MOON FALL (43 page)

John rubbed his throbbing temples, then reached in his desk
drawer, found a couple Excedrin, and popped them in his mouth,
washing them down with the dregs of a two-hour-old Coke.

His son was missing and he hadn't even managed to leave
the station yet to look for him. His deputies, Scotty Carroll and
Wyn Griffin, were cruising, at least, and they'd already alerted
many of the merchants in town to keep an eye out. John had
spent half the morning dealing with citizens of Moonfall and
the other half on the phone, calling Mark's friends and their
parents, but no one knew anything.

Sara had come by to tell him that Minerva was sure the nuns
had taken the boy
.
He didn't want to believe it, and he'd been
spending much of his time arguing with himself about it
.
Minerva
Payne was old, maybe crazy, maybe senile
-
maybe both.
She made no secret of her hatred for the sisters, and the stories
she told him were patently absurd. All that, and she had no
proof to back her allegations. So why, he asked himself once
more, was he inclined to believe her?

Listen to your inner voice and you'll never go wrong.
She'd
told him that every time he'd seen her, and he realized now
that it was his inner voice that was trying to be heard over the
voice of reason and logic.

Someone rapped on the door. "Come in," he called out.
"Jeff," he said, as Deputy Thurman stepped in. "Take over
here for a while," John said, rising
.
"Whole town's a zoo
today." He moved to the door.

"Must be the full moon .
...
“
Thurman paused. "Sorry about
your son
.
"

“
Yeah
,
thanks." He fought down a l
ump in his throat. “
No
reason to be sorry. He'll tu
rn
up." He rushed out of the station
before Dorothy could torture him with yet more pity, climbed
in his cruiser, and drove over to the Gingerbread House
.

"Did it go according to plan?'' Lucy asked, as Dashwood
entered her office.

''Miss Hawthorne is resting, none too comfortably, I might
add, in the old root cellar."

"Why didn't you just toss her in the vault with the boy? It's
more secure."

"My dear Lucy, you're far too soft-hearted. Do you really
want them to have one another for company? It would lessen
their fear." He gave her his most charming smile. "They
wouldn't be as much fun tomorrow evening. And the root cellar
is secure enough. It doesn't have a padlock, but it does have
that nice big bar latch."

Lucy pursed her lips. "You're right, Richard, on both counts.
I like the way you think," she added, smiling. "She came like
a moth to the flame. I'll have to compliment the sisters on their
spell
casting. Now, regarding the boy .... "

''Yes?"

''You mentioned taking his backpack to make it appear as
if he's run away."

"Indeed I did."

"Where is it?"

"In my car."

"We're likely to be entertaining the sheriff soon, Richard.
Make sure you ditch it. Throw it in with the boy, or something."

Dashwood nodded. ''Immediately." He started to leave, but
Lucy wasn't done yet.

"We have only two flies left in our ointment, Richard. Three,
if we count the old woman, but I hardly think she's worth
counting." She laughed. "Our flies are the sheriff, who has no
proof of anything, and Kelly Reed."

"Have they found her yet?"

"Not yet, but I expect good news soon. She can't get far in
that forest without being spotted."

''I have one more problem to take care of." Dashwood
dangled Sara's car keys from his fingertips, eager to be on
his way. "Our runaway teacher returned in what I believe is
Lawson's personal vehicle. A small blue truck."

"She
what?"
Lucy stood up, her eyes blazing. "Why didn't
you tell me this before?"

"You didn't give me a chance to tell you, Lucy dear. Don't
worry. I'll take it into town and leave it in a crowded parking
lot, where it will be so obvious no one will pay any attention
to it. I'll have Sister Regina pick me up in the station wagon."

"Don't take it into town, you fool. Too many people are
likely to recognize the truck and wonder why you, not Lawson,
are behind the wheel. Honestly, I expected better of you, Richard!
Just drive it up the fire trail on the other side of Apple
Hill Road, and be careful no one sees you when you cross the
highway. Take it at least a few miles away."

"Lucy, the station wagon can't go up that road."

She smiled thinly. "Walk. You need the exercise."

"You're right, of course," he said, keeping his temper with
great effort. "It wouldn't pay to get sloppy for the sake of my
comfort. But, Lucy, I should be here when Lawson shows up.

He'll want to talk to me."

She nodded. "Have Boullan take it, then. But be quick about
it.”

Can they smell me?

Kelly had traveled very little distance since the first time the
nightflyers had passed overhead. She thought there were at
least a half dozen of them, circling, screeching.
She knew they were trying to find her, and if they did, she
thought she wouldn't survive. At times, when the cries sounded
very far away, she sprinted as far as she could
-
fifty feet, one
hundred, who knew?-
and had so far been lucky enough to
find trees to hide under or outcroppings of boulders to crouch
below.

The nearly impenetrable forest of St. Gertrude's had aided
her, but now she was ready to cross the stream into Witch
Forest, which meant there were more places where the
nightflyers would be able to see her.
Minerva.
She thought the
name as hard as she could, picturing the old woman's face in
her mind.
Minerva, help me.

She continued the thought as she waited for the screeches
and wingbeats to fade. After an eternity they did, and she ran
the twenty feet to the stream, then pounded through it to the
other side. Hearing a nightflyer approaching, she threw herself
under a wide-limbed pine and waited, her thoughts still on
Minerva.

"If they have Mark at St. Gertrude's, I'm going to need a
search
warrant," John told Minerva Payne. "Even if they let
me search the place without one, I can't have a free hand with
the nuns and Dashwood looking over my shoulder. The place
is a warren. They could have him right under my nose and still
keep him hidden from me."

"I have no proof for you," Minerva said. "I wish I did."

"Sara mentioned the basement or a root cellar below it."

"The sub-basement. You should begin your search there."
Minerva cocked her head as if she were listening to something
he couldn't hear. She turned her gaze back on him. "John, you
may have to go clandestinely. Not as a sheriff, but as a father."
The faraway look came into her eyes again.

"I suppose I might have to, at that." The thought sent adrenaline
coursing through his blood. His uniform and badge were
armor that gave him a sense of authority and purpose. Without
them, he would feel like he was fourteen again, sneaking around
where he shouldn't.
Greg lying on a slab, an altar of black
stone, candlelight flickering across his nude body
...

"John?" Minerva asked. "Are you all right?"

"I
-
I remember something. About Greg. An altar, candles,
dark figures around him."

''Good. I told you weeks ago that you must remember in
order to save your son. Your memories will lead you to Mark,
if you let them." Minerva put her hand over his, then suddenly
flinched, her nails digging into his skin.

He drew away. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I have to go." Minerva took a set of keys from
her apron pocket and crossed to the front door. "You remember
what I've told you, John," she said as she opened it for him.

"Come to my house in an hour or two and I'll help you capture
your memories."

"Minerva," he repeated, as she almost pushed him out the
door. "What's going on?"

"I'm needed."

She strode away before he could open his mouth to offer
her a ride. He watched, amazed at her speed as she crossed the
parking lot and started down the narrow road to her cottage.
She was out of sight within a minute, and he wondered how a
woman that old could move so fast. Magic, he thought wryly.

He sat down in his cruiser and rubbed his forehead. Tune
was wasting and he didn't know what to do next. The brief
flash of memory was promising, and for a moment he thought
he might spend the next hour with his eyes shut and his mind
open, trying to remember more, but he knew himself better
than that. Sitting still wasn't one of his talents. He had to do
something.

He picked up his cell phone and punched in his home number
to talk to Sara. He'd rushed out of the
h
ouse this morning with
barely a word, certainly nothing that would reassure her. Then
he'd been short with her when she'd come to the station to tell
him about her conversation with Minerva. After spending the
night in the same bed, he felt he should at least say hello and
let her know what was going on-
or, more precisely, what
wasn't. Besides, he was worried about her.

He phoned the house twice, but the machine picked up both
times. Where was she? Cursing away his fear, he started the
car and drove home
.
His truck wasn't in the driveway.

Damn it.
He left the cruiser idling while he ran up to the
house and let himself in. ''Sara?" he called, knowing she wasn't
there.
"Sara?"

In thirty seconds he was back out in the cruiser. For a moment
he tried to convince himself she was in town, shopping or
driving around looking for Mark, even though she'd promised
to wait for him here. But in his gut he knew where she was:
St. Gertrude's.

He used his phone again, this time to call the unlisted number
for his office. He didn't want to talk to Dorothy, and this was
the only way around her.
"Sheriff's office." Deputy Thurman answered halfway
through the first ring.

"Jeff, it's me. Sara Hawthorne isn't at the station, is she?"

"No, not as far as I know. I'll ask Dorothy-"

"No. Just take a look out the window and see if my pickup
is in the lot."

"Sure." He heard a clunk as the phone was laid down. Ten
seconds later, Thurman returned
.
"It's not there, boss."

''How busy are we right now?"

"Scotty's on a domestic, and Wyn's at the high school.
Principal Simmons found a pistol in a student's locker
.
"

"Great, just great," he sighed. "What about you?"

"I'm on my way out to Parker's. Larry Finney got drunk
and is exposing himself to the ladies again."

Suddenly, John missed the annoyances of normal life. Finney,
a retired insurance salesman, had a love of apple wine and a
problem with his pants. Ordinarily, John would pass the call
off to his deputies, but right now he wished he had the luxury
of taking it.

''Do you need help on something?" Thurman asked
.

"No. I'm going out to St. Gertrude's to take a look around
.
If you get freed up, feel free to join me
.
"

"Sure thing
.
"

"And Jeff?"

"Yeah?"

"If I don't call in two hours, come and get me. And bring
at least one other deputy along."

"You got it. Are you expecting trouble?"

"I don't know," John told him. "But it's possible. I have a
weak lead on Mark. He might be out there. I'm just going to
take a look around. And Jeff, tell the others to keep an eye out
for my truck and for Sara Hawthorne. If you find either one,
give me a call." John clicked off the phone and grimly set off
toward St. Gruesome's.