“What the hell.” I hit the button. A tendril of mist wound around my ankles. “The fog comes on little cat feet,” I muttered as I waited. I heard a click. Voicemail.
I waited a minute and tried again, the manor moaning and settling behind me and the wind sighing in the trees. Voicemail again. There was never a cop around when you needed one. Finally, I dialed the Java Joint. If Jack or Meadow weren’t available, there might be someone there who wouldn’t mind giving me a lift home.
The rapid busy signal put an end to that plan. Their line was down. I tried the Darryls, always good for a lift if they had your car. Same result. All of Main Street must be out of order. I set off on foot. I was a brisk five-minute walk to Agnes Jenner’s house, and from there it was a short walk to Main. If anything seemed off, I could bang on Agnes’s door. At this point, any action was preferable to lingering.
I moved quickly down the drive and along the road, avoiding the footbridge and staying on the one meant for car traffic. I paused and looked over to the side, curious as to how much the water had risen from the rain, but the angry bubbling that had caught my attention was obscured by a blanket of swirling fog. It was like looking into a giant witch’s cauldron. What would the Brothers Grimm do next?
“Get a grip, Greer.” I rolled my eyes at my vivid imagination, but I moved on at a good speed nonetheless, keeping a firm grip on my cell phone. I slowed as I crested the hill on the other side of the stream. A couple hundred yards of moonlit darkness, punctuated by drifting fog, stretched between me and the streetlamp near Agnes Jenner’s driveway. Woods lined the road on either side. I moved to the middle of the street, where I had more light and could see anything that entered the empty space around me, a habit learned long ago in the city. I continued to walk, in and out of the fog, listening to the night sounds of birds and animals going about their business. They remarked on my passing with an occasional silence or quick chitter, then went back to what they were doing. I was reassured by their lack of concern—if there was something out here with me, some human predator, the woods would be still.
I gave a sigh of relief when I reached the streetlamp. I could hear cars in the distance and see lights in Agnes’s windows. The only remaining obstacle between me and civilization was a large patch of undulating fog at the foot of the Jenner driveway. I marched forward at a steady pace, only slowing when the fog wrapped itself around me, muting sound and limiting my vision. Still, I kept moving. I was following the reflective line at the edge of the road and congratulating myself on maintaining my “Keep Calm and Carry On” attitude when a noise stopped me cold.
The muffled cough came again, about three feet ahead of where I stood. I froze, straining to see through the swirling fog. The atmosphere shifted. A breeze whispered through the treetops. The whirl of air created a clearing in the mist, and I found myself staring into a pair of amber eyes.
“Hello, there,” I said.
The big red fox stood facing me, ears flicking and gaze steady, clearly on alert but not aggressive. I kept still. His ears flicked again, rotating back and then forward. I tilted my head, listening, and heard nothing but a car engine at the end of the road.
The fox barked again, the sound clearer with no fog between us. The engine noise grew closer. With one last warning yip the fox launched himself past me, seeming to pull the fog behind him like a cloak. It swirled around me as I stepped back, startled and off balance. Bright headlights flashed, every drop of moisture in the air became a dazzling prism. I stumbled back again, squinting against the glare, my foot squelching into the sodden verge.
I stopped and considered flagging down the driver. In seconds I realized the car was headed straight for me. I turned in the direction the fox had taken and dove off the road, rolling down the slope until I fetched up against a tree stump. Tires squealed and I smelled burned rubber. The car roared off.
I was shaking and gasping when I heard my phone buzz. I could see it blink to life a few feet away. I crawled toward it and made a grab. On the second try I managed to thumb it on.
“This is Webber,” I heard. “What’s going on?”
“I think someone just tried to kill me.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Seven minutes!” Officer Jennie Webber banged the steering wheel of the unmarked police car, in which I was receiving the much sought after ride home.
“You couldn’t wait seven minutes for me to call you back?” she accelerated through a yellow light on Main and turned toward my apartment.
“People who hang out alone at the manor after dark tend to come to a bad end, remember? And you weren’t the only one I called.”
I sniffed, feeling soggy, sorry for myself, and annoyed. I was being scolded for nearly being the next victim of a killer the police had failed to apprehend. Granted, I had set a trap with myself as bait, but I had not expected it to be quite so successful. And while I’d withheld evidence, I’d had every intention of handing it over earlier that day.
“That’s fair,” Webber said, easing the car to a stop. She drummed her fingers against the wheel for a moment, brow furrowed.
“That shouldn’t have happened, and it’s not going
