Blood Moon argi-9

by M. R. Sellars

  “Rowan…” Felicity admonished.

  “Hey… Row…” Ben chimed in, shaking his head. “Like I said, I told ‘em to expect a no.”

  “So they’ll be pleasantly surprised, and maybe you’ll score some brownie points.”

  “That ain’t what this is about,” he insisted.

  “I know that,” I replied. “But I also know-and both of you do too-that until we solve this, Emily Foster’s spirit isn’t going to leave me alone. I can bleed there with a doctor on hand, or I can bleed at home without one. Either way, it’s pretty obvious that it’s going to happen whether I like it or not.”

  “Aye, maybe not. I think she got the point earlier,” Felicity objected.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said with a nod. “Who knows? But where does that leave Judith Albright?”

  “Damn your eyes,” Felicity conceded.

  “Sorry.”

  “Okay, you’re right,” she offered. “But before you try this again, we take more precautions.”

  “Agreed. What did you have in mind?”

  “Maybe you oughta go ahead and say a poem first this time,” Ben interjected.

  My wife shot him a death glare but didn’t take the bait. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” she said as she looked back to me.

  “Well, we have a little time to think about that,” I told her. “Because before we do anything I need to eat.”

  “Yeah, I could definitely eat,” Ben said with a nod. “You wanna grab somethin’ at Forty’s, or would ya’ rather keep your distance from the morgue until you’re ready?”

  “I don’t really care as long as it’s someplace that serves liver and onions,” I replied.

  “Liver? Jeez… I dunno how you eat that shit.”

  “With a knife and fork,” I quipped.

  “Yeah, real funny, Row,” he returned. “I mean it tastes like crap.”

  “Well, that’s a matter of opinion, but I admit I don’t usually crave it like I am today.”

  “You’re cravin’ the stuff? Hmmph. Well maybe it’s leftover Twilight Zone screwin’ up your taste buds.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged and gave me a thoughtful nod. “Oh yeah, I don’t guess I told you about that yet. Doc Sanders is still waitin’ on the labs, but she did get a read back on Emily Foster’s stomach contents. Looks like her last meal was beef liver.”

  *****

  As I’d predicted earlier, we found ourselves at the Metro Diner because it was the closest establishment in the downtown area that could accommodate my sought after menu selection. Ben’s recently shared revelation had actually taken the edge off my craving, most likely because he was correct in his assumption that there was an ethereal element to it, and Emily Foster’s last meal was the culprit at the root.

  Still, even with my desire for the dish having been substantially dampened, I had worked up a taste for it. Besides, the doctor wanted me to take an iron supplement, and liver was loaded with the stuff.

  As it turned out, I wasn’t disappointed. The liver was fork tender and swimming in gravy with a generous helping of caramelized onions sitting on top. The mashed potatoes were lumpy just like homemade, and the pile of buttered green peas next to them was a culinary imperative.

  Something was finally going my way for a change, which was a good thing because deep down I knew this sudden stroke of luck wasn’t going to last.

  CHAPTER 25:

  “You get enough?” Ben asked, giving me a quick nod.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  He shook his head. “I still dunno how you can eat that crap ta’ begin with.”

  “To each their own,” I said with a shrug. “I like it.”

  “Yeah, well we already knew there was somethin’ wrong with ya’. That’s just more proof.”

  We were still sitting in a booth at the Metro, Felicity and I on one side, Ben on the other. We had arrived well after the lunch rush, and the dinner rush was still around an hour away yet, so the diner was only around half full. Still, given that our conversations tended to take unexpected turns, my friend had asked them to seat us back in the corner away from the rest of the patrons.

  “What about you, Firehair?” He glanced over at Felicity.

  Half her Reuben was already stuffed into a Styrofoam carton and was sitting on the table in front of her.

  “Aye,” she returned, nodding toward the container. “And lunch tomorrow.”

  “So I guess I’m the only one thinkin’ about those pies behind the counter?” he asked.

  “You’re on your own,” she told him.

  “What she said,” I echoed.

  He glanced at his watch and from the look on his face did some mental calculating. Finally he mumbled, “Aww hell, why not…”

  A second later he flagged down our waitress and ordered a slice of the coconut cream.

  “So, other than you trying to backfill that bottomless pit you call a stomach, what’s the grand plan?” I asked.

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “Well, I know I’m the one who insisted we eat first, but we seem to be ignoring the gorilla, if you know what I mean.”

  “Hey, you tell me,” he grunted then wagged his finger between us. “You two were s’posed ta’ be figurin’ out your precautions. I’m just along for the ride.”

  I turned to look at Felicity. “I don’t know that we really need any. You seemed to handle things just fine earlier.”

  “Yes I did,” she replied. “But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with not having something to back me up.”

  “Backup’s a good thing,” Ben agreed.

  “Of course it is,” I said. “But, I’m not sure what it would be in this case. I definitely don’t want to drag anyone else into this.”

  Felicity nodded vigorously. “Aye, I agree with you there.”

  “Not ta’ change the subject, but how you feelin’ anyway, Row?” Ben asked.

  I turned back to my friend. “Fine, why?”

  He shrugged with his eyebrows. “Just wonderin’. I couldn’t help but notice that ever since the hospital, you haven’t had your face all pinched up like normal.”

  “My face what?” I asked.

  He waved his hands and shook his head. “Not normal normal… I mean like the normal when you’re havin’ a la-la land headache… Ya’ don’t have that crease in your face that usually comes along with ‘em.”

  “Oh… Well… You know, I hadn’t thought about it,” I replied. “Actually, my head feels fine for a change.”

  “That could be another problem then,” Felicity chimed in.

  I glanced her direction once again. “What do you mean?”

  “I banished Emily Foster,” she said. “She might be gone for good.”

  “You left that spell open ended enough to summon her back though.”

  “True, but you know as well as I do there’s still no guarantee she’ll come.”

  “As pissed as you sounded?” Ben interjected. “I wouldn’t if I was her, ghost or not.”

  “Really?” Felicity scoffed. “It’s never seemed to stop you before.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Me, cockroach, squish. I get it. Honestly I think you just take a perverse pleasure in givin’ me a hard time.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said with a grin.

  “Coconut cream,” the waitress said as she appeared and slid a generous slice of pie in front of Ben. “Would anyone like more coffee?”

  Felicity passed on the java, but Ben and I both opted for a fresh cup even though the doctor had warned me off. Once the waitress was gone, I tried to steer the conversation back into the proper lane. “Look, right now Judith Albright needs to be our concern. Maybe we should skip the morgue and go straight to the crime scene.”

  “We don’t really have one,” Ben explained. “The last place she was seen was the house where she lived with the vampire whacko. Already been over that with a microscope. No sign
of struggle, no nothin’. Her purse, keys, and car were gone, and that’s it. The geeks are goin’ over ‘er computer but nothin’ yet… So there’s not much ta’ see. All we know is…”

  Before he could complete the thought, he was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone, which was warbling deep inside his pocket. He settled his pie-mounded fork onto the plate and then fished around until he retrieved the screaming device. Giving a quick glance at the display, he raised an eyebrow then flipped the phone open and put it against his ear.

  “This is Storm,” he said, his voice taking on a somewhat more official tone than usual. “Yes… What time? Okay. Actually, we were just discussin’ a different approach ourselves. No, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Just a second, let me get somethin’ to write with.”

  He switched the phone to his other hand but continued holding it against the same ear as he sent his newly freed appendage searching for a pen. A moment later he had a notebook out on the table and a ballpoint in his fingers.

  “Go ahead,” he told the person at the other end. “Yeah… Yeah… Okay, got it. CSU there yet? Good. Who’s runnin’ the scene? Yeah, got it. Uh-huh, we’re on our way.”

  He folded the phone and tucked it back into his pocket then re-inspected what he had written before doing the same maneuver with the notebook.

  “I take it we’re going somewhere?” I asked.

  “Looks like you kinda got your wish,” he replied. “Seems we all of a sudden officially have a crime scene. State trooper just found Judith Albright’s car at a rest area on Highway Seventy just outside Wright City.”

  “That’s an hour from here,” Felicity said.

  “Yeah, just about,” Ben agreed then shoveled in the forkful of pie, which he quickly followed with a second much larger portion. After swallowing he added, “So, we better get movin’. It’s already gonna be dark by the time we get there.”

  My wife pulled out her cell phone and stabbed a speed dial number then tucked it up to her ear as she said, “Let’s hope RJ can run by the house and let the dogs out, or we’ll be having a mess to clean up.”

  In his typical fashion, he managed to down the rest of the pie before Felicity and I were fully out of our seats.

  *****

  Just like my wife had said, the roadside rest area was something on the order of an hour from where we were when the call originally came in. However, with Ben behind the wheel the trip was instantly reduced to 45 minutes. If he had elected to use his emergency light and siren, that probably would have shaved it back to 30 or even less. Having white-knuckled a few rides with him in the past, I was perfectly content with taking the extra time.

  For the better part of the trip we had engaged in idle chitchat, both about the case and about nothing at all. However, for the last 10 minutes or so, things had fallen relatively quiet. I didn’t really mind since I was still dealing with the aftereffects of my earlier episode at the morgue, so I had laid my head back and closed my eyes under the guise of resting for a bit.

  Unfortunately, the physical drain that was pulling me down was the least of my worries. While there was a lull in the conversation between the three of us in this plane of existence, inside my skull it was a completely different story. The ethereal chatter was almost deafening. I couldn’t make out the words just yet, but I knew that would be changing.

  Like always, it was starting with the pain boring its way into the back of my grey matter. I couldn’t say that this time was really any more intense than usual, but perspective changes everything. The simple fact that I had been devoid of the torture for the last few hours made it seem even worse now that it returned.

  Still, it was the routine ache of someone from across the veil pounding on my inner door, a thing I had grown to know and hate, but ultimately accept. However, something about this caller was inexplicably disturbing. Although still clouded in a curious fog, there was something intensely intimate about the feeling-different, but all too familiar in a way I simply couldn’t pin down.

  I felt certain it wasn’t Emily Foster calling upon me again. I could tell that simply by the way the pain was touching me. Unfortunately, I had no idea who it was demanding my attention even though something told me I should. Given the circumstances and the sickening churn in the pit of my stomach, unchecked speculation made me fear it might be Judith Albright.

  Right or wrong I decided to keep this fresh round of torment to myself. I didn’t feel much like fielding any questions just yet nor was I in the mood to fend off concerns. I already knew there would be enough of that to deal with once we arrived.

  I could feel the van swaying to the right and starting to slow, so I opened my eyes. I saw immediately that Ben was veering from the highway and onto the shoulder to avoid a line of brightly burning road flares that had been set out to block the entrance to the rest area. Hooking around them, he aimed the Chevy along the ramp and began to slow even more. Ahead of us, framed in the swath of the vehicle’s headlamps, was a highway patrol cruiser, light bar flickering and parked diagonally across the access road. We rolled to a stop several feet away as the officer inside the car slowly climbed out and held up his hand. After a moment he cautiously made his way toward us with the butt of a large flashlight resting on his shoulder while he aimed the beam at us. His other hand was hanging conspicuously close to his sidearm.

  Ben pulled out his badge case then rolled down his window and waited as the trooper approached on a wide arc.

  “I’m sorry, but this rest area is temporarily closed,” the officer stated, still standing several feet back and to the side with his hand now resting on the butt of his pistol.

  “Detective Storm,” my friend announced, offering his badge and ID. “Major Case Squad.”

  Angling the light on my friend’s hand, the trooper relaxed, but only slightly, before stepping forward and taking it from him.

  Even though it was well away from Saint Louis proper, the rest area was located in Warren County. Since the Major Case Squad was handling this investigation and both the Warren County Sheriff’s office and Missouri State Highway Patrol were participating agencies with the MCS, Ben was still operating within his jurisdiction.

  The uniformed man inspected the ID then handed it back to him with a nod. “Thanks. They’ve been expecting you,” he said then beamed his flashlight along the road. “Veer right to the car park area and head straight back. It’s on the other side of the lot behind the facilities building. Can’t miss it. You’ll sign in up there.”

  “Thanks,” Ben told him.

  We waited as the trooper returned to his vehicle then backed it up a few feet to allow us room to pass.

  “Whatever ya’ do, stick close to me. Both of ya’,” my friend told us as he rolled up his window and started nudging the van forward. “I don’t feel like gettin’ into a yellin’ match right now.”

  “Why would that happen?” Felicity asked from the rear seat. “Didn’t he just say we were expected?”

  “Yeah… And we are,” he replied. “But since the hubcap chasers found the car, they’re gonna wanna take the lead on this. We just gotta let ‘em think they’re in charge while we do what we’re here to do. So that means hang close, let me talk, and you two just do the Twilight Zone thing.”

  “In other words, we’re dealing with inter agency politics,” I offered, my voice flat and emotionless as I was still intent on keeping my inner turmoil under wraps.

  “Yeah, the big, nasty P word… that’s about the size of it. And as usual everybody’s gonna want the credit on their resume.”

  I wasn’t surprised by his commentary. Jurisdiction alone didn’t mean cooperation was going to come easy, and I had first hand experience with that. I’d actually witnessed the backbiting he’d just described on more than one occasion.

  “What about you?” I asked out of idle curiosity. “Don’t you want to bolster yours a bit?”

  “Yeah, right, and risk a fuckin’ promotion? Hell no. I already sit behind a desk long en
ough as it is,” he replied. “I move up too much farther I’ll be stuck in a goddamn office with no windows, spendin’ all day lookin’ at crime stats on a friggin’ computer screen and gettin’ a chronic case of numb ass.”

  I forced myself to chuckle lightly. “You’ve said yourself that we’re both getting too old for this stuff. I thought maybe you’d be ready for a desk job.”

  “No,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Old’s one thing, but I ain’t dead yet.”

  We cruised through the empty expanse of parking spaces then rounded the backside of the rest area, heading for the far end of the lot as we had been directed. The moment we reached the beginning of the bend and just before the turn toward the left, a chaotic dance of luminance blossomed across the windshield. The cluster of flashing emergency lights had not been visible from the highway as we approached, but from this vantage point they lit up the night.

  Several squad cars, both from the state patrol and the sheriff’s office were stationed on either side of the vehicle in question. Crime scene tape ran between trees, lampposts, and bumpers in order to cordon off the area. A second flashlight-wielding officer waved us toward a parking space beneath one of the light standards and began walking in our direction while Ben pulled the van in and shut off the engine.

  I unlatched my seatbelt then climbed out of the passenger side and jerked open the sliding door for Felicity. The cold night air was a crisp shock against the bare skin of my face after sitting in the warm interior of the vehicle for the past hour. In that moment I was very glad we had stopped by my wife’s Jeep to retrieve my jacket before heading out.

  Dusk had fallen hard, and even though we had recently been through an abnormally warm stretch, a cold front was encroaching, and the temperatures dipped quickly as soon as the sun went into hiding below the horizon. Since the day had been clear and no cloud cover had yet to roll through, there was no insulation to keep in what little heat the ground had accumulated over the past few days. Therefore, the outside temperature was making my memories of the earlier chill in the morgue seem almost warm by comparison.