Page 105 of Fresh Old Bounties

“I know. But what if she’s not? We need to check it out.”

“Yes.”

“I checked online, and he closes on Sundays, so he’s probably home.”

Ian found whatever he’d been searching for and inputted an address into the GPS.

“Is that Crane’s house?” At Ian’s nod, my attention switched to his phone. “Do you keep a database with the home addresses for every paranormal in town?”

“No.”

Yep, he totally did. He might not be willing to dig deep into people’s businesses, but he wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t keep track of their locations in case the need arose.

Without another word, he pulled into the lazy Sunday traffic and we crossed Old Olmeda toward an upscale neighborhood at the outer edge of the city proper. The houses here were smaller versions of the grand mansions found in the heart of Old Olmeda, surrounded by actual lawns and containing cute, tiny garages. No parking in the elements in this neighborhood.

Ian parked by a corner lot, and I studied the white and red brick house with its gables and lovely windows. A skeleton waved from the edge of the roof and a few pink tombstones rose from the mowed grass. “Is this it?”

“No.”

He was glancing toward another red brick house down the road.

“Ah,” I said in understanding. “We’re trying to be inconspicuous.”

“We need a plan.”

“Then we should’ve formed it on the drive over,” I pointed out, clearly putting the blame on him.

He flashed me a smile. “Takes two to tango.”

“I have a plan. You’re the one who doesn’t.”

“Oh? Elaborate.”

“We go in.” I gestured vaguely toward the windshield. “And you do your scary bounty hunter glower thing while I tell him if he ever spreads rumors about Grandma’s spellbook, you’ll come back to haul him into Hutton’s pit of bad guys. Maybe growl a little too,” I added after a moment of consideration.

“Hutton’s pit of bad guys?”

“You know. Where he buries all these people he keeps making disappear.” Vicky, the twins, etc, etc.

“Crane might have something on Hutton,” Ian said. “Better come up with something else.”

“Because of Hutton’s potion?”

“Yes.”

Hutton’s use of dark magic to gain and retain alpha powers was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, but in this day and age, anything could easily leak.

I sighed dramatically. “I guess we’ll just have to remind him you own a cemetery and nobody’s going to notice one more grave.”

Ian started the car. “That’s the spirit.”

We parked in front of Crane’s house and jumped out of the SUV. The lawn was manicured to perfect HOA standards with not a flower in sight. The house had no front porch, and a small awning covered the recessed front door.

I pressed on the doorbell, and a loud ringing echoed from within the house. After a minute, I pressed again.

I was about to suggest we check around the house and see if any windows were open when the door jerked open.

“What do you want?” Crane said. He was dressed in “weekend chic”—slacks and a polo shirt. Warm air wafted out into the chilly day.

---