be arranging a disturbed area so that it looks undisturbed. So what’s up with that?”

  Kitty yanked at another leaf, but it was too green to pull out. Instead, its razor sharp edges sliced into the skin of her forefinger. The gash was paper-thin and would have been invisible except for the brilliant drop of blood that immediately welled up. She stuck her finger into her mouth.

  Joe cleared his throat, waving at her. “Your turn.”

  Kitty turned on him. “Why are you making this such a big deal? I disturbed the area. I checked it for…,” she threw her hands up in defeat, “for whatever, and then I—”

  “Covered up that you looked at it?” Joe nodded his head. “Sure, that makes perfect sense. I wouldn’t want someone seeing that I’d searched an area, you know, during a search.” Joe punctuated the last three words. “That would be silly.”

  Kitty didn’t answer. She reached for another leaf, saw a small ant crawling up the green-yellow spear and chose the next one in line to destroy instead.

  Joe leaned forward, his knee bumping hers. “Kitty, I’ve known you since we wore diapers. You used to kick the crap out of me on the playground. What is it you think you can’t tell me?”

  Everything. Kitty dropped the remains of the leaf and put her head in her hands. How could she phrase it so it was the truth but still not give anything away? Lifting her face to Joe, she said, “There is something in that woods that Phinney asked me to keep secret. I am trying to respect his privacy.”

  Joe nodded. “Is not telling keeping the police from figuring out where he is? Sometimes hiding information—”

  He’s going to talk me to death, Kitty thought. She shoved her face in close to his. “Joe, take it or leave it. Either go report me to the cops for whatever you think I did or shut the hell up.” Kitty’s hands shook as she pulled back. She might go up in smoke here and now on the porch steps. She had to get into the woods and get that duffle bag out. Joe was going to try and worm it out of her a little at a time; whoever had seen them in the woods might be a little more proactive and go straight to digging for it.

  “Maybe we could talk—” Joe started.

  “Stop it,” Kitty nearly screamed the words. Out on the road, Sam stopped turning doughnuts on the pavement with his bike and looked up. Raising her head, she made eye contact with Joe. Breathing deep, she asked, “Can you trust me?”

  Joe rocked back and forth against the railing spindles. Dry rot made them springy. He seemed to be having a hard time figuring out the answer.

  “Can you trust me?” Kitty repeated.

  When Joe spoke, the words came out slowly as if he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. “I never thought I couldn’t until now.”

  Kitty’s breath blew out in a huff. When they had been eight and Joe had broken that ugly chicken statue of his mother’s, she and he had delicately balanced the pieces so that it looked whole. At least until Eric toddled up and grabbed the table for support, and the whole mess had come tumbling down. The winter she had fallen into the icy waters of the creek after her mother had forbidden them to go near it, Joe had distracted Anne while Kitty hid her frozen snow pants until they could melt into something pliable. The day Jenna completely missed Kitty’s fastball and it had gone through the barn window, Joe had helped them find a square piece of plywood in the shop and plug the hole. And now he thought he couldn’t trust her? Over what? A few leaves and a stick or two?

  Joe waited, still swaying slightly with the motion of the porch railing. He reached a hand out very slowly and laid it over hers. Kitty closed her eyes and let the warmth of his skin sink into hers. Joe had driven her to the university so that she could study town obituaries while he collected pamphlets for her to show her mom as an excuse for the trip. He’d never once questioned her time with Phinney. He’d even driven her to the old man’s house the night Phinney got bitten.

  The only difference she could see in the before and after was that she’d always let him in on the secret.

  Her head ached. Between Joe and her mom and Sam, she was never alone long enough to figure this out. If she let him in on it, it wouldn’t have to be nearly so hard. Plus he’d quit harping at her. They could do it together. She opened her mouth. “I put—”

  A hoot from Sam interrupted her. He flew into the driveway ahead of an old Jeep Cherokee. The navy blue truck bumped around the gravel turn-around, a bubble light on its top.

  Joe frowned. “You must have a package or something.” He waved at the postman. “Hey, Dad!”

  An overwhelming sense of relief flooded Kitty. She’d nearly spilled her secret after nine days. Phinney kept his for twenty-six years. What a horrible choice she had been to be his successor.

  Sam circled his bike around to the Cherokee’s
driver-side window. He chatted for a minute, then pedaled off down the two-track toward the barn, yelling over his shoulder, “Kit, it’s for you.”

  Kitty heaved herself to her feet and walked through the grass to the truck. “Hi, Mr. Z.” She stepped close to the window. “Package won’t fit in the box?”

  The postman’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. Joe had the same dark blue eyes. The two even had the same tall lanky build. But the swirl of coffee-colored curls around Joe’s neck hadn’t come from Daddy. Mr. Zubowicz’s bald head gleamed as he pulled off his baseball cap. His wife gave him a little help with an electric trimmer; she was a big Patrick Stewart fan.

  “Hi, Kitty.” He turned the key and the Cherokee sputtered to a halt.

  Kitty backed up as he swung the door open, stepping out. He dropped a wilted stained envelope on the seat behind him. Rubbing one hand over his bald head, he stretched. He folded one sleeve up his arm a few turns then did the same for the other side. Four silvery scars etched their way up the inside of his forearm.

  “Can we walk a bit? I’m done for the day, but I’ve been sitting in that thing for four hours. I could stretch my legs.” He settled the cap back on his head. Almost as an afterthought he pushed the door closed, leaning through the open driver’s window as he did so. Pulling out two copies of the local weekly newspaper, The Observer, he folded them around the letter and pulled the whole batch out.

  “Sure.” Kitty shrugged her shoulders.

  Joe had risen from the porch. Out of the corner of her eye, Kitty caught a quick movement of his father’s head, a side-to-side shake. Joe sank back down onto the steps.

  Did his dad tell him no? That seemed odd. Why would Mr. Z need to see her alone? If she didn’t know him so well, it might make her nervous.

  The two walked side by side down the driveway—toward the woods. The postman made a beeline for the shade on the far side and with two strides was up onto the faded path leading into the dark heart of the woods.

  Dead in her tracks, Kitty stared up into the leaves. The trees were quiet, waiting. The woods had never really been the problem in the first place. The national forest and all the natural things in it—crickets and birds and deer—were more like friends, always clear about telegraphing what was wrong. It was all the foreign bodies floating around in the environment that caused the problems—the werewolves, the duffle, whoever had spied on her.

  Now Joe’s father stood on top of the embankment under the canopy looking back at her questioningly.

  Kitty took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m coming.” She jumped three steps up to join the waiting postman.

  Mr. Z walked into the interior a few feet, stopping to lean into the vee of a split oak trunk. Confused, Kitty stopped across from him. If this was a walk to stretch his legs, it was a mighty short one.

  “Kitty, post office got a letter today and I thought since I drive by here anyway, I’d deliver it in person. The address was a little strange.”

  Even more confused, Kitty shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Mr. Zubowicz pulled the letter out of its newspaper wrapping and held it out across the path. Dark handwriting slanted across it, slashed so deep it nearly perforated the paper. A brownish stain started in one corner and splattered in a fan toward the middle. She ran a thumb across the indents of the letters, not wanting to touch the blots on the paper. Her head told her it was only red dirt, but her heart told her it was blood.

  K. Irish, Oakmont, Michigan.

  She checked the return address. Nothing there but the words Manistee National Forest and a zip code corresponding to Oakmont.

  “Well, that’s me, I guess. How many other K. Irishes are out there?”

  Zubowicz rolled his shoulders, still working out the kinks from an afternoon in the driver’s seat. “Guess so. Not much of a return address. Here’s your paper too.” Zubowicz snapped The Observer out of its fold and held it out to Kitty with the front page out.

  She registered the screaming headline—”Body of Missing Camper Found”—and her stomach dropped in a dizzying swoop. Not only wasn’t it over, but it was kicking into high gear again. She refolded it and shoved it under her arm. Running her fingers over the limp envelope, over her name, she looked up at the postman. “Why’d you bring me the paper?”

  “Did I do the wrong thing?” He raised his eyebrows and watched her intently.

  Folding the letter in half, she stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans. “Nope. You did just right.”

  Chapter Four

  “Kit, get with the program.” Her mom tapped her arm. “It smells really hot in here. Not to mention the timer’s been doing its thing for a little while now. Have you even checked dinner?”

  Kitty started. She had been leaning against the kitchen counter, hand shoved deep in the back pocket of her jeans. What did she expect the letter to do? Fly out of her pocket and bite her?

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “Lots going on at school and everything. I lost track of time.”

  Anne smiled nostalgically. “Senior year always gets crazy. I need to remember that.”

  Kitty pulled her lips back over her teeth with an effort. She hoped it looked more like a real smile than it felt. “Crazy doesn’t cover it.” Then she reconsidered. “Maybe it does.”

  She walked over to the oven and pulled open the door. The lasagna bubbled wildly at the edges, and the cheese on top was starting to turn dark. The breadsticks on the shelf underneath looked dry and hard. Kitty frowned. Why weren’t stove timers louder? A little focus group work on that might be good. “If you’re thinking about a blood-stained letter, is the timer loud enough to snap you out of it, Ms. Irish?” Maybe she should start a letter-writing campaign to the stove-building people.

  Grabbing a couple of potholders Sam had made in his pre-rock arts-and-crafts days, Kitty pulled the casserole out. Anne retrieved a gallon of milk from the fridge and carried it over to the table. Standing off to one side, she watched Kitty bring in the hot dish. Kitty could tell she was gearing up for something.

  Oh geez. Not one of those conversations.

  “How are all the senior activities going anyway? Sometimes I forget to ask.” A hundred-watt smile lit her mom’s face.

  “Okay.” Kitty hoped she would let it go. If recent events were any bellwether, senior year was going to be a real ride.

  Anne wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “My senior year was such fun.”

  Kitty kept going back and forth to the table. She could feel Anne’s eyes on her, but hoped she would get discouraged.

  “Your dad was pretty worried that his deployment was going to screw up your year….” she trailed off. Kitty knew she left it open-ended hoping Kitty would pick up the sentence.

  Kitty declined the bait, opting for some napkins on the counter instead. Her mom tracked her movements around the kitchen, shadowing her until Kitty forced herself to answer. “Not much to report right now, Mom. It’s only been four days since school started. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay,” her mom said. “It’s just that Dad asks.”

  “I try to keep him posted in my email.” Kitty lied. She had barely written him in the past month and when she did, it was mostly filler about Sam and Maddie.

  “He’s worried, Kit.”

  “Then maybe he shouldn’t have left,” she blurted out, slapping the forks down on the table a little harder than she planned. They rattled in the silence.

  Anne didn’t look surprised, merely sad.

  “Sorry,” Kitty apologized. “It’s just stuff, you know.”

  Her mother nodded. “I know. Like I said, senior year’s crazy.”

  Kitty knew her mom thought they had a truce, and they did…but it wasn’t a full disclosure sort of truce. After their big blow-up when Kitty had found out her mother’s pastime was protesting the war in Iraq, they’d come to an agreement. Family first. So Kitty kept her mouth shut. Her mom’s idea of wild was toilet papering someone’s house after a fall football game. If she
knew her daughter had spent the summer sneaking into the woods to hunt the shape-shifting freaks killing off the local human population, it might not go so smoothly. Kitty nodded. “Right. Crazy.”

  Mom pulled out a chair and sat down. “Please try to have some fun, okay? Homecoming, football games, stuff like that. Dad and I want you to.”

  Kitty signaled an okay with her thumb and forefinger. Turning away, she yelled into the living room. “Sam, dinner.” Her fingers strayed to her back pocket. The letter still sat there, waiting.

  Her brother flew around the corner, nearly colliding with Kitty. Under the pretense of being off balance, she grabbed his arm and leaned even closer. Whispering into his ear, she said, “If I hear one complaint about the food, I’ll bust you one, little brother. Got it?”

  Sam pulled his arm free, rolling his eyes. Going to sit next to his mother, he glared at Kitty. “Growing pains,” he muttered.

  ****

  Kitty handed the last dirty dish to Sam who dropped it into the dishwasher with a clatter.

  “Fill up the soap thingy and turn it on, kiddo. We’re done.” She rinsed her hands, drying them on the faded striped dishtowel hanging off the stove. She resumed her post against the kitchen counter, hand guarding the letter again.

  Sam wandered over to stand next to her. He picked idly at the issue of The Observer lying there. Kitty could tell he wanted something. First Mom and now Sam. She didn’t think she could stand two of those conversations in one night.

  Sam cleared his throat then flipped the newspaper open. Kitty sighed. This might take all night if she didn’t get the ball rolling.

  “What’s up, Sam?” She tried to keep the impatience from creeping into her voice.

  He turned the newspaper back to the front page and then flipped it open again. Kitty gritted her teeth. He’d better talk soon or she was going to go off. The swoosh of the dishwasher filled the silence. When the pages of The Observer rattled one more time, she couldn’t stand it. Planting one hand down in the middle of the front page to hold it still, she grabbed the shoulder of Sam’s t-shirt between her thumb and forefinger and swung him her way.