Small Town Monsters. Craig Nybo

something happened?”

      “Well,” Lucy flicked her eyes towards the exit of the diner then back at Kurt. “Life happens, you know. And sometimes it happens in a big way.”

      Kurt didn’t pry.

      “What can I get for you, Mr. Fostett?”

      “I’ll take the same.” Hugh handed the menu to Lucy. She took it and headed for the kitchen, a smile never leaving her face.

      “Her father is my second cousin’s boy,” Hugh said. “I’ve worried about her. But it looks like she’s going to turn out just fine.”

      “She’s a sweet girl,” Kurt said.

      Hugh planted both his elbows on the table and fixed Kurt with his undivided attention. “You said you wanted to talk.”

      Kurt sighed and checked both ways for eavesdroppers. He leveled his eyes at Hugh and spoke in low tones. “I’m worried.”

      “Don’t tell me it’s about werewolves?” Hugh asked, rolling his eyes.

      “I’m not worried about werewolves.” Kurt said. “I’m worried about everyone else worrying about werewolves.”

      “I’ve heard the chatter around town.”

      “It’s like a plague.” Kurt spread his hands expressively. “Harmon Bently visited me.”

      “Harmon’s a good man,” Hugh said. “DePalma Beach Ravens, both of us, but he was a class or two younger than me.”

      “There was something different about him. He threatened me; he told me if I didn’t act soon on this whole wolf thing that the town would rise up like a bunch of vigilantes. And by the awkward glances I’m getting around town, I almost believe him.”

      “What exactly did he say?”

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      “He said if I didn’t get things done, that he and others would have to do it for me.”

      “Is he threatening your job?”

      “It was more than that; it sounded like he was planning some kind of witch hunt.”

      “Two coffees.” Lucy interrupted. Kurt and Hugh looked up at her, both men forcing smiles. It appeared to Lucy as if she had caught the two of them talking about something important and private. Her smile waned. “Sorry to interrupt; your food will be right out.”

      “Thank you,” Kurt said.

      Lucy nodded and hurried away towards the kitchen.

      “Well, speak of the devil,” Hugh said, nodding toward the diner entrance.

      Harmon Bently arrived at Abigail’s at precisely a quarter of eight. He’d developed a taste for Max Kinootzn’s Denver omelet--when it came to cooking, the man had a gift. As Harmon entered the diner, he caught the glances of a half-dozen regulars. Durlin Ceivers, wearing his usual Vietnam veteran baseball cap and magnificent beard, inclined a greeting toward Harmon. Harmon waved back and started towards Durlin’s table. Harmon believed in contingency plans. And with the indifference Kurt had shown towards the mutilated sheep, he wanted to make sure there were others in the community on whom he could count. Durlin Ceivers topped Harmon’s list.

      As he made his way toward Durlin, he stopped cold. Kurt and Hugh Fostett sat at one of the tables breakfasting together. At first, Harmon tried to sidle off and take the long way around. But Hugh had made eye contact; so much for a clean getaway.

      It seemed to Harmon, now that he had been spotted, that a direct approach would be best. He walked over to Kurt and Hugh. “Harmon Bently,” Hugh said, intertwining his fingers and putting his hands on the table in front of him.

      Harmon shot Hugh a discontented glance and focused his attention on Kurt. “Greetings, Mr. McCammus.”

      “Like I always say, call me Kurt.”

      “What brings you to Abigail’s this fine morning, Mr.

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      McCammus?” Harmon said.

      “Just breakfast with an old friend.” Kurt gestured toward Hugh.

      “Hey, a little less on the old and a little more on the friend,” Hugh said.

      “Who you choose for friends is not my concern,” Harmon said. At that, Hugh grinned. “Have you thought at all about the business we discussed at your office?”

      “There’s nothing to discuss. We have a wolf attack on our hands, nothing more. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I have sent a specimen down to the university for an autopsy.”

      Harmon stiffened. “It would have been best for you to keep it in the family.”

      Kurt intertwined his fingers and pursed his lips. “Please let me do my job.”

      “That’s just what I want, for you to do your job. I pray that you are right in all this. But if things should get unpredictable, you should feel welcome to call on me.”

      “I appreciate that,” Kurt said. “But like I told you at the station; I can’t have you meddling in police affairs.”

      “I would be careful about whose advice you listen to.” Harmon flicked a glance at Hugh.

      “And it’s a pleasure to see you too, Harmon,” Hugh said.

      Harmon bit down hard. His jaw muscles turned to cables. “Take my advice and stay away from him.” He directed his words at Kurt.

      “It’s been a long time,” Hugh said. “Decades. Can’t we finally let sleeping dogs lie?”

      “Some things can’t be forgotten. And from some things, one can never truly restore his honor.”

      “Can you two lighten up?” Kurt said, his eyebrows arching.

      Harmon tapped on the table in front of Kurt, three hard raps, one for every syllable of the word he said next. “No-geun-ri, young man. Look it up. Or maybe Hugh can tell you about it himself; he was there.”

      Hugh stroked his chin and fixed Harmon with an icy stare.

      Harmon tipped his fedora at Kurt. “If you need my

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      assistance, you’ll know where to find me.” He wheeled around on his heel and walked to Durlin Ceivers’s table.

      “What was that all about? What is No-geun-ri?” Kurt said.

      Hugh drew in a deep breath and took a moment to think about how to frame his next words. “No-geun-ri was a small village a hundred miles or so south of Seoul. I was second Battalion, seventh U.S. Cavalry Regiment. We received orders to fire on hostiles. There was … collateral damage. It was controversial. But it was war. The reality is, Harmon’s beef with me has nothing to do with a sixty-year-old fire-fight. But he holds a hell of a grudge with me, and he right well should, about something else; when I was discharged from Korea and came back to DePalma Beach--” Hugh paused and looked over at Harmon across the diner. “I had a fling with his girl, Marilyn Moore I think was her name. I’m not proud of it. I wish he and I could be friends. He’s a good man.”

      “Would this be the same Marilyn Moore who was killed by Danny Slade?” Kurt asked.

      Hugh nodded.

      “Holy hell, living in a small town might become way too complicated for me.”

      Hugh sipped his coffee. He put his cup down and flicked a few grains of sugar from the table top. “Actually, it was more than a fling. Marilyn and I were all set to elope. I’m afraid Harmon and I were rivals for the same prize. In the end, neither of us got her. I think my showing up at Danny’s execution