The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery by Brandon Berntson (books under 200 pages .txt) 📗

had a young face but a deep, intelligent look in his light blue eyes.  Macky thought of rain clouds every time he saw him.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Fields?” Duke asked.

Frye looked confused.  “Is this linked to the other murder?  Do you have any leads?”

“Not for you, I don’t,” Duke said.

Frye gave an ingratiating smile.  “One of yours?”

Duke stared at Frye for a long time.  He wasn’t obligated to chat.  Whatever he said would be embellished for the local rag anyway.  Frye had enemies.  But it sold papers.

“What’s the scoop?” the reporter asked.

“A wild animal,” Macky said.  “Maybe.”

Frye raised his eyebrows.  “Rabies?”

Macky looked at Frye.  “Yeah.  Maybe the two of you are related.”

“Can’t you shoot it?  Put poison in the dog food or something?”

“We tried that,” Duke said.  “You didn’t go for it.”

Macky stood up and grinned.  “I like your style lately, Duke.”

“You got to make the most of the little things, Dev.  It’s putting people like Frye in place that give this job a silver lining.”

“Do I print something about a rabid dog?” Frye asked.  “That doesn’t sound very interesting.  Local Killer sounds much better.”

“The Innsport Gazette has turned to fiction to sell, Dev,” Duke said.  “What do you think of that?”

“They’re competing with Weird Tales Magazine.  They have to do something.”

“We got ourselves a war,” Newt said, “and I think the good guys are winning.”

“Is that why you brought Macky in, Duke?” Frye asked.

Duke shrugged.  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, come on!” Frye said, and smiled wide.  “You’re becoming a household name, Dev.  Dagon a few years ago, that Arkham business over the spring.  And now this.  Supernatural Sleuth is making the rounds.”

“Don’t call me Dev, Small-Frye,” Macky said.  “That’s for close acquaintances.  It’s Mr. Macky to you.”

“I got bills to pay, too, you know?” Frye said.

“Bribery or . . . bribery?” Macky said.

“Integrity, honor, and decency aren’t part of Fry’s vocab,” Duke said.  “Only embellishment, imagination, and greed.  Isn’t that what lights up your eyes, Frye?  You are a perfect product of the corrupt system.  Truth has no place where you stand.  Neither does integrity.”

“You don’t have to be insulting.”

“You have a price,” Macky said.  “Most people do.  You just wear yours for all to see.”

“Millie would be proud, Dev,” Newt said.

“I can add plenty to give you a bad name, Macky,” Frye told him.  “All three of you.  I got clout, you know?  I know the higher-ups.”

“Did the Captain and Mayor invite you on the cruise, too?” Macky asked.

“I’ll write something you won’t like.  You won’t like it at all.”

“My nerves are rattled,” Macky said.

“Cut it out, both of you,” Duke said.  “My head’s ringing with all the bantering.  And the ambulance is here.”

—

Macky looked at Frye W. Fields as his photographer, Elvis, snapped pictures.  Eventually, they both walked away.  In the alley, he noticed a figure standing in the entranceway of the laundromat.  It was looking at him.  Was it a figure, a human being, or something else?  It was tall, dark, and shadowy whatever it was.  Two luminescent eyes peered from a faceless smudge of black.

“Dev, you all right?” Duke asked.  He turned to where Macky was looking, then back at the P.I.  “Dev?  What are you looking at?”

Macky stared for a long time.  He blinked.  “Huh?  Sorry, Duke.  Lost in space.”

“Is it starting to wear on you?” Duke asked.  “I understand if it is.  It would me.”

“No.  I’m . . . fine.  Thought I saw something.”

A dreamlike quality entered his brain.  “Look, Duke, I’ll get back to you on this . . .”

“We’ll take it from here, Dev,” Duke said.  “I just wanted you to see it.”

Macky nodded.  “Yeah.  Thanks.  I’m going to check on Capshaw and see if he’s found anything.  I’m not sure what else I can do at the moment.”

“Be careful, huh?”

“You do the same.”  He tipped his hat to Duke and Newt and wandered off.

His spine was cold.  He looked back to where the figure had been.

It was gone.

—

He drove the coupe to the Natural History Museum, got out, and made his way to the entrance.  He hoped Millie wasn’t worried about him, not being at the office.  He should’ve left a note.

Deb wasn’t at the desk.  Nobody else was either.  It was just as well.

He took the elevator to the second floor, got off, made his way down the hall, and knocked on Capshaw’s door.

There was no answer.  The door was ajar.

Macky pushed the door open and stepped inside.  “Creighton?” he said.

The office was empty.  Macky looked for The Necronomicon.  He didn’t see it.  He looked along the shelves and filing cabinets.  He was invading the man’s privacy, but if he got caught, he’d explain himself.  He opened each drawer of Capshaw’s desk.  Papers, file folders, manillas, knick-knacks, various bric-a-brac.  No ancient book.  The bottom drawer of the desk was open.  A lock was hanging from it, but it was broken.  The drawer was hanging out of the desk about six inches.  He looked inside.  Nothing but a few file folders and some documents, parchment, even a scroll.

He stepped out of the office.

Nails clipped along the marble floor.

“Show yourself, and let’s get this over with,” he said.

A shadow emerged on the wall along the hallway, a green glow.  The shape was a large dog, the build of a Doberman: large ears, stubby tail, but bigger.

The beast took several steps, lowered its head, and paused.

Macky took several steps backwards.  Then turned and ran for the elevator.  He heard the thing coming after him, nails scrambling along the floor.  He looked behind him.

Was that a green glow in a cloud of fog?

Inside the elevator, he turned and