Woodstalk, a skinny celery stick with overly blanched roots and close cropped leaves, met Herb at the door. “Where’s that yahoo VBI guy?” Herb asked loudly enough for everyone in the precinct to hear. Heads turned. Lettuce. Cabbage.
“Uh, I think that would be yahoo VBI gal,” Woodstalk corrected. “And she’s in your office.” A snicker from across the room was quickly stifled when it drew a wrathful glare from the chief.
Herb stormed into his office, slammed the door shut and turned to chew on the gal from...
Herb stopped cold. He’d expected some hag with her leaves in a bun, not the hottie that sat demurely behind his desk. He was speechless.
“Hello, won’t you have a seat?” she offered when he had stood stalk still for five seconds.
Herb dropped into the chair by the door. Miss VBI rose. Herb gulped. Her stalkings came all the way up too...
“I thought you might like to see this,” the she celery said holding a file out for him.
In a daze, Herb took the folder and opened it. His eyes fell upon a photo – a blurry, out-of-focus shot of the same creature his artist had drawn from the broker’s description. No, that would be creatures. There were clearly four of them. All basically the same, varying only in height.
Herb found his voice. It was weak, a bit shaky. “Where’d you get this, Miss...?” he asked.“Monica. The name’s Monica,” the agent answered. “And it came in a plain brown envelope addressed to me yesterday.”
The envelope was in the file. Herb picked it up and examined it. Plain. Brown. Postmarked in Garden City. Addressed to Monica Stewinsky, VBI Office, Stalkton. Herb closed the folder and handed it back to the profiler.
“So you think this...you think these are?” Herb asked.
“Your killers? Yes.”
“Any idea who took the picture?”
“None whatsoever,” Miss Stewinsky admitted. “But we’re fairly sure it was taken three days ago considering the snow cover on the ground.”
“But it snowed five days ago,” Herb corrected.
“Yes, but three days ago the snow was there and...” she hesitated. “And it was a clear, moonlit night.”
“What?!” Herb shouted incredulously. “What does moonlight have to do with the price of peanut butter in China?”
“We’ve been following the news from Garden City ever since the third chopping,” she replied. “Our profilers have taken note of everything and they’ve made an interesting discovery. Every murder, the celery salt and battery, every report of stalking has come on a clear, moonlit night. We checked the GWC to be sure when it was first suggested by an agent. The Garden Weather Channel ‘is never wrong’ you know? At least when it comes to weather that’s in the past. Their records bore out what we suspected.”
“So,” Herb said, snatching up the folder and opening it again, “you’re saying that these...these...things come out only on clear, moonlit nights?”
“Exactly. We’ve taken to calling them the moonlight stalkers. We’re concerned that they’ll strike again soon. The cloud cover is supposed to break Wednesday afternoon.”
“Wednesday, the thirteenth,” Herb muttered under his breath. “Just my luck.”
“What was that?” Monica queried, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh, nothing!” Herb lied. “So what are the smarty pants at VBI planning to do? I assume they’ll be snatching the investigation out of my hands any minute now.” His old distaste for the agency was kicking in and he could hardly hold back the sarcasm.
“We already have a team in place,” she said meekly, her voice barely audible.
“What?! Where?! Here in Garden City?! It’s already done?! You guys are too much.” Herb paused, his anger simmering. “Get out! Get out!” he screamed pointing at the door.
Miss Stewinsky stood again. “I’ll leave the folder,” she said. “If you need anything, give me a call.” With that she handed Herb her business card and walked out of his office. He watched her until the closing front door hid her from view. “Bloody Mary!” he swore. “Bloody Mary, they’ve taken over my city.”
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