Page 112 of Hoofin’ It

“Back to the restaurant for a better look at the crime scene. Quinton, I want you to try to pick up that scent trail again.” Dad growled softly between breaths. “Until his woman’s off the painkillers, we won’t be able to get more info from her. I suspect she’ll want to help, so we should probably keep her in the dark as much as possible.”

“I trust Dr. Yasolovic to handle her.”

I found that interesting; trust was an odd word when it came to vampires.

“I don’t suppose you can enlighten us about those doctors, can you? Dr. Yasolovic and Dr. Valentine, no matter how human they look, don’t smell like humans.” As much as Dad was growling, I worried he’d lose control before Mom did.

A moment later, Dad yelped. “Behave,” Mom ordered.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“They’re no threat to Shane or Miss Peterson. That’s all you need to know.”

I missed being able to communicate in English. I yipped my annoyance, twisted on Quinton’s lap, and bit his wrist.

“Something tells me Gibby’s not happy,” Ernesto’s son reported.

Vampires tasted terrible, but I kept gnawing on him, using my paws to hold his hand steady while I took out my frustration on his wrist. If I turned my head sideways and squinted, I could pretend biting was similar to kneecapping. Vampires liked when I kneecapped them. Quinton could handle a few bites. He wouldn’t even notice the marks after a few hours and some time with one of his girls and his succubus partner.

Mom laughed. “Considering how much Shane enjoys running his mouth, he’s probably upset he can’t contribute to the conversation or make himself useful. He’s never happy unless he’s doing something productive. Shane, darling, you can help investigate things at the crime scene. Stop trying to separate your friend’s hand from the rest of his body. That’s rude.”

With a low, rumbling chuckle, Ernesto said, “You should see him with a gun. He always goes for the knees first. It’s so charming. Quinton, work with your sister and keep an eye on him. I’ll work with the Gibsons to thoroughly check the restaurant. Pierina, I’ll be meddling in your affairs. You can suitably punish me later.”

“Of course, Papa. The office computers at the restaurant weren’t damaged, so you can access the call records there. You may need to take them to your office; power was out the last I heard. You’ll be able to get the phone number of the caller from the system. If that takes too much time, I’ll call the phone company and get the number personally.”

“Good. Quinton, once we’re at the restaurant, give your uncle a call and fill him in. Go on a walk around the block, get a good sniff of those who’ve been around, and hit the other side of the canal. If you can get a closer look at the damage to the grate, do so.”

Quinton stroked my back with his free hand. “A suggestion, Papa?”

“It always worries me when you strive to prove you’re capable of independent thought.”

“We should extend our apologies to our friends below for having disturbed their evening. I might be able to retrieve Gibby’s things, too.”

Vampires made a variety of sounds, but Ernesto’s growl came close to a werewolf’s in its intensity. “You want an excuse to go down the slide.”

“I thought Gibby might appreciate a chance to experience it in a more controlled fashion.”

Ernesto sighed. “Talk the cranky werewolves into it. I don’t care. Maybe you can bribe those below for help. I might forgive you for being capable of independent thought if you do something useful for a change instead of causing me problems.”

I was glad I wasn’t the only one with a crazy family.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Quinton had no trouble convincing my parents the safest place for me was the most dangerous place in all of Chicago. Instead of making a break for freedom and finding a good place to hide, I went along with the stupid plan to take a swim in the canal’s fetid waters and descend into the abyss.

Of course, my parents didn’t know monsters lurked beneath the streets of Lower Chicago, and I couldn’t make my uncooperative tongue speak English. Quinton presented our venture as exploring a rather large cave most people avoided because they were afraid of the dark.

Dad fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I doubted he’d ever confess a single fear to vampires—or anyone else for that matter.

Before our side trip into the abyss, Quinton and I took a long walk around Pierina’s restaurant, crossed to the other side of the canal, and investigated every spot with a view of the balcony. We weren’t able to access two possible locations, second story balcony and several third story windows and another balcony, which Quinton regarded with a frown.

So many scents clogged my nose I couldn’t make sense of them, and I lashed my tail instead of squealing my frustration, which would draw unwanted attention to us.

“You’re as bad as a pissy cat, Gibby. The balconies up there are possibilities, but I doubt it. I’m betting it was a one-person job. There’s enough foot traffic if he used a sticker and a short-delay fuse, no one would have noticed, and if he used a long enough fuse, he’d have plenty of time to get in position to drop the grenade against the grate after you fell in the water. On this side, he would’ve been able to judge where you’d fall in and hit the grate. One easy toss and all his problems are solved.”

I hated stickers; the adhesive clung to just about everything, and bomb makers loved being able to set their devices anywhere they wanted. Someone with good aim could plant a grenade and walk off without worrying their explosive would come loose.

Stickers had one saving grace. The damned things were expensive, which deterred the hacks, and the pros preferred more sophisticated methods. The nastiest pros enjoyed playing lethal games of cat and mouse with the police, using innocent lives as the prize.