A Holiday to Remember. Helen R. Myers
the mystery out of the event. Supposedly a volcano eruption caused the appearance of a blue moon—and some green sunsets. Krakatoa back in...1883, I think they said. So the other references that go back another couple of hundred years could well have been due to equally logical coincidences. But, hey, if it will make you happy, I’ll gladly ask our fellow insomniac if he’s a galactic visitor here to correct the last half-dozen mathematical errors in calculating the end of the world. That’s our job, right? Leave no question unanswered.”
Bunny sighed. “Oh, Ally, you don’t usually make fun of me the way the others do. And where’s your sense of romance? You like music. You know musicians were referencing the blue moon in song forever.”
“And you know that I don’t listen to Elvis,” Alana replied, feeling the pinch of a tension headache coming on. “Who, by the way, also offered his services to Nixon—or was it J. Edgar—to be an agent for the U.S. Give me a break, Bunny.”
“Not just Elvis,” Bunny replied in her most little-girl voice. “Mr. Richard Rogers. You like Broadway.”
“I like beer and bourbon, too. Unfortunately, I’m on duty.” At Bunny’s prolonged silence—obviously due to wounded feelings—Alana lifted her gaze to the heavens again. “Okay, okay, I’m going to make an effort...after all, it has been a while since I’ve had the cheap thrill of frisking a total stranger.”
“Now, you stop,” the dispatcher demanded. “For all you know, he could be suffering from a broken heart. Maybe he’s been somehow led here to be your guy.”
Alana had heard enough. “Listen, Sherlock—”
“What does he look like?”
“Bunny,” Alana said, tone pleading, “I’m too far away from him to tell, and you know the lighting isn’t great over here.”
“Well, go find out before he goes and does something you might both regret for the rest of your lives.”
Alana decided the only thing that she was regretting at the moment was reporting the situation when she did. To heck with procedure, she should have just gone and checked things out, then radioed her findings afterward. “Consider me gone. You hold off drafting an engagement announcement for the newspaper until I at least introduce myself, okay?”
“What I am going to do is notify Ed for backup. It’s been a while since we’ve had a stranger come through town.”
Now she remembered why they cut her a check every two weeks? “Barbara Jayne Dodd—cease and desist.” The woman’s mindset could go from softhearted romance writer to police-procedural novelist faster than a career perp could blame someone else for his problems. No wonder she wasn’t published yet; she was all over the map with her feelings and focus. A person would have to be schizophrenic to keep up with her.
But Alana did sympathize to a degree. Oak Grove, population 3,900, was a challenge to her, too. The town hierarchy claimed it could barely justify the police force they had—especially around raise time—and yet protected the top tier that officiated over criminal behavior, so that things like drug trafficking and subsequent related crimes couldn’t be crushed, only minimally controlled. As a result, Alana was often accused of being an adrenaline junkie herself and just “looking for trouble.” That said, she wasn’t about to let what was probably a simple 11-94, Pedestrian Stop, get turned into something that could cost the chief another prescription for his ulcer.
“Will you please let Ed have his donut break?” she told Bunny. “With Sue Ann out of town visiting their daughter and new grandbaby, this is the only time he doesn’t get his clothes checked for sugar-glaze crumbs. If I think there’s a need to bring him in on this, you’ll be the first to know.”
Signing off, she exited her white patrol car with the bold red-and-blue writing on the side, and angled south beyond the vehicle a few yards in order not to approach the man from the rear and startle him. As much as she wanted to rein in their dispatcher’s imagination, she wasn’t about to drop her guard. Aided by the very moon that had Bunny sounding as though a serial Lothario might be on the loose, Alana saw that the man continued to sit quietly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, staring unblinkingly at the fast-flowing creek. Unless he was deaf, drugged or otherwise hearing impaired, he had to have heard her pull up behind him, and could still hear the patrol car’s engine continue to idle.
Usually no more than a dozen feet wide, the creek was now at least twice that. Nevertheless, as she’d attested to Bunny, the stranger was not in harm’s way yet; Alana could confirm that from her new vantage point. Also, so far, she didn’t think she knew him. He was wearing a dark-colored T-shirt—she was now guessing it was olive-green due to the duffel bag between his feet—jeans and athletic shoes. If he was a drifter, there was nothing shabby about him, and given his buzzed haircut and lean but toned build, her first guess was that he was military, or at least recently discharged. A veteran on his way home? He sure didn’t seem in any hurry. With that in mind, she also had to consider the spike in suicide rates due to veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress. Then there was the AWOL possibility, another reason for sticking to back roads and night travel to keep out of sight.
In the mysterious blue-white light of Bunny’s moon, his hair color was difficult to define, and the close haircut didn’t help. It looked at once ashy, then brown, but not as dark as her own. One thing was for certain: with each step, the closer view of his profile discounted Latino, Native American or Middle Eastern ethnicity. In fact, he could be Kevin Bacon’s kid brother.
“Sir? Everything okay here?”
At first the man acted as though he hadn’t heard her, but after another few seconds, he rolled his head, chin leading, to inspect the intrusion on his privacy. Was that sweeping glance and subtle shake of his head for a woman being in uniform, for the fact that she’d had the audacity to approach him by herself, or what? Whatever his thinking, he returned his attention to the water.
“Am I breaking some ordinance, Officer?”
“Technically, not at all,” Alana replied, allowing a touch of humor to enter her voice. “But at this hour, our four-legged scavengers tend to assume that this trail is their territory. If one happens to confront you, I’d strongly advise you to voluntarily surrender any food you’re in possession of—especially if it’s pizza or hot dogs from the convenience store down the block.”
She followed that comment by a nod toward the brightest lights in town. It earned her an “are you for real?” look.
“Here’s the thing,” Alana said in response to that. She was now confident that she had his full attention and that he wasn’t high on something. “It’s after one in the morning and it’s obvious that you’re not here to fish, or throw change into the creek and make a wish. If by chance you have another plan less pleasant, it’s my responsibility to convince you to reconsider.”
That won her another disbelieving glance.
“Oh, yes, sir, I’m serious,” she said, although her tone remained amiable. “And look at that current, the dirty foam against the bank, and the litter accumulating in the tall weeds. No telling what else is in that water. Do you really want to deal with an angry woman having to face an admittedly overdue tetanus shot, not to mention getting her hair messed up?”
While his expression said, You and what crane? he replied, “I’m not planning anything. I was just taking a break. Thinking. Have politicians figured out a way to put restrictions on that, too?”
“Rumor has it something is tucked away in an upcoming city council bill.” But Alana was relieved that the man could form such a coherent sentence. “I don’t recognize you as a local.”
“I’m not. Well, once. Not anymore.”
“So you’re passing through to touch bases with someone before heading elsewhere?”
“Probably.”
Alana could visualize Bunny scribbling down this dialogue for some work in progress, but she was finding it as