“She emails me,” his dad said.
“Emma?”
“All the time. Says she wants to live out here, that she hates the city. Doesn’t want to live with that woman…what’s her name?”
“Tori,” Brandon said. “She’s my wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
“When did Emma tell you this?”
“Yesterday, day before.”
Brandon stood. “Alright, I got to head back.”
He noticed a book on the couch, next to his dad. His dad saw him staring.
“Book three of the Moonbeam Darklove series. I’m reading it again,” he paused. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
MaryAnne from the ODD vampire store was right. Brandon’s dad was a fan of the series.
“What’s the rifle for?” he asked.
“Protection,” his dad replied.
“Against?”
“Vampires, psychopaths. The usual. In case the police don’t get here fast enough. On top of that, I heard there’s a new sheriff in town and morale is down.”
“Really?”
His father laughed. “I’m kidding you, son.”
“And by the way,” Brandon reminded him, “it’s Chief of Police. Not Sheriff.”
He grunted. “You never did have a sense of humor.”
That wasn’t true. He just never liked his father’s sense of humor.
Brandon grabbed lunch and headed for the Darklove Damsel store.
He tried to shake off the conversation with his dad. His father had never been a happy man. Why would he change now? Brandon cringed at the thought of his dad getting close with Emma. If his dad threw jabs at Emma the same way he did Brandon…
He shook his head. Brandon wouldn’t let it get that far. He’d ask Emma about the emails. It was bad enough, begging Brandon to let her move to Forks early. Now she had his dad on Brandon’s case about it too.
Brandon parked outside the Darklove Damsel store. This time the sign hanging in the window read open.
A warm, heavy air swept past him as he opened the door. The only light in the shop came from an assortment of black candles scattered across the room and three dim, stained glass lamps that dangled from a sable ceiling that matched equally dark walls. He let the door close behind him and his eyes adjusted to the cavernous atmosphere.
The offerings here were sparse compared to the shop he’d visited earlier. A few rows of bookshelves with information on the occult. A selection of Tarot cards. A vampire-themed Ouija board was displayed on a table near the front door. The odor of incense itched his nose.
“Hello?” he called out.
“Be right there,” a singsong voice responded.
A moment later, a woman appeared from the shadows near the back wall of the store. She was tall, thin, and hadn’t made any effort to mask the crow’s feet that graced her eyes. The dayglow yellow moon and stars peppering her silk dress were an oasis of color in a goth-inspired desert of darkness. Her blonde, curly hair was in a loose bun atop her head.
“Good morning, officer,” she said, running her gaze over Brandon.
“Afternoon. I’m hoping you can help—”
She slid forward. “That’s why I’m here.”
Before he could stop her, she grabbed ahold of his hand and traced the lines on his palm.
He pulled his hand back.
“You don’t believe?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.”
She flicked her fingers at him dismissively. “It does not make it untrue.”
Why couldn’t people just be normal? It was a question he’d asked himself a hundred times in Seattle. But there was something human about wanting to be different, and a certain percentage would take the idea to the extreme.
“I’m here as part of an investigation.”
“Yes, I know.”
How would she know why Brandon was there? They’d never met.
“You expect me to tell you my powers of insight allowed me to foresee your coming. But I already know that cow MaryAnne sent you. She said the police would be here to investigate me for selling dangerous paraphernalia.”
Not exactly what he’d told MaryAnne.
“Is that why you were closed earlier, so you wouldn’t have to talk?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She slid away and moved across the room to a faux Greek column with a crystal ball on top. She ran a finger over the glass orb.
“I have nothing to hide. I open late. My customers aren’t morning people.”
“Because they’re vampires?”
“You mock the darkness because you fear it,” she said.
“Isn’t everyone afraid of the dark?”
To Brandon, fear was something to be confronted. Maybe owning a shop dedicated to the dark arts was her way of dealing with her fears.
“You admit it, then,” she said.
“Admit what?” He stopped himself. He wasn’t here to talk psychology, and he wouldn’t get drawn into a conversation about ghosts and werewolves.
“Look, Miss.…”
“Phoenix Weaver.”
He wasn’t sure if that was a first and last name or a hyphenated last name.
“You can call me Phoenix.”
“Alright Phoenix. Do you sell teeth?”
Phoenix’s hand reached for her heart. We may dabble in the arts dear officer, but nothing as dark as human remains—”
Interesting place to go with a question about teeth.
“I mean vampire fangs, like the kind kids wear on Halloween.”
“This is not a store for child’s play. You should speak with MaryAnne.”
“These wouldn’t be plastic” he said. “Hard enough to puncture skin.”
“Do you mind if I ask why you are interested?”
“Part of an investigation.”
“You have evidence of the undead?” She closed her eyes, breathed in through her nose, then exhaled slowly. “Real vampire activity has come to Forks.”
Brandon couldn’t tell if she was avoiding the question or if she really believed the nonsense she’d slung at him.
“Do you sell them or not?”
“You might check online.” She moved over to the front counter, resting her hand on a stack of tarot cards. “I’ve heard of such things, but…that is all I know.”
Was she hiding something?
Phoenix seemed to have a keen interest in the occult. Whether that was genuine or not, it was hard to tell. Still, she might be useful.
“Tell me about the kind of person who would be interested in buying real vampire teeth.”
Phoenix shuffled the tarot cards as Brandon spoke.
“People just like you and me, officer.”
Brandon had never known anyone interested in fangs, plastic or otherwise.
“But some of us see things others do not,” she said.
Phoenix flipped the cards, one at a time, onto the counter.
Brandon chuckled. “Monsters?”
“Spirits, creatures of the night. The undead.”
“And you’ve seen these monsters?” Brandon asked.
“My gift is to see things yet to come. I have no passion for the dark arts.”
Brandon’s eyes moved to the section of her store marked Occult.
Her gaze followed his.
“I sell information, officer, that doesn’t mean I engage in the activity.”
“Like those?” Brandon asked, glancing at the tarot cards she’d laid out.
“These are for you,” she said.
“Me?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not all bad.”
Brandon waved a hand at her. “Not interested.”
It was time for him to leave.
But there was something else.
Brandon held up the photo of the ankh spray painted outside the Forks Diner.
“Does this look familiar?”
She squinted, taking the phone from him.
“It is a vampire symbol,” she
said. She pushed the phone away. Her voice quivered with genuine fear. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“How do you know it is a vampire symbol?”
“Do not ignore this,” she said. “You must talk to Vasile.”
“Who?”
“Vasile Anghel. The foremost expert on vampire activity in the northwest. And leader of the local Nightside Coven.”
A coven? Wasn’t that a thing for witches? She must have seen the confusion on his face, so she said, “They’re a group that gets together, celebrates all things vampire.”
“By celebrate you mean—”
“I’ll let Vasile explain.”
He jotted the name down on his notepad.
“Where can I find this Vasile?”
“He lives on some property outside town. It’s where they meet.”
“This is his real name?”
“Far as I know.” She paused. “Please, you must take this symbol seriously. Talk to Vasile.”
Brandon flipped the notepad shut. “Good enough.”
He was at the door when she called out to him. “Officer, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
She slid the tarot cards forward.
“You must know, there are dark forces at work in Forks.”
As far as Brandon was concerned, murder always involved dark forces, if by that you meant rage, jealousy, greed…
“And…I do foresee family trouble in your future. An unexpected visitor.”
Brandon stared back at her. She was drop-dead serious.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 9
Despite her weirdness and general obfuscation, Phoenix had given Brandon a lead. The bite mark remained the most distinctive clue they had so far. What sort of person would sink their teeth—real or not—into a corpse? Vasile might be able to answer that question. A quick check online revealed the vampire guru’s location, right where Phoenix described it.
Brandon drove out to the address, a Victorian farmhouse with a nearby barn that seemed in good repair. Brandon wasn’t familiar with the whole vampire-fan lifestyle. He’d once read an article about a similar group back east that engaged in bloodletting and sex parties. He eyed the barn. Could the same thing happen in Forks?
No one answered the door and after a quick scan of the property Brandon left a note for Vasile to contact him.
On the way back, he gathered his thoughts. The vampire ankh and the conversation with Phoenix had him chasing secret societies and bloodthirsty psychopaths. As unusual as the bite marks were, they could be a distraction.
There were other, more common clues to focus on, too. Lauren had been intoxicated. She’d had sex recently. Whether consensual or not, it wasn’t clear. And she’d died from a fall from a high place. Because the body was dragged away from the scene of death, homicide was a fair assumption.
Right now, the only real suspect was Alex, her boyfriend, if only because the victim’s partner was almost always a suspect. They’d have to follow up with Alex and her friends about any specific interest in vampire lore.
Brandon called Nolan to see what he’d found out in his check of the area’s sex offenders.
“No leads,” Nolan said.
“How many do you have left?” Brandon asked.
“About half.”
“Meaning?”
“Five or six.”
“Keep working the list and let me know the minute you learn anything.”
“Will do. Chief.”
Brandon hung up, willing himself not to get angry with Nolan. Not yet. He didn’t have time scrutinize everything Nolan did, even if he didn’t fully trust the officer. The former chief had kept Nolan around for several years. He must be useful for something.
Brandon called Isabel Jackson.
“Jackson here.”
“This is Chief Mattson. How’s it going at the campsites?”
“I’ve interviewed just about every site on the beach. There aren’t many left.”
“Are people leaving?”
“Yeah, word’s out about the girl. It’s spooking some campers.”
That was predictable. Brandon wouldn’t want his daughter camping on a beach where a murder had occurred. Especially when the killer was still on the loose.
“What’d you find out?” Brandon asked.
“A few people said she looked familiar, but no one saw her the night she went missing. I ran across her friends too. It was a bit of a shock when I asked them if they’d seen the missing girl and they said they were the ones that contacted us.”
“That’s my bad,” Brandon said. “I should have told you to avoid their site.”
“I laid off once I knew who they were. I figured you wanted to handle them directly.”
“Good.”
“Although one of the group, Justin, gave me grief about re-traumatizing his girlfriend.”
“Real winner, huh?”
“They’re leaving this afternoon. Going back to PA. I wasn’t sure if we could stop them or not.”
Just yesterday they were all set on sticking around until they found out what happened to Lauren. Why the sudden change?
“Have they left yet?”
“That was about an hour ago, but they hadn’t started packing up.”
It wouldn’t hurt to get a second look at Lauren’s friends before they abandoned what could be the scene of her death. They were most likely the last people, besides the killer, to see her alive. And now, with more definitive information from the coroner, he had more to work on than the first time he’d seen them.
The further away you got from a murder, the more the human element contaminated the facts. Memories morphed based on news reports or conversations with other witnesses, and murderers had time to dig up alibis and fine tune their stories.
“Don’t let them go until I’m there.”
Brandon reached the Second Beach trailhead within twenty minutes. Isabel Jackson stood watching the trio of Alex, Brooke, and Justin as they loaded their gear into a late model Ford Ranger. Brandon pulled in behind them.
Justin tossed a sleeping bag into the bed of the truck. He turned as Brandon approached.
“We can’t stay here. We ran out of food,” Justin said, lifting an ice chest into the truck bed.
“I need to know where you’ll be over the next several days,” Brandon said.
Justin shrugged. “Ask Brooke. She knows.”
“I have to get to work,” Adam said. “We were only staying here because we thought Lauren might still—”
Adam broke off in a stifled cough. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry, son,” Brandon said. He’d learned over the years to treat every grieving individual, suspect or not, the same. After a moment, he asked, “Where’s your work?”
“A café up in Port Angeles.”
“Which one?”
“Hurricane Ridge Cafe.”
“Good. I expect we’ll have more questions soon.”
A lot depended on whose DNA they found on Lauren. If it belonged to Adam, that didn’t tell them much. If the DNA was from another man, then he had to consider sexual assault prior to the girl’s murder.
“I know it looks bad,” Adam said. “I mean, leaving town.”
“Do we need to get lawyers or something?” Justin asked.
“That’s up to you,” Brandon said.
Brandon noticed that Brooke wasn’t saying much. That made sense considering her blowhard boyfriend.
“Brooke,” Brandon said. “Let’s take a walk.”
He motioned for Jackson to stay put.
“You don’t have to talk to him,” Justin said.
“Frickin chill out,” Adam said.
“You better watch your ass, Adam. You’re suspect number one. It’s always the boyfriend—”
“Enough,” Jackson said, sounding like a mother scolding an out-of-control toddler in a grocery store.
Brandon and Brooke wal
ked several steps away, up the gravel parking lot, but still in view of the others.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk alone.”
“Justin can be a jerk,” Brooke said.
“I can see that,” Brandon said. “Brooke, you were close to Lauren.”
“Best friends.”
“Is there any reason why she would wander off in the middle of the night?”
Brooke crossed her arms, staring down at her feet.
“If there’s something you’re not telling me—”
“I just…don’t want to get anyone in trouble.” Her eyes rose to where Jackson stood with Justin and Adam.
“Do you think this has anything to do with one of your other friends?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I heard Adam and Lauren arguing the night she disappeared.”
“About?”
Brooke slid her hands into her sweatshirt pockets. “I couldn’t understand them.”
“You’re sure?”
“I think so.”
She was holding something back.
“Were they in their tent?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“And this was at what time?”
“Like twenty minutes after we all went to bed.”
“When I visited your campsite, I noticed your tents were only about ten feet apart. You’re positive you don’t know what they were arguing about?”
“I’m sure,” she said. “You think I’m trying to protect Adam?”
“Maybe,” Brandon said.
It wouldn’t be the first time a friend or family tried to cover for a suspect.
“What was Lauren’s interest in the occult?”
Brandon had no evidence that the young woman had ever been involved in the vampire lifestyle, but phrasing the question this way might make it appear he knew something.
“Why?”
“We found bite marks on her neck.”
“Weird,” Brooke said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
She glanced in the direction of Adam and Justin.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Okay. Did Lauren ever mention Adam hurting her? Any kind of domestic violence?”
“No.”
“Unexplained bruises?” Brandon asked.
“I mean, I wasn’t looking for anything like that. I don’t think so.”
Dead by Sunrise Page 6
