Breach of Trust

By Cynthia Macari

Sidney Spencer is the successful author of mystery novels who loves her job, but shes due for a much-deserved break. She owns a cabin in Spring Lake, Pennsylvania, but shes never spent the winter there. This is just the respite she needs as she settles in her winter home and a quiet community filled with new friends.

As a mystery author, Sidney is always curious, and she suspects several of her neighbors are hiding secrets. She does her best to weed out the truth, but her amusing hobby turns to something much more necessary when one person is killed and two girls are reported missing. Now, Sheriff Will Putnam needs her help before someone else ends up dead.

Sidney knows certain neighbors in Spring Lake harbor secrets, but do any of them seem capable of murder? She has to use all her investigative skills to discover whether there is a killer among them. And shed better figure things out soon before she becomes the killers next person of interestand possible prey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491749265

Cynthia Macari

Cynthia Macari, born in Flushing, New York, was a resident of Huntersville, North Carolina, at the time of her death in 2005. She enjoyed playing guitar, crafting, and creating colorful characters for this novel. She will be most remembered for her sense of humor and love of family.

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BREACH OF TRUST

Copyright © 2014 Cynthia Macari.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-4927-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-4928-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-4926-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014918523

iUniverse rev. date: 11/14/2014

Contents

Prologue Sidney

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue Will

Acknowledgments

Synopsis for Breach of Trust

To my beautiful grandchildren,

Sara, Brandon, Alex, Sophia, Ryan, and Shawn.

May your lives be filled with love, family, and gifts you share with others.

Love always,

Grandma

Prologue

Sidney

I was trying to decide whether I would go to my cabin at Spring Lake for the winter months. I had always gone during the spring and summer, and it would be a familiar setting. I wanted to take in the view of the snow-covered mountains and look at a sky so blue only God had that color crayon. It would be exhilarating to ride a snowmobile or ice skate across a frozen lake while adjusting to the cold wind. I could take a deep breath of crisp, cool air and watch the dusty consistency of light, powdered snow catch in the wind and stick to my cabin windows as they crystallized like iridescent snowflakes. My doctor recommended I find someplace I could relax, so why not spend the winter at Spring Lake?

Inside my cabin, there would be a warm fire in the fireplace to take the chill out of the rooms. Winter residents turned on the propane heaters after the fires were banked against the inevitable freezing night ahead. We decorated our cabins as a home away from home, the welcoming atmosphere providing an escape from our busy and demanding lives.

Some of my neighbors had a mudroom that looked like a makeshift shanty attached to the cabin. Its purpose was to store an array of outside gear—everything from boots scattered on the floor to snowmobile keys placed on hooks screwed into the walls. There might even be a kerosene heater to help dry out the soaked ski gloves and suits that hung on the walls.

The grounds included a stable where guests could pay a fee to board their horses. However, many residents had forgone horseback riding for snowmobiles, mopeds, or bicycles. Bicycles being the healthy alternative, they literally crowded the narrow residential roads during the warmer vacation months.

Evening entertainment came in the form of playing card games like rummy or canasta, or board games like Monopoly. Of course there was always a roaring fire outside as well as inside. Families built slate fireplaces outside near the cabins, erecting roaring bonfires in them. Children toasted marshmallows, and the adults sipped steaming cups of coffee and tea, or perhaps some more potent libation, to keep warm. Company came, always welcomed with a seat by the fire. Above them, twinkling strands of colored lights roped from tree to tree reflected on the snow below, softly illuminating the area they outlined.

The cabins were clustered in and about the woods, all made of logs. They had originally been built as hunting lodges. The owner had bought them from the builder, an old man who had set the price very low on an agreement made by a handshake that the land would be left rustic and undeveloped. A promise kept on a gentleman’s agreement.

The land was owned and operated by a family who rented out the seasonal cabins and sites. State forest land surrounded the whole area. The nearest town was ten miles away. A single-lane road wound its way down the side of the mountain, treacherous to travel in winter or in the dark of night. The property had a general store to purchase necessary provisions, as well as propane or kerosene, but no gasoline.

On pitch-dark nights, you would know where the other cabins were by using the moonlight or finding the distant glow of the fires. With the thousands of stars that filled the night sky, you were left with a feeling of being quite miniscule in the landscape created by God. Like a tiny snowflake, different from all the others, one of a trillion, yet so necessary in the concept of the whole.

In the mountains, you could always expect a ruthless winter after a brutally hot summer. Most of the summer people would leave before the first of November because of the cold snap expected in late October. There had been poor fall foliage due to the summer drought that caused the leaves to fall prematurely. So right after the Halloween weekend, the summer residents cleaned, packed up, and headed back home to await with anticipation the coming of the following spring.

The winter people, as the summer residents called them, arrived with the usual scurrying to set up their sites before the winter came in full force. Signs of preparation could be seen everywhere you looked. Snowbreak fences went up strategically around the lake to avoid drifting snow on the road to the store. Boats went up on dry dock. Signs on the bulletin boards told where firewood could be purchased. Cabins with no mudrooms had a do-it-yourself screen room attached, a converted covered porch. A ride through the property on any given day in winter looked as though it was a Georgia sharecropper’s settlement of the 1930s.

The last thing I expected was for this tranquil, rural community to be the setting of a horrendous crime. This act of aggression was so violent and calculated that it never should have been allowed to go unpunished. Yet ignorance, unwitting cover-up, and blatant lies would accomplish just that. This offense against man and God was an act so vicious everyone would say it couldn’t happen here. But it did.

Chapter One

I decided to spend the winter this year in the mountains. I had contract deadlines to meet for my mystery novel, but I could do my research and writing in the stress-free environment. My husband, Clayton, would be too busy with his traveling and work to call or even write often. In the mountains, I would not have to answer the phone when my family called to ask questions. The solitude would give me time to put my life in perspective.

All these thoughts were going through my mind as I drove up the narrow, winding road and pulled into the entrance of Spring Lake Campground and Resort.

I drove past the group of people that had assembled on the porch of the general store. I was sure they were all telling stories of their escapades since they had left last spring. Among them, a few permanent residents were probably listening and anticipating the opportunity for their input. Since I was a seasonal resident, I didn’t recognize many of the people in the group.

I usually visited Spring Lake in the spring, through the summer months and early fall. Then I packed and locked up my cabin to return the following year. These unfamiliar faces were the winter people who visited the resort from late fall through winter. The permanent residents used their cabins year-round and paid the resort for the luxury of a vacation spot whenever they chose to visit.

It was the end of September, and the cooler weather made jackets a necessity. One walked at a slightly brisker pace than usual when the wind came off the lake. I entered the store and went directly to the coffee. I took a package-wrapped cheese danish from the refrigerator. I then approached the counter to speak to Jill, a local who worked year-round at the store.

It’s good to see you. What’s new since I left? Anything interesting, or do I have to partake of the usual conversation on the porch? I asked, smiling. I sipped carefully on the steaming brew I held gingerly within my hands.

Well, the Colliers left their cat here again, and you know that means at least one more litter of strays wandering around this winter. I think they want somebody else to feed the damn feline until they come back here next season. One of these days, that cat ain’t gonna be comin’ back to greet them when they return.

It sounds like an exciting winter ahead if that’s the best you can come up with, I said, smiling. Jill always had something to say and could get right to the point. I had known her since I started going to Spring Lake. She knew the lay of the land and decided to confide in me the local campground news. She gestured me closer.

Well … She leaned over the counter toward me, and in a secretive whisper that I was sure she’d used before, she said, You know the Limperts’ cabin over by the beach? That tramp of a daughter of theirs ran off last week, and no one’s seen or heard from her since. I bet this ain’t the first time neither—though nobody’s saying nothin’. Her folks were up here at the store looking for Alf yesterday. I overheard them telling him they had reported her missing to the sheriff. Then the next thing I know, they all hightailed it out of here. I understand the cabin is closed up for the season. If you hear anything, let me know, will ya? Emma, the sweet, innocent that she is, keeps askin’ me if there’s any news. I won’t be surprised if this whole runaway thing isn’t hushed up by the time spring rolls around. Nope. It won’t surprise me at all. She shook her head as she rose to a standing position.

Well, I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Though with the whole Limpert crew gone, I don’t know how I’d hear anything before you. I turned to leave and walked over to the newspaper rack and picked up the paper. Jill, put this on my tab and order it for me on a daily basis. I have to come back later and get my propane cans filled. I’ll settle up with you then. Thanks.

No problem, Sidney. See you then.

Alf and Emma were the owners of Spring Lake. Alf was a cantankerous, bullheaded old man of European descent who ruled his Spring Lake properties like a kingdom. I liked to refer to him as Jesus and his children as his apostles. The bunch of them had one saving grace—and that was Alf’s wife, Emma. She was a gentle and kind woman who seemed to know when to pick her battles and how to win them. Most of the time, she bowed to Alf’s whims and inconsistent rules, which he appeared to change at any given moment.

I hung around the porch for a while, listening to the group talk while I finished my coffee. Nothing about the Limpert girl came up in conversation, and after a while, I said my good days. I drove down Spring Lake Road to Weeping Beech Lane, turned right, and arrived at my cabin, a stone’s throw to the lake. My canoe was out of the water and resting on the side of the dock.

I had locked up the cabin when the time came to leave. Otherwise, we never locked our cabins; everyone knew everyone else. There was an unspoken law that no one walked on another’s property without permission or ever entered another’s cabin without an invitation. I undid the padlock, and the door swung open.

The main room was cold and damp, so I figured the others to be the same. I built a fire in the fireplace and went outside to bring in my bags and groceries. I opened the bedroom doors to let warmth from the fire seep into the back rooms. I opened the shutters from the inside and went outside to do the same. These cabins were very old, built to be sealed up inside as well as out. Each shutter and both doors had drop-bolt locks inside as well as wooden drop bars to secure them from outside intruders. Of course, we only used these in bad weather and when we were closing up for the season. They made the inside of the cabin dark. We had electric-generated light and a battery backup system if a storm knocked out the electric, which it often did. We also had kerosene lanterns and candles on hand. It was quite the norm to see lantern lights bobbing about in the dark as people went about their nightly rituals.

I put the propane cans in the car and drove back to the general store. I wanted to make sure the cans were filled before the store closed at dusk. I entered to find Alf leaning against the counter, reading a copy of the Watch, our local paper.

Morning, Alf. How’s things?

A grunt was about all anyone could expect in conversation with him, so if he said anything more than that, it kind of threw you off guard. He turned toward me, not so much to acknowledge me as to let me know I was about to be ignored. I walked over to the counter and told Jill I needed to have the gas cans filled. I took out my checkbook and asked her for a total of what I owed her. A voice came from somewhere, like god speaking. I immediately knew it was Alf.

You paid for your winter package yet? he questioned. Oh, the warmth of his voice just filled me with genuine gratitude over his concern that I feel welcome in the winter circle of paid guests.

I really wanted to look over at him and look away just as he had done to me, but I had been raised to be a lady. I wouldn’t lower myself to act that ignorant. Yes. I mailed it, and I have my receipt if you’d care to see it. He continued to look down at his reading material as though I were not worthy of recognition or response. I winked at Jill, raised my eyebrows, and turned toward the door.

I stood on the porch and looked north out over the lake. Small islands peeked up through the water as a heron stood gazing forlornly out toward the drifting fishing boats. The lake had not begun to freeze over yet. It seemed late in the season to see a heron, but then seagulls don’t fly south for the winter either.

The sun had warmed the afternoon air, and it seemed like a good idea to take a walk on my first day. Maybe I could see whether there was anyone around that I knew or, even better, I could meet someone I didn’t know. I started on my jaunt and hadn’t passed the parking lot when I heard my name called.

Sidney, when did you pull in? It was my cabin neighbor, Kelly, and her four children.

Hi! What are you doing up here? I countered. I didn’t expect to see her again until spring. I last saw her when she packed up and headed home in late August to get the children ready for school.

We went all the way home and found out the school district’s teachers were going on strike. So I left Bob home to go back to work, and I piled them all back in the car, and here we are. No way I’m staying home with nothing to amuse these kids. We’ll do fine right here till Bob calls to say schools are open. I’m surprised to see how many kids are here this month. I never considered spending the colder season up here, but it seems these people come up every weekend and do the winter sport thing. Would you like to stop by for some coffee?

Thanks, Kelly, but I’ll stop by later. Right now I’m off on a walk to see who’s here.

Okay. Oh, by the way, your dog was barking when I passed your place. Finally got yourself a year-round companion, huh?

I don’t have a dog. It must have gotten off its leash and wandered over near my cabin. People were supposed to keep their pets on their own sites, but obviously somebody hadn’t. Talk to you later, Kelly.

I picked up my pace as I went down the road, mentally taking in the emptiness of the grounds as I walked. I supposed more people would arrive as the weekend progressed. Then I tried to remember where the property sites were that seemed to be empty in the summer months.

I walked over by the Grand Hall, where the dances and other social gatherings took place during the warmer months. There were still some bales of hay and cornstalks leaning up against the stage from the harvest dance on Labor Day weekend. As I entered, the echo of my boots clapped the cement floor like tap shoes. When I stopped, I thought I heard someone behind me, but no one was there.

The back of the building had a large security gate that had already been closed and locked. I could see clear across the lake to the far beach. Down below the deck was a boat mooring in the marshes. The cattails swayed with the swamp grass, causing a gliding motion orchestrated by a gentle wind as its conductor. It was almost mesmerizing. I stood there watching the waltzing grass and smelling the fresh, clean air filling my lungs. For a few moments, there was a peace within me I only experienced when I came up to the mountains.

Down the road on the left was the stable and corral. They would take good care of my horse, Mischief, until I could get to see him. They also stabled horses to rent to guests who wanted to ride.

I’d had Mischief for five years. He was a beautiful chestnut stallion purchased at a Lancaster, Pennsylvania, auction. The Amish farmer said he couldn’t get him to stay at a trot to pull a carriage. I took him into the state forest land and gave him his head; he had a beautiful cantor and loved to gallop. The thought of riding exhilarated me, and I made a mental note to see the stableman, John, as soon as possible. I began to pass the corral when I heard raised voices coming from the tack room. I was going to pass right by and be on my way until I heard a comment that made me stop.

Who told you the sheriff was called?

That’s what I heard Alf tell Jill this morning.

Great, that’s just what we need—him prowling around, nosing into everybody’s business. You keep your mouth shut, you hear?

I slowed down to listen, but the voice was not familiar. The stable was dark compared to the shining sun outside. I did see John, the stableman, come out and wave at me, but no one else left the stable, so I moved on.

The roads off of Spring Lake Road were all named after trees. Not very original, but they sort of befitted the setting when spoken, like Weeping Beech Lane. They made you want to go there to see where the road went. Many of the cabins were tucked into the trees and rustically landscaped with flowers or decorative shrubs in warmer weather and evergreens all year round.

This attracted deer, chipmunks, and rabbits, but some of the more clever planters had netted their landscape with fine wire mesh surrounding the seasonal flowers. This seemed to deter some of the late-night snacking. The best deterrent was the roping of empty tin cans that when nudged would clamor and frighten away the hungry prey. However, they also managed to blow in the wind and cause the same clatter, and this had a tendency to aggravate the closest neighbors when they were ready to go to sleep.

Some cabin residents chose to decorate their property with windsocks, wooden staked pinwheels, and window boxes of silk or plastic flowers. This at least satisfied the need for a homey atmosphere after the last of the fall foliage had been burned in a campfire and one awaited the beauty of that first snowfall.

Chapter Two

I had just passed Red Cedar Road and came up on Cypress Hill Lane when I heard a dog barking. At first I paid no attention to the yapping, but then I remembered what Kelly had said about the barking dog. I had planned to keep walking until I came to the pool area around the other side of the lake by Sugar Maple Road. But if Kelly thought it was my dog, then others might also. There were rules at Spring Lake: Pets allowed on leash. Do not leave your dog unattended and barking. I didn’t want anyone to think the dog was mine and left to annoy someone. That was not the way to maintain friendships or encourage new ones, so I went back and turned down Weeping Beech Lane toward my cabin. As it came into view, standing on the porch was a beautiful Irish setter, the tail wagging as if it had known me all its life. As I got closer, the dog stopped barking and sat down. I approached warily and then decided to handle this with skills I did not possess.

Shoo! I yelled. The dog cocked its head to one side and looked at me. Out! Go! Shoo!

Well, this was not working, and to tell the truth, it didn’t impress me much either. The dog probably would have burst out laughing if it knew how. I decided the only thing to do was to ignore her. (I say her because from my perusal of the dog, I noted she was female. I knew that much about dogs.) I turned around and walked out of the site, and the dog followed me. Well, this might work after all. I stopped and turned to look at her. She sat down. I turned and walked; she followed right at my heel. I decided I would just continue to walk, and hopefully she’d get the idea and wander off.

The next thing I knew, two little girls came over to me and said, Can we pet your dog?

Before I could say it wasn’t my dog, or to be careful, the dog sat and let the children pet her. She even nudged their hands playfully with her nose. They giggled and squeezed her until I was afraid she might bite them, but she never even pulled away. I started to walk away, thinking she’d stay with the girls, but she stood up and followed right behind me. I turned and saw Kelly coming back from the indoor pool with the kids. She pulled her car over next to me and stopped.

I see you found your dog. She leaned out the car window to get a better look.

This isn’t my dog. I was smiling but getting annoyed at the situation and her insistence at labeling the dog as mine.

Then whose dog is it? Kelly asked, seeming to be enjoying this prattle.

How should I know? I just got here. I shrugged my shoulders. But it seemed amusing to Kelly.

Well, she’s a beauty. I should have hair like that.

She gave a begrudging look and started to pull her head back in the car when I said, You do. Your hair is auburn.

Are you saying I look like a dog?

No, you have freckles. Come on, Kelly, give me a break here. What am I supposed to do to get rid of this dog?

Well, if it’s still hanging around after your dinner, don’t feed it. It’ll be gone by morning. It’ll be hungry by then, and if you don’t feed it, someone will, and then maybe she’ll stay by them.

Sounds logical, and it’s worth a try. I gave her a thank-you nod.

Do you still want that cup of coffee? she asked as I started to walk away. She had her head out the car window again. I would have to tease her about getting some phone books to sit on when she drove that Tonka truck of hers. Why did short people love to drive those huge suburbans?

Sure, why not? Give me a few minutes. I want to go back and get the propane tanks from the store and make sure the heater’s working. I have a feeling it’ll get cold tonight.

By nine o’clock, the heat had kicked on several times, and since the thermostat inside was set at sixty-eight degrees, that could only mean that the temperature had to be below forty degrees outside and probably dropping.

I sat by the fire and curled up in a soft, overstuffed chair with a book. Instead of reading, I sat watching the fire, the flames licking at the split logs, trying to devour them. Then a new sound interrupted my thoughtless glare and perked my ears. It was rain gently beating in a tuneless rhythm as it hit the tin roof above my head. It played a soothing beat as each drop hit the tin and rolled into the gutter. It got more intense as the rain got heavier, and soon it was pelting the windows facing the lake.

I suddenly remembered the dog. I darted to the door, unbolting it and pulling it open. There, facing me, sat the dog with her head cocked to one side as if asking, What took you so long? Even though she had been under the porch roof, she was quite wet, probably from the wind-blown rain pelting off the lake. I didn’t have to call her in; I simply stepped aside, and she walked past me.

Well, so much for the she’ll be gone by morning theory. Soaked, she stood there looking at me. I went and got a towel and rubbed her down. She looked like a drowned water rat. I threw the towel over the back of the kitchen chair, and with my hands on my hips, I looked down at her and said, Are you hungry? Good Lord, I’m asking the dog a question. But strangely, her tail began to wag, and she sat down. What should I feed a dog? This wasn’t a situation I was familiar with. I went to the kitchen cabinet and looked inside for some kind of inspiration. Cereal. I poured some corn flakes into a large bowl and put it on the floor. I turned with the milk container in my hand and found the bowl empty. I poured some milk in the bowl and stood up. She sniffed it and very reluctantly lapped it up. By the time I had put the milk back in the fridge, she had curled up in front of the fireplace and was sound asleep. I, in turn, curled up in my chair and picked up my book. I looked down at the dog that was still asleep and then began to read.

When the sun came up, it peeked through the crack in the shutters and left a beam of light across my face. I rolled over on my side. Something made me open my eyes, and when I did, I saw the dog. Her head was resting on the comforter, and she was looking at me. You’re hungry? There was no response. I sat up and stretched. She had come to the foot of the bed and was resting her head on the comforter again.

Okay, I’m coming. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. The dog sat and whined. I looked over at her. What? She stood up and went by the bedroom door and turned to look at me.

If you’ll let me take a shower, we can go to the store and get you something to eat besides cereal. With that, she bounded out of the bedroom and through the main room to the door, barked once, and sat.

Oh! Of course, you have to go out. She stood up and wagged her tail. I opened the door, and she took off into the wooded area near the cabin. I went back inside. Well, she’s gone, I thought. A meal, a dry bed, and her freedom. I guess that’s all she wanted. I started to shut the door, but she was back, sitting there looking up at me.

Well, do make yourself at home, I said, holding the door ajar, and that’s exactly what she did.

We became quite a duo over the next few weeks. I called her Girl, and she listened. I walked at least two miles a day, and she became my constant companion. Kelly laughed every time she saw us together. She said she was going to write to Clay and tell him I’d found someone to replace him while he gallivanted about, taking pictures of sea urchins.

Actually, I had already written to him about the dog. Clayton Spencer had been my husband for six years. He was a freelance photographer and traveled extensively. It allowed me time to write my mystery novels and spend a good deal of time researching my subject matter without it interfering with our personal relationship. We had no children. Not by choice, but because of the time we spent apart. If children were to be in God’s plan for us, so be it. The career Clay had chosen made that very difficult. We both loved children and did nothing to prevent them except spend a lot of time apart.

Girl was finding her place in our relationship. Her personality seemed to develop as we spent more time together. It was Alf who one day asked what her name was. I replied that I just called her Girl. That’s not a name; it’s a gender. For once, I agreed with him, but I really couldn’t think of a name that seemed to fit.

One day, she crawled under my bed and put an old rubber ball inside my slipper. It wasn’t until I tried to put it on that I found myself crawling under the bed to find out what had rolled out of the shoe. Another time, she pulled her rug into the bedroom next to the bed to sleep. I almost broke my leg trying to avoid falling over her in the middle of the night on a bathroom visit. It was these little antics that drove me to yell one minute and laugh the next.

But the clincher came one afternoon when Girl brought home a plaything—a field mouse. It was alive in her mouth. She gently placed it on the floor while I was shelling peas. I dropped a pod and leaned down to get it just in time to see Girl nudging the small mouse with her nose. The mouse rolled over, got on all fours, and headed for cover. The cover it chose was under my stove. I completely lost it. The pot of vegetables hit the floor; the water splashed and ran in all directions. I couldn’t mop it fast enough as the peas rolled across the room. Girl sat up and looked at me, not knowing what to expect.

That was the last straw. I took her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her outside on the porch. Listen, you rascal! That’s about all the nonsense I can take from you. Rascal. It was perfect.

It took a while for Rascal to learn her name, but I knew she had accepted it one night when we were out walking. I had found it very enjoyable to walk in the evening after dinner. I could get a weather report from the skies by going down to the beach and looking up. The more stars, the nicer the following day would be. Heavy clouds meant rain or snow. The night sky also told me what phase the moon was in.

The moon affected people’s moods as much as it affected the tides. But it also affected the animals. On a night with a full moon, you’d see many dead animals on the sides of the road, hit by passing motorists. The moon seemed to bring them out of the woods and down from the hills. They wandered out on highways and roads and got killed. Nocturnal animals were seen at dusk more prevalently than at any other times. That meant more skunks and the scents of their horrific odors, triggered when they felt threatened. People say domestic pets like dogs and cats can become more aggressive because of the moon. Even people of normal temperament seem to become moody. Different moons, different moods.

I took Rascal down to the beach with me as usual. I should have realized how dark it was outside considering the hour. We had eaten late because I had gone to town to get groceries. After I cleaned up and wiped my hands dry on a towel, she ran to the door and sat. She knew what would happen next.

It was two days before Halloween, and the beach was cold and damp. I felt a chill go up my back and knew the weather was changing. We had enjoyed some beautiful autumn days since I’d arrived, but it was about to become apparent that winter was here, ready or not. I sat gazing up at the night sky, looking for stars that were hidden by massive cloud cover, when I heard Rascal growl.

I had never heard her do that before. I turned quickly to see a person standing about fifty feet from me. It appeared to be a man. I could not see him very well because the clouds had covered the moon. At first, I thought it was another person out for an evening walk, but Rascal would not stop growling. She took a different stance, with her head down yet looking up, almost like a wolf eyeing its prey, its tail between its legs. The figure turned and started to move away. At the same time, Rascal went into motion. She sprang toward the figure. I called, Rascal, stay. She stopped but did not take her eyes away from person quickly retreating. Rascal, come. She