Caden poured hot coffee into a Styrofoam cup. “I vote Wilson’s cow. Doc Holden probably asked for a second opinion. The guy looks like an expert in something.”
“Nah.” Ryan leaned back against the break counter, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Too immaculate and stuffy-looking. A guy like that wouldn’t get his hands dirty doing an autopsy on a cow. He’s probably some think-head in research. If Holden called him, it was because of the dogs.”
Caden raised an eyebrow. “Five bucks?”
“Five bucks.”
Caden took a sip of coffee. “I proposed to Eve last night.”
“What the hell?” The rapid change of topic blindsided Ryan. Jerking upright, he rounded on his brother in explosive surprise. “You’re shitting me! What did she say?”
“She said yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“I mean before. We’ve only been in here for—oh, hell, never mind.” Clasping Caden’s hand, he pumped it up and down. “Congratulations. I can’t believe you’re freaking getting married. Does Mom know?”
“I told her over breakfast. And Eve and I haven’t picked a date yet.”
“You’re not going to drag your feet, are you?”
“No.” The word rolled from Caden’s tongue with a sliver of amusement. “Eve wants a summer wedding, so probably June at the hotel.”
“Do I have to ask who’s going to be the best man?”
Caden raised his coffee cup to his lips. “It depends on whether or not you win that five bucks.”
“Caden. Ryan.” The summons burst across the room, delivered in Pete Weston’s deep baritone. The sheriff stood in the doorway of his office, his expression a mixture of agitation and impatience. Whatever brainiac-science-guy had stirred up, it didn’t appear to have gone over well with Mason County’s head honcho.
“In here.” Gruffly, Weston waved them into his office.
Ryan exchanged a glance with his brother before trailing behind Caden. He closed the door as Weston moved behind his desk. The man they’d seen earlier was seated in a chair across from the sheriff. His overcoat and a dapper black fedora occupied the seat beside him. Fully at ease with one leg crossed over the other, he looked blatantly out of place in the small, stuffy surroundings.
“Sergeants Caden Flynn and Ryan Flynn,” Pete introduced them. “This is Lach Evening.”
The man stood and extended his hand. “Gentlemen.”
Ryan noted the odd shape of his fingers as they clasped, the man’s palm cool and dry.
“Evening?” Caden narrowed his eyes. “That’s an unusual name.”
A polite smile. “So I’ve been told.”
Weston motioned them to sit, but the only who bothered was their visitor, who resumed his comfortable position.
“Mr. Evening is an expert in the field of…” Blowing out a breath, Weston looked to the stranger for help. “You’re going to have to jump in on that one, Evening. I’ve already forgotten what you called it.”
“Chimeraology.” The word rolled from Evening’s tongue with the slight inflection of his accent. “For lack of better explanation, it’s the study of supernatural creatures and objects. The organization I work for is discreet. Private and well-funded.”
Ryan exchanged a glance with his brother. “Let me guess. You’re here about the Mothman.”
Smiling tightly, Evening inclined his head. “I won’t deny your extraordinary cryptid is the root of my organization’s interest, but that’s not why I’ve come. I’m afraid my superiors and I have inadvertently created a problem that could directly impact someone in your town.”
“He’s here about Lyle Mason.” Cutting bluntly to the point, Weston plopped into his chair. The springs squeaked as he leaned forward and planted his forearms on the desk. “Not only did Lyle find his way home, he came back with a loose screw. Mr. Evening’s already produced credentials to satisfy me that what he tells you is true.”
Exasperated by the double-talk, Ryan looked from Weston to Evening. At the mention of Lyle, he immediately thought of Katie and how Mason had been skulking around in a van at night. “Someone better spit out what’s going on.”
“It’s your show,” Weston said to Evening.
The man took his time explaining.
“As I mentioned, I’m employed by a private organization that holds an interest in supernatural creatures.”
Ryan wished he could place the guy’s accent, but it was too hard to pin down. European of some sort, maybe Dutch.
“My position requires me to conduct scientific studies with people who claim to have experienced encounters.”
“You mean like ghosts?” Caden asked.
Evening waved his oddly shaped fingers. “Ghosts, aliens, werewolves. You’d be surprised what people believe they’ve encountered.” He hesitated briefly, tapping one long finger against his chin as if pondering the idea. “Of course, it’s not in my place to validate one way or another. I simply meet with the test subjects to gather information. Those behind the studies have a specific interest in the Mothman. That’s how we found Mr. Mason.”
“You’re going to have to explain that.” Ryan couldn’t keep a clipped edge from his voice.
Evening regarded him steadily. “The organization required a subject who encountered the Mothman.”
“Lyle?” Caden sounded incredulous.
“So he claimed. I’m not sure how the organization found him—that’s not my job—but they pay their subjects well. There are several initial interviews to weed out those looking for quick cash. By the time the subject is placed under my scrutiny, they’ve been thoroughly vetted. Naturally, we occasionally have someone slip through that’s found a way to circumvent the process, but for the most part, the cases referred are credible.”
Ryan found it hard to believe Lyle had seen the Mothman. A lot of people had jumped on that bandwagon back in the sixties, but he didn’t remember anything about Mason. The guy definitely seemed like the type who’d want to make a penny off the publicity. Probably how he’d ended up as a guinea pig for Evening. “What’s any of this have to do with Mason returning to Point Pleasant?”