Boo Who (28 page)

Martin was so deep in thought that he nearly passed the bookstore. Backtracking a couple of steps, he turned and walked in. To his right, an entire shelf lined with Wolfe Boone books immediately caught his
attention. He stood in front of a selection of what looked to be hundreds of books,
Black Cats
dominating most of the space. The store carried hardcover, softcover, and audiobooks, just for starters. Martin was scratching his head trying to decide what he should do when the manager approached.

“Hi there. Looking for a new Wolfe Boone book, I presume?”

“I know I want
Black Cats
,” Martin said. He studied the bookshelf. “Looks like a mighty thick book.”

“Four hundred and ninety pages,” the manager replied. “Each page more tantalizing than the last.”

Martin sighed. If he’d been talking about an appetizer, he might’ve sold him. “You don’t know if there happens to be CliffsNotes to this book, do you?”

The manager chuckled a bit and said, “Not that I know of. But I know how you can get a quick summary.”

“Really?”

“Hey Wolfe, over here.”

Martin looked over the shelf to see Wolfe’s head moving toward him. A warm blush began at his neck.

“Martin,” Wolfe said, shaking his hand. “How are you?”

“Um … fine. I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Starts work tomorrow,” the manager said.

“Oliver fired me,” Wolfe said sheepishly.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“He asked me if there were CliffsNotes to
Black Cats,
and I told him I thought you could give him a pretty good summary.”

Martin was horrified, and he knew his coloring showed it. “Listen, it’s not how it sounds. I’m a big fan, Wolfe. Really. I just, well, it’s just that …”

“No need to explain,” Wolfe smiled. “It’s okay.”

Martin glanced at the manager and said, “Can I have a second with Wolfe?”

When they were alone, he leaned in toward Wolfe. “This is quite embarrassing. It’s just that I need information, and quickly.”

“Information about what?”

“Black cats,” he said, then wished he’d had a better answer. Should he tell Wolfe? Could he trust him? These days, everything—everyone—seemed so bizarre.

“You know my book is fiction,” Wolfe said.

Martin nodded. Now he looked like a fool. What was he going to do? “Listen,” Martin finally said, “let me buy you lunch. I’d just like a summary of your book, a little more detailed than what’s on the back cover.”

Wolfe hesitated, and Martin could see perplexity strain his warm smile. But then he agreed.

After they’d ordered their food at The Mansion, Martin said, “I know this sounds strange.”

Wolfe nodded. He couldn’t imagine what Martin was up to. The man seemed to be reading his mind.

“There are just some strange things happening in this town,” Martin said. “I know I’m not the only one noticing the weird people walking around, coming in and out of the woods like ghosts.”

“I’ve seen a couple,” Wolfe said. And indeed they were strange. Enough to spark a book idea, if he wrote such books anymore.

Martin nodded. “I’ve seen more than a couple, and”—Martin said, lowering his voice, his eyes shining with mystery—“some of ours …”

“Really.”

“I don’t want to talk about too much of what I know,” Martin added as Wolfe started to ask a question, “but something is going on with this town, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

“So what does my book have to do with it?”

“I’m not sure, except you wrote this book about black cats, and we have a lot of black cats, and maybe you answered some questions about our town without knowing it.”

Wolfe had to laugh. “You’re suggesting a prophecy of some sort?”

“Well, nothing that dramatic, but I’m just curious about the story. Maybe it holds the key.”

The key.
Missy Peeple’s strange allusion whispered in his ear. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”

“Tell me what it’s about.”

“Basically, people in a town full of black cats begin experiencing bad luck. The residents decide they need to get rid of the cats, thinking them responsible for the curse. But it seems the harder they try to rid the town of the cats, the more bad things start to happen.”

“That hit the bestseller list, did it?” Martin said with amusement.

Wolfe laughed. “Somehow, yes.”

“Okay, well, what types of things started happening to the town?”

“Different things, in and of themselves not strange. But when they all started happening at once, people believed something was going on. For instance, the well went dry. And there were grass fires. The church burned down. People from other towns heard rumors about the corn they sold and stopped buying it. Different things like that.”

“How did they figure out it was the cats?”

“They didn’t. But out of desperation they decided the cats were cursed and they needed to leave.”

“Were the cats cursed?”

Wolfe grinned. “Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t, but the people’s paranoia caused even greater things to happen. The very thing they feared came upon them.”

“Well that sounds creepy,” Martin grimaced.

“You should read the book,” Wolfe winked.

Martin’s eyes widened. “The black cats don’t start possessing the spirits of the townspeople, do they?”

“No—that’d be silly.”

“Right.”

“Martin, does this have anything to do with your search for the town’s history?”

Martin leaned forward. “I can’t say much. But yes. I believe there
are many things missing about this town, and I want to know why they’re missing and what they are.”

“The makings of a good mystery.”

“It’s more than that,” Martin said. “It could even be scandalous.”

Wolfe laughed. “Even better.”

Martin smiled, but then it faded into shadows of thought. His blank stare was replaced by a gaze directed at Wolfe. “Unexplainable things are happening around here. But I happen to believe all things have an explanation, if you dig deep enough.”

Wolfe said, “Then let’s find this town a happy ending.”

Martin’s tired features revived. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I think you’re onto something. The problem is, there is a lot of mystery surrounding so much of this town … and many of its people.”

Martin nodded. “But something about what you wrote will give us the answers.”

“Why do you believe that?”

He paused. “I got a note. Don’t spread this around, okay? But this morning a note was left at the office telling me that my answer lies in the pages of
Black Cats.”

Wolfe leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. Deciphering an encrypted message in his own book was going to be somewhat daunting. He sighed, and his gaze found its way toward the front windows of the restaurant.

There, standing in one of the windows, was Missy Peeple, her beady eyes staring back at him. Martin seemed oblivious to everything but his hamburger. An eerie chill raced down Wolfe’s back, and with one blink, she was gone.

Martin looked up and stopped chewing. “Are you okay?”

Wolfe nodded and picked up his tea. If he didn’t know better, he would think Missy Peeple was a character that might have leapt straight out of the dark corners of his imagination.

CHAPTER 23

“D
R
. H
ASS
!”

The shrill sound of his name being screamed nearly caused him to fall out of his chair. All morning he’d been working on a plan to open the practice he’d meant to start in Skary. And his next appointment wasn’t scheduled for another fifteen minutes. The only noise he’d heard was that cat trying to convince him to let her in.

“Dr. Hass!”
The scream came again, this time closer. He jumped up from his chair, running outside of his office. The next thing he knew, his head was pounding and now somebody was screaming, “
What are you trying to do, kill me?!”

When he regained his focus, shaking off the pain and rubbing his forehead, Dr. Hass saw Melb Cornforth standing there, one hand rubbing her own forehead, the other on her hip.

“I … I thought you were … I …”

“Thought I was what?” Melb asked.

Dr. Hass sighed. “Another patient. What in the world are you doing screaming like that?”

Melb’s face clouded with huffiness. “Well, I did have good news until you almost killed me.”

Dr. Hass walked back into his office, plopping into his chair. “Isn’t it still good news, since you’re not dead?” That was the best he could offer, because what he really wanted to do was tell this crazy woman to keep her money and find sanity somewhere else.

Melb thought about that for a second. “I suppose so.” Her jovial grin returned. “Guess what?”

Dr. Hass could only throw his hands in the air and shake his head. He couldn’t imagine what would justify running down the sidewalk screaming like that.

“I lost twelve pounds!” She emphasized this point by hooking her thumb under her waistband and pulling it out an inch.

“Really?” Dr. Hass could not conceal his surprise. “So the diet has been working!”

“Well, not really. That’s the weird thing. I’ve been eating everything in sight.” Melb placed her hands on Dr. Hass’s desk and leaned toward him, then used a finger to tap her cheekbone. “It’s psychological, I think.”

“Psychological?”

“You said it yourself. It’s in my head. So,” Melb said, “maybe I don’t have to eat less, I just have to see myself skinnier. The brain has a lot of power we don’t recognize, you know.” Melb stood upright and noticed her figure in the reflection of the nearby window.

“How’s the hobby?”

“Fun, though I’m not sure it’s really helping me with the weight loss. But I tell you, I’m going to bond with this owl if it’s the last thing I do.”

Scratching his head, Dr. Hass wondered how in the world Melb could be losing weight while eating more. Was it possible to psych yourself into losing weight? He scribbled notes on the pad in front of him.

“Melb, that is good news indeed.”

“So I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“You’re losing weight. What do you need me for?”

“It’s got to be the combination of talking about my feelings while imagining myself losing weight. Don’t you think?”

“Um … sure …”

“So see you on Thursday.”

“Melb?” he asked, as she started to leave his office, “did you ever tell Oliver about your budget problems?”

“No,” she smiled, “but it all worked out.” Winking, she added, “It always works out in the end, Dr. Hass. Oh! I probably just lost two more pounds with that positive thought!”

And out the door she went. Dr Hass watched her confidence build with each bounding step.

He had barely processed Melb’s magical transformation when his next clients arrived. Admittedly, he was intrigued. The sheriff’s daughter, Ainsley, and world-famous novelist Wolfe Boone, who was called Boo around these parts, walked in, tentatively peeking around the door.

He beckoned them in with a wave. Standing, he greeted each of them with a handshake, trying to assess the situation.

As far as he could tell, this was Ainsley’s idea. Her expectant manner showed enthusiastic hope for something troublesome in her life. Wolfe, on the other hand, displayed no enthusiasm in his handshake, his facial expression, or his words. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Hass.”

Offering them the two chairs in front of his desk, he said, “Mr. Boone, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’m a big fan.”

“Wolfe, please. And thank you.”

“I’ve read a couple of your books. Delightful.” It was a standard line. He’d used it in many social circles.
I’ve seen a couple of your movies. Delightful. I’ve been to two of your homes. Delightful. I’ve dated both your daughters. Delightful.

But in this instance, in a small town where small talk was a way of life, he instantly realized this was a huge mistake.

“Oh? Which two?” Wolfe asked.

Surely his large gulp gave him away, but he tried, nevertheless, to recover. “Oh, you know, let’s see here … I’m terrible with titles … but it’s the one where the guy’s in the house, and there’s that scary ghosty-thing, and everyone is scared to death but nobody knows what it is.”