Page 7 of Any Witch Wolf (The Smokethorn Paranormals #2)

I followed Calvin down a short walkway to apartment 2A. He walked in slow, pained steps—a sad reminder that even shifters weren’t immune to health problems.

“You live on the second floor?” I nodded toward his cane.

“Most days I do fine with stairs. There’s an elevator on the other side of the laundry room for the days I don’t.” He pushed open the door, and we walked into a small two-bedroom apartment. To the right lay an eat-in kitchen, to the left, a small living room. A short hall ended in a bathroom after branching into two bedrooms on opposite sides of the hall.

“Sy’s room is to the right, behind the kitchen. It ain’t much to look at, but it’s all we need. More square footage just means more cleaning.” He poured us both a cup of coffee, and we sat together at a small table beneath a window. It looked out onto the garden, where Jenny was studiously ignoring the bickering couple.

“Tell me about Sylvester.”

“We keep to ourselves for the most part, but I can tell you this: Sy likes sleeping in his own bed. He stays out once in a while if he’s fooling around with a woman, but he usually comes home at night. This isn’t like him.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Day before yesterday. I was going to bed, and he was going on a date.” Calvin frowned, and his whole face creased with the effort. “About ten p.m. Earlier, we’d gone down to the pub for gin rummy—drink a little gin and play a little rummy.” He winked. “I won.”

“Do you know who he was going out with?”

“Ella Valdez. But he never showed up at her place. Ella called me an hour after Sy was supposed to be there asking if he was around. She said he never called or texted her—though, the text thing isn’t surprising, since Sy can’t see the damn keypad well enough to type anything. Plus, the arthritis in his fingers is getting worse. People think shifters are supposed to be arthritis-proof, but that’s not true. Especially with betas like Sy and me.”

“Did Sy have any enemies?”

“Nothing shifter related. Maybe one of his lady friends? The man had a face like the underside of a bucket, but he could talk the drawers off nearly any gal he wanted.” Calvin smiled then frowned as he realized I wasn’t smiling along.

“Hate to break it to you, Calvin,” I said. “Most of us don’t need to be coerced out of our drawers. Women have needs, too.”

His pale cheeks reddened, which made me think better of him. “I know what you mean, and I’m not saying otherwise. I only meant Sy isn’t the kind of guy women flock to due to his looks.”

I finished my coffee while Calvin regaled me with stories of Sy’s tamer escapades then we both went down the short hall to Sy’s bedroom door.

I stepped inside, Calvin right behind me. The room was average-sized, square as a Rubik’s cube, and sparsely decorated, save for a TV on the wall and a five-gallon aquarium with a Siamese fighting fish inside. Bed, dresser, bookcase, nightstand. The only photo in the room was an 8x10 of a man and woman.

“Sy and Edina, his late wife,” Calvin said. “They took it six months before she died of cancer thirty years ago. He was crazy about her.” One thing Calvin had definitely gotten right: Sy wasn’t attracting his gal pals with his looks alone. To each his own, but he had the countenance of a bulldog in the old photo, and I couldn’t think age had improved things much. In fact, now that I’d gotten a good look at him, I realized I’d seen him the night I’d stood on Ronan’s bar and paid off my bet.

“You two were at Ronan’s Pub a few weeks ago,” I said. “I saw you.”

“We sure were—it was quite a show. After you left, we gave the third alpha a good ribbing. The kid turned as red as his hair. I’m thinking he’s sweet on you.”

Calvin calling Ronan a kid was almost as funny as the idea of Ronan blushing after being teased about me. “So, the pub you mentioned earlier was Ronan’s?”

“It’s the only one in town, I think. The others call themselves sports bars.” He pulled a face. “Ronan shows sports sometimes, but mostly plays music. Keeps the volume down so us old ones can hear ourselves think.”

“What about Pallás Place—Alpha Flo—er, Alpha Pallás’s bar.”

“Alpha wolf bar. Sy and I steer clear of it.”

“Why?”

“Staff’s not real friendly to betas, though they’ll tolerate wolves. Beta foxes like me aren’t welcome.”

“They kicked you out?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like that. They just make you feel like you want to leave. Like you’re unwelcome. It’s all alpha power trip stuff. You know how wolves can be—not Ronan, of course. He hates bullying.”

It was obvious that, like Gladys, both Sy and Calvin held Ronan in high regard. I wandered over to the fish tank.

“Angel, in case you’re wondering,” Calvin said.

“What?”

“The fish’s name. I’ve been feeding him since Sy went missing. I hope he gets back soon, because I don’t like that fish. He puffs out real big whenever I come in here—like he wants to fight me.”

“I’ll do my best to find Sy.”

“I know you will, Witch Betty. I’ve heard about how you help people like us around here—paranormals, I mean.”

I ran my finger over the top of the three-shelf, honey oak bookcase. Not a speck of dust, and that was unusual in the desert. Apparently, Sy never opened the window above his bed. The bookcase shelves held neatly labeled boxes—the kind people kept photos in. I opened the top box and peered inside.

Nestled inside was a large orange dildo in a clear plastic box.

I shut the box and peered into the next. Nipple clamps, and a series of vibrators. The next six boxes contained more of the same. Anal beads, penis rings, sleeves, and more lube than one could shake a dick—er, stick , at.

“I’m starting to think it isn’t just Sy’s conversational skills that brings all the gals to his door.” I showed Calvin the box of vibrators.

The fox shifter nodded. “He’s got more in the closet. Don’t worry, he makes a point of being clean.”

“Don’t you worry. I won’t be touching any of this stuff without gloves,” I said.

Sy’s room gave up no clues. I put everything back the way I’d found it and said goodbye to Calvin. I was halfway down the stairs when the fox shifter summoned me back.

“Here.” He handed me a small book with a black leather cover. “This is Sy’s. I thought it might help.”

“An address book?”

“Not exactly.”

I turned the book over in my hands. Leafed through it. Some of the pages were dogeared, some had been torn out completely. It was all women, and next to every woman’s name was a rating system.

“Sy likes to think of himself as a throwback to the playboys of the fifties and sixties.” Calvin nodded at the book. “You’ll make sure that doesn’t get out, right? It might hurt someone’s feelings. Sy would hate if any of his ladies felt bad.”

I assured him I’d keep it on the down low, tucked the book into my bag, and went down the steps to the lower floor. Opal and Abe were arguing over a towering plant. Jenny was behind the peppers clutching a spray bottle of what looked like soap and water—probably organic pesticide.

“Don’t you touch my okra, wretched woman,” Abe yelled.

Opal poked at a leaf. “Ooo, look at me, I’m touching it.”

“Harridan,” he grumbled.

“Codger,” she fired back.

Love is a many-splendored thing.

Back in my Mini, I started the car, turned on the air conditioner, and checked my phone. I’d gotten a couple of texts while I was knee deep in Fifty Shades of Sylvester. The first was from a customer. A complaint about the charms I’d dropped off. Wonderful.

The second was from Ronan.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Betty.”

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

“I just found out that the night he went missing, Sylvester Shaw had a date with?—”

“Ella Valdez,” I supplied.

“Annabelle Rossi,” he said. “He had a date with Ella Valdez, too?”

“Sy gets around.” I picked up the black book to see how he’d rated the women. It was a gross thing to do, but it might give me an idea about why he hadn’t shown up at Ella’s place. If Annabelle was somehow more favored, he might’ve blown off his date with Ella.

“Damn. They’re both a 5B, AWW in Sylvester’s black book. He had no apparent reason to choose one woman over the other.”

“Black book?” He made an adjustment on his end that made his voice sound louder. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but you’ve got me curious. What does the 5B, AWW indicate?”

I flipped to the key Sy had scrawled inside the book’s front cover. “It’s not looks, if that’s what you’re thinking. Sylvester rates his dates on what they’re willing to do—sexually speaking.”

“Oh gods.”

“He’s pretty detailed,” I said. “The number indicates how open to sexual activity the woman is. One is not very and five is, and I quote, ‘hot-to-trot on the first date.’”

He groaned. “What a gentleman.”

“The letters mean— oh, wow . I did not want to know this about these women.”

“You know them?”

“Personally, I only know a few. The others I know peripherally, through Ida. The senior community is close-knit, for the most part.” I cleared my throat and tried not to giggle.

Be professional , I chided myself. Stop acting like a middle-schooler looking up dirty words on the internet.

“The letter B indicates that the woman is open to back door activities.” There. I was proud of myself for getting that out without as much as a snicker.

“Hang on a second, I’m jotting brain bleach onto my shopping list.” Ronan made a pained sound. “And the AWW? What does that mean?”

“Guess,” I said.

“I don’t know— a wild woman ?”

“Gross and creepy of you to think that, but not far off. It means any which way .”

“Double extra strength bleach,” he said, “or possibly a lobotomy. That memory erasing thing from Men in Black would come in handy about now. I don’t need to know this much about Sylvester Shaw.”

“Do you know if our Lothario made it to his date with Annabelle Rossi?” I asked.

“No. One of my senior customers mentioned they were going out. As you said, the senior community is close knit. I don’t have a phone number or address for her, though. She’s not one of our shifters.”

“No problem.” I tossed the black book into my bag and pulled out of the lot. “I’ve got that part covered.”

“I’ll give you her address, but I want to go with you.”

“Not on your life. I’m going to have to ask this woman some very personal questions.”

Ida plunked her hands on her hips. She was dressed in a pair of white shorts and a polo shirt. I’d caught her after a tennis game with Gladys.

“What kind of questions?” Gladys asked with a waggle of her brows. She wore a similar outfit to Ida’s, except hers was all black, right down to the strings on her racket.

The woman was one hundred percent future me.

“Yeah, what kind of questions?” Ida asked.

“Nunya questions,” I said.

“She means nunya business,” Ida said, and blew a raspberry at me. Then she wrote down Annabelle Rossi’s address. “Someday you’re going to tell me everything, right?”

Not as long as anyone involved was alive, and that could be anywhere from a week to thirty years.

“Sure,” I said.

Gladys sniffed the air. “Smells like deception. That was a truth wrapped up in a lie. I like your style, kid.” She grinned, revealing a set of strong white pointed teeth. It was easy to forget she was a wolf shifter sometimes.

Easy, but not smart.

“At least give us the tea on your date with Ronan Pallás. I’m an old lady and I don’t get out much. You’re all I’ve got.”

“It was a business meeting, not a date, and that is a crock of shit,” I said. “You’ve had more dates the past five years than I’ve had in the last ten. Have you forgotten who your mid-date rescue check-in person is?”

“Oh yeah,” Ida said.

“Nice try.” Gladys tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. She’d twisted it around a black paisley bandana and knotted it on top 50’s pinup girl style. I wore mine the same way sometimes. “I’ve never been able to sell the innocent little old lady thing, either.”

“What can you two tell me about Sylvester Shaw?”

She and Gladys exchanged a scandalized look. Gladys said, “Now we understand why you don’t want to tell us anything. Sy wrote something about Annabelle and Ella in his little black book. Is it mean?”

I made a so-so gesture. “Not mean, just maybe more information than anyone needs. Wait. You know about his black book?”

“Everyone does. I hear he keeps track of the ones who do butt stuff,” Ida said. “Is that true?”

Because I had to give her something, I nodded. “He keeps track of a lot of things. But you two keep this under your hats until we find him, okay?”

“We’re not gossips, Betty. We can keep a secret.”

“That is a lie, and I love you for it, Ida,” I said. “This time, though, I need you to hold off on sharing until I know more about why he’s disappeared. This is an ongoing case.”

Ida nodded solemnly. She loved to dish about people, but she’d never share something I explicitly asked her not to.

Gladys waved away my concern. “Sy’s probably holed up with some lady somewhere. He has these shoeboxes filled with sex toys he brings on his dates.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’ve gone out with him.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Look under my name.”

I flipped to the Js. Raquel Jackson … Yvette Jessup … Gladys Jimenez .

“What can I say? The man knows his way around a woman’s pleasure. What did he rate me?”

“Read mine, too,” Ida said.

Both women were in the book, and their ratings were interesting, to say the least.

A two for Ida and a four for Gladys. No B on either, but Gladys said he hadn’t broached the subject, so she didn’t see why she shouldn’t get an AWW, which, I admit, simultaneously horrified me and gave me hope for the future.

Ida was miffed about the two.

“I thought we had a good time,” she said.

“You did,” I said. “Just not as good of a time as he had with Gladys.”

I refused to show either of them the book, only read out their ratings and the meanings behind them. They were owed that much.

“When I find Sylvester, I’m giving him a piece of my mind,” I said.

“Why?” Ida asked.

“Because this book is misogynistic and mean.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Gladys said. “Sy’s got a bad memory. He probably keeps that system to remind himself not to pressure any of his dates. From what you said, he isn’t rating our performance or looks, only what we’re willing to do in the sack. Ida got a two, but she’s been out at least five times with Sy.”

“Did he ever pressure you into doing something you didn’t want to do?” I asked.

“No, I’d have told you if he had, mid-date, check-in buddy,” she said with a grin. “We played rummy at the pub, talked about music, drank some excellent whiskey. Kissed a little. It was fun. Neither of us wanted a relationship or anything.”

“And he asked me what I wanted,” Gladys said. “And you can damn well bet I told him. Same here on the relationship. No one who dated Sy thought he’d be monogamous. He was real open about that.”

Thirty minutes later, I was in my trailer slouched over a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of mint tea. I’d spoken with Ella Valdez, who backed up everything Calvin, Ida, and Gladys had said. She was worried about him, but not angry that he’d made another date.

“I don’t take things like that personally. Sy’s forgetful, is all,” she’d said. “He always means well. And he’s the only man since my Ivan capable of giving me double o’s.”

After the call, I texted Ronan, who called me back immediately.

“ Double o’s ? I wish you wouldn’t tell me this stuff,” he said. “Ms. Valdez calls me mijo. She brought me caldo de res last time I had a cold.”

“Personally, I’m encouraged by all these senior women taking charge of their sexuality. I knew Ida was a catch, but damn, there are a lot of amazing women out there. Sylvester discovered an untapped market.”

“And tapped it,” Ronan quipped.

“Indeed. I’m going to talk to Annabelle Rossi this afternoon, but I’m starting to think this line of questioning is a dead end.”

“Hang on a sec.” His voice was muffled, like he was holding his mouth far from the phone. “ Got it. I’ll put in an order. Thanks, Karen. ” His voice went back to normal. “So, you don’t believe Sy was done in by a spurned ex-lover?”

“I asked Calvin if anything was missing from his room, and he said no. Everything except the clothes on his back and his wallet were accounted for, right down to his shoeboxes of pleasure. He didn’t even take the orange dildo with him, and it was a particular favorite of Ella’s, according to his book.”

“Again, and honestly, I can’t say this enough, stop telling me things like that .”

“It had flames on the sides, like a hot rod,” I continued, ignoring him. “I wonder if it was custom-made? Do they have custom ones? I feel like I should know this.”

“Probably. There’s a market for everything. You can ask Sylvester when you find him,” Ronan said.

I put him on speaker and opened my web browser app.

“You’re looking it up, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” I said.

“Listen, I’ve got to go help Karen with the noon crowd. Call me when you have more, okay? And don’t invoice me for sex toys.”

“Hey, some cases require more research than others,” I said.

“Pay for your own shoebox o’ pleasure.”

“This is a hostile work environment. Where’s HR when you need them?” I landed on a page with a penis cloning kit. “Ronan, they have them . You make a cast of the member in question. It comes with algae-based molding powder, platinum-cure, medical grade silicone?—”

“Betty, I’m doing everything I can not to say something obnoxiously macho like, ‘Hey, baby, you don’t need one of these when I got the real thing right here,’ but you aren’t making it easy.”

“Think about it.” I explored the idea with the sort of enthusiasm I normally reserved for beer and taco night at Rosie’s Cantina. “Craft night at the pub. It’ll beat the heck out of ‘paint and sip night’ at the Moose lodge for sure. You could do ladies nights, bachelorette and hen parties, that sort of thing. We need a catchy name, something like ‘Whisky and Willies.’”

Ronan groaned.

“‘Gin and Johnsons.’”

“Goddess, that’s awful.”

“ Awful ? Uh, I think you mispronounced genius. Okay then, how about ‘Cocktails and?—”

“Nope. Not that one. Too on the nose.”

“C’mon. Put Ida and Gladys in charge of the festivities. They’ll bring in the senior crowd. Picture it.”

Ronan groaned again, much louder this time. “Aaaaaand now I’ve got a visual. Thanks for that.”

“Sy will be all over this.”

“Even more reason to say no.”

“You’re missing out on a great business opportunity,” I said, my tone chiding. “Hey, maybe this is how we find Sy. Same way I found that cat shifter in Texas. Set out the man’s favorite treat and he’ll come home on his own.”