The Chief rumbled across the narrow, concrete bridge that spanned the Eel River and then down the two-lane road leading into Ferndale. Ollie glanced out the grimy driver’s side window to see green fields dotted with pockets of lush trees, while majestic hills in the distance obscured the ocean beyond. The more he drove around this place, the more it reminded him of home. Both the scenery, and the abundance of hunters.
He’d done enough reading. Now was the time to get his feet wet, metaphorically. He’d read a number of articles about animal attacks in the area, and at least a few from the last decade warranted some sort of follow-up. That meant he needed to talk to people. Despite Canary’s vetting, some crackpots still slipped through, most of them simple wackos who craved the macabre and wore too much black eyeliner. Talking to the locals would give him a sense of their thoughts on the attacks, and also on his potential client, Kimberly Haron. It would be helpful to know if she was a wacko looking for a thrill, or a legitimate victim.
Grika groaned from the passenger-side floorboard. In the early days of their travels, every bump or pothole would toss the pygmy around like a rag doll. Since then, he’d learned to wrap a series of small bungie cords back and forth across the open space and then hoist himself up into the center, like a spider lounging on a bungie web. Now when they hit bumps, Grika bobbed gently in the air while nibbling away on a chicken nugget. Taking the little monster into town was always a gamble, but Grika knew when to behave. Mostly. And he provided certain talents that came in handy when hunting creatures of his ilk.
The Chief came around a bend in the road flanked by trees, and a Ferndale City Limit sign greeted him on the other side. Shortly after, he spotted some homes and buildings clumped together ahead.
“Cover,” he said. Grika sighed and pulled an old tarp over his web, keeping him out of sight of any stray eyeballs. He could also hide in the space beneath the passenger seat, but it was dark, cramped, and uncomfortable in there so Grika only used it as a last resort.
Ollie slowed as he reached the outer edge of town, which looked like it had been yanked out of a brochure. He passed by row upon row of historic Victorian-era homes, two-story mostly, with steepled roofs and colorful exteriors. Several of them were bed and breakfasts now, with prices far beyond Ollie’s means. Others were restaurants, museums, or boutique shops. He wondered if people still lived in any of the houses.
The two-lane road widened into Main Street, the center mass of tourist activity. Dozens of shoppers and sightseers wandered up and down the sidewalks in attire appropriate for a brisk early October day. He pulled over and parked right next to a cluster of small retail shops advertising food, specialty products, or hard-to-find antiques.
“Stay here,” he said to the crumpled tarp on the floorboard. The tarp responded with an annoyed grunt. He climbed out of the Chief and walked around to the sidewalk, smiling at two middle-aged women who walked past with shopping bags in hand. He looked up at the nearest store sign to see Rosie’s Fickle Nickel. He figured this was as good a place as any to start chatting up the locals.
A wall of cool air hit him as he walked inside. The interior was surprisingly modern for an antique shop. Glass shelves covered freshly painted white walls. Track lighting lined the ceiling, giving the place an art studio vibe. Antiques big and small filled the shelves, although not with the usual clutter of most stores, where everything was packed tightly together. This was a place where the merchandise was chosen with care.
The sales clerks seemed busy with the half-dozen or so other customers already in the store, so he wandered around a bit, eventually stopping in front of a display of white ceramic animal figurines, a bear raised on its hind legs front and center. The craftsmanship seemed solid, as far as he knew, but he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want a white roaring bear sitting on their dresser. He picked it up and turned it over, blanching at the sight of a $79 price tag on the bottom. He carefully placed it back on the glass shelf, wondering how a store with the words Fickle and Nickel in it could charge so much.
“Can I help you with anything?”
Ollie started and turned to see an older woman calling out to him from the middle of the store. Her red hair was quickly fading to white, and she wore a brightly colored blouse, white pants, and a sheer orange scarf over her shoulders. He swallowed while trying to edge away from the overpriced statues.
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“Just checking out your, um… animals over here.”
The woman made a beeline through the displays to stand next to him.
“Find anything you like?” She smiled, her eyes looking him up and down. He wondered for a moment if this woman, who was at least twice his age, was hitting on him.
This was normally the moment where he’d claim to be ‘only looking’ and extricate himself from the situation. But he’d come in here specifically to talk to locals, which meant doing the opposite of what his normally introverted instincts told him. He pointed to the shelf. “The bear’s kinda cool.”
Her broad smile stretched from ear to ear. “Well, we both agree on that! Those are made by a man in Fort Bragg named Clark Hansen. He does wonderful work. We got this one in only a few weeks ago. So, it’s basically brand new.”
“Ah,” Ollie gave a quick nod. “Sell many of them?”
“A few. They aren’t our best sellers, but they’re certainly worth the money!” She laughed, using the moment to take a half step closer. “Are you visiting our fine city?”
“I am. Heard a lot about it and wanted to see it all for myself.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s beautiful out here. I’ve lived here thirty-three wonderful years and enjoyed every minute of it. That’s eighteen years longer than my first marriage, if you’re counting!” She laughed again, and Ollie couldn’t help but smile.
“So, are you Rosie?”
“Yep! That’s my name on the sign out front.” She held out a freckled hand. “And you are?”
“Ollie.” They shook, and Rosie’s seductive smile returned. “I’m from the east coast. Virginia. But my aunt lives in Fortuna,” he said, giving the name of the small town across the highway from Ferndale.
“Oh!” Her face lit up. “That’s where I go for my Starbuck’s addiction.”
“Not as scenic as this place, though.”
“Oh, no. Not even close to this delightful little town.” She glanced over at the shelf. “So, you like the bear?”
Ollie tried not to bite his lip. Usually, a smile on his face and a few friendly words would get townsfolk to open up. People were gossip-hounds by nature, and he only had to ask the right questions and the floodgates would open. But there were also times when information had to be bought, and depending on what Rosie could tell him, $79 might end up a bargain. Time to find out what she knew.
“Yeah. Bit of a nature conservationist. I’m out here studying them, in between my stops with family. My aunt actually said there have been a few bear attacks out here lately. Is that right?”
“I’d say so.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Three or four in the last, oh, twenty years, which isn’t a lot, unless they’re all in the same area. The last one was only two years ago.”
“The Harons?”
“You heard of that?” Rosie’s warm demeanor faded into gloom. “Terrible thing. Just terrible. They were lovely people. I’d known Belle for over twenty years before she died. We ate lunch together at least three or four times a year. That was a really sad time for a lot of us around here.” She sighed and shook her head. “And such a horrible way to go, too. If it was even a bear.” She gave him a conspiratorial look.
Ollie blinked. “What do you mean?”
She waved a hand at him. “I’m sorry. I’ve been talking your ears off this whole time, gossiping like a school girl, while you probably just want to browse in peace.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Her sultry smile returned. “It’s a long story.”
Ollie mentally gulped as he grabbed the bear from the shelf, calculating how much of a dent his finances were about to take. It was either this, or ask this woman out for coffee, which would be emotionally expensive. “Maybe you can tell it to me while ringing this up?”
Rosie beamed and led him toward the register. She took the bear from his hand, then gave him a look and motioned him closer.
“The papers and the news said the Harons were killed by a bear, or bears, driven out this way by the drought, but they never actually found any sign of them. Had fifty-plus officers and state wildlife experts combing those woods for a week and not a single piece of evidence. No droppings. No habitat. Nothing!” She scanned the figurine and then pulled out tissue paper to wrap it in. “But that’s not what they told everyone. I had to find out from my brother-in-law, who works for the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office up in Eureka. He said if that attack was from a bear, he was a flying monkey. Bears don’t do that kind of damage to people.”
Ollie feigned surprise. “It was covered up?”
“We are a tourist destination, honey.”
“What else could it have been?”
She shrugged. “My current theory is mountain lions, but a few of my friends are sold on the idea that a pack of really hungry wolves came through, and then got scared off by all the commotion afterward. I mean, they all sound scary. Bears, wolves, mountain lions. I don’t know why anyone needs to pretend it’s one over the other.” She put the wrapped bear in a small bag and packed down the tissue paper. “All I know is it’s been quiet ever since, so I guess it was a one-time thing. Well, at least until the next attack.” She chuckled and held up the bag. “That’ll be $85.91.”
Ollie reached for his wallet, a barely audible groan escaping his lips.