Back at their house the next day, Karl and Alice found themselves busy with chores. Karl remembered that at the studio, he had exchanged telephone numbers with Nate Anderson. He and Alice considered they and Sally could help at his meetings in the future, if Sally was happy to go with them.
With the sunny weather, Karl and Alice were about to put on shorts for their jobs around the garden. Then they felt the sore bite marks on their legs, and thought about their usual Sunday walk in the local park.
“We don’t anyone noticing our wounds, do we?” Karl pointed out. “Our neighbors gossip enough as it is.”
“Ah, no,” Alice admitted. “Oh well – its pants and jeans to cover up our legs for now, then. From what Sally’s told us, the bite marks should heal up after the infection makes us transform for the first time. It’s like an advanced living organism – it wants its hosts to be physically perfect.”
There was a strange look on Alice’s face. Karl asked her what was wrong. Alice’s reply made him feel uneasy.
“I’m not sure, Karl. When you were in Los Angeles, Sally seemed about to tell me something – but then she fell silent. It’s like there’s something she’s not telling us – even though we’ve found out about her secret as a werewolf. There’s something she’s scared to reveal.”
Due to their list of tasks to do, it wasn’t until the evening that they rang the cell phone number that Carly had provided. They told her that – along with themselves - Sally was willing to meet with Carly and her werewolf friends.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! You could meet us here at my place – or perhaps somewhere halfway? A suitable bar or restaurant? Next Saturday evening fine by you guys?” Carly asked Karl gleefully. Hearing which town Carly lived in, Karl suggested a bar that he knew of, in a town halfway between them. Carly noted down the address. “Great! See you next Saturday evening, at seven!” she gushed.
“Okay… We’ll be there.” Karl ended the call. Moments later, there was a knock at the front door. “Now who on earth would call on a Sunday evening?” he asked aloud.
The visitor was a thin black man in his mid-thirties with a boyish face. He was well-spoken, but dressed in a threadbare suit and a battered-looking fedora.
“Mr Hurtz, Miss Pierce? I’m a private investigator. May I come in?” He displayed his I.D. to Alice.
“Um… Okay.” Alice’s heart missed a few beats, wondering why a P.I. would call. Leading him to their lounge, and making him an iced tea, Alice and Karl sat together on their sofa, facing their latest visitor as he sat opposite them and opened up his suitcase.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see your name on your I.D…,” Karl declared.
“It read Sammy…Cornetto.” Alice smiled.
Sammy looked sheepish. “If you must know, my dad was British and he came over to this country before I was born, to be a P.I. He wanted to change his surname by deed poll to Magnum – but the authorities wouldn’t allow him to. So…, so he changed it to his second favorite type of ice cream. One day I’ll get round to picking a surname for meself!”
Alice pressed a hand against her mouth, to stop herself from giggling.
“Look… If your visit is about Sally Yeller, the local police know where she is located – and they are sworn to secrecy, as are we,” Karl began.
“I am here because of Sally Yeller – and I came to you, because the police wouldn’t give me the answers I wanted.” The P.I. sipped his tea. “I’m being hired by the son of Sven Mortensen to solve his death, which happened a year ago in Illinois. The police put it down to an animal attack – but given the official disclosure of werewolves, six months ago… Well, let’s say that the authorities are re-examining a lot of closed cases of killings – and they don’t have time to cover them all. So that’s where I fit in. I want to speak to Sally Yeller, since she and Sven were friends. She might be able to fill me in on some details that I’m missing.”
“You…don’t think that she killed him, do you?” Alice momentarily took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes.
“I don’t know. I can’t rule out that possibility. I’m also trying to track down Sven’s girlfriend, one Roxanne Dahmer, who’s been missing since Mr Mortensen’s death. Here’s a photo of Ms Dahmer – have you ever seen her?” Cornetto passed a picture to Karl and Alice. It showed a young woman with jet-black hair and sharp grey eyes posing for the camera.
Both Karl and Alice shook their heads. “Sally has never mentioned either of these people,” Alice added, her green eyes narrowed. She passed the photo back to Cornetto, and as she leaned across Alice paused, sniffing his hand. “Cat… You own a cat, Mr Cornetto?”
He frowned. “Why, yes I do. Thought I washed my hands before leaving the house. Maybe you’ve got a strong sense of smell, Miss Pierce. Why, bless you…”
Alice had sneezed. She fished out her handkerchief and blew into it. “Sorry… I’m allergic to cats. Not to dogs though, thankfully...”
Their visitor quickly finished his tea. “Okay… I’ll be leaving. Here’s my card. Please get Sally to call me…”
After they closed the front door, Karl turned to Alice. “His aftershave was strong…,” he grumbled.
“Um… Karl. Maybe it wasn’t. I think our noses are already starting to become more sensitive,” Alice pondered. “Our bodies might still reject the condition, though – going on the evidence I’ve read up on.”
* * *
Back in his car, Sammy Cornetto considered his next move. What he hadn’t told Karl and Alice was that his investigations so far had uncovered several attacks on livestock – plus the deaths of two other people – all carried out during the full moon nights within the last six-eleven months. Since the ‘werewolf incident’ involving Sally Yeller, the fatal attacks on both livestock and humans were continuing – with two more people dead. Sammy had become convinced that the same werewolf was responsible. For two particular reasons.
All of the victims had been torn apart with a savagery that was extreme, even for a werewolf – with the latest killing of a man being confirmed as a werewolf kill by the DNA results taken. And the dating of the killings revealed a trail of death – one that was leading from Illinois towards this Colorado town. And if the information went public, that would make bad publicity for the American werewolf population…
Sammy checked on the silver bullets in his pistol, and then slammed the case shut – his face grim. He intended to see this job through to the end.