Page 52 of Wild Wolf
"Some people don't want to face the truth. It's easier to live in denial."
"Well, Carolyn's husband's going to find out sooner or later.”
"You think Grant knows the kid is his?"
"He's gotta suspect something.”
"Maybe he's not that bright.”
“Or maybe the two of them are in on it together.”
“Solves both of their problems,” JD said.
“Why would Grant send us in her direction?”
“Maybe he figures he can throw her under the bus and weasel out of it.”
I chuckled. “She’ll drag him into it when the time comes.”
My phone buzzed with a call from Mendoza. "Carolyn's Oscar Mike. She's got the kids with her.”
"Where’s she going?”
"I'm not a mind reader, but I'm following her now.”
"Keep me posted.”
“Wilco.”
We drove back to Diver Down to grab something to eat. The sky had turned angry on the horizon. Gray clouds rumbled. It wouldn't be too long before the storm came in. The outer bands of Tilda were definitely going to get us wet. Thestorm would put a damper on the festivities on Oyster Avenue.
Teagan greeted us with a smile as we took a seat at the bar. “How’s your day going?”
“It’s going,” Jack said. “You?”
“Busy,” she said with big eyes before darting away.
The place was packed, and Teagan didn’t have much time for chit-chat.
Harlan sat at the end of the bar, nursing a beer, not thrilled about the excess crowd. He liked it calm and quiet, and Halloween was anything but.
We looked over the menu for a minute while Teagan attended to other customers. When she returned, Jack ordered the pulled pork sliders, and I went with the soft-shell crab po’ boy.
Paris flashed on the flatscreen behind the bar. “Coconut Key has become a hotspot for conspiracy theorists, paranormal investigators, and cryptid hunters in search of a deadly werewolf. Jordan Raine stands by his offer of $10,000 to anyone who captures or kills the creature that took the life of his wife and another young girl on the island. Authorities have yet to identify the creature responsible but have informed us a panther still remains on the loose from the zoo. As hunters and enthusiasts continue to flock to the island, I must caution everyone that hunting and discharging a firearm within city limits is illegal and could result in criminal charges. With me now is Clifford Beaumont from Alabama.”
Paris stepped close. Clifford sat on the tailgate of his pickup truck, dressed in camo, wearing a camo trucker hat. He held a shotgun in one hand and a cheap light beer in the other. This guy was an accident waiting to happen.
“You've come a long way," Paris said.
Clifford was a good old boy with a round face, short reddish hair, and a rounder belly. "Damn right. $10,000 is a lot of money. Hell, I'll kill that sum-bitch. Mount him on my wall.”
Several other hunters stood around. The camera panned to them. Paris interviewed them one by one. "And where are you from?"
"Texas,” another tall, skinny gentleman said.
"And you're confident you'll be able to find and kill the werewolf?"
"Hell yes," Tex said. He had a thick mustache and wore a straw hat. His belt buckle was almost as big as the state he came from. His pressed Wranglers and lizard-skin boots weren’t exactly camouflage, but I didn't think any of these guys were going to find the werewolf. He continued to boast about his equipment. "I got a shotgun, I got night vision, I got infrared, I got a sniper rifle. Somebody's going to get that thing, might as well be me.”
