The Killing Moon Dan Padavona (world of reading .TXT) 📖

that, Shep. It’s personal now. Come at my sister, and you answer to me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

October 31st

5:05 p.m.

Valerie awoke with a start and touched her heart.

The light at the window seemed wrong. Corrupt somehow. Distant sun peeked out from a thick blanket of gray, slicing past her blinds. It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t morning. She’d fallen asleep on her bed after the shouting ended downstairs. It all came back to her—the person dressed as the Halloween Man, Dad striking her mother, the sheriff insinuating Valerie or her father had killed Derek.

She ruffled her hair and crawled off the bed. Loomis darted from the closet and leaped into her lap as she sat at her desk. Too depressed to check the message boards, disgusted she’d created the Halloween Man legend and put her friends and family at risk, she stroked the kitten behind his neck. Light faded inside the bedroom. Lifting her phone, she confirmed Leland still hadn’t written back. Worry tugged at her. She should call Gardner. He’d know where to find Leland.

When the phone rang in Valerie’s hand, she jolted. The phone tumbled to the floor, cracking the screen in the corner.

“Shit,” she whispered as she retrieved the damaged phone.

Though Valerie didn’t recognize the number, she answered.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Is someone there? If this is a prank call, I’ll—”

“Ms. Leonard?”

The voice on the line sounded defeated, pained. The man sniffled.

“Who is this?”

“Is it true? Is Derek really dead?” Mr. Pierpoint. My God, how did he get her number? “You’ll tell me the truth, Ms. Leonard. The two of you were close. I remember.”

“Mr. Pierpoint, is that you?”

An excruciated moan came through the phone.

“Why would someone hurt our Derek? He was like a son to me.”

“I don’t…Mr. Pierpoint, are you all right? Maybe I should call someone to check on you.”

Pierpoint continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“There’s something wrong with me, Ms. Leonard. I drive my loved ones away. First my wife. Now Derek.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. And you didn’t drive Derek away. Someone murdered him.”

“But who would do such a thing? I’m worried, Ms. Leonard. Sometimes when I awaken, I find myself in another place inside the house. On the couch, or in the sunroom. And I never remember how I got there.”

“You sleepwalk, sir?”

“I fear I do much more than sleepwalk, Ms. Leonard.”

The line died.

Valerie stared at the phone until the reality of what Mr. Pierpoint had implied struck her. She dropped the phone to her desk and scooted away, as if a black widow had crawled across the screen.

Footsteps climbed the stairs. Her father was coming.

Valerie crept into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

* * *

Thomas lifted the binoculars to his eyes. A light turned on upstairs in the Leonard’s house, and shadows grew long across the sidewalk. Lit pumpkins flickered on porch steps as a few trick-or-treaters weathered the cold, moving door to door with winter jackets covering their costumes.

When the light flicked off, Thomas set the binoculars on the passenger seat. The minivan along the curb shielded his vehicle from prying eyes. If Ed Leonard glanced out the window, he wouldn’t see Thomas. Without a warrant, Thomas couldn’t determine if Leonard’s Volkswagen Passat had mismatched tires. Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he silently urged Ed Leonard to leave the house.

The radio interrupted his thoughts.

“Sheriff?”

Detective Presley’s voice.

“Sheriff Shepherd here.”

“We picked up Troy Dean and brought him to Kane Grove PD. If you want in on the interrogation, we’re beginning in fifteen minutes.”

Thomas chewed the inside of his cheek. His instincts told him someone in the Leonard house was in danger. Was Ed or Valerie Leonard capable of murder? Groaning, he fired the engine and shifted into drive, leaving the Leonard residence behind. He arrived at Kane Grove PD a minute before the interrogation began. Presley met him outside the interview room and handed him a copy of her notes and a bottled water.

“Officer Stanton responded to a call in Barton Falls. A resident spotted Dean entering a gas station on the edge of town. Stanton picked him up as Dean topped off his tank.”

“He’s in the interview room now?”

Presley nodded and gestured for Thomas to follow.

Troy Dean had a shaved head with a tattoo running from his cheek to his neck. An earring hung from one ear. Prison tattoos marred his forearms.

“Mr. Dean, this is Sheriff Shepherd. And you’ve already met Officer Stanton.”

Dean sneered at Thomas and Stanton from across the table. Presley tossed a folder on the table and sat.

“You having a good day?” Presley asked.

Dean ran his gaze along the door and windows, as though assessing his chances for escaping.

“Every day is a good day, Detective.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re enjoying yours. Do you know why Officer Stanton picked you up?”

The gang leader lifted the corner of his lip.

“The pig read me my rights. Doesn’t mean the charges will stick.”

Presley’s eyes jumped to Stanton, worried the officer might reach across the table and slap the sarcasm out of Dean’s mouth.

“Someone attacked a teenage boy in Barton Falls this afternoon. Hurt him bad enough to send him to the hospital. We’re trying to understand why three grown men from Harmon would attack a kid.”

Dean shrugged.

“Know nothing about that.”

“Are you sure? What’s that cut on your forehead?”

The gangster touched his fingers to his head.

“Must have bumped it somehow.”

“Really? Because the boy in the hospital claims your forehead broke his nose.”

“He’s lying,” Dean said, scratching the side of his nose.

“We have a witness who claims two thugs, and a man who matches your description, exited a sedan outside the city park and attacked our teenager.”

Thomas glanced at Presley. A witness came forward? She hadn’t disclosed this news to Thomas.

“I get that a lot. Plenty of people look like me.”

“You live at twenty-four Erie Street in Harmon, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Ever run into trouble with the police?”

Dean smirked.

“You already know I did prison time.”

“What for?”

“It’s in your notes.”

“Humor me.”

“I got into a fight. The other guy lost. If you ask me, it