Deaths Excellent Vacation

was a little girl waiting while her parents argued over whether or not to stay for the fireworks.
    First I found some bushes to leave the bag under, hoping that nobody would find it. Then I pranced into the park, acting cute and friendly and perky as hell while I sniffed everybody I passed. I got whiffs of grape slushie, chocolate ice cream, numerous brands of sunscreen, and of course, body odor. I smelled smoke—both tobacco and other, beers that were being concealed in water bottles, and one diaper that really needed to be changed. But it was all human.
    A small crowd was gathered at the Octopus, but I didn’t smell any blood, which was a good thing, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of panic, just major annoyance. Dave was speaking earnestly to a barrelchested man with a sour expression, but the expression gradually turned almost jovial, and I had a hunch Dave was using the glamour that hadn’t worked on me.
    I’d always heard that criminals can’t resist returning to the scene of the crime, so I took my time sniffing all the people clustered about. I got popcorn and soda from the guests, and various metallic, oily, and acrid scents from the employees, presumably from running rides. But again, nothing supernatural.
    Eventually Pirate Dave saw me and did a double take. I wagged my tail furiously, hoping he’d realize it was me and not some random pooch. A couple of guests noticed me, too, and I heard a little boy say indignantly, “Dad, you said I couldn’t bring Hershey to the park! You said dogs weren’t allowed!”
    “That be my dog,” Pirate Dave said. “Ye must have heard tell of old sea dogs! That’s Salty, the Sea Dog!”
    Okay, the “old” part didn’t thrill me, but I barked appealingly and came to rub my head against Dave’s leg until he patted me. The kid seemed satisfied, and though I saw a couple of employees looking confused, apparently a brand-new mascot wasn’t enough to worry them in the middle of other concerns.
    Dave continued to appease the guests, using a mixture of glamour and comp tickets, while I worked the crowd. It took a good half hour for Dave to make everybody happy, and then he clapped the employees on the back, told them to keep up the good work, and whistled for “Salty” to come along.
    When we were out of everybody’s earshot, Dave said, “Did you find anything?”
    I understand some werewolves can manage speech in canine form, but I haven’t mastered the technique. So I whined in response.
    “Bugger!”
    After a quick stop for me to drag out my tote bag, which Dave then carried for me, he led me back to the admin building. Not the basement, I was happy to see, but his office. Unsurprisingly, it was decorated with nautical knickknacks and a glorious selection of Adventure Cove souvenirs.
    “I thought you could use a place to Change,” he said.
    I nodded, then looked at him expectantly. Eventually he got the idea and turned around. I quickly Changed back to human and pulled my clothes back on. “I’m sorry,” I said once I could speak again.
    “At least nobody was hurt this time,” he said, and sat at his desk. “The devil of it is that one of those people is a reporter. I tried to glamour him, but he’s a hard-nosed sort and I don’t think it took.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said again.
    He rubbed his eyes wearily. “I may as well close the park down now and get it over with.”
    I really just intended to pat his shoulder comfortingly when I went to stand behind him. The one- armed hug was a natural extension. Ditto for stroking his back. I think I went over the line when I started playing with his hair, and inhaling that increasingly addictive scent of his was no help. But he’s the one who kissed me, and that was enough to set our course. Every man should practice kissing for three hundred years.
    We were about to move on to bigger and better things when there was a knock on the door. We hastily rearranged ourselves and our clothing, and Dave said, “Come in.”
    A man in coveralls with that same acrid smell I’d sniffed in the park came in. “I heard about the trouble earlier. You sure you want to go ahead with tonight’s show?”
    Dave shrugged. “We may as well. It’ll probably be the last, so make it a good one.”
    “You bet,” he said. As he turned, I saw a company logo on the back for “Great Balls of Fire Pyrotechnics.”
    After that, the mood was broken. “Time for one last Pirate Dave appearance,” he said. “Since you