by Anne Bishop
“I’ll take those.” I reached for the bunch of carrots. The open fridge door blocked him on one side and the kitchen table created a barrier behind him. Short of running me down to make his escape, there was nowhere for the carrot thief to go.
My hand closed on the carrots. His ears went straight out from his head, like little handlebars. I had a momentary crazy thought of grabbing the ears and saying vroom-vroom, but he still had clompy feet and I was still wearing sandals. After a brief tug-and-pull, I ended up with the carrots and he ended up with the green bits—which he dropped on the floor before following me to the counter beside the sink.
I washed one carrot and prepped it as if he were a human guest. As I cut up the carrot, I said casually, “I don’t know if your person lets you have carrots.”
Vigorous head bobbing, as if to say of course he was allowed to have carrots.
“You might be allergic to them.”
Equally vigorous head shakes. Or maybe he was fluffing his mane as a prelude to flirting with me.
I fed him one of the carrot chunks and said, “Let’s go outside.”
I shut the fridge door, thinking hard as the pony and I walked out. I had a hand towel attached to the fridge’s handle, so he could have pulled on that to open the door. And the screen door into the kitchen had a handle, so he could have pushed it down and then pulled on it to open that door. But the porch’s screen door had a different kind of lock and latch, and there was no way a pony could get that one open.
“Caw!”
Unless he had an accomplice.
I studied the crow—or Crow—happily splashing in the birdbath. Could have been Aggie; I didn’t see her in her Crow form often enough to be sure I could identify her in a lineup. Didn’t matter. The pony had wanted to come in and someone had helped him. Why? No idea. Okay, I had an idea about why he had wanted to come in, but how would he have known about the carrots?
I also didn’t know why a strip of the porch floor was wet, just like the floor from the kitchen door to the fridge was wet.
Every few yards I stopped and fed the pony another chunk of carrot. We continued that way until we arrived at the beach. Feeding him the last bit of carrot, I slipped off my sandals and dashed across the already hot sand to the water, intending to stand in the shallows for a few minutes before going back to wipe up the kitchen floor and get on with preparations for my part of this party.
The pony followed me into the water, and we both stood knee-deep in water that was refreshingly cool. Then the water began swirling around me, like a friendly animal circling my legs. There was no natural reason for it to do that all of a sudden, and the motion was causing the sand to shift under my feet.
Before I could become more than mildly alarmed, the Lady of the Lake rose out of the water to my left and said, “You shouldn’t tease Miss Vicki after she gave you a carrot.”
The swirling stopped. I looked to my right. The pony had disappeared.
“He’s curious,” she said, “but he won’t hurt you.”
I heard the slight emphasis on “you.” “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to tell you that Ineke and I are hosting a beach party this afternoon, so there will be a few humans who will be swimming and using the beach. Maybe even taking a walk farther up the beach.”
“These are friends?”
“Well, this group of people are friends. If this party is a success, Ineke and I will offer more trail ride beach parties to her paying guests and mine.”
“Why offer parties to humans who are not friends?”
“They will be guests—humans who pay to stay in the cabins for a few days and spend time swimming in the lake.”
“This is important, having humans who pay?”
“The money I earn from renting out the cabins will help me take care of The Jumble.” And provide me with food and clothes and other essentials, but I figured The Jumble would be of more interest to her.
After a moment’s consideration, she nodded. “I will tell the others. They may want to observe, but I will tell them to keep their distance from your guests.”
Who wanted to observe?
“What happened to the pony?”
She laughed. “Whirlpool? He’s around.”
She sank into the water until only a vaguely human head and chest showed. Then she leaped high, her human-shaped torso becoming a column of water below the hips—becoming an arching prism of colors as she dove back into the lake.
I waited a minute, then headed back to the house.
Whirlpool. Really? I thought about the water swirling around my legs and decided it was better to think of something else before a party that had swimming as part of the activities. Like, who were the others who wanted to observe us? And why would the Lady tell them to keep their distance?
“Miss Vicki!”
I stopped and waited for Aggie, who came running up the path from the lakeside cabins to the main house.
“Did you let the pony into the house?” I asked when she reached me.
“Can I help you with your party? I’ve never been to a human party and—” Aggie stopped. Stared at me. “Pony?” She looked toward the lake, then focused on me again. “Pony?” She leaned toward me and whispered loudly, “One of them?”
Not knowing who they were, I couldn’t answer that. “Maybe. His name is Whirlpool.”
“Don’t let him near your bathtubs.”
Well, that sounded ominous—and made me deliriously happy that I preferred taking showers.
“Okay. But if you didn’t let him into the house, please tell your pals not to help him get inside until we establish some ground rules for taking things out of the fridge.”
“But you said the food in the kitchen was for all the guests,” Aggie pointed out.
I could have pointed out in turn that, technically, Whirlpool wasn’t a guest, but I had a feeling that broadening my definition of “guest” was right up there with “don’t smack a Panther on the head” as a basic rule of how to live with all my neighbors.
“Even so, standing in front of an open refrigerator and staring at the food is a human boy behavior that females everywhere should discourage. So Whirlpool should wait for someone to help him if he wants a treat. And, really, a cold treat might not be good for his tummy.”
Was a pony like Whirlpool in any way like a regular pony or horse? Would the same gastric rules apply? Something to ask Hector when he came over this afternoon.
“Can I help?” Aggie asked again.
As my lodger, she was entitled to join the party, and enlisting her help might encourage the rest of the Crowgard to prove they had good manners. Or not. It was worth a try. “Yes, you can help.” I opened the porch’s screen door. “The first thing we need to do is wipe up the water on these floors.”
CHAPTER 41
Grimshaw
Thaisday, Juin 29
The horse called Buster studied Grimshaw. Grimshaw studied the horse. Horace said that a big rider needed a big horse. Grimshaw wasn’t sure he needed anything this big, but there were a limited number of horses available for this trail ride so he had to take what he was given.
As he moved to Buster’s side to mount, he said quietly, “I may be off duty, but I’m still carrying.”
Buster’s response to that warning was to produce a copious amount of urine that Grimshaw swore had been aimed at his shoes before he skipped back a step.
When no one commented on this byplay, he gathered the reins and prepared to mount, grumbling, “Someday we’ll have a vehicle that will be able to think for itself and get its passengers wherever they want to go.”
“We already have such a thing,” Hector replied, smiling as he gave Buster a pointed look. “Although, to be fair, our thinking vehicle doesn’t always take you where you want to go.”
“Great.”
It wasn�
��t feeling competitive—well, not much anyway—that made him glad Julian’s horse also looked like a plodder so he wasn’t the only one riding a horse that might as well have a sign pinned to its tail that read, MY RIDER IS A STUPID BEGINNER. I’LL HANDLE THIS.
Or maybe it was just because Paige Xavier was riding this pretty mare named Blackie who pranced and flirted and tossed her head. A little like Paige herself, since she also enjoyed a little harmless flirtation, her blue eyes often filled with gentle mischief, especially when she talked to Officer Osgood. But Grimshaw felt better about her pretty mare when Horace mentioned that Blackie was Paige’s horse and that she boarded the mare at the livery since it was just down the road from the boardinghouse.
Paige kept the horses to an active walk that allowed them to cover some distance but also allowed the riders to look around. Cultivated land, swaths of land full of grass and wildflowers, and woodland. He wasn’t an expert, but the vineyard they rode past looked well tended. And well watched, he noted as he studied the hawks. Or were those Hawks? Even when one was perched on a fence post so that you could take a good look at it and judge the size, you couldn’t really tell if it was one of the terra indigene watching you. He figured news about the trail ride beach party had spread and anything that was trailing them was one of the Others.
“Keep a firm hand on Buster,” Hector called. “He’s been to a few of the wine-tasting trail rides and we’re coming up on . . .”
The familiar trail, Grimshaw concluded when Buster suddenly veered toward a wide track between rows of grapevines. Grimshaw reined in the horse and tried to turn him to follow the rest of the party, but Buster aimed himself toward the track and planted his feet. Clearly, if he wasn’t allowed to go down this track, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Then a Coyote dashed in front of him, startling the horse enough that, with Hector’s help, Grimshaw finally turned the stubborn beast and continued on the trail toward The Jumble.
“Still want a vehicle that can think for itself?” Hector asked, laughing, before he dropped back to the end of the line.
Every time Buster thought about testing rider and rules, the Coyote showed up at the side of the trail. Grimshaw didn’t think one Coyote was a real threat to a horse, but maybe Buster believed the one Coyote he could see meant there were many he couldn’t see and cooperating with a human was his best chance of seeing his stall again.
They crossed the two-lane road that ran from the southern end of Lake Silence up to the crossroads leading to Sproing. As he guided Buster, Grimshaw noticed a small—and new—sign that read, JUMBLE TRAIL RIDE.
Woods. Trickles of water that might have been offshoots of Mill Creek or runoff from the rain. Grimshaw was beginning to enjoy the ride when the bridle path suddenly ran along plowed land that was being worked by a dozen . . . creatures.
He glanced at Paige when she reined in, looking startled and a little scared. Clearly this wasn’t an expected part of the tour. But after a moment, Paige rallied, even if her tour guide voice was a little shaky. “This is The Jumble’s kitchen garden. Many of the individuals who reside on this land are helping Miss Vicki to provide a variety of fresh food for her guests.”
What Grimshaw saw were rough human forms—beings who, unlike Aggie Crowgard, would never be able to pass for human for an instant. Based on the shapes of their heads and the patches of fur covering their limbs and torsos, there were Coyotes and Foxes, as well as Crows and Hawks. And was that a Bobcat? He’d have to ask Vicki DeVine if any of the cabins were nearby. Were these terra indigene squatters? Did Vicki know about them? Did she know they were planting the garden? Maybe that was something to ask Ilya Sanguinati. After all, there was nothing a human police officer could do about the Others, but if they were taking over The Jumble, someone should be told.
The bridle path forked beyond the garden. Paige looked from one fork to the other and frowned.
Well, Grimshaw thought as he watched their guide, we are the dry run for a paying trip.
The Other that looked like a cross between human and Bobcat walked toward them, stopping when the horses tossed their heads and snorted. Getting them used to creatures that looked human—at least to a horse—but didn’t smell human was probably another reason for this little party.
Paige gave the Bobcat a bright smile, as if seeing terra indigene working the garden wasn’t the least bit surprising. “We’re going to Miss Vicki’s house. Do you know which one . . . ?” She gestured to the trails.
The Bobcat stared at her. Finally he pointed toward the right-hand trail. “House that way.”
Rough voice. A Bobcat’s throat shaping human words. Was this a first attempt to speak to an actual human? Grimshaw kept his focus on the Bobcat and wished he could study the rest of the terra indigene working in the garden. Were they all like that, having learned human speech from others of their kind but were now attempting to communicate with actual humans?
What had Vicki DeVine gotten herself into?
As they rode past, he and Julian raised a hand in a casual salute. After a moment, the Bobcat copied the movement.
Grimshaw made a note to talk to Ilya Sanguinati about that too. If the Others were going to observe and copy humans who came on these trail rides, they needed to understand that the tourists who came for one of these parties might not be the best role models. Some would be, certainly. Other guests would not.
The bridle path hugged a tumble of boulders that looked like they’d been tossed there casually and settled together. He saw Julian look up as they approached, which made him scan the boulders closely. If Julian hadn’t sensed something, hadn’t given him a reason to look with a cop’s eyes, he wouldn’t have spotted Cougar crouched among the boulders, watching them. The Cat didn’t move, and the wind was in the wrong direction for the horses to catch his scent. Good thing too since one of the Panthergard could bring down a horse, and the horses knew it.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached The Jumble’s main house, rode around to the back, and dismounted. Vicki and Ineke came out of the house to greet them. Ineke looked confident, which was nothing new. Vicki looked nervy, but not meltdown anxious about putting on this shindig.
“Would everyone like to go down to the lake for a bit to cool off, or would you like some lunch first?” Vicki asked.
“Lake,” Julian said, smiling.
“I vote for the lake,” Paige said.
When Hector nodded, Grimshaw made it unanimous. He wanted to see the beach here, to say nothing of spending a little time in cool water.
Vicki led the men to the communal showers on one side of the kitchen. Four showerheads, no dividers. Reminded him of a locker room except it was decorated in blues and greens and soft grays. Plants provided lush greenery, giving the whole area an outdoor feel. But there were racks of folded towels and a long wooden bench where people could sit. There were pegs for clothes and little baskets for personal items. A good place for guests to rinse off and dress after an afternoon on the beach.
He didn’t pay attention to Julian as he stripped off his own clothes and pulled on swimming trunks, but he saw Hector’s face when the Simple Life man slipped into the room and looked at Julian.
There were scars. More than he’d expected from what he’d heard about the attack that had ended Julian’s career as a cop. He’d expected those scars to be deep and significant, but there were others that looked like they had been acquired in other life-threatening situations—and some that didn’t look old enough to have been acquired during Julian’s years on the force.
Julian met his eyes and shrugged into a white threadbare shirt to wear over the swim trunks, saying nothing. What was there to say? The scars spoke quite eloquently, and Grimshaw had a better understanding of why Julian Farrow had been looking for a quiet place to live.
Not wanting to make his friend self-conscious, Grimshaw looked away—and smiled when he saw Hector’s s
wim attire. The trunks snugly covered the man from waist to knees, and the tank top was long enough to cover the crotch, probably for additional modesty.
“Is that traditional?” he asked.
“It is,” Hector replied.
They took the provided beach towels and went outside to find the three women studying a small white pony who was grazing on the lawn.
“Where did he come from?” Grimshaw asked.
“I haven’t seen him before,” Hector replied.
Ineke moved closer to the pony, who stopped grazing to watch her. She pulled one of the sapphire streaks in her hair forward. She studied it, then studied the pony’s greenish blue mane and tail before turning to Paige and Vicki. “What do you think about that color on me?”
“Gods,” Julian muttered.
The women ignored him.
“I don’t think aquamarine would work for you,” Vicki said. “But on Paige . . . ?”
Paige pulled her braid over her shoulder and held it out for study. It was a soft red that had a glint of gold in sunlight.
“Yes,” Ineke said. “That color would look better on Paige.”
The men, and the pony, watched the women head for the water. Then Ineke turned and looked at them. “Are you guys coming?”
A man could get into all kinds of trouble answering a question that was phrased that way, but those tattoos on her thighs were intimidating enough to discourage any smart-ass remarks.
“On our way,” Grimshaw said.
Julian blew out a breath. “I’m so glad I didn’t know about those tattoos when I lived at the boardinghouse.”
“Told you.” Grimshaw headed for the water, looking forward to cooling off. Then he noticed the women had gone in up to their ankles and stopped—and seemed to be having an intense, whispered discussion. It was easier to figure out what the terra indigene were thinking than a human female, but he had the impression the discussion was about the knee-length cover-up Vicki was still wearing.
