MOON FALL by Tamara Thorne Page A

what real witches were, until the Christians came along and declared them evil servants of the devil-a devil the healers didn't even believe in.
    Kelly loved to think about that and the fact that Minerva made no effort to hide her contempt for the nuns. She understood her fears about the ghost, and she even warned Kelly to be careful around the nuns and never to talk about her visits to the cottage. Yeah, like I'd ever tell them anything.
    There was no smoke coming from the chimney, but the day was warm, and if Minerva was home, she wouldn't have built a fire yet. Kelly approached the door, which was made of heavy planks and had a black iron knocker at eye level. She rapped on it, but the sound seemed to be absorbed by the wood. The multi - paned kitchen window was open, so she leaned toward it and called Minerva's name.
    "Here I am."
    Startled, Kelly turned to see Minerva coming up the path. "Hi, Min - "
    There was a boy walking with her, carrying a basket covered with a gingham napkin. He was maybe thirteen, a year or so younger than her, and he was staring at her. She started to blush.
    Minerva smiled. ''This is Mark. Mark, this is Kelly. You have some common interests and I thought you'd like to meet."
    "How did you know I'd be here?'' Kelly asked.
    ''Minerva knows everything," said the boy.
    "Let's go inside, shall we? We'll have tea and these tarts Mark helped me make."
    "Ah, geez ... " Now the boy was blushing. "I just watched." he told Kelly.
    Tentatively, she returned his smile. He was six inches shorter than she, but she liked him anyway and suddenly wished she'd combed her hair.

 
    Eighteen
     
     
    John Lawson sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, glad to be out of the patrol car and back in the office. Scotty Carroll was out of town, on vacation until Monday, and Wyn Griffin had called in sick, so John had ended up working his ass off. Fortunately, Jeff Thurman, the pride of the night shift, had shown up early, bless him, and now, as the afternoon shadows lengthened. John stretched his neck to one side then the other, relieving his stiff muscles. He laced his fingers behind his head and relaxed for the first time that day. His boots could use a shine, he noted, but that was a job he secretly enjoyed. Though it couldn't compete with fly-fishing, it was therapeutic in its own way.
    Moonfall had been qu iet since the death of Lenore Ty nan a month ago. The reports had come back a few days after her body was recovered and there had been no real indications that s he had met with foul play. They had found bloody towels make shift bandages - at the bottom of the pond. plus a small amount of blood and the weapon - a single - edged razor blade - at the edge of the Mezzanine, dropped among the rocks. T y nan's fingerprints were on it After that, John had closed the case, and although he was relieved to be done with it, doubts continued to eat at him. First, there were the nuns, who had disobeyed his request and frantically cleaned the room. He and Cutter had talked it over several times, and he had eventually agr e ed with the doctor, whose Catholic schooling gave him a whiff of expertise, that they were, after all, dealing with nuns, who wouldn't be inclined to answer to any authority that wasn't from on high. Between that and the fact that the ever-unpleasant Mother Lucy claimed that Sisters Bibiana and Mary Oswald began cleaning up Tynan's blood-spattered room on their own while she was at the sheriff's office, it all pretty much made sense. Too, there had been her attempts to get tranquilizers and sleeping pills.
    Richard Dashwood was a thorn in his side. There was no logical basis for his misgivings; the man had more than cooperated with him and had shown him every courtesy, but dealing with him had been an unaccountably unnerving experience. Dashwood had given him the most logical reason for Tynan's trip to the Falls-she had been intent on committing suicide and hadn't been able to secure any