“Staying with a friend. Is that what they call it these days?” That from one of the snooty women sitting in the booth.
Fred’s hands tightened on his cap. Gershwin Jones, who struck me as a gentle if flamboyant man, took a step closer to the booth.
Helen thumped my lunch order on the counter, startling everyone. Then she leaned toward me and whispered, “Best if you go before someone gets riled. I put the lunches on your tab.”
“Someone” meaning someone not human. Someone who might destroy the diner because a snooty customer took a verbal poke at me.
I thanked Helen, took the food, and hurried back to Lettuce Reed. When I entered the break room, Julian was on the phone.
“I’ll talk to him if you think it will help, but I didn’t see anything more than you did that day.” Julian hesitated. “Stirred up, but that’s been true for a couple of days. The current of fear is . . . more intense. Not dangerous, but you need to tell them something. Okay. Yeah.” He spotted me. “Have to go.”
I studied his pale face. “What happened at The Jumble? Why did Grimshaw close the public beach?”
“One of Dane’s idiot friends took a motorboat out on the lake, and the lake’s residents reacted as you might expect. Grimshaw closed the public beach as a precaution. Just until everyone calms down.”
I set our lunches on the counter next to the sink, no longer hungry. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t tried to turn The Jumble into a viable business.”
“By all the gods, Vicki, get over yourself,” Julian snapped.
He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d slapped my face. I thought Julian Farrow was my friend. I should have known better.
“He trained you to do that, didn’t he?” Julian said softly, staring at me. “He trained you to accept the blame whenever anything he did had consequences he didn’t like. Vicki . . . Vicki, look at yourself. You’re backed into a corner, trembling.”
Meltdown approaching. Had to stay strong long enough to get out of there.
“Vicki.” Julian held out a hand but didn’t come any closer. “Vicki, let me help you. Come over here and sit down.”
Couldn’t. Meltdown approaching. Hysteria. Weeping. Guilt for being so inadequate, followed by agreeing with everything he said because that was the only way the yelling would stop.
I was in a chair, crying, and Julian was on the phone again. “I need you here, now.”
Maybe Ineke would come. I could talk to Ineke. Maybe. Except she thought I was an interesting person capable of running a business, and I didn’t want her to find out the truth. I didn’t want her to know I’d been pretending, that I really wasn’t capable of doing anything.
It wasn’t Ineke who walked into the break room and handed me a box of tissues to clean the snot off my face. It was Ilya Sanguinati.
“Who was your physician in Hubb NE?” Ilya asked quietly.
“I don’t need medication.” I’d always been afraid when he suggested that.
“When who suggested it?” Ilya asked, making me think I’d said the words out loud. “I didn’t suggest it. Perhaps tea and whiskey? Isn’t that a drink humans find calming?”
“I don’t have the tea, but I have the whiskey,” Julian said. He leaned against the doorway. Blocked the doorway.
“Victoria? Who is this he you speak of?” Ilya asked.
He knew. We all knew. I had reacted to one man’s bit of temper as if he were someone else.
“I was interested in your X-rays.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“They document broken bones.” Ilya continued to look at me, quiet and benign.
Why did he think I would have broken bones?
Then I got it. “He never hit me. He threatened to sometimes when he was very angry, but Yorick never hit me.” Words had been his fist of choice. So not something I was going to tell my attorney, who might be sitting quietly to avoid upsetting me but was far from benign.
How did I end up surrounded by scary men? Ilya, Aiden, Conan, Cougar, even Grimshaw. Even Julian.
“Would you take credit for someone else’s achievement when you had nothing to do with that achievement?” Ilya asked.
“No.”
“Then don’t take credit for someone else’s mistakes. Yorick Dane and his friends were told they couldn’t bring heavy equipment into The Jumble. They were told motorboats were forbidden on the lake. They chose to ignore the rules. If you had been there, could you have stopped them? Would they have listened?”
“No,” I said.
“Since they wouldn’t have listened to you, I strongly suggest that you not accept guilt for actions you didn’t commit and could not have stopped.” Ilya stood up. “I still want the name of your former doctor. You can drop it off at my office on your way home.”
Ilya and Julian left the break room. Julian returned a minute later and sat down.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Julian rubbed a hand over his mouth. Then he sighed. “During the months when you were restoring The Jumble and teaching yourself how to run a business—how to run a resort—I thought you were a little nervous sometimes, especially around men. I figured you were emotionally burned by your divorce, and definitely gun-shy about dating, but you were getting on with your life. I never imagined you experienced panic attacks this severe.”
I felt sick with shame.
“It doesn’t take much, does it? Just the wrong phrase or the wrong smell or seeing the wrong person and it all comes back. The pain, the fear.” Julian tried to smile. “I can’t watch the cop and crime shows you enjoy so much. I never know when the wrong combination of things will be in the story, and then I’m back in that alley trying to get away from men who want to kill me, not sure if I can get up and find help before I bleed out. I triggered this in you today, and I’m the one who’s sorry. The last thing I want to do is sound like your ex.”
“You don’t. I’m not even sure what I heard.”
“I understand that.”
Sproing was such a marginal place there hadn’t been any police officers working out of the station here until Grimshaw showed up, temporarily reassigned. Had Sproing’s lack of crime been a relief to Julian, that the village could get along with calling the police in Bristol whenever there was trouble? What about now?
Had he closed his store today because he had needed to lock out all the trouble and turmoil?
“You’ve had some episodes recently, haven’t you? With all the police here investigating and the questions about the tie clippers . . . ?”
“I haven’t had any bad episodes since I bought the bookstore, not even when I had some unusual customers. But since I’ve been helping the police with these inquiries, I’ve had a few bad moments.”
“Does Grimshaw know?”
Julian shook his head. “And you’re not going to tell him.”
“You’re his friend. Don’t you think he should know what this is doing to you?”
“Vicki, if he knew, he wouldn’t ask for my help. And I have a feeling, a very strong feeling, that some lives will depend on my helping him.”
CHAPTER 68
Grimshaw
Firesday, Sumor 7
Grimshaw knocked on the back door of Lettuce Reed. When no one answered, he knocked again, louder. As he debated the wisdom of breaking down the door, he saw Vicki’s face on the other side of the glass and heard locks turning.
“Officer Grimshaw.”
He scanned her face. Puffy from a crying jag but no visible bruises.
Gods. He wasn’t answering a domestic call. At least, he hoped not. Abusive relationships didn’t always include sex. “I’d like to come in.” He knew how easily he could use his size and the uniform to intimidate someone, so he made an effort not to lean forward. As Julian had said, he needed to be the good cop.
“Sure,” Vicki said, stepping back to let him in. “I’m helping Julian inventory stock, and we’re having a late lunch. Would you like something to eat? We have plenty.”
“Thanks, I could use some food.” Nerves. Awfully close to the behavior he’d seen when Detective Swinn had tried to bring her in for questioning in the death of Franklin Cartwright.
He followed Vicki into the break room. Julian’s version of the Murder game wasn’t in sight, which was good. Julian, however, looked pale and rough. And having seen that particular kind of shadow in the eyes of men who had served in the wild country for a little too long, he understood some things about Julian—and cursed his friend for hiding the difficulties so well.
He’d known better than to throw Osgood, who had seen terra indigene kill other members of Swinn’s team, back into The Jumble. But he’d pulled Julian back into working with the police because he’d needed backup he could trust and he’d needed Julian’s knowledge of the people living here as well as the man’s investigative skills. He’d ignored Julian’s half-hearted attempts to back away from this tangle of deaths; he’d thought the reluctance was because of the way Julian had left the force. He hadn’t realized that by asking for help, he’d trapped his friend between feeling compelled to help and the need for self-preservation.
“Anything I should know?” he asked.
“Rough day,” Julian replied, his tone warning Grimshaw to drop the subject.
Vicki found another plate and set out the food. The amount wasn’t excessive, but Grimshaw figured neither she nor Julian had much of an appetite. He, on the other hand, was ravenous and felt grateful he didn’t have to venture into a public place to find something to eat.
“I’m going to be making a public announcement later this afternoon,” he said. “Have to explain about closing the beach and other things.”
“You hate making public announcements,” Julian said, almost smiling. “Can’t Captain Hargreaves handle that? Isn’t the Bristol station taking the lead?”
“He’ll be there,” Grimshaw replied sourly. “And Bristol is taking the lead. But I’m still stuck with the announcement. Anyway, we’re going to close off this block of Main Street to vehicular traffic a half an hour before the announcement, which will be done outside the police station.”
“You do recall that Main Street is the only way in or out of this village?”
“Yep.” That was the reason he was closing it down. There was the odd chance of a stranger driving through, either on purpose or by accident, and hitting one of the villagers gathered in the street for an announcement he figured wouldn’t take more than five minutes. “I might cause the first traffic jam in Sproing’s history.”
“How many vehicles constitutes a traffic jam?” Vicki asked.
“One percent of the population,” he replied promptly.
She blinked. “But . . . that would be three vehicles.”
“Yep.”
Julian took a bite of a sandwich and chewed slowly. “I don’t remember that rule of thumb.”
“That’s because I made it up.”
A stupid conversation, but Grimshaw saw the change in Julian, saw the moment his friend stepped back from some personal abyss.
“Is this the first time you caused a traffic jam?” Vicki asked, as if his causing trouble this afternoon was a given.
He wasn’t sure if that assumption was an insult, but she, too, was looking calmer so he’d run with it.
“No, I’ve done it a few times. The most memorable was a couple of years ago. I came across a young deer that had been hit by . . . well, probably a truck. It was across one lane of a two-lane road in the wild country, and the carcass was surrounded by crows.” Maybe not the best story to tell while they were eating. Then again, Vicki didn’t seem to notice. “Now, I couldn’t tell if they were crows or Crowgard, but I figured the latter since several of them ran toward my cruiser with their wings raised, as if trying to intimidate me. I pulled the cruiser across both lanes, put on the lights, and got out.”
“How many Crows?” Julian asked.
“A lot. They covered both lanes. I took some heavy gloves out of the trunk and approached the carcass, thinking to pull it over to the shoulder. Nothing doing. So I walked up ahead, getting my ankles pecked for my efforts, and I held up traffic for an hour before the Crows had eaten their fill and flown up into the nearby trees. Then I pulled the carcass over to the shoulder, got back in my cruiser, and I and the dozen cars who had waited drove away.”
“I wonder if the Crowgard would do things differently now,” Vicki said.
“How so?”
“Well, ever since Aggie moved into the cabin, she’s been coming over to watch the cop and crime shows with me, so I think she would recognize police cars and understand police officers are there to help. So maybe now you could explain why it would be safer to move the carcass to the side of the road where the Crowgard could feed without being hurt by passing cars.”
Grimshaw finished his share of the lunch. “Something to consider. At any rate, I wanted to give you a heads-up so you could get out before you’re blocked in. Not that I expect the announcement to take up much time.”
“Appreciate the heads-up,” Julian said.
He pushed away from the table. “Thanks for the meal.”
Julian walked him to the back door. “What time are you making the announcement?”
“Five o’clock.” Grimshaw studied his friend. The shadows in Julian’s eyes hadn’t disappeared. Not completely. “You should have told me.”
Julian didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “I had my own reasons for not telling you.”
“Are they still valid?”
“Yes, Wayne, they are.”
* * *
• • •
“It’s part of the job,” Captain Hargreaves said.
Standing in the police station, watching with his captain as a crowd gathered on the street, Grimshaw grunted. “I’m highway patrol. This isn’t part of my job description.”
“Now it is. Suck it up and do the job.”
Hargreaves sounded testy. Grimshaw could understand that. If he’d been the one dealing with Yorick Dane and his pals today, he’d be testy too.
Checking the clock on the wall, he adjusted his belt and walked outside, glad of Hargreaves’s support.
“Many of you already know there have been several fatal incidents at The Jumble. None of these incidents were human against human. The police are still investigating in order to understand what provoked the attacks.”
“Ask the Dane family,” a man in overalls shouted.
Grimshaw ignored him. “The latest incident involved two men who took a motorboat out on the lake, despite being told about the no-motor rule.” Lots of headshaking and muttering in the crowd. “The response to the motorboat was of sufficient force that I decided to close the public beach for a day or two. While I don’t believe anyone in Sproing is in danger of an unprovoked attack, I do believe allowing everyone to calm down is essential for public welfare. I’m in charge of this police station. Until that changes, I’m not taking chances with your lives.”
Murmurs of approval.
“When are you chucking Dane and his hoity-toity friends out of The Jumble so Miss Vicki can go back home and get all this straightened out?” Helen from Come and Get It asked.
He heard a couple of sharp female voices protesting Helen’s term for influential businessmen from Hubb NE, but mostly he heard rumblings of agreement. They wanted Yorick Dane out of The Jumble, out of Sproing, and far away from Lake Silence.
“That’s not my jurisdiction.” Before someone said the wrong thing and turned a crowd into a mob, Grimshaw held up a hand. “However, Ms. DeVine has an excellent attorney who is scrutinizing every document Mr. Dane presented.”
“Sanguinati.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah, he’ll sort things out.”
He didn’t recognize the voices, but he found the sentiment unsettling. When it came to choosing between businessmen like Yorick Dane and the Sanguinati, the majority of people in Sproing seemed to be voting for the vampires. Was that a change in allegiance, or had enough of the people here always been aware of who controlled their village from the shadows and had they just pretended to be clueless?
“The beach will remain closed tomorrow,” he said. “Barring any unforeseen circumstances, you should be able to resume water activities the day after.”
Of course, Ames Funeral Home was currently filled to capacity with unforeseen circumstances.
The crowd dispersed. Grimshaw breathed a sigh of relief. But when the people scattered to return to their jobs or head home, he saw another crowd had formed in front of the bookstore.
Sproingers filled the sidewalk in front of Lettuce Reed, climbing on each other to see into the windows or cling to the screen door. Had Julian put out a treat this morning? Or were they focused on the store for some other reason?
“What’s going on over there?” Hargreaves asked.
“Don’t know.” Before he could decide if it would be prudent to investigate, Gershwin Jones approached him. The big man studied the Sproingers, then looked at him.
“I have a feeling they’re going to come for you soon, and when they do, you need to pay attention.” Jones nodded to Hargreaves and walked away.
“What did he mean about them coming for you?” Hargreaves asked.
“I don’t know. But Gershwin Jones is an Intuit, so if he has a feeling about this, I’m going to pay attention.”
CHAPTER 69