I've said that I don't like hospitals, for more reasons than I really care to count. One thing that this particular hospital had that was far and away better than any other was a full-service café — not some thrown-together joint with stale doughnuts and burnt java, but a franchise store that was part of a national chain called Coffee Club. Attached yet to the side of the main building, it was a large and welcome respite for anyone and everyone, and I needed to gather myself after my encounter with Errol Esposito's spirit. More coffee wasn't needed; I was feeling awake enough from the coffee I'd had at home (not as good as a white chocolate mocha, but enough for the “waking up" requirements). Some herbal tea was welcome, as was a fresh blueberry scone. Best of all, the location provided a great many better scents than did the hospital itself.

Like almost anywhere else on the globe, these days, it had a wi-fi connection. While Andy did some checking on our other three possible victims, I called Lillian to see if she'd learned anything new from Bridgette Dunne's autopsy.

“Short form? No," she said with a sigh. “The cause was obvious, despite not having a murder weapon at the scene. I did manage to get some information from Garrastegui, down in the labs. No real leads, not even hair or fiber evidence that she could track down with any accuracy. Worst problem with a motel room as a crime scene: Unless the place is hosed down to decontamination levels after every stay, remnants could have belonged to anyone who'd had the room previously."

“Nothing on Bridgette herself?"

“Again, nothing conclusive, beyond what you saw in the room."

“Gloves."

“That's my girl," the voice smiled. “Gloves at the least; without them, the chain would have bitten into the killer's fingers enough to draw epithelials, if not blood. So it's premeditated. Doesn't make me happy, but it's something to keep in mind."

“Andy's got names for all five who had the reunion; we'll track the other three down and get back to you."

The phone distorted the sounds a bit, but I still smiled at Lillian's attempt to give me a wish of good luck in my vulpine language. For not having been born a fox, she was actually pretty good at it. She rang off, and I put my phone away, glancing up at Andy. “Whatcha got, sport?"

“A potential headache in jurisdiction, but we'll take it in steps." He turned his ears and then the tablet toward me. On the screen, the faces of Quinn Russo, James Hasslermund, and Salina Carnahan looked at me from their drivers licenses. Each was from a different state. “At least I've gotten a little background on them all.

“Quinn Russo, 51, songwriter and music maker. You've probably heard his work, but you won't see him performing; apparently, he's got stage fright that he just can't get over. Others perform his songs in public. His studio recordings are very popular, and many of his songs are big hits. You know 'FurGiven,' don't you?"

“Who doesn't?" I asked with a smirk. “It's almost the therian national anthem by now, and apparently, a lot of humans like it as well. Won a lot of awards. I recognized his name when the hotel manager said it." I considered the somber face of the lean-appearing fennec, saw something in the eyes that made me wonder about the depths that I suspected lay just beyond that look. “Given his shyness and concerns with publicity, the license may be the only photo of him readily available."

“That, and some stills associated with his albums. Those can be found on the internet — fans post them all the time. Not sure how up-to-date they are." The raccoon changed gears. “Next up: James Hasslermund, 58, computer programmer and IT administrator for the US branch of a multi-national corporation specializing in prosthetic devices. Appears to be a solid worker, handles his job well. Seems to be valued at his company, so far as companies go; he streamlined the entire corporate IT system, even provided input on servo-controllers for artificial arms and hands; seems to have increased dexterity in prosthetic limbs by quite a lot. The company has won awards for it."

I looked at the face of the license photo and decided that no one should be judged on such things. The human male's expression was of a disdain for the requirement of being photographed, and his eyes were a strange combination of soft and infuriated. The set of his mouth was pouty, and his entire appearance belonged on a mug shot rather than a license. “Sounds like he's done well. And our fifth?"

“Salina Carnahan, 41, designs plush toys. Came up with new ideas to make them attractive to both human and therian yowens, merged herself into a major manufacturer's workshop, then raised huge funds for various preservation programs for non-sapient animals. Forgive my cynicism, but that's pretty good, for a human. Something like half of her salary goes into those funds as well. Recognition among the 'animal rights groups,' as they're still known, has grown over the last ten or so years."

I looked up suddenly, as did Andy. Neither of us said anything; we were both certain, at the same moment, that we'd caught a quick whiff of wintergreen. Perhaps it was Philip's presence, that remnant of his Teaberry gum that he chewed so much of the time when he was alive, or perhaps just an association that we made when we both had an insight at the same moment. Whatever the source, we knew enough about intuition to trust it when it showed up.

The breadcrumb was in the timing.

“Contact information?" I asked. “Who can we get to first?"

“Let's give 'em all a try."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The police precinct had reluctantly joined the modern age, with a few soundproofed rooms equipped with VoIP systems. (It helped when I thought of it as a fancy phone, and the interface was simple enough to allow me that image.) Andy and I commandeered one upon our return to the offices and started making calls. We went in order from his tablet, with no reason to organize things differently. Using the numbers that the hotel manager had provided, we started with Quinn Russo. No answer from our fennec; Andy left a polite message, adding only that it concerned the reunion of the five friends and that it was very important that he call as soon as he got the message.

The human male, James Hasslermund, answered after a few rings. We introduced ourselves through the speakerphone and asked if the gentleman could spare us a few moments of his time. He agreed readily enough.

“Mr. Hasslermund, we understand that you were in the parklands near here, this past weekend, for a reunion with some friends."

“Yes, that's correct." His voice was even, calm, a trace of British accent and a slight lisp that my intuition told me was left over from a childhood speech issue; he had been trained how to speak to overcome it. “The five of us gather every few years or so."

Andy read off the other four names, and the human confirmed them. “I'm sorry to have to tell you that Bridgette Dunne was found dead, yesterday afternoon."

After a pause, he asked, “What happened?"

“She was murdered, sir. We also found that Mr. Esposito had been attacked in his home near the entrance to the state forest."

“Is he also dead?"

“No, sir; he survived his attacker's blows. We are contacting each of you to ask if—"

The 'coon and I exchanged glances as we heard a banging and a muttered oath from Hasslermund. “I deeply apologize to you both," he said smoothly. “I've hit my ankle on something under my desk. It surprised me. Please forgive my language. I'm not myself. I'm still… shocked by the news."

“Mr. Hasslermund," Andy continued, “we're checking on the others as quickly as possible. You all may be in some danger."

“Sir," I asked, “do you know anything about a ring or pendant that Ms. Dunne or Mr. Esposito might have worn?"

“I'm not an expert in jewelry. Not the sort of thing I notice."

“We have reason to believe that the attacker might be targeting your group for some reason. Can you think of…?"

“We're rather plain folk, in our own ways," the human told us. “Even though Bridgette and Quinn are famous in their own right — perhaps even Salina, come to that — I can't think that anyone would target us for that fame. I'm certainly not famous, nor rich; I don't think that Errol is, either. Doesn't make sense."

“We hope that we're merely being prudent. Please exercise caution; we'll call your local police, ask them to keep a discreet eye on your home for at least a few days."

“I've a pair of very well-trained German Shepherds guarding my home. Excuse me, non-sapient German Shepherds. Must be correct. No offense meant."

“None taken," Andy replied, without conviction. “We'll make the call anyway. If anything happens that looks suspicious or worrisome, call for emergency; you'll be in their system with the necessary background."

“Very generous; thank you."

“Let me suggest that you take down my cell number." Andy provided it, and we hoped that Hasslermund was actually writing it down.

“Very fine, detective. Is there anything else I may do for you?"

“Just be careful, sir."

“Thank you; I will. Good day, then."

He rang off, something about his departure making my fur itch.

“I don't want to fall victim to species stereotyping," Andy murmured, “but this guy feels like the type who gives humans a bad name."

“Glad that it wasn't just me. That crack about being 'correct,' as if he somehow knew we're therian."

“Three of the five are therian. Maybe they trained him."

“I'm not sure it took." I shook my head gently, trying to still my ears and focusing on making my tail less twitchy. “Let's get Hasslermund's police department taken care of first, then see if we can get hold of Ms. Carnahan."

When we got through to her, a groggy voice identified herself as Salina Carnahan, and Andy and I identified ourselves as being part of the city constabulary. She apologized for her condition. “I enjoy visiting other places," she explained, “but the actual travel wears me out. I got in late last night, and I was having a lie-in this morning. I'm still not really awake."

“We're sorry to disturb you," I said. “We're calling about a rather urgent matter. You were here this past weekend for a reunion, I believe?"

“Yes. All five of us gather once in a while to get reacquainted and, if I'm honest, brag a bit about how well we've done for ourselves."

“I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Ms. Carnahan."

I heard her breathe slowly. “If it's to be bad, please call me Salina. It takes away the feeling of impersonality."

“I'm Naomi, then," I replied. “Salina, Bridgette Dunne is dead."

The intake of breath was sharp and unmistakable. “What…?"

“She was found in her motel room, yesterday afternoon."

Another long pause as she took in the information. “Go ahead," she said, expecting the worst.

“She was murdered." I waited until the first cries and audible expressions of shock subsided. “I'm very sorry. I didn't know her, but her poetry is so beautiful."

“Yes," came a soft cry.

“Salina, Errol Esposito was also attacked. He's alive, in the hospital, recovering from a severe blow to his head. The doctors think he'll pull through. We spoke with him this morning, for just a few minutes." I carefully avoided the specifics of my encounter. “He said something that I think is important, but I'm not sure what it means. He said, 'Save our souls.' Can you tell me…?"

One brief sob and a deep breath, then the human woman spoke to us softly. “Let me get some water, and I'll explain. Can you record it?"

“Do you want to make a statement?"

“Call it what you like," she said, without rancor. “I don't know how much you'll believe, but you need to know what happened all those years ago. Maybe it wasn't a hallucination after all."

Andy and I exchanged glances. He muted our microphone and asked an obscene variation of What have we gotten ourselves into? He then apologized to me and to Philip, just in case his spirit had overheard. I only shook my head and signaled him to turn the microphone back on — the lady had returned. The detective in charge of the case deftly set up the recording, identified himself, had me and Salina do the same, and we listened to a story we couldn't have made up if we'd tried.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(Transcript of phone conversation, logged by Anderson Pelletier, Case #23-0152T)

CARNAHAN: This all started fourteen years ago, with the first hike that we took together. We didn't know each other then; Errol would take small groups into the forest for overnight camping trips, and we all ended up in this one group together. Bridgett and Quinn were quiet by their natures, James was quiet because he was more uptight than not, and I didn't know what to say, if anything. Errol made sure that we had all read the information we'd been emailed, went over the camping gear with us, had us prepped and ready for our hike in about an hour.

PELLETIER: You each carried your own pack?

CARNAHAN: Yes. They're remarkably light, even with provisions. We weren't hiking over rough terrain, and only about six klicks in. There's a small promontory with a natural cover next to it, like a really shallow cave, perhaps only four or five meters deep. Non-sapients might use it for cover, but there was never any indication of the space being a permanent home to anyone. Errol explained that it helped us particularly because we wouldn't need to pack a tent. There were two good places to rest along the way, too, in case anyone got tired. It really was designed to be a relaxing trek, not a forced march.

McLEROY: Sounds like a great weekend getaway.

CARNAHAN: Errol made it better by keeping up just enough banter and wildlife descriptions to help us all relax and enjoy the trek. I apologized to him for stereotyping, saying that I trusted a therian to be so connected to the forest. He smiled at me, taking no offense at all. He said that he felt lucky to be able to share what he knew with others. At one of the rest stops, he actually taught us how to listen, how easily we could hear the wind, the trees, other creatures moving through the brush. We whispered what we heard, and we could hear each other's whispers. He really made it magical. (pause) That's why this is all so strange.

PELLETIER: In what way?

CARNAHAN: (deep breath) I warned you that this was going to sound crazy. We had reached the cave structure, which Errol called Hotel Esposito, by late afternoon. He helped us set up camp quickly, and we had a little time to explore the immediate area for a bit. It was Bridgett who found it. We heard her soft cry of surprise, and we all turned toward her. She showed us the stone that she had found, about the size and shape of a marble, a blue that seemed to shine with its own light. James wondered if it might be valuable, and none of us could say for certain.

PELLETIER: You said stone; did you mean a gemstone, or…?

CARNAHAN: No, but we thought it might have been something like lapis lazuli, some semi-precious stone. It was beautiful, certainly. I remember that Bridgett didn't put it into a pocket or somewhere; she set it on a small rock at the entrance to the cave, inviting all of us to just enjoy it being there. Quinn and I thanked her for it. I wasn't sure why at the time. That came later.

McLEROY: What did?

CARNAHAN: The understanding. The magic started earlier. Wait, I'm sorry, I'm not being clear. Let me get back to that evening. Errol was smart enough not to try to get us to be “happy campers 'round the fire," singing songs off key. He did bring the making of s'mores, though.

McLEROY: (chuckling) I'd have smacked him if he hadn't!

CARNAHAN: (laughter) I think it's a requirement! Anyway, we had loosened our tongues a little by the time we'd finished eating dinner, saving the s'mores for later. All of us managed to relax, laugh a little, and start talking. It was Bridgette who started talking about what she really wanted, what she dreamed of. It surprised me a little, because she truly was so quiet, up to that point. As the evening went on, we all started opening up more. Quinn talked softly about his passion for music, writing songs, and how there wasn't much time for that as a transcriptionist for a law firm. James talked about his computer modeling, as much as he could; he blamed NDA and “boring stuff" for his speaking only in general terms, but he really wanted to make new designs for better, more efficient prosthetics. I spoke of wanting to reach out to yowens, therian or human, to find common ground, to break the barriers of misunderstanding… Sorry, didn't mean to get on a soapbox.

PELLETIER: We know your work, Salina. You've put your skills where your mouth is.

McLEROY: And I, for one, thank you. Did Errol contribute, too?

CARNAHAN: He said that he loved his work with the forest and the park service, and that he was lucky to be doing what he loved. His only wish, he said, was that he could do more, somehow, to help preserve the land, to get people to see how all that we saw around us was important, valuable, something to be enjoyed, not exploited. He was passionate about it, but he wasn't preachy or whiny. Each of us felt it, that need to do more, to be more, to really reach for all that we could do with our dreams. (sighing) We fell quiet, after a while, and we just sat there, looking at the sky filled with stars. It was a new moon, so we saw… Everything sounds so cliché, about the bill-yuns of stars… (chuckling) It's true, though. Even the Milky Way was visible, like this pale wash across the blackness, making a kind of glow that you can't see with city lights around. (pause) I'm sorry for the tangent, but I think it's important. We all felt it, you see. I looked around and realized that I could sense each of us. I'm not therian, but I felt connected to… well, the environment, the forest, the mountains, but also to something primal, or something that connected me to the others. (chuckling) I remember smacking myself, mentally, for thinking that Errol looked like he was going to start howling.

PELLETIER: I think he'd forgive you that.

CARNAHAN: He did. I told him, privately. He blushed, admitting that he did sometimes go into the woods, alone, and “sing to Grandmother Moon," as he put it. That was the feeling I tried to put into my first wolf plush… (throat clearing) I'm getting ahead of myself again. Sorry. Suffice it to say that we didn't so much forget about the stone as we all let it stay there, on the rock outside of the cave, when we all crawled into sleeping bags to doze until morning. I think we all had the idea that we would figure out what to do with it then. As it turned out, we didn't have to.

McLEROY: What do you mean?

CARNAHAN: I mean that, when we got up the next morning, we found the stone in five pieces.

PELLETIER: Wait, how did…? Did someone manage to break it?

CARNAHAN: No. It was Quinn who found it, and I have to imagine that he was at least as shocked as the rest of us, given the yipping noise he made. Again, I hope that I'm not stereotyping; non-sapient foxes make a certain noise that I've heard elsewhere, and—

McLEROY: You're absolutely right, Selina. I'm a vixen, and I know the sound you're talking about. It's something we therians can promise you: We are still connected to our non-sapient roots.

CARNAHAN: Thank you, Naomi. I've learned to be careful around new beings of any species, not to ruffle anyone's feelings.

McLEROY: It's sad that there's still so much tension… Anyway, Quinn gave out a yip, and then…?

CARNAHAN: (chuckling) Yes, he did, and Bridgette almost did, too. James was stunned but silent, I gasped, and Errol made a sound I couldn't begin to describe. None of us could believe what we were seeing. We all denied having done it, and none of us had tools to do it anyway. It seemed clear that, for whatever reason, however it happened, we were each meant to have a piece of the stone.

PELLETIER: Was there any argument over who got which piece?

CARNAHAN: Quinn came up with the solution to that. He called it “logical," but I thought it was more like divine intuition. He arranged the pieces in a circle on the rock; the one at the top of the circle was 1, and the others were numbered going clockwise. We each took a piece of paper from Bridgette's notepad — she said that she always carried one with her — and we used her pen to write down the number of the piece we wanted, then passed all the pieces to her. She opened them and…

McLEROY: And she found that each of you had written a different number.

CARNAHAN: You got it. We each took our piece of the stone and put into a pocket, somewhere safe. We didn't know what we were going to do with the pieces, or even what that weekend meant, but we did exchange our contact information. We were bound by a common experience. We couldn't explain what it was, not even to ourselves, but we certainly couldn't tell anyone else about it. We went our separate ways, but we stayed in touch.

PELLETIER: This was fourteen years ago?

CARNAHAN: Yes.

McLEROY: How did it start, Salina?

CARNAHAN: (pause) You're right, of course.

PELLETIER: What did I miss?

CARNAHAN: For me, it started with a lot of gentle thinking about that weekend, about how good it was, how well I slept that night, and what soft dreams I had. I wondered how I could reach out to human children and therian yowens, just as I had told the others. Slowly, the idea emerged, and I found myself looking at plush dolls in a different way.

PELLETIER: The stone was a catalyst?

CARNAHAN: For all of us, as it turned out. Over the next few years, our passions were amplified, or so it seemed. Quinn was quiet, but stayed in touch through email; Bridgette and I exchanged emails and even phone calls. James and Errol were a little quiet at first, but interest picked up as we made arrangements to meet again for a reunion. This would be about two years after the first one. When we got together, we hiked up the mountainside quietly, for the most part, saving conversation for that night. Everyone spoke of the dreams and ideas that had been arriving fast and furious. Bridgette read a poem by the firelight, and we were awestruck. Quinn shyly tried a verse and chorus of a new song, and we all wanted more. I had some sketches of the plushies I had ideas for. James tried very hard to break down his tech-talk; what we understood most was his enthusiasm and that his designs for new prosthetics, or parts or controls for them, were getting a lot of attention. Even Errol had been discovering grants for the park in general and the park service in particular.

PELLETIER: Did he profit from that? Forgive my asking.

CARNAHAN: I understand, and the answer is no, not directly. His hiking weekends became very popular, and he was often offered gifts, which he either declined, gently, or turned over to his overseers. Everything was above-board, right from the start, and the overseers are fair enough to find some loopholes for Errol to have a few modest perks. That Land Rover is utilitarian, and it's also his, courtesy of a few appreciative and generous hikers. The cabin was completely rebuilt, made bigger, so that Errol could live there year-round, keeping an eye on things that much better, be available faster for any emergencies.

PELLETIER: You've all done very well for yourselves, in various ways, over the years.

CARNAHAN: And it started with that trip, fourteen years ago. It started with that stone. (long pause) This is the part you might have trouble believing.

McLEROY: I may be ahead of you, Salina. Which one of you first began calling the stones “souls"?

CARNAHAN: I'm not entirely sure. None of us is, I think. You'd think that it might have been Bridgette, or Quinn. It might even have been Errol, but we all began thinking and, eventually, speaking that way. I don't think we believed that we were possessed or something; it's not some cultish thing, nothing arcane. We all felt that we had shared a moment that was magical, but I don't think we believed it really was magic. It became a symbol, the moment when we began to really listen to ourselves, our dreams, our passions. We all became… well, who we really wanted to be.

PELLETIER: And you think it might be because of this stone?

CARNAHAN: (sighing) It's easy to think so. Perhaps it's just superstition, or blaming some coincidence for magically transforming us somehow. It may have nothing to do with it, or maybe we're all headed for some karmic catastrophe or something.

McLEROY: Have you spoken of this with anyone else?

CARNAHAN: About the stones? No. That was just between us.

McLEROY: May I ask what you did with your stone? Do you know what the others did with theirs?

CARNAHAN: Mine is set into a ring. James and Errol did the same, a heavier band than mine. Bridgette had hers set into a necklace, and Quinn placed his into a silver hair cuff, for his braid.

PELLETIER: You have your ring with you now?

CARNAHAN: Yes, I… Wait, what are you telling me?

PELLETIER: Miss Dunne's necklace and Mr. Esposito's ring are missing.

CARNAHAN: What about the others?

McLEROY: We reached Mr. Hasslermund, but we didn't ask about his jewelry; we didn't know this story, at that time. We've been unable to reach Mr. Russo.

CARNAHAN: I may have a few numbers…

PELLETIER: Miss Carnahan… Salina… I'm going to stop this recording here. We'll take notes on the rest, when you're ready.

(end transcript)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Salina gave us a number for Quinn Russo's agency, as well as one for his recording studio, but no one at either location had heard from him since sometime prior to his departure for the weekend. It was then that Andy and I took a much needed break, realizing that it was far past time for a good meal and the chance to give our brains a rest. With Andy's full agreement, I invited Lillian to join us at a nearby deli and restaurant, since it was well past the hour for the lunch rush. Lillian had missed her usual lunch hour also, so the three of us fell upon our food with the gusto (and, no doubt, table manners) of feral creatures. When we finally managed to slow down enough to form coherent speech, Andy and I told Salina Carnahan's story, as Lillian's eyes seemed to grow far too large for her face.

“Tell me you're joking."

“You can read the transcript, when it's ready." I lowered my voice further. “Errol told me this morning that he had a ring, and it's not with his effects; Salina confirmed that he'd had his part of the stone mounted into a ring, like she and Hasslermund had done. Quinn Russo's is in a silver cuff for his braid, and Bridgette's was on a necklace."

“A missing necklace," Lillian noted.

I simply nodded.

“Someone wants all the pieces back together."

“Or something," I noted. “If we accept that this stone broke itself into pieces in the middle of the night, maybe it wants to…"

“A reunion, pardon the joke?" Andy shook his head, gently but firmly. “I'd tend to say no. If that were the case, why didn't it just, well, pull itself together during the night that the five of them were together, back in that cave, where it all started?"

Lillian considered. “Honestly, that would make more sense than trying to kill the members of the party. Of course, I'm talking about the motives of a stone that seems to be entirely too magical for anything to do with common sense." She mugged and twirled a finger at her temple to indicate her delicate sensibilities toward those who might have psychological issues. The joke held no malice, so none of us called the PC Police.

“I'm more in favor of corporeal agencies myself," I smiled wanly, “if only because of the physical violence involved."

“Okay," Lillian allowed. “Did anyone else know about this stone and its pieces?"

“Only the five of them, according to Salina." Andy took up the obvious thread. “I apologize for stereotyping, but my bet would be Hasslermund."

“You keep using his last name, but the first name of the others." Our human guest canted her head slightly, with the gentlest lift of one eyebrow. “Is there anything to that?"

My fur itched a little, and I saw Andy had the same reaction. We looked to each other, ears back a little, and nodded. “It's possible," the 'coon allowed, abashed. “He really was abrupt on the phone, just this side of offensive."

Lillian looked to me, and I nodded. “Even at the end of the call, we both took a breath and tried to back away from feelings of genuine dislike."

“One other thing," he added. “He must have lied about not noticing the jewelry; all five had taken a part of the stone and had it set into some kind of jewelry."

“True," our friend acknowledged, “point taken, but maybe he was just evasive, for whatever reason. Maybe he was suspicious of someone else knowing about the stone; after all, none of them was supposed to have told anyone. Let's slow down and look at forensic facts. If we assume it's one of the five, we've three who haven't been attacked. It's the obvious conclusion to choose the larger of the two males, the one you've heard on the phone and gotten bad vibes from. Remember that Bridgette was strangled from behind, and Errol was struck from behind."

“Quinn's too short for that," Andy pointed out.

“Depends on what the wolf was hit with." She turned to me. “Did you see if there was anything in the wolf's cabin?"

I shook my head. “Too busy trying to get him to the hospital."

She nodded, taking a sip of her soda. “I was just as occupied with him. A CSI team must have been called after we left. I'll see if they found anything. Something golf club-like would eliminate the height issue." She smiled. “Even a human female can smack someone from behind."

“Why would she spin such a story?"

“The story's real, but she was tired from having gotten away with two assaults. The best lies have a grain of truth."

My “loaded" tater-tots seemed far less appetizing, all of a sudden. I fell back in my chair, sighing a little. After a moment, I felt Lillian's hand on my arm.

“No criticism, kitling. Follow your gut; just be sure follow the evidence, too. From what I know of Quinn Russo's reputation, I can't see him doing it. For that matter, Selina Carnahan's rep makes her a long shot, too. I know nothing of Mr. Hasslermund, but if he rubs your fur the wrong way, maybe there's something to it." She smiled at me. “Any wintergreen yet?"

I had to laugh a little, and Andy did, too. “Just this morning," the 'coon allowed, his tail giving an amused little flick, “when we realized that we needed to try calling these three members of the reunion group. It was the timing that caught us — everything seemed to have started with these people about ten or so years ago. We can always thank Phillip for gut feelings."

He smiled, then took up Lillian's thought. “Okay… one part gut feeling, one part actual evidence. Maybe we need a few more clues to work with. Insights usually work best with—" He held up a finger, silently asking us to wait while he answered his cell. Because therians don't have ear-to-muzzle distances that are as easily adaptable as those on human heads, many of us use the speaker option, while others (like Andy) use a Bluetooth device that can be adapted to many different shapes of ear. Humans couldn't use our types of earbuds, because the volume levels are designed to be significantly lower than most of them can hear, since our ears are (generally) much more sensitive. It helps to keep conversations very private.

Lillian and I did our best not to listen to his side of the exchange, but as soon as we heard the name “Hasslermund," we paid the very closest of attention, picking up what we could.

“Sir, please listen. I want you to… Sir, we contacted your local constabulary, so your case… When did you leave?... Where are… No, it's all right not to tell me; just get… Sir, listen, just get to any police station, sheriff's office, any… It doesn't matter, just have them call me… Yes, I'll keep my cell with me… Get them to call me, any hour, I'll tell them… Sir, I'll tell them about the case, and you tell them why you've left your house… Yes, sir, that's exactly right… I'm very sorry for your loss, but you need to be safe… Yes, sir… I'll do that… Get to any police station, use the words 'material witness' and that you're in danger… That should get enough attention from them for you to give them my cell number; I'll fill in the rest… Yes, sir, any hour… Be safe; get to… Yes, sir, good, call when you can… Yes, goodbye."

Andy disconnected, looking around the space, realizing that the few people who were in the restaurant were trying very hard to look as if they'd heard nothing. I could see him weighing options, finally speaking gently but quite clearly. “I apologize to you all for raising my voice. I'm a police detective; the call concerns a case. Everything will be all right. Thank you for your patience." He stood, and we followed suit.

From the counter, a young tiger waved a forepaw at our table, asking, “Can I put any of that into to-go containers? Won't take a sec."

Nodding, our raccoon herded us to the door. “We'll be just outside, so that we can let these good customers eat in peace."

“Hey," said an older human male softly. “Let's be careful out there."

“Thank you," Lillian told him, smiling back. “We will."

We gathered to one side of the front doors, keeping ourselves as inconspicuous as possible. “Hasslermund has been attacked," Andy spoke quietly and quickly, “or rather, his guard dogs were. Non-sapient G-Sheps. They were both throttled with choke chains."

I gasped, and Lillian made a strange sound in her throat.

“He seems to be on the run, afraid that his home isn't safe. I told him… well, you heard that part." Andy's ears went back a little, a look of shame on his face. “I assumed too much."

“But that means…"

The young tiger came out to hand us everything neatly boxed up and put into a paper sack with a handle to make it easier to carry. “I couldn't make sure that I could put your drinks in here; the lids might come off." He hesitated briefly, a sense of a blush rising up under his cheek fur. “I put a couple of fresh bottles in there. Don't tell the boss."

Andy reached into his pocket, bringing out a business card for the kit. “If he says anything, have him call me so I can thank him for helping out the local police. That'll put his wind up."

Grinning, the tiger pocketed the card. “Thanks for catching the bad guys." With that, he turned and padded quickly back into the deli.

“Bad guys," I repeated softly. “We're down to a choice between a shy folksinger and a woman who makes the finest plush toys in the world."