Murder at Chipmunk Lake

by Mary Hughes

  He continued staring.

  Pretending I’m cool only works when sweat isn’t prickling on my skin. “All right, fine. In Meiers Corners, he was a scary disembodied voice. Now he’s here with us. Away from the band—and wi-fi. He can’t do the band any www-dot-damage, and you’ll see he doesn’t hurt me or the kid.”

  “I’ll make damned sure he doesn’t hurt you and Henry.”

  “Henry? Might as well call him Harvey.”

  “What’s wrong with…never mind. The band isn’t safe. There’s cell phone reception here. I checked.”

  I pulled out the 4G cooltech Julian bought me to replace my Juke—it not only played music, it let me record the band. Four bars. “I hate it when you’re right. Okay, let’s find him and find out what he wants.”

  “We know what he wants. He wants to hurt you.”

  “He didn’t make death threats until we backed him into a corner. Yeah, sure, he wants me to quit the band. But maybe there’s something I can change in my playing. A dude with artwork like those sleeves can’t be all bad, right? ”

  “Nixie—“

  “Maybe he has a point.” I overrode Julian’s sympathy, needing to be strong enough to deal with the indigestible reality, that the stalker might be right. Maybe I should leave, for the good of the band. “Maybe I use a little too much distortion in the love ballads. Or maybe my singing is too loud.”

  “How could anyone object to your singing?” He almost smiled. “You only broke two sets of eardrums at Summerfest.”

  “Well, I know, right?”

  The smile faded as he shook his black head. “I keep coming back to the question, why are you worrying about it at all? You don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re a rebel.”

  Right then I was just tired. “Pregnancy hormones? Maybe I’m weak from hunger.” I waddled to the kitchen and hunted around for my graham crackers. Julian had put the food away and he did it wrong—a.k.a. not the way my mother did it. Graham crackers are supposed to go on top, next to the chocolate. I finally found them on the bottom shelf next to the cereal. That’s just wrong. Raisins go next to the cereal. Although, on the bottom shelf, I could actually reach the crackers. Five foot nothing means lots of climbing on counters or dragging chairs around to get what you need, even as an adult. Before I married my husband, I burned a lot of calories foraging. “So do you think Stalker Dude is that jacked in, that he could read my private message?”

  Julian’s eyes followed me. When he saw me pull out the graham crackers, he glided to the cupboard and took down a glass. “I don’t know how he’d have found us otherwise. It does explain how he got our private number in the first place.”

  “I guess. I’d hate to think he wheedled the information from someone in the band.” That idea made me tireder. So when I dug out a brown brick covered in waxed paper—when every other snack is bagged in cellophane, why are graham crackers still in waxed paper?—I fumbled trying to open it, mangling everything.

  He tsked, neatly plucked the package from me and opened it with a flick of talon. Handing me a cracker, he then took the glass to the refrigerator, poured milk, and handed that to me too. “Drink this. You’ll choke on that dry cracker.”

  I nibbled cracker, then drank. The graham dissolved into sweet fibery goodness. Yeah, I know, more tummy talk. But fiber’s important when the intestinal freeway is choked to one lane due to construction. “Or worse, someone in our household blabbed.”

  “No. People living in a vampire household are more paranoid than bar bands.”

  “Word.” I dunked cracker then gobbled it before it dissolved into a milk slushy. As my appetite returned, I chowed more crackers and drank off the milk. “So what are we going to do about him?”

  “I don’t know. Your idea of talking to him has merit.”

  “Good deal.” I put down the sadly deflated cracker packet and the empty glass. “Let’s go.” I headed for the lakeside door.

  His strong arm barred me. “We aren’t going anywhere. You’re locking the door and staying here. I’ll find him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How you gonna stop me? I can follow you, you know.”

  “I’ll run fast.”

  “Leaving me to get lost, alone, in the dark woods? Great alternative.”

  He humphed. He’s so cute when he gets annoyed.

  Finally he turned to me, face stern. “All right, you can come along. But stay behind me.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Master Vampire sir.”

  Chapter Five

  Julian flung open the door—and flinched. While we’d been talking, the sun had risen. He must’ve been hecka distracted by Stalker Dude not to have noticed.

  While vampires aren’t magical—my husband reflects in mirrors and as far as I can tell has as much soul as any other guy—the physical legends are mostly true. Silver on his skin leaves a mark, and running water gives him a buzz. And, though he can function in sunlight for a while, the long-term effects are not pleasant. Not mere sunburn unpleasant, although that can be the result of a quick jaunt.

  No, apparently he can spontaneously combust.

  From behind him I saw the edge of his square jaw working as he eyed the bright outdoors. “It’s still low to the horizon. The woods will be shady. If I run, I should be okay.” That was my hero. Doing his thing, despite the double-nasties.

  “Nah. Stalker Guy isn’t going anywhere.” I grabbed one of Julian’s arms. The sinews and muscles were taut under my palms. This stalker thing was really getting to him. “Come on back inside,” I urged. When even that didn’t get him to budge, I brought out the big guns. “I need sex.”

  He backed out of the sunlight, shutting the door behind. His face was burnt red, but it faded rapidly. “All right. Go to bed and wait for me.”

  “Sure—when you promise to stay inside. If you leave without me, I will not be a happy camper.”

  His eyebrows winged up. “Would I do that?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “You’re getting to know me very well.” His mouth twisted in a half-amused, half-rueful smile. “There are disadvantages to being married.”

  “Let me remind you of one of the advantages.”

  I reached up and ran a finger along his lower lip. V-guys are über-sensitive in general and I’d learned that caressing him where there was extra blood made him shiver. His lips parted and his fangs slid out.

  “Come to bed,” I coaxed. To seal the deal I flicked a thumb along one fang tip.

  With a growl, he swept me up and ran with me to the master bedroom.

  Sex had become a challenge with pregnancy, and most of the time these days Julian did all the work. But this was a special occasion—I had to distract him. I think he knew what was behind my being extra-nice, but hey—v-guys are still guys. He didn’t complain.

  Lately any position that cramped the belly—that is, most of the fun ones—were out. Even laying on my back was difficult because of the pressure Elvis puts on my pelvis.

  But I could lay on my side. And Julian could lay on his side. Turned just right, with his square, competent hands, that could be all the fun I needed.

  I dragged him to the bed, stripped it down to washable sheets and shoved him onto it with his feet touching the headboard. Well, “shoved” isn’t quite right. I pushed, but my husband went onto that mattress because I asked him to with my hands—and because he knew where I was going with this. He’s got this trick where he turns to vampire mist, lets go of his clothes, and they drop through.

  Just before he bounced onto the mattress, he misted. When he snapped solid, going boingy-boingy on the springs, he was mouth-wateringly naked.

  He leaned up on his left forearm, bunching biceps against pec, and smiled. His black hair had grown a touch long, and tousled over his forehead and around his strong cheekbones. His jaw was just starting to show black stubble. The dark line stood out against the bronzed strength of his neck. His collarbones winged over broad pectorals. A trail of rippling abs was bisected by the happy
trail to…dang, he had one leg over his goodies.

  Time to coax Mr. Big Gavel to put in an appearance.

  I kicked off my shoes and pulled my stretchy top over my head. A bit of fumbling got rid of my bra. Gingerly I climbed onto the mattress too, facing him to start. Cupping his firm jaw in my hands, I tugged his chiseled lips to mine. He rubbed and caressed his lips tenderly over mine.

  But I didn’t want slow. Without warning I stuck my tongue into his mouth. He laughed, an unwitting but irresistible invitation to stick my tongue down his throat.

  That made him kiss me back with a gratifying amount of rasping hot tongue. We’re different enough in size that I felt every inch as he swirled it against my lips. I hummed my pleasure. He started purring, that vampire rumble that rattles his whole chest. His hand opened on my cheek, cupping my face in turn.

  I intercepted it and drew it down to my swollen, aching breast. He gently brushed the tip with a thumb. I shuddered. He did it again and I gasped into his mouth. He purred harder and cupped me in his palm. Used to be his hands overwhelmed the poor thing, but the tit fairy had plumped me up a bit. He fondled me until the nipple was raised and throbbing. They’re always heavy and full and just a bit achy these days anyway.

  So when he bent on the bed and suckled gently, I shot through the roof.

  I arched, shoving my belly into him. He pulled his hips back and continued torturing my breast with his mouth.

  I whimpered. “More.”

  “You’ll have to take off your pants for more.”

  I zipped off the bed like a pregnant fighter jet. While I toed off my shoes and socks and shucked my jeans he shifted a couple pillows, placing one by his head and one level with his hips. Oh, yeah, he knew what I was planning.

  Nude, I climbed back onto the bed. I laid on my side, my head on the pillow at his hips. He put the other pillow between my knees. Then he carefully lifted his top leg to reveal his cock, fully engorged and bobbing, nodding its readiness to play. He shifted his hips to present his erection for a kiss while he twisted to put his mouth in position to clamp onto my sex, awkward for him but he made it look sexy and graceful.

  I brushed my tongue over the tip of him. His rumbling went crazy. I opened my mouth over the head—just as he attacked me with his burning hot tongue.

  I sucked him down, nearly gagging. He’s a big guy all over, with more than enough to satisfy every part of me. But it means I have to open my throat to really do him justice. Luckily, I’m a singer. Open throat is my middle name: Nixie OT Emerson. I took him in. He groaned his pleasure. His tongue slapped against my clit like a sauna towel while his cock filled my throat. He began to beat against me in a primitive rhythm. I rewarded his efforts with a swallow.

  He roared, pulled out of me, twisted his hips away and began chugging out an orgasm of monster proportions. With the proper stimulus he could go on to a second or even third encore so I peeled myself away from his ravenous mouth and flipped onto my other side.

  He knew what I wanted and with gratifying speed came to his hands and knees over my hips. He slid himself into my slick sex from behind, immediately hardening inside me. Reaching a hand around, he scrubbed a finger along the little pink nose of my clit.

  I sang out. It wouldn’t take much of that.

  He began thrusting regularly but shallowly. Each thrust stretched me as his fingers beat along my groove.

  I offered my neck.

  Continuing to beat into me with cock and fingers, he opened his mouth, exposing his long, graceful fangs. He bent almost in two to rub them against my throat.

  I gloried in their cool sleek lengths. “I’m so close,” I purred, undulating against his fingers and fangs and cock. “Do it.”

  He grabbed my hair on the back of my head with his free hand and held me in place—and nicked me.

  It wasn’t even enough to release blood. His fangs barely poked through a layer of skin. But it was a hot wire from my skin straight to my sex.

  I orgasmed all over his fingers and cock. I may have shouted. He stroked and rolled into me, extending my pleasure into a long glide of echoing sweetness.

  As I came back down, he curled around my damp body, cuddling me. His hand opened protectively over my belly. I smiled and relaxed into sleep.

  I’d set the alarm for five p.m., well before sunset. Half an hour before it went off, Julian woke me much more pleasantly.

  After a quick shower, I dressed in a tent-like T-shirt and maternity jeans (full-length, because I wasn’t sure if this was tick season and my mother impressed on me that “up north” was Lyme disease country). I stuffed my keys and my phone into a small cross-body bag—my maternity jeans were comfy but the expanding waistband had made the pockets shallow and unusable.

  I made myself some scrambled eggs and toast, good for me plus easy on the stomach.

  While I ate, my husband paced before the living room window. I craned to look past him, see what he was seeing; the lake winked blue between the trees. We talked but his mind wasn’t on our conversation.

  Yeah, he didn’t say a word about confronting the stalker, but his whole manner screamed it was in the forefront of his alpha male vampire brain.

  By the time we started washing the dishes, the trees were casting long shadows outside. Inside the cabin it got dark enough that his eyes started glowing faintly red. I snapped on the lights to finish up. I could practically feel him champing to get going, but the sun hadn’t set yet. We wouldn’t be leaving until it did.

  Even so, the instant I finished wiping the table, he started for the kitchen door. I scooted after him. “Wait. We have at least five minutes until sunset.”

  “It’s plenty dark. I want to find that ass before the trail gets colder.”

  “Donkey, Julian.” I hung up the dishrag, snatched my purse and slung it across my body. “If I can’t swear because of baby Steed, neither can you.”

  “We’re not naming our child after a horse.”

  “No, John Steed. The Avengers?”

  “You know I don’t follow pop culture.”

  “Not the movie, the Sixties TV show. Diana Rigg, Patrick Macnee?”

  “Still pop.”

  “Come on, it’s the Sixties. That’s as good as history.”

  He clenched his eyes briefly, then he shook his head and started for the kitchen door.

  I recognized that resolute stride and forceful bearing. Whether in the courtroom or the woods, it meant trouble for someone. I trot-waddled after him.

  He’d adopted this strange ritual of going through doors first to scope things out, coming back in to let me precede him then shutting and locking up behind us. I thought maybe we’d skip the ritual in his rush but no deal. We dosadoed and allemanded until he’d pocketed the key. Then he stomped past our car to where we’d last seen Mr. Stalky.

  Julian knelt next to the disturbed dirt. His fine nostrils flared and his blue eyes flashed violet, his vampire senses coming online. When he got the car’s scent he rose and strode off down the driveway.

  I followed. By this time it was full dark but the first several hundred yards were backlit by the glow from our cabin and the night light on the trash and recycling area. But once we got to the main road, it was pitch black.

  I could have used my phone as a flashlight, but, city gal that I was, I thought there’d be a streetlight just around the corner. I set off optimistically, but trees in bunches were more opaque than I would’ve guessed.

  It was dark in the woods, wow. Big surprise.

  He realized I wasn’t following, stomped back, scooped me up, and stomped off again. I held onto his neck and tried not to grin. He was cute when he was crabby.

  I was a little nervous about what was coming. Sure, the stalker deserved whatever grief Julian had in mind (although he’d probably call it retribution or some such), but the fact was, the fallout would affect the band—and I’d be responsible. I didn’t know if I could live with that.

  He followed a trail that, for the most part,
I couldn’t see or smell. A few times I thought I caught the sting of diesel. Not enough for me, but my husband had heightened vampire senses. He wasn’t the best tracker I knew—Glynn Rhys-Jenkins held that honor—but following a trail less than a day old, left by someone who didn’t know a predator was on his trail, Julian was plenty good enough.

  He only hesitated once, at a four-way intersection. “Strange.”

  “What?”

  “The car went east.” He pointed one way. “But later, it returned and went west.” He pointed the other way.

  “West is more recent?”

  “Yes.”

  “So go that way.”

  The trail led him to another dirt road cutting through the forest a few miles away. There, his nostrils flinched, and he stopped.

  The odor hit my nose a moment later, like pig manure. “That’s one hell-o of a perfume.”

  “That’s sewage…and blood.”

  Chapter Six

  Julian took a cautious step into the clearing. The center was dominated by a circular chain link fence, a garbage-filled pit inside.

  “The dump?”

  “Yes. Uh-oh.” He glided slowly toward the gate.

  “Uh-oh? What, uh-oh?” I gripped his neck tighter. Not much bothered my master vampire.

  The waffled wire gate hung open. A broken chain dangled from the handle, its lock in the dirt below.

  “Oh. Uh-oh.”

  He set me down gently and surveyed the area with keen eyes shading red. “Stay here. Something smells off.”

  “How can you smell anything over the stink of garbage?”

  He jerked one shoulder, an irritated shrug. “The blood has unexpected elements.” He glanced at me. “On second thought, come with me. You’ll be safer.”

  “Yuh think?” I stuck tight to him.

  I know, where was the chick who’d taken on bad-guy vampires with only a pencil and some attitude? But marriage had, not changed me, so much as taught me a few things. There’s a time for mindless bravery and a time for playing it safe. Preggers, going into an unknown situation, was clearly “the latter” as Julian would say.