Lake Silence

CHAPTER 22

Vicki

Thaisday, Juin 15

Sitting in The Jumble’s library with Ilya Sanguinati and Officer Grimshaw, I looked at the books I had shelved yesterday and had an epiphany. While I enjoyed reading thrillers, I didn’t want to be the girl tangled in the plot of one because I would have been the heroine’s best friend or the girl who had fallen for the hero—the girl he felt some affection for because she gave him sex while he was getting over the loss of his one true love. Those were the girls who ended up getting tossed in the wood chipper or left at the bottom of a deep, dry well full of spiders and millipedes—said well suddenly refilling, quite inconveniently, so that the girl would be found but not in time, especially if she was the passing love interest of the hero of the story. Those were also the girls who would be tied up in a cave and left to become the frame for a bat guano sculpture.

But even the epiphany didn’t stop me from snorting out a laugh when Officer Grimshaw floated his theory about the tie clips.

“You think Yorick belongs to a secret society? An organization with secret handshakes and code words? A society that, wanting to remain secret, identifies its members by a tie clip? Are you serious?”

Apparently he was. I looked at Ilya Sanguinati to see what he thought about Grimshaw’s theory. I don’t know if it was because he was a vampire or an attorney, but he had mastered the poker face.

“You think it’s possible,” I said to Ilya.

“It should be considered,” he replied. “It indicates a connection between Detective Swinn and your ex-husband.”

Grimshaw leaned toward me, his forearms resting on his thighs, his face full of concerned sincerity. “Think about it. You were married to the man for how many years? Did he belong to any clubs, go out to monthly meetings that were members only?” He picked up an evidence bag containing the tie clip and held it up. “Your ex-husband and at least one of the detectives in a CIU team had this exact tie clip. A Bristol CIU team should have taken the assignment when I reported the suspicious death of Franklin Cartwright on your property. But a team from Putney, led by Marmaduke Swinn, showed up instead.”

“The police in Putney have not concerned themselves with the citizens of Sproing until now,” Ilya Sanguinati said.

“Bristol has two CIU teams that are supposed to handle any suspicious deaths or other incidents in Bristol and the area within Bristol’s jurisdiction, which includes Lake Silence. Highway patrol out of Bristol is supposed to handle anything on the roads between Crystal Lake and Lake Silence, and that includes answering calls from Sproing.” Grimshaw’s expression hardened. “It was possible that both Bristol teams already had cases and couldn’t send anyone that day, but I checked with Captain Hargreaves and he told me a team had been available. Somehow Swinn heard about Cartwright and claimed jurisdiction, saying it was related to a crime he was already investigating. Since no one in Bristol wanted to fight with Swinn over going to Sproing, they let him have the case.”

“Geez,” I said, “what do you guys do? Play rock, paper, scissors to decide who has to take a call here?” I knew the police didn’t like coming to Sproing—and to be fair, they had good reason to feel that way—but being told you sometimes got protection from someone like Swinn because no one else wanted to come didn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy—or safe.

I don’t think I have a good poker face, because Grimshaw looked uncomfortable. Ilya Sanguinati’s poker face didn’t change, but I had the feeling he might have a few things to say to someone about how humans protected other humans.

“Right now, it doesn’t matter how Swinn got the case,” Grimshaw said. “What matters is why he wanted it.”

“That man, Franklin Cartwright,” Ilya said. “Did he have one of those tie clips?”

“I don’t know,” Grimshaw replied. “He was dressed casually when he was found. Swinn’s team collected his things from the boardinghouse.”

So now we had a conspiracy? This was getting better and better. Or worse and worse.

I raked my fingers through my hair, dislodging some of the clips that kept it under control. Ilya Sanguinati looked at my sproinging hair. His poker face cracked. His lips twitched. I promised myself that I would cover all the mirrors until I ran a brush through my hair so that I wouldn’t scare myself.

We won’t talk about the time I got a brush so tangled in my hair I had to make an emergency appointment with my stylist and have her perform a brushectomy to avoid having brush-head for the rest of my life.

“How many secret societies can there be?” I lobbed the question, not expecting an answer.

“Since they’re secret, it’s anyone’s guess,” Grimshaw replied.

His eyes went blank. I watched him swallow. We had momentarily forgotten that one of us was not like the others.

Now neither of us looked at the vampire in the room. The Humans First and Last movement hadn’t been a secret. It had been a political pro-human, anti-Others group that started with speeches and ended with the acts of violence that started the war that killed a lot of people in Thaisia and destroyed the Cel-Romano Alliance of Nations on the other side of the Atlantik Ocean. But secret societies with secret agendas that might pose a threat to the terra indigene?

I had a bad feeling Grimshaw and I had just painted targets on the backs of several people—including my ex-husband. Yorick used to say a successful businessman was bound to make a few enemies. I don’t think he’d considered that the Sanguinati might be one of them when he said that.

“It may not be a secret society,” I said. “It could be a private or exclusive group that doesn’t want their name splashed in the newspapers for doing charitable work. Or it could be a club. Yorick was a member of a couple of clubs where he hobnobbed with people who had money or social clout. Those clubs were exclusive but they weren’t secret.”

Grimshaw nodded. “That would make more sense, although I doubt that Marmaduke Swinn or Franklin Cartwright had money or the social clout to belong to such a club.”

“It doesn’t matter if Detective Swinn and Franklin Cartwright are part of that group,” Ilya said. “It doesn’t change the fact that humans with an agenda are causing trouble at The Jumble. Until we know who belongs to this tie clip club, we cannot determine if they are merely a nuisance or a real threat.”

I had a feeling that everyone who was included in the we Ilya Sanguinati referred to had fangs at the very least. Which meant we didn’t include Grimshaw and me.

“It’s a human investigation,” Grimshaw said, turning in his seat to look directly at Ilya.

“It’s a human investigation because Victoria called the police instead of calling us,” Ilya replied.

Oh golly. Had I stepped on some terra indigene toes by reporting the body to humans instead of calling Silence Lodge? Of course, I hadn’t known about The Jumble being a terra indigene settlement or even the species of my neighbors across the lake, so I hoped the Sanguinati took that into account.

“Franklin Cartwright was staying at the boardinghouse, and he allegedly worked for Yorick,” I said, trying to smooth any ruffled feathers—or fangs. “Even if I hadn’t called the police when Aggie tried to warm up the eyeball in the wave-cooker, someone would have noticed that he disappeared.” I liked saying allegedly. It was such a cop-and-crime word.

“Humans disappear in the wild country all the time.”

Grimshaw looked grim. I didn’t blame him. We were being reminded that survival not only depended on fellow humans playing nice and sharing the sandbox but also depended on not bringing yourself to the attention of all the large, intelligent predators that prowled just beyond the boundary of the sandbox—and sometimes went hunting inside the sandbox when they had a reason to focus on particular prey.

“You should ask the Xaviers,” I said, breaking the tense silence that followed Ilya’s words. “Detective Swinn, his team, and the dead man had stayed at the boardinghouse. If any of them had one of those tie clips, Ineke might have seen it.” I pointed to the tie clip in the evidence bag. “You could show her that one or even take a photo of it to show around.”

It was the way Grimshaw didn’t look at me that told me someone— or several someones—had already asked Ineke about the tie clip.

“The Xaviers are not the only individuals who could assist in finding out who wears that symbol,” Ilya said, focusing a predator stare on Grimshaw. “We can assist with locating other humans who belong to this group. You can supply a photo.”

Vampire and cop locked eyes.

“Belonging to an organization isn’t proof of guilt or collusion,” Grimshaw said.

“But obtaining a sample of who might belong to a particular group may assist in determining the group’s agenda,” Ilya countered. After a weighty silence, he added, “Our interest is in understanding why Franklin Cartwright came to The Jumble and what he was supposed to achieve. Victoria is the owner of the buildings and caretaker of the land that makes up The Jumble. Someone thinks otherwise and is causing trouble. We will pursue this until we know why. We are willing to work with the police in this matter, or we will work on our own.”

In other words, someone can go to jail if he or she has been naughty or that person can be eaten. Given those choices, I’m pretty sure I would choose jail. Then again, Ilya Sanguinati did look yummy, and dying from orgasms and blood loss might not be a bad way to go.

“Cooperation is always appreciated.” Grimshaw didn’t sound like he appreciated being backed into a corner, but he said the words that should at least delay more people getting killed.

But I was going to pay close attention to the shelves in the general store in case there was a sudden run on the ketchup and hot sauce.