Officer Fernando had jumped up, obviously playing Good Cop and her friend. "Look, Jen, we do believe you. You gotta admit, Luke Keller is hardly a credible subject. He could be charged for some of the so-called pranks he's pulled around here, but your neighbors aren't so interested in graffiti and salt. Keller's already got a rap sheet and is being questioned on certain burglaries in the local area. We wish we could charge him for the attempted carjacking, but...Which brings us to this La Faim character with a silver Rolls Royce. The fact is, Keller was so specific. It's hard to just ignore it, you know..."
The police visits had gotten progressively less friendly. They had interviewed all of the neighbors and Pam Davis had remembered meeting Dameon. Who wouldn't remember? Jen thought bitterly to herself. Dameon was not the forgettable type. She blocked the gush of hurtful emotion that erupted at the mere thought of him.
Jen admitted to knowing him, and told them he had moved from the area. The police weren't willing to give up that easy, though.
"We found out that the house is up for sale by a law firm, Kirkegard, Dunham and Syscol. They were reluctant to give us any information, but we insisted." Sergeant Lerner smiled a cold smile, enjoying his moment of one-upping the uptown, rich attorneys. "Ownership turns out to be under a corporation, Lyonese Incorporated, based in Heidelberg, Germany. And that's as far as we got. There was no mention of anyone named Dameon La Faim." He bent his flinty, green gaze on her while Fernando fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. This case was not a big one or an important one, and Fernando was obviously puzzled and uneasy by his Sergeant's zeal. "This is all very strange, Ms. McNeily, and I can see this has affected you. You don't look well, at all. Why don't you open up to us?" Lerner's words were pleasant, but his tone was menacing, and he never once took his eyes off of her.
His words had smote her. No record of Dameon at all. How could she find him, then? She realized that deep within her consciousness, she had been depending on the idea of finding him. She could not comprehend or accept the notion of never finding him.
She had made a big mistake in the later police interview. She'd spilled her guts about Tatiana. It was just that she was so tired. So tired of their questions. She winced, remembering Lerner's response to her confession.
"This woman, this ‘vampire,' simply vanished in thin air after attacking Mr. Keller." He had been deadpanned, his disgust and disbelief a palpable thing.
She had left out Dameon's part in the matter, still afraid for his safety. She supposed they had written her off as a nut, a basket case. Apparently, Luke Keller continued to deny his accusation against Dameon, and was now decidedly vague about what had actually happened. The police were stymied, and Lerner, at least, was not happy about it.
Jen was glad the interrogations were over. If they want to talk to me again, they can arrest me, she thought defiantly. I'm not going to be a meek, little victim any more.
These days, food would not easily slide pass the lump in her throat, and the weight had dropped off. Her hand still bothered her, and it looked as if this cut would leave a scar. Sleep was tortured by miserable, lonely dreams that she could not recall in the daylight. Many mornings she awoke to a pillow drenched in tears. She had returned twice to Dameon's mansion, futile gestures that somehow comforted her.
Grabbing her heavy, wool coat, Jen knew she needed to take some action, any kind of action at all. Curling up and dying was not the answer. A tiny spurt of hope and the smallest spark of energy was being kindled. No more waiting around for life to dish out the answers.
It was bitterly cold, and the Michigan landscape was bleak, gray and stark, at its grimmest. Overhead, geese stragglers honked and swooped, practicing formations.
Luke Keller lived in the southeastern suburbs of Detroit. His address had been in the phone book and his house was easy to find. Jen made her way through the Saturday afternoon traffic, wondering at her motives. What answers did she really seek? Wasn't it true that she hoped Luke Keller had information on Dameon?
Violent, bloody memories of Tatiana attacking Keller made her flinch and she braked reflexively. Her car skidded on the damp road and the car behind her trumpeted in annoyance. Stomach roiling, she forced herself to concentrate on her driving.
But it was hard to believe Tatiana, beautiful and malevolent, but so vital, was dead. If dead was a correct term for vampires expiring. She felt odd deliberating about vampires. They were a reality and she was accepting that, which was odder yet. Jen caught a glimpse of her of her white face and haunted eyes in the rear mirror. She was paying a price for knowing Dameon. She would never be the same.
Chapter Twenty
If Dameon only had given us a chance, Jen thought, driving automatically. We could have come to an understanding. Steeling herself, she tightened her jaw. She would get answers from Luke Keller. She swung up to the tiny, brick doll house and parked. Keller wasn't expecting her.
Luke Keller's pale face was sullen as he opened the door. He didn't looked thrilled to see her. He let her in and parked himself immediately in front of a too loud television. He acted as if blamed her for what he saw as his misfortunes. His recollection of Dameon, however, was very vague, a symptom, no doubt, from Tatiana's psychic meddling.
An hour later, she was out the door and on the road. What a waste of time, she thought to herself as she maneuvered through the wet roads.
Luke Keller had nothing valuable to contribute. He had answered her in monosyllables, except when the conversation rolled around to the subjects of the police and money. Then he came alive with resentment and outrage, as he railed against the "system, which screwed over guys like him." At twenty, he lived with his mother, was unemployed, not going to school and brooding on the injustice of the world. He and his friend, the taller redhead with the gun, had been in the same boat—broke—and had decided to get cash any way they could. Carjacking, being the popular crime of choice, seemed an easy solution. Now, he and his friend were back in trouble with the law. And, it wasn't fair, Luke Keller insisted, because it was his buddy and not him who was carrying the gun.
Jen detected no embarrassment or apology in his demeanor, just irritation that his career in theft was momentarily halted.
She slowly made her way home. Her interview with Luke Keller faded away. She touched the ring hanging from her necklace and held it to her cheek. Pain swelled and she fought back tears. For an angry second, she was tempted to rip the ring off and hurl it out the window. Letting it slide down the chain, she thought over the last four weeks. She had been wasting her precious time. There had to be some concrete step she could take, something more productive than talking with Luke Keller.
An hour later, she curled up on the sofa, and pulled the afghan around her, leaving the TV on with sound turned off. Cobbs bounded up beside her, warming her with his solid body. She was shivering, though her furnace was turned on full blast. She could not get warm enough. I have to make myself eat and function, she told herself. I have to be strong if I'm going to act. "I promise to shape up, bud," she whispered into her dog's coat as she hugged him.
The phone rang, shattering the silence.
Jen slowly answered, knowing it couldn't be who she wanted it to be.
"I was hoping to catch you home. How about a dinner and a movie with a lonely guy?" It was Joe.
Jen knew she had been lucky not to have been fired. She had missed two days of work without calling in, a first for her. When she had surfaced from the shock of Dameon's sleep spell and her following emotional breakdown, Jen had been confronted with reality. Her answering machine had been blinking furiously and filled with worried, then progressively angry messages from Kriegle's. Luckily, they accepted her explanation of a family emergency. Whether they believed her or not was another thing. Her behavior and appearance, though, were enough to convince everyone that at least something was wrong.
She thanked Joe, but turned him down. She wasn't up to being charming, and leading Joe on would only cause more problems.
"L
ook, I know you're not up to any big romantic deal, but let's get together as friends. Neither of us did anything for Thanksgiving, right? We deserve a night out, and might as well cry in our beer together." Joe wasn't going to give up easily.
Jen took a deep breath. He was going to be persistent, she could tell. He had been solicitous and hovering for weeks at work, checking on her at home by phone at least twice a week. This wasn't his first invitation. "Joe, I have to be honest. My family emergency was really involving a—friend, and he's in trouble and needs me."
"Is this friend," Joe paused delicately, "someone you've been seeing?"
"You could say that." She groped for words. "He's sick with a rare sort of illness, and he's taken off. I have to find him. The only thing is…" She twisted her hair around her finger, wondering what Joe was making of her odd explanation. "I don't know how to find him. So, you see, I wouldn't be the best company."
"But listen, Jen, if he wants to be by himself"—he was gentle—"maybe you should respect his choice."
After convincing Joe that she was determined to track Dameon down, he agreed to help her with her search. He had a friend who knew a private investigator who could work for Jen at a discount. "I'll ask him to cut you a break price-wise. Maybe we'll do dinner another time?"
Jen couldn't ignore the hope in his voice, but forced herself to be discouraging. "I just don't know. Everything's kind of on hold now."
The private investigator was confident, assuring her that nearly everyone left a paper trail. He promised within a week to have some answers. Jen was on edge at work, anxious from waiting to hear from the investigator and strained from trying to appear normal. She felt disjointed and cut off from her co-workers, who were caught up in the holiday mood, ready for Christmas, though it was weeks away.
For Jen, Thanksgiving had passed with little notice. A call from her parents and a microwave dinner for herself. The dinner hadn't even been turkey. Christmas promised to be no better. Jen's parents would be traveling in another part of the world, and despite the fact that she wasn't close with them, she felt lonely and disappointed.
If only she had some sort of connection, some means of communicating with Dameon. Jen stared ahead and tapped her fingers. To be cut off from him cold turkey was brutal and cruel. She couldn't believe that he could be so hard and unfeeling.
Maybe the fault was her own. What had she done to fix the problem? Mope, cry and blame Dameon. I'll go to aerobics tonight, she decided firmly. I haven't been there in a month. Maybe I'll exhaust myself and try to open my mind to Dameon's by dreaming.
Jen had been so drained and empty lately. She had somehow avoided the psychic aspect of her relationship with Dameon. It was time to shape up. No more hiding and dragging around, she told herself sternly as she deleted the whole mess on the screen.
Nancy had called a few times, and she had been rude in not calling her back. Tonight, she would make amends and hope that her plan would work.
* * * *
Nancy was glad to see her, and warmly forgiving of Jen's lapses. She gave Jen a quick hug before she placed her mat beside Jen's. The music seemed annoyingly loud tonight, the room smelly and stale. Sore and stiff, Jen was glad when the class was over. Nancy persuaded her to go out for a cup of cocoa.
They settled in a booth and were immediately waited on. The place was nearly empty. Jen was determined that tonight would be her treat.
Over cocoa and muffins, Nancy was hesitant. "I've been worried about you, kid. Is it man trouble?"
Jen nodded, suddenly unable to speak, her eyes filling.
Nancy stirred her cocoa, looking sympathetic. She patted Jen's hand. "I'm afraid to ask, but he isn't married, is he?"
Jen almost smiled. "No, nothing like that. He happens to be very sick. He worried that it would be too much for me to handle." She sipped her cocoa, not tasting it. "He's wrong, of course."
Nancy's face paled, but waited as the waitress refilled their mugs. "It's not what I think it is, is it?"
Jen quickly shook her head. "No, but it's serious and very rare." Suddenly, feeling like a liar, she lowered her lashes and picked apart her muffin. She couldn't, of course, tell Nancy the truth, no matter how strong the temptation. Vampires were not part of the modern world. Nancy would be horrified, convinced Jen was delusional and seriously sick, herself. Mentally sick.
Nancy tried to be encouraging, talking in detail about the tribulations she and her husband had gone through earlier in their relationship. Jen, only partially listening, tried to picture herself describing Tatiana to Nancy and how Dameon had killed her, explaining how he had been forced into doing it. She tried to picture Nancy's face if she told her Dameon was hundreds of years old, and that his disease was vampirism. The story of Vlad is all wrong, she would say. It really started with the Mayans long before Vlad's time. She sighed. It wasn't possible. Jen could never tell Nancy the real story.
She turned her attention back to Nancy, who was saying, "...if his illness is serious, maybe he has a point. Is he—he's not terminal?"
"No, not really." Dameon had never answered her question if vampires lived forever.
Nancy frowned and shook her head. "I don't know what to tell you, Jen. Maybe he'll come back, or maybe you should just let it go." She paused, a hopeful gleam in her eye. "Didn't you tell me that Joe's been calling?"
Jen covered her half-eaten muffin with a napkin, and pushed the plate away. "He has, but he's just a friend."
Nancy studied Jen, then a took a deep breath, as if making a decision. "I know it isn't my business," she began, "but I've seen this time and time again, Jen. Several friends of mine have wasted their time chasing after elusive men." She held up a hand as Jen tried to interrupt. "These guys always have a good explanation for acting the way they do, but seriously, it makes you wonder. If he really cares for you, why isn't he here?"
Nancy's question sliced through Jen. Pain filled her heart with such intensity that it was hard to breathe. Maybe Nancy was right. Maybe she was hanging onto a dream.
Nancy stared at Jen's white face. She leaned forward, concerned. "Don't listen to me, Jen. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm a busy-body—my husband keeps telling me not to meddle. And I really, try not to...It's just that I care about my friends..." She smiled appeasingly at Jen. "Am I forgiven?"
"Sure, Nance," Jen answered weakly, though her world was reeling. "You've given me something to think about." It was time to leave, she thought. As soon as she could politely get away. After reassuring Nancy multiple times that she wasn't angry with her, Jen was finally able to Escape.
Jen was glad to get home, but disappointed to see no messages flashing on her answering machine. The private investigator Joe had found for her was supposed to be calling any day.
Confusion made her head ache. Dameon—she couldn't give up on him, but maybe Nancy was right. Maybe she was living in a fantasy world. Antsy, she grabbed a coat and whistled for Cobbs. For a second, she paused at the door, straining to listen. The faintest rustling noise had alerted her. For one crazy second, she thought Tatiana had resurrected herself and was stalking her again. Her hand cupped Dameon's ring automatically, and she could feel her pulse begin to race. Enough, Tatiana was gone. She was safe, now. Firmly, Jen shut the door behind her.
* * * *
A small, midnight shape balanced itself outside the window on a nearby branch, watching as Jen disappeared around the bend. The bird scratched himself and stretched his neck. Dumas took off, wings flapping swiftly, blending perfectly into the inky clouds. Duty done, he could return to his master.
* * * *
It was dark out, but there was actual human activity bustling about in Grenville. Bundled and scarved, people were stringing lights for Christmas and stacking firewood. Laughter and voices carried on the clear twilight air. Gray plumes from chimneys dotted the night sky. In a well-lit window, someone was peeping out of their front window. The curtain jerked shut when she turned to stare. Jen almost laughed, despite feeling a twi
nge of annoyance.
Obviously, she was still the talk of the town. She wondered if they had decided she was root of all evil, or just the consort of the Prince of Darkness. With the police no longer stopping by, maybe the rumors would die down.
A flash of defiance made her want to stick her tongue out and shout boo to the illuminated houses, but that would just make her look silly. Jen shivered suddenly as an icy wind stirred. Hopefully, Schlessinger wasn't spying on her. Cobbs, as if sharing her sense of ostracism, barked indignantly, setting off a chain reaction from the neighborhood dogs. Jen hoped to hear Buffy's squeaky little voice. It had been a long time since she'd seen Carmen Joslyn, and she missed her fellow dog lover.
Facing the wind, she was heading home and almost didn't hear the voice calling her name. It was Pam Davis, bundled in a ski jacket, without a hair out of place. A flash of unexpected hatred pierced Jen's heart. It was irrational, but she blamed Pam for Tatiana's charade. Pam was even wearing the identical blue jacket Tatiana had sported.
"Jen," She panted, jogging up beside her, a flashlight in her hand. "I found one of Cobbs' toys and thought you might be looking for it." She handed Jen a chewed up red ball. Jen lifted her eyebrows. Pam had to have another motive for stopping her besides returning that old thing.
"The police haven't been around as much. Have they found something finally?" Pam asked in a false sweet tone of concern.
Jen shrugged, but said nothing.
"I'll always wonder, won't you?" Her eyes bore into Jen's. She tossed her blonde head and threw her next verbal dart. "Do you ever hear from Mr. La Faim?"
Jen studied the avid face, eyes hungry for gossip. "No," Jen said, hoping to cut short the inquest.
"The police suspected him at one time, didn't they?"
"He was never guilty of anything," Jen said..
Pam's face caved in with disappointment. "Well, we'll never really know, will we?" Her pretty doll face sharpened. "Well, I certainly hope it all works out for you. Being labeled by the police as a potential suspect can screw up your life. Innocent or guilty, you're marked for life." Failing to harvest fresh gossip, but succeeding in dropping her verbal bomb, Pam was no longer interested. She gave a quick Miss America wave and trotted off without saying good-bye.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 21
