A Green Valley Christmoose Disaster Read online

  CHAPTER 11

  Unfortunately, getting a hotel room turned out to be a lot more complicated than Turner hoped.

  There were only two hotels near Green Valley—an eight-room, third-rate motel a few miles out of town on the highway, and a bed and breakfast east of downtown called Green Valley Courtyard. Turner called the latter the next morning and was dismayed to recognize the voice of Gillian, one of the small town’s more notorious married man-hunters.

  “Can I book a room for the night?” he asked, hoping that the bed and breakfast didn’t have caller ID.

  Either they did, or Gillian simply recognized his voice. “Turner? You need a room for tonight? Ahem, I mean, how many people in your party?”

  “Two,” Turner ground out.

  She made a noise that might have been a muffled squeal, then dashed his hopes. “We’re all booked up through New Year’s, sorry. We even rented out the old carriage house to an aunt of Lee’s. Can you believe her name is Mary? We’ve been joking about putting a manger out there.”

  “Ha ha,” Turner said humorlessly. “Thanks anyway.”

  He hung up before Gillian could quiz him about who he was trying to rent a room with. It was a small town, and he knew that it was only a matter of moments before Gillian was on the phone with someone else—maybe Marta—with some of the best gossip of the month.

  It took four calls before the motel picked up, only to give him the same news: everything was booked.

  The closest thing he could find available on airbnb was a two hour drive. Everyone was full of Christmas visitors.

  “Welcome to Green Valley, Linda,” he said in despair as he hung up on the third not-very-nearby motel without making a reservation.

  In the meantime, he had a mystery to solve, and Stanley hadn’t answered his phone.

  Mueller’s Pond was actually a whole collection of ponds, leftover from a long-ago gravel pit and a time when the highway was much closer to Green Valley. In the summer, it was a gathering place for local teens, with a gravel beach and water deep and clear enough for swimming. In the winter, it froze over and was maintained as an ice skating rink. It had fish all year round, and was just big enough for a boat in the summer, and for ice fishing in the winter.

  Stanley’s ice shack was usually one of the first to go up, often when others were still discussing the thickness of the ice and the safety of going out on it.

  Stanley opened the door a crack when Turner knocked on the door and glared out at him suspiciously. “I gotta license,” he said defensively. He probably didn’t; he was pretty vocal about the government having no need to know what he hunted or fished. His white hair was wilder than ever over his weathered face.

  “Not here about the fish,” Turner answered. “I’m looking for Officer Stakes.”

  Stanley looked a little less suspicious and a little more avid. “He was out here day before yesterday. He’s missing? I knew this thing was trouble. They’re probably looking for it right now. That’s why I can’t have it at my house, they’d look there.”

  Mostly, with Stanley, no one had to ask him many questions. Prod him in the right direction and he just went on...and on...and on. Once he got started, the problem was that he never stopped.

  Feeling trepidatious and wondering how long he was going to get stuck in a tiny ice shack with Stanley, Turner said hopefully, “I was just wondering if you know where Officer Stakes went after he came here. Did he say anything about where he was headed?”

  “He knew that they were going to come looking for it. They’ve probably got him in for questioning now. He hasn’t broken yet, or they’d be all over the place.”

  Turner didn’t have to ask who. Stanley was convinced that there was a huge government coverup, complete with Men in Black who would disappear anyone who asked questions or talked about the wrong things. This didn’t stop him from asking those questions or talking about those things to anyone who paused long enough for him to stick to them.

  “I just wonder if you’ve an idea where he went after he left here,” Turner said desperately.

  Stanley stared at him through narrow eyes. “You’re in danger now, too,” he said, peering behind Turner at the fire truck. “You’re too close to the truth.” He looked up into the cloudy sky like he expected helicopters or drones to be attacking.

  “What’s the truth?” Turner asked with a sigh.

  “I’ll show you,” Stanley said. He held open the door and pulled Turner into the ice shack.

  Whatever other social flaws Stanley might have, he had a sturdy shack, with all the comforts of home...if all of the comforts of home included a bench over a hole in the ice and a bucket half full of fish. It wasn’t heated, but the structure at least cut the bitter wind. There was a Coleman stove set up on a tidy kitchen counter, and the remains of a takeout lunch from Gran’s Grits. There was even a bed at the far end, piled high with arctic sleeping bags.

  The building didn’t have a floor, but the icepack had been shoveled smooth and there were rugs in a few places.

  In the center of the small shack, just away from the open fishing hole, was something covered in a towel.

  Stanley slid a deadbolt home in the door behind him and Turner tried not to flinch. The best method for handling Stanley was to let him run his course and hope to get something helpful out from around the edges.

  “I bought it online,” Stanley said, after he’d made a careful sweep of Turner with what had probably been sold to him as a bug detector in the back of a comic book. “It’s really old. Like older than our world, old. It’s supposed to unlock true forms. I got it in the mail last week. I’ve seen people following me since then, too. My phone’s tapped, I gotta get a new one.”

  He pulled the towel off with a flourish.

  Turner stared at what he revealed.

  The artifact looked like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, with a bunch of different animals carved into it. It didn’t look new, but it didn’t look nearly as old as Stanley had implied, and there was some writing on it.

  “It’s not in English,” Stanley whispered, and he glanced up at the roof of the shack like he expected aliens to come right down through it.

  “It’s Latin,” Turner said. He recognized animal, and ursus, cattus. Cambinare rang a bell, but he didn’t remember what it was.

  Stanley looked vaguely disappointed, then brightened. “Well, the aliens probably gave us their language. It doesn’t make sense any other way.”

  “I’m pretty sure that—” Turner stopped himself before he got into too much of a discussion of the roots of Latin. “Yes, it’s very interesting. But really, I’m wondering if you knew where Officer Stakes went after he left here.”

  Stanley was kneeling beside the thing. “Doesn’t this look like a person turning into a bird?” he suggested. “I was told that it was supposed to unlock an inner animal.” He looked up at Turner with sharp eyes. “Did you know that there are people in Green Valley who can do that?”

  Turner felt a twinge of alarm. “Turn into animals?” he asked, trying to sound skeptical.

  “Aliens can look like anything they want,” Stanley told him. “Think about it. Someone saw a mammoth out on Jefferson street a few years back. And a tiger, last year.”

  “People drinking…” Turner said faintly.

  “Agnes swears she saw Gran turn into her own cat at Thanksgiving.”

  Stanley’s conspiracies had always been safely implausible; they’d never skirted so close to the truth. Would these ravings reach too far? “What did you say this thing was supposed to do?”

  “Unlock the true form,” Stanley said, lifting it up and handing it to Turner before he could wonder if he should take it.

  He was jolted by an electric shock that rattled him to the soul and although it looked like wood, it was so heavy that he nearly dropped it.

  Stanley didn’t appear to feel anything and Turner tried to act casual, turning it briefly to look at the images on the far side. Besides the big animals forms, there were tiny relief carvings of hundreds of others: cats, deer, birds, even ants.

  Turner put it back down, probably too fast, and it seemed to sizzle as he set it on the ice. The tingle remained in his bones.

  “It’s very mysterious,” he told Stanley shortly. “But the mystery I’m trying to solve right now is the disappearance of Office Stakes. Do you know which way he went when he drove off?”

  Stanley shrugged, looking disappointed. “West, I think, around the pond.” Had he expected Turner to shift? Did Stanley suspect that Turner had an animal form?

  Turner’s moose was loud in his head, but not really intelligible. Whatever that thing was, it had startled them both.

  “You keep this hidden,” Turner said firmly, and for the first time he wasn’t really worried about feeding into Stanley’s delusions. This was much different than his usual fantasies and frauds.

  Stanley gleefully covered it again. “You can see why they’re looking for it,” he started. “It’s clear that it’s part of something much larger.”

  Turner was having trouble concentrating. He needed to find Officer Stakes and get out of this terrible little shack, which was feeling uncomfortably small and cramped.

  Usually, he was too polite to escape Stanley, who was still talking about the suspicious person he’d seen at the hardware store and how cleverly he’d covered his trail. This time, Turner just cut Stanley off. “I’ll see you later,” he said gruffly and had a brief struggle with the deadbolt before he fell out of the ice shack and fled for the fire truck on the shore.

  He felt better once he’d had that brisk walk and gotten back in his truck. He looked at his fingers. Had he imagined the jolt? What was the artifact? And what did cambinare mean?

  CHAPTER 12


  Linda sat in the bleachers of the gym, watching in astonishment as her grown children expertly helped wrangle the cast of the tiny, active people for the pageant. Shelley had her sewing machine set up to one side and was patiently pinning and hemming and folding for last minute costume adjustments. Shaun was at some points absolutely covered in the smallest of the laughing children as he walked around the gym roaring like a monster.

  It was absolute chaos, with shrieking children’s voices echoing from the tall ceiling as they streaked around in happy anticipation.

  The older kids, hanging decorations and putting out food, were all cheerful about their tasks, and the air was celebratory. Linda glanced again at her phone, wondering when it would be acceptable to text Turner. They had exchanged numbers, but she kept reminding herself that she was an independent, self-sufficient woman, not some kind of needy, clingy adolescent. They’d made a plan to connect here, at the show. And after that?

  He was Santa Claus.

  And he had every present she wanted in his red bag.

  “Linda?”

  Tawny climbed up into the bleachers and took a ginger seat next to her. “I wanted to apologize. I think everyone thought that someone else had told you about me and Damien and I’m sorry if it was an unpleasant surprise.” She was twisting her wedding ring nervously, but held Linda’s gaze bravely.

  Linda stared back at her in astonishment. It would have been much easier for Tawny to say nothing, to continue to treat Linda as if she were a stranger. But that wasn’t how Green Valley was. Green Valley was honest—except for the secret shifters!—and valued kindness. Was it only because the town was too small to avoid each other?

  “I’m really glad to meet you,” Linda said warmly. “Damien seems happy and I’m nothing but delighted for him. And for you!”

  Tawny’s face split into a relieved smile so genuine that Linda could not doubt her sincerity. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine,” she said confidently, as if Linda had just passed some kind of community vetting. “I run a book club on Wednesdays. You should join us! We’re reading Twilight this week.”

  “Twilight, the vampire book?” Linda said dubiously.

  “It was Damien’s idea. We’ve all enjoyed it quite a lot. Not that there isn’t a lot to be critical of, but everyone needs a guilty pleasure and broody sparkly vampire hunks.”

  Linda had to laugh. “I would love to attend that book club,” she confessed. “I tried a book group in Milwaukee that I could not stand.”

  “Did they pass out an agenda?” Tawny wanted to know. “I think I know the one, or one like it.”

  “Tawny! Tawny! Can you play the accompaniment for the chorus practice?” Andrea stood at the bottom of the bleachers looking shorter than ever.

  Tawny waved her agreement and stood.

  Linda followed her down the bleachers, hoping to find some way to be helpful. She was used to being in charge of events like this, not idle in the sidelines, but everyone here already had something to do.

  What would she do in a little town like Green Valley? It wasn’t that she had to find a job, but Linda was used to having things occupy her. She liked a busy social schedule, and she was pretty sure that Tawny’s once-a-week book club wouldn’t keep her satisfied.

  “You must be Linda.”

  The young woman who greeted her looked like a tomboy, with shoulder-length dusty hair and a cheeky grin. “I’m Jamie.”

  “The firefighter who summers in Alaska,” Linda remembered.

  Jamie gave a humble shrug. “That’s me. I’m the smart one on the fire crew.”

  “Smart ass, you mean?” Linda remembered Turner’s description of the young woman. It had matched Shelley’s assessment.

  Jamie grinned at Linda. “I like you!” she declared.

  “Jamie! We need the banner for the bible study hung up and no one can figure out how to unfold the ladder!”

  “Duty calls,” Jamie said, and she gave Linda one last smile before she darted away in the crowd. Linda shook her head and her smile faded.

  Shelley had filled her in that morning on the history that Turner and Jamie had. He’d failed to save her single mother from a fire and taken on a paternal role in her life. The discovery of her estranged father had been a big shake-up to the little town just a month ago.

  “Mom, have you heard from Turner?”

  Linda turned to find Shaun, hung with only two clinging children now, looking worried. “Shelley wanted to fit the Santa suit before the show and he was going to come by. He’s not answering his phone.”

  Linda checked her phone hopefully and shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  “We’re down two Santa Clauses now,” Shaun quipped, but the humor fell flat. “Hopefully, he’ll show up soon.”

  But as the show grew closer, Linda checked her phone more often, and there was still no sign of him.

  “This is really unlike Turner,” Andrea said, when she’d called him a third time. “Someone should swing by his house and see what’s up.”

  “Why don’t I do that,” Linda volunteered. “You kids clearly have your hands full here.”

  They all gazed at her for a moment and Linda smiled serenely back, trying not to admit how anxious she actually was.

  She couldn’t put her finger on what was bothering her. There was no reason to think that Turner was in any kind of danger, but Linda felt a tickle of concern and worry. If she’d been a shifter, she might have thought it was some kind of instinct.

  But that was ridiculous...right?

  CHAPTER 13

  Turner drove the long way around Mueller’s Pond, stopping to head down a few long roads and driveways that looked like they’d been traveled since the last snow, searching for Officer Stakes’ car.

  A great big loose bull was wandering the latest road he’d turned on. Turner stopped when it swung out in front of him, and when it didn’t move, honked the horn.

  It stared him down. Just as Turner was considering turning on the siren, it lowered its head and snorted, shaking its horns in defeat and shuffling off into the field.

  Turner might have tried to track down who's bull it was—they were close to the Anderson’s farm, but the Andersons only kept dairy cows—but he glanced at his phone and realized that he was running out of time before the Winter Festival.

  He drove home and stared around his house in dismay. He had about twenty minutes to turn his tiny bachelor pad into a place he could bring a woman like Linda, and it seemed like an impossible task even if he’d had days.

  It wasn’t that messy, really—though it desperately needed tidying and there were dirty dishes in the sink. It was just small and well-worn and lacking any kind of aesthetic appeal.

  Linda deserved a high rise with big windows and airy spaces, luxurious carpets and velvet curtains. All the rose petals in the world wouldn’t hide the fact that Turner’s bed sagged in the middle, and the dated wood paneling in every room was yellowed with age. The tiny kitchen only had a three-burner gas stove and one of the counters was actually a chest freezer. It was a perfectly serviceable house and it suited Turner just fine, but it lacked any hint of grace or glamor.

  Turner’s head was spinning, and at first he thought it was just a rush of despair. He didn’t deserve someone like Linda. Could his moose be wrong about her being their mate?

  His moose was certainly loud in his head right now, wordlessly snorting and pawing at metaphorical ground.

  He bent to sort a pile of mail on the coffee table and a wave of dizziness swept over him. He nearly pitched into the couch, and when he caught himself and stood, he was suddenly standing very tall indeed, his antlers tangling in the ceiling fan.

  Turner lifted each of his four feet in turn, surprised and chagrined. He hadn’t shifted without intending to since he was a hot-headed teenager, and his house was not sized for a bull moose. Especially not a shifter-sized bull moose. He couldn’t fully lift his head, he had one front leg on either side of the coffee table, and there was no room to turn. His clothing was in pieces around his hooves. He was lucky he hadn’t come down on the table itself; as sturdy as it was, a seventeen hundred pound moose would punch right through it. His hooves were doing the floor no favors and it creaked beneath him.