Hidden Moon (Nightcreature 7)

"If you didn't wear the stupid things," Grace muttered, "you wouldn't ruin them. This isn't Atlanta. "

I glanced at Grace's tan slacks and equally tan blouse, complete with a stylish Lake Bluff Sheriff's Department patch.

"Don't say it," she warned.

"Say what?"

"That someone in an outfit like this has no business giving fashion advice. "

"Okay. " I faced front. "I won't say it. "

Grace gave me a long look over the top of her sunglasses; then she just drove.

I'd returned to Lake Bluff three weeks ago for my father's funeral. He'd only been fifty-five, and while he'd never watched his weight, or his intake of cigarettes and whiskey, his death had still been a shock. That I'd agreed to remain and fulfill the rest of his term as mayor had been an even bigger shock, yet here I was.

I stared out the window as we left town and headed onto the highway that led to Lunar Lake. The present incarnation of the town had sprouted on a hill a few miles from the lake - hence its name. No matter where you stood in Lake Bluff, the view was incandescent.

The majority of the population - just under five thousand souls - made their living in the shops, restaurants, and small, quaint hostels that lined the main streets. A goodly portion of that living came to us during our yearly Full Mo

on Festival.

People traveled from miles around to enjoy the weeklong celebration, which culminated on the day and night of August's full moon with a parade, picnic, and fireworks. We were expecting a huge turnout this year, since a rare total lunar eclipse would take place that night.

Each year two to four lunar eclipses occurred, but only during a small percentage of them would the Earth totally cut off the sun's light from the moon.

As far as I knew, the Full Moon Festival had never coincided with such an event. Therefore not only would we be hosting the usual summer tourists, but also stargazers - amateur and professional - would arrive to observe nature's performance. Since many of the scheduled events took place at the lake, I understood Grace's concern about the Gypsies.

We wound down the two-lane highway - paved with asphalt, surrounded by gravel - into the valley where Lunar Lake gleamed.

In between the rich evergreen of the trees, the sun sparked golden shards off the clear surface. On the other side of the valley, the mountains rose toward a sky the same shade as the lake.

"So" - I turned away from the sight - "do you get a lot of Gypsy caravans through here these days?"

Grace pulled onto the hard-packed dirt trail that led to the lake. "Not a one. "

"Are there any Gypsies left?"

"I think they went extinct about the same time as the Indians. "

"More sarcasm," I said. "Goody. "

Her lips twitched, but she didn't crack a smile. She so rarely did. "Gypsies are everywhere, Claire. Most people just don't notice them. "

We came around the curve in the road, and Grace slammed on the brakes. For an instant I thought we'd traveled back in time - Romania in the 1700s perhaps?

I don't know what I'd expected to find. Tents? Hippie throwbacks? A homeless convention? I had definitely not expected to see a jumble of horse-drawn wagons and a crowd of brightly dressed. . . Gypsies.

"Well, you said there were still Gypsies," I murmured.

Grace glared at me, or at least I thought she glared. I couldn't see her eyes past the tough-cop sunglasses.

As soon as we'd come into view, everyone stilled. When Grace and I climbed out of the squad car, they stared at us as keenly as we stared at them.

They appeared as if they'd escaped from the Disney version of Hunchback of Notre Dame. The men wore black pants and colorful blousy shirts; the women, long rainbow-hued skirts and white peasant-style blouses with scarves covering their heads. Gold bracelets, beaded chains, and hoop earrings sparkled everywhere.

Several wagons were fitted with bars, and animals paced inside, though the conveyances were too far away, the forest too thick and shadowed, to determine any species. The horses

that drew the wagons were huge - Clydesdales maybe, though they didn't resemble the Budweiser crew, except in size. These were dappled gray instead of brown and upon closer inspection possessed broader chests and stockier rumps.