Moonbog by Rick Hautala Read Free Book Online Page A

coot,” he snarled. Well, I gotta’ get on home ‘fore the old lady starts bitchin’. See you all later.”
    The rest of them stood up. As Les was edging around the table, Carmichael grabbed his arm. Les tensed and, as he turned around, Carmichael had the impression that Les was going to take a swing at him.
    “Hey, Les,” he said hurriedly, “if you’re heading out to your place, could you give me a ride to the Tulsa station?”
    “Sure,” Les said tightly.
    “I had some work done on the car. It should be ready by now,” he added apologetically.
    “Sure,” Les said, adjusting his hat forward. “No sweat.”
     
    III
     
    I t had been a mistake to go out to the Wilson’s house; David realized it as soon as Mrs. Wilson opened the door and asked his business by silently raising her eyebrows. It was obvious she had been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot, looking worse than Shaw’s had earlier that day. Her face was pale, almost waxy, emphasizing her frail features.
    David opened his mouth, about to speak, when Mr. Wilson interposed himself between them. He stared at the stranger on his doorstep for a second, then said, “If you don’t mind, we would rather not be bothered.” For some reason, David had the feeling the man thought he was from the newspaper—probably because he hadn’t immediately displayed a badge.
    “Uh, excuse me,” David said. The door had begun to swing shut, but he held it with his open hand. He was suddenly groping for words. “I’m the, uhh, the person who . . . found your son.” Mrs. Wilson’s face drained even whiter, and she looked as though she was going to faint. “I just wanted to . . . to tell you how . . . how sorry I am that I—”
    Mr. Wilson began to swing the door shut. “Yes, I understand,” he said stonily. “Now, if you please, we’d rather be alone.”
    “Yes, yes. Of course,” David said as he began to back down the stairs. All the while he had his eyes fastened on Mrs. Wilson’s frightened look: red-rimmed eyes set deep within a white face, almost like a comic book vampire. He found himself thinking that if, at any time, he heard that Mrs. Wilson was suffering from the delusion that her son was visiting her from his grave, he wouldn’t be too surprised.
    He jammed his hands into his pockets and, grimacing, nodded his head as the door shut with dull finality. For a second he considered writing a note, telling them to give him a call if there was anything he could do to help. Somehow he thought that might help him forget the woman’s tortured stare—a look that had too much similarity to the expression on Billy Wilson’s face when he found him.
    Deciding that a note would help neither the Wilsons nor himself, he walked down to his car.
     
    IV
     
    D riving back through town, the accumulated strain and lack of sleep began to take its toll. David yawned widely and scratched at the stubble of beard on his chin. He knew Allison was probably getting pretty impatient, waiting for him back at the motel. Then again, if he went back, he’d probably go to sleep, so she’d have to occupy herself anyway. Chuckling at his use of logic, David decided to drive through town just to see how much had changed and how much had stayed the same.
    David was surprised at what he noticed—there were some big changes in town, new buildings and some old ones gone; but it was mostly little things, details that really showed the passing years.
    The twin maple trees in front of the Post Office had been saplings when David had graduated from high school. He remembered the early spring day when his fifth grade class had planted them on the now unobserved Arbor Day. Fooling around after school, he and his friends used to jump over the tops of the small trees. Now they stood tall and healthy, their shadows dappling the front of the Post Office.
    The town library still stood, its old granite face partially obscured by the surrounding pines. David noticed, with a jolt of surprise, that