When the early morning cold begins to carry an edge with it, you know that soon the leaves will color and die. It was then, his daddy said, that you had to watch for them.

Watch for who? Brewster would always ask.

Your granddaddy wasn't such a fool, Brewster's daddy would say. It weren't no ghosts, and he wasn't crazy. He knew what had happened, by the Good Book he did. Your granddaddy didn't have regular schooling like some folks, but he knew how to tell when things weren't right. He could feel it in his bones.

Brewster would stare at his daddy, hoping one day he would understand.

You just watch yourself, boy. You got that mean streak just like your granddaddy.

Do not.

You do, his daddy would nod knowingly. You can be an angry cuss. But you got all your granddaddy in you. Then Brewster's daddy would poke his finger right into the little boy's chest, thumping him hard. You got all your granddaddy, he'd repeat. And don't you forget it. He knew things, and so will you.

What things?

Never you mind. Get on out and do your ch.o.r.es before I tan your hide.

And Brewster would go, before he got a belt on his backside. Far as he was concerned, his daddy had inherited that mean streak, too. But he'd never say so.

Brewster wiped a hand over his face to clear the memory and squinted at the lake. The glare of the sun bounced off the surface like burning darts. He could hear the hikers as they moved by him, whispering. He turned to look at them again. They didn't even bother to not stare now. Just gawked at him.

Would those hikers be needed? He glanced at the sky, where the blackness had been moments before. The first, the gatherer, was already at work. But there would be other roles to fill. They needed one who prepares the dead, and one with the message. He wrinkled his brow. There would be more, but his mind had gone blank, washed clean by the fear that sent a chill through him.

One of the hikers laughed, pulling Brewster from his thoughts. Would that man fulfill one of those roles? He narrowed his eyes, studying them. What did they know, stupid fools. Going up in the mountains when things were about to happen. He knew it, just like his daddy said he would. Like his grandfather knew things. He could feel it in his bones.

He hurried up the road, headed for his cabin. As he did, a pa.s.sage from Genesis came to mind: "The Nephilim were on the earth in those days and also afterward." And also afterward it kept playing in his mind, a mantra for the evil that lay ahead.

CHAPTER 13.

Anna was sitting in a chair beside her dad outside of the general store, fanning herself with a folded piece of newspaper, watching the activity along Main Street when Myrtle Hester walked up, Boo trudging along beside her.

"Howdy, folks," Myrtle said, coming up the steps onto the porch. The dog showed his age, limping behind. "How's business?" She took a hanky out of her pocket and dabbed at her glistening nose.

"We can't complain," Anna said, standing up and opening the door for Myrtle. "We had the usual lunch rush, but it's been slow for a while now."

Myrtle patted Boo's head and he sat down on the porch. "I won't account for much, I'm afraid," she said as she came into the store and went directly to a refrigerator section at the back. "I ran out of milk." Anna could see the gla.s.s door opening and closing and then Myrtle came up to the counter.

"Dollar ninety-eight," Anna said, ringing up the milk.

"Sure is hot out," Myrtle complained as she pulled her wallet out of a tiny purse she kept in a f.a.n.n.y pack around her waist. "I wonder how good the fishing is right now."

That prompted a thought for Anna. "You know, I haven't seen Ed Miller since this morning."

Myrtle raised her eyebrows. "Now that's unusual."

"I know. He comes in every day for cigarettes, first thing in the morning, then comes back around lunch for another pack."

"Don't know why he doesn't stock up on them," Myrtle observed. "It'd save him the trips here."

Anna shrugged. "Beats me. Unless he started buying them somewhere else."

Myrtle clicked her tongue. "You know better than that. Ed Miller rarely leaves the Crossing. He probably drank way too much, and he went home to sleep it off."

"Maybe," Anna said, raising an eyebrow skeptically. Even drunk or hung over, Ed always made it into the store. Anna bagged the milk and set it on the counter.

Myrtle eyed her. "He was in this morning?"

"Yes, like clockwork."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about him," Myrtle said slowly. "He's an old pain in the a.s.s, just like me. He probably made a wicked batch of that homemade hooch, and he's paying for it now."

"I'm sure you're right." Anna smiled, knowing how much Myrtle liked to keep an eye on everyone in town. She gave new meaning to the term 'busybody'. "No point in my worrying about him anyway," Anna said. "I've got enough of that with Dad."

"Jimmy doesn't look so good," Myrtle said in her direct way, but underneath the faade, concern lingered.

"He could be better," Anna acknowledged. "His hearing's getting worse. But he likes sitting out there, and he's not bothering anyone."

"That's a fact." Myrtle took the milk. "You take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Always," Anna said.

Travis Velario entered the store and Myrtle almost laughed at the frown that washed over Anna's face. Myrtle escaped so she didn't have to endure Travis. She didn't know why Anna didn't put her foot down and tell Travis to leave her alone, but she didn't understand a lot of what young people did these days. She shook her head. That was Anna's problem.

Myrtle retrieved Boo and walked west down Main Street, wishing she'd remembered to put on her bonnet. The heat seemed almost unbearable today, and she hated the sticky sweat under her arms, and the rivulets of moisture that squirreled their way down her back. She had been unable to run from the vague gloominess that had settled in her bones since she had awoken, and the heat wasn't helping her mood.

Out on Taylor Lake, a number of boats drifted in the water, and the occasional voice echoed back to Myrtle. She couldn't understand why anyone would want to sit out there, bored and hot, but to each his own, she thought. A number of cars were lined up along the sh.o.r.e, and others near the antique store and cafe. Winter would be upon them quicker than they could blink, and the town would be almost abandoned for another season.

She pa.s.sed the cafe. Joan Friedman was wiping up one of the few outside tables. Near her, a young couple with a baby in a stroller sat at another table, maximizing the shade provided from an awning sprouting out from the side of the cafe.

"How's Boo today?" Joan asked, coming off the deck. Boo wagged his tail in appropriate excitement as Joan rubbed behind his ears and made cooing noises at him.

"He's slowing down." Myrtle discreetly wiped sweat off her forehead. "Don't know why people'll want to sit outside in this heat," she said a little too loudly. The woman at the table glanced at Myrtle, then turned to her husband and mumbled something. Myrtle didn't hear it, nor did she care.

Joan looked back at the tables with their red-and-white checkered tablecloths with beer bottle planters centered on them. "It was full inside," she said quietly, defensive of the couple or her business, Myrtle wasn't sure. "We've had a good crowd today." She and her husband, Samuel, had retired from stressful jobs in telecommunications, choosing instead to operate the bed-and-breakfast and the attached cafe. For ten years they'd lived and worked in the Crossing during the summer months, then vacationed during the winter, visiting their kids, and spending time at their home in Phoenix. They both said that even though the hours were long, it was better than the corporate world.

"I can't remember when it's been so dry," Joan said. "Seems like the heat just came in overnight." She eyed the sun high overhead.

Boo panted his agreement, leaning languidly against Joan's legs.

"I suspect most folks will want to go inside where it's cool." Myrtle eyed the couple at the table as if they were insane to sit outside.

"That's true," Joan continued the small talk, scratching behind Boo's ears. "Although some of the regulars haven't been around. That boy Mick and his family have been coming in every Sunday, but not so far today." By the end of the summer, the locals typically got to know the summer visitors fairly well, sometimes almost like family.

"Have you seen Ed Miller?" Myrtle asked.

"He was by earlier today."

"He comes for lunch on the weekends, doesn't he?"

Joan pursed her lips. "Come to think of it, he didn't today."

"Didn't you just say he came by?" Myrtle pointed out.

"I did," Joan said thoughtfully. "Maybe it was yesterday. I was busy serving and didn't pay much attention. You know, Samuel was asking about Ed a little while ago, wondering why he'd skipped lunch."

No cigarettes, now no lunch, Myrtle thought. For a man locked into routines, this was unusual. "I wonder what's going on with him," Myrtle said.

Lillian Chadwick emerged from the cafe and interrupted the conversation. "How are you all today," she asked with a polite smile. A vivacious Brit with spiky gray hair who was the Taylor Crossing Postmistress, Lillian exuded energy.

"Just fine," Myrtle said.

"I can't chat," Lillian said, hurrying past them. "I've got to get back to work."

"Say, have you seen Ed Miller around?" Joan asked. Lillian had a great view of Main Street from the front window of the post office, and could keep track of all comings and goings in the Crossing.

Lillian shook her head, long hoop earrings b.u.mping against her tanned cheeks. "Not today," she called, already heading up the steps of the post office next door.

"You think something happened to him? Like maybe he's sick?" Myrtle turned back to Joan.

"Sicker than usual?" Joan replied sarcastically.

"You know what I mean."

Just then Samuel poked his head out the front door of the cafe. "You want me to clean up in here?"

Both women looked at him with inquiring gazes.

"What?" He looked around nervously, wiping his hands repeatedly on a dirty white ap.r.o.n. He was a big, jovial man, with bulky arms that stretched the material of his plaid shirt, and an expressive face with a white walrus mustache.

"You haven't seen Ed today?" When Myrtle said it, it was not a question.

"Nope." Samuel peeked back into the cafe before he slipped outside and hurried over. "Still got a few people in there," he said, eyeing Joan as if to chide her for not helping him. "Last time I saw Ed was yesterday." Boo nudged Samuel's hand and received some petting for his efforts.

"Was he okay?" Joan asked.

Samuel tipped his baseball cap off his head and scratched his nearly bald pate. "Not any worse than normal."

"So where is he today?" Myrtle interrupted.

A long pause ensued. "Who knows," he said finally, readjusting the cap again. "You know Ed, he always seems like he's got a screw loose..."

"Because he drinks too much," Joan interjected.

"Anna said he didn't come by for cigarettes at lunchtime," Myrtle said.

"Really?" Joan was perplexed. This odd behavior of Ed's const.i.tuted a real mystery in the mundane haven of Taylor Crossing. "Maybe we should go check on him."

"I think you're right," Myrtle agreed. It would sure beat going back to her cabin. A tingle of concern zipped through her.

"You two don't need to be snooping in other people's business," Samuel said. "Besides, we've still got customers."

Joan put her hands on her hips. "I handle the work while you're off fishing."

"Not very often," Samuel grumbled.

"Oh, all right, you win." Joan rolled her eyes at Myrtle. Joan cared deeply for her husband. "I guess I'd better stay and help the old man here."

"You hush up," Samuel fired back, but there was a smile under the walrus mustache.

They waved goodbye and heckled each other as they disappeared back in the cafe. She teases him relentlessly, Myrtle thought, but she sure loves him. It made her think of her own husband, and she wished he was still around. She and Boo went on their way, but it wasn't long before Myrtle's mind was back on Ed Miller. Where was he?

Ed Miller lived in a run-down one-room place that was more like a shack than a real home. The ten acres that he owned were inherited from family, and years ago Ed moved onto the property, living out his days fishing and drinking. The most Myrtle could say for the place was that it was far enough away from the other cabins to afford some privacy. Which was as much a blessing for the summer visitors as it was for Ed Miller.

Maybe she should check the place out, see if Ed was okay. Her busybody nature was taking over, and she soon convinced herself she should see if something bad had happened to Ed. She took off in the direction of his cabin, complaining to Boo about the heat.

CHAPTER 14.

"Can I help you with that?" Jimmy Holmes stood in the doorway to the general store.

Anna dropped the change she was counting, startled. "No, Dad. I've got it covered."

She'd left him slumped in his rocking chair on the porch, sleeping peacefully with his chin resting on his chest and had come inside to tidy things up before the late afternoon rush that usually followed a busy Sunday. She hadn't heard him come in, hadn't heard the old door creak back on its hinges, hadn't felt the rush of heat enter the room, and most of all, she hadn't heard Jimmy's heavy breathing as he struggled for each life-giving lungful of air. She wanted to blame it on the fan that stirred the searing air around the room, but she couldn't. She'd been thinking about that day, so many years ago, when she'd lost Paul.

Jimmy took a couple of steps inside and eased the door closed behind him. He came slowly up to the counter and leaned against it, watching her put the change back into the register.

She felt his gaze bore into her. "What?" she finally said, turning to look at him.

"Isn't it time for you to move on?"

Her face grew warm. "What do you mean?" she asked lamely.