There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (44 page)

Josie followed in her brother’s strutting wake. “Shayna awake when you left?”

Joel peeked into the take-out container as he opened the microwave door. He studied the controls before Josie pushed him aside. “Nah, she passed out pretty early last night. She won’t wake up for a while. She drank a whole bottle of that Popeye stuff.”

“Popov.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Josie retrieved some clean flatware from the dish-rack beside the sink. She set a place for Joel at the small table the Browns’ used for most of their meals. “I’m sorry I left you alone with her last night, love.”

Joel shrugged as if it was nothing, but Josie knew better. Her brother had always been a little afraid of Shayna when she was drinking, which was pretty much all the time these days. “You should’ve called,” he said, picking at the napkin in front of him.

“I know. How ‘bout letting me make it up to you?”

Joel looked up, his green eyes alight. “You’re finally gonna make me
a
Cree
p
?”

“No, baby. How many times have I got to tell you, you’re too young? Why don’t you start a club with kids your own age?”

“Cause none of them like the same stuff as you guys! All those dweebs are interested in are video games. And don’t call me
baby
. I ain’t your damn baby!”

The timer dinged and Josie retrieved the go-box from the microwave, wiping the smile from her face before she turned to face her brother again. “You’re right, Joel. I’m sorry.” She slid the scrambled eggs and sausage links onto a plate. Mr. Pete had been very generous. “Here,” she said, setting the steaming plate before him. “How ‘bout some toast with all that?”

Joel nodded as he plowed into the eggs. Josie frowned, wondering if her brother had eaten anything last night. She poured him a glass of milk from the fridge and squirted in a healthy dollop of Hershey’s Syrup, just the way he liked it. The toast popped up, and as Josie buttered it, she asked her brother where he was planning on fishing.

“The lake.”

Josie sat down beside him. “No, tiger. Not today. In fact, for the time being, Lizard Lake is off limits.”

Joel looked up from his eggs. “Huh?” Josie didn’t allow him to go swimming by himself, but fishing was one of his few loves. Never before had she banned him from his solo excursions by the sea
or
lake! “How come?”

Josie couldn’t tell him the real reason. Joel was like Aunt Bee when it came to gossip. Quick to spread it around town. He’d never even been to the Bunker; nor knew of its existence. Quite frankly, he didn’t usually like walking that far. Like his mother, Joel had a lazy streak in him.

“Because I said so, that’s why! Besides, I know why you’re wearing your swim trunks. I told you about swimming by yourself! What if you get a cramp?”

“Well, that’s just great! The surf is too rough right now for fishing. What am I supposed to do all day? Hang out with Mom? Hold her hair for her while she barfs?”

Despite herself, Josie smiled. “
No
, smartass. I told you I was going to make it up to you. I was kinda hoping you’d hang out with me and me boys today.”

“Really, Joe? You mean it?” It was uncommon for his sister to let him hang around with her and her friends. “Will Buddy boy be along soon?” he asked. If there was anybody Joel looked up to more than his sister and Rusty Huggins it was Bud. To Joel, Bud Brown was an honest-to-god superhero. “I saw him and that Tolson kid walking into the woods beside the museum. I guess they didn’t see me waving at them from all the way up the road.”

Josie smiled. She wondered what her brother would say when he found out Bud was now her boyfriend. “Bud and Ralph are just running an errand. They’ll be back in an hour or two. Now why don’t you go stow away your fishing gear and help Rusty in concessions? I’ve got to open up the box office.”

             
            *******

Tubby followed his friend up Main Street. “How are we going to get past those research men and the sheriff? Gee, Bud, we’re not gonna cross the crime scene tape, are we?”

Bud stopped dead in his tracks. “Crime scene tape? Ya’ll didn’t say anything about crime scene tape!”

Tubby scratched the back of his head. Hadn’t he told them about the yellow tape? He realized he hadn’t. And neither had Josie. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Bud. I assumed Josie saw it, too. Does it really matter?”

“Probably,” Bud said, rethinking their next move. “If there’s crime scene tape that means there’s evidence of a
crime
.” He saw the distressed look on Tubby’s face. “It’s all right, Ralph. Besides, this is probably good news. Might mean they’ve found the dog’s body! I guess a bullet hole in its head might constitute a crime at that. We’ll just have to take the long way ‘round.”

They shouted hello at Rusty and Josie as they passed the lobby of the museum, but their friends were too engrossed in their conversation to notice them.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about, huddled together like that?” Tubby asked. He wondered if Josie was telling Rusty what a disgusting pig they’d let into their club. His stomach constricted in a knot of dread.

Instead of continuing up the street, Bud took a left at the end of the sidewalk. They skirted the side of the building where it met up with the Pines. A narrow grass alley was all that separated the building from the woods. Bud lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “They’re as close as twins, those two. Been friends all their lives. I didn’t come into the picture ‘til I was ten. Gnat may have a wet noodle for a spine, but he’d lay down his life for that girl if it came down to it. And Joe, she’d definitely do the same for him.”

Tubby took that in. Once again, shame washed over him for the sordid act he’d perpetrated in Josie O’Hara’s own home. He made a solemn vow to himself that not only would he never betray his friends like that again, but that he’d also find a way to make amends for that atrocious sin.

“By the way, Hoss…thanks for the Aurora model. I’ve been looking for Mr. Hyde since I was a wet-nosed kid! Is it true your collection is also minus that rare kit?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Well, I can’t accept it knowing that. I really appreciate the thought, but—

“I want you to have it, Bud. I bought it for
you
.”

Bud saw the look on Tubby’s face and knew that he meant it. Declining the gift would be tantamount to a slap in the face. “All right, my friend…and thanks again. It means a lot to me. Really.”

Tubby shrugged, embarrassed by Bud’s gratitude. They walked past the building, where the backs of the stores on Main Street met up with a one-lane service road for deliveries and trash pick-ups. The Pines grew right up to the edge of this road as well. Bud pointed to a narrow corridor cutting into the woods at the far end of the service lane, the limbs of the pine trees on either side lacing together to form an evergreen roof. A rusty logging chain blocked the entrance. Twin sandy ruts meandered into the shady distance, a weedy median splitting them in two. “Cemetery Road,” he said. “Every family that has a loved one buried back there has a key to the lock on the chain. It’s a long walk, so most folks just drive their cars.”

Bud and Ralph stepped over the chain together, the green gullet of the Pines swallowing them at once.

                            *******

Half an hour after opening and Josie had yet to sell a single ticket. She had her knees pressed into the counter of the box office. A paperback entitled
The Lost
lay opened on her thighs as she passed the time, sitting atop a stool. The author was Jack Ketchum; a writer that the owner of the Book Nook, Miss Beasley of all people, suggested she give a go. It wasn’t horror in the conventional sense, though the story was horrifying all the same. She was so into the dark plot, about a remorseless killer and the small town he lived in, that she was startled right off her stool when the phone rang beside her ear on the wall.

             
“Dark Side of the Moon,” she answered shakily. “Where terror is a way of life.”

“Joey, is that you?” asked a familiar basso voice.

Josie put the book down and grinned. “Uncle Hambone! What’s up, brown bear?”

“I’m glad you’re there, sugar britches. S’at mean my fun-size boy’s there with you, too?”

Despite his cheery tone Ham sounded worried. It wasn’t like him to be so concerned about Rusty’s whereabouts. For most of their lives, Josie and Rusty had roamed the island with little interference from their parents—in much the same way Joe Rusty and Ham had done as children. Josie couldn’t recall the last time they’d had a parent check up on them.

“Yes, sir. He’s behind concessions with me brother. We’re helping out since Bilbo’s across the river today.”

Relieved sigh. “Good. So Bud’s there as well?”

Josie realized something was up.
Something to do with those rabid animals, maybe?
She chose her next words carefully. “He’s working the ride right now.”

The lie filled her mouth with a bitter taste

Ham paused, possibly searching her words for deception. Then he exhaled again. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now listen here, Joe. I know you kids got you some secret hideaway back in them woods, but do me a favor, will ya? For the time being, I want ya’ll to steer clear. In fact, when you walk past them woods…walk on the
other
side of the road.”

“Can I ask why?” Josie was hoping this was going to be good news of a sort.
Maybe they found the body of the second dog!
If so, that would mean the end of th
e
Creep
s
involvement in this affair. Mr. Huggins was always one of the first informed of situations like these. He was the un-official Mayor of Moon. Josie, however, was completely unprepared for what Ham said next.

“Because the sheriff done found a dead man back in them woods.”

                            *******

Bud and Tubby had walked for about thirty minutes, silent the whole time at Bud’s insistence—he didn’t want to alert anyone to their presence—when Tubby noticed how still the woods had become. He tugged on Bud’s shirt.
“Why’s it so quiet?”
he asked, whispering. Bud only shrugged and continued up the twin ruts.

             
Tubby didn’t like the sudden stillness. Yesterday that abrupt hush meant that that
Thing
was lurking nearby.

             
He squinted up at the trees. The sun’s molten rays made the uppermost boughs appear as if they were on fire.
Insects should have been buzzing away in the hazy heat. It was unnatural, is what it was.

             
“Did you bring your pistol, Bud?”

Bud patted the sagging pocket of his baggy shorts. Tubby wished he’d worn shorts, too. Despite the shade, it was awfully hot, already in the low-nineties, and his legs were sweating rivers underneath the heavy denim.

The road curved into a bend, and suddenly the woods opened up into a large clearing with a lovely cemetery at its center. A waist-high brick wall bordered the graveyard, the brick perimeter topped off by a wrought-iron picket fence. Presumably to keep any deer from getting at the flowerbeds, growing in abundance on the sprawling lawn. A green Ford Explorer was parked beside the fence on the left hand side. The SUV was empty. So were the clearing and the cemetery. An old-fashioned water pump stood sentinel at the gate.

Bud jumped up on the brick wall, holding on to the wrought iron pickets, while he scouted the area.

Tubby said nothing, just looked up at his friend. Bud finally jumped down and walked over to the Ford, placing his hand on the hood. To see if the engine was still warm. It was a pointless exercise—the sun had already made it hot to the touch. Bud shrugged and pointed at the waterspout. “I’ll pump for you first.” He primed the pump with a mason jar filled with water, sitting on the brick ledge, close by. He pumped the long, iron handle up and down, as he poured water into the top. Tubby watched, fascinated, as clear water began to sluice out of the spout. It amazed him that such a primitive contraption could pull water from an underground table, maybe hundreds of feet below. And all the while they were on an island surrounded by salt water! “What’re you waiting for?” Bud asked him, nodding his head at the running water.

Tubby dipped his sweaty head under the waterfall, crying out from the shock. He hadn’t expected it to be so cold. He drank his fill, and then took his turn at the handle. The water was slightly sweet, the best he’d ever tasted.

Bud stripped off his shirt before taking his turn under the spout. Tubby admired the way Bud could so un-self-consciously go about without his shirt. It must be a wonderful thing, he thought, not to worry about the way you looked. Be proud, in fact, of your body.  “Were you born like that, Bud, or do you work out?”

Bud dried his face and chest with his T-shirt, then flipped it on top of the fence to dry. “Both, I guess. My dad never lifts weights, and he’s naturally muscular, too. Joe and I work out three-times-a-week in a gym I’ve set up in my cellar. I don’t do it to build up my muscles, though.”