Publicly Exhibited [Werewolves of Hanson Mall 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Adams

  “You look much better,” said Cadfael.

  “I feel a whole heap better as well. Do we have many answers?”

  “Quite a few. I’m working through them now.”

  Rhion sat down beside him and they both worked in silence for another half hour. When Cadfael leaned back in his chair, stretching his spine and rotating his shoulders, Rhion was already staring into the distance with a thoughtful look on his face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t seem like anyone is trying to appropriate their house. There’s no interest by developers or realtors, and no sign that area is going to be purchased for any reason. Also the neighbors report no one appearing to peek at the property. They said to reassure Willow and Hawthorne their house is being looked after.”

  “I guess that’s one avenue we can cross off the list,” said Cadfael. It was a good thing to eliminate possibilities, but he would rather have had a clear answer instead.

  “What have you learned?”

  Cadfael sighed and rubbed his face. Dammit, five and a bit hours’ sleep didn’t feel as refreshing as it used to anymore. “None of the business associations have heard of him and he’s not listed in the business ‘Who’s Who.’ Of course that doesn’t prove he’s not a business owner, but most people do join up just for the potential benefits of networking. Even being listed on their annual calendar and the like is free advertising. Since Hawthorne said he’s proud of being a businessman it’s strange he isn’t a member of any of the organizations.”

  “I’d call it suspicious,” said Rhion.

  Yes, that’s what he’d been thinking. “I hope he’s not involved in something illegal.”

  “But if he was involved in trying to harm shape-shifters he’d have wanted to catch the werewolf Hawthorne saw. Not to catch Hawthorne,” argued Rhion.

  “That’s what we need to do next. While Willow and Hawthorne search Facebook for the psychiatrist, we need to talk to some of the local packs about who she saw and why he shifted in public.”

  Rhion stood up. “As Alpha, that’s your purview. I’d better go check on the mall. We’ve ignored it long enough for one day.”

  Cadfael nodded. Rhion was right, again, as usual.

  * * * *

  Willow and Hawthorne had slept long and deeply, not waking until early afternoon. They made a sort of brunch to eat and Eilidh had joined them, although dressed in her uniform.

  “Why are you going to work? Cadfael gave you the day off,” said Hawthorne.

  “I’ll just go down and check on everything, and answer my e-mails, then come back to be here when Georgia and Wynn arrive to talk with you about the family research project. I’m really very interested in that.”

  Willow hoped she wouldn’t offend the woman who’d cared for them both so well, and who she now considered her friend, but she wanted to know. “Are you a wolf, Eilidh? I’m sorry of it’s rude to ask such a question.”

  Eilidh picked up her coffee, sipped it, and then put it down. Willow wondered if she used the coffee as a means to give herself time to think through how she’d answer the question. I hope I haven’t hurt her feelings. She’s been so helpful to us.

  “I am a wolf. The reason I’m working here, a long way from the pack I was born into, is because it was just assumed I’d mate one of the many bachelors there. Don’t get me wrong, I liked several of them. But I didn’t love any of them. So I studied nursing in a state far from my home, and there I met another student nurse, a man who assumed I belonged to this pack, because of my name. It seemed the perfect answer to come here and I’ve always felt as though I belonged.”

  “But you still haven’t married one of them,” said Hawthorne.

  “No I haven’t. However, there’s not the intense pressure on a female to mate anymore now wolves are allowed to have ménages and to marry human women.”

  Willow wondered if Eilidh was in love with any of the wolves here. It wasn’t her place to ask though, so she said nothing. Eilidh left to go down to the First Aid room, and she and Hawthorne got out the two laptops they’d been loaned, and a notepad, and began once again going through Bailey’s friends. There were only four hundred but it was still going to take them a very long time.

  As each person was crossed off the list, they wrote down their name, their job, and their connections.

  “I hope we aren’t going to have to check through everyone else’s friends,” she said.

  “Shit no.”

  Eilidh, Georgia, and Wynn all arrived together promptly at four. By then Willow was ready for more coffee and a snack, which she put together while the others settled around the table. It was really too small for five people, but they managed.

  Georgia folded her arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “I assume Eilidh has explained to you both that only about one third of babies born to werewolf matings are girls. Yet when wolves mate humans the births revert to half boys, half girls?”

  “Yes, she told us the figures, and that it’s a worldwide problem. It’s not just happening here in the States,” said Hawthorne.

  “For a while now we’ve had teams of young people, mostly college students on vacation, interviewing senior werewolf citizens, tracing back family trees. Now some of the oldsters don’t know if their great aunt was wolf or human, but at least we can get their names so we can see the percentage of males versus females,” said Wynn.

  “And some of them can do better, like saying, ‘Aunty Whoever never came running with us as kids. She always stayed home to make a cup of tea.’ Which might be because she liked making tea but also might be something else,” said Georgia.

  Willow was quickly absorbed in the conversation. The entire issue was completely fascinating to someone such as her, who loved genetics. Soon she was flipping over to a clean page in the notepad and writing down thoughts they could tease out farther later on. Georgia and Wynn were very helpful, detailing ideas they’d had, areas they hoped to research, and plans they’d made. Eilidh didn’t speak very often, but when she did her input was directly to the point and very helpful.

  It was some hours later when Hawthorne got up to make a fresh pot of coffee. Willow’s scrawled notes extended over several pages but they all had some great ideas on where to direct fresh questioning. Georgia’s team would continue to make up the family trees and Wynn’s to interview more seniors, but there was more than enough space for Willow and Hawthorne to add their specialist knowledge to the venture.

  Georgia copied down their e-mail addresses and promised to send them the file of family trees they’d already assembled. “You might think of some links or questions we haven’t already made,” she said.

  It was tempting to spend more time working on the project, but resolutely Willow and Hawthorne turned their attention back to Bailey. “If we don’t solve our own problems, we’ll never be free to help solves theirs,” said Hawthorne.

  “Surely we’re getting closer,” said Willow.

  It was almost anticlimactic when Willow looked up from her Google search having found a vital link. “Did Bailey ever talk about a relative named Jackson Hamilton?”

  “Yes, that’s his brother. I met him at a party once.”

  “He’s the director of a mental well-being clinic.”

  “Are you serious? I sure as hell didn’t know that.” Hawthorne jumped up and came around the table to look over Willow’s shoulder. Willow had found Jackson’s LinkedIn profile, hoping to see what his relationship was to Bailey, and instead she’d found the answer they were searching for. “It’s strange they hadn’t tagged each other as family on Facebook.”

  Hawthorne sat back down again and looked thoughtful. “You know, I wouldn’t have even thought they were particularly close. I mean, everyone who knows me has heard about you. Yet I don’t recall hearing Bailey talk about Jackson at all. Likely I wouldn’t even know he existed if he hadn’t come across to speak to Bailey that night.”

  “That is weird. I’ll keep looking for inform
ation on Jackson. You search for data about his clinic.”

  “It’s probably got its own website.”

  The information on Jackson was sparse. Like Bailey he didn’t have his birthday listed, far less his age. His LinkedIn profile didn’t mention Bailey, which wasn’t surprising, but the fact that they weren’t tagged as family on Facebook was interesting. She did discover he had medical qualifications, although he was coy about what they actually were. She wondered if he’d never graduated from college and perhaps had some diploma or certificate. But he must be quite intelligent to be the director of a clinic, even a smaller one.

  “There’s not much detail on the website about the clinic,” said Hawthorne. “I have the address but it’s only open by appointment and only takes patients by referral. I can’t really tell from the picture, but my guess is that it’s fairly small.”

  Now it was Willow’s turn to walk around the table and stare over Hawthorne’s shoulder. “Put the address in Google Maps. What else is nearby?”

  “Oh, good thought.”

  “That’s quite a large property. The clinic itself might not be big, but the grounds extend a fair way back. Someone has money,” said Willow.

  “Bailey isn’t hard up. He wears expensive suits and drives a very expensive car, but apart from that he doesn’t seem to spend a lot. He certainly didn’t lavish flowers or chocolate or perfume on me, not that I expected him to buy me gifts. I called him my boyfriend but we weren’t really all that close. It was more of a casual relationship really. In fact, the more I think about it now, from a distance, is that he used me as a date when we were going to events where other people would bring their partners, and he wanted to prove he had one, too.”

  Willow stood back, still looking at the screen. “That fits with what you said about him being older, unmarried, and possibly a closet homosexual. But I still don’t get why he’d hide his sexual orientation. Unless he thought the people he does business with mightn’t be happy.”

  It was all very strange. Finding out whom the “psychiatrist” was hadn’t really told them anything at all. And why had Bailey told Hawthorne he was taking her to a psychiatrist? If he’d said, “Let’s go talk to my brother,” likely she’d have gone along perfectly happily and none of this drama would ever have occurred. Of course, Hawthorne might be locked up in that pretty white clinic behind the high metal gates right now. That wouldn’t have been so good at all.

  * * * *

  Cadfael paced up and down his office, stomping his feet like a bad tempered kindergartener. But right now, it was that or bang his head against the wall, which was not only just as juvenile an activity, but also might leave him with a concussion to add to his frustration.

  His fingers itched to dial the number for Wolf Central, the werewolf community’s irreverent name for the central office of the Supreme Alpha of North America. But it seemed such a small thing to interrupt such an important person about. A man who had the lives and worries of hundreds of werewolves to deal with, not merely a couple of humans who’d stumbled into Hanson Mall. As well as that, Josie, who used to be the receptionist there, and who knew absolutely everyone and everything, was now the mate of the Alpha of Vienna and not available to help him. He had no idea of the name of the new receptionist, but couldn’t believe he or she would be anywhere near as knowledgeable as Josie.

  The more he paced the more he realized there was nothing else to do. If he started contacting random packs around the state, half the wolves in the country could know he was looking for a brown wolf, and if the man was in trouble that would be the worst possible thing for him. Sighing Cadfael sat behind his desk and dialed.

  “Vukic Industries, how can I help you?”

  Cadfael answered as he did whenever he was out in public. He assumed the young man answering his call was a werewolf shape-shifter, but he had no way of knowing if anyone else could overhear the call. “My name’s Cadfael Hanson, managing director of Hanson Mall in Heidelberg. I have a question only Mr. Vukic himself can answer.”

  “Yes, sir. Very good, sir. What’s your private number there, please?”

  Cadfael told him his cell phone number and listened to the tapping of a keyboard. Then the young man said, “It’s getting late today so I don’t think Mr. Vukic will be able to contact you now, but he will definitely call back tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Cadfael hung up before realizing he should have asked the young man’s name. Now that was interesting. He hadn’t given his name when he’d answered the telephone, only the company name. Most people would have said something like, “Hanson Mall, Cadfael speaking.” Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

  Cadfael jumped when his cell phone rang. He realized he’d been staring at the computer screen doing nothing for the past ten minutes. Damn he was still tired. He really needed some more coffee.

  He slid his finger down his cell phone screen to unlock it, and said, “Cadfael.”

  “How’s the mall doing, Cadfael? Did the snow drip through your glass roof last winter?”

  “No, sir, it didn’t, although the heating bills were high. But it was worth it because the customer numbers were better than ever and more than made up for the extra expense.”

  Mr. Vukic asked him a couple more casual questions, and as always, Cadfael was impressed with the man’s memory. Or else he had a mighty detailed file of cheat notes to look at. “Now, how can I help you?”

  “It’s a little tricky.” Quickly Cadfael told the Supreme Alpha about the brown wolf, Hawthorne, and Bailey, ending up with the fact that the two women were staying at the mall right now.

  “So basically you need to know if this wolf is a lost, innocent, or damaged wolf, or if he’s a lure out to trap innocent human girls for nefarious purposes.”

  “Shit. It’d never occurred to me he was acting deliberately as a lure.”

  “You need to keep an open mind, Cadfael. Not everyone is good and kind in our world.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll make a few phone calls tonight. If he is a lure we need to ensure other packs are aware of it. Just before dusk you said, didn’t you? Although if that’s the time Hawthorne Cunliffe usually goes walking he might appear at a different time and in a different park to lure a different person. I’ll contact Harry Harrison. It’d be better if a security company deals with it than a passel of overenthusiastic wolves. It might take a little while to get results, but there’s a lower likelihood of things going wrong. Thanks for informing me. Good night.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  Cadfael clicked off the call and stared at his phone. A lure. A trick. A trap designed to inveigle innocent human women. Into what though? For what purpose? And why, oh why was Bailey so intent on getting Hawthorne to see the psychiatrist? What the flying fuck is going on?

  Chapter Eight

  At the end of the next day Rhion felt much better. He wasn’t tired, he was on top of all his work, and he missed Willow. Not that he could think of a safe way to date her. Taliesin would have long ago watched the other movie and decided on his program for the Festival of the Arts. So the movie date was not possible. And it was unlikely Sam would want to serve them a private dinner again.

  Willow had never seen his apartment. It wasn’t anywhere near as nice as Cadfael’s, but he had a meal table and he could cook. Maybe she and Cadfael could come to his apartment for dinner. And bed. Especially bed.

  Rhion’s office was on the sixth floor, which was where most of the “for show” offices were located, as the conference room was on that level. It meant he had a spacious office, with a big window overlooking the city, and shared a secretary with several other managers. But it was also a nuisance because he mostly worked with Cadfael, on level ten, and Dylan, the center manager, on level four, so he was going from floor to floor all day long.

  He’d even considered—for about five minutes—asking to be relocated to the fourth floor, but there would be far too many interruptions there. Also, since humans and bystan
ders could be around, he’d have to constantly monitor everything he said and lock up every file he wanted to use. The sixth floor, while it did have visitors coming into the conference room, was much more secure. His shared secretary’s office was the portal which provided access to enter four offices, one of which was his, so no one could just walk in on him or look at his paperwork while he was away from his desk.

  Since he wasn’t certain he’d be back tonight, he logged off his computer and locked the files he was working on in his desk drawer, before hurrying out to the elevator and swiping his card for level eight, where his apartment was. Level eight was all apartments. Although most of the families in the pack lived in an apartment block away from the mall, most of the single managers lived here on-site simply to avoid the commute and to be on hand whenever they were needed.

  His living room was spacious, and had a good view. That was the advantage of living above a mall. Since the stores only rose to four levels, the apartments had an uninterrupted view out over the city. His kitchen was small but functional, with a counter, stove, cooktop, refrigerator, microwave, and plenty of storage space. He only had the one bedroom, but his bed was large and there was more than enough closet space just for him. Hastily, Rhion pulled the linens off his bed, shoved them in his dirty clothes hamper, and remade the bed with his nicest sheets. Then he went into his kitchen and checked his refrigerator, putting three large steaks on a plate in his microwave oven on “defrost” while he wrote himself a shopping list, and headed downstairs to the supermarket which had an excellent grocery section.

  In the elevator he texted Cadfael and Willow.

  Please come to dinner at my apartment tonight. Satisfaction guaranteed.

  He was loading his trolley with fresh salad greens when his cell phone buzzed. Thank you. What time? asked Willow.

  He really should check with Cadfael before he answered, but seven ought to be safe, he thought. Almost immediately Cadfael’s message came though. Snort.