Graveyard Games (8 page)

She couldn’t avoid it forever. Cougar’s dog,
Sarge, thumped his tail as she approached and she bent to pat his
head before she went in. Cougar's door had never had bells on it to
let him know when someone entered.

"I ain’t deaf," he would say. "What do I
need bells for?"

The store smelled of coffee and the tobacco
Will Cougar used to fill his pipe. It wasn’t a huge store, not like
the Krogers in Westlake, but he kept a good variety.

"Anything you want I got, and if I don't
have it, you don't need it!" he was fond of saying, and when she
was little, Dusty would have sworn it was the truth.

She went down the third aisle and picked up
a box of Tampax. She used to be embarrassed to buy them, especially
in Cougar's, but the awkward shyness passed after she was fifteen
or so.

It had surprised and scared her to find her
period had started. It had happened the morning after her dream and
the sight of blood had made her sick. She’d even stayed in bed with
cramps, something she didn’t often do. It had startled her,
although she knew she was due. Somehow, she still hadn’t expected
it. That—more than the rising and setting sun, her parents’
continuing lives, time ticking away on the grandfather clock in the
living room—hit home for her.

There was life after Nick.

Dusty moved down aisle
toward the back wall where the magazine and book racks were. Cougar
tried to keep up on his shipments. Her eyes scanned the book
titles, drawn to the word
Horror
written in red letters. Underneath were the
latest. Cougar used to stock the horror section just for them. She
and Nick would split the cost of books and share them when they
were kids, and they never really stopped. He’d buy one and send it
to her and vice versa.

She was about to go up to
the register when a name caught her eye. STEPHEN KING in bold black
letters, and below that, the title
The
Dark Tower VII
. It was the very last in
the gunslinger series! She had been waiting for this book to come
out forever! A familiar thrill went through her and she
thought,
I wonder if Nick
knows
—

She bit her tongue,
closing her eyes. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth, but
it cut the thought off. She’d been doing that, having thoughts
about Nick and what he might do in the future, things he would
never do again. It caused a sharp stab of pain slicing through her
middle when she realized she and Nick would never, could never,
because Dominick William Chandler had been made a graveyard meal of
by god-knows-what
—someone
knows—
yum, yum, wasn't that the most
delicious joke you ever heard?

She felt, for one terrifying moment, that
she was going to be sick. She was going to barf Julia’s special
brown-sugar-and-pecan oatmeal up, right onto old Cougar's
floor...

And then she was okay again.

She took the book off the shelf. It was soft
cover, so it must have been out for a while. She’d been so busy she
hadn’t read much lately. That was before the suspension and the
investigation. Before she found out Nick was dead. Now she had
nothing but time. She tucked the book under her arm, deciding to
buy it. If it took her mind off of the horror—the real horror of
her life—it was worth it.

"I knew I had them, Mike." Dusty looked up
at the sound of Will's voice. He came out of the back room,
followed by Mike White, Sarah's father. They moved toward the front
of the store up the last aisle, toward the register, she
assumed.

"It was just a question of finding them. I
don't like keeping these kinds of things up front. I don't want any
of the kids getting their hands on them."

"Yep, true ’nuff," Mike drawled. They were
from somewhere down south, Dusty remembered. Sarah had come into
third grade with the most laughable accent. Her nickname had become
"y'all" because it was all that came out of her mouth, especially,
"Y’all talk funny, not me!"

"I don’t sell much ammo outside of deer
season," Will told him. She heard the old cash register totaling
things up. “Although, with what’s been happening around here
lately, I should probably start advertising in the window."

"I ain't takin’ no chances," Mike said.
“After that Summers boy…”

Sarah lost her accent, Dusty thought. I
wonder why he didn't?

"And poor Nicky Chandler,” Mike continued.
“What the hell was he doin’ in the boneyard?"

Good question.
Dusty had been planning on going up front and
paying for her things, maybe talking to Will for a minute or two.
The mention of Nick's name had started to change her
mind.

"What a thing." Will sighed. “A horrible,
horrible thing.” Tears pricked Dusty’s eyes at the sadness in his
voice. "I know that family real well. He was such a good boy."

"Hotshot lawyer, wasn’t he?" Mike asked.

"Yeah,” Will replied. “Home for a visit with
his folks, they said. I’m really gonna miss him. When he was a kid,
he used to come help me clean up, do inventory, whatever else
needed doing. Him and his sister—they never asked for nothing, just
came and kept me company."

Dusty leaned against the shelf. Tears,
unbidden, welled up. She and Nick had once thought old Mr. Cougar
was the best thing to come along since Kool-Aid. His word was God's
back then.

“
It’s a real shame,” Mike
agreed. There was a pause, and then he asked, “So what do you think
it is, Will?"

The old man didn’t seem confused by the
question. He knew exactly what Mike was asking, and so did Dusty.
"Well," Will started. "I can't rightly say. Newspaper says it's a
big cat of some kind, but the Sheriff's setting traps left and
right up there by Clinton Grove and all he's catching is
rabbits."

"Do you think it's an animal?" Mike
asked.

Dusty's ears pricked up. She felt awful, her
stomach churning, knowing she shouldn’t be listening, but she
couldn’t stop herself. Julia wouldn’t approve—but her instincts
told her to stay put.

"Mike, I just don’t know.
I’ll tell you something—I saw the Summers kid when they brought him
in. I was jawwing with Matt down at the station, after I reported
the break-in here. And we both know who did that and who isn't
going to get caught for it," Will said wryly.
Shane,
Dusty thought, reading his
thoughts as she knew Mike would. In Larkspur, trouble was always
spelled S-H-A-N-E.

Will continued: "They brought the body in,
just a couple of kids carryin’ him, not knowing any better, not
even knowing who he was. Couldn’t tell who he was anymore.” Will’s
voice dropped. “Kid looked like he'd got himself caught up in a
meat grinder. I nearly lost my dinner, I can tell you."

"So there were bite marks, like it says in
the paper?" Mike asked.

"Bite marks? Feh!” Will
snorted. “Mike, the kid was
shredded
. The only way they would've
been able to identify him, if his friends hadn't come out of hiding
long enough to find out what happened to him, that is, would've
been dental records or that new DNA technology they got on that CSI
program."

“
Really?” Mike’s voice
sounded faint.

"I ain’t kidding,” Will replied. “Mike, I
knew Scott Summers. Real well. But I didn’t know him when they
brought that body in. He looked...inside out."

Remembering her dream, Dusty's stomach
tightened.

"So you do think it's a cat of some
sort?"

"Cat, bear, hell, I don't know.” Will
sighed. Dusty could smell the distinct odor of his pipe. “But I
wonder if maybe, just maybe…it's neither one.”

"Yeah? Me, too."

"Whole town is wondering, my friend.” She
heard Will pausing to puff on his pipe. “The whole world gets
turned upside down when stuff like this happens and nobody seems to
have any explanations.”

It was quiet for a moment and Dusty
contemplated just putting her stuff down and going quietly out the
door. Then Cougar started talking again.

"Mike, I’ll tell you something…”

Dusty smiled. That’s what Cougar always said
when he was about to pontificate.

“
I've lived in this town
all my life, and I've never seen anything like this. A bear won't
usually attack unless it's threatened. It's possible to have an
isolated incident of bear attack, say, after disturbing one from
sleep, but they're really not very smart. They would've caught a
bear by now, with all the traps they've set up.”

“
Uh-huh,” Mike
agreed.

Dusty nodded, listening, and waited.

“
A cat, on the other
hand—a cat’s pretty sharp. And they're predators, there's no doubt
about that. I could see one coming across Joe Wilson passed out in
the train station and thinking he’d found himself the feline
version of a McDonalds Happy Meal just waiting for him."

“
Sure,” Mike
replied.

“
And overpowering a
twelve-year-old wouldn’t be too hard for a big cat,” Will went on.
“And from what Deputy Matt says, Nick Chandler was pretty wasted
that night. A bobcat sounds like a plausible explanation in all
those cases, doesn’t it?”

“
Yeah.” Mike actually
sounded a little relieved.

Dusty knew better. She was too used to
Cougar’s set-ups. She held her breath.

“
But I still don't think
it was a cat."

“
Why?” Mike asked, walking
just the path Cougar wanted him to.

“
Did you know that Joe was
found hidden under a porch in the train station, covered up with
boards?” Will puffed on his pipe again and the smell wafted toward
Dusty. “Can bobcats do that, Mike? Even smart ones?"

Dusty didn’t hear any answer. Her own mind
was racing.

"If we didn't have kids who like to play out
there and explore the great unknown, we never would've missed old
Joe. Probably would've even forgotten him. What do you think about
that, Mike?"

“
The papers didn’t mention
that.” Mike sounded angry, and Dusty knew how he felt.

Will chuckled. “Come on, now. Buck Thompson
is up for re-election this year, and we’ve got that new mall going
in near the south end of town. Supposed to be as good as the Second
Coming, right? Bad publicity, Mike. No one wants that, do
they?”

Dusty was cold. She was beginning to feel
sick again, and it was getting worse. Part of it was cramps, but
most of it was just all the bells and whistles going off again.

"And what about Nicky Chandler?” Will
asked.

“
What about
him?”

“
You know where they found
him?”

“
Cemetery,” Mike replied,
stating the obvious and taking another step down Cougar’s well-lit
path.

“
Uh huh.” He puffed on his
pipe again. “But they might not have found him at all, you know, if
the Clinton Grove boneyard didn’t have such a tidy
caretaker.”

“
What do you mean?” Mike
sounded impatient now, growing tired of Cougar’s game.

“
John Evans told Deputy
Matt he found Nick while he was sweeping out one of the
mausoleums,” Will said. “Those doors are shut tight, Mike. You know
a bobcat who can open doors?”

"Well.” Mike cleared his throat. “Maybe Nick
ran from it? Opened the mausoleum door himself, went in there to
hide?”

“
Could be,” Cougar agreed,
puffing on his pipe again. “Sure could be.”

For some reason, Dusty found herself
thinking about Shane.

It was quiet for a moment, and then Mike
said, "Well, thanks for the ammo, Will. I appreciate it."

"No problem," Will replied. "Just remember—
sometimes it’s better to be safe than sorry."

"I get you," Mike said. "Take care,
Will."

Will responded, "You take care, too—living
all the way out there on Arcada road. Whatever it is, it's got an
awful big appetite."

Dusty heard the door shut. It took a few
moments for her to move, but when she’d made up her mind, she went
up the back aisle toward the cash register.

"Hey, Cougar." She set her things on the
counter. He turned around, startled.

"Dusty! I didn't hear you come in." Will’s
eyes pierced hers. "How long have you been hanging around?"

"Oh, I don't know.” She let her eyes fall to
her purchases. “I was back by the books and I got into this one.
Lost track of time, I guess."

He picked up the book and then snorted.
"Stephen King, huh?" He looked on the sleeve and rang up the price.
"It's a shame when a man can make millions writing this kind of
garbage, isn’t it?"

"I suppose."

"You know," he said, bagging the book and
the Tampax. "If you want real horror, Dusty, all you have to do is
look around you at the rest of the world."

She took the bag and looked at him. His hair
was beginning to thin and grow gray at the temples. The beard he
always grew for winter even had a bit of gray in it. The laugh
lines around his eyes were more defined than she remembered, but
his deep blue eyes were as sharp as ever. She loved him—he was the
kind of father she’d always longed for, kind and caring. He would
grieve, she thought. If Nick had been his son, he would have taken
the time out of his schedule to cry.

"I know." Dusty didn’t hide the tears.

Looking at her, his eyes softened. “Oh
hon…I’m so sorry.”

She nodded and opened her mouth to say the
perfunctory, “Thank you,” but the lump in her throat wouldn’t let
her. When he held his arms out, she fell into them and finally gave
herself over to the grief.

* * * *