Midlife in Glimmerspell

by Addison Moore

  “Jenny.” My voice hikes a notch as I do my best to sound as if I didn’t toss and turn half the night, battling Elliot in my brain while battling a serious case of the night sweats.

  She turns my way. “Oh hey, Billie. Things look as if they’re going great. I mean, half the school showed up.” She sighs at the crowd as tears fill her eyes. “How I wish he was still here. I’d never met a man like him before. When things were good between us, they were really good. And I always believed that we could get back there despite how crazy everything around us was.”

  Spoken like someone who didn’t inject the father of her child with ricin, I’m assuming.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “Thank you. You know, a part of me wishes he could have seen how many people cared about him. For a professor, he sure didn’t think too highly of himself. He thought he was a fraud.” She rolls her eyes as her hand floats to her belly once again.

  “You really believed in him, though,” I say it just above a whisper because a part of me feels sorry for her because of it. “You believed in him so much you let him talk you into having a baby.”

  “What?” Her eyes spring wide open as she pulls me deeper into the aisle. “Billie”—her mouth contorts until she gives a long blink—“you can’t tell anybody. And no, he certainly didn’t talk me into it.” Her shoulders sag. “He was allergic to prophylactics.” She shrugs. “And well, he promised me nothing would happen, but something did happen.” Her hand settles over her stomach and stays there.

  “Allergic to prophylactics?” I back up a notch. “And you fell for that?”

  She sucks in a quick breath. “It was true.” A hard groan expels from her. “Okay, so maybe I was taken for a ride, but at least I have something or someone that will always remind me of how much he meant to me.” She glances down at her flat belly. “And oddly, they’re going to have a sibling.”

  “You know?”

  “You know?” she counters. A hearty growl comes from her. “Oh, I knew she couldn’t keep a secret.” She pins her anger on someone behind me, and I follow her gaze, only to find Silvia Arden thumbing through the table laden with books on vampires. “She is going to get an earful.” Jenny takes a step forward, and I block her path.

  “Maybe save it for after the taping. I think Griffin would have wanted there to be some modicum of peace today—especially between the two of you. Besides, I actually have to speak with her about something.”

  I head in Silvia’s direction and pick up a book on how to date a vampire, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself.

  “How’s this for light reading?” I say, holding it up to the petite redhead by my side.

  “If you plan on living in Glimmerspell, I believe they call that required reading,” she teases. “Not that I believe any of that crap.”

  My eyes meet up with hers. “You didn’t believe any of the crap Griffin was pushing, did you?” I try to say it softly, just the way I did with Jenny, but it comes out a touch more accusatory. I can’t help it. Silvia was angry enough to kill, and she just may have.

  Her eyes sharpen over mine. “No, I didn’t, Billie. In the beginning yes, but I didn’t fall off the turnip truck the way he was hoping I would have. I called him out on all of his lies, and he didn’t like it one bit. I may be younger than you, but I know enough to realize that men don’t like to be outed for their transgressions.”

  I don’t see why she needed to drag age into this. I might have a few more strands of tinsel in my hair, and maybe I’ve got a few laugh lines etched around my cheeks, but other than that, I feel just the way I did when I was back at Dexter. A little more seasoned when it comes to life, but believe me, I’m exactly where I want to be.

  “Good for you,” I tell her. “But don’t you think you took things too far?” I shrug. “So he had a few girlfriends too many. In the future, dump ’em, don’t pump ’em full of toxins. Homicides should be entertained, never executed.” I glance to where Harold and Charlene sip lattes in the café. “Although I can see the lure.”

  “What?” She laughs as she steps back. “Billie, I didn’t kill him. I wanted him fired, not dead. And believe me, if the killer hadn’t made their move first, he would have been in the unemployment line once the weekend was over. Maybe Detective Greenly was okay looking the other way, but I certainly wasn’t. The guy was a creeper. He had some twisted daddy complex where he wanted to knock up as many coeds as possible. And that whole blood bank thing? I think he wanted people to believe he was a vampire. Some girls actually get off on the rumors. I’m not one of them. Besides, I work at Fae Gardens. I have access to rice, not ricin. And I have zero knowledge of the difference between the two. I’m a lit major, not bio med.”

  She takes off and her words swill in my mind.

  Bio med? Would the university have access to ricin?

  Wait a minute. Biosciences. Biological sciences. I bet a student majoring in that might have access to a chemical or two. I glance across the room where Vera is miking up Morgan as we inch our way closer to the shoot.

  I whip out my phone and look up ricin, and sure enough, it looks as if it could easily be cooked up in a lab. Ricin is found in castor beans. Castor beans are also used to make castor oil.

  Huh.

  Harold’s mother tried to get me to gulp down a spoonful when I was due to have Harper just to move things along.

  Figures.

  Here I thought she was trying to help me out, and the old hag was probably trying to off me.

  Vera snags my eye once again.

  Elliot said she wasn’t a patient of Dr. Greenly’s. And that Vera was indeed her formal name.

  My fingers dance over my phone as I look her up and her picture shows up along with every award under the sun for her biotech achievements at Dexter. I expand one of the pictures of her smiling face and wince at how garish her foundation looks compared to the skin on her neck. Honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever been so affronted by anyone’s inability to match their skin tone properly before. But then, I can’t blame the girl for wanting to add some color to her cheeks. Her neck is bone white. If her entire face looked that way, she’d resemble a corpse.

  I stop cold.

  A corpse? Or someone who abhors sunlight? Some people look just fine even if they’re avoiding the sun’s rays. And others, well, they look like the walking dead.

  That picture party trick Harper taught me comes to mind, and I rest my thumb over Vera’s picture and copy it before depositing it into the facial recognition search engine she used the other day.

  “Oh my—wow,” I breathe the words out as a few pictures pop up from the Hargrove historical society, a town not too far from Glimmerspell. A woman in one of the photos, by the name of Alicia Porter, is a dead ringer for Vera Henley. The year reads 1878 and she’s standing outside of Porter’s Apothecary Shop.

  Two other pictures sit beneath it. One from 1942 taken in Glacier Harbor. A woman by the name of Cathy McKinnon stands with a row of jars set out before her at what looks to be the fairgrounds. And planted in front of them is a sign that reads tinctures and salves.

  The last picture is from 1972. Marjorie Woods is listed as a member of the women’s science movement in Journey Bay. A small orange sign behind her catches my eye, and I enlarge the picture as far as it will allow. Chatham House Blood Drive.

  Chatham House…

  Acorn barks and angles for the phone as if he wants in on the actions, so I hold the screen his way.

  “Oh, Acorn,” I whisper as I shake my head.

  Not only is the face of each woman identical in each shot, but in the last two that orange hue is taking over her skin.

  Whoever Vera Henley truly is, she’s been botching up her cosmetics longer than I’ve been alive.

  I look her way, and without giving it a thought, my feet carry me in her direction.

  My mind swirls with questions to ask her, and not one of them has to do with anything she might have floating in her makeup bag.
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  I’m more interested in discussing her zest for science, for life, and particularly for the death that seems to elude her—and seems to have found Professor Barker instead.

  Vera seems to have had her fair share of brushes with destiny.

  And I have a feeling I’m about to have a brush with a bona fide vampire.

  Let’s see if Vera Henley can make a believer out of me yet.

  Chapter 16

  The coffee grinder goes off in the café and only adds to the chaos already ensuing all around us in the Haunted Book Barn. The film crew is setting up the last of the lights and dollies for the camera equipment they’ll be using to record Morgan’s latest episode of Murder, Mayhem, and Baking, while the crowd around us only seems to thicken. And the plot of Griffin Barker’s homicide seems to be thickening, too. Acorn barks as we come upon the suspect in question, and I get the feeling he senses something nefarious is afoot, too.

  “Vera,” I say just as a heavyset man wearing a black sweatshirt with the words lights, camera, action studios written over the front steps in front of her.

  “There’s a black toolbox in the back of the van,” he says, handing her a set of keys. “Grab it for me, would you?”

  “I’m on it.” She makes a face my way as he takes off. “Sound equipment.” She wrinkles her nose. “The fun never ends.”

  “Actually, I’m going out that way, too,” I say, following along as she moves at a quickened clip.

  As soon as we step outside the front door, I regret my decision not to wait until she came back inside. Acorn shudders as we speed through the icy air. The thermometer is hitting its lower register today and this sweater I’ve got on isn’t enough to stave off the bitter chill. The snow is piled up in a series of small hills away from the parking lot and the sidewalks have been carefully scraped clean. Morgan is meticulous about getting a crew out here daily to maintain the grounds for her customers.

  “Vera, I wanted to ask you a question,” I say as we make our way around the side of the building and Acorn moans as if he were suddenly regretting his decision to join us. I can’t blame him. He’s not wearing his winter booties.

  “Anything.” She points the remote in her hands toward a white cargo van and it chirps to life. “Are you getting cold feet about the show?” she asks as she opens up the double doors to the back of the van and the doors manage to act as a windbreaker as we huddle close to them.

  “No cold feet,” I say. “Well, literally, but not figuratively. Vera, how well did you know Griffin Barker? I mean, I know you knew him well. But other than that, how well did you really know him?”

  Her lips part as she looks to me, and I inspect her face at this close proximity. She’s pretty, good bones, her eyelids are thick and heavy, and she looks vibrant and healthy for the most part. But is she basically an immortal?

  “I knew him more than I needed to.” A plume of fog emits from her as she sheds a dry laugh. “Anyway, I never should have gotten involved with him. I regret it.” Her jaw tenses as if she meant it.

  “You were in love with him.” My heart breaks for her as I say the words. “You wanted him for yourself, but he wasn’t easy to hold down, was he?”

  Her chest bucks and she closes her eyes. “No, he wasn’t.”

  “But that’s not the whole story, is it? Have you heard of the Chatham House?”

  Her eyes widen a moment. “Chatham House?” She glances at me, up and down. “Oh right, that was Griffin’s charity or something of that nature. What about it?”

  “It didn’t belong to Griffin—it belonged to you, didn’t it? For some reason, Griffin must have caught on.” I shake my head at her. “You let him think he could do it. Why?”

  Her mouth falls open as she begins to pant.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She starts to take off, and I grab her by the wrist.

  “You—you’ve been alive a very long time, haven’t you, Vera? Or should I say Alicia? Cathy? Marjorie? How many more names am I leaving out?”

  Her eyes sharpen over mine and her pupils turn as red as cauldrons, just a pinhole of crimson in a sea of amber, and any of the clinging doubt I may have had is instantly erased.

  Acorn growls her way, but Vera doesn’t take her eyes off of me.

  “A handful,” she says. “But they didn’t have cameras that far back, so I guess you and your nosy efforts will never find out.” She yanks her arm free with a powerful tug and I nearly fall to the ground as I stagger to regain my footing.

  Acorn barks and jumps between us while growling and snapping at the woman.

  “You fell in love with him,” I pant the words out. “You told him about your world, about the Chatham House. A foolish endeavor, I’m sure. You’ve been selling blood to the Faulkners for decades.”

  “Centuries,” she counters. “But modern instruments have allowed for the aspiration of bodily fluids to be far more humane than they’ve ever been. People want to give blood now.” Her lips curl. “It’s downright heroic.”

  I shake my head at her. “But not all blood is the same, is it? I’m betting Griffin asked you that exact same question not too long ago.”

  Her features turn to stone as she glares at me with all her might.

  “No, it’s not all the same,” she says. “Some blood is far more precious to come by.”

  “That of an expectant mother. But your days of conception have long been over, haven’t they? I bet the Faulkners were willing to pay a premium for that precious blood, too. I’m guessing you were in on his scheme to impregnate a few coeds and in turn you made him realize he was about to become a very rich man.”

  Her chest bounces. “Griffin was born greedy, and he died the same way.”

  “He died because you killed him,” I say, taking a bold step closer to her. “Either you couldn’t stand the fact he was moving on from you—or it pained you to see he beat you at your own blood-selling game. Which was it?”

  “It was both,” she seethes as she gives me a hard shove to the chest and sends me sailing into the back of the van.

  My hand slaps down over a long, heavy-duty flashlight made of heavy steel and I grip it as if my life depended on it, and it just might.

  “Why kill him in a public setting?” I ask, carefully stepping away from the van while holding the flashlight close to my thigh. “Why not suck the life right out of him in the woods and tear his flesh apart? The authorities would have thought a bear got him.”

  “A bear?” She laughs with amusement, and it’s only then I note her canines are sharpened to a point. “Oh, Billie, I don’t think you know what you’re up against here, do you?” A dark chuckle stirs in her chest. “Nobody in Glimmerspell would have thought it was a bear. Not many people in Maine altogether. Only you and your foolish naiveté would have thought so, even with your anemic knowledge of who truly resides here.” She sharpens her anger over at me as she steps in close, and before I know it, I’m stumbling backward toward the woods a few feet away. “I couldn’t devour Griffin in the woods. All fingers would point toward me. No. I needed to have him die in a public setting with all of his paramours under one roof. They were just as angry with him. They could have easily done it. And once both Jenny and Silvia start to grow in size and rumors fly of who the father of their children might be—or was—suspicions will be cast in all the right places.”

  “You won’t get that far,” I say, stopping just shy of leaving the parking lot. “I won’t let you.”

  “You won’t let me?” She gives a few quick blinks. “My darling sweet Billie. You won’t be here to stop me.” With one hand, she grabs me by the throat, and I’m hoisted at least three feet off the ground with what looks to be very little effort on her part. And with the other hand, she yanks the flashlight from me and tosses it to the ground.

  Acorn gives a sharp bark before latching his mouth over her ankle, but Vera doesn’t seem bothered by his bone-crushing efforts in the least.

  “They’ll know it was you,”
I choke the words out as I claw to get her hand to release me. “Your bio research knowledge points the finger right in your direction. Jenny knows you were scorned by Griffin.” I gag each word out in staccato breaths and struggle to suck in a single ounce of air. My body squirms as I grow desperate for her to release me, and just as my lungs threaten to burst, I give her a solid kick in the chest and she sails backward, dropping me like a stone.

  I land on all fours and do my best to scamper away, but she snatches me by the ankle and reels me in again.

  Acorn snaps and barks while jumping over her back, and Vera gives him a shove that sends the curly-haired cutie gliding across the parking lot as if he were a bowling ball.

  “Yes, I killed him,” she growls as she pulls me underneath her with one quick yank. “And I made sure it was painful.” A laugh gurgles from her. “I wanted him to suffer. I let him into the deepest chamber of my heart, where I haven’t let a man in for over two hundred years—and he tore me to shreds. I was nothing but some eager-to-please coed to him. He didn’t care about my verbal proclamations. Nothing mattered to him but satisfying his flesh. So I thought if I let him in deeper, if I showed him who I truly was—who he could one day be, I thought we’d spend eternity together in a heaven of our own making. I cared for him, but not as much you might think. I needed the money. I’m just about financially depleted, and the scholarship I’ve managed to procure can only take me so far. As soon as I graduate, I’ll be able to hold my head above water. I always do. But just a few pregnant coeds could make my life comfortable until then. I needed Griffin to perform a task and he did. And once he was out of the way, I was going to continue the Chatham House efforts on his behalf.” She winks my way. “I know for a fact both Jenny and Silvia would have gladly given blood a few more times at least. That’s all I needed.” She barks out a quick laugh. “And he conned them into donating, using my own charity against me. He sold their blood to the Faulkners and amassed a small fortune in doing so. That’s when he realized he was sitting on a gold mine. That’s when he did a little research, spoke to the right people in the Faulkner coven. He was plotting to do away with me, Billie. Me, the very person who let him in on the realm that existed around him. I happened to be at his home the afternoon a package was delivered to him—from Israel. He doesn’t know that I saw it, but that was the day I knew he needed to die. You see, it was him or me. What was in that package could have ended my time on earth, and I couldn’t allow for that to happen. I didn’t come this far, work this hard, just to have him ruin things for me. He wasn’t interested in choosing to create a heaven on earth with me. He chose hell. He had to go.” She pulls me in by the shoulders and bounces my head off the frozen ground until my eyes are rolling back into my head. “You’ve chosen hell, too, Billie. And today you’ll be going there. When you see Griffin, tell him I said hello.”