"The killers you're looking for? They're covered in fur and have snouts and mouths filled with sharp teeth. Wild animals, Alan, but as smart as we are, maybe smarter."
Deputy Vance blinked, and a bemused grin appeared on his face. "Prowlers," he said. "You're talking about Prowlers." Molly's mouth dropped into a little O, and Jack's eyes snapped open.
"You know about them?" Jack asked angrily. "Then what the hell are we doing here? Why aren't you out there hunting them down?"
Tackett started to laugh. His face grew red and he bent slightly at the waist, shaking his head in amusement.
"You two are something else," he said.
Vance did not seem as amused. He frowned as he studied first Jack, then Molly. Finally he sat down across from Molly and gazed at her intently.
"Miss, the Prowlers, they're just legends," he said. "They're like . . . like the bogeyman, up this way. Everyone's heard the stories, but only children believe them. You hear the occasional story from a hunter. Don't go into the woods alone or the Prowlers will get you. And certainly there have been run-ins in these mountains with bears and bobcats. But Prowlers are no more real than Bigfoot or the Teddy Bear Picnic. Now I'll be honest with you. I know you're involved in this thing somehow, but I'm not convinced you're killers. I don't think the sheriff 's convinced, either."
"Deputy," Tackett growled in a warning voice.
Vance ignored him. Molly's respect for him went up by leaps and bounds because of that.
"But you've got to give us something more than 'the bogeyman did it,' " the deputy finished.
Jack stared hard at him, hard enough to draw Vance's attention. For several seconds, their gazes met in silent combat.
"Alan," Jack said, voice low and controlled. "They're real. We killed two of them at the library. Then two, possibly three more in the woods up near that clearing.
They killed the girl and her father, and Kenny Oberst, and Foster Marlin, and Phil Garraty, too. Something's been stolen from them and they want it back."
"Those are the bodies I was talking about," Molly said calmly.
Silence fell over the little room, but a dark energy seemed to connect the four of them, a circuit that ran from person to person, a circuit of suspicion. Molly wished Jack had not mentioned the Prowlers until they had a lawyer, if ever.
There were only two possibilities. First, that the sheriff and his deputy had no idea the Prowlers were real, in which case talking about them would only make the lawmen think she and Jack were out of their minds. Second, that Tackett and Vance knew and were somehow involved, or even Prowlers themselves.
Molly's throat was dry as she finally accepted that the second possibility was the most likely. After all . . .
"Where are the bodies?" Tackett demanded.
He had put voice to the biggest question in Molly's mind.
"What?" Jack asked, growing angrier.
"These monsters you say killed all these people. There should be corpses at the library and in the woods. Where are they?"
Jack slumped back in his chair, at a loss. But Molly's mind was swirling with the implications of the question. She knew she ought to keep quiet, but found the words spilling out.
"You moved them," she said.
Tackett glared at her, arms dropping to his sides as he nearly shook with anger. "What did you just say?"
But she ignored him. Instead, Molly looked at Deputy Vance. The shock on his face was something he could not hide. She believed he was not in on it.
Therefore, he was their only hope.
"They could have dragged the bodies away from the woods near the clearing. I'll buy that. But we chased them up into the forest after the whole library thing.
They left those corpses behind. Who was the first person on the scene at the library?"
Vance glanced at Tackett, and Molly knew.
With a sigh, she nodded. "I thought so."
Tackett slammed a hand against the wall and it shook the room. He was overweight and aging, but he was still very strong. Molly was not surprised.
"Damn you, girl," the sheriff thundered. "Both of you. You're talking about legends and monsters. I'm talking about the real thing. People have been murdered.
As far as I know, you don't have any alibis for the vandalism at the Paperback Diner or at the library, or for any of the murders. No alibis except each other. You were at the scene. You were armed with unlicensed weapons. I found you with a corpse at your feet. Now maybe you ought to start talking about what's really going on here, otherwise I'd say you're screwed."
Molly and Jack exchanged a single glance. They sat in silence a moment. Deputy Vance seemed more than agitated as his gaze ticked from one to the other and back at the sheriff.
"Can we make our phone call now?" Jack asked, all sweetness and innocence.
Deflated, Tackett threw up his hands. "Sure, kid. Call anyone you want. Make it count, though. We don't like murderers around here."
Again, Molly ignored Tackett. She turned instead to Deputy Vance. She raised her hands and stood up. Twirled in a circle, like she was showing off her gown on the red carpet on Oscar night.
"Look at me, Alan. Look at Jack. That girl was ripped apart. You see any blood on us? Any at all?"
Tackett grunted once. "Alan, let them make their call and then put them in a cage. I'm going for a little walk, clear my head. When I come back, you can head home."
As he left, all three of them stared after him in silence.
Not long before midnight, inhuman things gathered in the sprawling home of Bernard Mackeson. It was an old Federal colonial that had stood there as long as any of the other structures in
