Chapter 1
The little white car repeatedly jerked with stops and starts into the parking lot of Forge’s Gas and Auto Repair. Its wiper blades frantically flicked the rain away from the windshield. When the automobile came to its final resting place, Murray Lee slowly moved the gearshift into Park then turned off the engine. The Toyota Tercel didn’t immediately stop, though. Instead, it sputtered a couple of times before loudly backfiring.
When the car eventually fell silent, the wiper blades stopped mid-stroke as if thankful they no longer had to fight a losing battle against a torrential downpour. Water cascaded down the cracked windshield. Untold thousands of droplets slammed onto the roof, creating a metallic symphony inside the car. The sun hid behind charcoal-colored clouds, and soon night would cover this part of the world.
Exhausted, Murray leaned forward to rest his head against the tilted steering wheel. The car’s horn beeped a wimpy alert. The noise surprised him and caused him to bolt upright before wearily flopping backward into his seat. He looked toward the repair shop.
From inside, a bearded man in a stocking cap sipped from a large coffee mug and watched him with intense curiosity. Neither man made a move toward the other, as the rain provided a convenient excuse for the delay of immediate action.
A heavy pour had fallen in this part of the Pacific Northwest for more than two days now. The forecast predicted the hard rain was likely to continue for a few days longer before it turned into little more than a drizzle.
Across the street was the Golden Circle Grocer. On the side of the building, underneath a canopy, was a hand-painted mural that read Welcome to Belfry.
Before exiting the car, Murray put on a green John Deere baseball cap and flipped up the collar of his lightweight nylon jacket. Earlier in the day, he’d purchased both garments at a rural gas station. He popped open his door, which squeaked loudly, and he slipped into the pouring shower. He hunched his shoulders for additional protection from the rain while he hurried to the nearby structure.
Murray leaped over a large puddle on his way to the building. When he stepped inside, he was greeted not only with a pleasant bing-bong sound that announced his arrival but a warm blast of air.
The man with the salt and pepper beard sat on a stool behind the counter. He wore faded overalls and a red, long-sleeved T-shirt. From underneath a brown beanie, wavy gray hair fell to his shoulders. He removed an unlit match from the corner of his mouth. “Wet enough for you?”
It most assuredly was wet enough for Murray. It was also cold enough, windy enough, stressful enough, and late enough. However, he didn’t feel like commenting on any of these, so he only frowned in response.
The clerk stuck the match back into his mouth, slid off his stool, and moved to the counter. He placed both hands into his pockets and was about to ask another question when he seemed to notice how big Murray was. The clerk was almost a head shorter than him. “Jeepers, you’re a big fella.”
The clerk’s eyes took him in then. Murray knew the man was checking out the tightly rolled brim of his baseball hat, his nylon jacket, and finally, the inky ball of fire tattooed on his right hand.
“I take it you’re not here for the festival.”
“My car,” Murray said, thumbing toward the lot. “It’s—”
A three-legged pit bull hopped from around the corner of the counter. It was missing the front left leg. The dog’s mouth hung open in either a toothy smile or a silent warning—Murray couldn’t determine which.
“He won’t hurt you none,” the clerk said. “That’s Wrecker.”
At the sound of its name, the dog wagged its nubby tail. When Murray reached down to pet the animal, Wrecker pushed its head into his hand.
“He’s a good judge of character. If he likes you, then I’ll do the same.” The clerk stuck out his hand. “Waylon Forge.”
“Murray Lee.” He shook the man’s dirty, calloused hand. “You own the place?”
Waylon smiled. “That I do.”
On a shelf behind the counter sat an old police scanner that squawked to life. “Hey, Chief?”
“Yeah, Colton? Gimme some good news.”
Both Waylon and Murray turned their attention to the dusty black box.
“The State says the bridge is gonna be out for at least forty-eight hours, maybe seventy-two, unless there’s a bigger break in the weather.”
The radio screeched before the chief responded. “What part of good news did you not understand?”
Waylon smirked. “The local cops are decent fellas if a bit jittery. Know what I mean?”
“Jittery, how?”
“They tend to get into a man’s business when they get nervous.”
“They get into yours?” Murray asked.
The shop owner shook his head. “I got nothing for them to be nervous over.”
“Hey, Chief, there’s also a bunch of bikers lined up on the mainland.”
Even though an unknown distance separated them, Waylon and the chief simultaneously asked the same one-word question. “Bikers?”
“You know,” Colton replied. “Some kind of motorcycle gang.”
“In this rain?” the chief asked. “What are those idiots thinking?”
“Whatever they’re doing, they don’t look none too happy.”
“What do you think they want?” the chief asked.
“To cross the bridge,” Waylon muttered. “Think, Chief.”
Murray lifted a curious eyebrow, and the shop owner shrugged.
“There ain’t much to do around here ’cept talk back to the radio.”
The scanner squawked again. “I guess they wanna cross the bridge,” Colton said, “but that isn’t going to happen. At least, not today.”
“Keep an eye on them. See what they do.”
Murray bent to scratch Wrecker behind the ear, and Waylon leaned over the counter to watch their interaction.
“You musta made it over ’fore the old bridge washed out,” Waylon said.
“Barely,” Murray muttered as he straightened. “That cop blocked it off just after I made the island. Then the water came over the top, making it impassable for anyone else.”
“Uh-huh.” Waylon gnawed on the match for a moment before saying, “Was a mistake coming onto the island.”
“How’s that?”
“We only got two bridges.” The shop owner pulled the match from his mouth and pointed to the opposite end of town. “The new one’s been under construction since spring. Shoulda been done by now, but it ain’t and won’t be for another month or so. So, with the old bridge washed out, we’re all gonna be stuck on the island until the rain settles down and the water drops low enough for it to open again.”
“Has it happened before?”
“The old bridge washing out? Usually about this time, but ain’t nobody been worried about it this year since we all thought the other woulda been finished by now. So much for municipal efficiencies.”
“There’s no other way on or off?”
Waylon shrugged. “By boat, I guess, but you’d hafta leave your car. We ain’t got no ferry.”
Murray looked toward the parking lot.
“And probably not smart to go by water until the rain stops. Water’s got to be choppy as all get out. The Columbia can be an unforgiving lady. She’ll just as soon sink you as let you pass over.”
Murray muttered, “Figures.”
“So, what’s the deal with your ride?”
He turned back to the shop owner. “She started doing the herky-jerk before I crossed the bridge. Didn’t think I was going to make it across.”
Waylon stuck the match back in his mouth. “What do you guess it is?”
“Oxygen sensor, maybe. Could be a fuel pump.”
“You want I should take a look at it?”
Murray raised his eyebrows. “This is a repair shop, right?”
The shop owner’s gaze floated toward a clock on the wall. It was almost five. “I’ll check her out first thing in the morning.”
“Any chance you’ll stay late?”
“Nope. Gotta get home to the wife. They’re voting on Dancing with the Stars tonight.”
Murray stared at Waylon.
“Son, eyeballing me ain’t gonna get me to stay. Besides, if I did get your car running, all you can do is drive around in a circle. You ain’t getting off the island with the bridges bein’ the way they are.”
“Sounds like I don’t have much choice in this matter.” Murray tossed his car keys on the counter.
Waylon grabbed a clipboard and stuck a piece of paper under the clapper. “What’s the license plate number of your car?”
“I don’t know.”
The shop owner looked outside. “It’s raining too much for either of us to worry about it now. I’ll get it later. Don’t you worry none. Just sign here, and I’ll get started on it in the morning.”
Murray grabbed the pen but hesitated to sign.
“What’s wrong?” Waylon asked with a playful snicker. “Forget your name?”
“Almost,” Murray muttered. He then scrawled his signature across the bottom of the paper.
“Colton,” the scanner crackled again.
“Yeah, Chief?”
“Get out to Abner Dewey’s place,” the chief ordered.
“I thought you wanted me to keep an eye on—”
“Now, Colton. This is serious. Someone bit Abner, then robbed the man.”
Waylon clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth but didn’t comment. Instead, he took the pen from Murray and continued to fill out his form.
“Did he say someone bit a man?” Murray asked.
“Yup,” Waylon said. “It’s festival time, so all sorts of crazy things are likely to happen.”
“What festival?”
Waylon looked up from the paperwork. “Haven’t you heard of Belfry Island before?”
“No.”
The shop owner tapped the pen against his chin. “Some years back, they made a few vampire movies here. All the girls, ’specially the teenaged ones, went crazy for ’em. Some of the boys, too. Now, every year them loonies come back to celebrate.”
“What movies?”
“What’s wrong with you, boy? Have you been living under a rock or something? They were only the biggest thing ever. Even I know about them and I ain’t seen the darn things. You musta heard of Evenfall.”
Murray shook his head. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“That movie and its sequels made like a bajillion dollars. They were all the rage for some time.”
A police car raced by the auto repair shop with its lights and sirens activated. Both men watched it pass.
Waylon removed the match from his mouth and licked his lips. “The fans of those movies come ’round every year. Occasionally, one of them does something foolish like trying to bite someone. Gotta be what happened out there at Abner Dewey’s place.”
“Weird.”
“What can you do? People are strange.”
“So, I’m stuck here for the night?” Murray said.
Waylon nodded. “At least. I don’t keep a lot of parts on inventory. I may have to send over to the mainland if we need something and with the bridge being out...”
“I’m stuck,” Murray dejectedly muttered.
“From the looks of it.”
“Where do you recommend I stay?”
Waylon inhaled as he thought. “Normally, I’d say the Belfry Boarding House ’cause it’s cute as a bug, but it’s probably all booked up.”
“The festival?”
“We only have a couple hotels on the island. A few folks will rent their houses out during this week. I can’t wrap my head around that idea. Some of our visitors will stay on the mainland over in Astoria. That’s where they made The Goonies back in the eighties. Ever see that one?”
Murray shook his head.
“Don’t dig the movies, huh? Too bad. I liked it when I was a kid. Probably watched it half a dozen times on VHS. ‘Hey, you guys!’” Waylon watched Murray for a reaction. When there wasn’t one, he shrugged. “That was a line from one of the characters, but you wouldn’t know about it, so I don’t know why I just did that. Guess it’s still one of my favorites. Astoria doesn’t have a festival like we do, which is too bad because Goonies was a way better movie than any of the ones made here.”
“I thought you said you didn’t see the vampire flicks.”
Waylon chuckled and looked slightly embarrassed. “Quit paying so much attention to what I say. You’re making me nervous. Anyway, maybe someone didn’t make it across the bridge, and you can get their room.”
The shop owner stepped away from the counter, picked up a grease-covered phone, and punched several buttons. Waylon sipped from a large coffee mug while he waited for his call to be answered.
When it was, he had a quick conversation that Murray mostly ignored. Instead, he petted Wrecker, who seemed to be quite accustomed to spending time with visitors to the repair shop.
Waylon hung up the phone and grunted in satisfaction. “Like I figured. Someone didn’t make it over, so they got a room available at the boarding house. They’re holding it for you.”
When the shop owner returned to the counter, he reached under it and pulled out a compact yellow umbrella. “I’ll loan this to you until your car’s done. You’re gonna need it. We don’t get much sunshine in this part of the world. This time of year, our skies are like standing under a weak shower head.”
Murray reluctantly grabbed the umbrella and nodded his thanks. “Which way is the hotel?”
Waylon pointed up the street. “Head that way until you get downtown. You can’t miss it.”
After petting Wrecker a final time, Murray stepped to the door. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning and check on the progress.”
“Unless the vampires get you first,” Waylon chuckled.
Murray’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’m kidding. They’re mostly harmless.”
