Bears Behaving Badly

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  “Our scone mix.”

  “Save me some,” she ordered. Well, whined. Good God, she loved pastry, she really did. Maybe David would be amenable to swinging through a drive-through. Multiple times.

  Chapter 11

  As it turned out, once David had retrieved his car, he was all kinds of amenable.

  “It’s not just the biscuit and the egg,” she explained with her mouth full. “It’s the tenderness of the biscuit and the smokiness of the ham and the gooeyness of the cheese and the admittedly overcooked egg. Alone, they’re insignificant. Even unpalatable, when it comes to the egg…so rubbery. But together, they’re transcendent. Sorry, what was the question?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you. Just telling the Razer I was back.” He patted the dashboard, which was so cute it was stupid. “And you’re talking about Burger King chow, right?”

  “Yes, but that also applies to scrambled eggs and ketchup. I don’t like scrambled eggs, and I think ketchup is something you have to use when you’ve lost a bet. Not that I bet. But they’re so good together! Don’t read into that.” David chuckled as she tore into her third breakfast biscuit. “I can’t believe you’re done eating already. Aren’t you famished? You burned thousands of calories at my place last night.” Then she nearly choked on the unintentional double entendre. Two in ten seconds!

  “Yeah, well, I was gonna make scrambled eggs last night, but your roommate started screaming about scones and custard like I’d stabbed him.”

  “No, he makes a very different noise when you stab him.”

  “Okay, disturbing. Anyway, that’s why you’ve got some eggs left but you’re out of lunch meat and Ritz crackers. And everything on the second shelf in your fridge.” David paused, thinking. “And mustard.”

  “We’re out of mustard? How could you keep this from me?”

  “I’ll buy you more.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, can I ask you something?”

  “Something else, right? Because by asking if you can ask me something, you’ve already asked me something.”

  “Bad enough you’re using clichés—”

  “Hey!”

  “—but they’re Nadia’s clichés. You need a new partner.”

  “Oh, are you volunteering?”

  “…No.”

  She grinned. “I’m going to pass over that disconcerting pause and change the subject back to your evening stroll. I’m guessing you found nothing out of the ordinary?”

  “No, just your scent everywhere. Which I expected. And Pat’s, which… Actually, I thought I’d find more of it. What there was, it was really faint. Not…old, exactly. Just not as strong as yours. What’s his story? Can I ask?”

  “It’s a standard backstory,” she said. “He made a series of bad decisions, fell in with the wrong crowd, was slashed and nearly burned alive. The usual adolescent angst.”

  “Jesus. Where the hell did you grow up?”

  “Prescott, Wisconsin,” she replied. “Or was that rhetorical?”

  “Why aren’t you seeing anyone?”

  Annette was surprised by his question (which she presumed wasn’t rhetorical), but not as surprised as David, who looked startled as the color rose to his cheeks.

  Ah, someone forgot to engage his filter this morning. Why do I find that so endearing?

  David misinterpreted her silence, because he added, “I’m not fishing. I get that you’ve got no interest in…you know.”

  What? I know? I don’t think I know. What is he talking about? Good God, this is exactly like being back in high school, which I DID NOT LOVE the first time around.

  “But you’re really…you know.” David probably thought he was clarifying, which was as annoying as it was adorable. “So I was wondering why you’re not seeing anybody.”

  “Why aren’t you?” she countered.

  He shrugged. “The job. The hours. It’s hard to meet new people, and I’ve got no interest in Mate or Tamer or Shifter Date.”

  “Well, there you go. We’re both in a committed relationship with a faceless government bureaucracy, and we’ve got little or no time to cheat on it even if we wanted to, which we don’t.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  She considered ignoring everything she had learned about him and everything she had told herself and just asking him out, then reminded herself that (1) there were more important things to concentrate on, (2) his disinterest was plain, and (3) she was terrible at asking men out. It always ended up sounding like a sales pitch. And not for something vital, but something like a terrific set of mixing bowls. Something you immediately regretted purchasing, like an extended warranty on an electric toothbrush. “Oooh, here it is. Turn, turn!”

  “Wonderful. I love back-seat drivers.”

  “David, you missed the turn!”

  “I’m making the turn, Christ, stop screaming.”

  Lund lived—had lived—in a luxe apartment in the Layette Loft building in Saint Paul’s Lowertown neighborhood. The area was justly famous for its artists’ quarter, breweries, and warren of hipster lairs. “Oooh, Pazzaluna’s right across the street! Excellent gnocchi and lamb chops. Maybe there’ll be time after to grab a sandwich.”

  “It’s not even 8:00 a.m. And they don’t serve breakfast or lunch.”

  “Don’t give me problems, David, give me solutions. Maybe we’ll try a deli instead. See? See how I immediately found a solution? You could learn a lot from me.”

  “I’ll never deny it,” he replied, admirably straight-faced.

  Traffic was annoying, which was to be expected during morning rush hour, but David quickly found a parking space out front.

  “Do you have meter money? Because I don’t have meter money.” She snatched up her purse, rooted around. “I have four quarters. No. Six!”

  “Annette, what year do you think it is?” He shut off the engine and pulled out his S metro card. It worked like any transit card in any meter in the state, but the info went into IPA’s database for billing and payroll. Theoretically, they were efficient time-savers. Realistically…

  “Those never work for me. Well, sometimes they don’t work. Or I get it mixed up with my library card—they’re the same color!”

  “There’s also an app.”

  “It’s just easier to dump a bunch of quarters in a meter. Okay, okay, enough with the cross-examination!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Fine, you’re right, I might have a smidge of Luddite in me. I didn’t start texting until two years ago.”

  He smothered a laugh as they headed past the pale pillars and up the steps to Lund’s building. “You know you’re not being cross-examined, right?”

  “I hate when you ask questions that aren’t actually questions,” she grumbled. “Why are you smiling? Before yesterday, I didn’t know your face could do that.”

  “I like working with you,” he replied simply, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d blush like a virginal schoolgirl. Oh. Wait. She was. Blushing. Not virginal. Virginity doesn’t grow back, right? No matter how long the dry spell? “I’ve been working with IPA for a while, but you and I’ve never had to work a case together.”

  “Sadly, this week your lucky streak came to an abrupt end.”

  “I don’t see it that way. Not at all.”

  Aw! “Well. I like working with you, too. Now let’s go visit a horrific crime scene together.”

  “Do we have a cover? Or should we just march in and flash IDs?”

  “Who says we can’t do both? Besides, I’m a fan of the classics, so…newlyweds. I’d like to measure how helpful management is when they don’t know the real reason we’re here.” She tentatively reached out, and David’s large hand more or less swallowed hers.

  “After you, Mrs. Auberon.”

  “I kept my own name.”

  “Naw, I change
d the marriage license when you weren’t looking.”

  “Patriarchal bastard,” she muttered. She looked up and he was right there, just holding her hand and smiling down at her with bright eyes, and she took a tiny step closer. She could still smell his spicy aftershave, though it was faint by now. He’s still got yesterday’s stubble. I wonder what he’d do if I ran my finger from his ear to his jaw? Would he be stoic? Shiver? Would he touch me back? Lean in for a kiss? I am all for a lean-in. Yes indeed. Whatever’s necessary to do the job. IPA is fortunate to have an employee willing to go to such extremes. Well, an employee and an independent contractor. I’ll bet he’s a terrific kisser. Except I don’t bet.

  The blat of a bakery truck misfiring woke her up in time for David to open one of the double doors and escort her in, still holding hands. He was standing so close his hip nearly touched hers, which was all kinds of distracting. She caught his blue-eyed gaze. “Gotta make it look good,” he whispered, then tipped her chin up with a finger and gave her a brief, sweet peck on the lips.

  “Um,” she replied, which was all she could manage, because damn. “Thank you.” What? Idiotic. No newlywed politely thanks her new husband like he’d just handed her a napkin instead of a kiss. She’d already blitzed their cover story. Also, to hell with new batteries for the vibrator. Time to get a plug-in Hitachi ASAP.

  To distract herself from what had happened one second earlier, she focused on their surroundings. The lobby was spacious, with several floor-to-ceiling windows, enough plants for a Bachman’s store, and enough light for a Menard’s showroom. Note: also pick up light bulbs and basil seed packets for Pat.

  “Oh, hello!” A fair-skinned redhead had risen from behind the lobby desk and was hurrying toward them. She wore a somber dark suit, white ankle socks, saddle shoes, and a name tag which, on closer inspection, read MICHELLE: RESIDENCE ASSOCIATE. Annette assumed that was code for manager or super. “I’m so so sorry, we aren’t giving any tours today, but I’ll be glad to take your number and get back to you with an appointment time.”

  Annette started to reach for her ID, but David wouldn’t let go of her hand. Apparently he wasn’t willing to drop newlywed mode just yet, despite her blunder. Sweet? Or doggedly dedicated? “Thank you, but—”

  “Have you been together long?”

  Annette managed not to laugh. “A shockingly short time, actually.”

  “Oh! Newlyweds!”

  “It’s been a whirlwind romance,” David deadpanned.

  “I can imagine, but weddings are so so stressful,” Michelle said, giving him a business card and a big smile. “I imagine you must be anxious to put the wedding behind you and start your married lives, and you may be in luck. One of our Franklin units has just opened up.”

  “Yeah, we heard.”

  “And I’d be delighted to give you a tour, as I said, just not today. And if your lovely bride is too busy, you could come. I’m happy to show you around.”

  Annette cleared her throat. “We just got married. Surely you noticed the hand-holding? And the brief, ordinary kiss?”

  David snorted. “Thanks.”

  She held up their joined hands inches from the hussy’s face. “You’re flirting with my husband while I’m standing two feet away. What kind of bullshit bordello are you running?”

  “This is what I have to put up with,” David whispered to Michelle. “She redefined the term ‘Bridezilla.’ And don’t get me started on what she did to the caterers. She was micromanaging like a motherfucker. Also, we’re not married and we’re here to see the dead guy’s apartment.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true,” Annette said, nodding. “I put the ’zilla in Bridezilla.”

  Michelle looked shocked. “No, I mean… This is about Mr. Lund?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “So you’re single?” Michelle asked, turning back to David.

  “Good God, woman.” Don’t kick her in the ankle. Don’t.

  “Are these two reprobates bothering you, darling?”

  Saved by Nadia. Michelle spun to face the new arrival. “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re flirting with my brand-new husband,” Annette said before Nadia could elaborate. “You should be apologizing to me.”

  “Her jealousy,” David confided, “will tear us apart.”

  Nadia, meanwhile, had approached and held out a hand for Michelle to shake. “Lovely to meet you, Michelle, I’m Nadia. We spoke on the phone. These are my colleagues, Inspector Auberon and Annette Garsea. Who are not married, by the way.” To the busted non-newlyweds: “What are you two doing? You had an attack of the vapors when I teased you about dating—”

  “No,” David deadpanned.

  “—and now this?”

  “No one believes in the power of our love.” Annette sighed.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Michelle managed, looking not a little overwhelmed.

  “It always is, dear. May I have the key?”

  “Yes, but…no.”

  Nadia arched perfectly plucked brows. “Beg pardon?”

  Michelle started talking faster. “I mean I had it. I still have it, is what I’m saying. But the building’s owner called just a few minutes ago and said I wasn’t to show that particular unit. He was so so insistent. I know you’re here on official business—I mean, I think you are, the married thing is confusing—”

  “Not too confusing to keep you from flirting with my fake husband,” Annette sniffed.

  “—but I’m not authorized to hand over the key now.”

  Nadia shrugged. “Very well. I’m sure they’ve posted an officer at the late Lund’s door. They can let us in when we get up there. Fourth floor, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but…shouldn’t I come with you?”

  “Not necessary. We covered this on the phone, Michelle. But we’ll certainly sing out if we need you. Come along, faux newlyweds.”

  The three of them said nothing until the elevator doors hissed shut.

  “Wow, Nadia, you saved us. Which is something I never thought I’d say.”

  “We hardly needed saving,” Annette pointed out. “Okay, I was considering scratching Michelle’s eyes out. Or whatever a touchy post-wedding stressed bride would do. Who flirts with a groom when the bride is within earshot?”

  “It’s not nice to play with the Stables,” Nadia chided.

  “Fun, though.” David grinned. “Sometimes.”

  Nadia often smoothed the way between their agency and outsiders with, among other things, attitude backed with lots of official-looking paperwork. It didn’t hurt that the average American was a sucker for an upper-class British accent. And since she always looked like she was on her way to a White House briefing and was so brittle and confident, few challenged her. On the rare occasions when a Stable or, worse, a cop decided to be recalcitrant…well, there were ways around that, too.

  Lund’s case was especially problematic: a Shifter, possibly murdered by another Shifter, in an apartment building that was mostly Stable. In addition to doing their own investigation, they had to placate an entirely separate government agency—Hennepin County Child Protection Services—that had no idea the IPA existed.

  This entailed various employees from both agencies working, at best, parallel to one another, which was one of the reasons caseworkers were given more leeway than their Stable counterparts. Sometimes there simply wasn’t time to cross every t.

  “I know we’ve discussed this before…”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “…but when will you attend to this?” Nadia had reached out, spooky quick, and tugged on a strand of Annette’s thick hair. “You’re too young to be going gray. Your mop is thick and healthy, and the primary color—sable, I believe—”

  “Why are you talking like a Clairol spokeswoman? It’s brown, by the way.”

  “—
is nice, but the gray distracts from all that.”

  “My hair has been this color—colors—for twenty-five years.” She smacked Nadia’s hand as the woman went in for another yank. “Stop it.”

  “Precisely my point! It’s ridiculous that you’ve got the face of a college cheerleader and the hair of a bingo player on a seniors’ cruise. You could easily cover those grays.”

  “They’re not gray,” David snapped. “They’re white. And she shouldn’t change a strand.”

  Nadia sniffed. “It’s so very odd to me that you think white is somehow better.”

  “Both of you, hush,” Annette ordered. “There are any number of things going on here, and almost all of them are more important than my hair.” As if making her point, the elevator doors whooshed open. “Now come on, both of you. And no squabbling, or I’ll turn this crime scene around and go home.”

  The door to 4E was blocked with yellow crime-scene tape, indicating that processing was finished, but more troubling, the hallway was deserted and quiet. Nadia leaned in for a closer look. “The tape hasn’t been cut. So they sealed it after they left.”

  “I would’ve thought there’d be someone on the door at least,” David said. “Even if they finished processing the scene. And now that I think of it, I didn’t notice any cop cars outside. No one’s doing door-to-door ‘did you see or hear anything’ interviews? No one’s come back for another walk-through?”

  “Maybe they’re waiting on autopsy results?” But even as Annette said it, it seemed unlikely. And before she could speculate further, their phones buzzed in unison, and there was a brief silence as they all read the incoming text, which was flagged ‘Pay attention to this.’ “Did either of you just now receive a ‘permission rescinded, do not enter crime scene’ notice, or did you get updates for your Pinterest board instead?”

  “Both,” Nadia said. “And I can’t wait to click and find out what eyeshadow trends we can expect this fall. But this other thing is perplexing.”

  “I realize I’ve said this more than once this week—”

  “If you’re gonna say what I think you’re gonna say, it bears repeating.”