It always turns out that the witnesses were untrustworthy, or the evidence faked or simply misidentified.”
Instead of replying to that, he said, “We’re here.” He pulled into the lot of the Red Lion, a Greek diner on the corner of County Line Road and Route 611, and parked next to Val’s two-year-old Dodge Viper. Inside, Gus, the owner, gave him a friendly grin.
“You looking for Val and Crow? They’re in the back.” He picked up two menus and ushered them into a nearly empty dining room. Newton made introductions and everyone shook hands.
“Thanks for agreeing to come up here,” Val said after they’d ordered coffees.
“Well, Mr. Newton piqued my interest with his book. A mass-market trade paperback deal is something we academics only dream of, so being extensively quoted and footnoted in one is actually a good career move.”
Newton’s cover story was only partly a lie because Newton did plan to write a book, leveraging his celebrity as the reporter who broke the Karl Ruger/Cape May Killer story. Even his editor, Dick Hangood—who was not Newton’s biggest fan—thought a book deal would be a no-brainer, but no actual deal yet existed.
Crow sipped his coffee. “Newt’s been tapping me for info since he started on the project. Up till now I’ve been the local spook expert.”
“I know,” Jonatha said. “I Googled you and saw how many times you’ve been quoted.”
“Then you’ll know that most of it has been related to hauntings and such,” he said, nodding.
“You’ve been quoted a few times in articles about werewolf legends, but just in passing. Do you have a folklore background?”
“Not really. I’ve read a lot of books and when you live in Pine Deep you tend to pick up on things.”
Newton watched Jonatha as she studied Crow. She had shrewd eyes and didn’t blink until after Crow finished talking. Newton recognized that as an interviewer’s trick. She was looking for a “tell.” If you blink you can miss small changes in the other person’s expression, pupilary dilation, nostril flaring, thinning of the lips, angle of gaze— all of which could reveal a lot more about the subject than words or tone of voice. Newton had seen cops use the same tricks. So far Crow seemed to be doing pretty good.
Newton said, “I’ve been collecting some oral stories—things that have not yet been recorded and some weird things have come up that are outside of my own experience.”
“Outside mine, too,” Crow said.
The waitress came and they ordered. Cheese omelets for Crow and Jonatha, a stack of French toast for Newton, and a bagel with whitefish for Val. Everyone had second coffees.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Ms. Guthrie,” Jonatha said, “what’s your involvement in this?”
“Val, please, and I’m an interested observer.”
“Crow and Val are engaged,” Newton explained.
Jonatha stirred Splenda into her coffee. Her eyes lingered on Val’s. “I read the last few week’s worth of papers. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thanks.”
“I read that the mayor of the town is in a coma.”
Val paused. “Yes.”
“Unrelated events?”
“Yes.”
“But on the same day as the attacks on your brother and his wife.”
Val said nothing.
“Which is the same day you shot and killed that criminal, I believe?”
“Are you going somewhere with this, Dr. Corbiel?”
“Jonatha. No, I’m just trying to put the pieces together. You’ve all been through a terrible series of events. It’s pretty amazing that you can find the peace of mind to work together on a pop-culture book.”
The food arrived, which gave Newton, Crow, and Val time to share some brief eye contact. All of them were hustling to reevaluate Jonatha Corbiel. When the waitress left, Crow said, “Distraction is useful under stress, don’t you think?”
“Distraction? That’s a funny word to put on the pursuit of a book on vampires. I would have thought you’d have had enough of monsters by now. Human monsters, I mean, which I think we can all agree are much worse than anything we find in film, fiction, or folklore.”
Val tore off a piece of bagel and put it in her mouth as she leaned back in her chair and assessed Jonatha. “Is this going to be a problem? Would you rather not help us out with this?”
Jonatha gave them all a big smile that was pure charm and about a molecule deep. “Not at all. I’m rather interested to hear what you have to say.”
They all digested that as they ate, but it was Jonatha who again broke the silence. “So…who wants to start?”
“Why don’t I give it a shot?” Crow said.
She waggled a corner of toast. “Fire away.”
“Okay, if you’ve been reading about Pine Deep, then you’ve read about the Massacre of 1976.”
“The Black Harvest and the Reaper murders, yes.”
“Um…right. Well, since the seventies there have been a lot of urban myths built up around what happened. Have you heard of the Bone Man?”
“Sure. That’s the nickname given to Oren Morse, the migrant worker who was falsely accused of the crimes.”
That threw Crow. “Falsely…?”
“I have copies of the news stories, Crow,” she said. “When Newton told me that the records from the Pine Deep newspapers had been destroyed in a fire I just probed a little deeper. Crimes of that kind are widely reported, and I have photocopies of the stories as reported by the Doylestown
If she had tossed a hand grenade onto the table she could not have hit Crow harder.
“What?” Val and Newton both exclaimed.
“Your father was also quoted in four separate articles, Val,” Jonatha said, “beginning with the murder of your uncle.”
The three of them sat in stunned silence, gawking at her.
Jonatha finished her toast and cut a piece of omelet. “Mmm, good food here,” she said as she chewed. The silence persisted and finally Jonatha put down her fork. “You didn’t know your father was in the papers, did you?”
“No,” Val said. Her face had gone pale.
Jonatha folded her hands in her lap and looked at them in turn. Some of her smile had faded. “Okay, let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? Val, you and Crow lost family to the Reaper. According to the news stories you were friends with Morse, who worked for some time for your father. Your town’s mayor, Terry Wolfe, lost a sister to the killer and was himself hospitalized. All through this there was a terrible blight…the Black Harvest in question. Now, thirty years later we have another blight, another series of brutal murders, and violence again hitting the same three families. Even some of the dimmer news affiliates have remarked on the coincidence, but they left it as coincidence.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t much believe in coincidence.”
Crow opened his mouth to say something, but Jonatha held up a hand. “Let me finish. After Newton contacted me about this…about his
Instead of answering, Val just said, “Go on.”
“Then Boyd attacks and kills two police officers on your farm. The news report—Mr. Newton’s own news report—states that one of the officers emptied his gun, apparently during the struggle. All those shots without hitting the suspect? A week or so later he attacks your brother and sister-in-law, kills one of your employees, and
