by Anne Bishop
“You like her.”
Julian gave Grimshaw a sharp look. “I usually like people I call friends. That’s why they’re friends.”
“Have you asked her out?” She wasn’t his type—too nervy for one thing—but Julian had always had his own rules when it came to relationships.
“What are you, the dating police?” Julian demanded.
He grinned. “Just asking.”
Julian looked away, making Grimshaw wonder about scars you couldn’t see—and wonder if he’d just scraped across one of those scars.
“Julian?”
“My impression is that Vicki DeVine had a train wreck of a marriage and a car wreck of a divorce, and there are some deep wounds that haven’t healed yet.”
Grimshaw thought about her reaction to him, the way she had flinched a couple of times as if expecting a blow of some kind. “She has trouble being around men?” Owning a resort was a bad choice of profession if that was the case.
“Friends are fine. I didn’t hear of her having problems with any of the contractors who did work at The Jumble. But when it gets too personal? The anxiety attack that follows can’t be described as mild.” Julian hesitated. “Vicki boarded with Ineke Xavier while The Jumble was being restored. One night one of the other guests tried some moves. I don’t know any details except Ineke kicked the man to the curb and called the doctor to deal with Vicki’s reaction.”
“Crap,” Grimshaw said softly. Nervy didn’t begin to describe someone like that.
“We meet up for lunch sometimes or go to a movie with other friends. As long as no one calls it a date, with whatever physical demands that word conjures up for her, she’s fine.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“She’s my friend. I’m okay with that.” Julian blew out a breath. “There is a rumor that the dead man was connected to a developer who is going to build a significant lakeside resort.”
An abrupt change of subject. Grimshaw took the hint. “You figure someone is looking at The Jumble for that?”
“That’s the only land available, and it isn’t really available.”
“Unless a dead body shows up on the property and the investigation scares off the current owner.” He thought for a moment. “What about the other side of the lake? Could someone be looking at that?”
Julian huffed out a laugh. “Silence Lodge is the home of the local group of Sanguinati. No one with brains, or any desire to live, would approach the vampires about developing land around the lake.”
“What if I needed to talk to one of them?”
“Call your landlords. I believe they have the other office above the police station.”
“Crap,” Grimshaw said. “How many buildings do the Sanguinati own in this village?”
“More than the mayor or anyone else realizes. But that’s just a guess.”
Too much to think about, and he needed some time and quiet to think. “Anyplace around here to stay? Didn’t see an inn or motel.”
“Ineke Xavier’s boardinghouse, if you’re looking for short term. It’s clean and the food is good. She can be a bit . . . difficult . . . at times, but it’s your best choice. For longer term, there are some cabins along Mill Creek, which has a water mill that generates the electricity for the cabins. Come to think of it, I think it’s the source of electricity for The Jumble too. The cabins are basic one-bedroom, but furniture can be included. I’m renting one of them and can’t complain.”
“Who owns the cabins?” But Grimshaw had a feeling he already knew.
“The residents of Silence Lodge. Don’t let paved streets and storefronts fool you, Wayne. This is the wild country, and all of us are prey.”
A lot to think about. “I guess I’d better go over to the boardinghouse and see if Ms. Xavier has a room to rent. How much do I owe you for the books?”
“Bring them back in decent shape and I can sell them to Vicki as good used books.” Julian smiled. “She’s building up a library for herself and for her potential guests, but she’s on a budget.”
It was tempting to ask if Julian knew that Victoria DeVine’s lodger was one of the Crowgard, but that could wait for another day.
“See you around, Julian.”
“Your business is just across the street from mine, so that’s likely.”
Following Julian’s directions, Grimshaw got in his car and drove to the boardinghouse.
Yeah. He had a lot to think about, regardless of what the Crime Investigation Unit uncovered.
Like, what was Julian Farrow really doing in a place like Sproing?
CHAPTER 6
Vicki
Sunsday, Juin 13
Ineke Xavier ran the boardinghouse in Sproing. She was a tall woman—at least compared to me—and wore black-framed glasses. What made her stand out was her hair. It was a dark brown that was almost black, streaked with bright burgundy and teal.
There had been a lot of rumors flying around Hubb NE last year about the terra indigene and some of their deadliest forms. One rumor was that there was a form of terra indigene that could kill with just a look and it could be recognized by its multicolored hair. So it was understandable that guests, when first seeing Ineke, might wonder what they were walking into. And, in truth, there were some who looked at Ineke and walked back out, preferring to stay in the camper park at the edge of town, renting a camper that didn’t have its own toilet instead of staying in a clean room at the boardinghouse—an en suite room if you were willing to pay extra for one of the boardinghouse’s deluxe suites.
Ineke was a good cook, but she wasn’t much interested in baking. She left that to Dominique, one of the two young women who were somehow related to her and also worked for her. So when she showed up at The Jumble as soon as she finished serving breakfast at the boardinghouse, set a large bag on my kitchen table, and pulled out tins of chocolate chip cookies, cinnamon muffins, double-fudge brownies, and pecan-caramel rolls, I didn’t need to be a blood prophet to know she wanted something.
“Is this a bribe?” I asked.
“Of course it’s a bribe.” She sounded insulted that I had to ask. “Do you think I would bring this many treats for anything less?”
Not when sugar and flour were still limited items that weren’t always available.
I selected a chocolate chip cookie from the tin and took a bite. Delicious. Wonderful. And I flashed to the memory of Yorick giving me that smile and a little finger shake whenever I wanted to enjoy a sweet. Not gorge, mind you, just have an end-of-the-meal sweet—a family tradition he insisted on, claiming that none of the members of his family had ever gotten fat by having a small sweet after dinner. But I still got that smile and finger shake at the end of every meal—or a mild scold about being wasteful when I turned down the sweet.
I pushed aside memories that still soured my enjoyment of food most of the time while triggering a need to stuff my face. Feeling rebellious, I took another bite of the cookie. “Why the bribe?”
“People need time to get away from routine and relax. Now more than ever. And the Finger Lakes region has always been a popular destination. But the businesses in Sproing need something more than the Sproingers to give people a reason to stay here for a long weekend instead of spending time at one of the other lakes. I’ve been thinking about ways to hook the tourists, and I have a proposal for you.” Ineke helped herself to a brownie. “I have an arrangement with the stable that adjoins the boardinghouse land.”
Horses for hire and boarding for privately owned animals. I used to love to ride when I was younger, but I hadn’t gone over to see about hiring a horse for an hour or two. Too much to do and not enough money for indulgences.
“Okay,” I said, just to show I was listening, because Ineke wasn’t someone you wanted to annoy. I had boarded with her while the repairs and upgrades were being done on The Jumble’s main house. She
usually gave her boarders a couple of prunes in the morning “to keep the plumbing clear,” and you didn’t get the rest of your breakfast until you ate them.
Feeding them to Ineke’s dog, Maxwell, who was a border collie with a touch of OCD when it came to locating and herding his people-sheep, was a no-no. Maxwell loved prunes but did not need to have his plumbing cleared, and the result of feeding him prunes was a messy eviction. Ineke was a lovely woman most of the time, but cross her and she wouldn’t hesitate to open a window and chuck your suitcase—and everything else you owned—onto the front lawn. And her aim was so good that at least half of what you owned landed in the dog’s diarrhea.
While I stayed with her, I ate my prunes and never, ever fed Maxwell table scraps of any kind.
“I thought the stable closed,” I said.
“Well, the previous owner was eaten, and the hands ran off to wherever people were running last year, but it was taken over shortly afterward by Horace and Hector Adams. They’re Simple Life folk. Cousins, I think.” She shrugged to indicate their actual relationship was none of her business. “They aren’t as strict about following Simple Life customs as some of their people, so they were willing to take over a business in a village that’s a mix of people and customs.”
“What does that mean? They use electricity for their appliances and lights but don’t own a television?”
“Pretty much. They have a radio, but only listen to the news in the morning and an hour of music at night. They have a telephone because they’re running a business but don’t have mobile phones. And they wear the traditional Simple Life style of clothes.”
Ineke knew more about who was doing what and where than anyone else in the village, including Jane Argyle, the postmistress, which was saying something. But while Jane might pass on gossip or a rumor indiscriminately, Ineke passed on information only if she thought it was something someone needed to know.
“Last fall, we offered guided trail rides around Sproing, visiting a couple of the boutique wineries in the area and giving visitors a chance to see some wildlife that wasn’t looking for lunch. Even after the Great Predation, there were people who wanted to get away from home for a day or two but didn’t want to travel very far.”
“People went to these wineries and sampled wines and then rode horses? Tall horses?”
“Dominique or Paige looked after the riders. Well, the horses mostly looked after the riders and knew enough to ignore the people on their backs and follow the girls. Anyway, I was thinking that, now that we’re into the summer months and the heat is coming on, maybe we could arrange a guided trail ride through The Jumble. There are plenty of bridle paths. We could start out at my place, ride for an hour or so, and end up at your place, where guests could enjoy a swim in the lake or just enjoy the quiet of your private beach. You’ve got that big screened porch across the back of the main house, so we would offer lunch there before my guests were guided back to the boardinghouse, passing the Milfords’ fruit stand on the way. I would supply the lunch—bringing enough for you and your lodgers—and would pay you twenty percent of the fee for the outing.”
“You’re charging for this?”
“Of course I’m charging. Hiring the horses and making the meal isn’t free. And access to your beach is part of the package, not something that can be had separately. Unless you decide to open the beach on your own, but if you do, you’d better charge enough for the privilege and have someone around who can enforce who gets in and who doesn’t or you’ll be overrun.”
“I’m not planning to make the beach available to anyone but my lodgers.” I’d had enough trouble convincing people that The Jumble, and its beach, was private property. I wasn’t going to encourage people to think otherwise. On the other hand, this sort of setup would bring in a little money. It might even bring a guest or two if someone wanted to spend time on the lake and had to rent one of my little cabins to do it.
“I’m willing to give it a try,” I said.
“I’ll be sure to put a disclaimer on the sign-up sheet, warning everyone that we aren’t responsible for any injuries or accidents that are a result of anyone upsetting the Lady of the Lake.” Ineke finished her brownie and licked the frosting off her fingers.
“The Lady of the Lake?”
Silence.
“No one told you about her?” Ineke finally asked.
I shook my head. “She’s terra indigene?”
Ineke nodded. “It’s one of the smaller Finger Lakes, being barely five miles long and less than a mile across, but Silence is one of the deepest. No one knows what the Lady is—people who might have seen her don’t live to tell about it.”
“Are you sure it’s not just a story? I’ve been swimming out there—well, taking a quick dip since the water isn’t warm enough yet to do more—and haven’t seen anything. Not even a ripple.”
“She’s out there.”
“Golly.”
“Let’s pick a couple of dates. Then I’ll talk to Horace and Hector to make sure we can rent the horses,” Ineke said.
I fetched my scheduling calendar and we chose a couple of days.
“I’m limiting it to six guests,” she said. “We may not get that many the first time out since my current boarders are police officers of one sort or another, but they shouldn’t be around much longer. If I don’t fill all the slots, I’ll open it up to Sproing residents, like the new owners of some of the stores. Julian Farrow is kind of dishy, don’t you think?” She looked at me and waggled her eyebrows.
He certainly was dishy, and I liked him a lot, liked talking to him about books. Except for Ineke, he was the only close friend I had in Sproing, but I didn’t want more than friendship from anyone who had a vigorous appendage, no matter how dishy he might be.
Shortly after coming to Sproing, I had read an article in an old magazine about “What Men Expect When They’re Dating.” It said men expected to have sex by the third date, which I found thoroughly intimidating because how could you know someone well enough in such a short amount of time to do something that intimate?
Anyway, I was staying at Ineke’s when another guest, who was there for only a night, suggested we walk outside and take a look at the moon. Julian had loaned me a book about astronomy and I had planned to go out to the back of the property that evening and see if I could identify a few constellations, so going out to look at the moon didn’t seem odd. And when the man hinted that a kiss or two would be a lovely way to end the evening . . . Well, that did seem a little pushy, but he’d been kind during dinner and had sounded interested in my opinions about a book we’d both read, and somehow the way he’d phrased the hint made it sound like everyone would think I was being mean and selfish if I said no after he’d been so kind to me during dinner. I didn’t want Ineke, or anyone else, thinking I was mean and selfish, so I thought, He’s only here for the night and only asking for a kiss. We’ll never reach third-date expectations. Why not see how it feels to kiss a man who isn’t Yorick? But I found out too late that he thought my agreeing to a kiss meant I had agreed to do a lot more, and when I pushed him away because he started to do more, he said I should be grateful anyone wanted to give me a fuck, and suddenly he sounded so much like Yorick that . . .
I don’t remember much after that except Maxwell barking and snapping at the man and Ineke yelling. Then I was back in my room, hugging Maxwell, and Dr. Wallace was talking to Ineke—and the man was gone.
Before that night, I had daydreamed, just a little, about Julian maybe someday becoming more than a friend. After that night . . . I wasn’t going to risk ruining the friendship I had in order to find out that wanting sex turned every man into a Yorick.
When I didn’t respond, Ineke patted my hand and pushed away from the kitchen table. I walked her to her car. She looked around, scanning the trees.
No sign of Aggie or any other Crow.
“The crime
investigators are at the boardinghouse, and not just as guests,” Ineke said. “The man who was killed was staying in one of my rooms. The investigators searched the room yesterday and they’re doing it again this morning. It seems they can’t find something they expected to find.”
“So they know who he is.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”
“I’m not so sure it’s good.” She sounded grim. “Listen, Vicki. I heard something that makes me think that they think the man knew you, was coming to see you.”
“I didn’t know him.” Okay, I hadn’t taken a good look at him since he had the missing eyeballs and I felt a bit squeamish. “I didn’t have an appointment with anyone, wasn’t expecting anyone.”
She studied me. “All the same, if the investigators want to have a chat with you, I’d be real careful about what I said—and I would think hard about having a lawyer present before saying anything to them.”
Ineke drove away, and I was left wondering where I would find a lawyer if I needed one.
As I went back to the house, I noticed the Crow on the ground near a tree. “Aggie?”
“Caw.”
A soft sound. A troubled sound.
Just how much had she heard?
* * *
• • •
Around noon, two unmarked cars drove up to the house and I wondered if I should have paid more attention to Ineke’s quiet warning and spent some time looking for a lawyer who would represent me if I needed one.
