“No, I never think assault is funny. Which is why I will write up the report against Ms. Xavier—just as soon as I determine if I’m also writing up a report against Mr. Dane for sexual assault.”

He walked out of the dining room, leaving them sputtering.

CHAPTER 46

Vicki

Moonsday, Sumor 3

“It was a stupid and impulsive thing to do, and it’s my fault, so you can’t blame poor Maxwell for trying to rescue a small critter,” I said as soon as Officer Grimshaw walked into the kitchen.

Even only wearing the khaki trousers and a white undershirt, he still looked intimidating and official—especially now that I was having trouble holding on to my mad—and intriguing because he also wore a round gold medal on a chain, a medal that looked like the ones sold at the Universal Temples as an acknowledgment of a person’s guardian spirit. Somehow I hadn’t thought of Grimshaw as a spiritual man.

Yorick and I had attended the neighborhood Universal Temple while we were married for the same reason we’d gone to parties or other social events that were attended by people he claimed to despise—to be seen so that another checkmark would be made in the proper column. He’d scoffed at having any material reminder of the gods and guardian spirits who were supposed to watch over humans.

I should ask Ineke if there was a guardian spirit who looked out for innkeepers of all sorts, including caretakers of terra indigene settlements.

Grimshaw didn’t respond to my opening confession. He just stared out the kitchen door to where Osgood and Paige were slowly walking across the lawn to a bench under one of the big maple trees. Then he sat at the table and leaned toward Ineke.

“Does Paige need to see a doctor?” he asked. He looked at Dominique, who was standing at the counter. “Do you?”

Dominique shook her head, and Ineke said, “If either of them had needed a doctor because of him, he wouldn’t have been curled up on my floor like a cooked shrimp.”

She didn’t say what would have happened, but I didn’t think Grimshaw had forgotten about the “I Bury Trouble” tattoo on her thigh. I sure hadn’t.

Maybe I didn’t want to ask Ineke about the compost she used in her kitchen garden to make the vegetables grow so well.

“Do you want some breakfast, Officer Grimshaw?” Dominique asked.

He shook his head. “Just coffee, if it’s convenient.”

She poured him a cup, then went outside to join Paige and Osgood.

“What happened?” He held up a hand. “Not just now in the dining room. What has happened since the Danes arrived using an alias? And, damn it, Ineke, you have two cops in the house. Why didn’t you say something about Dane’s behavior?”

Ineke shrugged. “We’ve dealt with men like him before.”

I thought about the vacations Yorick and I had taken. I thought about the look on the faces of the young women who had worked in the hotels or resorts. I thought about how I’d believed for so long that there was no connection between the poor service we received and the way those women looked at him—and the blend of pity and resentment aimed at me.

“If I’d known your guest was Yorick, I would have warned you,” I said quietly.

“I know,” Ineke replied. Then she smiled. “I don’t think Mr. Dane was prepared to get head butted by Maxwell—or have him trying to dig through the pants to reach the wiggly.”

“I think it was when Maxwell got his teeth around the zipper—and maybe a bit more—that . . .”

“Stop,” Grimshaw said.

I’d forgotten about him. Which wasn’t easy to do since he was sitting right there. Although he did look a wee bit green.

“If Dane presses charges, you’ll press charges, and if he drops the assault charges, you’ll do the same?”

Ineke studied him. “Are you asking or telling?”

“Asking.”

“I won’t file an official complaint against him as long as he does the same.”

After living in Sproing these past few months, I knew what that meant. Ineke didn’t have to file an official complaint because, by now, all the people who worked in service businesses had already heard about Yorick’s wandering hands and his view that there was nothing wrong with “trying it on” to see if “no” really meant “yes.” Once word spread that Mr. Yates was actually one of the Danes, there wouldn’t be a girl in the village Yorick could even look at without a father or older brother blocking his view.

Ineke might be one of the odd Xaviers who ran a boardinghouse, but she had considerable influence within a certain segment of the village’s population—and as Grimshaw had pointed out, she had the village’s two cops rooming with her right now.

And while I would never, ever, ever say this when there was any possibility of Grimshaw hearing me, it occurred to me that if I quietly pointed out Yorick to the Sproingers as well as the Crows, he wouldn’t be able to sneak off to meet anyone for any reason without someone—or something—paying attention.

CHAPTER 47

Grimshaw

Moonsday, Sumor 3

Grimshaw parked his cruiser in the space next to the black luxury sedan. He got out and nodded to the man standing in front of the sedan, wearing a chauffeur’s hat. He knew Ilya Sanguinati usually had a driver, but this was the first time that individual was making a point of being seen.

Was it a coincidence that the point was being made today, or was it a deliberate message?

The Sanguinati had controlled this village from behind the scenes for who knew how many generations. Now they weren’t being subtle about the businesses and property they owned. Some of that might be due to the upheaval last summer, when someone somewhere had made the decision to show the humans living on the continent of Thaisia that there were fewer human places than they had wanted to believe, and none of those places were safe. Here in Sproing, the trouble at The Jumble and the pressure on Vicki DeVine—and the Others’ interest in her—had been the tipping point when it came to the Sanguinati’s decision to come out of the shadows. When the terra indigene not only controlled all the natural resources but also openly controlled things like banks and commerce, arrogance was an indulgence humans could not afford.

Which made whatever was going on here even more dangerous.

“Is Mr. Sanguinati in his office?” Grimshaw asked the driver.

“He is.” The vampire’s voice was stiffly polite and offered nothing.

“Thanks.” Grimshaw opened the glass door that led to the second floor and went halfway up the stairs before he stopped and pulled out his mobile phone to make a call.

“Lettuce Reed.”

“Julian, it’s Wayne. Can you close up for a few minutes?”

“I’m not officially open yet. You’re at the station?”

“Going up to Ilya Sanguinati’s office. I’d like your input.” He waited for Julian’s usual protest about not being on the police force anymore.

“Does this have something to do with what I sensed when we played the Murder game?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll be right over.”

Grimshaw waited at the top of the stairs. When Julian joined him, he knocked on the door that didn’t have a company name before turning the knob and going in.

The small receptionist’s desk was bare of everything but a notepad, a pen, and a telephone. It looked old and ornate and in pristine condition, making Grimshaw wonder when the furnishings had been moved into this office—and how anyone had gotten the furniture up the narrow flight of stairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases created a partial wall that divided the reception area from what he assumed was a private office.

“Come in, gentlemen,” Ilya Sanguinati said.

No surprise that Ilya had known who had entered his space. The terra indigene could communicate with one another over distances, and the driver would have told him who was climbing the stairs for a meeting.

Grimshaw walked to the opening that served as a doorway and stopped, surprised at the lush plants that filled the credenza beneath the windows overlooking Main Street. The desk in this room was twice the size of the other and was also an antique, but it had a monitor and keyboard on one side and a telephone and trays for paperwork on the other side.