Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 73

"She sleeps," Claire rea.s.sured him, wiping her nose on a bit of old wadded-up tissue she'd found in the front pocket of her jeans.

"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.

For the first Sat.u.r.day 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-paper like 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 h.e.l.l itself reinforcing the s.h.i.+eld, 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 a.s.sured Dean a few minutes later as she climbed into the pa.s.senger side of the truck. "He's too fond of being proven right not to."

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. What has 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 was young I had a twenty-two inch waist."

"I've really got to go put these things away, Mrs. Abra..."

"I only need a moment, dear. The groceries will keep. After all, this is business. A very close, personal friend of mine, Professor Robert Joseph Jackson, Maybe you've heard of him? No? I can't understand why not, he's very big in his field. Anyway, Professor Jackson is coming to Kingston on November third. He's so busy over Halloween, you know. I'd love to have him stay here, of course, but Baby has taken such a strange dislike to him." She beamed down at the big dog. "I told him that I knew the nicest little hotel and that it was right next door to me, and he said he'd be thrilled to stay with you."

Claire could feel the bag holding the gla.s.s bottle of extra virgin olive oil beginning to slip. "I'll be expecting him, Mrs. Abrams. Thank you for recommending us." Rude or not, she began moving toward the door.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, Colleen dear. I'm just so happy to see that you've taken my advice and have begun fixing the old place up. It has such potential you know. I see that young man is still with you. So nice to see a young man willing to work."

"Isn't it," Claire agreed as Dean rescued two of her four bags. "Good day, Mrs. Abrams."