“Problem?”
Ilya glanced at Boris, who usually filled the role of chauffeur, insisting that a human who had a driver had more status than one who drove himself. Ilya wasn’t sure that was true, but driving the car pleased Boris, so Ilya didn’t argue about it. Besides, a chauffeur was considered to be in a different social class than an attorney, making it easier for Boris to talk to shopkeepers and flirt with—and feed on—the women who worked at the diner or the Pizza Shack.
Of course, feeding in Sproing might be more difficult now that the Sanguinati had taken over the bank, forcing the citizens to acknowledge their presence. All the more reason to protect the places that provided shelter for transient humans—like The Jumble and Ineke Xavier’s boardinghouse.
“Yes, there is a problem,” Ilya replied. “The guests used words to harm Victoria, told lies to make her think they are something they are not.”
“Easy enough to eliminate problems,” Boris said blandly.
The thought of how to eliminate those problems made him hungry, so he pushed it aside—with regret. “Killing the first guests at The Jumble would not encourage other humans to visit.”
“It might, if we started a rumor that one of the cabins was haunted. We could even assist with the props—a chair that rocked on its own; a radio that turned on by itself; a blank pad of paper that had the beginning of a note written on the first page the next time a human walked by. Easy enough for one of us to do.”
Ilya huffed out a laugh. “We’ll save that possibility.” He sobered quickly, his anger returning full force. “For now, we need to know who these humans really are and where they’re from. We need to know if they’re the danger Julian Farrow sensed closing in on Victoria, or if these humans are like Detective Swinn and his men. Are they more hounds to chase and harry, or are they the hunters, the real threat to Victoria?”
“I could fetch the car,” Boris said. “We could drive over and pay a call.”
“No, I don’t want to announce our connection to The Jumble. Not yet.” His lips curved in a savage smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t cross the lake and wait for an opportunity to find out more about Victoria’s guests.”
CHAPTER 44
Vicki
Moonsday, Sumor 3
“If these are the kind of people I’ll have to deal with on a regular basis, I don’t think I’m cut out for this business,” I told Ineke as I sat in her kitchen instead of running the errands I had told my guests I needed to run. The truth? I hadn’t needed to run errands first thing that morning. I had needed to run away from my guests.
“They’re checking out tomorrow morning, so you’re almost done with them. You can hang on for one more day.” Ineke pushed a plate of double-fudge brownies closer to me. “Eat a few of these. You might end up in a chocolate coma and not wake up until it’s time for them to check out.”
“I agreed to pick up pastries and other appropriate breakfast foods since I can’t be bothered with serving meals, which is what I should be doing if I want to keep up the pretense that The Jumble is a vacation spot.”
“Is that a direct quote?”
“Close enough.” I reached for a brownie. Then I thought about the “helpful pointers” that had been made for the past three days every time I saw one of my guests. Well, screw them. If I was already a ginormous, slovenly glutton with a permanent bad hair day, I might as well stuff my face with food because, with my lack of looks, style, or fashion sense, a man who wasn’t desperate wouldn’t give me the time of day let alone a screw. As if I wanted one! Yorick had cured me of that little fantasy, and now I knew the only good, romantic sex was found in romance books.
I bit into the brownie and chewed furiously, struggling against the tears stinging my eyes. Then I noticed the way Ineke stared at me.
I swallowed, forcing the bite of brownie down a tight throat.
“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