Page 76 of Fresh Old Bounties

Ian, who was used to my weekly performance, moved away to find an empty seat in the last row—his favorite position in the room.

Dru, who had never come to a PBOA meeting with me before, stared at me like she was deeply regretting her decision to move to Olmeda.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

I finished the sandwich and liked my finger clean like a theater actor trying to get seen from the last row. “I’m tempting people into trying my sand-witches.”

“Why do you care if—wait. Did you just say sand-witches?”

“Good, huh?” I said with a conspiratorial wriggle of my eyebrows.

Dru spun on her heels and stalked away. She sat on a first row seat, slammed her small purse on the chair next to hers, and ignored me.

“Sand-witches?” I asked Bosko as he ambled nearby.

He grunted, poured himself a coffee, and kept on walking.

“They go with everything,” I called after him.

“I’ll have one,” said a friendly voice.

“Keith!” I grabbed the tray and offered it to him. “One hundred percent handmade.” And, unlike my predecessor’s PBOA cookie offerings, dark magic free.

He picked one up and ate half in one bite. “Not bad. Could be warmer.”

“But at least it’s not freezing, huh?”

“Touché.”

I scanned the crowd. “Hutton here today?”

“Over there.” He pointed toward the farthest corner from where Ian was sitting.

Hutton and his trademarked glower conversed with a tall woman dressed in a dark blue business suit I didn’t recognize. “Who’s that?”

“Monique. She owns a temp job agency downtown.”

“They’re friends?” As I watched, the woman crossed her arms and began tapping her low-heeled shoes. “Never mind, no need to answer that.”

Keith chuckled. “The boss can be tough, but it’s for the pack’s benefit.”

That, I believed. Hutton might be mean and rude and would rather steamroll people over than have to listen to them, but I couldn’t deny he always had the pack’s wellbeing in mind.

“I’ll see you around, Hope,” Keith said before moving away.

Nobody else was close, so I took the time to study the crowd again, taking special notice of anyone I hadn’t seen before, or anyone who was acting awkwardly. And, especially, anyone who might be trying to study me while I wasn’t paying attention.

I couldn’t discount the chance that fake ex-partner’s son, a.k.a. Mystery Man might be in league with someone in the audience. While it appeared to be a one-man operation on the surface, we had no way of knowing how many people were involved.

Everyone was a suspect.

I rued the necessity of moving away from kindness over power but consoled myself with the fact that it was only temporary. It had to be.

The door in the back by the small raised stage slammed open, marking Sonia’s arrival. I rushed to Dru’s side as people scrambled to find a seat and snatched her purse up, sitting right before Desmond Crane tried to get the seat. He glared at me, but Dru shooed him away.

I hoped that didn’t mean I was in for a rough awakening come tax season.

He chose another seat, and a few seconds later, Sonia arrived at the folding table on top of the stage and dropped her massive pile of folders on top.

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