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“Nothing much,” she replied. “They’ve been keeping to themselves, don’t make any noise, leave in the morning and come back at night.”
“Would you be able to give us a description of them?”
“None of them are remarkable,” she said. “They’re all around six foot, with long brown hair and dark eyes. They could be brothers, they look so alike.”
“Did any of them have a beard?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not unless you consider a five o’clock shadow a beard. One did have an ear stud, though, and the one who looked the youngest had a tat of a wolf up his arm.”
“What sort of car were they driving?” Aiden said.
She hesitated. “A dark blue pickup until a day or so ago, but I noticed there was a red vehicle parked in the carport this morning.”
“Same number plate or different?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the same, would it?” she said. “But if I’m honest, I didn’t really take much notice. Thought it might have belonged to one of the other two.”
“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Allan,” Aiden said. “We’ll just head out and wait for the Bendigo division to arrive.”
She nodded, and watched us walk out the door. Aiden climbed into his truck and punched the number plate into truck’s computer. After a few seconds, the result flashed up onto the screen.
“Not unexpectedly, the plate was stolen two weeks ago.”
I frowned. “Isn’t it rather dangerous to be driving around with stolen plates—especially one as rare as I presume a reservation plate would be?”
“Depends,” he replied. “If they’re only using them outside the reservation, then probably not given how big an area the Bendigo cops have to look after.”
“Why steal reservation plates at all then? Why not pick a regular Victorian number plate that’s less likely to stand out?”
He shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person that question.”
“So you share that sort of information with the regional forces?”
“Yes, but in the case of reservation plates, most are taken to sell rather than use. Believe it or not, they’re something of a collector’s item.” He glanced around as a blue Commodore pulled into the park. “And that will be Jack.”
He climbed out and went over to the other vehicle. I walked around the back of the truck then stopped, watching the two men greet each other. Jack was perhaps five or so years older than Aiden, several inches shorter, and built like the proverbial brick wall. Even his muscles appeared to have muscles.
“Liz, meet Jack Byrnes, senior detective from the Bendigo station,” Aiden said, as the two walked toward me. “Lizzie’s one of our acting reservation witches.”
Jack held out his hand, his smile warm. “If Aiden had mentioned the new witch was so pretty, I might have visited more often.”
I smiled and placed my hand in his. His grip was firm and friendly. “Pleasure to meet you, Jack.”
He nodded and returned his gaze to Aiden. “So, are our culprits here?”
“No, but the bracelets they’re using to track and kill werewolves are. If nothing else, we need to get into their accommodation and find them. Did you get the warrant?”
“Yes, though I used a few favors in the process. You owe me a beer.” He paused and glanced toward reception. “I gather you’ve already talked to the manager?”
“Her name is Mrs. Allan, and she won’t release the keys without seeing the warrant.”
“Good on her.”
He disappeared inside, but came out a few seconds later with keys in hand. Once we’d neared the cabin before it, Aiden motioned us to stop and then continued on alone, his footsteps barely audible as he approached the nearest window. After carefully checking all three, he motioned us forward.
“I can’t see or scent anyone,” he said softly, “and they’re certainly not keeping the pelts in the cabin.”
“They’d be stupid if they did,” Jack commented. “This close to the reservation there’s always the risk of a random wolf happening by and smelling the blood, even if it’s not fresh.”
