Page 25 of Fresh Old Bounties

“Leave the Vespa there,” Dru commanded, pointing at a few bicycles chained to a low fence.

As did as she ordered, and parked Bee-Bee in an open spot, then hesitated. Vehicular crime in Olmeda wasn’t the highest, but still…

“Oh, don’t worry so much,” Dru snapped, reading my mind. “Nobody’s going to steal this piece of junk.”

I patted the Vespa’s headlight. “Don’t worry, Bee-Bee, you’ll always be the prettiest piece of junk in my heart.”

“Takes one to know one,” Dru muttered as she took off the helmet and stuffed it in the compartment under the seat.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was under the impression you wanted my help with…” I trailed off as Dru ignored me and ran up to the corner of the building. She peeked around, then beckoned.

“There he is,” she whispered when I got closer. “Wonder where he’s going.”

In Old Olmeda, it could be anywhere, really. We followed him among the early afternoon throng of tourists toward Balton Square. The shops here were small and picturesque, with three restaurants or bars per two lamposts.

Preston eventually took one of the popular side streets and went into Bosko’s shop of garish vacation apparel.

“What does he want with Bosko?” I wondered aloud. No way Bosko would sell his shop, and the shop itself was a glorified hallway, anyway, not the kind of space Tabbies favored.

We crept closer and peeked through the T-shirts hanging in the entryway. Preston and Bosko were having an excellent man-to-man talk, full of laughs and entertainment.

I pulled her back before they caught us snooping. “What do you think he’s doing?”

“The bastard,” Dru growled. Her hands clenched and unclenched, and I checked her hair in case the telltale signs of her demon horns were peeking out. “He’s buttering up the competition.”

“His competition?”

“Yours!”

“Bosko’s not my competition.” I mean, sure, I sold T-shirts too, but mine were at least tasteful.

Dru threw up her hands and walked to the shop on Bosko’s left, where she motioned for me to stand close to the display window. Catching on, I joined her and acted like I was super into the expensive local artisanal candles.

“He must’ve heard that we went to Sonia to complain,” she explained in a dark tone, “so now he’s ingratiating himself with other paranormal businesses so they don’t vote against him.”

“I wonder if Sonia told him about our intentions,” I added just as grimly.

“She doesn’t really hate you.”

“So you say.”

“And she doesn’t hate me.”

“That you know of.”

“As much as I admire this suspicious side of you,” Dru said, “being obsessed with Sonia isn’t going to help us at all.”

I grunted. Why wouldn’t it be Sonia? Everyone was a suspect, no matter how unrelated to the problem they might appear.

“He’s on the move,” Dru warned.

I peeked over her shoulder and watched his back disappear among the tourists. “Let’s go.”

If Dru’s ex-boyfriend was responsible for playing a joke on me and Grandma, he was going to pay dearly.

Preston’s next stop was a sports store a couple of streets over. It specialized in yoga and home gym equipment.

“Is that one of the pack’s stores?” I asked.

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