Whispers in the Night

Chapter 3: Swamp Hunt

Cranberry Hollow Inn. April 8, 2005. Friday evening.

Still no change. Janet gave a frustrated sigh. She'd hoped Mozzie would improve once Neal and Peter arrived, but, if anything, his condition had grown worse.

At the moment, he and several other men were watching Bonanza reruns. Janet had slipped out of the room—not that Mozzie would notice she'd left—and was having a glass of wine by herself in the parlor. She'd designed costumes for stage productions on a wide variety of subjects, but never for a Theater of the Absurd performance like this one.

She pulled out a sketchpad from her bag and began drawing. Treat this as an Ionesco play, she told herself gloomily. What costumes would you design? The thought was an intriguing one and soon she was absorbed in sketching ideas. She'd long thought about designing a costume for Mozzie. This was her chance.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up to see Chloe standing in front of her. "I could use the company," Janet said gratefully and moved an embroidered cushion aside so Chloe could sit next to her. "Would you like some wine?"

"Thanks, but I'm more of a beer drinker. I may go to the roadhouse in a little while. I just finished writing a user guide and feel like celebrating." She glanced over at Janet's drawings. "I envy you being able to support yourself with what you're passionate about."

"Don't you make enough from your novels to work on them full-time?"

She shook her head glumly. "Maybe someday, but in the meantime, I'm doomed to write about the glories of user controls." Chloe hesitated for a moment. "I saw you talking to a group of men. One of them—Dean—came over to talk with me for a few minutes. Do you know much about him?"

"Not really. I only met him today."

"Janet! I need your help!" Viola Palmer, the innkeeper, came running into the parlor. "Mozzie's trying to tear down the curtains to make lariats."

Janet sighed and gulped down the last of her wine. Making her apologies to Chloe, she raced off to save the inn's curtains. Mozzie was so going to owe her.

* * * * *

A few beers. Some poker. Dean was feeling good. He could tell Sam was getting antsy to get back to his research. He kept telling the dude to lighten up. Neal, to his credit, appeared to have the same thought. He'd even gotten Sam to laugh some.

Sam was a worry. He was taking forever to get over his girlfriend. Not that Dean was unsympathetic—watching your girl spontaneously combust and be burned to death could set any dude off his game. And the Yellow-Eyed Demon still gave Sam nightmares, no matter how he tried to disguise it. But just because they dealt with death and destruction on a daily basis didn't mean a guy couldn't have a little fun. Even Peter had unbent and was matching Dean with beers.

But Janet's call to Neal put an end to the poker. She needed help with Mozzie who was trying to perform lasso tricks. Neal offered to handle it, and that was fine with Dean. There was still a chance Chloe could show up. He was staying put.

Sam offered to go back with Neal. Peter showed no inclination to leave. He seemed to think Dean bore watching. Still, as long as the guy continued to buy the beer, Dean didn't mind hanging out with him.

Chloe strolled in about fifteen minutes later. She was in the same leather mini-skirt and sweater. Dean stood up, using the excuse that he needed to finish the interview. Peter's eye-rolling could be as annoying as Sam's and was just as ineffective.

A few minutes later, he and Chloe were sitting at a corner table with their beer. Chalk up another point in her favor—the chick liked beer. He was happily ignoring the steely-eyed surveillance technique of Peter Burke.