Hidden Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,87

than I wanted to know about.
Chapter 34
Grace waited in the car. She glanced at my face and started to drive.

"Tonight's the bonfire," she said.

I nodded. Grace knew as well as I did the schedule for the festival. It hadn't changed in the last forty years; I doubted it would change in the next forty. Unless Lake Bluff grew too poor to have the festival.

"I made some calls," Grace continued. "Logan's campaign manager agreed to keep the specifics of Logan's death under wraps for the time being."

"How'd you get him to agree to that?"

"Threatened to feed the media the truth about his golden boy. Works every time."

Interesting. Even though he was dead, they didn't want it touted on the national news that Josh Logan had been a rapist.

"We can still go public once this is over," Grace said. "But right now I'd like to keep the media frenzy out of town - even though the idea of feeding a few journalists to the werewolf does have its appeal. No offense."

"None taken," I said. A lot of people held the same opinion, including me, about certain reporters. "I'd rather let this drop. Josh can't hurt anyone anymore. I want to forget."

Grace glanced at me searchingly, her brow creased with worry. "You don't have to decide now."

"I have decided. That part of my life is as dead as Josh." I hoped.

While I should be happy that I didn't have to tell the world my private horror, right now I couldn't manage to feel happy about anything.

"I also talked to Doc Bill," Grace continued. "The fur found on Josh's body tested positive for wolf."

"We figured that."

"It's always good to have data to back up a theory." Grace bit her lip. "I'm not sure what to do about Balthazar."

"What is there to do?" I asked. "Sweep up what's left of him and put it in an urn?"

"That might be a little hard to explain."

"What isn't lately?"

"He's listed as a missing person; it might be best to allow everyone to continue to think that. I'm not sure how to account for the explosion, let alone the tail. I've got the same issue with Freestone, even though no one's actually seen him get furry."

"Freestone may be long gone."

"And if he's a werewolf - "

"We know he is."

"Yeah." Grace sighed. "So if he's hightailed it to the mountains or, worse, to a big city - "

"There are going to be a lot more werewolves soon."

"I wish I knew what to do about that, too. Would be nice if there were some sort of army you could call to take care of this."

"Wouldn't it, though?"

"I'm going to have to go after him."

"I know."

Silence fell, broken only by the hum of the tires against the pavement.

"Parade tomorrow at ten." Grace went back to listing things I already knew. "Picnic at noon, followed by fireworks just after sundown. Then the eclipse and we're home free."

As long as the werewolf, or wolves, followed Malachi's wagons out of town.

"Make sure everyone's got silver bullets," I blurted.

Grace turned in to her driveway. "It's one little werewolf. Maybe two. What could happen?"

I hated it when people said things like that.

I'd left my dad's car at Grace's, so I drove directly to work, where I discovered an empty office. Since Balthazar had... disappeared, and his editorial diatribes, too, the number of people requesting appointments had dwindled.

I glanced at my watch. Joyce should be here, but she wasn't.

A quick perusal of her desk revealed she had been here, not too long ago. Where was she now?

The ladies' room was empty, as was the break room. I continued searching, asking anyone who milled about town hall if they'd seen her, tracking Joyce like Grace tracked wolves, through a building instead of the forest. I found Joyce forty-five minutes later in the bowels of the basement. I hadn't been there since I was a kid, and with good reason.

Once I'd come to work with my father and begun exploring. I'd crept down the dark, dank cement staircase then as I did now, feeling chills wind up my spine as cobwebs drifted across my face and clung to my hair.

When I was ten, I hadn't lasted more than a few minutes on the ground level before I'd thundered back up and burst through the door, slamming it behind me. I'd heard strange things in that basement. I heard them again now.

Scratchings and scramblings - mice, no doubt. I didn't like them, but they weren't enough to make me run before