Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(32)

She’s piling a plate with cinnamon rolls and muffins and donuts while she talks, and we both know the price of breakfast is some good, juicy gossip. “We have to get back to the park,” I tell Maud, “but we were wondering if we could see your webcam footage from last night?”

“Of course you can.” She plops a second plate on the counter and turns to grab two coffee mugs. “Gerald, go get the computer.”

“Ain’t got anything on it,” he grumbles.

“We don’t know until we check, now, do we?”





Sixteen





Ryan





* * *



Forty minutes later, we’re back in the park with no more information than we started with, because Maud and Gerald’s webcam didn’t record anything last night but the scrap of black fabric someone tossed over the lens. Whoever did this knew the town well enough to know where the security cameras are.

I figured it was a local, but the confirmation of the fact still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve come to expect better from the citizens of Happy Cat. We gossip and take sides, but most of us have respect for the town and personal property.

News crews are set up all over the park, interviewing protesters and volunteers alike while the teens huddle behind the playground. Jace is pulling sex toy ornaments off the trees, and Blake is the proud owner of three full trash bags.

“You want to take these home?” he asks me. “Make art out of them?”

“Art?” Cassie says.

“You can’t weld silicone,” I tell my brother.

“Lots of handcuffs in here,” he replies with a grin.

“Savannah doesn’t sell handcuffs,” Cassie says. “Long story involving an anti-nuke protest when she was twelve.”

“So these aren’t all Sunshine Toys?” Interesting.

“Some of the dildos definitely aren’t, and I think the butt plugs are cheap knock-offs,” Olivia announces. She points to Blake’s bags. “May I please have those? I’m sorting the evidence.”

“Uh, yeah.” Blake’s brows are up toward his hairline, which is understandable. I don’t know if any of us saw Detective Olivia coming, but he recovers quickly. “Where do you want them?”

She smiles. “Over in the picnic shelter, please.”

“You got it.”

He hustles across the park, stopping along the way to grab more litter.

“Olivia, that’s a great idea,” Cassie says. “Thank you.”

“Ruthie May suggested it.” Olivia touches my arm. “And, Ryan, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. When is George Cooney’s birthday?”

“Ah…sometime in April?”

“Oh, no. I was afraid of that.”

Cassie presses her lips together and grabs a bag, abandoning me to pick up lube packets and errant cock rings, which is oddly arousing.

But then just about everything about Cassie is arousing.

I blink back at Olivia. “April is a bad month for raccoons?”

“I was reading his star chart. Now’s a critical time for George to find a mate. If you haven’t found a mating in captivity group yet, you need to, like yesterday.”

“Oh. Ah, I see. Thank you.”

She nods. “You’re welcome.”

She floats off to gather more bags of trash, and I catch up to Cassie. Her pigtails are touching the ground as she bends over to snag a trio of feather ticklers while a parade of protesters march by twenty feet away.

“No More Sunshine! No More Sunshine!”

“That would be really funny if it wasn’t my sister they were talking about,” Cassie tells me. “Here. You can put your dildo in my bag.”

I drop the litter in, and we both reach for a string of anal beads on the ground.

She snorts a soft laugh. “It’s like Lady and the Tramp, the X-rated version.”

“By all means, they’re yours.”

We’re both laughing when the sheriff ambles back over, sluggish but determined. “Miss Sunderwell, we didn’t finish our conversation.”

He’s holding handcuffs.

Seven pairs, to be exact. Four fuzzy pink, two fuzzy black, and one fuzzy leopard print.

“Hold on just a minute,” I growl.

The sheriff shoves all seven pairs into a trash bag and ignores me. “Miss Sunderwell, I need you to come with me.”

“Why?” I demand.

“I didn’t do this,” she tells the sheriff.

“Then you won’t have any issue coming on down to the station to answer a few questions.”

I step between them. “You can ask her questions right here.”

“It’s fine, Ryan.” She puts a hand on my arm, and my skin crackles with suppressed energy. I want to toss her over my shoulder, carry her to my truck, and take her away from all of this. “It’s easier to talk away from all the gossip anyway.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you stay and finish cleaning up,” she says. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. And if I can help figure out who did this, all the better.”

“Cassie—”

She goes up on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. “He’s not a dildo. I can handle him.”