I sat through, including the boys, six individuals “adjusting” their look until I gave them thumbs-up, no-pee approval. Then I took the key to the liquor cabinet that held Grimshaw and Julian’s private stash of sipping whiskey, chose the bottle that was open without looking at the label, and poured myself a hefty dose of courage, which got me through the rest of that day.
* * *
* * *
Check-in time is two p.m., and I was fully booked. Not that I had many available rooms. At this time of year, I didn’t offer the “primitive” cabins. Out of the twelve cabins that were in The Jumble, three cabins located near the lake had been renovated and had updated electricity and indoor plumbing. Two were available for guests, since the three Crowgard who worked for me occupied the third cabin. I also had two suites with private bathrooms in the main house. Sleeping arrangements for the two renovated cabins were two single beds in one and a double bed in the other. The suites in the main building had a double bed and a sofa bed in each. The sofa beds were a recent purchase I’d made for the guests who did bring a child or other relative to The Jumble, but it also worked for a variety of sleeping arrangements.
All of my Trickster Night guests arrived on Grau 30 shortly before check-in and spent the time making small talk while I got the registrations sorted out. All adults, which I’d expected. Fred and Wilma Cornley, an almost-newlywed couple, had reserved one of the suites in the main house. The other suite was reserved by Ben Malacki and David Shuman, who were professors at one of the universities in the Finger Lakes. I figured they would flip a coin to see who slept on the sofa bed and who got the double bed. Jenna McKay had the cabin with single beds because she’d originally booked a reservation for two people, but her friend had canceled at the last minute. When Jenna heard that Ian and Michael Stern, cousins who had ended up with the last cabin, were going to flip a coin to see who got the double bed and who would sleep on the air mattress and sleeping bag they’d packed as a “just in case” option, she offered to switch cabins with them so that they could have the two single beds. That worked well for everyone, and assisted by my Crowgard employees, three of my guests headed for their homes away from home in high spirits.
Who slept where wasn’t any of my business as long as guests didn’t create a mess or draw too much attention to themselves. But I had that part covered by the sign on the reception desk that read: If your behavior attracts attention, YOU have to explain that behavior to someone who might eat you. Good luck.
It wasn’t subtle, so most guests got the point, and no one had been eaten since that unpleasantness this past summer when my ex-husband and his cronies had tried to force me out of The Jumble in order to turn it into a posh resort.
I escorted the Cornleys and the two professors up to their suites, giving them a rundown of possible activities they could enjoy during their stay, emphasizing tomorrow night’s festivities since I assumed those were why they were here and also pointing out that the TV was already reserved for the evening. Since this was the only TV available to guests, it was a not-so-subtle way of saying Make out your will before you attempt to change the channel.
This being cop and crime night, I had ordered enough pizza and salads from the Pizza Shack in Sproing to feed my employees and guests. As the proprietor, I’m supposed to be available for guests, but Conan and Cougar made it clear to everyone that no one who wanted to keep all their digits disturbed me or the rest of the staff during the cop and crime shows.
Surprisingly, all the guests stayed to watch the shows with us, even the almost newlyweds. The men chowed down on pizza—wisely not touching the one called the Carnivore Special after Conan and Cougar growled at them—and fielded questions about human behavior both in the show and in the commercials. Jenna and Wilma ate mostly salad, which they almost dumped on themselves when Aggie jumped up and started yelling at one of the cops in the show when he paid no attention to the crow in the trees, who, according to Aggie, was trying to warn him that the sneaky human had just passed that way and was waiting to spring a trap.
That created a lively discussion during commercials about whether the cop, who didn’t speak crow or Crow, could have realized he was being warned. And then everyone wondered if the crow had been just a bird that happened to be in a tree when that scene was shot or if it was supposed to be one of the Crowgard.
That led to questions of how to write to the show and suggest that they hire a Crow to assist the cops in the show in the same way the Crowgard assisted the police who protected Sproing.
My guests were fascinated by this claim of assistance. I ate my pizza and thanked all the gods that Grimshaw hadn’t decided to drop by to play a game of pool and snag a couple of slices of pizza. I knew the look I would get if my guests started asking how the Others assisted the police in their apprehension of wrongdoers. Telling the truth—that wrongdoers were often eaten if the police didn’t get to them first—would not help Sproing’s tourist trade. Or my bottom line.
Grimshaw didn’t watch the cop and crime shows, although he often dropped by because cop and crime night was also pizza night. Julian Farrow didn’t watch those shows either, because he’d been a cop until the Incident that ended his career and he never knew if something in the shows would stir up post-traumatic memories. So whenever Grimshaw or Julian did turn up on that night, it was for pizza and pool. That’s what they said, but David Osgood, the rookie police officer who worked for Grimshaw, had told Paige Xavier, who had told me, that Chief Grimshaw had made a passing comment about me being a trouble magnet, which was the real reason he stopped by a couple of times a week. Keeping his finger on the pulse, so to speak.
I preferred to think it was just a Grimshaw sort of justification for coming to The Jumble. Ilya Sanguinati had turned one of my downstairs rooms into something that looked like a pool hall just to give Grimshaw a private place to play pool. It could be used by my guests too, but when the Reserved sign was on the door, it was Grimshaw either playing on his own or playing with Julian and/or Ilya. A bit like an exclusive club—and we’d all learned how much trouble those could be, but the three males liked being able to discuss things in an informal setting. Keeping their fingers on the village’s pulse—and their eyes on the trouble magnet, a label I thought was unfair since all I’d done that first time was call the police to report a dead man after I stopped Aggie from heating up one of his eyeballs for lunch.
And all I’d done a few weeks ago was mention Trickster Night, so everything that happened afterward really wasn’t my fault.
CHAPTER 2
Grimshaw
Windsday, Grau 31
Even as a child, Wayne Grimshaw hadn’t seen the point of Trickster Night. Why dress up in some kind of costume in order to walk down a couple of neighborhood streets and knock on people’s doors in order to receive a questionable mix of candy that was, for the most part, something you didn’t want to eat anyway?