Death Stalks Door County by Patricia Skalka

moonless nights, you can hear their cries.” She looked past him again. “You believe in ghosts?”
    He fidgeted. “No.”
    But didn’t he? Lying in bed one night a week after the accident, he’d sensed Lauren behind him in the dark and understood that her presence was a gift and that turning around, insisting on seeing her, was blasphemous. He’d willed himself still and waited. After a bit, he’d felt her breath warm his neck. She’d come to say good-bye.
    Cate swallowed a yawn. It was late, and she was tired. Could she impose on him for a ride back to her aunt’s house? “It’s a bit of a haul, I’m afraid.”
    Cubiak was glad for an excuse to leave.
    They were silent on the way to the jeep and then north through Egg Harbor, Fish Creek, Ephraim, and beyond. As he drove, Cubiak relaxed into the engine’s steady hum and the insignificance that the immense darkness conferred upon them. At Gills Rock, a tiny fishing village near the tip of the peninsula, the road narrowed and curved sharply to the right. Thick pines crowded on either side. A crescent moon hung above the tree line, creating a patchwork of shadows on the undulating roadway. Inhaling the cool night air, the ranger felt settled and calm.
    â€œSo, you married or what?”
    Cubiak started. His passenger had been quiet so long he thought she was asleep. In the dappled dark, the familiar agitation returned and he shook his head.
    â€œNo? Divorced? Single?”
    â€œWidowed.” The word caught in his throat.
    â€œOh. Sorry.” There was an awkward pause. “I’m divorced, myself. Six months,” she said at last. Cate pointed in the dark. “Left at the next driveway.”
    Cubiak careened between the trunks of two large trees and coasted into a wide clearing where a sprawling one-story ranch and several outbuildings hunkered in the sparse moonlight. The aroma of magnolias hung over the yard, and in the distance a dog yelped. He rolled to a stop where an old-fashioned fixture threw a tight splotch of light on the rear steps.
    â€œSucks, don’t it,” Cate said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLife.” She popped the door and slipped out. “Maybe we can get together sometime, for coffee or something, and, you know, talk.” She ducked down toward him, one hand on the back of the seat, waiting for a reply. When none came, she pulled herself straight. “Or not,” she said and banged the door. “Bastard.”

WEDNESDAY
    C ubiak drove with the front windows down, hoping the cool night air would keep him alert and blow away the remnants of Cate’s perfume. He was glad he’d annoyed her. He didn’t want to think of her because she made him think of Lauren, and he missed his wife to the point of pain.
    More sober than drunk, he rolled into the park entrance. It was well past midnight and a wall of clouds had blotted out the moon. He stopped alongside the maintenance shed and fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He was halfway to the station door when a vehicle peeled off the road and tore up the drive, momentarily blinding him with its headlights before the yard went black once more.
    â€œWho’s there?” Cubiak called out.
    A door slammed.
    â€œGet out of the truck.” Otto Johnson’s brusque voice cut through the dark.
    Cubiak flipped a switch on the yard pole and a cone of light fell over the gravel lot. From the shadows, the park superintendent pulled Barry Beck from the passenger seat of the pickup and dragged him center stage. The boy was pasty white and wobbly. A thick trail of something that looked like vomit ran down his shirt. His hands were streaked with something that looked like blood.
    â€œI found him like this near Turtle Bay. I think he’s in shock,” Johnson said.
    Barry stank of piss and fear. The two men maneuvered the boy through the back door, into the kitchen, and onto a chair.
    Cubiak handed