The Beast of Barcroft Read Online Free

thing would be on top of him before he could pivot. He remembered something about making yourself appear larger when you stumble upon a predator—standing on tiptoe, waving your arms, and shouting. But was that for a bear? Ben decided against any sudden moves, but tried to subtly puff up his chest.
    The cat cocked its head.
    They continued to regard each other. Ben wondered if he was supposed to make direct eye contact. He doubted it, but he could not help himself, the creature was so mesmerizing. When it moved its head, its eyes shone the color of Madeleine’s porch light, an autumnal glow. Despite himself, Ben conceded the creature was magnificent. He was nearly hypnotized by those eyes and its sleek form, when, in one fluid motion, the beast halved the distance between them again. Ben could smell the cat then, a heavy musk, oppressive and sweet with rot. Without thinking, Ben took a step back. The cat allowed this, then sniffed the air between them.
    It pinned its ears back and bared its teeth. It emitted a high-pitched growl from deep inside, like the whine of an engine burning up. Its graceful, liquid form quivered. Ben’s flesh followed and erupted in gooseflesh. He waited for the pounce.
    The cat broke off its stare and trotted back to the fence. It leapt over it and, just as effortlessly, collected its prey before disappearing into the woods.

Chapter 2
    S UNDAY, N OVEMBER 9
    Ben’s adrenaline had flushed by the time the officer arrived. Her name tag read CUSHING in block letters. She looked to be a few years younger than Ben, in a uniform that was all black and resembled a flight suit, complemented by a bulletproof vest and a thick belt of deadly accoutrements. She had nice features, but they appeared stretched by a ponytail pulled back so severely it looked to Ben as if she had tried to yank her femininity out through the back of her head. In another situation, he thought he might find her attractive, but it required more imagination and energy than he could spare at the moment.
    “Thirty minutes,” he said. “I lit Chinese poppers on the Fourth of July and you guys were here by the time one string stopped popping.”
    She lifted her gaze from her notepad to him. Her expression was strained, all but her mouth. It was an even line that betrayed nothing. Even the ponytail was not enough to pull it one way or the other.
    “I’m here now, sir.”
    Ben suddenly pictured how he must look—disheveled, agitated. Tweaked. Then he pictured Bucky in a heap in the street, broken, neck lolled back. Bucky, who deserved better.
    “Just read me what you have.”
    “Lost dog…tan greyhound…answers to Bucky…last seen on 3rd Street…”
    “Jesus H. Christ.”
    “Sir?”
    “Can you pay attention for one goddamn second? Do I need to request someone older?” He knew it was a cheap shot. He didn’t care.
    She closed the notepad and fit it into a pouch, then smiled. “Sir, I’m trying to be patient, but this really isn’t a police matter. But I’ve collected the pertinent information, and now I’ll be on my way. I hope you find your dog.”
    She turned to her cruiser.
    “The dog is dead. I watched it die.”
    “A cougar, right?”
    “Yes. Or a mountain lion. I think they’re the same thing, but whatever it was snapped my dog’s neck right in my backyard! Right in front of me!”
    “Okay. Anything else?”
    He wanted to scream. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath. “Look, Officer Cushing, my father was career law enforcement and I wouldn’t waste your time with a bullshit call. I know that when dispatch made the call for a lost pet, you probably rolled your eyes, but you were closest. So now you’re here, taking my information, but really you’re dying to get back in your cruiser and to the next call, which you hope will be bigger. You’re alone, so I know you have to be both ‘good cop’ and ‘bad cop,’ but if I could speak to ‘good cop’ for just a moment, I would like