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“Admit it,” Austin prodded as they started back downstairs, the ghost having gone on ahead to fill Dean in on the details, “you’re a little disappointed.”

Claire stopped dead and stared at the cat After a moment, she closed her mouth and hurried to catch up.“All right, that settles it. We’re taking a break in the renovations. You’ve been sucking up too many paint fumes.”

“You’re not willing to wake her yourself,” Austin continued. “But you’d love to know who’d win if you went head-to-head. Keeper to Keeper.”

“You’re out of your furry little mind.”

“One final battle to settle this whole thing. Winner takes all.”

“Get real.”

“I can’t help but notice that you’re not making an actual statement of denial.”

PRIDE IS ONE OF…

“Yours. So you’ve said.”

HAS ANYONE EVER POINTED OUT THAT IT’S VERY RUDE TO INTERRUPT LIKE THAT?

“Sorry.”

USELESS APOLOGY. SINCERITY COUNTS.

“Get out of my head.”

“Jacques told me what happened; is everything okay?” Dean asked as they descended into the lobby.

“Austin’s senile,” Claire told him tightly. “But other than that things seem to be fine.”

He watched her walk down the hall toward the kitchen and shook his head.“Once again,” he sighed, “I’m left muddled.” Stepping back, he put his right foot squarely down in the paint tray.

Two things occurred to him as he watched the dark green pigment soak into his work boot.

He hadn’t left the paint tray there.

And he couldn’t possibly have seen a five-inch-tall, lavender something diving behind the counter.

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

For the first Saturday since Claire’d begun handing out the money for groceries, there was considerably more than seventy dollars in the envelope. Dean whistled softly as she pulled out the wad and began counting the bills.

“One hundred and forty, one hundred and sixty, one hundred and eight-five dollars.” Tossed back into the safe, the envelope landed with non-paperlike clunk. “One hundred and eighty-six dollars,” Claire corrected as she pulled a loonie out of the bottom corner.

“Premium cat food all around,” Austin suggested from the top of the computer monitor.

“You’re getting a premium cat food.”

“I’m not, it’s geriatric. I don’t care how much it costs, it’s not the same thing as that individual serving stuff they show on TV.”

“And would you like it served in a crystal parfait dish, too?”

He sat up and looked interested.“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Dream on.”

“You’re just mean, that’s what you are.” Lying down again, he pillowed his chin on his front paws. “Tempt me, taunt me, then feed me the same old beef byproducts.”

“If it isn’t for Austin, what’s it for?” Dean wondered. “We’ve got lots of food.”

“Frozen and canned,” Claire reminded him, handing over the money. “Maybe you’re supposed to stock upon fresh.”

He fanned the stack with his thumb.“This is gonna buy a lot of lettuce.”

In the end, unable to shake the feeling that she needed to be involved, Claire decided to go with him. It would be strange to leave the hotel so soon after going out to buy the new keyboard—something most site-bound Keepers would not be able to do—but with Hell itself reinforcing the shield, what could go wrong?

Austin, when applied to for his opinion, yawned and said,“The future is unclear to me. I’m probably faint from a lack of decent food.”

“What if I promise to bring you some shrimp snacks?”

He snorted.“Too little, too late.”

“He’d tell me if he saw a problem,” Claire assured Dean a few minutes later as she climbed into the passenger side of the truck. “He’s too fond of being proven right not to.”

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Baby heralded their return two-and-a-half hours later with a deafening volley of barks and a potent bit of flatulence.

“Couldn’t have a wind from the north,” Claire muttered, staggering slightly under the weight of the grocery bags she carried. “Oh, no. Has to come up off the lake and right over the canine trumpet section. Whathas that dog been eating?”

“Well, we haven’t seen Mrs. Abrams for a while,” Dean pointed out, unlocking the back door.

“Yoo hoo! Colleen dear. Have you got a moment?”

Silently accusing Dean of invoking demons, Claire took a step back and smiled over the fence.“Not right now, Mrs. Abrams. I’d like to get all these groceries inside.”

“Oh, my, you have bought out the stores, haven’t you. Are you having a party?”

Since she asked in the tone of someone who expected to be invited should said party materialize, Claire was quite happy to answer in the negative.

One hand clutching closed her heavy sweater—a disturbing shade of orange a tone or two lighter than her hair—Mrs. Abrams eyed the bags with disapproval. “Well you surely can’t be planning on eating all of that yourself. It’s extremely important for a young woman to watch her weight, you know. I don’t like to brag, but when I wasyoung I had a twenty-two inch waist.”

“I’ve really got to go put these things away, Mrs. Abra…”