Page 19

The storm struck during dinner. Leona was eating pizza with Oliver and Roxy in the Lost Creek Diner when the rain started. Night had fallen but they had a clear view of the inn across the narrow street. She watched a vehicle pull into the parking lot.

“Looks like we aren’t going to be the only guests at the haunted inn after all,” she said.

Oliver studied the man and woman who emerged from the car. “I wonder if they are Vance tourists or if they fall into the wrong-turn-fifty-miles-back-on-the-highway category.”

She studied the couple hurrying through the rain to the front steps of the inn. The two people were in their early thirties, casually but fashionably dressed. “I bet they’re in the wrong-turn crowd.”

“What makes you think that?” Oliver asked.

“Something about their attitude and their clothes. Also, Edith Fenwick said the Vance tourists usually show up in summer, not this time of year. Those two definitely took a wrong turn.”

“Whoever they are, they’re lucky they got here before the worst of the storm hit.”

“Very lucky.”

She was in the process of taking another bite of her pizza when a pickup truck parked in front of the diner. A man in a windbreaker, jeans, boots, and a cap climbed out of the front seat and jogged through the rain to the front door. When he walked inside, the handful of locals greeted him with easy familiarity.

The waitress smiled and came out from behind the counter. “There you are, Burt. I was getting a little worried about you.”

“You know better than that, babe.” Burt gave her a quick kiss and started to unfasten the windbreaker. “I’ve been living in these mountains my whole life. This ain’t the worst storm we’ve had, not by a long shot.”

“I know,” the waitress said. She went back behind the counter. “But it’s getting bad out there.”

“Hey, Burt, how’s the road looking?” a thickset man at the dining counter asked.

“Not good,” Burt said. He strolled toward the counter. The route took him past the booth where Leona and Oliver sat with Roxy. “If the rain keeps up like this for the next few hours, the creek will flood and take out the bridge. That’s what usually happens every time we get a big storm.”

The bartender snorted. “One of the reasons we like living here, right? The storms help keep most of the tourists out of our little town.”

“Those folks who checked into Edith’s place today are gonna be sorry,” the thickset man said. “Might find themselves stuck here for a few days. Road repairs take a while up here in the mountains.”

Burt chuckled. “That’s a fact.”

Leona rolled her eyes at Oliver. He shrugged and ate another bite of pizza. Roxy, too, focused on the food.

Burt reached their table and stopped as if he had just noticed them. He eyed Roxy, who ignored him.

“That’s a dust bunny, isn’t it?” Burt said.

“Yes,” Leona said. She put a protective hand on Roxy, who stopped eating pizza and fixed Burt with a steady gaze.

“What’s that silly thing on her head?” Burt asked.

“It’s a hat,” Leona said politely.

Oliver watched Burt with his specter-cat eyes. An ominous vibe whispered in the atmosphere.

“We don’t get a lot of dust bunnies around here,” Burt continued. “Didn’t know they made good pets.”

“They don’t,” Leona said. She went for a light, chatty tone in an attempt to lower the rising temperature. “But they do make very good companions.”

“They say that by the time you see the teeth, it’s too late.”

“There’s no need to worry about Roxy. She doesn’t bite. She’s a licensed emotional support dust bunny.”

On the other side of the table Oliver smiled his faint, edgy little smile.

“I’m not worried about the dust bunny,” Burt said. He finished unzipping the windbreaker, let the edges fall open, and rested one meaty hand on a holstered mag-rez. “When you live in the mountains, you learn real quick how to take care of critters that bite.”

Leona went cold.

Roxy rumbled softly. Alarmed, Leona plucked her off the table and tucked her under one arm, silently willing her not to go into attack mode.

Oliver did not growl but the cold fire in his eyes was alarming. The last thing they needed was a confrontation in the local diner.

Evidently oblivious to the charged atmosphere, Burt laughed and continued on his way to the dining counter. He sat down and started talking to Thickset Guy and the bartender. The waitress threw Leona an uneasy look, sending the ancient woman-to-woman appeal. Leona got the message.

She looked at Oliver. “I vote we get a box for the rest of the pizza and take it back to the inn to eat.”

“Works for me.”

Leona signaled the waitress, who rushed over with a pizza box and the bill.

Burt, the bartender, and Thickset Guy chuckled when Leona and Oliver paid the tab and headed for the door with Roxy. The waitress looked grateful.

Outside on the steps, Oliver raised an umbrella. “This town definitely isn’t interested in developing the tourist business.”

Leona clutched the box of unfinished pizza in one hand. She kept Roxy secured under her arm.

“You saw it, too, didn’t you?” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver said. “I saw it.”

When Burt had opened his windbreaker to show off the mag-rez pistol, the top two buttons of his shirt had been undone. A pendant on a steel chain had been nestled in his chest hair—a pendant inscribed with a familiar phrase and a colorless crystal.

“It’s just like the one Astrid Todd was wearing when I found her body,” Leona said. “What is going on in this town?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “But I think we can once again rule out coincidence.”