Grimshaw slid into one side of the booth and set his hat and a manila envelope on the seat. “Captain.”

“This . . .”

Hargreaves broke off and smiled at the waitress who hustled up to their table. He ordered the steak sandwich special and iced coffee. Grimshaw ordered the same to save time.

“This should have been an easy assignment,” Hargreaves said. “A human killed by one of the terra indigene? It’s unfortunate, but everything points to the man being seen as an intruder.”

“Should have been easy, but that death turned over a rock and a lot of nastiness has crawled out.” Grimshaw picked up the envelope and slid it across the table. “My report. Didn’t want to send it by e-mail.”

While Hargreaves read the report, Grimshaw stared out the window. Vicki DeVine should be safe in The Jumble. A sharpshooter might set up across the lake or on the water and try for her when she went for a swim, but it would be a suicide mission because he didn’t think anyone could get away fast enough once the shot was fired. But Julian? Someone could walk into Lettuce Reed and open fire. If the attack was timed right, he and Osgood wouldn’t be nearby, and no one else would take on an armed man.

No one human, anyway.

Hargreaves tucked the report back in the envelope and set the envelope under his own hat. “I heard that Swinn is taking personal time. So is Reynolds.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they can spend time in Sproing without having to explain themselves to their own captain.”

“If they break the law, I’ll toss their asses in a cell until you can arrange for them to be transferred to the Bristol lockup.”

Hargreaves smiled again when the waitress brought their meals. The smile faded as soon as she walked away. “It was easy enough to request Swinn’s and Reynolds’s transcripts from the police academy. Both men attended the academy in Hubbney, but not at the same time; there is almost a decade between them in age. Finding out about the other men . . .” Shrugging, he picked up his sandwich and took a big bite.

“If this does have its roots in some kind of club or organization that these men joined while they were at school, there’s no way to tell if you’re asking for help from someone who might be part of the scheme,” Grimshaw said. The steak sandwich looked good, but he didn’t have much appetite.

“I made a roundabout inquiry into the other men—where they went to school, that sort of thing,” Hargreaves said. “The request will reach an agent in the governor’s Investigative Task Force.”

“Who might have a special tie clip.”

“Doubt it. The agent is Governor Hannigan’s nephew and is trusted by the terra indigene. If anyone can make inquiries without sounding any alarms, it’s him. In the meantime . . .”

“I’ll maintain order in a town that is so small its main street doesn’t have a single stoplight and yet has been as much trouble as a tavern brawl on a Watersday night.” Grimshaw bit into his sandwich. Which would be worse: being responsible for a friend’s survival and possibly failing or someday picking up a newspaper and reading about Julian Farrow’s murder?

No contest. Being nearby was the only way to succeed.

Hargreaves drank half his iced coffee. “I’ll apologize for sticking you with this assignment if that makes you feel better. But, Wayne? Consider what might be happening in Sproing right now if someone connected to Swinn and the rest of them had answered that call for assistance instead of you.”

CHAPTER 35

Them

Sunsday, Juin 20

Useless, incompetent dickheads. How could so many of them screw up something so easy and get killed on top of it?

“The bitch is still there, still in control of our asset,” he told the other three men. He didn’t look at the dick his cousin had married—the fool who had tossed the property away in the first place. Once they had control of the property, he would find a way to cut the asshole out of the deal. And wouldn’t his cousin bust the fool’s balls over that?

Served her right for not choosing someone who was top tier.

“What are we going to do?” the oldest man asked.

“What we should have done in the first place.” He smiled. “Take care of it ourselves.”

CHAPTER 36

Vicki

Watersday, Juin 24

It rained for two days. All the green things needed the rain, and even the rain barrels that collected water from the downspouts had been close to empty. So while I didn’t complain—not out loud, anyway—the initial storm taught me how isolated I would have been at the main house if I’d been on my own. Which I wasn’t, but I can’t say with any honesty that wet Panther or wet Bear smells any better than wet dog.

When the storm rolled in across the lake on Thaisday evening, I’d been at the renovated cabins, giving the two unoccupied ones a quick dust and vacuum and helping Aggie change the sheets on her bed. We gathered up the sheets and towels and stuffed them into large carry sacks. Then I saw the flash of lightning and heard the boom of thunder.

We went out on Aggie’s porch.

“The Elementals are playing,” Aggie said. She stepped closer to me. “Or they’re angry about something.”

Flash. Boom.

“What makes you think the Elementals are doing this? It’s just a storm.”

“Thunder and Lightning are running together.”

Flash. Boom!

Aggie looked toward Silence Lodge, which was hidden behind a wall of rain making its way across the mile-wide lake. “And Ilya Sanguinati says if you don’t leave for your house now, you should plan to stay in the cabins here until the storm quiets.”

“How long will that take?”

She shrugged.

There wasn’t any food in the unoccupied cabins, and I wasn’t sure if Aggie had anything stored—or if what she had was something I, being human, would want to eat for any reason short of desperation.

Flash. Boom. That spear of lightning struck the lake.

“I’m going to make a run for it.” I looked at Aggie, who carefully didn’t look at me. Where were her kin? Would they join her here to huddle on the porch, somewhat protected from the weather? Or did they already have their own shelters? “If you want to come with me, stuff a couple of changes of clothes in a bag, and do it fast. And remember to bring your toothbrush,” I shouted when she dashed into the cabin.

The storm seemed to stall over the lake for a few minutes—long enough for Aggie to pack and make sure the cabin’s windows were closed. She didn’t lock the door, and I didn’t comment. After all, if she wanted to let her kin have use of the cabin during the storm, I wasn’t going to be mean about it.

I had left the door of the screened porch unlatched, and I was glad because someone had kept the storm on a tight rein just long enough for us to reach the porch. Then it came thundering over The Jumble.

I unlocked the kitchen door and dumped the carry sacks. “Close the windows,” I said as I ran around the house doing exactly that. Not fast enough in some cases—the wind scattered papers in my office, knocked over a lamp in another room, and soaked the curtains in a couple of rooms.

Breathless, I ran back to the kitchen and pulled out the sheets and towels, handing the hand towel and facecloth to Aggie. “These need to be washed anyway, so let’s use them to wipe up any water on the windowsills and floor.”

She didn’t ask questions, didn’t indicate if this was a familiar human behavior or a new experience.

Flash! BOOM!

The weatherman on the TV news had talked about a storm coming in from the west that could be fierce enough to cause some flooding and close roads. Viewers had been warned to have emergency lanterns and food for a couple of days in case they were cut off from nearby towns. I had assumed the warning was for the farmers and vintners, but I suddenly realized the warning was also meant for someone like me. And I was glad that Aggie had chosen to join me at the main house.

When I returned to the porch to see if I’d left anything that could be damaged by water, I found a wet Cougar and equally wet Conan waiting for me by the kitchen door. They were in their furry forms and each carried a sack that I assumed contained some human clothes.