2 Blood Trail (27 page)

And he already knew about the wer, so what harm would it do with Henry safely locked away?

“So,” he started the engine and flipped the air-conditioning on full, “what are the odds your furry friend is going to go for my throat again?”

“Depends. What are the odds you’re going to act like a jackass?”

He frowned. “Did I?”

Vicki shook her head.
Just when you think he has no redeeming characteristics. . . .
“Well,” she said aloud, “you did challenge Stuart’s authority in his own house.”

“I was a little upset, werewolves are a new concept for me. I wasn’t myself.”

“You were definitively yourself,” Vicki corrected with a smile. “But I think that under normal circumstances Stuart will be able to deal with that.”

They stopped for breakfast at a hotel down the road and Vicki allowed Celluci to pump her about the case while they ate, giving the waitress only one bad moment when Vicki exclaimed, “. . . and to blow the top of his head off from that distance was one hell of a shot!” just as she put the plates down. If Celluci noticed she talked around Henry’s involvement, he didn’t mention it. She couldn’t decide if he was being tactful or deep.

“You do realize,” Celluci said, mashing the last of his hash browns into the leftover yoke on his plate, “that there’re two of them out there? One with a shotgun and one with a rifle?”

She shook her head, setting down her empty coffee mug with just a little too much force. “I don’t think so; this has all the earmarks of being a one-person setup. I know, I know,” she raised her hand and cut off his protest, “Henry got shot at twice.” Henry’s injuries had been considerably downplayed over the course of the conversation. “But one man can operate two guns and up until now there’s been no evidence of a second player.”

Celluci snorted. “There’s been bugger all evidence, period.”

“But the tracks, the tree, the type of shot, all point to a single obsessed personality. I think he,” she spread her hands as Celluci’s brows went up, “or she, just kept the shotgun handy in case anyone got too close.”

“Like your
writer
friend.” His tone made it perfectly clear what he thought about both Henry
and
Henry wandering around in the woods playing the great detective.

“Henry Fitzroy can take care of himself.”

“Oh, obviously.” He stood and tossed a twenty down on the table. “That’s why he got shot. Twice. Still, I’m amazed you let an amateur wander around out there at night, considering the danger.”

“I didn’t know about the shotgun,” she protested as they left the coffee shop, then wished she could recall the words the moment they left her mouth. “Henry’s a grown man,” she muttered getting into the car. “I didn’t
let
him do anything.”

“That’s a surprise.”

“I’m not going to discuss him with you.”

“Did I say I wanted to?” He pulled out of the parking lot and headed north. “You’ve gotten yourself involved with a pack of werewolves, Vicki. For the moment, that makes organized crime seem just a little tame.”

“Henry is
not
involved in organized crime.”

“All right. Fine. It makes whatever he is involved with seem just a little tame.”

Vicki pushed her glasses up her nose and slouched down in the seat.
That’s all you know,
she thought. She recognized the set of Celluci’s jaw and knew that although he might be temporarily distracted by the wer, he wasn’t going to let his suspicions about Henry drop.
Fine
.
Henry can deal with it. In four hundred odd years
,
this can’t be the first time
. While she had no intention of getting caught in the cross fire, she would be perfectly willing to bash their heads together if it became necessary.

“Look,” she said just before they reached Highbury Avenue, “if you’re going to hang around, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He scowled suspiciously. “Doing what?”

“Turn right. You’re going to pay a visit to the OPP for me.”

She had to give him credit for brains, he understood the reason for the visit immediately.

“You haven’t got the firearms registration list, have you? Why the hell not?”

“Well . . .” Vicki flicked the air-conditioner vents back and forth a time or two. “The OPP and I had a little misunderstanding.” She hated admitting even that much, knowing that Celluci would blow it all out of proportion.

“I’ll bet,” he grunted and, to her surprise, let it drop.

Twenty minutes later when he came out of the station, he made up for his silence.

“A little misunderstanding?” He slammed the car door and twisted around to glare at her. “Vicki, you may have destroyed any chance of provincial cooperation with local police forces for now and for always. What the hell did you say?”

She told him.

He shook his head. “I’m amazed the Duty Sergeant let you leave the building alive.”

“I take it then that you didn’t get the list.”

“Dead on, Sherlock, but I did get an earful concerning proper police procedure.”

“Damn it! I need that list.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you made the crack about his mother.” Celluci stopped the car at the parking lot exit. “Which way?”

“Left.” Vicki waited until he’d maneuvered the car around the turn and into traffic before she added. “I want you to pick up a membership list from the Y.”

“Have you alienated them, too?”

She supposed it was a legitimate question, all things considered. “No, but I have no right to ask them for the list and they have no reason to hand it over. You, however, are a cop.” She poked him in the biceps. “Nice people, like those at the Y, are used to trusting the police. If
you
ask them for their firstborn child, they’ll hand the little nipper over.”

“You want me to lie for you?”

Vicki smiled at him, showing her teeth. “You’re always bragging about how good you are at it.”

The nice people at the YMCA proved fully as cooperative as Vicki had suggested and Celluci threw the membership list of the photography club on her lap as he climbed into the car.

“Anything else,” he grumbled, starting the engine.

“You’re the one who decided to stick around,” Vicki pointed out, scanning the membership for names she recognized. No one looked familiar, so she folded it carefully and put it in her purse. “That’s it for this morning. Let’s head out to the farm, I’m desperate for a change of clothes.” Although she’d had a lovely long shower behind the locked door of the motel bathroom, she was still wearing yesterday’s shorts and shirt and they were both a bit the worse for wear.

“I was wondering what that smell was.”

“Piss off, Celluci. You sure you can find your way out of the city?”

He could. Although he had to start from the police station to do it.

They drove in silence for a while, Vicki half dozing as she stared out the window at the passing fields and trees and trees and fields and. . . .

Suddenly she straightened. “I think you missed the turn.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t remember seeing that ruined schoolhouse before.”

“Just because you didn’t see it. . . .”

“Look, I’ve been out this way three times now. Twice,” she used the word to cut off his next comment, “in the daylight when I could see. I think you missed the turn.”

“You might be right,” he conceded, searching the surrounding farmland for landmarks. “Should we turn around now or cut east at the next opportunity?”

“Well, county roads are usually laid out on a simple grid pattern. As long as we head south at the first opportunity we should be fine.”

“The next east it is, then.”

Vicki slid down in the seat and braced her knees against the dashboard. They both knew it would make more sense to turn around now and look for the correct crossroad, but Vicki was comfortable and relaxed for the first time in days and didn’t think a few extra moments would make a difference. She understood Mike Celluci. He had come to represent the natural in the face of the supernatural, and that meant she could let her guard down in a way she couldn’t with either Henry or the wer. If they turned and went back, the interlude would only be over that much earlier.

She didn’t dare guess what Celluci’s reasons were for driving on.

The side road they turned onto petered out in a farmyard after six kilometers. The farmer, not bothering to hide his amusement, gave them directions while his dog marked a rear tire. They’d driven past the south turnoff, thinking it was only a lane.

“This thing has more potholes than Spadina Avenue,” Vicki grunted, blocking the ceiling’s attempt to smack her in the head. “Do you think maybe you could slow down?”

“Just watch for the red barn.”

The red barn had either fallen or faded; it certainly wasn’t where the farmer had said. They finally turned east on the second crossroad, which after two kilometers swung around a gentle, banked curve and headed due south.

“We’re going to end up back in London at this rate.”

Celluci sighed. “Hasn’t anyone out here ever heard of street signs? There’s a building up ahead. Let’s see if we can get some coherent directions this time.”

They’d turned into the driveway before Vicki recognized the white farm house.

“Lost again, Ms. Nelson?” Carl Biehn approached the passenger side of the car, brushing dirt off his hands.

Vicki smiled up at him. “Not this time, Mr. Biehn.” She hooked a thumb back over her shoulder.
“He
was driving.”

Carl bent so he could see into the car and nodded at Celluci who nodded back and said, “We seem to have taken a wrong turn.”

“Easy to do in the country,” the older man told him, straightening.

Vicki thought he looked tired. His eyes were ringed in purple shadows and the lines running past the corners of his mouth had deepened. “Trouble in the garden?” she asked, and wondered why he started.

“No. No trouble.” He rubbed at a bit of mud dried to the edge of his thumb, his hands washing around and around themselves.

“Well, well, well. Lost again, Ms. Nelson?” The words were identical, but the tone sat just this side of insult. “I think you’ll have to face the fact that some people aren’t cut out for country life.”

Vicki considered returning a smile as false as the one Mark Williams offered her but decided not to bother. She didn’t like him; she didn’t care if he knew it.

He pushed past his uncle and leaned into the car, resting one hand on the bottom edge of the open window. “I see this morning you’ve managed to lead someone else astray. ” His left hand stretched across Vicki into the car. “Mark Williams.”

“Celluci. Michael Celluci.”

They shook briefly. Vicki found herself tempted to take a bite out of the tanned arm as it withdrew. She restrained herself; time spent with the wer had obviously influenced her thinking.
Besides, odds are I’d catch something disgusting.

“What happened to your head?” He sounded concerned.

“I had an accident.” And it was none of his business.

“You weren’t badly hurt?” Carl looked down over his nephew’s shoulder, brow furrowed.

“Just a bump,” Vicki assured him. He nodded, satisfied, and she shot Mark a look that warned against further questions.

“We’re trying to get to the Heerkens farm.” Celluci wore his neutral expression—not friendly, not unfriendly, just there. Vicki had one like it. She didn’t bother to put it on.

“No problem. Three or four kilometers down this road and the first left. Their lane’s about two K in.” He laughed companionably. His breath spilled into the car, smelling like mint. “And about two K long once you get there.”

“Nothing wrong with privacy,” Celluci said mildly.

“Nothing at all,” the other man agreed. He stood and spread his hands, the gold hair on his forearms glinting in the sun. “I’m all for it myself.”

I bet you are,
Vicki thought.
And wouldn’t I just love a look at the dirty little secrets your privacy hides. Probably good for five to ten just for starters. . . .

“Ms. Nelson?” Carl had stopped rubbing at the dirt but he still appeared disturbed. “Will you be staying with the Heerkens long?”

“I hope not.”

“That sounds almost like a prayer.”

She sighed. “Maybe it is.” She was staying until she nailed the bastard with the rifle and if prayer would help then she had nothing against it. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she turned to wave as Celluci did a three point turn in the driveway and headed back to the road.

Carl raised a strained hand in a reserved salute but Mark, who knew full well he hadn’t been included in the farewell gesture, responded with a flamboyant movement of his arm.

 

“Well?”

“Well, what?” He half turned toward her, brows up. “You aren’t actually asking my opinion, are you?”

“Celluci.”

He pursed his lips and turned back to face the road. “The older man’s upset by something, probably the younger—pity you can’t choose your relatives. Given what you told me over breakfast and what I observed just now, my brilliant powers of deduction conclude you like Mr. Biehn, who I admit seems to be a decent sort, but you don’t like Mr. Williams.”

Vicki snorted. “Don’t tell me you do?”

“He didn’t seem so bad. Hey! Don’t assault the driver.”

“Then don’t bullshit me.”

Celluci grinned. “What? You want your opinion confirmed? That’s gotta be a first.”

Vicki waited. She knew he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to tell her what he thought.

“I think,” he continued right on cue, “that Mark Williams would sell his own mother if he figured he could make a profit from the deal. I guarantee he’s up to something else; his kind always are.”

Vicki shoved at her glasses even though they were sitting firmly at the top of her nose. It’d be a cold day in hell before Mark Williams had the discipline to become the kind of marksman who was picking off the wer.