Two days. “But surely you’ve made some progress.”
Jessup sighed. “Krenshaw still has a team of state troopers shadowing Saul Woden’s cabin, just in case. And I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Pike Hollow, investigating the Blakeneys as best I can. Thin pickings, as you can imagine, although I do have what might be an unexpected lead. In any case, that’s the spot—according to the locals, anyway, as you might guess—that trouble is most likely to come from. Krenshaw’s keeping an eye on their compound, too.”
“And what about you? Is that where you think the trouble’s coming—if it comes at all?”
Instead of answering, Jessup asked a question of his own. “Tell me something, Jeremy. Why did you make a second visit to the scientific outpost at the fire station?”
The tickle of apprehension Logan felt at this unexpected question reminded him of his complicity. “How do you know about that?” he asked.
Jessup waved a hand, as if to say, Let me have my few trade secrets.
Logan thought quickly. “Second visit,” Jessup had said. That meant he knew only of the two times Logan had been there during the day—not about his nocturnal visits. Unless he knew more than he was saying and was sifting his old friend for information. He looked closely at Jessup. But he didn’t see any suspicion in the ranger’s face. All he sensed was concern, frustration—and a degree of anxiety.
“The first time I went, it was to ask about Mark Artowsky, the lab assistant who was also the third victim. I met Laura Feverbridge. We talked a little about the nature of her work.”
“Which is?”
“She’s studying the lunar effect on small diurnal mammals.”
“The lunar effect?” Jessup repeated.
“It’s a theory that the moon, the full moon in particular, has an unusual influence on creatures. With people, for example, there are supposed spikes in the crime rate, more pregnancies, higher mortality during operations, things like that.”
Although he felt a little guilty doing so, Logan deliberately mentioned the most sensational and unlikely phenomena associated with the lunar effect. He realized that he had a vested interest in minimizing the ranger’s curiosity about the scientific outpost.
“Did she tell you what happened to her father?” Jessup asked.
“A little,” Logan replied, not wanting to lie.
Jessup nodded. “That still doesn’t explain your second visit.”
“Why are you curious?”
“Indulge me.”
Logan shrugged. “It’s no secret. It was just a social call. It gets boring here, you know, writing and researching day after day. We took a short hike in the woods. I find her work interesting. I’m an enigmalogist, after all—something like the lunar effect is just my cup of tea.”
“That’s all that’s going on there? Studying this lunar effect?”
“It’s all I know about.”
“Sounds like pseudoscience, if you ask me.”
Logan allowed himself a small smile. “Well, I’m not only interested in her work. I’m interested in her.”
Jessup had taken out his ever-present notebook, in preparation for jotting down a few items. Now he paused, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t take you for such a fast worker.”
“Oh, I don’t mean anything like that. We’re just soul mates of a sort, working as we both do on the fringes of science.”
Jessup nodded slowly. The troubled look had not left his face.
“What’s bothering you, exactly?” Logan asked.
Instead of answering, Jessup slipped the notebook back into his pocket and stood up. Logan stood up as well. He felt torn between what he knew about Chase Feverbridge and what he was withholding from his friend. And yet he simply could not betray Laura—not only had he given his word, but he did not want to be held responsible for the old man’s suicide.
“I don’t know,” Jessup said, intruding into Logan’s thoughts. “Not for sure. Like I said, I might have an unexpected lead. Anyway, it’s something I’m looking into. If I learn anything specific, perhaps I’ll be more forthcoming.” He walked to the door, then turned. “Just remember: we’re only two days from another full moon. And there’s something else to keep in mind—while a true full moon only lasts a moment, it appears to look full for at least three nights.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning only this: be very careful in the days to come, my friend.” And with that, the ranger shook Logan’s hand again, nodded, and stepped out the front door and into the night.
23
It was almost forty-eight hours later, to the minute, that Logan heard from Jessup again. His cell phone rang as he was sitting in the living room of his cabin, reading a draft of the closing argument of his monograph.
“Logan,” he said as he answered the phone.
“Jeremy? It’s Randall.”
“Hi, Randall. What’s up?”
There was a pause. “Jeremy, I don’t know how to tell you this—how to ask you this.”
The ranger’s tone was oddly reserved, almost guarded. “Ask me what?”
“Do you remember our conversation of two nights ago? When I told you that I was looking into something—and I’d say more if I learned anything specific?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I have. And we should talk.”
How odd. “Of course. Would tomorrow morning be good?”
“No—I think we should talk now. I’d like you to meet me.”
Logan glanced at his watch: quarter to eight. “Tonight? What is it that can’t wait?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Very well. Where are you now—at home?”
“No. I’m on the far side of Pike Hollow, not far from the Blakeney place. You know Fred’s Hideaway?”
“You mean that bar in Pike Hollow?”
“Yes. Can you meet me there as soon as possible?”
“If you really think it’s that important, of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll be waiting for you in the Hideaway. I’ve got one or two things to check out, but I should still make it there before you.”
Logan switched off his phone. For a moment he sat still, looking at it thoughtfully. Then, getting up, he shrugged into his jacket, reached for the keys to the Jeep. Then he stepped out of the cabin and began making his way down the path to the parking area.
Overhead, a full moon, bloated and yellow, hung in the crisp night sky.
24
It was a few minutes past eight when Sam Wiggins pulled onto 3A from the main street of Pike Hollow and headed west. His old Honda Civic—his barbershop business had not prospered of late, and he hadn’t been able to buy a newer or larger vehicle after his thirty-year-old Ford pickup died the year before—jerked and rattled as it made its way down the rutted road. He looked up through the driver’s window at the full moon, just visible through the screen of branches overhead, with a sinking feeling. On the seat beside him, Buster, his Jack Russell terrier, whined and whimpered.