Claws Bared Page 5

  “I understand you’re going to a Board meeting tomorrow. I’d like you to report back to me what your feelings are on the situation down there.”

  I scowled. “You want me to spy for you. On another Pride.”

  “No.” Jess’s tone shifted from silk to steel. “There’ve been concerns from the other Boards about this group being a little too prominent in the area. Small town, large Pride.”

  I brushed a crumb off my shirt onto the grey carpet. “That’s not their fault.”

  “To a degree, it is. They could force their kits to move away, head for a large city and blend in.”

  “Like you’ve done.” I couldn’t keep the snark out of my response.

  “It’s worked.” Her voice shifted again. “Look, the police chief is on the Board. There’s a Felis on the local council, one of five spots. They’re not controlling the politics down there but they’re darned close with that setup.”

  I wrestled with a slice of lettuce stuck between my front bottom teeth. “There’s no rules against Felis taking on public service jobs, if I recall correctly. We’ve got enough politicians and police at all levels.”

  “You remember right. But at a certain point you have to worry about priorities clashing. Like here,” she said. “Police chief’s wife is a suspect. Will he have the balls to turn her in if she did it? Is he going to destroy evidence to keep her safe?”

  “Carson seems pretty straight to me.” My words sounded weak to me.

  A little voice in my head pointed out it’d been hours since the crime—if Carson was going to do anything like taint the crime scene or muck up the apartment he’d have done it long before picking me up at the airport.

  “Carson’s not the only one you have to worry about,” Jess continued. “Hansa didn’t kill himself. No matter which way you slice it there’s a killer down there.”

  “And I’m starting way behind the rest of the pack.”

  In my mind’s eye I could see Jess at her desk, tapping her long fingernails on the polished surface. “Just keep your eyes open at the Board meeting tomorrow. I’m not asking for a word-for-word transcript. Just keep an eye open and give me your thoughts on the situation. Good luck on finding out who killed the stripper.” A trace of humor crept into her words. “Enjoy the research.”

  I cut the connection before my temper won out and I said something I regretted.

  A few minutes of banging around the television dial found me nothing but outdated movies and bad porn.

  The digital clock on the small side table caught my eye. I could call Bran back.

  My nose twitched as I weighed the options. He’d want to chat and I’d miss him and I’d go to bed even more frustrated that I was right now. Not a good idea.

  Not when I had to decide where to go with this relationship.

  I decided to cut my losses. I left a wakeup call at the main desk and went to bed.

  The next morning I woke up hungry and alone, two conditions I hated. After a fast shower I tugged on my well-worn jeans, running shoes and a white blouse before grabbing my leather coat and heading out to the hotel lobby.

  Carson was waiting for me, his fingers tucked into his belt. “Good morning.”

  I nodded. “Morning.” The kit wasn’t behind the desk, having been replaced with a young blonde who studiously ignored the two of us in order to keep texting her posse.

  “Mayor came to see you last night.” He opened the passenger door for me.

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Nothing important. The usual ‘be careful in my town’ speech.” I slid across the leather seat.

  “Langstrom’s a good woman and a good leader.” Carson got in. “But sometimes she forgets the forest for the trees. Might be a problem in the future.”

  I didn’t respond.

  We started down the main street and ended up ten minutes later at a small diner on the outskirts of town. The chief nodded to someone inside the windows as we got out of the car.

  The diner was a short, squat shiny rectangle sitting on an acre of wilderness, cars surrounding it as if it were under siege. The smell of fried food hit me across the face, making me drool. The hoagie was a long-lost memory at this point and I needed something in my belly before starting my own hunt.

  “Good food?” I asked, a hopeful lilt in my voice.

  “Best.” Carson tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. “Steak and eggs is their specialty.”

  I picked up the Felis scent on both sides of the counter as I walked in, the handful of tables filled with morning customers. In the corner a large booth held two men with place settings for four set up in front of them. There was a quiet space around them, a respectful circle of silence.

  A few heads turned as I walked by, noses twitching. I kept my head high and strode with authority—I wasn’t here to make friends or find a new playmate.

  “Miss Desjardin.” The first man dragged out the word to make it sound like he had swallowed a beehive. He rose up to shake my hand. “Harris McCallum. This here is Lionel Plussey. Please, have a seat.”

  The second man stood up as well, brushing a hand down the front of his shirt. They could have been twins. Both were in their sixties and had white short-cropped hair. No beer bellies here; I had no doubt each could give me a run for my money in the field.

  I slid in beside McCallum. Carson sat on the other side, giving me an easy exit if I needed it.

  I knew that was on purpose. No Felis worth their salt would allow themselves to be boxed in with strangers, kin or not.

  “Hungry?” Plussey asked. His bloodshot blue eyes had a murder of crows feet, giving him a wise look.

  “Ravenous.” I glanced toward the kitchen in the back. “I hear the steak and eggs is great.”

  “Al makes the best.” He grinned. “Medium rare?”

  I smiled. My stomach let out a happy growl.

  It was good to be among family and not have to explain my food preferences. Brandon never complained but I knew he flinched now and then when we were out and I ordered the meat barely warmed over the grill.

  Plussey waved over the waitress, who refilled the two coffee mugs and added two more while taking our orders. She was family as well, dipping her head just enough to acknowledge the Board members. I got a curious look and an extra scribble on her notepad.

  “We were wondering how you intend to proceed with the investigation,” McCallum said. His meaty hands went around the coffee mug with plenty of room to spare. His cheeks were bright red, reminding me of the classic Santa Claus image.

  “I saw the crime scene last night and the body, as Chief Carson can attest to.”

  Plussey nodded. “So we’ve been told.”

  I spotted Carson’s left eye twitch, an almost invisible reaction. He didn’t like being here either.

  “And the mayor decided to visit me at the hotel.”

  “We know.” Plussey’s tone reminded me of Jess’s. The hairs on the back of my neck started to snap up as I resisted the urge to tell them all to screw off and then head back to the airport.

  “I thought I’d interview all of the women who saw Mr. Hansa that night and—” I pursed my lips, searching for the right words, “—and who, ah, may had a reason to come into contact with him.” It felt dirty to talk about women stuffing dollar bills into g-strings over breakfast with men who could have been my father’s age.

  McCallum nodded. “Figured that. We thought it’d be a little less confrontational if you do it at the monthly run later on this evening. Come out to the farm and chat with the girls without dragging them to the station or parading them into the hotel.” He looked at Plussey and received a nod of approval.

  Carson didn’t say anything, studying his cup of coffee.

  I licked my lips, contemplating telling him what I thought of men who called fully grown women “girls.”

  The waitress approached with a balancing act worthy of Cirque du Soleil, stifling my anger with the rich smells of a hearty breakfast.


  The plates soared onto the table, four orders of medium-rare steak and scrambled eggs. I was the first to the hot sauce, putting enough on the eggs to make them bleed heat.

  “I thought I’d just visit their homes. Fast, quiet visits.” I picked up the steak knife and attacked. The bloody slab of meat was fork-tender, needing little force to split it into small bite-sized pieces. Soon the entire plate swam in red. “You know, like I usually do.”

  McCallum shook his head. “I think you’ll understand we don’t want an investigator racing around town, knocking on doors. It’s a small town and people see things. People gossip about things.” He waved a fork at Carson. “He’s managed to put it away as a bear attack and your presence as an insurance investigator. Not going to look good if you’re sniffing around personal residences, riling up curious neighbors.” He shook his head again. “No, we’ve already set it up. We have a get-together once a month at our farm, put it under a social club title. Have us a nice cookout, have a bit of a run and all that. Be best to do your talking there.”

  His tone shifted from fatherly to dictatorial.

  I ground my teeth down on a large piece of steak, choosing my response carefully. “The longer the time from the murder to the interviewing of the possible witnesses and the murderer, the more likely it is that people either forget, fix or reinvent their stories. I’ve already lost a day between the murder and my arrival—any further delay could seriously impede the investigation.”

  “Very possible.” Now it was Plussey’s turn to muddy the waters. “But it’s the best we can do. We can’t have you running wild. People will talk and when there’s talking, there’s questions.” He looked at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. “We’ve done fine in this area keeping our secret. We’re not going to give that up for you to find out who killed Hansa.”

  “Because he’s ‘only’ a human?” I drained the last drops of coffee from the mug.

  “No.” Carson’s words were sharper than the steak knife. “A death is a death is a death, Felis or human. But we’re not going to sacrifice the Pride to find the killer. Needs of the many and all that.”

  I finished the steak and eggs before responding, putting my rage into eating.

  It wasn’t hard given the excellent food. I would have licked the plate if I hadn’t been annoyed at the men around me. “What are my restrictions until the meeting tonight?” It took a concentrated effort to keep the snark out of my voice.

  Plussey chewed on a forkful of eggs before responding. “Go around and do your thing. Check out Hansa’s apartment, go back to the morgue if you want to, putter around town and buy some souvenirs. Go do that computer stuff from your hotel room. But don’t go to personal residences.”

  McCallum let out a polite burp and rubbed his stomach. “Excuse me. Gall bladder’s being a bitch these days.” He nodded at Carson, who slid out from the other side of the table, leaving part of his breakfast uneaten. “Dax’ll take you back to the hotel. There’s a rental car there waiting for you. It’s got a GPS system so you can’t get lost.”

  And so you can track me, the little voice in the back of my head intoned. These boys weren’t going to let me off the leash any further than they needed to.

  McCallum lifted his hand and motioned to the waitress. “We’ll send over instructions to the meeting.”

  I resisted the urge to kick the table over. Instead I moved into the narrow aisle. “Thanks for the briefing.” I dug my wallet from my jeans pocket.

  “On us,” Plussey said.

  “I’d rather not.” I threw a twenty on the table, knowing it’d cover more than just my share. “Consider it Canadian courtesy.”

  Before they could speak I headed for the door. Carson was behind me and I swore I heard a chuckle from the policeman.

  I didn’t look back at the diner. Neither did Carson as he unlocked the police car.

  Carson stayed silent until we’d gotten back in the car and pulled onto the street. “I’m sorry ’bout the Board. I know it puts a lot of restrictions on you.” He shifted on the faux leather seat. “It’s hard to ride the line between both systems.”

  I let out a huff of annoyance. “How do you get anything done around here? If a Felis commits a crime do you just let them go?”

  “Depends on the crime. Got a justice of the peace nearby who’s family and understands how things work.” The material squeaked under his weight. “We got a lot of people on probation ’round here if that tells you anything. But there’s a lot of sore heads and bruises from farm ‘accidents.’” He glanced at me for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “I’ll understand if you want to go to the hotel and then just head back to the airport. Wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip for a long minute even though I’d made up my mind back in the diner. “No, I’m good. I understand why things are the way they are.”

  I didn’t have to agree, just understand.

  Chapter Four

  The flashy red sedan in the hotel parking lot went a long way to assuage my ego. Carson grinned as I ran my hand along the hood, letting myself enjoy the luxury of a new car. My old jeep was about to give up the ghost and it would be nice to drive something that didn’t cough and burp every few minutes.

  “Figured we’d have you travel in style.” The cop touched the brim of his hat. “Any problems, call the station—number’s in Hansa’s file. They’ll get hold of me right ’way.”

  “Roger.” I hadn’t stopped staring at the new car. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Carson laughed. “Key’s at the front desk. Have a good day.”

  I headed inside the hotel as the police car drove away. A few morning stragglers were in the lobby with stacks of luggage as they checked out. I stood in line behind a family obviously doing the cross-country run. The two kids were nose-deep in electronic games on their computer tablets, ignoring everything around them as they threw digital birds at digital pigs.

  Great way to see the country.

  The father argued with the clerk for a few minutes over the hotel bill before walking away with a grunt, gesturing for mom and the kids to follow. They stumbled out into the parking lot and out of sight, the children still navigating by sound.

  The young blonde behind the hotel desk passed me the keys with a wide grin before I could say anything.

  “Cool ride.”

  “Ain’t it, though?” I grinned as I headed back to my hotel room.

  It’d been searched, as I’d expected.

  A sniff of the air revealed two ham-fisted male Felis who had torn through my belongings. They’d tried to make themselves invisible and might have, to the average human. But not to me. My hairbrush was a fraction of an inch to one side, my laptop cord twisted behind the table where it’d been straight before.

  It also didn’t help that the bastards peed in the toilet and left the seat up.

  I spent a few minutes reshuffling my clothing to make sure the perverts hadn’t been sniffing my underwear before heading out. I might not be able to go straight to the source and start banging on some doors but I could do some tracking off the beaten path without tweaking anyone’s whiskers.

  * * *

  The local newspaper covered a good part of the passenger seat along with some handwritten notes I’d gathered from a few minutes chatting with the hotel clerk. Sometimes the best information can’t be found online.

  Penscotta was just like any small town, with the usual local hangouts. It held four churches and three bars, the fourth bar having been burnt down two years ago in a personal altercation between the owner and his partner. According to the clerk it’d been a difference in opinion regarding who was allowed to date a certain woman.

  In the end she’d chosen a third man, a sanitation worker, and moved to Florida.

  I loved small towns.

  I spotted the green pickup tailing me before I got out of the hotel driveway. Tempted as I was to lose the poor fellow I figured there was no
harm in letting him tag along. It wasn’t like there weren’t other Pride members around to report on my movements—starting with the hotel clerk who’d let the two thugs wander in and out of my room.

  My first stop was Hansa’s apartment. After a few wrong turns and at least one discovery of a one-way street going the wrong way, despite the adamant denials of the GPS system, I found it. The green pickup parked a few cars down, the driver slouching behind the wheel as I got out of my car. I left him there.

  The small apartment sat above a bakery, the ongoing creation of edible delights filling the narrow stairwell with a thick doughy smell as I made my way up. A pair of elderly ladies nibbling on fresh croissants threw a curious look my way before returning to their discussion of the librarian’s latest lover.

  I knelt down and started the process of picking the lock with the slender metal tools I’d smuggled on the flight. It hadn’t been hard to hide them in my checked luggage as part of my cosmetics. And no good investigator leaves home without his or her set.

  My taser had stayed home—I doubted my skill to smuggle it across the border, and in a country where guns and ammo were plentiful, packing a taser would be like bringing a shot glass to a keg party.

  A light click reached my ears, signaling the lock’s surrender. You didn’t have to be a Felis to be a good thief but it sure didn’t hurt. With our heightened senses it was tempting to walk on the wild side and make easy money preying on the less fortunate humans around us.

  I’d reached that branch in the road pretty early in life and chosen the lawful fork. I knew most Felis stayed on the straight and narrow, terrified of being trapped in a cage even for a short length of time for the slightest infraction of law.

  We didn’t do well in prison, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hunt on the path less taken at times.

  The door swung open.

  I moved through the one-bedroom apartment as quietly as possible. The bakery below me sent vibrations through the floor as industrial-sized beaters smashed and kneaded dough.

  I started with the bedroom. Shirts ironed and hung up in a neat line in the closet, a variety of running shoes, dress shoes and cowboy boots on a rack set on the floor. Socks and tighty-whities folded and laid out in rows in the top drawer of the generic furniture dresser. T-shirts from a dozen universities, all in excellent condition, sorted by color in the next drawer along with a handful of tees in neutral colors. Dress shirts of all hues, including a lovely salmon, pressed and waiting on hangars for use. A tie tree draped with a dozen neck stranglers in solids and stripes for every occasion. A handful of blazers and jackets in excellent condition—no rips or ugly patches on the elbows.