How to Howl at the Moon (20 page)

“Anyone else? What about—”

“What about what?”

Lance looked conflicted, which just confused Tim more. “I don’t know. No one’s contacted you since you got here? Someone you didn’t want to know you were here?”

Tim couldn’t help feeling that Lance was referring to someone specific. The only person that fit the bill was Marshall. “Why? Did someone call the sheriff’s department about me? If my ex-boss did, he’s off his rocker. I’m not growing any of the hybrid vegetables I made for him. He’s a doofus.”

“Would this Marshall be capable of violent retaliation?”

“What? No!” Tim couldn’t imagine it. “Marshall runs an organic produce business. He’s a douchebag, and a liar, and a cheat. But… no. He’d be too afraid of his reputation to do anything illegal. He’s more the type to lawyer you to death.”

“All right.”

Tim tried to imagine what else could have happened. “Maybe it was just hunters who were shooting near the cabin? It might not have anything to do with me at all.”

“Maybe,” Lance said, but his agreement didn’t make Tim feel any better.

*                          *                         *

When Lance pulled into Tim
’s driveway, there were three police cruisers already there. His deputy, Charlie, had called when they were still ten minutes out, so Lance knew what to expect. He hadn’t found the words to tell Tim.

“Oh my God,” Tim said at the sight of the flashing lights. Even in the dark, there was
enough light to see that the front of the cabin was shot up, the windows blown and bits of wood and glass on the porch where bullets had hit the logs. “Oh my
God!
”

“Tim, remember what I said, I need you to stay in the—”

Tim opened the passenger side door and, before Lance could grab him, took off running toward the house. Lance cursed and threw the car into park and went after him.

On the phone, Charlie had said the perps were gone, but Lance was still worried. Until they’d done a full sweep of the woods in the area, they couldn’t be sure. And the idea of Tim being exposed to a sniper was terrifying.

Lance caught up to Tim where he was standing frozen, staring at the cabin. Tim was a little taller than Lance, but Lance did his best to wrap his arms around Tim protectively from behind, becoming a living shield and offering grounding comfort at the same time. Charlie came up to them.

“Sheriff! It looks like there were at least three shooters, and they were in a truck. I put out an all-points, but the only description we have of the truck is from your mother, and she didn’t get a good look.”

“Was it black? I have reports of a suspicious black truck in the area. Roman got the plates.”

“No, sir. It was silver. Lily is sure of that.”

“Was anyone hurt? What about Roman?”

“No one was hurt, no sign of blood. But there’s a shitload of property damage. Pardon my French. And we haven’t seen Roman. His truck isn’t around either.”

Charlie looked at Lance pointedly, obviously not wanting to say too much in front of Tim. But between the lack of blood—
thank God
—Roman’s truck being gone, and the look Charlie was giving him, it was likely Roman followed the shooters.

So far, Tim had been stiff in Lance’s arms. Lance was still essentially wrapped around him, not even caring how it would look. But just then Renfield came trotting around the corner and Tim broke free and ran toward him.

“Renny!” Tim bent over and picked up the pup. “Thank God you’re okay. You’re shaking! Was it scary?”

Despite Tim’s attempt to soothe the dog, his own voice was too high and sounded false to Lance’s ears. He was in mild shock.

“Lily’s okay?” Lance asked Charlie quietly while he had the chance.

Charlie replied in a whisper. “Lily changed and took off into the woods when she saw the shooters. She kept the puppy with her. She’s fine. As for Roman, we found his clothes in the back of the cabin. But his truck’s gone now too, so he must have shifted back to human.” Charlie’s teeth bared, his lips pulling back. He was territorial when it came to the sheriff’s department and jealous of the work Roman had been doing, though he’d never said as much directly. “Probably got scared and took off.”

Lance shook his head. “Roman’s a good man. If he’s not here, he must have gone after the shooters.” Lance started to move for Tim, but Charlie held his arm.

“One more thing. Lily said she heard them shouting after they shot everything to hell and back. They said ‘No one grows pot around here but us. Get the fuck out or next time the bullets will be for you.’”

Lance gaped. “But… Roman told me on the phone there weren’t any pot plants!”

Charlie shrugged. “We looked around. Didn’t see anything like that. Think it was a case of mistaken identity?”

An idea tickled Lance’s brain, as horrifying as the worst nightmare he’d ever had, the kind where you’
ve
done something wrong, and when you wake up, you’re relieved and grateful that it wasn’t true. But nothing was going to wake Lance up this time.

He looked up to check on Tim. Tim was gone.
 

*                          *                         *

Tim stood in the greenhouse holding Renfield. His whole body was numb, and his arms were about to give out under the weight of the heavy pup, but he couldn
’t let Renny down. There was glass everywhere.

Someone, some crazy-ass malicious bastard, had shot out every pane of glass in the
greenhouse. Glass shards and glass powder were everywhere. But as crazy and violent as that was, that wasn’t what Tim was staring at.

In the greenhouse, among all the broken glass, shot
up bags of dirt, and overturned
stools, were his seed trays. All of them had been knocked or hurled off the tables, their large plastic frames wrecked among the spilled dirt. But even that wasn’t what Tim was staring at.

He was staring at the plants.

Among all that debris were dozens, hundreds even, of small green plants. They’d all been knocked out of their dirt homes, fine baby roots exposed, leaves starting to wilt, stems snapped. There were young tomato plants and peppers, melons and the serrated leaves of strawberries, broccoli and radish seedlings. And roses. There were dozens of rose plant starts lying exposed among the dirt and glass.

Tim stared, unable to make sense of any of it. Renfield whined and licked Tim’s face and only then did Tim realize he was crying.

“Tim?”

Tim turned, as slowly and stiffly as an arthritic octogenarian
. He
saw Lance and his mother in the doorway.

“I don’t understand.” Tim’s voice sounded very far away, like he had cotton balls in his ears.

Lance and his mother exchanged a guilty look. Lily looked especially ashamed.

“What? What did you do?” Tim asked her, a curl of dread making him nauseous.

Lily said nothing. She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead looking down at the floor.

Oh. Oh, no.
Through the disbelief and the shock, something hot and hideous bloomed. Tim was suddenly afraid this was going to be bad. It already was horrible, but it was worse than that.
It was Carrie-and-the-bucket-of-blood bad.
He’d been
had
, hadn’t he? He’d been played in some awful, soul-crushing way.

“What’s going on?” Tim asked Lance, louder now.

Lance flushed red and looked embarrassed. “I think… three men came and shot the place
up. They thought you were growing pot. It was meant as a warning.”

“What?” Renfield wriggled in Tim’s arms, and he just couldn’t hold him anymore. He walked to Lily and shoved the puppy at her. “There’s glass everywhere. Don’t let him down.”

“I won’t,” she agreed quietly.

Tim turned to Lance, hands now on his hips. “Why the hell would anyone think I was growing pot?”

Lance swallowed and looked at Tim’s chin. “I thought you were.” His voice was halting. “I thought that at first. There’s been trouble with marijuana growers in the nearby county, and I wasn’t sure what you were going to be doing out here. At first.”

Tim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So… what? This is your fault? You spread rumors about me?”

Lance finally met his eyes, but he was frowning. His eyes were sad. “I don’t know, Tim. It’s not like I went around telling people, but….”

“Great! Thank you. I appreciate that.” Tim said bitterly. “Now can someone explain why my fucking plants are lying all over the greenhouse floor? Plants that were missing up til now? I mean, what the actual fuck?”

Tim waved at carnage on the floor. The sight of the young plant massacre broke his heart. All that work. All that money. All that time he thought he was crazy, or that he’d lost his ability to raise so much as a spot of mold. But the plants had grown, somewhere, somehow, and returned only to be destroyed. It was a gigantic slap in the face.

“How could someone…?” His words choked in his throat.

“Tim,
you have no idea how
sorry
I am
. Maybe we can salvage some of them.” Lance’s voice
trembled
with emotion.

Tim spun on him. “You did this! You thought I was growing pot so you stole all my seed trays. You… you made me think…. Oh my God.” Tim put his hand over his mouth. He was going to be sick. A black pit opened beneath his feet. The betrayal was all the worse because he’d started to trust Lance, he’d started to
care for him
.

“It wasn’t like that,” Lance said
, raising his hand
s
up imploringly. “I swear.”

“It was me,” Lily said abruptly. “I took the plants. I didn’t mean any harm, Tim. I just wanted you to spend more time with Lance. I always meant to put them back safe and sound.”

The pair of them, they were both completely insane, demented loons that somehow ran this town. Tim’s chest was tight, and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand it one more second.

“Get out,” he said. “Both of you. Get out of here and don’t ever fucking talk to me again!”

“Tim, please.” Lance’s eyes were wet now, but that just made Tim hate him more.

“Get out! And take Renfield with you! I can’t take care of him anyway since I’m now homeless. And I don’t want anything you gave me, now or ever!”

It was an empty gesture given the fact that every window in the greenhouse was shot out, but nevertheless, Tim pushed Lily and then Lance through the open doorway and slammed the greenhouse door shut. Renfield wriggled in Lily’s arms and cried, wanting to go to Tim. It broke Tim’s heart, but then it was already broken. He held firm.

“Go on, leave! Now!”

“Please let us help clean this up,” Lance said, his voice
wrecked
. “It’s the least we can do.”

“No, don’t you get it? I can’t stand to see your face! Just go! Please! And take your fucking Nazi police force with you!” Tim was so upset, he was shaking all over and he had to turn away from the doorway and grasp the edge of a table to keep his knees from buckling. So he didn’t see Lance and his mother go. But he heard the cars driving away, and then, quiet. In the distance, there was a mournful, gut-wrenching howl. Even the wildlife was having a bad night, apparently.

Tim sank down on a clean patch of greenhouse floor and cried. But there was only so much crying a grown man could do, and after a while the parental urge in Tim surfaced, and he couldn’t abide the sight of all those young plants on his greenhouse floor, exposed to the air like gasping fish.

He dug a pair of gloves out of a drawer and started to work.

Rescue
Dogs

THERE WAS no sleep for Lance that night. He went back to the station and wrung every detail he could from the officers who
’d been on the scene and the ones who’d gone out looking for the shooters. No one had heard from Roman.

It was all his fault, and Lance knew it. Everything bad that had happened to Tim since coming to Mad Creek could be laid squarely at the door of Sheriff Lance Beaufort.