Arty was dripping with sweat as he hustled down the sidewalk. The night was quiet. There was a light breeze on his face as he walked into it. His hands were in his pockets against the cold. His heart was hammering.
The man would have caught him in the tent, if Brad hadn’t thrown that rock. What would he have done? Would he have shot the man with his own gun? Would he have cowered and begged to be let go? Or would he have explained what he was doing there, and hope the man understood? And who was the man, and why did he have that gun?
He picked up his pace as his mind wandered through the labyrinth of possibilities, and he slipped on the damp sidewalk as he turned the corner onto Lynda’s street, barely getting his hands out of his pockets in time to break his fall. He grimaced as he skinned the heel of his left palm against the sidewalk.
He heard it before he saw it. The deep throated bark of a big dog. He picked his head up and clambered onto his hands and knees, shooting his eyes around the neighborhood. The wolf, he thought, fighting panic. He had to get up. He had to run. He tried to scream, but couldn’t get sound past his lips.
Another bark-to his right, he looked over and saw it as it as it charged across the street. There was no mistaking that happy-to-see-you, dog grin on Binky Bingham’s Doberman Pincer. Arty dropped flat on the sidewalk, his hands covering his head as the animal pounced on him.
“ Get off, Condor,” but the dog ignored him as it licked the backs of his hands with its long, sloppy tongue. “Come on, let me up.” The dog had him down and was clearly enjoying himself.
“ Condor,” Arty said, with a snap in his voice. The dog recognized the change of tone. Arty didn’t want to play. It was hard for him to understand, because his friend was on the ground, like he always was when they played, but he wasn’t laughing and giggling as usual, so the dog stopped the licking, stepped off his friend and sat on his haunches.
“ That’s better.” Arty pushed himself up. “Now come on.” He started back down the sidewalk, but the dog whined and he stopped. “Oh, all right.” Arty reached under the chest of the massive dog and scratched his belly, smiling as Condor wagged his stub of a tail in joy. “Okay, that’s all till tomorrow. Now we gotta go,” he said, after a few scratches. He turned away and started down the block, with the big dog at his heels.
“ Come on, Condor.” Arty climbed the front porch. He went to the door, but the dog hung back. “Come on,” Arty insisted. The dog slunk up the steps after him and lay at his feet, crossing his front legs and resting his head on them. Arty looked down at him, shook his head, and said, “That bad?”
The dog didn’t answer and Arty rang the bell.
“ Coming,” Arty heard Mrs. Bingham’s happy, high voice as it rang through the closed door. Arty stood at a sort of parade rest, stiff legged, feet apart, hands clasped behind his back. He blinked as the porch light came on.
“ Oh, Arty,” Mrs. Bingham said, throwing open the front door, “I’m so sorry about your father.”
“ It’s okay,” Arty said.
“ How’s your mother?
“ She’s okay.”
“ It’s so sad,” she said.
“ Not really,” Arty said, surprising both himself and Mrs. Bingham. “He was a bad man and I think the world is better off, now that he’s gone.”
“ Arty, you mustn’t talk like that.”
“ Mom and I talked about it,” Arty said, “and we’re both pretty glad he’s dead. She said she wished he wouldn’t have suffered, but he hurt us so much when he was alive, I guess it’s only fair that he hurt a lot when he died. It’s sorta like God giving him a taste of his own medicine, before sending him to hell.”
“ I’m sorry, Arty. I didn’t know.”
“ It’s all right, Miss Bingham. He’ll never hurt anyone again.” Arty was afraid that she was going to hug him and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, but she seemed to sense that.
“ Is that why you didn’t tell Carolina? She said you two have been close lately.”
For a second Arty swelled up with pride. Carolina had said they were close. Then he said, “I didn’t want her to know for the same reason I didn’t want anyone else to know. He was a bad man and good people shouldn’t have to spend any time missing him.” He could have added that he was the first one to find the body, but he didn’t.
For once it looked like Mrs. Bingham was at a loss for words, then she saw the dog, “Oh, look, you brought Condor home.” She shifted her tone and said, “You bad dog. Just look at you, cowering like the big chicken you are. In the house with you.” The dog scooted by Mrs. Bingham, slinking through the living room, till he was out of her sight. Then he shot up the stairs to where the girls were doing their homework and playing.
“ Where did you find him this time?” Condor was too big for the Bingham’s back fence and routinely jumped it. Arty usually found him halfway through his paper route, much to his satisfaction. He enjoyed riding his bike in the early morning with the dog happily galloping alongside.
“ As usual, he found me,” Arty said.
“ You should really let me pay you for bringing him home like you do.”
“ It wouldn’t be fair,” Arty said, “getting paid for something I like doing so much.”
“ Sometimes I think he should be your dog.”
Arty laughed, then asked, “Is Carolina here? I came to walk her home.”
“ Well, I was going to drive her, but seeing that she has an escort I guess I don’t have to worry about it.” She invited Arty to wait in the living room while she went up to fetch the girls.
“ Hey Arty,” Carolina said, coming down the stairs, followed by Lynda and her sister, Corey. Corey was seventeen and all the boys in high school were in love with her. “Look at the cool charm bracelet Corey traded me for the rest of that old necklace.” She was holding out her wrist for Arty to inspect.
“ Neat,” he said, not knowing what else to say.
“ I’m too old for charm bracelets now,” Corey said, “and I just love this necklace. It fits tight like a choker. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off. It makes me look so pretty.” She was looking in a handheld mirror, the kind that women keep in their purses and use to put on makeup. “It makes me feel tingly all over. I just love it.”
“ I came to walk Carolina home.” He wanted them to hurry them up.
“ That’s so nice. A lot of the older boys could take lessons from you,” Corey said.
“ I was in the area,” Arty said, blushing.
“ Don’t be ashamed,” Corey said. “It’s a good thing that you don’t want her to walk home alone at night.”
Lynda giggled.
“ That’s not nice, young lady,” Mrs. Bingham said. “Someday a boy is going to want to walk you home and we’ll see how you laugh then.” Arty had never been so embarrassed.
“ We should go now.” He wanted to get away from the Bingham women as quickly as possible.
“ Okay,” Carolina said, as the dog squeezed by her, making for the open door, but Arty, moving surprisingly fast, blocked his exit and looped a hand in the dog’s collar.
“ Once again you’ve saved the day,” Mrs. Bingham said, and Arty’s ears burned even redder.
“ You ready?” Arty didn’t think he could take anymore. Why were women like that?
“ Yeah.” Carolina followed him out the door, like she was used to him picking her up, and the smile she was wearing said she didn’t mind, but before they reached the sidewalk the smile started to slip. “How come you didn’t tell me about your father?”
He explained how he found his father and the other man, not far from her house.
“ You should have told me.”
“ I know, but I didn’t want to scare you.”
“ You think they were really following you?”
“ Yeah, and the wolf lady got them.”
“ We have to tell somebody,” she said.
“ Who? No one is gonna believe us. They’ll just say we’re a couple a kids with a made up story.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Carolina opened the top of her backpack and the ferret climbed up on her shoulder. Arty thought it would be so nice if there was someone to take care of him the way Carolina took care of Sheila. It seemed like he’d been taking care of himself ever since he could remember.
“ What are we gonna do?” Carolina asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“ First we gotta go by your house and see if you still have that gun,” he said. Then he told her about the gun in the tent, how he almost got caught and how Brad Peters saved him by mistake.
“ It might be my father,” Carolina said.
“ And it might not. We gotta be careful.” Arty was afraid she’d want to run right up to the clearing.
Carolina’s mother was leaving as they approached the house. She had her arm wrapped up with the arm of a tall man. He looked out of place, wearing a gray suit with his long hair and beard. She had on a bright yellow, low cut dress and her hair was a new shade of red.
“ There you are,” she said. “I didn’t think you were ever going to get home. I couldn’t wait, so I left you a note.” She didn’t even notice Arty.
“ You’re not going out again, are you?”
“ I’ll be back early,” her mother said, “around ten or eleven.” She smiled at her daughter, then continued down the walkway to a shiny new Lincoln Continental. Whoever the man was, he was rich, Arty thought.
Carolina was in the house and in her room before the car started. She was opening her bottom dresser drawer and digging under her clothes, before it pulled away from the curb.
“ The gun?” Arty asked.
“ Gone,” she answered.
They slowed their pace as they approached Harry Lightfoot’s house. It was at the end of a paved road, at the edge of town, next to the cemetery. They had been walking for fifteen minutes in an early morning mist that had their clothes and their hair damp.
“ There it is,” he said.
The house was surrounded by both the right and rear by the cemetery. The left side of the house shared a fence with the small Catholic church, Our Lady of the Sacred Heart.
“ You sure he’s not home?” Carolina shivered against the early morning cold.
“ Sure, I’m sure. He’ll be at the dairy, getting set up for the morning.”
“ But how can you be so sure?” she asked for the fifth time.
“ Carolina, I’m not gonna answer you anymore. You can go back if you want, but I gotta get the dimes.”
“ Couldn’t we use something else?”
“ No, the dimes are a perfect size. I checked. They fit perfect.”
“ Couldn’t we use regular dimes?” That was a question she hadn’t asked and it caused him to stop for a second before answering.
“ No, I don’t think there’s enough silver in ’em. I don’t want to take a chance.”
“ What if we get the dimes and it doesn’t work? What if we shoot her and she doesn’t die? What if she isn’t a werewolf at all? What if we kill a poor old lady? We’ll go to jail forever.”
“ Carolina,” Arty turned and put his hands on her shoulders, “I know what I saw. She’s a werewolf. You gotta believe me. And she’s after you. We gotta do something. We can’t just wait around for her to come to us. Do you want to wind up dead on the sidewalk, like my father?”
“ No.”
“ Then we gotta get the dimes.”
“ Okay.”
“ You wanna wait over there while I go in?” He pointed to the brick archway entry to the cemetery.
“ No, not a chance. I don’t want to be out here alone with the spooks.”
“ Okay, then follow me, but be quiet.”
She nodded her head and he grinned his best fake smile. He felt like there was a giant hand pushing him down and holding him back, like in a dream. The air was heavy and every fiber in his person wanted to be somewhere else, but he’d come this far and he was determined to finish what he’d started. The old Arty Gibson would have turned and gone home, but the new Arty Gibson was not going to cut and run.
He started up the driveway, toward the redwood gate that blocked entry to both the garage and the backyard. He pulled the latch on the gate, hoping against common sense that it wouldn’t be locked. It was.
“ What do we do now?” Carolina whispered.
“ Follow me,” he whispered back. “We’ll have to go through the cemetery and climb the back fence.”
She followed three paces behind as he went down the driveway and walked around the fence. “It’s creepy,” she shuddered as he entered the cemetery, but she quickened her step and caught up to him.
“ It’s spooky all right.” The moon, the clouds, the evening chill and the headstones, combined to send spider chills crawling all over his body.
“ Do you believe in ghosts?” she whispered.
“ I hope not, ’cuz if there is such a thing as ghosts, then we’re done for.”
“ What do you mean?”
“ This is the kind of spooky night they like.” He laughed a little under his breath, but he didn’t think he fooled her. He was as frightened as she was.
“ How are we going to climb the fence?” she said.
He stared at the five foot obstacle. There was no way he was ever going to get over it. “I’ll have to boost you over, then you can unlatch the gate.”
“ I can’t go over by myself, besides, the gate’s locked.”
“ I don’t think so. He probably only has a nail or a piece of wood going through the hole on the inside that holds the latch down. All you gotta do is pull it out.”
“ How do you know?”
“ That’s the way everybody does it. Why would you wanna put a lock on the inside, if you didn’t have to?”
“ You sure?”
“ No, but I can’t think of anything else.”
“ Maybe we should come back tomorrow, or maybe we can get some silver somewhere else.”
“ Come on, don’t be a baby.” He bent over and laced his fingers into a stirrup. “I’d do it myself, but I’m too fat.”
“ I don’t think I can.”
“ You gotta, it’s the only way.” He tightened his fingers, but still she hesitated.
“ Think of the werewolf and what she will do to us if we don’t get those dimes,” he said.
She stepped into his laced fingers, without answering, and he hoisted her up. She grabbed onto the top of the fence, with tiny hands, and pulled herself up, till she was able to get a leg on it. Then she rolled over it and eased herself down into the backyard, as silently as a fly entering a spider’s trap.
“ I’m going ’round to the gate,” Arty whispered into the night. She imagined him still running his hand along the fence as he hurried around the yard to the driveway.
Carolina dropped into a garden. Mr. Lightfoot liked to grow his own vegetables and she tried to step through them, without ruining anything. She had to walk through the garden to get to the grass and the gate beyond. An owl hooted as she picked her way through, startling her.
“ Come on,” she heard Arty’s urgent whisper cutting through the night. There was a nail through the latch where a lock should have been. She pulled it out and swung the gate open.
“ Are you okay?” he whispered.
“ Yeah.”
“ Then let’s hurry so we can get outta here,” Arty said, before he turned and led her to the back porch.
The owl hooted again, sending night shivers through both of them.
“ Look,” he said, “the bathroom window is open.”
“ It’s too high,” she said.
“ I’ll have to boost you up, then you can let me in the back door.”
“ I can’t do it. Not again.”
“ It’s the only way.”
“ I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have come, I’m scared and I don’t want to go in there alone.”
He thought about arguing with her, but didn’t. He was scared, too, but that was different. He was a guy. He was supposed to overcome his fear, and not let on that he was afraid. Girls didn’t have to do that. Besides, she went over the fence, if it wouldn’t have been for her, they wouldn’t have gotten this far. It was up to him to get them the rest of the way.
If only he wasn’t so fat, then she could boost him up. He resolved that if they got through this night, he would lose weight. No more donuts, no more candy bars and Pepsi, no more second helpings, and no more dessert. He further resolved, that he would study and work at the karate lessons until he was thin and tough.
“ Okay, we’ll find another way,” he said. He went to the back door. He tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.
“ Good thing I didn’t go through that window,” she whispered.
“ Yeah,” he whispered back. He opened the door. It made a screeching, squeaking sound, like it hadn’t ever been oiled. Arty bit his lip and they waited to see if anyone was going to catch them.
“ We should leave,” she whispered.
He shook his head, took a deep breath, and entered the house. She followed, leaving the back door open. The house was silent and forbidding. The small bathroom door off the kitchen was open, reminding Arty that he had to go, but he couldn’t, not now. He didn’t want to be in the house any longer than necessary.
He took Carolina’s hand and led her through the kitchen to the hallway. They were both taking shallow, quiet breaths as they tiptoed across the tile floor. She tightened her hand on his, pulling him to a quiet stop, just before they reached the hallway.
He turned and she put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “It feels like there’s someone else here.” They both held their breath for a few seconds and listened.
Nothing. But Arty had the same feeling. A tingly feeling, like someone was watching. But after a few seconds of silence, he was confident they were alone in the house. He started down the hallway, pulling her behind him.
“ Let’s get the dimes and get out of here,” he whispered.
She nodded her head in the dark.
“ He keeps the coins in his desk, in the den.”
“ How do you know?”
“ I’ve been here before. On Sunday mornings I trade a paper for a half dozen donuts at the donut shop, then I come by here and split ’em with Harry. He supplies the milk and I bring the donuts. We sit and talk and sometimes he shows me his coins. He has lots,” he was still whispering, but louder than before.
She followed him into the den.
“ Over here.” Arty led her to a roll top desk.
“ It’s beautiful.” She ran her hands along the smooth oak. “I’ll bet it’s old.” She wasn’t whispering at all.
“ Real old.” He rolled the top open. “It’s an antique.” He pulled open one of the drawers, reached inside it and pulled out a stack of blue folders. He laid them on the desk.
“ Coin albums.” He opened one and showed it to her. “This one’s Lincoln head pennies. See, he has every one from 1909 to now.”
“ Has he got one for silver dimes?”
“ Yeah, but we don’t want that.”
“ Why not?”
“ It takes a long time and a lot of work to fill one of these,” he said. “All we need is one roll.” He reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out several rolls of coins. “This will do.” He put three dime rolls into his front pocket. He only needed one, but he took two extra, just in case.
“ Can we go now?”
“ Soon as we put the rest back.” He shoved the rolled coins back into the back of the drawer, then put away the coin albums. Carolina sighed as he closed the drawer. In a few minutes they would be safely out of the house.
“ It still feels like someone is watching us,” she whispered, “let’s go.”
“ There’s no one here,” Arty said, “but we’re outta here anyway.”
“ You should pay attention to the lady,” a whisper rasped through the room. “She sees without seeing. She sensed I was here all along, but she allowed you to push the feeling away.”
The light came on and Carolina gasped.
“ Never fight your intuition, young miss. Believe in it and it will serve you well. And, Arty, all you had to do was ask,” Harry Lightfoot said, “and the roll of dimes would have been yours. Everything I have is yours for the asking. That’s what friends are for.”
“ Sorry, Harry,” Arty said with a bowed head. Arty hadn’t ever thought of Harry as a friend. He was older, more like an uncle, but now that he thought about it, Harry was a friend. His friend. And he’d let him down.
“ You come in the night, like a thief, but you don’t take the gold coins one drawer down. You don’t stuff your pockets full of silver dollars. You don’t run off with the coin albums. And you don’t steal the money you know is hidden in a false bottom under the coin albums. All you take is a five dollar roll of silver dimes, worth less than fifty dollars.”
“ I’m really sorry, Harry.”
“ So it’s not money you’re after, is it Arty?”
Arty shook his head.
“ And you’re not here on a childish dare, because you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, Arty?”
Arty shook his head again.
“ So it’s something serious. So serious that you would steal from a friend. So serious that you would risk going to jail. So serious that you would overcome your sense of right and wrong, not to mention your fear, and break into my house, when you thought I was gone. That’s it, isn’t it, Arty?”
Arty nodded his head.
“ It’s the silver, isn’t it?”
Arty nodded again.
“ You think you can kill it with the silver, don’t you?”
Arty nodded again.
“ It’s not an animal, is it?
Arty shook his head.
“ It’s not human either?”
Arty shook his head.
“ You’ve seen it?”
Arty nodded and the room was silent. The old Indian had been sitting in a reclining chair in a corner of the room, opposite the desk. He got up, using both hands to push on his knees. “I hate getting old,” he said, shuffling over to the fireplace, where he bent over and picked up some newspaper.
“ You need silver bullets, not silver dimes to kill something like this. And even silver might not work.” He wadded up the newspaper and stuffed it under a log in the fireplace, but he kept his piercing Indian brown eyes on Arty as Arty nodded.
“ There was a tall man in town,” Harry Lightfoot said, “staying at the motel down by the highway. Do you know him?”
Arty shook his head.
“ And you, young miss?”
“ No,” Carolina whispered.
“ He left the motel and set up a camp in the woods. He parks his car at the end of the block, then hikes up to that clearing by the cliff. I saw him coming out of your backyard, young miss, like he lived there, but he doesn’t, does he?”
“ It’s my dad. It must be.”
“ I think he is somehow connected.” Harry held out his hand.
“ I can’t give ’em back, Harry. I need ’em to kill the werewolf.”
“ How?”
“ I’m gonna load ’em into twelve gauge shells.”
“ Good idea, but I have a better one. Give me the dimes and go home. Stay inside till I come for you. I’ll take care of your werewolf.” He shook his outstretched hand. Arty reached into his pocket, fished out one of the rolls and tossed it to Harry, who picked it out of the air.