Darkly The Thunder by William W. Johnstone Page A

radio. Fifties music poured from the rear-mounted hi-fi speakers. She looked out at Richard. He was still smiling at her. She clicked off the radio, not understanding what was taking place. She felt sure he was trying to tell her something. But what?
    â€œDo you drive it much, Mr. Jennings?”
    A strange light sprang into his eyes. “That would be, ah ... difficult, at best.”
    She walked out of the shed to stand beside him. Even outside, she could still smell that odd odor of charred wood and the sweet smell of flowers, all mingled in with the odor that all funeral homes seem to have.
    â€œSo many people dead,” Richard said, his voice no more than a whisper. “And many, many more to die before this is all over.”
    â€œBefore what is over? I don’t understand.”
    â€œYou will.”
    Richard closed the doors and locked them. Sunny noticed the hasp and lock were very old and terribly rusty. She wondered about that.
    She reached out and touched his arm.
    She felt as though she had time-traveled, and her senses had not yet caught up with her. One instant they had been standing outside by the shed, now they were sitting in the house, back in the den, and Sunny, for the first time, was really frightened.
    â€œDon’t touch me, Sunny,” Richard told her. “Me or Linda. You were lucky this time. The next time, you might not fare as well.”
    â€œWhat the hell happened?” Sunny almost shouted the question.
    Richard ignored that. “Let’s get on with the interview, Sunny. I don’t know how much time we have left.”
    Â 
    Â 
    â€œLee,” Gordie told his chief deputy, “send a deputy down to Hubbard’s store and find out what the hell is wrong with him.” He looked at the kids. “Howard and Carly Ingram’s kids, right?”
    â€œYes, sir,” they both said. Like many kids their age, cops frightened them. The guns and the creaking leather and the Mace holders and the handcuffs, all combined with the TV and movie bullshit to give kids a bad image of cops.
    â€œHow come you kids aren’t in school? You playing hooky?”
    â€œDon’t blame her,” Howie said, stepping closer to shield his sister – a move that escaped no one’s attention. “Blame me. Actually I like school, but I made her leave and come with me, because of what I perceive to be impending trouble in this community.”
    Bergman looked at Howie and winked and smiled. “You’re really a midget, right? You’re not a kid. I got a sixteen-year-old that can’t speak English yet – at least not where I can understand it.”
    Howie returned the plainclothes cop’s smile. “I’m very advanced for my ten years.”
    â€œSo I’ve been told,” Sheriff Rivera said, not trying to hide his smile. It was nice to have something to smile about. “What sort of trouble are you talking about, son?”
    â€œIt’s very difficult to explain, Sheriff. But I shall try my best. For the last few days, I have been experiencing a very subtle change taking place in this town. The people are behaving, well, oddly.”
    â€œGordie,” Watts said, motioning for Gordie to step away from the kids. “Out of the mouths of babes and all that.”
    â€œThat is one brilliant kid. Yeah. I see what you mean. I know from personal experience that kids are very quick to pick up on things. What do you know about the Ingram kids?”
    â€œThe girl is plenty smart, but Howie’s I.Q. is astronomical. Speaks two or three languages. Can make a computer do the diddy wa diddy. And a college professor would be hard-pressed to throw a math question at him that Howie couldn’t work. And that’s just touching the tip of his brainpower.”
    â€œAnd the boy is probably shunned by his peers.”
    â€œSure. But that comes from the home, Gordie. From stupid parents who place more value on sports than