Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (3 page)

Chapter Four

The lake was quiet.

All those busy streets that surrounded the lake? Only a distant memory. And all those crazy drivers whipping through traffic? Part of another world entirely.

Here, in this gently rising and falling antiquated skiff, the world consisted only of a nicely tuned engine and waves slapping the wooden hull. In a blink, Roy went from client to tour guide. He pointed out a beautiful old plantation-style home overlooking the lake, once the home of Bela Lugosi. Clark Gable had come often to fish and duck hunt. William Hart, the top Western silent film star, lived there in that old house. And an old Moorish-looking castle was built by the founder of the International Church of Christian Gospel, Aimee McPherson, aptly called Aimee’s Castle. I’d never heard of such a church or of her, but the massive structure looked beautiful. It had been privately purchased by an eccentric scientist nearly a decade ago. Lucky bastard.

More stories, and more celebrities. Steve McQueen had hung out just beyond there with his motorcycle pals, often frequenting a downtown bar called The Wreck. Frank Morgan, who had played the Wizard in the
Wizard of Oz
, vacationed here often. They referred to him as The Wiz.

Movies were filmed here:
King Solomon’s Mines
with Richard Chamberlain;
Norwood
with Glen Campbell, Joe Namath, and Dom DeLuise;
And the Children Shall Lead
with Levar Burton.

These days, celebrities came for the speedboat races and to skydive. Once, a Kardashian had vacationed in one of his cabins. He hadn’t known what a Kardashian was at the time. Still didn’t.

We continued slowly, as the sun danced off the gently rolling wake. There were only a handful of boats out, being midday and midweek. Elsinore was, apparently, a weekend destination.

Earl Stanley Gardner, of
Perry Mason
fame, had sometimes set his novels on Lake Elsinore. Roy’s now-deceased aunt used to work for Earl as his personal assistant. I thought that was kinda cool. I also made a mental note to check Amazon for some
Perry Mason
deals. With luck, there might even be a freebie.

There were certainly bigger and more interesting lakes in the world. Hell, I’d seen a number of them. But looking at Roy’s content face, you wouldn’t believe it. His look said it all: this lake, in this unlikely setting, was the most interesting thing around—and he clearly loved it.

Along the west side of the lake, Roy cut the engine. “It was here that I saw the shadow the second time.”

Earlier, at the dock, he had pointed out where he’d had his first sighting, walking me through it. As he walked me through it, I relived it in his mind, confirming for myself that he wasn’t full of shit and just looking for publicity. Yeah, he’d seen a long-ass shadow.

I’d half-expected the second sighting to be within a few hundred yards of his dock. Something to explain why Roy was the only one seeing this thing—or the only one reporting seeing this thing. But we were in the middle of the lake. His massive estate home was just a blip in the far distance. But we were quite a ways away.

“Just last week?” I confirmed.

“Yup.”

I looked down into the glittering water, the sun hot on my neck, but not doing any real damage. Was I miserable? Yes. Mostly, the thing within me was miserable. Lord, how she hated the sun. Except her misery was my misery, too, the bitch. Her preferences were now my preferences. Except I did all I could to not give in to her needs. Her needs would lead me down a rabbit hole of murder and destruction, and would eventually unleash into the world one of the most powerful sorceresses of all time. True story.

And so I sat there, burning slightly, but not really. Any burns I received healed as quickly as they appeared. Had someone been watching my skin closely, they would no doubt see the burn appear, and then disappear, to be repeated over and over again, for as long as I stood out here.

So weird,
I thought.
But kind of cool, too.

It was just after noon. There was, precisely, not a cloud in the sky. Blue as far as the eye could see, all reflected in this big body of water.

“Clarity is one to three feet,” said Roy.

“Which means the shadow had been close to the surface?”

“Probably. Then again, something that big could probably be seen maybe a dozen or so feet below, especially if it’s moving, which it was.”

“Could it have been a fish?”

“As long as my boat?”

I shrugged, playing devil’s advocate. “It’s a big lake.”

“It’s not that big. We’re six miles long and not quite two miles wide. Forty-two feet at its deepest, but averages closer to thirty feet. Nearly three thousand acres of surface area. Big yes, but not that big.”

“But yet,” I added. “It’s here.”

He nodded at that, and kept nodding.

“Does being out here now make you nervous?” I asked.

He peered over the rail next to me and sighed. This close, I could smell his aftershave and some body odor. I could smell his hair gel and dirty cargo shorts. He smelled like a big kid. He said, “I don’t know what to think or feel, Sam. Thinking there might be something down there makes me nervous; not just for me, but for anyone who uses this lake. I’m telling you right now, no swimmer would have a chance against it. Ten men wouldn’t have a chance against it. It was that big and that fast.”

“The two missing boys... were they swimming in the lake?”

“As far as I know, no. But I only know what made it to the papers.” He was gripping the railing tight enough for his knuckles to show white. “I’m afraid for my friends, my family, for anyone who uses the lake, Sam. Except, I don’t know what the hell to do about it. Everyone I’ve talked to laughs it off. Except now, two boys have gone missing, and I feel guilty as hell, somehow. I don’t know who else to turn to. Sherbet barely gave me the time of day, but at least he recommended you. But unless you have some high-tech sonar equipment or you are an experienced diver, I’m not sure what evidence you can bring back. I’m not sure what I was thinking by bringing you out here. I’m sorry, but I think I wasted your time.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “I can’t deny that I’m out of my element here. Then again, I have eyes to see, ears to hear, and I’m patient as hell. Also, I know how to follow clues all the way to answers.”

He chuckled, then dropped his head down between his arms. His neck had the look and consistency of my leather satchel that also doubled as my laptop bag. “Maybe I’m losing my mind, Sam. No one else appears to have seen it. At least, not recently. Or they were smart enough to keep their mouths shut.”

I said nothing. After all, I’d questioned my own sanity for at least a decade now.

He looked at me and added, “I need answers, Sam. I need to feel comfortable on this lake. And I need to warn people, if necessary. Okay, you’re hired. Sherbet says you’re the Queen of Strange, and this is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

We discussed rates, right there on the open water, and he suggested a barter. Half my rates for a week’s use of his best cabin. I grinned and thought about Kingsley, a fireplace, and more snuggling than any woman had any right to hope for. My own lake monster.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Chapter Five

Detective Hillary Oster returned with my driver’s license and investigator’s license. She had, I noted, made copies of them. She folded the copies and slipped them under her keyboard.

“You check out, Ms. Moon,” she said. I couldn’t tell if checking out was a good thing or a bad thing, based on her expression. Detective Oster was in her mid-forties and didn’t smile much. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to frown. Had I been sitting on my head, Detective Oster would be grinning like a fool. Right side up, not so much. I found all her frowning perplexing, since I’m adorable.

“I was holding my breath.”

“I wasn’t.” She laced her thick fingers in front of her. No nail polish. No rings. Chewed her nails. She was the picture of calm, even while the department behind me was a beehive of activity. “Now, what’s your interest in the missing boys?”

I slipped inside her thoughts and saw the wall. It wasn’t directed at me, not entirely. She didn’t like private dicks, but she mostly didn’t like the FBI agents who’d come in here and taken over the place. She was the lead investigator for both missing boys, but now, she didn’t know her place. She’d never before had a case that had interested the FBI, and she hoped she never did again. She was in a bad mood and not about to open up to me. It was time I exerted myself, to the delight of the demoness within me.

My reasons are perfectly reasonable,
I thought, planting the words directly into her thoughts.
I have nothing but the boys’ best interest and well-being in mind. Do you understand?

There was a pause, necessary for her subconscious mind to realize it had just been taken over. A moment later, she nodded.

Good,
I thought.
Now give me a smile.

She nodded again, and her lips quivered in what appeared to be a rictus of pain.

Scratch that,
I thought.
No smiling. As you were.

Her lips dropped with relief, and all was right in her world again. I said, “Could you tell me more about the boys’ disappearance?”

She nodded, blinked. “Their disappearances have been tough on everyone. We’ve been working overtime on this. I’m not sure I’ve slept in a week.”

She gave me the rundown. The boys were the same age: twelve years old. Both were Caucasian. Both were troublemakers. Both had had run-ins with the police. Usually for smoking pot or ditching school. Once or twice for tagging. Once for a minor break-in.

“What’s a minor break-in?” I asked.

“They broke into their history classroom and urinated and defecated on the teacher’s desk.”

“Hey, when you have to go...” I said. “They were friends?”

“The best of friends, apparently. Quite frankly, they were just rotten together, although everyone seemed to adore them.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Teachers, fellow students, the girls in class. They were bad boys with a heart of gold.”

“Even the teacher whose desk they turned into a toilet?”

“That’s just the thing, Ms. Moon: the boys never did anything too outlandish, or too hurtful to get into any real trouble. Even when they were tagging they were simply tagging over other graffiti, and just using their initials. Anyway, they have been missed and, although they are a couple of boneheads, there’s great worry for them. Truly, they didn’t deserve whatever has befallen them.”

I nodded, and tried to think when the last time I’d heard the word “befallen” used in an actual sentence, and couldn’t. I said, “Any chance they ran away?”

“Anything’s possible. But why leave seven days apart? Why not head out together?”

“Maybe they went their separate ways.”

“The possibilities for the disappearance are endless. We are following all leads, Ms. Moon. We’ve talked to everyone they’ve ever known. We actually talked to every single high school student at Elsinore High, every single teacher. Every relative we could find, every neighbor within one square mile. We’ve passed out flyers asking for tips. The local TV media have been a huge help, and so have the radio stations. And that’s not taking into account the hundreds of follow-up calls, leads that don’t pan out into anything, and just general agonizing over the case. The word is out there... but so far, nothing.”

“It means a lot to you.”

“It means a lot to all of us here. These kids were funny. They were clowns, yes, but they often had most of us in stitches. They were ruffians on their way to figuring out how life works, but meanwhile, having a little fun in the process. Sometimes, too much fun. Hell, it wasn’t uncommon for those of us here at the station to share stories about those two. Story after story.”

That last part got to her and she turned her head and collected herself. I waited. Some cases hit us harder than others.

When she had gotten control of herself, she said, “Anyway, we all have a soft spot for them. We all sort of looked out for them, too.”

She gave me the rundown. Luke, twelve years old, had been the first to go missing. From all appearances, he had been asleep in his bedroom, and simply decided to get dressed, put on his shoes and jacket and slip away into the night. No one had come to his door, no evidence of anyone coming to his window. His mother was asleep. They lived in an apartment complex. No one had seen him go. No surveillance cameras anywhere.

One man, a bum who lived on the streets, claimed to have seen Luke heading down Lake Street, toward the lake itself. But that was it. No one else had heard anything or seen anything. No other leads. The bum had checked out, too. No indication of foul play. They dug deeper. No stolen cars reported that night. No evidence that Luke had purchased a ticket at the local Greyhound depot. There were no trains into Elsinore. Neither Uber nor Lyft nor any of the taxi app services indicated they had picked him up. The last call on his cell had been to another friend in the early evening. According to the friend, they’d talked girls and a party coming up that weekend. His last text had been to a girl. It said “Sup?” Luke had left his phone behind in his bedroom.

I blinked at that. A soon-to-be-teenager with no phone? A sure sign of foul play. I said, “Hitchhike?”

“Possible. Might even be probable. Except he’d made no mention to anyone of wanting to run away.”

“Teenagers are not known for planning ahead, at least beyond their next Taco Bell run.”

She shrugged. “He hadn’t been fighting with his family, or with his friends.”

“Girlfriend?”

“None yet, but he was trying. We read his text messages.”

“Scary,” I said.

“We had to bring in a translator. Literally.”

“Who was the translator?”

“A local high school student.”

“Any theories?” I asked.

“Someone picked him up. Someone had somehow made arrangements with him, outside of phone calls or text messages. Someone he perhaps knew on the streets. Someone offered him drugs or money or a good time, and Luke got in the car with him.” She thought about it, then added, “Or her.”

I saw where she was going with this. “Perhaps an older man?”

“Seems probable.”

“Well-to-do pervs with a penchant for young boys have been known to trawl high schools, and seem to have a knack for finding pre-teens up for anything. Usually there’s lots of partying promised. The pre-teen quickly realizes he’s in way over his head, that there’s a lot more expected of him than he’d realized.”

“Tell me about the bum who reported seeing him,” I said.

“Known by the police. Harmless. Drunk most of the time. His statement has been agonized over. Problem is, it’s been changing with time.”

“What’s the gist of it?”

“Luke was alone. Seemed to be walking in a sort of daze. Heading down toward the lake. The time ranges from midnight to four in the morning. His clothing went from shorts to jeans.”

“What does that mean, a sort of daze?”

“Apparently, his arms were straight down, and so was his head.”

“He was looking down as he walked?”

“Apparently straight down. But you ask me, it sounds like bullshit.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking. “And Johnny would disappear a week later?”

“Right.”

“Tell me about Johnny’s disappearance.”

She did. Detective Hillary was certain the clue to Luke’s disappearance lay with his friend. Surely, there was someone they’d met along the way, someone who had shown an interest in the boys, someone who had offered them the world... and all they had to do was leave with him for the weekend. Or just for the night. Hell, just for a few hours. But Johnny was adamant: they’d met no one, at least no one he was aware of.

Detective Hillary had been knee-deep in Luke’s investigation when she’d gotten word that Johnny was gone, too. Similar circumstances. The boy had left his apartment in the middle of the night, an apartment he shared with his mother. This time, there was footage: the apartment surveillance camera had caught the boy leaving at 3:18 a.m., walking alone, head down, arms to his sides.

I asked if I could see the video. She didn’t seem so inclined. I gave her a mental nudge, and she inclined. She moved over and asked me to come around to her side of the desk. She spent a half-minute bringing down files and opening new ones, and soon, the video played out before me.

A blond kid, wearing jeans and a Beatles t-shirt and no shoes, emerged from an apartment complex. Arms straight down, head down, he also looked like he might be turning away from, say, a dust storm, or rain. But the night seemed clear, although the video was a little grainy. Most interesting was the boy’s steady gait. He walked carefully, slowly, one big step after another, never looking up, never raising his arms, never appearing to see, in fact, where he was going.

He didn’t have anything in his hands. No headphones. No shoes. No reason to be acting the way he was acting. In about twenty steps, he was out of frame.

“Play again?”

“Yeah.”

She did... three more times, in fact; each time, it seemed stranger than the time before it.

“Looks a bit like a zombie,” I said.

“You’re not the first to say that.”

“Sort of backs up what the bum saw.”

“It does.”

“Where’s he headed?”

“The apartment’s main gate.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“Only feasible exit. Not to mention, he stepped on some glass. We followed a trail of blood for nearly a mile before it congealed or got clotted by dirt and grime.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“We tested it.”

“Okay,” I said. “The suspense is killing me.”

She waited, perhaps subconsciously getting me back for digging around in her brain. Finally, she said, “He was heading toward the lake.”

I looked at her. “Just like Luke?”

“Exactly like Luke,” she said.