Boo Who (19 page)

Oliver stopped and sighed. With all the whoo-whooing going on, he wasn’t going to find a thing out here. “Get a room,” he mumbled.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, a few yards away, Oliver saw something move. Gasping, he covered his mouth, trying not to scream.

Dr. Hass couldn’t believe how much cash was used in this town. Hadn’t anyone heard of a credit card? Or billing? Not that he was complaining. How could he turn down cold, hard cash?

“You’re terrific for seeing us at this hour,” said the man who had introduced himself as Town Treasurer Martin (not Marty) Blarty, offering his hand for the third nervous time. It was seven in the evening, and Dr. Hass was beginning to realize why setting up shop at his own home might not be the best idea in the world.

“No problem.” He reminded himself to smile. Perhaps his cheese might not be cheddar. Maybe it was Swiss, and he didn’t know it. Or maybe he’d always known it and hadn’t acknowledged it. Perhaps his was more like pimento cheese. At any rate, when he focused back on the two men in his office, he noticed Martin was staring at the large framed poster of Napoleon on the east wall.

Martin glanced at him. “Interesting …” He smiled uncomfortably.

“Some unique personality traits by which I’ve always been fascinated.”

“Ah.”

“So … what brings you two in this evening?”

Martins eyes shifted nonchalantly to the mayor, whom Martin had introduced as The Mayor. “Well, as you can see, he’s got some issues.”

Dr. Hass wasn’t sure what issues Martin was referring to. The mayor was wearing a Hawaiian-looking shirt, sunglasses, and Bermuda shorts. But Dr. Hass had come from L.A., so not many wardrobes shocked him.

“He thinks it’s summertime,” Martin said in a hushed voice, though the mayor hardly seemed to know where he was. “He’s in complete denial.”

“Denial about winter?”

“Denial about Skary.”

“What about it?”

Martin’s eyes averted to the ground. “You’re new here, and I hate to put Skary in a bad light, but we’re not doing well. And the mayor blames himself.”

“Is it his fault?”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault. We used to be known for being Wolfe Boone’s town, but he fell in love and became a Christian, so he’s not writing horror anymore. But nobody blames him. Well, most people don’t. But anyway, the town is not doing well.”

“You mean financially?”

“Yes, among other things. We sort of lost our identity along the way too.”

“But what about the national ad campaign? It said you were a thriving town perfect for cat lovers.”

“An old woman’s last-ditch effort to give the town an identity. Hardly anyone took that nonsense seriously.”

Dr. Hass cleared his throat. Well, he was always one for nonsense. “I might be mistaken, but isn’t this town full of cats?”

Martin nodded. “Oh yes. It used to be this crazy mystery too. Everyone had a theory about where all the cats came from. Last year, though,
we found out there was really no mystery to it. Apparently the sheriff’s cat was responsible.”

“No kidding.”

“Yep. But that’s been taken care of. Anyway, just before Christmas, the mayor began acting very strangely, and now, well … he’s on the tropical isle of denial.”

Dr. Hass nodded solemnly, wishing he had a couch or something. But it didn’t seem that lying down was going to help this fellow.

“So basically what you are saying is that the mayor feels guilty about relying on one person to support this town rather than building up resources in other areas to see that the town was secure.”

“Okay. Sure. But the fact of the matter is,” Martin said tersely, “that he’s the way he is now, and we’ve got to help him.”

Dr. Hass swallowed. He’d tried to remind himself to turn up his sensitivity monitor, but he didn’t always do a good job. His ex-wives would attest to that. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure I understood.” He offered a placating smile that seemed to be received.

“So what do you suggest we do, Dr. Hass? I have no idea how to get him back to reality.”

“Sometimes when people experience high levels of stress or fear, they completely shut themselves off from their former identity, allowing their minds to heal.”

“So we should just let him think it’s summertime in Skary and there are no worries in the world?”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes, if the brain gets too comfortable in the imaginary world, the person won’t come back. Why should he? There are no worries in the world there.”

Martin’s eyes widened as he stared at the mayor. “My lands!”

“Don’t panic. We can get him back.” Dr. Hass ran a hand through his hair … but stopped at the thought that this wasn’t quite the best body language to show confidence in his statement. Luckily, Martin was still staring at the mayor, who simply sat there with a near-giddy expression on his face. But Dr. Hass had always had a motto which he’d applied often to his own life:
Face your fears.
It was this very idea that had caused
him to move from sunny California to a place that seemed perfect to test his theory. In a moment of truth, he did have to admit he was running himself, but running from something that could inflict horrible, bodily harm, so that was a different matter altogether.

“How?”

“We must get the mayor to face his fears. What’s the worst-case scenario?

Martin thought for a moment. “Well, the town could financially collapse, leaving hundreds of people homeless and destitute, without running water or a school system.”

Dr. Hass pondered. “Okay, well, we might not want to hit him with this all at once, but let’s just offer him bits and pieces of the truth.”

“What first? The fact that both of us are about six months away from not having a paycheck?”

“How about something like the fact that without some sort of intervention, Skary is in trouble.”

“Well, those are the last words I spoke to him before he went haywire.”

“I see.” Dr. Hass sighed. “Listen, let’s just keep working that angle. What the mayor is dealing with are huge feelings of inadequacy. The realization that he has failed. When he realizes that failing is a part of being human, he may forgive himself, which is what needs to happen.”

“Ah.” A light of acceptance popped on in Martin’s eyes. “Forgiveness. Accept that he failed, and then forgive himself.”

“Exactly But first he has to accept it. For some people, failure is just a step above death.”

And then the mayor stood up, surprising Dr. Hass enough that he rolled his chair back three feet. Martin gasped.

“If you’re going to talk about somebody, you should do it when they’re not in the room,” he scowled.

Martin popped up. “Mayor! You’re talking!”

“What’s this about me being a step above death?” he growled, looking at Dr. Hass. “And what am I doing here?”

“Mayor, this is Dr. Hass. He’s a therapist.”

“The word
therapist
is so—”

“A shrink!” the
mayor yapped. “What in the world am I doing here?”

Martin pointed to the mayors shorts. “You’ve been acting a little strange lately.”

The mayor looked down at his shorts, then at his Hawaiian shirt. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s what you got up and put on today, Mayor,” Martin said.

Like slow-rolling tumbleweeds, five different emotions blew across the mayor’s face. His eyes darted between Martin and Dr. Hass. After several moments, Dr. Hass stood up, gave Martin a knowing nod, then looked directly at the mayor and said, “Sir, the whole town of Skary, Indiana, could cease to exist, and it could all be your fault.”

Silence tore through the room like a windstorm, erasing even the faintest sound. The mayor’s mouth hung open. His eyes blinked very fast for five seconds, then stopped. Dr. Hass wasn’t sure if he should try to say something profound, or call an ambulance. Was he even breathing?

And then the mayor spoke. “Who wants to go for a swim? It’s topping a hundred today!”

Oliver screamed. A scream answered back. He screamed again. Then another scream came. This went back and forth until Oliver finally stopped screaming. The other screams went on and on, though. It sounded like a woman. And in fact, it sounded like…

Oliver pulled aside the brush and rounded a tree.

“Melb!”

“Oliver?” Melb was panting and about to cry.

Oliver rushed over to her and took her trembling hands. “Are you okay?”

“I-I-I’m fine. I heard screaming and then I started screaming. Was that you?”

Oliver nodded. “I thought I saw someone in the bushes.”

“That’s me!”

“What are you doing out here?”

Melb stood up, pointing to a book lying next to her. “I’m owling. Remember? I told you I was going to start a hobby.”

Oliver shook his head. “I didn’t realize what you meant, I guess.”

“What are you doing out here?”

Oliver laughed a little. “Well, you’re going to think I’m crazy. But I’ve been seeing some strange people around town. I took off work early to investigate, see if I could find one.”

“What do you mean by strange people?”

“They’re hard to describe. But there’s something really off about them. They look like at any moment they’re going to jump out from behind a bush and strangle you.”

“They’re hiding behind bushes?”

“Not really. They mostly just walk around aimlessly.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for them. In the meantime, I’m not giving up on this owl.”

“Melb, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out in the wilderness by yourself at night.”

“First of all, it’s not a wilderness. And second of all, I am going to bond with this owl if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Why would you want to bond with an owl?”

“That’s the whole point of owling. You hoot to them and they hoot back. It’s this really nifty thing. But I can’t seem to get the owl to show himself to me. He’ll hoot, but he’s being coy.”

Oliver stood there in the middle of the brush, trying to understand Melb’s sudden fascination with owls.

“Whoo, whoo.”

Melb hunkered down, pulling Oliver to the ground. His face crashed into the leaves. “Shhh! That’s the owl,” Melb whispered. “We can’t let him see us or he’ll fly away.”

“Whoo, whoo, whoo,”
the owl said again, somewhere a few trees away, high on its top.

Melb smiled at Oliver. “He’s looking for a mate.”

“Oh.”

“Whoo, whoo, whoo,
“the owl said again.

“Whoo! Whoo! Whoo whoo whooooo-eeee-whoooo!” Melb replied, cupping her hands around her mouth. And then there was silence. Melb sighed. “See? Now he’s not even responding!”

Oliver patted her on the back. “May I make a suggestion?”

Melb shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’m no expert here, but it seems you might be coming on a little strong.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re wanting to come across as the loving lifemate and domestic set of feathers this owl can’t live without, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I think you’re making a slightly different impression. Maybe the party-all-night Britney Spears of all owl impressions.”

“Really? The hooting’s too aggressive?”

“I think so. I haven’t read the book, but I imagine the male owl is looking for an owl that’s, well, that’s hard to catch but naive and innocent too.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I fell so in love with you partly because I never thought I was good enough for you. When we got together, it made me love you even more, because I felt I’d really conquered something, which I did.” Oliver smiled. Melb was grinning from ear to ear.

“Maybe we can practice owling tonight. You can help me be more subtle.” She winked at him.

Oliver took her hand. “You are so cute when you hoot.”

CHAPTER 17