They crossed the two-lane road that ran from the southern end of Lake Silence up to the crossroads leading to Sproing. As he guided Buster, Grimshaw noticed a small—and new—sign that read, JUMBLE TRAIL RIDE.
Woods. Trickles of water that might have been offshoots of Mill Creek or runoff from the rain. Grimshaw was beginning to enjoy the ride when the bridle path suddenly ran along plowed land that was being worked by a dozen . . . creatures.
He glanced at Paige when she reined in, looking startled and a little scared. Clearly this wasn’t an expected part of the tour. But after a moment, Paige rallied, even if her tour guide voice was a little shaky. “This is The Jumble’s kitchen garden. Many of the individuals who reside on this land are helping Miss Vicki to provide a variety of fresh food for her guests.”
What Grimshaw saw were rough human forms—beings who, unlike Aggie Crowgard, would never be able to pass for human for an instant. Based on the shapes of their heads and the patches of fur covering their limbs and torsos, there were Coyotes and Foxes, as well as Crows and Hawks. And was that a Bobcat? He’d have to ask Vicki DeVine if any of the cabins were nearby. Were these terra indigene squatters? Did Vicki know about them? Did she know they were planting the garden? Maybe that was something to ask Ilya Sanguinati. After all, there was nothing a human police officer could do about the Others, but if they were taking over The Jumble, someone should be told.
The bridle path forked beyond the garden. Paige looked from one fork to the other and frowned.
Well, Grimshaw thought as he watched their guide, we are the dry run for a paying trip.
The Other that looked like a cross between human and Bobcat walked toward them, stopping when the horses tossed their heads and snorted. Getting them used to creatures that looked human—at least to a horse—but didn’t smell human was probably another reason for this little party.
Paige gave the Bobcat a bright smile, as if seeing terra indigene working the garden wasn’t the least bit surprising. “We’re going to Miss Vicki’s house. Do you know which one . . . ?” She gestured to the trails.
The Bobcat stared at her. Finally he pointed toward the right-hand trail. “House that way.”
Rough voice. A Bobcat’s throat shaping human words. Was this a first attempt to speak to an actual human? Grimshaw kept his focus on the Bobcat and wished he could study the rest of the terra indigene working in the garden. Were they all like that, having learned human speech from others of their kind but were now attempting to communicate with actual humans?
What had Vicki DeVine gotten herself into?
As they rode past, he and Julian raised a hand in a casual salute. After a moment, the Bobcat copied the movement.
Grimshaw made a note to talk to Ilya Sanguinati about that too. If the Others were going to observe and copy humans who came on these trail rides, they needed to understand that the tourists who came for one of these parties might not be the best role models. Some would be, certainly. Other guests would not.
The bridle path hugged a tumble of boulders that looked like they’d been tossed there casually and settled together. He saw Julian look up as they approached, which made him scan the boulders closely. If Julian hadn’t sensed something, hadn’t given him a reason to look with a cop’s eyes, he wouldn’t have spotted Cougar crouched among the boulders, watching them. The Cat didn’t move, and the wind was in the wrong direction for the horses to catch his scent. Good thing too since one of the Panthergard could bring down a horse, and the horses knew it.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached The Jumble’s main house, rode around to the back, and dismounted. Vicki and Ineke came out of the house to greet them. Ineke looked confident, which was nothing new. Vicki looked nervy, but not meltdown anxious about putting on this shindig.
“Would everyone like to go down to the lake for a bit to cool off, or would you like some lunch first?” Vicki asked.
“Lake,” Julian said, smiling.
“I vote for the lake,” Paige said.
When Hector nodded, Grimshaw made it unanimous. He wanted to see the beach here, to say nothing of spending a little time in cool water.
Vicki led the men to the communal showers on one side of the kitchen. Four showerheads, no dividers. Reminded him of a locker room except it was decorated in blues and greens and soft grays. Plants provided lush greenery, giving the whole area an outdoor feel. But there were racks of folded towels and a long wooden bench where people could sit. There were pegs for clothes and little baskets for personal items. A good place for guests to rinse off and dress after an afternoon on the beach.
He didn’t pay attention to Julian as he stripped off his own clothes and pulled on swimming trunks, but he saw Hector’s face when the Simple Life man slipped into the room and looked at Julian.
There were scars. More than he’d expected from what he’d heard about the attack that had ended Julian’s career as a cop. He’d expected those scars to be deep and significant, but there were others that looked like they had been acquired in other life-threatening situations—and some that didn’t look old enough to have been acquired during Julian’s years on the force.
Julian met his eyes and shrugged into a white threadbare shirt to wear over the swim trunks, saying nothing. What was there to say? The scars spoke quite eloquently, and Grimshaw had a better understanding of why Julian Farrow had been looking for a quiet place to live.
Not wanting to make his friend self-conscious, Grimshaw looked away—and smiled when he saw Hector’s swim attire. The trunks snugly covered the man from waist to knees, and the tank top was long enough to cover the crotch, probably for additional modesty.
“Is that traditional?” he asked.
“It is,” Hector replied.
They took the provided beach towels and went outside to find the three women studying a small white pony who was grazing on the lawn.
“Where did he come from?” Grimshaw asked.
“I haven’t seen him before,” Hector replied.
Ineke moved closer to the pony, who stopped grazing to watch her. She pulled one of the sapphire streaks in her hair forward. She studied it, then studied the pony’s greenish blue mane and tail before turning to Paige and Vicki. “What do you think about that color on me?”
“Gods,” Julian muttered.
The women ignored him.
“I don’t think aquamarine would work for you,” Vicki said. “But on Paige . . . ?”
Paige pulled her braid over her shoulder and held it out for study. It was a soft red that had a glint of gold in sunlight.
“Yes,” Ineke said. “That color would look better on Paige.”
The men, and the pony, watched the women head for the water. Then Ineke turned and looked at them. “Are you guys coming?”
A man could get into all kinds of trouble answering a question that was phrased that way, but those tattoos on her thighs were intimidating enough to discourage any smart-ass remarks.
“On our way,” Grimshaw said.
Julian blew out a breath. “I’m so glad I didn’t know about those tattoos when I lived at the boardinghouse.”
“Told you.” Grimshaw headed for the water, looking forward to cooling off. Then he noticed the women had gone in up to their ankles and stopped—and seemed to be having an intense, whispered discussion. It was easier to figure out what the terra indigene were thinking than a human female, but he had the impression the discussion was about the knee-length cover-up Vicki was still wearing.