“Don’t let him near your bathtubs.”

Well, that sounded ominous—and made me deliriously happy that I preferred taking showers.

“Okay. But if you didn’t let him into the house, please tell your pals not to help him get inside until we establish some ground rules for taking things out of the fridge.”

“But you said the food in the kitchen was for all the guests,” Aggie pointed out.

I could have pointed out in turn that, technically, Whirlpool wasn’t a guest, but I had a feeling that broadening my definition of “guest” was right up there with “don’t smack a Panther on the head” as a basic rule of how to live with all my neighbors.

“Even so, standing in front of an open refrigerator and staring at the food is a human boy behavior that females everywhere should discourage. So Whirlpool should wait for someone to help him if he wants a treat. And, really, a cold treat might not be good for his tummy.”

Was a pony like Whirlpool in any way like a regular pony or horse? Would the same gastric rules apply? Something to ask Hector when he came over this afternoon.

“Can I help?” Aggie asked again.

As my lodger, she was entitled to join the party, and enlisting her help might encourage the rest of the Crowgard to prove they had good manners. Or not. It was worth a try. “Yes, you can help.” I opened the porch’s screen door. “The first thing we need to do is wipe up the water on these floors.”

CHAPTER 41

Grimshaw

Thaisday, Juin 29

The horse called Buster studied Grimshaw. Grimshaw studied the horse. Horace said that a big rider needed a big horse. Grimshaw wasn’t sure he needed anything this big, but there were a limited number of horses available for this trail ride so he had to take what he was given.

As he moved to Buster’s side to mount, he said quietly, “I may be off duty, but I’m still carrying.”

Buster’s response to that warning was to produce a copious amount of urine that Grimshaw swore had been aimed at his shoes before he skipped back a step.

When no one commented on this byplay, he gathered the reins and prepared to mount, grumbling, “Someday we’ll have a vehicle that will be able to think for itself and get its passengers wherever they want to go.”

“We already have such a thing,” Hector replied, smiling as he gave Buster a pointed look. “Although, to be fair, our thinking vehicle doesn’t always take you where you want to go.”

“Great.”

It wasn’t feeling competitive—well, not much anyway—that made him glad Julian’s horse also looked like a plodder so he wasn’t the only one riding a horse that might as well have a sign pinned to its tail that read, MY RIDER IS A STUPID BEGINNER. I’LL HANDLE THIS.

Or maybe it was just because Paige Xavier was riding this pretty mare named Blackie who pranced and flirted and tossed her head. A little like Paige herself, since she also enjoyed a little harmless flirtation, her blue eyes often filled with gentle mischief, especially when she talked to Officer Osgood. But Grimshaw felt better about her pretty mare when Horace mentioned that Blackie was Paige’s horse and that she boarded the mare at the livery since it was just down the road from the boardinghouse.

Paige kept the horses to an active walk that allowed them to cover some distance but also allowed the riders to look around. Cultivated land, swaths of land full of grass and wildflowers, and woodland. He wasn’t an expert, but the vineyard they rode past looked well tended. And well watched, he noted as he studied the hawks. Or were those Hawks? Even when one was perched on a fence post so that you could take a good look at it and judge the size, you couldn’t really tell if it was one of the terra indigene watching you. He figured news about the trail ride beach party had spread and anything that was trailing them was one of the Others.

“Keep a firm hand on Buster,” Hector called. “He’s been to a few of the wine-tasting trail rides and we’re coming up on . . .”

The familiar trail, Grimshaw concluded when Buster suddenly veered toward a wide track between rows of grapevines. Grimshaw reined in the horse and tried to turn him to follow the rest of the party, but Buster aimed himself toward the track and planted his feet. Clearly, if he wasn’t allowed to go down this track, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then a Coyote dashed in front of him, startling the horse enough that, with Hector’s help, Grimshaw finally turned the stubborn beast and continued on the trail toward The Jumble.

“Still want a vehicle that can think for itself?” Hector asked, laughing, before he dropped back to the end of the line.

Every time Buster thought about testing rider and rules, the Coyote showed up at the side of the trail. Grimshaw didn’t think one Coyote was a real threat to a horse, but maybe Buster believed the one Coyote he could see meant there were many he couldn’t see and cooperating with a human was his best chance of seeing his stall again.

They crossed the two-lane road that ran from the southern end of Lake Silence up to the crossroads leading to Sproing. As he guided Buster, Grimshaw noticed a small—and new—sign that read, JUMBLE TRAIL RIDE.

Woods. Trickles of water that might have been offshoots of Mill Creek or runoff from the rain. Grimshaw was beginning to enjoy the ride when the bridle path suddenly ran along plowed land that was being worked by a dozen . . . creatures.

He glanced at Paige when she reined in, looking startled and a little scared. Clearly this wasn’t an expected part of the tour. But after a moment, Paige rallied, even if her tour guide voice was a little shaky. “This is The Jumble’s kitchen garden. Many of the individuals who reside on this land are helping Miss Vicki to provide a variety of fresh food for her guests.”

What Grimshaw saw were rough human forms—beings who, unlike Aggie Crowgard, would never be able to pass for human for an instant. Based on the shapes of their heads and the patches of fur covering their limbs and torsos, there were Coyotes and Foxes, as well as Crows and Hawks. And was that a Bobcat? He’d have to ask Vicki DeVine if any of the cabins were nearby. Were these terra indigene squatters? Did Vicki know about them? Did she know they were planting the garden? Maybe that was something to ask Ilya Sanguinati. After all, there was nothing a human police officer could do about the Others, but if they were taking over The Jumble, someone should be told.

The bridle path forked beyond the garden. Paige looked from one fork to the other and frowned.

Well, Grimshaw thought as he watched their guide, we are the dry run for a paying trip.

The Other that looked like a cross between human and Bobcat walked toward them, stopping when the horses tossed their heads and snorted. Getting them used to creatures that looked human—at least to a horse—but didn’t smell human was probably another reason for this little party.

Paige gave the Bobcat a bright smile, as if seeing terra indigene working the garden wasn’t the least bit surprising. “We’re going to Miss Vicki’s house. Do you know which one . . . ?” She gestured to the trails.

The Bobcat stared at her. Finally he pointed toward the right-hand trail. “House that way.”

Rough voice. A Bobcat’s throat shaping human words. Was this a first attempt to speak to an actual human? Grimshaw kept his focus on the Bobcat and wished he could study the rest of the terra indigene working in the garden. Were they all like that, having learned human speech from others of their kind but were now attempting to communicate with actual humans?

What had Vicki DeVine gotten herself into?

As they rode past, he and Julian raised a hand in a casual salute. After a moment, the Bobcat copied the movement.

Grimshaw made a note to talk to Ilya Sanguinati about that too. If the Others were going to observe and copy humans who came on these trail rides, they needed to understand that the tourists who came for one of these parties might not be the best role models. Some would be, certainly. Other guests would not.

The bridle path hugged a tumble of boulders that looked like they’d been tossed there casually and settled together. He saw Julian look up as they approached, which made him scan the boulders closely. If Julian hadn’t sensed something, hadn’t given him a reason to look with a cop’s eyes, he wouldn’t have spotted Cougar crouched among the boulders, watching them. The Cat didn’t move, and the wind was in the wrong direction for the horses to catch his scent. Good thing too since one of the Panthergard could bring down a horse, and the horses knew it.