“Not so much of a loner these days?”
“Still like my space.”
“You did a good job here, Wayne.”
“Lost a fair number of people,” he countered.
“No one could have stopped that except the people who provoked the attacks. Would have thought we’d all know better by now, but that wasn’t the case.” Hargreaves said nothing for a minute. “The governor wants this police station manned again. He’s been apprised of why it’s been difficult keeping it manned, but he believes it’s vital to have a police presence here now. With more visitors coming in every day, the area around Lake Silence needs a faster response than people can get by calling the Bristol station if they need help.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Of course, the Bristol station will continue to supply backup. So will the police force in Crystalton. But they need a chief of police here and one officer to work with him. Small place like this, two salaries are going to put a strain on the budget, but Silence Lodge has informed the village council that, if they approve of the people chosen to fill the positions, they will reduce the rent on the police station enough to help take the sting out of paying those salaries. The Sanguinati also said they would provide one of the Mill Creek Cabins as a residence for the new chief, all utilities except telephone included.”
“That’s generous.”
Hargreaves studied him. “Wayne, you’re a good officer, a good man. But you’re too damn ornery and independent to rise up through the ranks in the usual way. It’s a big jump, going from officer to chief, but I doubt an opportunity like this will come along again. That said, your temporary assignment is complete, and if you want, I’ll put you back on the roster for highway patrol. You’re being given the right of first refusal, so this is your decision.”
“What about Osgood?”
Hargreaves hesitated. “The higher-ups have some concerns about him, about whether or not he’ll wash out as a cop. He’s already requested a transfer from the Putney Police Station, which is clear thinking on his part. He’d be shunned by a fair number of cops there, and that’s not a good working environment.”
Yeah. Julian Farrow would know about that. “Could Osgood stay here?”
“That would be the choice of the new chief of police.”
He didn’t doubt that he could do the job and do it well, but did he want the job? Small place where he’d know a lot more than he wanted to about the people he was sworn to protect. But there was also the wild country right outside his door. Dangerous? Gods, yes. And because it was dangerous, he could make a difference here.
“I need to talk to someone before I give you an answer.”
“How much time do you need?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.” He wasn’t going far, just up to the second floor.
“In that case, why don’t I go over to the diner and pick up a couple of sandwiches?”
Grimshaw walked out with Hargreaves, then walked up the flight of stairs that led to two offices. He knocked on the door that had no stenciling on the glass that identified the business and walked in.
Ilya Sanguinati stepped out from behind the bookcases that formed the wall of his office. “Come in, Officer Grimshaw.”
Ilya returned to the seat behind the desk. Grimshaw leaned against the bookcases.
“If I accept the position of chief of police here in Sproing, will you have a problem with that?” he asked.
“‘You’ meaning me, the Sanguinati, or all the terra indigene who live in and around Lake Silence?”
“All of the above.”
“Then the answer to all of the above is, no, we would not have a problem with that.”
“You okay with Osgood staying?”
Ilya nodded. “You may choose whatever cabin would suit you for a residence, with the exception of the one already occupied by Julian Farrow. The rest are currently unfurnished . . .”
Grimshaw shrugged. “I have an efficiency apartment in Bristol. I can bring what I need.”
“You should also be aware that Silence Lodge is considering offering three of the cabins for short-term leases—three months minimum.”
“Good to know.” It would certainly influence his decision of which cabin to claim for himself.
“Is there anything you’ll regret leaving in Bristol?”
Wondering if that was Ilya’s subtle way of asking about a lover, Grimshaw smiled. “I’ll miss the pool hall.”
Ilya sat back. “I beg your pardon?”
Now he grinned. “Pool is a game played on a felt-covered—”
“I know what it is.” Ilya sounded grouchy. “I was just surprised by your answer.”
Uh-huh. Couldn’t be an easy transition going from the behind-the-scenes controlling power to having to deal with all the pesky humans directly. Considering his own job change, he felt some sympathy for the vampire, especially since that change happened by their own choices.
“There is a pool hall in Bristol, just seedy enough to have character. I would go there on my day off and shoot some pool, have a beer and a burger.” It was as close to a social life as he’d had in a while. Not something he would share with one of the Sanguinati. “I won’t miss the establishment all that much, but I did enjoy the game.”
“None of the businesses in Sproing have a pool table?” Ilya asked.
Grimshaw hesitated, then decided there had to be honesty between them if nothing else. “There are a couple of bars in the village. Not sure if they’re both open or if one has odd hours, but the one that does regular business has a pool table in the back. But I’d always be a cop there.”
“Is that what you would call a deal breaker?”
He shook his head. “I just wanted to be sure we were good before I accepted the position.”
“We’re good . . . Chief Grimshaw.”
And they would do some good, Grimshaw thought as he returned to the police station and gave Hargreaves his answer.
EPILOGUE
Vicki
Julian had been right. The Jumble’s newfound notoriety might have scared off some people—and proved interesting to others, like the man who wanted to book a cabin in the hopes an Elder would eat his wife and save him the cost of a divorce. (I declined to take his reservation.) On moving day, my office was returned to working order first, and they—meaning all the big scary males I knew, plus Aggie—parked me behind the desk with the pad of paper containing all the names and phone numbers Aggie had carefully written down from the humans who wanted to rent a cabin. Between returning calls and answering new calls and making notes so that I could ask Fred and Larry at the bait-and-tackle shop which weeks would be ideal for fishing in the lake—and asking Conan when the trout returned to the creek, information I assumed he knew because he’d chosen to live in one of the creekside cabins specifically to get his paws on the fish—I had booked all the available cabins into late fall, when I stopped booking humans into the more primitive cabins, thinking of how I would feel if I had to put on boots and a winter coat in order to go out and pee. I had a waiting list for the two suites in the main house and the two renovated lakeside cabins. The three universities in the Finger Lakes area solved their inability to rent cabins in The Jumble or rent rooms at Ineke’s boardinghouse by renting three of the Mill Creek Cabins from Silence Lodge on a year’s lease, negotiating with Ilya Sanguinati to allow their people to explore The Jumble as part of the lease agreement.
I remained the Reader and, with Julian’s assistance, continued to do a story hour three evenings a week. Gershwin Jones brought over a piano and a couple of drums, and we had a music night a couple of evenings a month. Hector and Horace acquired some ponies and ran a pony camp for visiting children—a couple of hours of learning how to ride combined with trail rides where the kids would see a Hawk or a Coyote up close. For people who didn’t want to walk the trails in The Jumble for one reason or another, they could take a donkey-cart tour and attempt conversation with whichever terra indigene was driving the cart and who couldn’t understand what the humans were saying half the time.