“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.