Winter Moon

no proof it had happened. Toby clearly recalled none of it and could not corroborate his story. If Eduardo Fernandez had seen something peculiar and withheld it from Travis, Jack sympathized with the old man and understood. The veterinarian was predisposed to the idea that extraordinary agents were at work, because of the brain swelling he'd found in the autopsies of the raccoons, but he was not likely to take seriously any talk of spirits, possession, and eerie conversations conducted in a cemetery with an entity from the Beyond.
        Anything besides the crow? Travis had asked. Jack shook his head.
        "That's all."
        "Well, maybe whatever brought those coons down, is over with. We might never know. Nature's full of odd little tricks." To avoid the vet's eyes, Jack pulled back his jacket sleeve, glanced at his watch. "I've kept you too long if you want to finish your rounds before the snow sets in."
        "Never had a hope of managing that," Travis said. "But I should make it back home before there're any drifts the Rover can't handle." They.shook hands, and Jack said, "Don't you forget, a week from tomorrow, dinner at six. Bring a guest if you've got a lady friend." Travis grinned. "You look at this mug, it's hard to believe, but there's a young lady willing to be seen with me. Name's Janet."
        "Be pleased to meet her," Jack said. He dragged the fifty-pound bag of dog chow away from the Rover and stood by the driveway, watching the vet turn around and head out.
        Looking in the rearview mirror, Travis Potter waved. Jack waved after him and watched until the Rover had disappeared around the curve and over the low hill just before the county road.
        The day was a deeper gray than it had been when the vet arrived. Iron instead of ashes. Dungeon gray. The ever-lowering sky and the black-green phalanxes of trees seemed as formidably restricting as walls of concrete and stone. A bitterly cold wind, sweetened by the perfume of pines and the faint scent of ozone from high mountain passes, swept out of the northwest. The boughs of the evergreens strained a low mournful sound from that rushing river of air, the grassy meadows conspired with it to produce a whispery whistle, and the eaves of the house inspired it to make soft hooting sounds like the weak protests of dying owls lying with broken wings in uncaring fields of night. The countryside was beautiful even in that prestorm gloom, and perhaps it was as peaceful and serene as they had perceived it when they'd first driven north from Utah. At that moment, however, none of the usual travel-book adjectives sprang to mind as a singular and apt descriptive. Only one word suited now. Lonely. It was the loneliest place Jack Mcgarvey had ever seen, unpopulated to distant points, far from the solace of neighborhood and community.
        He hefted the bag of dog chow onto his shoulder. Big storm coming. He went inside. He locked the front door behind him. He heard laughter in the kitchen and went back there to see what was happening.
        Falstaff was sitting on his hindquarters, forepaws raised in front of him, staring up yearningly at a piece of bologna that Toby was holding over his head.
        "Dad, look, he knows how to beg," Toby said. The retriever licked his chops.
        Toby dropped the meat. The dog snatched it in midair, swallowed, and begged, for more.
        Isn't he great?" Toby said. "He's great," Jack agreed. "Toby's hungrier than the dog," Heather said, getting a large pot out of a cabinet. "He didn't have any lunch, he didn't even eat the raisin cookies I gave him when he went outside.
        Early dinner okay?" me," Jack said, dropping the bag of dog chow in a corner, with the intention of finding a cupboard for it later.
        "Spaghetti?"
        "Perfect."."We have a loaf of crusty French bread. You make the salads?"
        "Sure," Jack said as Toby fed Falstaff another bite of bologna.
        Filling the pot with water at the sink, Heather said, Travis Potter seems really nice."
        "Yeah, I like him. He'll be bringing a date to dinner next Sunday.
        Janet's her name." Heather smiled and seemed happier than at any time since they had come to the ranch.
        "Making friends."
        "I guess we are," he said. As he got celery, tomatoes, and a head of lettuce out of the refrigerator, he was relieved to note that neither of the kitchen windows faced the cemetery.
        The