“It was the Mothman,” Duncan grumbled. “I’m sure of it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ryan squatted to examine the remains of a mid-sized collie. Like the other animals nearby, fluids and blood had disgorged from every orifice in its head. He’d have to contact the county vet again, but could tell the results would likely mirror the findings of Wilson’s cow—a concussive impact resulting in a massive rupture of the brain. It made no sense. He recognized two of the other dogs, pets that came from different areas around Point Pleasant. What were the odds all four would end up here, subject to the same macabre manner of death? Something or someone had lured them.
Looking for a stick, Ryan retrieved a broken branch from the ground. Over a dozen puddles of silvery goo were scattered between the carcasses. He prodded the nearest glob. A few, thinner than the others, were in the process of melting and dissolving into the soil. He didn’t need a lab sample or test tube to identify the same gelatinous sludge strewn through Wilson’s pasture.
Star shit.
Tilting his head, he glanced up at the sky. In another few hours it would be dark. Good thing too, because the less people who knew about these dogs, the better. When word spread, he had a feeling the TNT would be swarming with hunters. But unlike those licensed and armed with bows, they wouldn’t be stalking small game or deer.
They’d be hunting the Mothman.
Early shift at the sheriff’s department was usually quiet, but the same couldn’t be said for Monday morning when Caden arrived. Two clerks buzzed about the main room delivering mail and file folders while three deputies banged out reports on antiquated typewriters. Several phones kept up a continuous jangling until snatched up by a harried clerk or deputy. Wayne Rosling, a senior officer in the department, was busy taking a report from Fran Bateman and her husband, Clay. Seated in front of Rosling’s desk, Fran sniffled into a lace handkerchief while Clay held her hand.
Caden didn’t see Ryan, though he’d spied his brother’s Camaro in the parking lot. Shrugging from his jacket, he eyed the message slips waiting on his desk. He’d caught up on calls before leaving Saturday, but several new notes had accumulated.
Easing into his chair, he picked up the assortment and rifled through. Two were from Nurse Brenner at the West Central Mental Health Institute, one from Martin Ward about a part for his car, and one from Floyd Kline, Parker’s father. The message said simply “Stay away from my kid.”
No surprise there. Floyd must have found out he’d been to see Parker. Easing back in his chair, Caden picked up the phone and punched out the number on the message slip for Nurse Brenner. “This is Sergeant Caden Flynn of the Mason County Sheriff’s Office,” he said when she answered. “You called yesterday.”
“I did.” Brenner sounded every bit as no-nonsense over the phone as she did in person. “You’ve probably already heard from Floyd Kline, but I thought you should know he was in to see his son yesterday. Parker told him you and your brother were here, and Mr. Kline went ballistic. I don’t say that lightly, Sergeant. You’d think he was the one who needed incarcerating.”
Picturing the commotion, Caden rubbed his temple. “We don’t have a good history together.” That was putting it mildly. What had Floyd told him at Parker’s competency hearing? I never want to see your sorry ass again, unless it’s when they put you in the ground. “I’m sorry he disrupted your hospital.”
“He did more than that. We’re still trying to calm half the patients. Beau Hardy is convinced the south is rising and has been screaming retaliation against Lincoln and Grant since yesterday. For the safety and well-being of our residents, I’m going to have to ask you stay away in the future.”
Not in the mood to argue legalities with her, he let the comment slide. “Is that why you called?”
“No.” Bluntly. “I have a message for you.”
“From Floyd?” Not a promising way to start the morning.
“From Parker.”
That brought him up short. Across from him, a blond-haired woman stepped into the room and glanced nervously about.
“Parker says to tell you that ‘evening will come soon.’” Nurse Brenner spoke crisply. “I have no idea what it means, and I wouldn’t normally bother telling you except he was so insistent. Good day, Sergeant.”
The phone clicked in his ear followed by the drone of a dial tone.
Evening will come soon. He dropped the phone into its cradle.
Cold must return. Evening will follow.
Damn Parker and his crazy riddles.
“Can I help you?” he asked, approaching the woman in the doorway. Something about her seemed familiar. Her long hair was poufy and teased, and though she wore a good deal of makeup, it appeared expertly applied.
“Yes, I…” She glanced hesitantly around the bustling room. “Is Ryan here? Ryan Flynn?”
Caden was about to tell her no when his brother appeared from a hallway on the opposite side of the room. Coffee cup in one hand, he held a magazine-sized hardcover book in the other, his concentration on the book.
“Ryan,” Caden called. “Someone to see you.”
Stopping by his desk, Ryan set his coffee down. “Suzanne?” A frown crossed his face. “Everything okay?” He tucked the book beneath his arm and joined her.