Page 3 of Demon and the Raven

Lorne scowled at her.

“Sorry.”

Victoria cleared her throat. “Three rose bushes were decimated before she got out there.”

“And now?”

“And now Mrs. Burley says she’s keeping the goats, partly because she’s always liked them and partly to piss off Mr. Taylor.”

“Certainly,” Lorne reasoned.

“And then Mr. Santos⁠—”

“Who lives behind them,” Lorne added, crossing his arms.

“Who lives behind them,” Victoria repeated with a sharp exhale, “says that if he has to hear them both screaming at five in the morning, then he’s going to really give them something to yell about from now on.”

“Okay,” Lorne said with a long-beleaguered sigh.

“Sad to hear about the roses,” I commented. “They’re amazing. But those goats are more like his pets, so she really can’t be allowed to keep them.”

He ignored me. “Two months ago I said that the two of them together have to pay to fix the fence that was damaged last winter, even though it technically sits on Mrs. Burley’s land, because it functions to keep her vast jungle of a garden from spilling over into his yard and his goats and llamas from⁠—”

“Alpacas,” she corrected him.

“Alpacas,” he amended, “from wandering into her yard after he lets them out of the barn first thing in the morning.”

“I thought if I talked to them, they would get behind the communal-fence idea.”

“Despite my directive they get it done by the end of June.”

“Yes,” she reluctantly muttered.

“Where is Pete now?”

“Out there, trying to herd goats.”

“Uh-huh,” Lorne snapped. “Both you and Pete said you had this.”

“I know.”

“And now, what do we think will happen with the increasing animosity between Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Burley?”

“I’m not sure if⁠—”

“Even though they’ve lived next door to one another for how long?”

“Forty years,” she answered him.

“So forty years means nothing, and they’re choosing to go to war, right?”

“I don’t know,” Victoria contended. “They’ve never been this insane before. But it’s not just them, as you know. It seems like everyone in town has had a short fuse lately.”

“True,” he agreed. “I blame the hot, sticky summer.”

But it wasn’t any hotter than usual. The fact was, though, Lorne had been complaining for the past two weeks that his office was getting slammed by a mounting number of disturbance calls. People seemed to be on a hair trigger, which was simply odd for the residents of Osprey. It was normally a quaint, amiable little town, both picturesque and filled with charming locals.

“So where does that leave us with them?” Victoria asked him, sounding forlorn.