Free Graveyard Games by Sheri Leigh

there on Arcada road. Whatever it is, it's got an
awful big appetite."
    Dusty heard the door shut. It took a few
moments for her to move, but when she’d made up her mind, she went
up the back aisle toward the cash register.
    "Hey, Cougar." She set her things on the
counter. He turned around, startled.
    "Dusty! I didn't hear you come in." Will’s
eyes pierced hers. "How long have you been hanging around?"
    "Oh, I don't know.” She let her eyes fall to
her purchases. “I was back by the books and I got into this one.
Lost track of time, I guess."
    He picked up the book and then snorted.
"Stephen King, huh?" He looked on the sleeve and rang up the price.
"It's a shame when a man can make millions writing this kind of
garbage, isn’t it?"
    "I suppose."
    "You know," he said, bagging the book and
the Tampax. "If you want real horror, Dusty, all you have to do is
look around you at the rest of the world."
    She took the bag and looked at him. His hair
was beginning to thin and grow gray at the temples. The beard he
always grew for winter even had a bit of gray in it. The laugh
lines around his eyes were more defined than she remembered, but
his deep blue eyes were as sharp as ever. She loved him—he was the
kind of father she’d always longed for, kind and caring. He would
grieve, she thought. If Nick had been his son, he would have taken
the time out of his schedule to cry.
    "I know." Dusty didn’t hide the tears.
    Looking at her, his eyes softened. “Oh
hon…I’m so sorry.”
    She nodded and opened her mouth to say the
perfunctory, “Thank you,” but the lump in her throat wouldn’t let
her. When he held his arms out, she fell into them and finally gave
herself over to the grief.
    * * * *
    "What can I get you, Dusty?"
    "Hmm?" Dusty looked up at Nellie standing
behind the counter with her pen poised above her note pad.
    "What can I get you?" she repeated.
    "Root beer and..." She glanced up at the
list of prices written in chalk on a big black board and added,
"Fries."
    "Up in a few, but I'm a bit short-handed
today," Nellie told her, bustling toward the kitchen to place the
order. Nellie was always short-handed, but it was worse in the
summer. Winter inevitably saw a drop in the tourist traffic because
of the cold and snow, but business at Nellie's was always
booming—she owned the one and only restaurant in Larkspur.
    Dusty turned her swivel stool around. It was
the lunch time crowd, all regulars, sitting in booths and at
tables. Most were over from Adison, a small town to the west of
Larkspur where there were limestone and iron ore mines.
    Dusty hoped her eyes and nose weren’t too
red from crying. Cougar had let her go on and on, just holding and
rocking her, and although she flushed now in embarrassment at the
memory, it had been good, just exactly what she’d needed. After
that, she couldn’t ask him what she’d planned, couldn’t delve into
his conversation with Mike and his speculations about the alleged
“animal attacks.”
    But now Cougar's words
kept coming back to her, and the fear clutched and groped at her
belly. It went nicely with cramps. Tom had touched upon her
suspicions when she was in the florist, but Cougar, he’d added
something she’d been looking for all along, opening up a new
dimension. Cougar had presented proof—y ou
know a bobcat who can open doors?
    She shuddered. The thought
of Nick lying on the floor of the mausoleum —like he got himself caught in a meat
grinder— was too gruesome and painful to
imagine, but it was worse than that— he
looked inside out— it was deplorable. He
didn't deserve to die—not that way, in the middle of nowhere at the
hands of— of what? The violation of it heated her chest and filled her throat.
She recognized the desire, burning thick and almost comforting—it
was a lust for vengeance. She wanted retribution.
    “ Dusty.”
    Startled, she turned
toward the voice. “Billy…hi.” She remembered seeing him at the
funeral, his dark head bent