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“They’d have to find Karen’s stuff first,” I said, but there wasn’t much venom in my tone. Sicily was right.
“Besides, I kind of like the Mary Kay parties—as long as she’s not hosting them,” Sicily said thoughtfully.
That made my scowl deepen. I didn’t buy her excuses for a second. Sicily hadn’t been into makeup or fancy clothing until Dean Mason and his young, handsome nephew had waltzed back into Windy Ridge. Mason was only twenty-something, true, but that was still too old for Sicily in my opinion. I guessed I could understand her preoccupation with the only human-looking man sort of her age, but it still bugged me. Why? Because I wanted Sicily to leave this backwoods town and make a life for herself somewhere… better.
Thankfully, there weren’t any facial creams or lipsticks in the parcels we picked up, which meant Karen would be spared a tongue-lashing. This time. I was sure she’d get a well-deserved lecture sometime soon though. With Karen, it wasn’t anif,it was awhen.
Instead of Mary Kay supplies, we found a stack of books with titles like:Bigfoot, Fact or Fiction?andThe Anatomy of a Vampire.My picture wasn’t in the margins of that one, so I was pretty sure it was a pile of horse manure. And it wasn’t as though I’d ordered the books. The boys seemed determined to gobble up any and all titles relating to monsters. Sometimes the boys got a little confused though, and we’d end up with paperbacks like ‘Flames of the Phoenix,’‘Dragon’s Fire,’or ‘Savage Wolves’, which turned out to be incredibly raunchy romance novels. Not that I knew they were raunchy from reading them, mind you.
Because I hadn’t read them.
Well, not more than one anyway...
I flipped through the list of orders in the box and shook my head. “I pity the poor warehouse workers who take our orders. They must think we’re crazy cryptid hunters, horny housewives, or off the grid conspiracy theorists.”
Sicily tilted her head with a small smile. “I mean technically weareoff the grid, and we’ve only got conspiracy theories about the Fog at this point. The only difference is that having a handful of yetis as our closest neighbors, we know cryptids are real.”
Didn’t I know it? I hated the summer because Mr. Wilson shed something fierce and there was more than one instance when I’d seen way more of him than I’d ever wanted to.
I tucked the packages under my arm, another sigh flapping my lips as we headed back toward the truck Mason was driving, courtesy of his uncle. There was still no sign of junior Hawke anywhere.
“I keep wishing this is all just a bad dream,” I admitted.
“I don’t,” Sicily said, sliding into the back seat, expression unusually sober. She wasn’t teasing.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s so interesting. Where else would I get to do research like this? It’s a brand new world, Mama. I love it. I wish you loved it too.”
I ducked my head, not looking at her as I sat down in the front seat. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she was right, and I wasn’t willing to look at things from her perspective. It must be like waking to find yourself in a furry, scaly, or slimy wonderland. A smart girl like Sicily couldn’t help but be curious about all of it. I still wished she’d find a way to get out of Windy Ridge and start a life someplace else. But I also knew that trying to force the issue was going to make her dig in her heels and fight like hell.
Shewasmy daughter after all.
“This oughtta be interesting,” Sicily said as we both looked over to see Mason walking out of a Starbucks while balancing three coffees. I thought about getting out to help him but then thought it was too amusing to watch him.
“You think he’s going to drop them?” Sicily asked.
I cocked my head to the side. “Maybe we should place a wager.”
“Okay, I bet he won’t.”
“You’re on.”
Chapter Eleven
Days turned into weeks, with no sign of Thatcher, his wife or his kids and still no ideas as to what could have happened to him or them.
It wasn’t uncommon for people to wander off and get lost in the woods, even before the Fog rolled through. Windy Ridge and the surrounding areas were a little impression in the earth, barely cleared of trees, with only a few roads in and out. We’d been snowed in more than once, cut off from the outside world for a season, and most people seemed to prefer it that way. Every so often a kid or elderly hiker would disappear and never be heard from again. If a predator didn’t get them, exposure to the elements would usually do the job.
Most people seemed content to write Ethan Thatcher’s disappearance off as just that—an unfortunate accident. And the fire could have been the result of a candle left burning in his absence (one that had entirely disintegrated in the fire), and we were just making a mountain out of a molehill. The town wanted to move on and close the book on Ethan Thatcher, and the fire.
I wished I felt the same. I really, really did, but the pieces didn’t fit together. If Ethan Thatcher had just gotten lost in the woods, why was there an accelerant trailoutsidethe house? Why had someone staged it to look like a regular house fire? Why put so much thought and energy into the house fire unless there was some sort of sinister coverup going on?
And yet, there were no bodies, no bones, nothing. It made no damn sense.
“Do you want a hot dog, Mama?” Sicily called before she remembered herself and gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t eat.” She shook her head. “I swear, one of these days, I’m gonna get used to that.”
The question jerked me out of my thoughts, and I glanced guiltily over at the bonfire. We were supposed to be celebrating, and here I was, brooding over the mysteries we’d been trying to solve for weeks. The bat-man was still out there, but he didn’t seem to have anything to do with the recent arson case. Still, he was wreaking havoc, stealing fruit from people’s trees or uprooting the flowers from Ms. Green’s garden. Sicily was pretty sure the creature was half fruit bat, which was a relief. Something that size would needa lotof blood to survive. If all we had to hunt down for it was produce, I’d be happy.
