father. They moved toward the front
of the store up the last aisle, toward the register, she
assumed.
"It was just a question of finding them. I
don't like keeping these kinds of things up front. I don't want any
of the kids getting their hands on them."
"Yep, true ’nuff," Mike drawled. They were
from somewhere down south, Dusty remembered. Sarah had come into
third grade with the most laughable accent. Her nickname had become
"y'all" because it was all that came out of her mouth, especially,
"Y’all talk funny, not me!"
"I don’t sell much ammo outside of deer
season," Will told him. She heard the old cash register totaling
things up. “Although, with what’s been happening around here
lately, I should probably start advertising in the window."
"I ain't takin’ no chances," Mike said.
“After that Summers boy…”
Sarah lost her accent, Dusty thought. I
wonder why he didn't?
"And poor Nicky Chandler,” Mike continued.
“What the hell was he doin’ in the boneyard?"
Good question. Dusty had been planning on going up front and
paying for her things, maybe talking to Will for a minute or two.
The mention of Nick's name had started to change her
mind.
"What a thing." Will sighed. “A horrible,
horrible thing.” Tears pricked Dusty’s eyes at the sadness in his
voice. "I know that family real well. He was such a good boy."
"Hotshot lawyer, wasn’t he?" Mike asked.
"Yeah,” Will replied. “Home for a visit with
his folks, they said. I’m really gonna miss him. When he was a kid,
he used to come help me clean up, do inventory, whatever else
needed doing. Him and his sister—they never asked for nothing, just
came and kept me company."
Dusty leaned against the shelf. Tears,
unbidden, welled up. She and Nick had once thought old Mr. Cougar
was the best thing to come along since Kool-Aid. His word was God's
back then.
“ It’s a real shame,” Mike
agreed. There was a pause, and then he asked, “So what do you think
it is, Will?"
The old man didn’t seem confused by the
question. He knew exactly what Mike was asking, and so did Dusty.
"Well," Will started. "I can't rightly say. Newspaper says it's a
big cat of some kind, but the Sheriff's setting traps left and
right up there by Clinton Grove and all he's catching is
rabbits."
"Do you think it's an animal?" Mike
asked.
Dusty's ears pricked up. She felt awful, her
stomach churning, knowing she shouldn’t be listening, but she
couldn’t stop herself. Julia wouldn’t approve—but her instincts
told her to stay put.
"Mike, I just don’t know.
I’ll tell you something—I saw the Summers kid when they brought him
in. I was jawwing with Matt down at the station, after I reported
the break-in here. And we both know who did that and who isn't
going to get caught for it," Will said wryly. Shane, Dusty thought, reading his
thoughts as she knew Mike would. In Larkspur, trouble was always
spelled S-H-A-N-E.
Will continued: "They brought the body in,
just a couple of kids carryin’ him, not knowing any better, not
even knowing who he was. Couldn’t tell who he was anymore.” Will’s
voice dropped. “Kid looked like he'd got himself caught up in a
meat grinder. I nearly lost my dinner, I can tell you."
"So there were bite marks, like it says in
the paper?" Mike asked.
"Bite marks? Feh!” Will
snorted. “Mike, the kid was shredded . The only way they would've
been able to identify him, if his friends hadn't come out of hiding
long enough to find out what happened to him, that is, would've
been dental records or that new DNA technology they got on that CSI
program."
“ Really?” Mike’s voice
sounded faint.
"I ain’t kidding,” Will replied. “Mike, I
knew Scott Summers. Real well. But I didn’t know him when they
brought that body in. He looked...inside out."
Remembering her dream, Dusty's stomach
tightened.
"So you do think it's a cat of some
sort?"
"Cat, bear, hell, I don't know.” Will
sighed. Dusty could smell the distinct odor
of the store up the last aisle, toward the register, she
assumed.
"It was just a question of finding them. I
don't like keeping these kinds of things up front. I don't want any
of the kids getting their hands on them."
"Yep, true ’nuff," Mike drawled. They were
from somewhere down south, Dusty remembered. Sarah had come into
third grade with the most laughable accent. Her nickname had become
"y'all" because it was all that came out of her mouth, especially,
"Y’all talk funny, not me!"
"I don’t sell much ammo outside of deer
season," Will told him. She heard the old cash register totaling
things up. “Although, with what’s been happening around here
lately, I should probably start advertising in the window."
"I ain't takin’ no chances," Mike said.
“After that Summers boy…”
Sarah lost her accent, Dusty thought. I
wonder why he didn't?
"And poor Nicky Chandler,” Mike continued.
“What the hell was he doin’ in the boneyard?"
Good question. Dusty had been planning on going up front and
paying for her things, maybe talking to Will for a minute or two.
The mention of Nick's name had started to change her
mind.
"What a thing." Will sighed. “A horrible,
horrible thing.” Tears pricked Dusty’s eyes at the sadness in his
voice. "I know that family real well. He was such a good boy."
"Hotshot lawyer, wasn’t he?" Mike asked.
"Yeah,” Will replied. “Home for a visit with
his folks, they said. I’m really gonna miss him. When he was a kid,
he used to come help me clean up, do inventory, whatever else
needed doing. Him and his sister—they never asked for nothing, just
came and kept me company."
Dusty leaned against the shelf. Tears,
unbidden, welled up. She and Nick had once thought old Mr. Cougar
was the best thing to come along since Kool-Aid. His word was God's
back then.
“ It’s a real shame,” Mike
agreed. There was a pause, and then he asked, “So what do you think
it is, Will?"
The old man didn’t seem confused by the
question. He knew exactly what Mike was asking, and so did Dusty.
"Well," Will started. "I can't rightly say. Newspaper says it's a
big cat of some kind, but the Sheriff's setting traps left and
right up there by Clinton Grove and all he's catching is
rabbits."
"Do you think it's an animal?" Mike
asked.
Dusty's ears pricked up. She felt awful, her
stomach churning, knowing she shouldn’t be listening, but she
couldn’t stop herself. Julia wouldn’t approve—but her instincts
told her to stay put.
"Mike, I just don’t know.
I’ll tell you something—I saw the Summers kid when they brought him
in. I was jawwing with Matt down at the station, after I reported
the break-in here. And we both know who did that and who isn't
going to get caught for it," Will said wryly. Shane, Dusty thought, reading his
thoughts as she knew Mike would. In Larkspur, trouble was always
spelled S-H-A-N-E.
Will continued: "They brought the body in,
just a couple of kids carryin’ him, not knowing any better, not
even knowing who he was. Couldn’t tell who he was anymore.” Will’s
voice dropped. “Kid looked like he'd got himself caught up in a
meat grinder. I nearly lost my dinner, I can tell you."
"So there were bite marks, like it says in
the paper?" Mike asked.
"Bite marks? Feh!” Will
snorted. “Mike, the kid was shredded . The only way they would've
been able to identify him, if his friends hadn't come out of hiding
long enough to find out what happened to him, that is, would've
been dental records or that new DNA technology they got on that CSI
program."
“ Really?” Mike’s voice
sounded faint.
"I ain’t kidding,” Will replied. “Mike, I
knew Scott Summers. Real well. But I didn’t know him when they
brought that body in. He looked...inside out."
Remembering her dream, Dusty's stomach
tightened.
"So you do think it's a cat of some
sort?"
"Cat, bear, hell, I don't know.” Will
sighed. Dusty could smell the distinct odor