Are you listening to Violet’s podcast?
Scout gave LeVar a chance to reply. Maybe LeVar had his phone turned off so he could study. He worked part time for Wolf Lake Consulting, a local private investigation firm. Chelsey Byrd, Thomas Shepherd’s girlfriend, ran Wolf Lake Consulting with her lead investigator, Raven Hopkins, who was LeVar’s sister. Raven, LeVar, Scout, and Darren Holt, the state park ranger, collaborated on investigations together. Thomas often joked they were a modern version of the Scooby Doo mystery gang.
“I realize how unbelievable this sounds. But today in school, I sensed someone watching me. You know the feeling you get? The one that spreads goosebumps down your body and makes the hair stand on the back of your neck? While I was in class, I spied a shadow behind the trees. He was there. The Halloween Man. And that’s not all. After lunch, I opened my locker and found a tiny pumpkin on the shelf. Sure, anyone might have placed it there. But who could have broken inside my locker besides a school official or a janitor? I don’t give out my combo. Too many devious secrets hidden in my locker.” Violet cleared her throat. “Nothing illegal, Principal Dane. Forget I mentioned it. Anyhow, it’s not like school officials walk around with pumpkins all day.”
All right. Violet’s podcast had taken a turn for the worst. Scout reached for the volume knob and paused when a door creaked open. It sounded like it came from inside her own bedroom. She spun the chair around and stared at the closet and bedroom doors, both closed. No, the sound had come through the speakers. Violet chattered about the mythical murderer. Two footsteps preceded a scream.
“I’m your boyfriend now, Violet.”
The deep voice sent a shock wave through Scout. A loud thud almost blew the speakers as Violet’s microphone toppled to the floor.
Another blood-curdling scream. This wasn’t real. It had to be an act. The grand finale.
Scout flinched when a knife plunged into soft flesh. She forced herself to picture Violet jabbing a butcher’s knife into a pillow. Instead, the leering grin of Norman Bates haunted her.
The murder sounded authentic. Violet begged and pleaded between screeches. Then she went silent.
Scout’s breathing halted as the quiet thickened. She leaned forward. Listening. Terrified.
Someone picked the microphone off the floor and set it upright. Scout expected Violet to laugh and gloat. She’d just pulled the perfect prank. Years ago, Scout had read about the War of the Worlds radio broadcast from 1938. The entire nation once believed martians were attacking earth.
But Violet didn’t speak. Someone breathed over the microphone. Low and guttural.
Scout reminded herself this was an elaborate joke. Bad drama, no different from the horror movies she watched with LeVar and Raven over a bowl of popcorn.
So why did it seem so real?
CHAPTER TWO
October 30th
9:25 p.m.
Thomas Shepherd lay on the pillow with Chelsey Byrd beside him. His skin beaded with sweat as she traced a finger from his chest to his navel. One hand beneath his head, he draped a free arm around Chelsey and held her close. She exhaled and smiled up at him.
“Why did we wait so long?”
He snickered and shook his head.
“I have no idea. Let’s not wait so long next time.”
“Preach, Sheriff.”
Expansive windows covered Thomas’s A-Frame and offered picturesque views. Outside, the moon reflected off the water and painted highlights as breakers pushed against the shoreline. Around the sleepy lake, lights from faraway homes winked back at them.
Dog tags jingled. Chelsey lifted her head.
“I feel bad for Jack. It’s like we kicked him out of bed.”
“Don’t worry about Jack,” Thomas said, massaging her shoulders. During the summer, Thomas had discovered Jack on the state park grounds. He believed the massive pup to be a Siberian Husky. His veterinarian wasn’t convinced, theorizing he was a crossbreed of some sort. “He prefers sleeping on the floor. Anyhow, if we let him on the bed, there won’t be room for us after he stretches out. Trust me, I barely have room when it’s just Jack and me.”
Chelsey closed her eyes and sighed. They’d dated in high school before major depression struck Chelsey. Confused and frightened, she’d pushed Thomas and her friends out of her life. Thomas never stopped loving Chelsey, though their lives meandered in separate directions. While Chelsey traveled the United States without direction, working odd jobs as she pulled her life together, Thomas graduated college and accepted a position with the LAPD. Overcoming Asperger’s syndrome, he rose to detective before a gangland shooting almost crippled him.
The bullet’s ghost dug into the small of his back. He’d never rid himself of the pain.
After recovering, Thomas returned to his hometown of Wolf Lake, accepted a deputy position with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department, and purchased his Uncle Truman’s old house beside the lake. Chelsey had avoided Thomas at first. She’d worried rekindling their relationship would cause her depression to return. The idea was illogical, but Thomas learned years ago not to underestimate the mind’s capacity for concocting irrational fears. He was happy to have Chelsey back in his life.
“Only a few weeks until you become sheriff,” she said, ruffling his disheveled hair. “The big kahuna.”
“It doesn’t seem real.”
After Sheriff Gray retired, Thomas had become interim sheriff. Gray promised Thomas the position would be his as long he wanted it. Sheriff Gray had run unopposed in the last election, and after Thomas thwarted three murderers in his six months since returning from Los Angeles, nobody had challenged Thomas. In less than two weeks, he would become Sheriff of Nightshade County in the department where he’d interned as a high school student. Trepidation whispered in the back of his mind. Had he made the right decision leaving Los Angeles?
“You’ll make the best sheriff this county has ever seen.”
“Now you sound like my father.”
Thomas
