"I love it. It helps with the nerves." Beth took her cup with a grateful nod.
"We surely need it after last week," I muttered, blowing on the tea before taking a cautious sip. It was just right, not too hot, not too strong. But then, the English really know how to make their tea.
"Can't argue with that," Andrew said, sitting across from us with his own cup. "The sheriff was here earlier, asking questions."
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Typically, the sheriff always seemed to be a few steps behind us, or not even on the same playing field, but this time he had days, or weeks, more time. It only made sense that his investigation would lead him to one of the only werewolves in the area.
"Did he come by about the attacks?" I hoped I wasn’t too obvious when finishing for information.
"Exactly." He scooted back in his chair. "I told them the same thing I'm about to tell you."
The door to the sunroom creaked open and a man in a broad-brimmed hat and gardening gloves walked through. He was tall,with ginger hair, and more than a scattering of freckles across his pale skin. He nodded at us briefly, but I didn’t get the impression he was happy that we were interrupting this little slice of paradise.
"More visitors, Andrew?" He paused by the doorway.
"Ah, yes." Andrew looked up from his tea. "They're here about the recent attacks."
Andrew nodded toward us. "Ladies, this is my husband, Jeramiah.”
We stood and held out our hands, introducing ourselves. He took our hands, shaking firmly, his gaze assessing. He wasn’t impolite, more like a man dealing with his husband’s unwanted business associates.
"More questions?" The man frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll leave you to it. Plenty to tend to outside."
"Sorry to take up your time," Beth said with genuine concern as she watched Andrew's husband head out into the brightness of the garden.
Andrew waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about him. Gardening is his sanctuary."
"Still, we're here digging up things that aren’t easy to talk about," she continued.
"Actually, this is a nice change." Andrew took a sip of his tea. "The conversation I had with Sheriff Danvers and that vampire detective was more... accusatory."
"Accusatory?" I echoed.
"They kept asking if I'd seen anything on my night runs, or if I smelled any different scents," he explained, setting his cup down with a soft clink.
"Like you're some sort of suspect." Beth frowned into her tea.
"Exactly." Andrew nodded. "But I have nothing to hide. And frankly, speaking with you both is far less confrontational."
"Who was the detective?” I asked.
"Vance Acheron.”
"The vampire detective?” The one who had a bit of a sweet spot for me. It made sense that they’d call him in for something as serious as this, but I wasn’t in the mood to have to deal with him on our investigation.
"Same one," Andrew confirmed. He glanced at Beth then back to me. "He came here, asking questions."
"Did he think you were involved?" Beth leaned forward, her interest piqued.
"Something like that," Andrew replied with a shrug. "But I told him exactly what I'll tell you. I haven't attacked anyone. I have been a werewolf for many years and have complete control over that side of myself. What’s more, I have a very happy life. A nice house. A great partner. A wonderful job. No debt. I would have nothing to gain by attacking someone and absolutely everything to lose."
Beth and I exchanged a glance, the unspoken question hanging in the air.
"Then, do you have any ideas about who might have done this?" I asked.
"Based on the photos, it's most definitely a werewolf, so you’re all on the right track as far as that idea goes," Andrew said matter-of-factly. "But beyond that… I don't know who would be roaming around, causing harm, but it's definitely one of our kind."
"Have there been any new werewolves in town?" Beth asked
