Free Cry Wolf by Angela Campbell Page A

chickens or something.” Andrea shooed him away as she lifted her bag and slid it over her shoulder. “I doubt this will take long.”
    “You don’t know Kristy. Besides, I’m your shadow, remember? Just pretend I’m not here.” He winked and followed her.
    Andrea rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath and forged ahead without him.
    Yep, this was going to be fun to watch.
     
    Kristy Winslow was possibly the chattiest woman Andrea had ever had the pleasure, or maybe displeasure, of meeting. Andrea hadn’t decided yet if the petite redhead was friend or foe, or more to the point, if she was worth quoting. To describe the woman as a bit ditzy was probably being generous, but Andrea reminded herself nerves made most people talkative.
    Andrea heard all about how Kristy’s daddy was the most popular preacher in Woodbine and how Kristy volunteered every Halloween to work the church’s Halloween-alternative festival for children. Kristy’s little boy normally would have been home, she explained, but he was doing Mother’s Morning Out right now. Andrea also now knew Kristy had no brothers or sisters but did have three cousins named Hank, Melinda and Bobby. She knew Kristy baked a mean pot roast that all her visitors raved about—would Andrea like to come over for dinner one night?
    It took more than an hour for Kristy to broach the subject of why the preacher’s daughter played host to a tabloid reporter from out of town. Andrea doubted she would have let the woman ramble for so long if Sean hadn’t been seated next to her on the sofa, distracting her with his sandalwood cologne and pure male charisma. The younger woman finally fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m a God-fearing woman, Miss Lockhart,” she said in a gentle, country-thick voice. “I don’t believe in things like werewolves or vampires.”
    “If it makes you more comfortable, I’ll leave your name out of the article.” If that failed, Andrea would offer money, but she always considered that a last resort and one she rarely practiced. It left a bad taste in her mouth. No ordinary reporter would dare consider offering money to a source, but it was standard procedure for those in the tabloid field.
    The promise of anonymity opened a floodgate. Kristy told her story, using hand gestures and expressions to illustrate the excitement of the experience.
    Kristy had been driving along Roe Road late one night when an unusual animal walked across the road in front of her. At first, she’d thought it was a bear, but as she’d pulled closer, she’d realized it looked more like a large canine walking on two legs.
    “Its head is what I remember most.” She spread her hands apart to indicate a large size. “It wasn’t the head or even the body of a bear. Oh no, this was more like—well, I don’t know what to say except it looked like a wolf’s head.”
    It had been holding some kind of roadkill in its cupped hands, Kristy explained. Some kind of rabbit, she thought.
    “I drove away. When it came running after me, I thought for certain I was a dead woman. I suppose God heard my prayers that night, because I came face-to-face with the devil himself and lived to tell the tale.” She pressed one hand to her chest.
    “What about your car?” Andrea nodded toward the window, where the small Ford was visible. “You mentioned you could see claw marks on your bumper. Are they still there?”
    The claw marks Andrea saw a few moments later were less than spectacular. Andrea pulled out her digital camera and zoomed in. It looked as if someone or something with four long nails had barely scratched through the paint above the bumper. Hardly exciting stuff.
    It took Andrea and Sean—who, so far, had been a silent companion—another fifteen minutes to untangle themselves from the chatty woman’s ramblings. They might never have gotten free from Kristy Winslow except she had to pick her son up from his outing. As they walked back to Sean’s