by Anne Bishop
“Yes, there is a problem,” Ilya replied. “The guests used words to harm Victoria, told lies to make her think they are something they are not.”
“Easy enough to eliminate problems,” Boris said blandly.
The thought of how to eliminate those problems made him hungry, so he pushed it aside—with regret. “Killing the first guests at The Jumble would not encourage other humans to visit.”
“It might, if we started a rumor that one of the cabins was haunted. We could even assist with the props—a chair that rocked on its own; a radio that turned on by itself; a blank pad of paper that had the beginning of a note written on the first page the next time a human walked by. Easy enough for one of us to do.”
Ilya huffed out a laugh. “We’ll save that possibility.” He sobered quickly, his anger returning full force. “For now, we need to know who these humans really are and where they’re from. We need to know if they’re the danger Julian Farrow sensed closing in on Victoria, or if these humans are like Detective Swinn and his men. Are they more hounds to chase and harry, or are they the hunters, the real threat to Victoria?”
“I could fetch the car,” Boris said. “We could drive over and pay a call.”
“No, I don’t want to announce our connection to The Jumble. Not yet.” His lips curved in a savage smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t cross the lake and wait for an opportunity to find out more about Victoria’s guests.”
CHAPTER 44
Vicki
Moonsday, Sumor 3
“If these are the kind of people I’ll have to deal with on a regular basis, I don’t think I’m cut out for this business,” I told Ineke as I sat in her kitchen instead of running the errands I had told my guests I needed to run. The truth? I hadn’t needed to run errands first thing that morning. I had needed to run away from my guests.
“They’re checking out tomorrow morning, so you’re almost done with them. You can hang on for one more day.” Ineke pushed a plate of double-fudge brownies closer to me. “Eat a few of these. You might end up in a chocolate coma and not wake up until it’s time for them to check out.”
“I agreed to pick up pastries and other appropriate breakfast foods since I can’t be bothered with serving meals, which is what I should be doing if I want to keep up the pretense that The Jumble is a vacation spot.”
“Is that a direct quote?”
“Close enough.” I reached for a brownie. Then I thought about the “helpful pointers” that had been made for the past three days every time I saw one of my guests. Well, screw them. If I was already a ginormous, slovenly glutton with a permanent bad hair day, I might as well stuff my face with food because, with my lack of looks, style, or fashion sense, a man who wasn’t desperate wouldn’t give me the time of day let alone a screw. As if I wanted one! Yorick had cured me of that little fantasy, and now I knew the only good, romantic sex was found in romance books.
I bit into the brownie and chewed furiously, struggling against the tears stinging my eyes. Then I noticed the way Ineke stared at me.
I swallowed, forcing the bite of brownie down a tight throat.
“How much of that did I say out loud?”
I never found out how much I’d said because Dominique and Maxwell walked into the kitchen from outdoors at the same moment Paige slammed into the kitchen, a plate full of food held between her shaking hands.
“He said the eggs are cold and rubbery. He told me to take his plate away and he would make do with something else. Then he said—” She choked and would have dropped the plate if Dominique hadn’t grabbed it and set it on the table. “He said he wouldn’t mention the eggs or the inferior service he’d received so far if I was nice to him. And then he—”
“Sweetie, he’s a terrible person,” Dominique said, guiding Paige to a chair. “We agreed yesterday that you shouldn’t go in by yourself if he was the only one in the dining room.” She looked at me. “Grabby hands.”
I didn’t remember setting the brownie down, but I wasn’t holding it when I pushed away from the table. “That’s awful! Ineke . . .” I stopped and watched Ineke calmly remove a large pair of shears from one of the kitchen drawers.
“Would you like to come with me while I explain a few things to Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Yates?”
I didn’t know what to do about my own guests—they weren’t attacking anyone but me, after all, and words weren’t a weapon you could report to the police—but I would stand with Ineke to put a stop to her girls being harassed by someone who probably would argue that grabbing a girl’s ass was a form of flirtation and the girl was overreacting and just trying to stir up trouble.
Ineke and I walked into the dining room, followed by Maxwell, who whined because he knew something was very wrong with his family but didn’t know what to do.
“Mr. Yates,” Ineke said at the same time a thin, dark-haired woman who looked like she would kill for a candy bar pushed past us and entered the dining room.
I recognized her. I recognized him too, the blond-haired, blue-eyed man who had more of a paunch than he’d been carrying a few months ago. “Oh gods, you have got to be kidding.” I turned to Ineke. “That isn’t Daniel Yates. That’s my ex-husband, Yorick Dane, the second Mrs. Dane, and the Vigorous Appendage.”
“Shit,” Ineke snarled.
Maxwell zipped around the room, then started talking to us in that growly, barky, yip-yip way he used when conversing with humans, clearly wanting some kind of answer.
“Can’t you shut that thing up?” Mrs. Dane said, further endearing herself to the whole Xavier family.
“Vicki named three and he can only find two,” Ineke said.
“Well, if that’s what Maxwell is asking about . . .” I pointed at Yorick’s crotch and said, very loudly, “That’s where Mr. Grabby Hands is hiding the Vigorous Appendage!”
CHAPTER 45
Grimshaw
Moonsday, Sumor 3
Dressing for work and wondering what Ineke was serving for breakfast, Grimshaw suddenly cocked his head, his khaki short-sleeve shirt dangling from his fingers, and listened to voices loud enough to penetrate the door to his room on the second floor—male and female, punctuated by Maxwell barking.
When he heard the piercing scream, Grimshaw dropped his shirt, grabbed his service weapon, and rushed out of his room, colliding with Osgood. The baby cop wore nothing but a pair of cutoffs and still had beads of water on his chest from the shower, but he also had his weapon.
They ran down the stairs and followed the screams. Easy enough to see the action was in the dining room, but getting to it might be a problem. Vicki DeVine was trying to hold on to Maxwell, telling him it was all right, that Mr. Grabby Hands hadn’t eaten the Vigorous Appendage; he’d just hidden it. The woman he couldn’t see but could hear yelling for someone to call an ambulance had to be Mrs. Yates, one of the new guests. And Ineke . . .
“What were you planning to do with the shears, Ineke?” he asked.
She turned toward him, a murderous look in her dark eyes. She raised the shears and focused on them. Open, close. Open, close.
“Nothing,” she said with a smile that made Grimshaw’s balls shrink and sweat trickle down his spine. “Maxwell took care of it.”
“Somebody call an ambulance!” Mrs. Yates screamed.
Grimshaw held out his left hand, reluctant to move too close to Ineke. She stared at him a moment too long before offering the shears. He quickly handed them off to Osgood and stepped into the dining room, putting the safety on before tucking his gun into the waistband of his trousers.
Mr. Yates was on the floor, holding his crotch and screaming. More like whimpering now. Then he saw Grimshaw and yelled, “That fucking dog attacked me! Shoot it!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Yorick,” Vicki snapped. “Maxwell didn’t attack you. He was trying to rescue the Vigorous Appendage.” She rubbe
d the border collie’s head. “Weren’t you, Maxwell? You just wanted to rescue the wiggly duckling from the grabby man.”
Oh gods.
Then . . . Grabby man? Yorick? That wasn’t the name he’d been given when they’d all had dinner here last night.
He thought about Vicki’s words and the look in Ineke’s eyes—and the way Paige had gone quiet at some point during the weekend. No flirting with Osgood. No teasing him. Not even a smile. As if she didn’t want to be noticed.
“Ms. DeVine, would you take Maxwell into the kitchen and wait for me there?” he asked.
“I really should be going. I’m supposed to . . .”
He gave her the “Don’t mess with me” stare.
Vicki stared back, her defiance lasting longer than he’d expected. Then she nodded. “We’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
“You too, Ms. Xavier.”
Ineke left the dining room without a word in protest, and that worried him. He took the shears from Osgood and said quietly, “Talk to Paige and Dominique. See if you can coax them into telling you what’s going on.”
Finally he turned to the Yateses. Or, more correctly, Mr. and Mrs. Dane. Yorick Dane had managed to get off the floor and collapse into a chair.
“You want to tell me what happened?” The wording sounded friendly, as if they had a choice.
“That beast attacked me!” Dane said. “It’s a danger to people and should be shot.”
“Well, Maxwell is protective of his people.”
“It’s the fault of Vicki DeVine,” Mrs. Dane said. “She’s the one who riled up the beast to attack my husband out of spite and jealousy. Just because we’re going to—”
“Constance.”
The word came out breathy, but Grimshaw heard the warning in Dane’s voice.
“What are you doing in Sproing?” he asked.
“We wanted to get away from the city,” Mrs. Dane said.
“There are resorts on the lakes closer to Hubb NE. Why here?” He kept his voice friendly.
“I have property here,” Dane said.
“You had property here,” Grimshaw corrected. “Unless you’ve purchased something the residents haven’t heard about yet—which is unlikely—the only property that had formerly belonged to the Dane family is The Jumble. And that now belongs to Vicki DeVine.”
“It still belongs to the Dane family, since Vicki didn’t fulfill the terms of the agreement,” Dane corrected in turn. “But I had hoped to discuss this with her quietly, like adults. Avoid embarrassing her in front of her neighbors, since I’m sure she didn’t make anyone privy to the arrangement.”
“Except her attorney.” Grimshaw smiled. “I’m sure he’s reviewed all the documents that pertain to transfer of ownership.”
Dane went pale. Or paler, since he hadn’t regained any color yet.
Didn’t know about the attorney, did you? Which means you probably don’t know who represents Ms. Victoria DeVine.
“I’ll contact Dr. Wallace and ask him to make a house call.”
“I want that woman charged with assault,” Dane snapped.
Grimshaw nodded. “Assault with a border collie. Not something I put in a report every day.”
“You think this is funny?” Mrs. Dane demanded.
“No, I never think assault is funny. Which is why I will write up the report against Ms. Xavier—just as soon as I determine if I’m also writing up a report against Mr. Dane for sexual assault.”
He walked out of the dining room, leaving them sputtering.
CHAPTER 46
Vicki
Moonsday, Sumor 3
“It was a stupid and impulsive thing to do, and it’s my fault, so you can’t blame poor Maxwell for trying to rescue a small critter,” I said as soon as Officer Grimshaw walked into the kitchen.
Even only wearing the khaki trousers and a white undershirt, he still looked intimidating and official—especially now that I was having trouble holding on to my mad—and intriguing because he also wore a round gold medal on a chain, a medal that looked like the ones sold at the Universal Temples as an acknowledgment of a person’s guardian spirit. Somehow I hadn’t thought of Grimshaw as a spiritual man.
Yorick and I had attended the neighborhood Universal Temple while we were married for the same reason we’d gone to parties or other social events that were attended by people he claimed to despise—to be seen so that another checkmark would be made in the proper column. He’d scoffed at having any material reminder of the gods and guardian spirits who were supposed to watch over humans.
I should ask Ineke if there was a guardian spirit who looked out for innkeepers of all sorts, including caretakers of terra indigene settlements.
Grimshaw didn’t respond to my opening confession. He just stared out the kitchen door to where Osgood and Paige were slowly walking across the lawn to a bench under one of the big maple trees. Then he sat at the table and leaned toward Ineke.
“Does Paige need to see a doctor?” he asked. He looked at Dominique, who was standing at the counter. “Do you?”
Dominique shook her head, and Ineke said, “If either of them had needed a doctor because of him, he wouldn’t have been curled up on my floor like a cooked shrimp.”
She didn’t say what would have happened, but I didn’t think Grimshaw had forgotten about the “I Bury Trouble” tattoo on her thigh. I sure hadn’t.
Maybe I didn’t want to ask Ineke about the compost she used in her kitchen garden to make the vegetables grow so well.
“Do you want some breakfast, Officer Grimshaw?” Dominique asked.
He shook his head. “Just coffee, if it’s convenient.”
She poured him a cup, then went outside to join Paige and Osgood.
“What happened?” He held up a hand. “Not just now in the dining room. What has happened since the Danes arrived using an alias? And, damn it, Ineke, you have two cops in the house. Why didn’t you say something about Dane’s behavior?”
Ineke shrugged. “We’ve dealt with men like him before.”
I thought about the vacations Yorick and I had taken. I thought about the look on the faces of the young women who had worked in the hotels or resorts. I thought about how I’d believed for so long that there was no connection between the poor service we received and the way those women looked at him—and the blend of pity and resentment aimed at me.
“If I’d known your guest was Yorick, I would have warned you,” I said quietly.
“I know,” Ineke replied. Then she smiled. “I don’t think Mr. Dane was prepared to get head butted by Maxwell—or have him trying to dig through the pants to reach the wiggly.”
“I think it was when Maxwell got his teeth around the zipper—and maybe a bit more—that . . .”
“Stop,” Grimshaw said.
I’d forgotten about him. Which wasn’t easy to do since he was sitting right there. Although he did look a wee bit green.
“If Dane presses charges, you’ll press charges, and if he drops the assault charges, you’ll do the same?”
Ineke studied him. “Are you asking or telling?”
“Asking.”
“I won’t file an official complaint against him as long as he does the same.”
After living in Sproing these past few months, I knew what that meant. Ineke didn’t have to file an official complaint because, by now, all the people who worked in service businesses had already heard about Yorick’s wandering hands and his view that there was nothing wrong with “trying it on” to see if “no” really meant “yes.” Once word spread that Mr. Yates was actually one of the Danes, there wouldn’t be a girl in the village Yorick could even look at without a father or older brother blocking his view.
Ineke might be one of the odd Xaviers who ran a boardinghouse, but she had considerable influence within a certain
segment of the village’s population—and as Grimshaw had pointed out, she had the village’s two cops rooming with her right now.
And while I would never, ever, ever say this when there was any possibility of Grimshaw hearing me, it occurred to me that if I quietly pointed out Yorick to the Sproingers as well as the Crows, he wouldn’t be able to sneak off to meet anyone for any reason without someone—or something—paying attention.
CHAPTER 47
Grimshaw
Moonsday, Sumor 3
Grimshaw parked his cruiser in the space next to the black luxury sedan. He got out and nodded to the man standing in front of the sedan, wearing a chauffeur’s hat. He knew Ilya Sanguinati usually had a driver, but this was the first time that individual was making a point of being seen.
Was it a coincidence that the point was being made today, or was it a deliberate message?
The Sanguinati had controlled this village from behind the scenes for who knew how many generations. Now they weren’t being subtle about the businesses and property they owned. Some of that might be due to the upheaval last summer, when someone somewhere had made the decision to show the humans living on the continent of Thaisia that there were fewer human places than they had wanted to believe, and none of those places were safe. Here in Sproing, the trouble at The Jumble and the pressure on Vicki DeVine—and the Others’ interest in her—had been the tipping point when it came to the Sanguinati’s decision to come out of the shadows. When the terra indigene not only controlled all the natural resources but also openly controlled things like banks and commerce, arrogance was an indulgence humans could not afford.
Which made whatever was going on here even more dangerous.
“Is Mr. Sanguinati in his office?” Grimshaw asked the driver.
