Page 33 of Fresh Old Bounties

“Do you know Desmond Crane?”

Veva made a face. “Are you going to hire him? He’s not the easiest person to deal with. Knows his stuff, though.”

“He’s your accountant too?”

“Unfortunately.”

“A necessary evil, huh?”

“Very unfortunately.”

My next stop was Bosko’s store. Bosko wasn’t in, but his daughter was behind the counter. I introduced myself and invited her to visit the Tea Cauldron for a free sample of the goods.

She did not reciprocate.

Now a new owner of a beige bucket hat with googly eyes embroidered in the front to protect me from the rain, I added Bosko’s daughter to my list of suspects and made my way to the same pack store Preston had visited the day before.

Luckily for me, Keith was the only one in the store. He was one of the shifters who had made an effort to come into my shop and strike up a conversation. In his late thirties, he was a solid block of a man with a friendly face and a cheery smile.

In a nutshell, the opposite of Hutton.

It was good to be reminded that not all shifters were rude, paranoid, and in need of dark magic.

Or were they?

I studied him closely, searching for any sign of evilness emanating from him. If only it were that easy.

“What brings you over?” he asked good-naturedly. Perhaps he was used to people eyeing him with suspicion. The prices on display were on the high end of the spectrum. “Need some equipment?”

I allowed him to show me their selection of yoga mats. A lot of witches swore by the daily practice of yoga to keep their spirit going, but I preferred a good dose of affirmations in the morning.

“Does the pack make a lot of money off these?” I asked, poking at a bright pink rolled sheet of foam.

“Our bestsellers,” he said proudly. “The treadmills sell very well too. We offer free local delivery and setup. Are you interested in one? We carry one model that fits perfectly in smaller living rooms. Or we can order in for you.”

My living room was of a good size, but I should really invest in filling it with furniture first. I told him as much.

“You want to go to Brock for that,” Keith said. “The man is an artist with wood.”

“Brock?”

“He has a warehouse out west. Look up his name on your phone, will show right up.”

“That’s probably too expensive for my finances,” I confessed.

He laughed. “Ah, the curse of opening a store. Living on instant noodles and a mattress on the floor?”

I grinned. “Close enough. Speaking of money, what accountants do you guys use for the pack businesses? Is it Crane?”

His expression darkened. “He’s the only choice, so yes.”

“The only choice?” Olmeda wasn’t that small. There had to be other accountants, even if they were unaware of the paranormal world.

“He’s put everyone else out of business.”

“I heard he’s…unpleasant.”

“He’s the devil’s own.”

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