Laws of Nature -2 by Christopher Golden (i can read books txt) 📕

was staring at him with a hard expression that unnerved the deputy. Tackett was a gruff, unforgiving man, but usually he was not openly hostile.

"Who were those kids?" the sheriff demanded, a cell phone clutched in his hand.

Alan blinked, confused. He cocked a thumb and gestured over his shoulder. "Those two? Just a couple of hikers from Boston. They're staying over at the inn. I talked to them when they checked in, and they were wondering what all this fuss was about."

"Hunh," the sheriff grunted.

Tackett stared out the window at Jack and Molly as they walked up the street. Alan knew that people in Buckton did not, as a general rule, like tourists very much. But the sheriff was usually more open-minded than that.

"People oughta mind their own business," Tackett muttered.

With a scowl, he turned to go. "This one's yours, Alan. I dusted for prints around some of the shelves and on the front door handle, but I'm sure we're going to get a bunch of nothing from that. Ask around, see if anyone noticed kids around last night or early this morning. You know the drill."

Alan stared at him.

"Are you having some kind of problem hearing me?" Sheriff Tackett asked, frowning angrily.

"Not at all. Just surprised you're leaving. Everything all right?"

Tackett paused, then strode over to stand only inches away from Alan. When he spoke, his voice was an angry whisper, but Alan did not think the anger was aimed at him.

"I'm pretty damn far from all right. The people of this town expect me to uphold the law. To keep them from getting murdered, for Christ's sake. I can't even keep some kids from trashing a diner, why should they trust me to find a killer?"

Alan shuffled uncomfortably. He did not have an answer.

Then Tackett leaned in even closer. "I'm going up to see Aaron Travis. Seems Kenny Oberst didn't show up at the drugstore today, so Aaron went to check on him.

"Kenny's dead. Aaron says it's the worst thing he's ever seen."

"My God," Alan gasped, eyes wide.

Sheriff Tackett started to walk away. Alan's mind reeled from the news of Ken Oberst's murder. Another one, he thought. When is it going to stop?

Another voice was in his head, though. A girl's voice. Alan frowned and called out to Tackett. The sheriff paused and walked back to him.

"The girl," Alan said. "The one you were just watching, with that other fellow? The hikers? We were talking about what's been happening and she mentioned three murders. Not two, three. It . . . it could have just been a slip of the tongue. That's what it seemed like - But ..."

The deputy let his words trail off, uncomfortable as he was under the dark, suspicious glare of the sheriff 's eyes.

"Could have been," Tackett agreed. "And it could be they know something we don't. People come from outside, they always seem to bring their own trouble with them. I still can't believe human beings can do this to other human beings, but you never know. We'll keep a close eye on these strangers, Alan. I get a very bad vibe off them.

"They just smell wrong."

CHAPTER 8

The lobby of the Buckton Inn was deserted when Jack and Molly hurried through the door, the air all around them was heavy with the possible implications of what they had learned. It was still early in the day, barely past noon, and Jack was troubled by how quickly things seemed to be moving.

Nobody was behind the check-in counter. As they strode to the stairs, however, the sweet sound of someone strumming an acoustic guitar drifted through the lobby to them. Molly turned to Jack, a curious frown creasing her forehead. Jack glanced into the small bar, where he had seen a piano before.

At a small circular table suited only for a couple of drinks, Tina Lemoine sat with a fat-bellied acoustic six-string and hummed amiably along with her own strumming and picking. Her fingers danced lightly across the guitar's neck as she searched for just the right chord. On the table were a tall glass of lemonade and a book, open and facedown, cracking the spine. Behind her, three tall windows let in the sun and the breeze that only swirled the heat around rather than lessening it in any way.

When Tina glanced at them, it was slow and deliberate. She did not interrupt her playing at all, as if she had known they were standing there all along.

"Help you guys with anything?" she asked, and her question had enough of a rhythm to it that the words were in time with the music.

Molly waved an apologetic hand. "No. We just . . . didn't know where the music was coming from. Sorry to interrupt."

"Just killing time," Tina revealed. "Someone's got to be around, but I get so bored sitting behind the desk."

"I can imagine," Jack said, mainly to have something to say as he drifted closer. "Hey, Tina, do you know if the Empire shows films in the afternoon, or just at night?" The book on the table in front of her, he could see now, was The Turn of the Screw.

The guitar thrummed beneath the motion of her hands as the song picked up speed. When she spoke now, it was between beats. Jack marveled at her skill.

"You're in luck," Tina replied. "There are afternoon shows Saturday and Sunday. What happened, did you overdo it up on the mountain?"

"You could say that." Jack waved to her as they went back into the lobby. "Thanks."

Upstairs, once they were in their room with the door closed behind them, he let out a short sigh of relief and shook his head, still a bit taken aback by the developments of the day. Though nervous about carrying them around, they had brought their guns in from the glove compartment. Molly handed hers to Jack and he put them both in a drawer beneath his clothes.

"All right, so what do