One advantage to being a bartender was that Tex got a front-seat to all the best and worst of the guest-watching at Shifting Sands.

He got to watch the producer, Gregory Stubbins, have a shouting show-down with his cameraman, Bam Stagger (Tex guessed it was an assumed name, but never heard him referred to as anything else). Gregory didn’t go anywhere without his new black-suited bodyguard since the attempt on Jenny’s - Laura’s - life, and Tex felt sorry for the stoically sweating rock of a man who shadowed the obnoxious jerk.

Jessica Linn, the tiny blonde celebrity host, got falling down drunk every afternoon at about 2, to sober up in time for whatever evening event she had to announce. She was at best unkind to the resort staff, and at worst, a raging harpy. She thought Tex was a dreamboat, though, so she was slobberingly pleasant to him.

Tex would have rathered she wasn’t.

The photographer, Juan Lopez, was constantly taking candid photographs that Tex strongly suspected would be sold to tabloids later, or used for blackmail, when he wasn’t hitting on woman after unsuspecting woman.

Tex’s opinion of the Mr. Shifter competitors who frequented the bar ranged from sheer pity, through amusement, into active dislike. Mr. Canada completely failed to uphold his country’s reputation for politeness. Mr. India was a class act. Mr. South Africa made Tex very, very wary and raised his bear’s hackles. Mr. Brazil was a complete jerkface, flanked by a beauty coach who was at least as bad. Tex thought he might like Mr. United States, even if he was almost a caricature of laziness. Mr. Ireland never took off his glittery green pageant banner, and never stopped talking (though his charming wife often stepped in and pointed him in the direction of distractions with a wry smile).

Tex sniffed, literally and figuratively, making even more conversation than he usually did. He got Mr. Ireland talking about his job, fire-fighting, and then despaired of ever getting him to stop. He got Mr. Austria talking nostalgically about growing up in the Alps, and Mr. India, after a few beers, talked about walking through the slums of Delhi. Mr. Japan’s beauty assistant was a shy woman that would only take lemon tea, but Tex got her to tell him about climbing Mt Fuji and laughing over a fear of bees.

“They are very large bees,” she said, with an embarrassed smile.

Tex commiserated with a story about being chased by angry bees on his farm, and convinced her to tell him about Mr. Japan and how she’d gotten involved in the contest.

None of them seemed to have any motive for hurting Jenny. Or Laura, as far as Tex could tell. Most of them only knew who she was because of the incident with the latte.

It was everything Tex could do not to blabber about Laura himself. He wanted to tell everyone about her, to describe her perfect strength and get them to agree that she had the most perfect brown eyes. He caught himself daydreaming about the slow smile she gave him, and the velvet softness of her skin.

But customers, especially the women, didn’t want to hear about his perfect mate. They wanted to think his eyes were only for them, and as long as Tex was trying to get information out of them, he was willing to indulge them in that delusion.

“Masterfully done,” Breck told him, after watching him get Mr. Canada’s assistant to tell him all about Mr. Canada’s failed hockey career. There was a lull in the traffic at the bar for a moment, while Mr. Ireland demonstrated a fireman’s carry at the other end of the deck, to his American wife’s laughing dismay. Breck was helping serve drinks while the restaurant was in between meals; as busy as things were, none of the staff were enjoying much downtime.

“I’m no closer to finding a motive for poisoning Laura than when I started,” Tex said mournfully. “And these people drink like fishes; our stock is never going to last through the closing cere--”

A scream from behind the bar interrupted him.

“This is getting to be a habit,” Tex said, grabbing his baseball bat and rounding the bar at a run. Breck followed, grabbing a bottle off the bar as a makeshift weapon.

As girly as the scream had been, it came from Juan Lopez, the photographer.

Graham, teeth bared, was holding Juan’s throat in one hand, hedge clippers in the other.

“I didn’t mean to,” Juan was stuttering, clutching his camera. “It was just, the leaves were in the shot, you know, and they were casting shadows I didn’t want, and it was just a plant, and you have to frame the shot just so, and I’m famous in Europe, you know…”

He trailed off to a squeak as Tex handed his bat to Breck and strode forward to lay a careful hand on Graham’s arm.

“It’s okay Graham, he didn’t mean any harm. We can’t hurt the guests, come on, let him go.” He wasn’t foolish enough to say that they were only plants. You never said that to Graham.

With a predatory snarl, Graham abruptly let go of the struggling man, leaving him gasping and staggering.

He gave one angry snap of the hedge clippers that made Juan give a thin little shriek, then turned on his heel and left, white gravel crunching under his feet.

Breck actually laughed, and offered Juan the bottle he was holding. “Don’t ever cut Graham’s plants,” he told the gasping Juan. “It’s right in the resort contract.”

“Is it?” Tex asked, surprised. He wasn’t sure if he’d seen a copy of a guest contract.

Juan took a deep slug of the liquor.

Breck nodded. “Next thing after ‘No predation.’”

“It’ll grow back,” Juan protested. “This is the jungle!”

“Other things might not,” Breck warned him with another chuckle. “I heard Graham killed a shifter with his bare hands, so I wouldn’t so much as step off the paths the rest of this week if you want to get out of here alive.”

Cowed, Juan checked his camera for damage and slunk down the path away from the bar.

“There is no end to the crazy here,” Tex said, shaking his head. “I’d better get back to the bar before someone decides to go all Tom Cruise with one of the single malts.”

“How’s it going with your sweetheart?” Breck asked, as they walked in through the back entrance of the bar. “Is she admitting she’s your mate now that you saved her so dramatically?”

Tex could only smile foolishly at him, then he had to go mix drinks for Mr. Austria’s ditzy assistant.