Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (61 page)

“Yeah, she's something. Who collected all this?”

“I did. She's from Endor, y'know.”

“You're kidding.”

“Most people don't know that.”

Nick studied one of the photos. “I'll bet she got a few invitations to the prom.”

“Oh, she left way before that—when she was just a little girl.”

Too bad for Endor
, Nick thought.
She would have made a major addition to the gene pool.

“She going to be First Lady of the United States,” the librarian said with a faraway look. “But she'll always be our little Victoria—and she'll never forget Endor.”

But I'll bet she's tried.
“Did you find the records I asked for—the grave registries?”

Her face dropped. “No, sir, I didn't. I'm sorry to say they just weren't there.”

“Are they checked out?”

“You can't check 'em out. They're part of our historical holdings— that's why we keep 'em in the back.”

“Maybe if I helped you look.”

“You're welcome to try, but it won't do you no good. I been the librarian here for goin' on fifty years—I know every book we got and I know what shelf it sits on. We just don't have no grave registries; I thought we might, but we don't.”

“Can you think of any other historical record that might describe a graveyard near the Patriot Center? I'm looking for a burial plot or a list of the people buried there—even a good physical description of the area might help.”

She thought for a moment. “Nothing comes to mind—but I'll give it some thought if you like.”

“I'd appreciate that. My name is Nick Polchak—I didn't catch yours.”

“Agnes Deluca,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

“Well, Agnes, I'm staying across the street at the Skyline. If you come up with anything, you can leave word for me there.”

“I'll see what I can find. Mind if I ask you somethin'?”

“Go ahead.”

“How come you want to know about a graveyard?”

“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. Sorry.”

She held up both hands. “That's all right—I know where my nose belongs and where it don't.”

Nick looked at her. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all.”

“You said you've been here for fifty years.”

“Been head librarian for fifty years—been in Endor all my life.”

“Then you must know everyone in town.”

“Can't think of one I don't—'course, those I don't won't come to mind.”

“What can you tell me about the young woman who lives up on top of the mountain?”

“You mean the witch?”

“Yeah—the woman people call a witch.”

“People call her a witch because she is a witch.”

Nick paused. “What makes you think so?”

“You know what she does up there on that mountain?”

“What?”

“On the night of every full moon she wanders the woods, searching for the body of her dead father. She always has a three-legged dog close by her side—at least it
looks
like a dog.”

“It's not really a dog?”

“It
looks
like a dog.”

“Then what is it?”

She motioned for Nick to lean in closer. “The soul of her father lives in that animal. It's half-dog and half-human—that's why it's only got three legs. The witch and the dog search the woods for her father's body. When she finds it, they'll be reunited forever.”

Nick stared. “Okay—I think that's all I need here.”

“If you want to know more about the witch, you come back sometime—the stories I could tell you. 'Course, when you talk about the witch, she knows it. Not to worry—I'll make us some tea and we'll put a broom in the doorway. A witch won't never cross a broom.”

“It's a date,” Nick said. “In the meantime, if you come up with anything on that graveyard—”

“You're at the Skyline. Don't worry, I won't forget.”

Nick stepped out of the library. The sun was setting fast now, and the streetlamps that surrounded the intersection were just beginning to blink on. Nick once again started toward the Endor Tavern & Grille and dinner, but he caught a glimpse of a figure standing in front of the Lutheran church and decided to take a look.

There was a winding sidewalk that led from the street corner back to the main entrance, paved in the same Virginia bluestone that the church itself was made of. On the lawn beside the sidewalk a man was stacking more of the flat stones into some kind of shapeless mound.

“People seem to work late around here,” Nick said.

“Not much else to do.” The man turned and tipped his head down, sliding his small spectacles down his nose and staring over the top at Nick. “I don't believe I know you. I'm Gunner Wendorf—I'm the pastor here.”

“Nick Polchak,” he said, extending his hand. “
Gunner
—that's an unusual name.”

“It's
Günther,
actually, but the folks around here aren't particularly good with glottal stops and guttural
r
's, so it just became Gunner.” He gestured to his stone creation. “What do you think?”

“I'm not sure. What is it?”

“It's supposed to look like the Pool of Bethesda.”

“Never been there.”

The man shrugged and tossed the stone aside. “Me neither. I could use a cup of coffee and a stale donut—you interested?”

“Sure.”

“Follow me.”

Nick followed the man into the church and down the main aisle of the sanctuary to his office at the front. The office was small and cramped and the walls were crowded with bookshelves from corner to corner and from ceiling to floor, giving the room the slight musty smell of an old library. There was paper everywhere, and the desk was piled high too. Nick immediately liked the office—it reminded him a lot of his own.

“Take a seat if you can find one,” the man said. “I'll see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen.”

Nick browsed the bookshelves instead. The books were organized into main subject categories, with little handwritten labels like “Systematic Theology,” “Cultural Apologetics,” “Grammars and Lexicons,” and “Reformation History.” There was a section reserved for “Classics,” and another devoted to Luther alone. Nick liked the man already; if his mind was anything like his library, he was a man worth getting to know.

“You're like me,” the man said, returning with two mugs and a plate with two donuts balanced on top. “You head straight for the books.”

“I like to see what people read—it tells me a lot about them.”

“I'm the same way. Here, take your pick—they're both as hard as rocks. Sorry, that's all that's left from Sunday school. Never stand between a Christian and a donut.”

Nick slid a thick volume from the shelf and opened it. “Now this is interesting—a geology textbook. In fact, you've got a whole section devoted to geology. Hobby?”

“It was my undergraduate major. Thought I might work for the U.S. Geological Survey, but I found something better.”

Nick replaced the book. “You know, they should make your office the public library and bulldoze the one across the street.”

“You've been to our library? Then you must have met Agnes.”

“Yes, I had the pleasure.”

“No visit to Endor would be complete without a chance to meet Agnes. She's practically a historic landmark herself around here. She's been around forever—she looked old even when I was a boy.”

“You're from Endor, then?”

“Born and raised.”

“Then you must know this town inside and out.”

“Not as well as Agnes—she's the keeper of the flame of Endor.”

“What does that mean?”

“Anything you want to know about the history of this town and its people, she's the one to ask. Every fascinating detail she keeps right in her head.”

“How many are there?”

He grinned. “You've got a point there. How about you—where are you from?”

“I'm at NC State down in Raleigh.”

“You look too old to be a student.”

“I'm a professor.”

“Of what?”

“Entomology.”

“No kidding. Well, we've got enough strange bugs to keep you occupied around here.” There was a lull in the conversation and Gunner took the opportunity to ask, “Is there something I can do for you, Nick?

Are you working up your nerve, or is this just a social call?”

“I have a question for you. I think you might be the right man to ask.”

“Go ahead.”

“What can you tell me about the woman who lives on the top of this mountain?”

“You mean the witch?”

Nick frowned. “I'm a little disappointed.”

“Why?”

“You're a scientist after all.”

“I don't believe she's really a witch, if that's what you mean. That's just what everybody calls her around here, so I do too.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

He paused. “She's a young woman with a very painful past—and if you don't mind, that's all I'd like to say about it.”

“Why?”

“You're not from a mountain community, are you?”

“No.”

“People in the mountains are a different breed. The land shapes the way they think, the way they feel. People down in the lowlands, they're communal people—you can see your neighbor across the valley and you make a point to get together from time to time. In the mountains you're isolated; every house is tucked away in some little hollow or ravine and people learn to take care of themselves—and they like to be left alone. This is old country; there are stories and legends about every corner of this place, and people have long memories here. Superstitions grow like weeds; somebody calls somebody else a witch, and pretty soon everybody believes it. That's something else about the mountains— stories spread like wildfire here. Endor's newspaper comes out twice a week, and people only read it to see if they got the story right.”

“Agnes seems to know a few stories,” Nick said.

Gunner smiled. “She knows them all.”

“So somebody called this woman a witch, and now everybody thinks she is one. Okay, I can understand that—what I don't understand is why she calls herself one.”

He hesitated. “I'm in a bit of an awkward position here, Nick. People don't have a lot of privacy around here, and I like to help protect what little they have.”

“Understood,” Nick said.

“But if you'd like to talk theology or philosophy or history, I'm your man. Drop by anytime—I'll take you over to the ET&G and buy you a beer.”

“You people drink beer?”

“I'm a German Lutheran—we practically invented the stuff.”

“Thanks, I may take you up on that. By the way—I met the witch last night.”

Gunner's face went blank. “Where?”

“Her place—and I'm going back tonight.”

He took off his glasses and wiped them with a tissue. “Mind if I give you a piece of friendly advice?”

“Not at all.”

“Be very careful.”

“Of what?”

“Just be careful—if not for your sake, then for hers.”

9

Nick slowly worked his way through the woods again, holding the flat white box in front of him. He stopped from time to time to listen, but at first detected nothing. Then he heard it: the soft padding of feet drawing steadily closer. He kept walking, knowing that if he stopped the dogs would stop too, and he didn't want them to stop—he wanted to draw them in. Within a few minutes the first of the huge dogs came into view—then the second, then the third. They slowly drew closer, surrounding Nick and bringing him to a standstill just as they had done the night before.

“Hi, boys,” Nick said cheerfully. “At least I'm assuming you're boys, since the males of most species tend to be larger than the females. I'd hate to think there are ladies out there that are bigger than you guys are, but hey, who knows? Personally, I'm into bugs.”

The dogs showed no reaction to Nick's pleasant greeting.

He turned to the dog on his right. “Nice doggie,” he said in his friendliest voice—but the words sounded ridiculous even as he said them; it was like calling an African lion “Mr. Boots.” Still, it was a canine, and domesticated canines were known to respond to human affection, so— “Good doggie,” he tried again. But there were no wagging tails in this group. They continued to eye Nick warily, studying his every move.