Lake Silence

CHAPTER 63

Grimshaw

Thaisday, Sumor 6

Since Ilya Sanguinati had declined to sit in the visitors’ chair, Grimshaw pushed to his feet to face the vampire. Julian had called to tell him that Vicki DeVine would be at Lettuce Reed today. Not an ideal situation, but they didn’t have any reason to suspect she was in danger, except for Julian’s reaction to the Murder game.

But Ilya’s news added weight to the concern.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“No,” Ilya replied. “The Crowgard didn’t see any weapons, and I suppose there are many reasons males don’t tuck in a shirt.”

“Did the Crowgard hear the men’s names?”

“Not their full names, but other terra indigene saw papers that had their names—Mark Hammorson and Tony Amorella. Air says they run a security business.”

Air. Gods above and below. There had always been stories about terra indigene called Elementals, just as there were rumors of forms known as Elders. Or there had been those kinds of stories where he had grown up. His grandfather had told him time and time again, “Mind what you do; there is always someone watching.” When he was young, he thought it meant the adults in the family, who seemed to know when he made some mischief. But that wasn’t the meaning of his grandfather’s warning. There could be another form of terra indigene in the police station right now, listening, watching, judging, and he wouldn’t know unless that being chose to appear—or attack.

And yet this was the world they lived in. Until the Humans First and Last movement started a war with the Others, most of the terra indigene had paid no attention to the humans who crowded together on the land they were allowed to use. Now all the terra indigene paid attention, even in an unremarkable place like Sproing.

Except Sproing wasn’t unremarkable anymore because Vicki DeVine had unwittingly begun to restore a terra indigene settlement called The Jumble, and that one decision had attracted all kinds of potentially dangerous interest in this little village and the people who lived here.

Which circled back to the reason Ilya Sanguinati had come in to talk to him. Men with weapons had entered The Jumble. Yorick Dane might say the two men were there to protect the humans, but what could an armed man do against a sink full of water that suddenly took the shape of a hand and choked a woman? You couldn’t shoot it. And taking potshots at any of the shifters . . . He’d seen the pictures of how the terra indigene responded when someone did that.

“I guess I should go out and take a look at those men.”

The station door flew open and Osgood ran in. “Sir! A couple of flatbed trucks hauling construction equipment are heading for The Jumble!”

“You need to stop them before any of that equipment touches the access road,” Ilya warned. “I told Dane yesterday that the access road wasn’t part of his property and he couldn’t do anything to it, or use it for anything but personal vehicles, without the terra indigene’s consent.”

“Could someone have given consent? Maybe someone who wasn’t actually authorized?” Didn’t seem likely, but it was possible Dane had dangled the right bait in front of a shifter and gotten an agreement, figuring if he worked fast, the deed would be done before anyone could object—if you ignored the fact that Elementals like Air and Earth would be aware of the transgressors the moment those humans set foot in The Jumble.

If this underhanded way of doing business was typical of Dane and his pals, it made sense they would need security—and need men who also belonged to their special club.

Grimshaw checked his service weapon and made sure he had a couple of extra clips. Then he headed for the door. “Osgood, you keep an eye on things in the village. I’ll be at The Jumble.”

“I’ll be in my office for a while if you should have need of counsel,” Ilya said.

Grimshaw ran to the cruiser, tossed his mobile phone on the passenger seat, and drove away, lights flashing and siren wailing. Probably should have waited on the siren. He hadn’t gotten past the village boundary when Julian called.

“Trouble?” Julian asked.

“Not if I can stop it.” He ended the call and focused on driving. But his mind circled around the timing of all of this.

First Dane showed up in Sproing and his friends showed up at The Jumble for a long weekend. By Sunsday, Vicki DeVine was evicted from the home and livelihood she had worked months to renovate. Two days later, two men in the security business arrived, swiftly followed by construction equipment, which must have been brought in from Hubbney since he doubted any construction company in Bristol or woo-woo Crystalton would have taken a job at The Jumble right now. Which meant Dane and his pals must have arranged for the arrival of men and equipment before they took possession of The Jumble.

He saw the flatbed trucks. They had to see him. But just as the first truck made the turn onto The Jumble’s access road—where did the fool think he could go?—Grimshaw saw one of the trees next to the access road fall.

“No,” he breathed. Dane had hired someone to cut down trees?

He reached for the cruiser’s mic, intending to call dispatch in Bristol and request backup for a potentially lethal situation. He didn’t know how many men were out there cutting trees. He didn’t know how many men were in the flatbed cabs. And he didn’t know if any of them were carrying.

He was almost on top of the second flatbed truck, so he pulled into the other lane to make sure the driver saw him. That’s when he spotted the horse and rider. He didn’t recognize the rider, but when he saw the red hair with the yellow and blue tips, he took his foot off the gas and tapped the brakes, wary of getting any closer.

One moment Grimshaw saw the horse and rider. Then next moment, he saw the tight funnel of a fire tornado heading right for the flatbed trucks at a horrific speed. He put the cruiser in reverse and stomped on the gas, praying to Mikhos that he could get far enough away before the tornado hit.

The concussion of tornado hitting flatbed trucks and the heavy equipment they carried, followed by the explosion of the gas tanks a moment later, lifted the cruiser off the pavement. Grimshaw held on to the steering wheel, as if he had some control while airborne.

The cruiser’s tires hit the pavement, and Grimshaw breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t felt any worse than going over a speed bump too fast. Before he could think to apply the brakes, the cruiser rolled to a stop.

He stared out the window. The trucks were burning. The trees were burning. And the fire tornado had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

Grabbing the mic, he called Osgood. “Call out the volunteer fire department. I need firefighters, EMTs, doctors. We’ve got a mess here.” He hesitated. “I need you too, Osgood. And Julian Farrow. And call the Bristol Police Station for backup. We need CIU, firefighters, cops— we need everything they can send. You escort Ms. DeVine to Ilya Sanguinati’s office, then you hightail it out here.”

“Yes, sir.” A pale sound, but Osgood would be there.

He pulled the cruiser onto the shoulder of the road and ran toward the burning vehicles, but the fire burned too hot for him to get close enough to determine if anyone had survived. He hoped not.

“Anyone out there?” he shouted. The crews in the flatbed trucks were gone, but the men who had been felling trees might have seen the funnel in time to run.

Sirens. A lot of sirens. Too soon for any help from Bristol, but they would be coming. Captain Hargreaves would see to that.

The volunteer firefighters arrived first with the fire truck and a water tanker, followed by the EMTs and Dr. Wallace. Officer Osgood and Julian Farrow brought up the rear. Osgood stumbled out of the passenger side of Julian’s car and stared at the fire, making Grimshaw wonder if a potentially good cop had seen too much too young.

Then Osgood shook his head as if to clear it and ran to where Grimshaw waited.

“Take the cruiser and go down the road,” Grimshaw said. “Block it off. I’ll have Julian block off the road at this end.”

“Yes, sir.” Osgood stared at the fire. “The Others are angry.”

Grimshaw nodded. “But not with us. Get going.”

As soon as Osgood headed for the cruiser, Grimshaw turned to Julian Farrow.

Julian said, “This morning Vicki and I met Fire, who calls himself Aiden. He was riding a horse named Twister.”

“Gods,” Grimshaw breathed. “How’s Vicki?”

“How do you think? A fire was reported at The Jumble. No one could tell her if the buildings were burning or some other part of the property.”

“I need you to man the barricade at this end of the road. I need to find one of those bridle paths or any kind of trail that will get me around to the other side of the fire. There were men out there cutting down trees. I don’t know if they got away.”

“And you have to check on Dane and the rest of them.”

“Have to do my job.”

“Caw.”

Grimshaw turned toward the sound and spotted the Crow. He figured it had to be one of the Crowgard. All the ordinary birds would have fled from the fire.

“Aggie?”

“Caw.”

“I need to find a trail to the main house.”

The Crow flew off between a break in the trees. Grimshaw hurried to follow. If the fire cut him off from the road, he’d head for the lake.

“Keep reporting in,” Julian called.

The game trail opened onto a bridle path. Grimshaw jogged to keep up with Aggie until she landed in a tree and didn’t continue. Obviously she wasn’t going to lead him any farther.

He pointed at the path in front of him. “The main house is that way?”

“Caw.”

He took a step, then looked at the Crow. “If the wind doesn’t change direction, more of The Jumble will burn. Miss Vicki would be sad about that.”

No response, so he followed the path.

He didn’t know if Aggie had delivered the message that fast or if something else had been listening, but when he reached the access road a minute later, the wind had shifted, blowing the fire back over already scorched earth.

The moment Grimshaw’s foot crunched on the gravel, four armed men swung toward the sound.

“Hey!” he said, holding up his hands, palms out.

Swinn and Reynolds looked spooked enough that he felt lucky they hadn’t fired out of reflex. The other two men? Yeah. Private security for sure.

Grimshaw turned to Yorick Dane, who was clumped with his business partners. “Is everyone all right? All the people staying with you?”

Dane stared at the charred husks of trees, then raised a shaking hand. “Is that . . . Is that a body?”

He moved in that direction for a closer look. Gods, let those men be removed from all suffering. He counted four bodies before he walked back to where Dane stood.

“What happened?” Vaughn demanded.

“Fire tornado,” Grimshaw replied. “It hit the two flatbed trucks and the construction equipment you were bringing in, and then took out the crew felling trees.” He tried to chain the anger swelling inside him. “You were warned.”

Even Vaughn looked shocked. Most likely, they’d been getting away with underhanded deals since their university days, if not before. This should have been nothing different—except they weren’t dealing with humans anymore.

“We’ll have to leave,” Darren said. “That truck is blocking the way and has to be moved.”

He looked at the burned-out truck the loggers had driven and shook his head. “The firefighters are still bringing the fire around the flatbeds under control. You’ve got thousands of pounds—maybe a few tons— of burning, twisted metal blocking the access road.” He pointed to the burned truck. “Nobody will be moving that one for a while.”

The men stared at him.

“Then how are we getting out?” Dane asked.

“You’re not,” Grimshaw replied. “Well, you can pack a light carryall and walk out, following the bridle trails until you reach the road.”

“Hammorson?” Vaughn said, turning to the beefy blond man.

“We can take my boat and go to the public beach and get help there,” Hammorson said. “Or go across the lake to that big lodge I saw on the other side.”

“Does that boat have a motor?” When Hammorson nodded, Grimshaw turned to Dane. “Didn’t you tell your friends about the no-motor rule on this lake? Are you looking for ways to get these people killed?” He turned back to Hammorson. “Even if you take out a rowboat, you do not want to go across to Silence Lodge. Not today.”

Hammorson narrowed his eyes. “Why? Who owns Silence Lodge?”

“The Sanguinati.”

Uneasy now, all the men shifted their feet.

“Look,” Grimshaw said. “The main house and the lakeside cabins are probably the safest place right now. Your cars aren’t going anywhere until the road is cleared and that could take a couple of days.” Or more. The flatbeds had been burning when he’d run to check on the people here, but his impression had been of metal twisted and melted into nightmarish shapes. Not the kind of thing you could roll out of the way.

“Vicki should have widened the access road and built a second entrance,” Dane said. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if she’d put enough money into this place.”

Grimshaw stared at Yorick Dane. Was the man actually pouting because the ex-wife he was screwing on a business deal hadn’t gone into debt to do more improvements?

He shook his head, disgusted with all of them. “Hear those sirens? That’s the Bristol police and fire department coming in to help. You all do what you want. I’ll inform the CIU team that you’re all alive but there are burned bodies that need to be identified. I imagine someone will come in soon to talk to you. It would help if you could provide the names of the loggers you hired to illegally cut down those trees.”

“Now, see here,” Vaughn protested. “We did nothing illegal—”

Grimshaw held up a hand. “I’m not interested. That’s for someone else to figure out. Just remember that the someone who is going to decide isn’t a member of your damn club.”

Ignoring their protests and vitriolic opinions about his parentage, Grimshaw followed the bridle path, then chose a game trail heading in the right direction. A few minutes later, he reached the road.

The firefighters had contained the blaze and were hosing down the surrounding grass and trees—and no doubt would continue until the water tank ran dry. They were being thorough because, like sweat and ash, fear was a taste in the air.