Page 22 of On the Road

Zander grabbed the pitcher of lemonade on the coffee table and poured us all glasses. “Maybe I should get out more? Sometimes it’s just me and the dicks, you know? And they don’t really talk back.”

“I’d be more alarmed if they did,” Victor muttered.

“You’d love San Francisco,” Zee gushed. “Parts of it. Eh, maybe not Demontown? We’d have to ease you in slow to that experience.”

“Aright, let us refrain from getting ahead of ourselves,” Victor’s voice of reason interrupted. He’d sunk so far down in the beanbag it had molded to his body. “We still have a murder to solve.”

“You should look at Duke.” Zander lowered himself into his beanbag. “He’s the beta, but he’s got anger issues. You hear any woodland creatures on your way over? No, because he eats ’em. The little guys . . . rabbits, squirrels, you know?”

Zee grimaced. “So that’s why it’s so quiet outside.”

“Yeah, Duke?” Zander pulled a face and tapped his head. “Not right up here if you ask me. He probably wants Galbraith’s top spot. I bet he’s doin’ all this to make the alpha look bad.”

Duke had been frosty with us, but no more so than the others. Perhaps a closer chat with Galbraith about the beta might prove useful, but doing so without the pack thinking we were about to accuse a high-ranking member would be tricky. In fact, all of this was proving more difficult than merely finding tracks in the woods and following them to the killer’s pink cabin.

“What do we do now?” Zee asked. “Look at Duke?”

“Not yet. Now . . .” Victor began. “Or rather, after I’ve extracted myself from this remarkably comfortable bag filled with polystyrene beads, we return to the motel and examine the victim’s body.”

“Don’t you guys think it’s weird they asked you to figure this all out?” Zander asked. “No offense, but why you three?”

“I volunteered us.”

“You volunteered to intervene in a werewolf pack’s murder mystery?” Zander coughed a laugh. “You guys must be crazy.”

Smiling as I sipped my lemonade, I said, “Not crazy, just tougher than we look.”

A rumbling growl—like distant thunder—sounded outside the cabin. I glanced at Zander but he didn’t seem concerned, just carried on pouring lemonade. “Ignore it. They come over and sniff around sometimes.”

Zee and Victor shared a glance. Victor somehow gracefully extracted himself from the beanbag’s clutches. Unlike me. I had to tip myself out of the bag, onto my knees, and accept Zee’s hand to get back to my feet.

The growls rumbled on, gradually circling the outside the cabin. When whoever it was reached the porch, claws clicked on timber and the growls bubbled louder. Were Zander’s visitors usually this aggressive sounding?

Again, Zander didn’t seem concerned. He lowered himself into his beanbag with his glass of lemonade. “So, are there many werewolves in the city?”

More growls boiled.

Zee’s tail twitched. “That pupper does not sound friendly.”

Victor tilted his head, his sharp gaze narrowing. “Something is wrong. Zander, are you certain this visitor is normal?”

“It’s fine.” Zander flapped a hand. “Don’t let them intimidate you or they’ll just keep at it. Whoever it is will get bored and wander off.”

The sound of plodding footfalls and clicking claws stopped.

“Did they leave?” I whispered. Zee frowned, but Victor had zeroed in on a spot against the far wall. His predator senses had locked on. The werewolf had definitely not gone.

Only the sound of the crackling fire filled the cabin. That and my thudding heart.

A heavy thump sounded on the roof.

“Huh.” Zander slowly set his lemonade to one side. “They don’t usually climb up there.” Shoving out of his beanbag, he strode to the door and picked up the shotgun. “Don’t worry, ol’ Betsy usually frightens ’em off.”

I assumed Betsy was the gun.

“Wait—” Victor warned, but Zander had already yanked open the door. He stood on the porch and loaded the shotgun with a dramatic cha-chunk pump action. Suddenly an enormous furry blur shot from one side, and in a blink, Zander was gone. He didn’t even have a chance to pull the trigger.

“Stay inside!” Victor vanished next, dashing out the open door.