Undercover Wolf. Linda O. JohnstonЧитать онлайн книгу.
disappeared, except—”
“Except that word might have gotten around to the staff if they’d failed to take their belongings.”
“Right. So they apparently took their stuff. If so—”
“Where are they?” he finished.
Quinn had pretended not to notice Kristine’s dismay when they reached their quaint room with antique furnishings that suited the character of the converted mansion—and found only one queen-size bed in it. She hadn’t said anything except to thank him for hefting her suitcase onto one of the folding luggage stands.
They had already decided to unpack quickly, then leave right away to grab dinner at whatever spot the concierge at the inn said was the place he recommended most often to guests.
That meant it could be the place where he’d sent Simon and Grace.
Quinn and Kristine were there now, sitting at a table with a red checked tablecloth in the center of the main room. The BarHar Bistro was crowded, including the anterooms off to the sides. Apparently their concierge wasn’t the only one to recommend it—or locals already knew about, and frequented, the place. There wasn’t much space for the waitstaff to maneuver between tables, and the elbow room for diners was limited, as well.
Quinn hoped that the overcrowding was a sign that the food was good, not just that it was an in place where people dined simply because it was popular.
The place smelled tantalizing to Quinn’s enhanced senses. The acoustics weren’t great, though—probably not even for a regular human with lesser hearing. The undercurrent of voices was a loud, unpleasant hum.
Kristine had been pretending to study the menu, but he saw her eyes darting sideways often.
“What looks good to you, dear?” he asked aloud, then leaned slightly across the table toward her. “I suspect,” he added more softly, “that strangers here wouldn’t be noticed much.”
She nodded glumly. “My thoughts, too.”
A perky blonde in black pants and white shirt sidled around one of the tables nearby and approached them. “Welcome to BarHar. My name is Steph, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you with something to drink?”
Showtime, Quinn thought. “You sure can. Champagne. We’re celebrating.”
“Really?” Steph asked, as Kristine forced a sunny smile onto her face. “What are you celebrating?”
“We just got married,” Kristine chimed in. “Do you recommend any particular champagne to other newlyweds who come in here?”
“That’s assuming we’re not the first,” Quinn added with a laugh.
Steph responded as they’d attempted to program her. “Oh, you’re definitely not the first.”
“But we’re the most recent,” Kristine said. “Aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. At least I don’t know of any others here tonight. But there was at least one other couple here last week.”
“Really? I’ll bet they weren’t as good-looking as us.” Quinn knew he was laying it on too thick. In fact, this might not be a good idea. He was well aware that Simon and he resembled one another—and it might be a bad thing to have anyone associate the two of them, especially if Simon was suspected of committing a crime.
But if Bar Harbor authorities suspected Simon and Grace, that, thankfully, didn’t seem to have gotten out even to the local media, nor had it otherwise been made public.
Yet.
“Maybe not,” Steph said. “But they were good tippers.” She winked at them. “Here’s the champagne I recommended to them.” She pointed to a fairly expensive one on the wine list Quinn had been pretending to study.
“Looks good to me. Did you recommend any entrées to them, too?”
“I did, but I think they both ordered steaks.”
Ah. That was a good indication that the couple were his brother and new sister-in-law. Shifters, at least those who changed into werewolves, ate a lot of red meat to satisfy their feral needs.
He glanced up at Kristine, who nodded slightly. She’d gotten it, too.
“Well, please bring us the same champagne, and we’ll figure out what else to order.” The steak sounded good to Quinn, but Kristine might not yet have decided.
When the server left, Kristine was the one to lean toward Quinn. “Looks like we’re on the right track. But just following … them … won’t necessarily get us the information we need.” He liked how she was being discreet. Not that it was likely for anyone to be eavesdropping on them, but even if someone at a neighboring table was listening in, they wouldn’t be able to follow the underlying meaning of their conversation.
“No, but it’s a start. We’ll be more proactive soon. Although—” Quinn had started doing his own eavesdropping—much more easily, with his abilities, than anyone else in this room was likely to be able to do. He now focused in on who had uttered the words he had been listening for: Acadia and body.
Fortunately, the speakers were at a nearby table, one just behind him. He slid his chair back slightly and said to Kristine, “Excuse me for a minute, dear.” But instead of rising and heading for the restroom, he turned toward the speaker. “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help hearing you mention those awful deaths that occurred a few nights ago. My wife—” He stopped and grinned at that, as if he was enjoying using the word for nearly the first time. “We just got married and we’re here on our honeymoon, but we almost changed our plans, hearing about such a terrible thing. Wild animals killed some tourists in the park, right?”
There were four young, brawny guys around the table. “That’s right,” said a tall basketball-player sort with spiky hair. “We came here planning to hike through the park but we’ve got second thoughts, too.”
“I live here,” said a young woman at the next table over. “All of us in town are also concerned. But you tourists—well, as long as you’re careful, you should be fine.”
“Spoken like a good local promoter,” Steph, the server, said, joining them. She had their champagne, plus two empty flutes, on a tray. She put them on the table and poured a little into each glass. As Quinn and Kristine both took preliminary sips, she moved around again and continued, “But … well, I enjoy hiking in my spare time, too. I haven’t heard what’s going on with the investigation, except that the thought is like you said, some kind of wild animal got those tourists. No one’s sure, though.”
“Are there many wild animals in Acadia?” Quinn asked. “I mean, I’m sure there are squirrels and rats and such, but what kind might be dangerous enough to kill people?”
He noticed that Kristine had maneuvered her chair around the table to sit beside him, notwithstanding the crush of other nearby patrons. She was listening attentively. He liked the seriousness of her expression beneath her sexy and short hair, as dark as a moonless night sky. She was one attractive soldier, and she was doing a hell of a job as his undercover wife.
“There are coyotes,” the local woman said. “Bears, too, and even bobcats. But they don’t usually attack people. I heard in the news that the people killed were two sisters from St. Louis who were active members of a national wildlife preservation organization. Maybe they got too up close and personal with some creature.”
“Can happen anywhere that there are wild animals like that,” said one of the guys at the table who hadn’t spoken before. “Too bad we can’t shoot ‘em.”
“No hunting and trapping in Acadia,” the woman chimed in, looking angry that killing wild animals had even been mentioned. Quinn liked that attitude.
“But park rangers can probably kill vicious animals that hurt people,” said Basketball Player, and his comrades