ponytail.
“I thought you were coming home later?” Somehow her concern always sounded like an accusation.
“I got done early.”
“That’s good because we’re behind,” Irene said. “Carrie is late again and the dining room isn’t close to set up. Grab your apron and clock in.”
Her mother didn’t wait for a response and reentered the Venetian. Katy expected nothing more. The restaurant was passed down through her mother’s side of the family. Blood might be thicker than water, but in the Traina familia it wasn’t thicker than marinara. Business didn’t actually come before family; business just kind of swallowed it.
Katy glanced up at the neon script “Venetian” sign over the doorway. She hoped when she was her mother’s age she no longer lived above it.
Chapter Nineteen
While the others searched the town for signs of the Woodsman, Marc dove into research. He planted himself in the periodicals section of the county library. He pulled the last six months of the Sagebrook Standard , the weekly town paper. He dropped them in a reading cubicle with a thud and earned a sharp stare from the librarian. He flipped open a notebook and wrote yesterday’s date on the top of the page. Next to that he wrote the name of Josie Molfetta and “village green” as the location. Then he started with the most recent edition of the paper, and worked backwards.
He was looking for deaths, or even accidental injuries, among children. He could skip most of the stories based on the headline since he doubted even a local reporter would bury that kind of lead inside a story about new landscaping at the courthouse.
As he finished last week’s paper, he thought about why he was here while the others hunted the Woodsman. His first thought was that someone needed to see if this incident was isolated or a trend.
Why did I volunteer for this? Marc thought. Kenny’s the brain of this operation. Every research paper he turns in gets an A+. He knows the library backwards and forwards. He’d be through all this in half the time.
The truth? He knew what it was if he could stand to admit it. He was scared of the Woodsman. The Woodsman terrified Marc from the moment he saw him. Not when he saw him outside the violin studio. When he saw him in the harbor. When he was three years old.
There wasn’t a lot Marc remembered from that year, but he remembered the Woodsman, with that swept-back cap and those buckskin boots. Marc was with his parents on the dock. It was a cold day. They must have been fighting cabin fever one winter and opted for some fresh air. His mother was pregnant with Danny. In Marc’s memory, they were alone on the dock. The sky was solid haze and it was a brisk forty degrees. Marc wore a blue down coat with a hood that he kept pushing off his head.
Marc remembered thinking about the fish. He could see small fish swimming around the dock pilings. He liked how they sparkled and flashed as they came near the surface. He looked out across the water and there floated a turtle, shell half out of the water like a surfaced submarine. It stretched its head above the water’s light chop. The turtle had a wide grin and bright, happy green eyes.
It was like nothing Marc had ever seen. The turtle was almost a cartoon, but it was obviously real. The turtle was having such fun floating in the waves. Marc wanted to show his mother.
Then the turtle’s eyes met Marc’s. The world outside that narrow field of view became irrelevant. All Marc saw were those dazzling green eyes. They drew him in, as if some force from the turtle reached through his eyes and into his brain, masking out everything around him.
“Come swim with me,” the turtle said with a voice soft as rabbit fur.
The turtle swam forward to within yards of the dock. He smiled at Marc. All Marc felt was happiness and…trust.
“Come join me, Marc,” the turtle said. “You’ll float. It’s fun!”
At that moment, Marc wanted nothing more. All he could
“I thought you were coming home later?” Somehow her concern always sounded like an accusation.
“I got done early.”
“That’s good because we’re behind,” Irene said. “Carrie is late again and the dining room isn’t close to set up. Grab your apron and clock in.”
Her mother didn’t wait for a response and reentered the Venetian. Katy expected nothing more. The restaurant was passed down through her mother’s side of the family. Blood might be thicker than water, but in the Traina familia it wasn’t thicker than marinara. Business didn’t actually come before family; business just kind of swallowed it.
Katy glanced up at the neon script “Venetian” sign over the doorway. She hoped when she was her mother’s age she no longer lived above it.
Chapter Nineteen
While the others searched the town for signs of the Woodsman, Marc dove into research. He planted himself in the periodicals section of the county library. He pulled the last six months of the Sagebrook Standard , the weekly town paper. He dropped them in a reading cubicle with a thud and earned a sharp stare from the librarian. He flipped open a notebook and wrote yesterday’s date on the top of the page. Next to that he wrote the name of Josie Molfetta and “village green” as the location. Then he started with the most recent edition of the paper, and worked backwards.
He was looking for deaths, or even accidental injuries, among children. He could skip most of the stories based on the headline since he doubted even a local reporter would bury that kind of lead inside a story about new landscaping at the courthouse.
As he finished last week’s paper, he thought about why he was here while the others hunted the Woodsman. His first thought was that someone needed to see if this incident was isolated or a trend.
Why did I volunteer for this? Marc thought. Kenny’s the brain of this operation. Every research paper he turns in gets an A+. He knows the library backwards and forwards. He’d be through all this in half the time.
The truth? He knew what it was if he could stand to admit it. He was scared of the Woodsman. The Woodsman terrified Marc from the moment he saw him. Not when he saw him outside the violin studio. When he saw him in the harbor. When he was three years old.
There wasn’t a lot Marc remembered from that year, but he remembered the Woodsman, with that swept-back cap and those buckskin boots. Marc was with his parents on the dock. It was a cold day. They must have been fighting cabin fever one winter and opted for some fresh air. His mother was pregnant with Danny. In Marc’s memory, they were alone on the dock. The sky was solid haze and it was a brisk forty degrees. Marc wore a blue down coat with a hood that he kept pushing off his head.
Marc remembered thinking about the fish. He could see small fish swimming around the dock pilings. He liked how they sparkled and flashed as they came near the surface. He looked out across the water and there floated a turtle, shell half out of the water like a surfaced submarine. It stretched its head above the water’s light chop. The turtle had a wide grin and bright, happy green eyes.
It was like nothing Marc had ever seen. The turtle was almost a cartoon, but it was obviously real. The turtle was having such fun floating in the waves. Marc wanted to show his mother.
Then the turtle’s eyes met Marc’s. The world outside that narrow field of view became irrelevant. All Marc saw were those dazzling green eyes. They drew him in, as if some force from the turtle reached through his eyes and into his brain, masking out everything around him.
“Come swim with me,” the turtle said with a voice soft as rabbit fur.
The turtle swam forward to within yards of the dock. He smiled at Marc. All Marc felt was happiness and…trust.
“Come join me, Marc,” the turtle said. “You’ll float. It’s fun!”
At that moment, Marc wanted nothing more. All he could
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