“As far as I know.”
“Since Grandma isn’t around to ask anymore, maybe Judith will know something about curses.”
“Maybe.” Chuck’s noncommittal tones didn’t promise any hope.
Slade nodded. “A good enough story for me. Tell everybody I’m heading for the mountains. Gonna look up Judith while I’m there.” If nothing else, he’d get some peace.
Chuck shook his head, smile rueful. “I wish there was more I could do. I sincerely do.”
Slade forced a smile. “Take care of the family till I find a way to come back.”
Ifhe found a way.
Chapter Eight
Noahwaitedattheold barn a few days, shifting, eating rabbits, and allowing plenty of time to heal before striking out for the next town. Gods, he hated leaving Paul’s truck. If people thought him dead, better not to change their minds by retrieving the old Chevy.
Weighted down by the backpack, he moved much slower than in wolf form. Still, why hurry? Nothing waited, no matter where he went. He tucked his blond waves beneath a ball cap, pulled down low to hide his eyes. From what he knew of humans, he stood of average height at five feet ten inches, with a slender build, nothing to draw anyone’s attention. Hiding in the woods failed. Now to hide in plain sight.
A diner offered a bored waitress, stale coffee, and a decent meal not run to ground first. The place reeked of old grease and a dozen other odors his wolf longed to explore.
Not now.
Two chatty older men sat nearby, talking farming and fishing. Noah tuned out their conversation until:
“Did you hear about Joe Pritchard?” the first man asked, voice a gruff baritone.
“Can’t say I know him,” the second man replied, voice a bit higher, flavored by a definite Northern twang.
“He’s a strange man. Or was, rather. The whole family moved here about three, four months ago, kept to themselves. Well, the cops found the lot of them dead at the lake. Him, his wife, two sons, and a daughter-in-law.”
The second man tutted. “Hardly the first time someone’s turned up dead at the lake. What happened to ’em?”
Noah fisted his hands on the table. Time to run?
“Don’t rightly know. The papers say all the bodies but Joe’s were so mauled by wild animals the coroner couldn’t determine the cause of death without an autopsy.” The last part came out like the old man rehearsed words he’d read from the paper. “They think Joe died of a heart attack. Seeing animals attacking my family might’ve done my ticker in too.”
He lowered his voice but not too low for a werewolf to catch. “I hear tell they had enough firepower on ‘em to take out the whole town. Some illegal. Cops found bloody clothes too, but no body, of a sixth person.”
Bloody clothes from gashes made by Joe’s knife.
Noah’s clothes.
“Any idea who it might be?” The second man gave the first rapt attention.
“The Quickie Mart in town’s got video of a guy dressed like that parking behind the building and getting into Emmett Donaldson’s truck. The first guy’s truck is still there.”
“Emmett Donaldson? Ain’t he—”
“The sheriff’s nephew.”
“I always knew the boy was nothing but trouble. Did they find him dead too?”
“Now, here’s where the story gets interesting.” The man stressed each syllable of “interesting.” Six deaths weren’t interesting enough?
The man continued. “Seems Emmett took money from Pritchard to bring the mystery guy to the lake. He says he didn’t know what happened after he left.”
The second guy let out a snort. “Ain’t that what they all say?”
