Convention tonight. I saw them hauling in costumes yesterday, and I know how you like it when the Furries come out.”
“Jeez.” I’d had a childhood run-in with a Furry at a Renaissance Faire in Maine. The experience turned me off to costumed characters for life. I was eight and some stoner in a fox costume had assaulted me with nuts from a tree. When I ran, he skipped along behind me, drawing attention from Faire visitors. Everyone thought we were adorable. Me running for my life and him bounding along beside me in the giant smiling head. After the lunatic grabbed my arm and forced me to dance with him, a group of merry minstrels surrounded us. Apparently, they thought the fox was entertaining with his animated moves. I thought I’d die in a shallow grave wearing his fox head. Bree barreled in, as usual, with Big Sister Mode initiated. She kicked his shins soundly and knocked his head off. I burst into tears and the minstrels got a clue. Adults had dragged the fox-man away and Bree had comforted a hyperventilating me.
The pungent scent of pot on his fur came thick with the recollection. I shook off the memory and shimmied free of my heavy velvet dress and lung-crushing corset beneath. Delicious oxygen rushed in. “Ahh.”
“Feeling better?” Nate’s voice carried around the unlatched door.
“Yes.” I pulled on my twenty-first century gear and frowned at the ratty condition of my hair. “Can I use your brush?”
“Um. I have a comb, but yeah.”
I opened tidy drawers until I found a perfect comb. No hair stuck in the teeth. No giant hair creatures rolling alongside it. The comb would be lost in my nest of fuzzy curls. I put it back and sighed.
Nate’s bathroom was immaculate, like the rest of his place, minimally furnished and only in the best pieces. My apartment, on the other hand, was jam-packed with memories of everything from Girl Scout Camp to old retainers. I liked vintage stuff, flea markets and sentimentality. Granted, I kept most of the clutter crammed into pretty boxes and bins, but no one would ever accuse my place of immaculacy or minimalism.
I emerged carrying the old ensemble.
Nate leaned against the couch. Arms crossed. “How did Jake know about the wrestler?”
“He didn’t. He called it a unitard.”
“But he knew about him. Was he here?”
I bit my lip, sorting the important from the not. “Yep.”
“Looking for you?”
“He showed up tonight at my folks’ place to apologize for not being more congenial at the Craft Faire today. He said he stopped here first. I guess he wanted me to know he didn’t suspect my family of killing John, but they haven’t ruled out the possibility our products were used to that end.”
Nate slouched. “Well, that’s horrible. Your grandma must be sick.”
“There’s more.”
He patted the seat beside his.
I perched gingerly on the edge. “John was in federal protection under Jake’s care. He was due to testify next week against a mobster in Jersey. I’m probably not supposed to repeat this, but if I don’t, my brain will explode.”
Nate’s green eyes twinkled. “I knew it.”
We’d looked up the marshals’ function after Jake left the FBI. Witness protection and fugitive apprehension were part of their gigs.
Nate seemed proud of himself for guessing correctly. “I figured John as a fugitive, but I expected he was some old tree hugger hiding out after releasing test monkeys from a lab twenty years ago or something.”
“That’s very specific.”
“It was a long drive home.” He set his big hand on mine. “Don’t get involved in this, Mia.”
I hated disappointing Nate, but I wouldn’t lie to him. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do. We always have a choice.”
“Then I choose saving Grandma’s company. We’re in negotiations with Earth Hugger, and the local news is undoing all my hard work with every salacious update.”
He curled long fingers around my palm. “Then focus on the PR not the crime.
“Jeez.” I’d had a childhood run-in with a Furry at a Renaissance Faire in Maine. The experience turned me off to costumed characters for life. I was eight and some stoner in a fox costume had assaulted me with nuts from a tree. When I ran, he skipped along behind me, drawing attention from Faire visitors. Everyone thought we were adorable. Me running for my life and him bounding along beside me in the giant smiling head. After the lunatic grabbed my arm and forced me to dance with him, a group of merry minstrels surrounded us. Apparently, they thought the fox was entertaining with his animated moves. I thought I’d die in a shallow grave wearing his fox head. Bree barreled in, as usual, with Big Sister Mode initiated. She kicked his shins soundly and knocked his head off. I burst into tears and the minstrels got a clue. Adults had dragged the fox-man away and Bree had comforted a hyperventilating me.
The pungent scent of pot on his fur came thick with the recollection. I shook off the memory and shimmied free of my heavy velvet dress and lung-crushing corset beneath. Delicious oxygen rushed in. “Ahh.”
“Feeling better?” Nate’s voice carried around the unlatched door.
“Yes.” I pulled on my twenty-first century gear and frowned at the ratty condition of my hair. “Can I use your brush?”
“Um. I have a comb, but yeah.”
I opened tidy drawers until I found a perfect comb. No hair stuck in the teeth. No giant hair creatures rolling alongside it. The comb would be lost in my nest of fuzzy curls. I put it back and sighed.
Nate’s bathroom was immaculate, like the rest of his place, minimally furnished and only in the best pieces. My apartment, on the other hand, was jam-packed with memories of everything from Girl Scout Camp to old retainers. I liked vintage stuff, flea markets and sentimentality. Granted, I kept most of the clutter crammed into pretty boxes and bins, but no one would ever accuse my place of immaculacy or minimalism.
I emerged carrying the old ensemble.
Nate leaned against the couch. Arms crossed. “How did Jake know about the wrestler?”
“He didn’t. He called it a unitard.”
“But he knew about him. Was he here?”
I bit my lip, sorting the important from the not. “Yep.”
“Looking for you?”
“He showed up tonight at my folks’ place to apologize for not being more congenial at the Craft Faire today. He said he stopped here first. I guess he wanted me to know he didn’t suspect my family of killing John, but they haven’t ruled out the possibility our products were used to that end.”
Nate slouched. “Well, that’s horrible. Your grandma must be sick.”
“There’s more.”
He patted the seat beside his.
I perched gingerly on the edge. “John was in federal protection under Jake’s care. He was due to testify next week against a mobster in Jersey. I’m probably not supposed to repeat this, but if I don’t, my brain will explode.”
Nate’s green eyes twinkled. “I knew it.”
We’d looked up the marshals’ function after Jake left the FBI. Witness protection and fugitive apprehension were part of their gigs.
Nate seemed proud of himself for guessing correctly. “I figured John as a fugitive, but I expected he was some old tree hugger hiding out after releasing test monkeys from a lab twenty years ago or something.”
“That’s very specific.”
“It was a long drive home.” He set his big hand on mine. “Don’t get involved in this, Mia.”
I hated disappointing Nate, but I wouldn’t lie to him. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do. We always have a choice.”
“Then I choose saving Grandma’s company. We’re in negotiations with Earth Hugger, and the local news is undoing all my hard work with every salacious update.”
He curled long fingers around my palm. “Then focus on the PR not the crime.
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