Recognizing those things didn’t alleviate the guilt I felt because Conan had swatted a guest and a person who wasn’t even staying at The Jumble had been killed because he’d been where he shouldn’t have been, doing what he shouldn’t have done.
I liked three of my current guests and sincerely hoped they weren’t the cause of any of this trouble. The other four people I would have happily kicked to the curb if I had any curbs and if there had been any place for them to go. Until Grimshaw and Ilya figured out who was responsible for killing whom, we were all stuck with one another.
A quick knock on the doorframe before Kira, Viktor, and Karol slipped into the kitchen.
Kira hurried over to the stove and turned off the kettle, which had been boiling away and whistling its head off, unnoticed by me because I’d been lost in thoughts of gore and guilt.
“Can we help?” Viktor asked.
I tried to smile. “I wish I knew.”
Not the answer these teens wanted, but it was the best I could do.
CHAPTER 48
Aggie
Watersday, Novembros 3
Aggie fetched the bucket and set it beside the chair so that the Wallace doctor wouldn’t drop bloody bits on Miss Vicki’s carpet. Eddie slipped into the room with a clean basin and the kettle from the kitchen. Steam rose out of the kettle’s spout. He set the kettle on a mat Miss Vicki said was used for hot dishes, handed the basin to one of the EMTs, and slipped out again.
Aggie watched Jenna McKay pour hot water and some drinking water from a pitcher into the basin to wash her hands. She patted her hands dry with some toilet paper, then stood near the wall, watching the EMT humans assist the Wallace doctor while he put stitches into the Shuman guest.
Before all the medical humans arrived, the Shuman guest had bled a lot, and she’d wondered if he was going to die—and how she could snatch any of the best bits with so many humans in the room. Then Chief Grimshaw stepped into the room, and Aggie knew she’d missed her chance, because the Shuman guest hadn’t died, and now it looked like he wasn’t going to.
The medical humans put proper bandages over the wounds and helped the Shuman guest go up to his room, the Wallace doctor telling Grimshaw he would remain overnight to keep an eye on the patient and check vital signs.
She could have told the Wallace doctor that the terra indigene could check for these vital signs. Breathing, a human was still alive. Not breathing, the human was a snack.
Maybe there were more things to check? Maybe one of the young Sanguinati could shift into smoke form and slip into the room to see what the Wallace doctor considered vital and report back to the rest of them?
Once the medical humans left the room, Chief Grimshaw set the bucket with the bloody T-shirt and wads of toilet paper outside the room. Then he closed the door and stared at the remaining humans—just stared until someone knocked on the door and the other guests returned to the room.
“Peter Lynchfield died tonight,” Chief Grimshaw said, “and none of you are leaving this room until I know which one of you called him, because that person is morally responsible for his death.”
Aggie sucked in a breath and settled in a spot where she would have the best view to watch all the humans and try to spot clues, just like a civilian helper in the cop and crime shows.
CHAPTER 49
Grimshaw
Watersday, Novembros 3
I want to see your mobile phones,” Grimshaw said. “I want to see the log of your recent calls. And may the gods help you if you deleted that log to hide your part in this.”
“Even if we made the call, what are you going to do?” Ben Malacki demanded. “Arrest us?”
“I can’t arrest you for being an ass and leaking information about a private meeting. But I can say with certainty that if I don’t get the information from you now, the next individuals who come to interrogate you will not be the Sanguinati and will not be as understanding of human failings and foibles. Most likely, all of you will die violently and in terror, just as Peter Lynchfield died, and there won’t be a thing I can do to help you.”
“We’re supposed to be safe here!” Malacki shouted.
“You are safe here—until you break their rules.”
“When can we go home?” Wilma Cornley whined.
“When the terra indigene discover why two of the Crowgard and a student from one of your colleges have been killed.” Grimshaw looked at each of them. “None of you are safe until I can tell them who called Peter Lynchfield about the private gathering. This isn’t a game, people. If you need reminding of that, I can walk you down to that car and show you what is left of the man. Someone started trouble on Trickster Night. Someone caused more trouble this evening. The Elders will pick you off one by one if that’s what it takes. So stop jerking my chain and tell me who made the damn call!”
Michael Stern took out his mobile phone, tapped this and touched that, then held it out. “This is who I’ve called since arriving at The Jumble.”
Two calls made to the same number, one the day of arrival and the other shortly before Lynchfield was killed—and before Julian’s special customers arrived. Grimshaw already knew the number of Lynchfield’s mobile phone, and it wasn’t the number Stern had called. Still, he took out his notebook and wrote down the number. He was fairly sure it belonged to someone in Michael’s family, but he’d have Osgood confirm the identity of the person on the receiving end of those calls.
Ian Stern came next. A couple of calls with pretty much the same timing as Michael’s calls—arrival and “just in case” calls. There were also calls to local numbers. Grimshaw recognized the phone numbers for Come and Get It and the Pizza Shack. It looked like Ian was either placing an order or asking for business hours to plan ahead. There was also a call to the stables run by Horace and Hector Adams. Maybe Ian had been thinking of doing a trail ride.
Grimshaw looked at Ben Malacki, who crossed his arms, raised his chin, and looked like a belligerent bantam rooster until Conan, still guarding the door, growled at him. Then the man looked like a rooster that knew it was doomed to go into the pot, but Malacki still didn’t offer his mobile phone, which made Grimshaw wonder what he was hiding.
Jenna McKay stepped forward. Her hand shook as she gave Grimshaw her phone.
“I didn’t call Peter Lynchfield,” she whispered as tears ran down her face. “I didn’t know this would happen when . . .” She stopped.
Ian Stern put an arm around her shoulders. “When what?” he asked gently. “Who did you call?” He looked at Grimshaw and mouthed, Sorry.
Grimshaw didn’t care who asked the question as long as he got an answer.