“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 rubbed 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.