Lycanthropy Files Box Set: Books 1-3 Plus Novella Page 11

  I found a spool of tape and put a piece on the shelves where I’d found the three cats. Then I pulled the book or books if the cat had been positioned at the border of two texts off the shelves and put them on the desk. I reached with my fingers but didn’t find anything behind them, just the smooth wood of the shelves themselves.

  I sat in the large leather chair, dwarfed by its huge size. Charles Landover had been a tall man, about six and a half feet. Standing next to him, I’d always looked and felt younger than I was. Now, standing in his footsteps in the study, I had that feeling again, of missing something important because of being too short or not smart enough.

  “But you are smart enough, Joanie-cat,” he’d told me. “You just need to see what’s right in front of you.”

  I looked at the books I’d pulled off the shelves. Claude Lecouteaux’s Witches, Werewolves, and Fairies: Shapeshifters and Astral Doubles in the Middle Ages. Lycanthropy Case Studies and The Mysterious Disappearance of Hillary Baehr by a colleague of mine, Iain McPherson. Iain was a Scottish researcher who had devoted his life to seeking out and studying lycanthropes who developed CLS as children. We had met at an international conference, had immediately felt the connection of kindred spirits, and had kept in regular contact until I had lost my job. We had an agreement to share what we knew. I wondered what he would think about what I had discovered here at Crystal Pines: not just lycanthropes, but actual werewolves. The final books behind the seashell cat were Herbology by someone I’d never heard of and The Genetics of Lycanthropy and other Rare Psychological Disorders by—and it hurt to read his name—Robert Cannon.

  The first book made sense, as it presented a fascinating summary of the possible origin of werewolf legends in the Middle Ages. The ancient Scandinavian people had a different understanding of the soul. The spiritual part of a human had three parts: the fylgia, or psychic double, often seen as a female representation of the self that can act prophetically; the hamr, an aspect of the soul under the control of some people, which can take on a different form and travel when the individual is asleep; and the hugr, which can motivate the hamr or can represent universal principles of behavior. Some believed werewolves were actually the peoples’ hamrs, their spirits taking on another form after they left the body to carry on works that may or may not be diabolical.

  I had seen physical transformations, not just behavioral. The books on the table indicated my grandfather was also looking into the old legends that a person didn’t physically transform, but rather their spirit did. Once in animal form, the person could then effect physical change on the environment such as carrying objects and wounding others. The problem was that whatever happened to them in that form also happened to their human body. Hence the stories of someone cutting off a werewolf’s paw and the person, usually a witch, waking with a severed hand.

  Iain’s books detailed modern cases. In one, a woman named Hillary Baehr had displayed lycanthropic symptoms but then had completely vanished from a locked padded cell in 1956. No sign of struggle or forced exit were evident, and investigators could never get any of the staff to admit to aiding her. It was one of the earliest cases of a psychic, in this case Hillary’s sister Bethany, being brought in to aid police. All Bethany could tell them was that Hillary’s energy had changed. The case so fascinated the psychiatric community that it was still used as an example of poor facility management. Iain had studied it from a different angle and put it in a context similar to that of Lecouteaux’s book. I had no idea how Herbology fit in.

  Robert’s book had posited the premise that certain ethnic histories predisposed individuals to psychological disorders, and he used lycanthropy as being present in people descended from the Scandinavians as his primary example. His argument was that, due to immigration and emigration and a host of other factors, these disorders were becoming rarer because they were dependent on a certain combination of genes: one to make them susceptible to the disorder, and another to make that first gene express. If both genes were recessive, it would take a multigenerational process for them to activate the syndrome. So far all he had was theoretical family charts and formulas. I had been working on a similar project to map out the factors associated with CLS when the lab had caught fire.

  I still needed to figure out how all this fit together with Charles Landover’s disappearance. However, before I could begin to make notes, there was a beep. I hadn’t noticed the intercom on the desk.

  “Doctor Fisher?” Gabriel sounded like he was miles away.

  “Yes.” My exasperation and having been knocked out of my focus was evident in my voice. It wasn’t so much as a “yes” as a “leave me alone.”

  “The sheriff is here.”

  9

  I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth to ease my frustration. “I’ll be right out.”

  I put the books in the desk drawer to my right. Not that anyone would be able to tell with a glance what I had been working on, but one never knew how nosy the cops would get. I reminded myself that the sheriff had a legitimate reason for being there: a woman who had gone missing had died in my home. I couldn’t hide amongst my books if I was going to prove my innocence.

  I walked through the den and surprised a forensic team member in the act of wrapping the leather couch to be transported to their lab in Little Rock. I hated to lose it—it had been my grandfather’s, after all—but I decided I’d rather not be reminded someone had died on it. I made a mental note to talk to Gabriel about whether we should replace it with a different style of furnishing. When I walked into the kitchen, Lonna was pouring the sheriff a fresh cup of coffee.

  “Nice of you to join us, Doctor Fisher.”

  “Thank you for stopping back by, Sheriff.” Gads, I hated being fake, but it wouldn’t do to get the man riled up at this point.

  “Ms. Marconi was telling me she slept through all the excitement last night.”

  “She’d had a long day.”

  “She also can’t account for your whereabouts after approximately nine p.m.”

  “I had my coffee on the balcony with Gabriel and went to bed.”

  He took notes as I talked. “When did you wake up?”

  “I don’t have a clock visible from the bed, but it was probably about two a.m., maybe a little later.”

  “What woke you up?”

  “I’d been sleeping fitfully, so it was one more awakening.”

  “Any idea what disturbed your sleep?”

  I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “My life has just been turned upside down, Sheriff. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, right.” His ears turned pink. “Did you hear anything?”

  “I heard a noise from outside, something moving the gravel on the driveway. Then footsteps downstairs, an exclamation, and then the front-door bolt being unlocked.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I wanted to see what was going on, so I went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, and put on a robe. The running water kept me from hearing anything else.”

  “And then what happened?”

  I filled him in from that point, but instead of mentioning the black wolf, I just told him Louise had been trying to warn me about something, but she’d not been able to articulate anything. He took notes. Finally, he asked me, “And what made you pass out in the kitchen?”

  “I’m not an M.D., Sheriff. I get squeamish at the sight of blood.”

  He shook his head with a superior smirk for the poor little woman who couldn’t take blood. “And you’re a doctor?”

  “A different kind.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “The boys’ll take the couch. Just in case, you know.”

  Before I could ask, “Just in case of what?” Gabriel interrupted. “It’s obvious what happened, Sheriff. She appeared here on the lawn and died on the sofa.”

  “I don’t really think it’s necessary to tak
e the furniture,” Lonna chimed in. “If you need to see it again, you can come back.”

  He hooked his thumbs in his belt and planted his feet. “These orders come from above me, people. I’m just doing my job.”

  “I’ll send you a bill,” I muttered.

  “I’ll, ah, also need those clothes you were wearing last night, Mr. Gabriel.”

  “My clothes?”

  “Evidence.”

  “They’re bloodstained from me carrying the woman in. I didn’t do anything to her.”

  “No one’s sayin’ you did. Just give me the clothes.”

  Gabriel raised one eyebrow but complied and left to fetch them. I could tell he was exasperated. We all were. At last, Knowles dismissed us, but with a command to call if we were going to leave the area.

  Gabriel appeared with the clothes, and we watched, helpless, as the forensics guys finished wrapping the couch in moving plastic and took it away. They also took the rug it sat on. I felt as though they took a part of my grandfather’s memory with them.

  “Look at this,” Lonna called. She had walked to the front window, and we saw more men were outside gathering up clumps of grass and gravel. First they photographed them, and then they gathered everything that could have been touched by Louise and placed whatever it was in a bucket.

  “Is this standard procedure?” I asked.

  “The photographing, yes,” Lonna told me. “The gravel and grass theft, no. I just don’t understand this.” Her arm brushed mine, and her skin felt clammy.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Just feeling a little washed out. Too much going on right now. And that sleeping pill was strong.”

  “Why don’t you go lay down? Sleep off the hangover.”

  “Can’t. I’ve got to go interview some more residents. And the mayor.”

  “Are you sure? You look like hell.” The pale tint under her olive skin made her look slightly green.

  “I’m fine.”

  “All right. But at least let me come with you.”

  “Sure. It might help to have a second set of ears.”

  The wobbly way she walked up the stairs to change shoes made me wonder if she needed an extra set of legs, too.

  The mayor of Piney Mountain, now Crystal Pines, lived in one of the newer houses of the subdivision. We arrived just after ten a.m.

  “He certainly didn’t suffer a drop in the standard of his living.” I looked around after we rang the doorbell. The house had been built to look like a large 1920s-style bungalow. I remembered that before Crystal Pines, this neighborhood had been a park.

  “No doubt.” Lonna gave a low whistle as a uniformed maid answered the door. “You don’t even have one of those.”

  “Yet,” I whispered as we were shown into the living room. She smirked.

  “Gabriel might have some competition.”

  “I doubt that. I’m not into maids.”

  For a moment, everything felt like it was right between us again. Then Peter Bowman walked in.

  Lonna took a quick breath, and I felt what my grandfather used to call the “Stony Joanie” look cross my face. He said when I got uncomfortable, I would retreat behind a mask, and it was impossible to tell what I was feeling or thinking. When I grew into adulthood, others found the expression to be intimidating. Now I hoped it covered the rage I felt at Peter’s threats from two very long days ago as well as the anger and frustration from the erosion of my friendship with Lonna, which I blamed him for.

  “Ms. Marconi, Doctor Fisher, please have a seat. Mayor Franz will be with you shortly.”

  “And why does he feel the need to have a lawyer present?” I asked as I settled into a plush armchair and crossed my legs. “Is he feeling guilty today?”

  A condescending smile curled the left corner of Peter’s patrician mouth. “I was here working with the mayor on some paperwork for the new town hall.”

  “What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”

  “It has termites, mold, and structural issues. Some of the documents currently stored there are irreplaceable, so we’re working on building a new place for them before we tear that old wreck down.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Tear down the Town Hall? I remembered walking by it with my grandfather and eating picnic lunches on the front steps. How could they take away another one of my memories? I blinked to keep the tears from forming in my eyes.

  “What kind of documents?”

  “The birth, death and marriage records for the town, for one thing. Some of them are so old they can’t be moved too often.”

  “What about bringing in trained document restoration experts?” asked Lonna. “Surely the town would be invested enough in its history to pay someone to come out and take care of its records, especially since genealogy is such a popular hobby.”

  “It would cost too much to do it right now, and the town council doesn’t want to send the records away.”

  “Yet they can afford a whole new building?”

  “They can justify the expense if it’s for more than one purpose. It will be Crystal Pines’ first multi-use facility with the Town Hall, Library and administrative offices.” Peter shrugged. “That’s how government works, ladies.”

  “So you’re tearing down the library, too?”

  “It’s been closed for a few years now due to moisture and mold problems, and the books are in storage.”

  “It doesn’t seem that Mayor Franz is hurting too much.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “I was well-compensated for my land when Crystal Pines.” A tall man with sandy red hair and freckles entered from the front hall. “I’m Lee Franz,” he said. He held out his hand and shook mine with a firm, confident grip. He looked to be in his fifties, and his blue eyes sparkled like those of someone who shared an inside joke with the world. He wore an impeccably tailored white shirt and gray trousers.

  “Joanie Fisher,” I introduced myself, my cheeks hot.

  “Ah, yes, the town heiress. We sorely miss your grandfather. He kept up with a lot of the town history for us.”

  “This is my friend Lonna, a social worker from Little Rock.”

  “I assume you weren’t here to talk to Mayor Franz about family records?” asked Peter, now in full lawyer mode. Lee Franz sat on the leather sofa, and Lonna and I reclaimed our seats in the armchairs.

  “Yes, er, no,” said Lonna. “We’re here to talk about the missing children.”

  “I get telephone calls every day about that from worried townspeople,” Lee told her. “I wish I knew something that could help them. And you.”

  “Natives of Piney Mountain, right?” I asked. “Not the Crystal Pines newcomers.”

  He rubbed his temples. “They think the new development has stirred up an evil mountain spirit that wants to take revenge for being disturbed.”

  “An evil mountain spirit?” The hair on the back of my neck pricked with the memory of the cry I’d heard the night before.

  “The Ozarks have several legendary monsters. One of them, the Gowrow, was supposedly common up here in the 1800s.”

  “What’s a Gowrow?” I asked.

  “A twenty-foot-long lizard with tusks. It liked riverbeds and caves.”

  Lonna and I exchanged a skeptical glance. She asked the next question. “And what do you think about this monster, or at least the possibility that it’s the one snatching your children?”

  He spread his hands. “We can’t seem to find any other explanation.”

  “What about wolves?” I asked, my heart beating fast.

  “The Arkansas red wolf and the coyote are probably too small to carry off a child of nine or ten. Besides, we’d at least have something left to find. They wouldn’t just vanish.”

  I shivered at the gruesome thought, and the memory of Louise, battered and burned, came into my head.

  “So no one has reported a large black wolf roaming around?”

  “Why?” asked Peter, alarm showing through his conde
scension. “Have you seen one?”

  I looked at him and realized he didn’t know about his brother and cousin. Neither did the mayor, and now that I thought about it, Lonna didn’t, either. I hadn’t had the chance to tell her yet. Gabriel and I were the only ones who knew there were real, honest-to-God werewolves running around.

  I decided to evade the question. “It was something that someone told me.”

  “There are a lot of, shall we say, eccentric people in these parts, Doctor Fisher.” The mayor dismissed them with a wave of his hand. ”I would take what they say with a large grain of salt.”

  “I see.”

  “If you don’t have any more questions for the mayor,” Peter said, but his cell phone rang. He frowned at the screen, then answered it. “Marguerite, I told you not to call me this morning. I’m in a meeting with the mayor.”

  He walked into the hallway, but even from there, we could hear hysterical crying on the other end. “What? That’s impossible! From his room? Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  Peter came back in, his face pale. “Lance is missing.”

  “Your son?” asked Lonna.

  “Taken from his room. Last night. Marguerite thought he woke up early and might have wandered off, but she can’t find him anywhere, and the front door was unlocked.”

  “Go,” said the mayor. “I can handle things from here.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Lonna said. I looked at her, speechless. “If they have to search the woods, they need as many feet as they can find.”

  “Fine. We can follow you,” I told Peter.

  “Thank you.” He clasped Lonna’s hand. “That means the world to me.”

  I bit my tongue over my sharp retort and followed them out.

  Peter and his family lived in a large Tudor-style brick house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Their front yard was small, as with most modern subdivisions, and their back lawn sloped gently to the woods. Right now both front lawn and back teemed with uniformed men who inspected every blade of grass and every inch of driveway.