Lake Silence

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.

Ilya Sanguinati looked up and blanked the screen on the monitor. “Officer Grimshaw. Mr. Farrow. Is there something I can do for you?”

Grimshaw settled in one of the visitors’ chairs while Julian took the other. “Yorick Dane is in town, staying at Ineke’s.”

Julian snapped to attention and swore quietly.

“I’m surprised she let him through the door,” Ilya said.

“He used an alias. Vicki DeVine identified him during a ruckus this morning. He and his wife aren’t scheduled to check out until tomorrow, but I’m sure Ineke will want to toss him out as soon as Dr. Wallace examines him. I need your help to persuade her to let him stay for the rest of today.”

“Why would I do that?” Ilya asked in a mild way that filled Grimshaw with dread.

“Yes, Wayne, why let that man stay another hour?” Julian asked with an edge in his voice.

“According to Dane, his family still controls The Jumble because Vicki didn’t fulfill the terms of the agreement,” Grimshaw replied, watching Ilya.

Something cold and ugly moved in Ilya’s eyes, a reminder that a taste for antiques and expensive clothes didn’t change the fact that the Sanguinati were lethal predators.

“I read through all the paperwork with regard to the divorce settlement and Victoria’s claim to The Jumble,” Ilya said. “There were no conditions to her receiving The Jumble, no terms that needed to be fulfilled.”

Grimshaw nodded. “I figured as much. If everything was aboveboard, Dane wouldn’t have come here using a false name.” Well, it would have been hard for Dane to find a place to stay if he’d used his own name unless he wanted to rent one of the houses on High Street for a month—or stay in one of the run-down campers at the edge of town.

Ilya hesitated, then handed Grimshaw a sheet of paper from a legal pad. “He isn’t the only one who has come here under false pretenses. The humans staying at The Jumble also gave aliases. And they’re pretending to be reviewers for travel magazines. Also, they were overheard to say that Victoria had to be removed from The Jumble before their own deal could go through.”

“How did you get these names?” Grimshaw looked up. “You didn’t ask Aggie Crowgard to go poking around in their rooms, did you?”

“Of course not. For one thing, Crows can’t get through the screens in the windows, something which is not an impediment to the Sanguinati in our smoke form. I entered the suites in the main house, found the humans’ identity cards, and memorized the names and addresses. My driver uncovered the real identities of the two humans who are staying in one of the renovated cabins.”

“What’s the second reason you didn’t ask the Crows?” Julian asked.

Ilya gave him an arch look. “I didn’t want them to be tempted by the shinies scattered on the dressers—at least not while Victoria still has control of The Jumble. If ownership should change hands . . .” His shoulders moved in a minute shrug.

Grimshaw handed back the paper and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that would relieve the headache building behind his eyes. “Any thoughts about what’s really going on? Because I’m not buying Dane’s claim that Vicki failed to meet part of the agreement and the Dane family can reclaim The Jumble by default.”

Ilya sat back in his chair. “When I reviewed all the legal documents that dealt with Victoria’s divorce and settlement, I found it interesting that the listed value of the house, automobile, and furnishings that Yorick Dane retained was considerably less than the value of The Jumble, despite the automobile being fairly new and the house needing nothing more than annual maintenance. The liquid assets were divided based on those assessments.”

“The Jumble is a business venture made up of several buildings and acres of land, not to mention private access to the lake,” Grimshaw said. “It stands to reason it would be worth more than the residence.”

“No one had put any work into those buildings in decades,” Julian countered. “That should have been taken into account by whoever had done the assessment.”

Ilya smiled, showing a hint of fang. “A good point, Mr. Farrow, and one I believe was, in fact, taken into account. Among the papers Franklin Cartwright had been carrying on the day he was killed were notes indicating that he had been in Sproing prior to the date when Yorick Dane filed for divorce and had made a careful assessment of The Jumble’s condition at that time and what it would cost to turn the place into a ‘stage-one income stream.’ The cash settlement to Victoria was sufficient for her to make all the major repairs to the main house and at least some of the cabins. Perhaps all of the cabins, but she was practical about holding back the money she needed to live on during the months of renovation and the time it would take to attract paying guests.”

“I don’t remember the CIU team finding any paperwork near Cartwright’s body,” Grimshaw said. He certainly hadn’t seen any when he’d secured the scene and waited for the CIU boys to show up.

“They didn’t,” Ilya replied so pleasantly there was no question that the subject was closed.

Meaning, whatever information the Sanguinati had would be shared when they wanted to share, and there was nothing the human police could do about it.

Grimshaw frowned. “So Dane knew how much Vicki DeVine would have to sink into the buildings to turn The Jumble into a rustic resort because he had hired Franklin Cartwright to assess the property. And then he had Cartwright come back here to find out if she’d done enough work to make it worth his while to reclaim it?”

“To reclaim it as a stage-one income stream,” Julian said. “Which means there is a stage two.” He stared at Ilya. “Did you find anything else in those papers Franklin Cartwright was carrying when he died?”

A weighted silence. Then Ilya opened a drawer and removed a stack of papers. He unfolded one and turned it so that Grimshaw and Julian could see it.

A map of The Jumble. But not The Jumble as it was today. Not a rustic resort. This was a luxury resort. And that made no sense.

“Mr. Paperhead,” Julian whispered. His hand clamped on Grimshaw’s wrist. “Ineke, Vicki, Paige, Dominique. All in danger. That was Vicki’s dream.”

By itself, Vicki’s dream had been nothing more than a weird dream— a concoction of images her subconscious had burped into her sleep. He’d taken down the details to appease the Others and, all right, to be a hard-ass about being called to The Jumble because of a dream. But, for him, it had been Julian’s response to the dream that had given weight to the whole thing then—and now.

“Eight people arrive in Sproing at the same time, using false names,” Ilya said. “Six of them know each other. It stands to reason they also know Yorick Dane since one of them referred to a deal involving The Jumble.”

Grimshaw nodded. “Odds are building a luxury resort would require investors, and those people would want to take a look at their property. Dane couldn’t have stayed with them at The Jumble even under an assumed name. Vicki recognized him as soon as she saw him.”

But was that the only reason Dane had stayed at the boardinghouse? Or was he scouting? As Julian had pointed out when they’d sat in Ineke’s parlor the other day discussing the dream, Ineke and Vicki owned the two properties around Sproing that accommodated travelers. Still, when he considered all the potential people involved in Dane’s attempt to reclaim The Jumble, it just didn’t add up.

“Is The Jumble as it is now really a lucrative enough business for a group of people to conspire to take it from Vicki DeVine?” Grimshaw asked.

“I’ve heard that fishermen lust for a chance to fish in Mill Creek, but the best runs aren’t on easily accessible—or safe—land,” Julian replied. “It may be seasonal, but I can see Vicki’s creekside cabins providing a nice income, even in their primitive state, as long as permission to fish in the creek was part of the rental agreement. And the cabins near the lake would make some money too.” Julian shrugged. “I think an individual could make a living from renting the cabins, but the only way I can see for a group of investors to make enough would be to develop the land.”

“Which still belongs to the terra indigene,” Ilya said. “The Dane family owned the buildings, and only as long as they abided by the terms of the original agreement. They never controlled any part of the land.”

“Does Yorick Dane know that?” Julian asked.

Ilya looked surprised. “How could he not know? He supplied a copy of the original agreement with the rest of the papers Victoria received with regard to the divorce settlement.” He waved a hand at the map. “This luxury resort will never be built.”

Because the moment someone digs up a spade of earth for something other than a flower bed or garden, people are going to die, Grimshaw thought.

“If the people staying at The Jumble are investors in this scheme of Dane’s, I wonder if he’s told any of them about the original agreement and the building restrictions,” Julian said. “After all, he finagled the divorce settlement so that it looked like he was being fair. Why be truthful with potential investors?”

“And if they all belong to the tie clip club?” Grimshaw asked.

“Then someone believes, in the face of all reason, that they can build this thing without the terra indigene noticing. It’s a kind of willful blindness that occurs most often in humans who live in human-controlled cities. Some people still believe they can make the Others disappear simply by insisting that everything that lives in the wild country doesn’t exist.”

“Enough,” Ilya said. “We have stripped the meat from the bone and there is nothing left but gristle.”

Grimshaw had to agree. Outside of giving false names, the people staying at The Jumble hadn’t done anything wrong—at least, nothing that had been reported to the police. “I’ll see what I can find out about Vicki’s guests.”

“Inquiries are already being made about them, but your sources may have access to different information.” Ilya tore a sheet of paper off a legal pad and copied the names and addresses he’d found. He handed the sheet to Grimshaw.

“If I find out anything useful, I’ll let you know.” Grimshaw stood and folded the paper until it fit into a pocket. “Are you going to ask Vicki DeVine to leave The Jumble?”

Instead of answering, Ilya looked at Julian, who stared out the window behind Ilya’s desk.

“The village is all stirred up and doesn’t feel . . . comfortable, but I’m not sensing physical danger within the village boundaries,” Julian said slowly. “I don’t think the real danger has arrived yet, so Vicki doesn’t have to leave The Jumble today.” He thought for a moment. “But soon. Soon.”

“When that time comes, I’ll get her away from The Jumble,” Ilya said, standing up to indicate the discussion was finished.

Grimshaw didn’t offer his hand. Neither did Julian. They left the office and walked down the stairs but stood just inside the glass door at street level.

“This was a setup from the start,” Julian said, staring at the street.

“Yep.” And so far, Yorick Dane’s scheme had been indirectly responsible for the deaths of four men. He needed to apprise Captain Hargreaves that there was a serious situation brewing around Sproing.

As they stepped outside, Grimshaw heard the phone ringing in the police station. When it kept ringing, he hurried to unlock the door. It stopped ringing the moment he walked inside, but his mobile phone started.

“Grimshaw.”

“Sir? Sir, are you there?” Osgood didn’t sound steady.

He didn’t point out to the baby cop that, since he answered his own phone, he was there. “Problem?”

“There’s a situation at The Jumble.”

“What kind of situation?”

“I guess you would call it vandalism. Or threatening behavior.”

He looked at Julian, who gave him the “I’m not a cop anymore” look in return. But he couldn’t count on Osgood if he had to deal with any of the furred or feathered residents at The Jumble. Not yet, anyway.

“What, exactly?” he asked.

“Something opened a back window on one of the cars and peed—well, sprayed a lot of urine on the seats. And one of the cars was flipped over on its roof.”

“That’s the vandalism. What’s the threatening behavior?”

“Unspecified.”

“Are you still at the boardinghouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is Vicki DeVine?”

“Yes.”

“Then let her know I’m going out to investigate. Tell her to stay in town until I give the all clear. You got that?”

“She’ll be concerned about her guests.”

“Then you take her car keys. And try to impress on Ineke that Vicki should stay with her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Julian didn’t say a thing. He got in the cruiser on the passenger side before Grimshaw opened the driver’s side door.

“You’re not a cop anymore. I know.” He looked at his friend. “But this is a bit of yahoo frontier law at this point.” Not that highway patrol didn’t always have a bit of yahoo frontier law. Not that highway patrol officers didn’t walk into dangerous situations before backup could reach them. But screwing up in the wild country usually meant a single life at risk, not a chain reaction that could lead to an entire village disappearing if he lost control of the situation.

“I want to take a look at these guests,” Julian said. “I want to know if the feel of The Jumble has changed because of them. For all our sakes.”

Grimshaw pulled out of the parking space, turned on his lights, and headed for The Jumble.