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  Patrice studied Laura’s face, unable to tell if she was telling the truth. Just in case, she stepped over to check her class.

  “Where’s Luther Gowan today?” Laura asked Britney.

  “Luther…” Britney acted like Laura asked her to recall the second emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. “Oh, Luther! Yeah, he’s out today.”

  “His father called him out sick?”

  “Uh, no. He just didn’t show up.”

  “He wasn’t on the absentee list.”

  Britney gave a dismissive wave. “I didn’t put him on. Patrice told me about how saying he’s here helps with, like, our state funding and stuff. Besides, you’d be the only teacher looking for him, and, like, the assembly already took him away, so even if he was here, Patrice said you wouldn’t miss him.”

  Laura seethed at the injustice of this insipid little girl taking her place, forming young minds. She slapped on a fake smile.

  “Tell me, Britney, what made you go into teaching?”

  She mouthed the answer in perfect sync with Britney as she said it.

  “I get the whole summer off!”

  “And it’s such a good thing you do,” Laura cooed. “It gives your students’ minds a few months to reabsorb knowledge.”

  Britney tried to reconcile the cutting answer with the reassuring smile and could not fit them together. Laura turned before her fury at the girl, Patrice and the system got out of control.

  At center court, the donkey handler had surrendered the floor to a video of the carnival contraptions that would light the Donkey Day evening. Riders spun and bounced and swung through death-defying experiences on barely regulated rides. The kids ooed and aahed. The heartbreak of the phrase “you must be taller than this to ride” was still somewhere in their future.

  Back in her room, Laura looked up Luther Gowan’s home address. Accessing the school records on her laptop stoked her anger all over again. She jotted down the address and packed her bag. She had two homeschool visits this afternoon and then it would be time for Dalton to answer some questions about why his son was out of school and what the hell he’d been doing in her apartment.

  Both the homeschool visits had been models she wished everyone followed. Committed, creative parents had lesson plans and updated materials. One was a certified teacher who’d pulled her daughter out of Shaw County schools. Go figure. The experience had taken the jagged edge off Laura’s mood, which was going to be a good thing for Dalton when she found him.

  She pulled up to the address she’d written down, a small, innocuous ranch house in one of the older subdivisions between Moultrie and Waltersboro. A familiar Ford pickup sat in the driveway. A yellow For Rent sign stuck out of the ground at the street.

  Laura double-checked the address. This was it. Had Dalton used a fake address to enroll his son in school? That didn’t make sense. If he was going to do that, he’d have faked an address in Waltersboro and put Luther in the better schools in the bigger city. Laura left her car and approached the front porch.

  The door opened and Dale Mabry of Dale Mabry Realty stepped out. The realtor wore faded jeans and an untucked baseball-style shirt, clothes for working, not showing houses. He stopped short as he recognized Laura. As the man who’d sold her Galaxy Farm, he ought to remember her.

  “Uh, Laura, hi.” He looked as comfortable as a man meeting his ex-wife at a party. The town universally blamed Laura for the disaster at Galaxy Farm, but a good number of them pointed the finger at Dale for selling the place to outsiders to begin with. Being seen with Laura wouldn’t earn him any new listings.

  “Dale, nice to see you.”

  Dale turned and fumbled with the keys as he hurried to throw the deadbolt. “Yep, long time. I’m afraid I’m in a mighty big hurry.”

  “Don’t Dalton and Luther Gowan live here?” she said.

  “Not anymore. Moved out today. Great tenants. Left the place spotless.”

  “Moved out today? That’s kind of sudden.”

  “Sudden? Nope, it was right on time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The lease always had today as the termination date,” Dale said. “Kind of odd to sign a three-month-and-six-day lease, but he paid for four full months and had good references.”

  Laura stood on the porch steps and wondered what the hell was going on here.

  “Ms. Laura?” Dale said. “I’ve really got to go.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a clearing shake of her head.

  She stepped aside. Dale practically ran to his truck. He backed out in a hurry and headed into town.

  All these loose ends tumbled around in her head. Something strange going on at the Petty place, Dalton Gowan with a long-preplanned exit date for Moultrie, a date that coincided with his hack into her computer, her horrible lack of judgment around him, the return of Sarah’s spirit out at Galaxy Farm, Laura’s rootless feelings at school and at home. It was all too much to sort out, at least too much to sort out alone. Only one person could help her get centered. Whatever pride she’d have to swallow, she’d have to stomach it.

  She headed to Theresa’s.

  Chapter Forty

  A few minutes later, Laura’s resolve faltered. Here on Theresa’s front porch, she couldn’t bring herself to knock on the door. What would keep Theresa from immediately slamming it in her face?

  God knows she deserved it. On the short drive over, it had become so clear. The danger to Bo and Caroline had reignited Laura’s life, and in retrospect she could easily see how off track she had been all summer. Gaining the two ghost girls last year had restrained all her unacknowledged losses: the miscarriage back in New York, her husband’s possession, the gruesome events that night in the barn. When emptiness and loss replaced all the positive emotions the girls had engendered, the levee broke, and the black force it had restrained swept her under.

  She didn’t know why Theresa hadn’t tossed her out earlier. Or why she’d talk to her now.

  Laura grabbed the cold brass of the knocker. She knocked three times.

  Thirty eternal seconds later, Theresa opened the door. Laura tried to read her impassive face. She couldn’t.

  “I’m so sorry,” Laura gushed.

  Theresa broke into a profound look of relief. Tears welled in her eyes. She grabbed Laura in a huge hug.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Theresa said. “I was so unsupportive, then so stubborn.”

  “No, you were a saint. I was awful to live with. I’m back on track now.”

  Together they said, “I need your help.”

  They laughed and wiped tears from their eyes.

  “Where do I start,” Laura began. “I let something bad happen. The father of one of my students hacked into my computer and accessed the entire elementary school database.” The more humiliating details could wait until later. “Then he disappeared today, but he’d planned on disappearing today well ahead of time, as if something was going to happen soon. I’m terrified about what he might have been planning to do with all those children’s information.”

  “This is too coincidental to not be related,” Theresa said. “I’ve had visions of a terrible event, the release of a horrible creature called a longarex. Hairless and disgusting, with wings like a bat and teeth like a tiger. And the outcome I’ve seen doesn’t look at all like a party anyone will want to attend. Everything I’ve found points to three witches releasing the thing to prey on men. One of the rituals to do it could involve children.”

  “Well, I’ve got three potential witches for you,” Laura said. “Aileen Petty and the two women out at her house. I’ve seen them perform some ritual with one of the children there. Child Services thought I was a crank when I reported it.”

  “The same thought occurred to me,” Theresa said. “There is a serious hatred for men boiling out there. The visions I had felt like a huge crowd in danger. I think they’re going to resurrect that longarex tonight, with Donkey Day happening. I’m guessing at the top of Pear Tree Hill, just off
the Petty property.”

  “Then we’re going to have to break up that party. What about Dustin?”

  “There’s a sleep-in at Princess Day Care. Dustin liked it there before. It’s on the other side of town, far from anything that might happen at the fairgrounds. I can drop him there early this evening.”

  “I’ll head home and meet you back here,” Laura said. “I’ll bring anything I have that might help us disrupt whatever ritual they might be holding.” She hugged Theresa again. “I was so stupid. I’m sorry. For the first time since I moved, everything seems right.”

  “Or at least it will be,” Theresa added.

  As soon as Laura left, Theresa called out to Dustin.

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “You want to go back to that day-care center where you saw the dinosaur movie?”

  “You bet!”

  “Pick out some pj’s,” she said. “They are having a sleepover and all the kids will be there.”

  “Awesome!” Dustin raced to his room and he began to conduct a symphony of slamming drawers.

  She pulled out her phone and fished Sam’s card from her wallet. She dialed the number he’d written on the back.

  “Sheriff Barnsdale,” he answered.

  “Sam, it’s Theresa.”

  “Theresa! What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve narrowed down where the disaster is going to be. It’s tonight at Donkey Day.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Laura and I are going to try to stop it. But if we don’t do it, you’ll need to be prepared.”

  “Prepared for?”

  Theresa paused. “Look, just believe me when I say this. A coven of witches are going to release a winged creature that will hunt the men in town.”

  Silence. Theresa cringed.

  “You know that no one else in town could say that convincingly,” Sam said. “I’m crediting the red hair again. Where will I meet you two?”

  “Nowhere. We’re working on a hunch at our end. You should be ready at Donkey Day as a backstop.”

  “What about Dustin?”

  “He’ll be at the Princess Day Care sleep-in.”

  “Good plan. Once the fairgrounds are secure, I’ll send Deputy Graff over to keep an eye on the place. He’ll be safe, I promise. Will you?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll need to do better than that.”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff.”

  She hung up and went to the kitchen to provision Dustin for the night. Her bases were covered. Princess Day Care would keep an eye on Dustin, Sam would keep an eye on the town and Laura had her back again. This was one premonition she’d be able to put to bed for good.

  Chapter Forty-One

  As he drove his cruiser to the fairgrounds, the full realization of what stretched before him hit Sam. If Theresa was right, he and his deputies were about to face something none of them could really be prepared for. He’d just called in the few off-duty deputies and reassigned the county patrols into town. He put an exceptional amount of trust in the premonitions of a woman he barely knew.

  He felt like he knew her though. He’d been aware of her before she was aware of him. A woman having the cops haul off her drunken husband rarely remembers the cops. But the officer cuffing the scumbag always remembers her, the one he hopes he’s just saved from a too-familiar, awful fate. So Sam had Theresa burned into memory.

  Of course, in his mind, he could paint her in the most flattering light. Having just scant, superficial information—twenty-eight years old, house in town, small son, self-employed, hair like a summer sunset—he was free to fill in the substantial rest to his liking. She was, no doubt, kind, caring and considerate. She probably donated to orphanages. She likely baked apple pies from scratch when she wasn’t busy teaching Sunday school.

  The thing was, the times he’d interacted with her, nothing she did shook that image he’d created of her. She was kind and understanding. She nurtured a deep compassion, now quite understandable, given the burden of her gift of foretelling. So far she’d performed the rare feat of living up to high expectations.

  He’d even been tempted to test her further tonight. He’d toyed with the idea of inviting her and Dustin to a night at Donkey Day, before it had been foreshadowed by doom. He’d technically be off duty, though he’d be keeping an eye on things while they played rigged games and tested the strained metallurgy of the ancient Ferris wheel. It would be a nice, no-pressure social encounter for the three of them.

  That plan bit the dust hard with Theresa’s call. Immense responsibility swept into its place, a responsibility, if Theresa was right, that dwarfed any the previous century of sheriffs had ever shouldered. The irony was, by nearly everyone’s estimation, Sam was less qualified than any of his predecessors.

  The fairgrounds parking area overflowed with vehicles. Cars and SUVs that had delivered donkey fans filled the grass front lot. Out back parked the trucks of the pros. Rows of tandem diesel pickups sported horse trailers that attested to their devotion to their donkeys. The shining single-stall trailers all carried local license plates, but the larger models, some over twenty feet long, carried the dust and dirt that bragged of their long, dedicated journey to Moultrie. Several displayed a row of commemorative annual Donkey Day decals, aligned like swastika kill marks on a Spitfire fighter. The owners and their charges had deserted the parking lot, all were now inside the confines of the new fairgrounds fence.

  This late in the day, most of the published events had passed. Two beauty pageants had been completed, one human and the other equine. Demetrius, from Enterprise, Alabama, had proven himself the strongest donkey of the day as he pulled a sled of rough logs across a field. Nickolas of Boise had triumphed at the racetrack as the most fleet of hoof, at least as donkeys went. Thousands of pounds of tack and harness had changed hands, and most of the vendors were closing up shop. The midway opened soon, and leather bridles could not compete with the gaudy allure of carnival rides.

  Sam turned into the fairgrounds lot. He did a slow roll rolled past the big yellow Lifeflight helicopter at the parking lot’s edge. He flipped a two-fingered salute to Bentley, who sat in the door with the chopper’s paramedic. Bentley laughed, struck his chest with his fist and extended his arm in a mock Roman hail. He pointed to the wide-brimmed hat on Sam’s head.

  “Love that hat,” he shouted.

  Sam smiled. He was starting to like it himself.

  Sam parked next to the main entrance. Nearby, Big Mac Chalmers leaned against his pickup with the hangdog look of a petulant child. Three other more cheerful deputies stood beside him, swapping bull. They had just come on duty. Chalmers had graveyard shift and Sam had rousted him in the midst of his beauty sleep.

  Sam got out of his cruiser and took a deep breath. The rubber was about to meet the road, as his father used to say. Sam’s wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat sat on the passenger seat in the sun. He reached in and picked it up. The brushed felt was warm. He donned it and squared the brim. He touched his hat’s warm soft felt and squared the brim. He slammed the cruiser’s door and approached his deputies.

  The three deputies on duty killed their conversation and straightened up, eyes on their chief. Deputy Winston was the senior of the group, a barrel-chested guy who looked like he always had a protective vest on under his shirt. With no aspirations to higher office, he’d rolled easily when Sam was appointed sheriff. Sam knew he was reliable. Big Mac stayed slumped against his truck, belly slopped over his gun belt, eyes on the ground. His wrinkled shirt looked like it had been recycled straight from the clothes hamper.

  “Deputies,” Sam said. Three heads nodded in acknowledgment. “We’re going to rearrange the plan tonight. I’m not convinced we have the best coverage.”

  Big Mac glanced off into the distance, bored.

  “Winston,” Sam continued, “get these Girl Scouts home. We might as well have poodles doing parking lot security.”

  “Amen, Sheriff,” Winston said. He tucked his th
umbs into his gun belt.

  “Then let’s flip the assignments around. All active deputies work inside the fence perimeter. I’ve called in overtime and pulled the patrols into town if you need backup.”

  “Backup for what, Sheriff?” Winston said.

  There’s the rub, Sam thought. Saying a pseudopsychic woman foretold the attack by a flying demon would probably leave everyone incredulous, rather than on their toes. Better to play on the rumor the animal shelter incident had spawned.

  “I got word from the state troopers that an animal rights group was planning on protesting the carnival and Donkey Day in general. They have a history of doing something stupid, like letting wild animals free and ‘liberating’ livestock. We don’t need any of that tonight, or next year’s Donkey Day will be a ghost town.”

  Three deputies nodded in grim determination. Big Mac scratched his stubbly cheek. Sam was done with the worthless tub of fat.

  “Big Mac,” Sam said, “you with the program?”

  Big Mac bristled at the use of his hated nickname. “No problem.”

  “No problem, Sheriff,” Sam corrected. “Did we get you up too early to protect Shaw County citizens? Too early to shave and put on a uniform that doesn’t have mustard stains on it from yesterday’s hot dog?”

  The other three deputies suppressed laughter. Big Mac stood up straight. His face went red.

  “We’ll discuss your appearance tomorrow,” Sam said. “Now, I have the real deputies inside the fence and the civilians on the outside. That puts me in a dilemma about where you might belong, being a civilian attitude in a sheriff’s department uniform.”

  That barb brought a gasp from one of the deputies and smiles from the rest. Apparently Sam hadn’t been the only one who’d had enough of Big Mac’s attitude.

  Big Mac set his jaw, but the flap of his double chin negated any menace he intended to convey. “Now wait a minute—”

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Sam said. “We’ll split the difference. You plant yourself at the front gate and make sure nothing suspicious gets in. If anyone tries, just get in the way.” Sam eyed Big Mac’s belly. “You should be able to hold them off until one of these deputies can help you. Feel free to comment here if you’d like to be benched for the evening. Or longer.”