Free Peak Road - A Short Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 10) by Victor Methos Page B

I had a cookie as I ran my eyes over the photographs on the mantel.
    “I suppose you’re here to ask me about the werewolf. I have seen him if that’s what you’re wondering.”
    Mickey stared at her. “When?”
    “Oh, some ten years ago, I think. We lived in Baxter. It was late one night. We were coming home from a trip. The roads weren’t as well taken care of as they are now. We had to take back roads to get to the far end of town. We were near a farm. We passed it when I looked over. Harold, my husband, was staring at the road, driving, but I got a good look.” She took a sip of tea and didn’t say anything for a while.
    “What did you see?” Mickey said. I noticed he’d dropped his drawl.
    “It was staring at me. Not out of curiosity, not like an animal. It was staring like it wanted to hurt me but wouldn’t get the chance. I think it growled, but I couldn’t hear it from inside the car. And we kept driving.”
    I said, “Did you call the police?”
    “And what would I say? I saw a werewolf? I don’t think they would take me very seriously.” She paused. “They take me seriously now, though. Don’t they?”
    Mickey didn’t say anything for a long time, until the silence became awkward. She didn’t seem to mind.
    “When these killings first started twenty years ago, I didn’t interview you. Did you know the Wyatts or the Roths?”
    She nodded. “We lived in Baxter, but both towns were still small enough to know everyone. So, yes, I knew them.”
    “So if you have to guess, who killed them? Who’s been around twenty years to do something like this?”
    “I already told you.”
    “But even a werewolf changes into a man.” Mickey leaned forward. “I want that man.”
    The woman stiffened and stared Mickey down right in the pupils. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I haven’t a clue.” She was clearly lying.
    Mickey looked up at the photos on the mantel and said, “Husband?”
    “Son.”
    “Where is he?”
    Her jaw flexed as she ground her teeth. “Dead. Fifteen years now.”
    “I’m sorry. How did he die?”
    “He drank himself to death, like his father.”
    Mickey nodded slowly then rose. “Thank you for your time.”
    When we were back in the car, he said, “She knows who it is.”

 
    17
     
     
     
     
    Through a quick call to Mickey’s friend in the FBI, we found out the old woman’s name was Kathleen Harken. We went to the sheriff’s office, where Sheriff Briggs was talking with a man who was noticeably drunk. He was slowly tipping over to one side, and just when I thought he might fall over, he would catch himself and begin tipping the other way.
    When she was finished with the man, she walked over and leaned against the front desk. “Got a complaint call on you two.”
    “Earl, I’m guessing,” Mickey said.
    She nodded. “Says you’re trying to blame the Noels’ killing on him.”
    “Only if he did it.”
    “He was the first person I looked at. My father told me about him. He’d warned me to stay away from him when I was in high school. Earl would try to pick up high-school girls in his Camaro. When I became a cop, I looked up his old rape file at the DA’s office. He bit off the woman’s cheek.”
    Mickey’s watch beeped, and he turned it off. “Can I get a glass of water, please?”
    The secretary got him one, and he excused himself to the bathroom.
    “What’s wrong with him?” the sheriff asked.
    “Small bladder. What do you know about Kathleen Harken?”
    “The widow? Nothing. Why?”
    “I think she knows more about these killings than she’d like to admit. Does she spend time with anyone else in town? Any male friends or relatives?”
    She shook her head. “Since her son and husband died, she pretty much keeps to herself.”
    “She has no relatives nearby?”
    “None that I know.”
    “She’s protecting somebody, and I don’t know who.”
    “I don’t think I’ve ever had a problem with her. She keeps to herself. I’d appreciate it if