The Baron Blasko Mysteries (Book 1): Fangs

by Howe, A. E.

  “I take you to woods. You pretend. They think you wander away from castle. Pretend, yes?” He made a face like a crazy person. “They think you not right. The fright, it make you no remember.”

  Josephine understood and told him so.

  “First, I show you baron. Follow, please?” he instructed, walking backward toward the castle.

  She followed him down into the depths of the structure. In a room far below ground level was a crypt. Inside, on an ancient marble pedestal, was a centuries-old coffin made out of a beautiful ebony wood. There were no markings on the box. Its shape and the four silver handles were the only clues that it was a coffin.

  Josephine frowned as Luca went into great detail regarding the proper care and feeding of the baron. She thought some of the details were more convention than necessity, but she would follow them to the letter.

  Luca told her which train the baron would be on and made her swear she would be on that train too. Josephine was amazed at the bandit’s knowledge of the local train timetables. I guess it goes with the job, she thought cynically.

  Climbing up on the saddle behind him, Josephine was whisked back down the trail and through the woods past the old village to an area out of sight, but not too far, from her relatives’ farm. After watching Luca ride away, Josephine got down in the dirt and rolled around, making herself look dirty and unkempt. With the final addition of a few sticks in her hair, she got up and trotted toward the farm.

  Josephine ran into some of her relatives in the first field she passed. From their expressions, it was clear that they’d had no idea she was anywhere nearby. Apparently, Gheorghe hadn’t bothered to mention the “incident” at the pass the day before. At first it irritated Josephine, but she figured out pretty fast that it could work to her advantage. It was also useful that no one spoke English beyond a few words.

  Soon, she was being carried to town in the back of a wagon. Grace came running out to meet her before Josephine’s feet even touched the ground. They exchanged hugs.

  “I was about to rustle up some proper police to come lookin’ for you,” Grace said, a huge smile on her face.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Josephine said, squeezing Grace’s hand.

  “Whoooeee, what happened to your neck? Come on in here and let me clean that up.”

  Grace led Josephine inside the inn. Through hand signals and a few words with the innkeeper, she managed to get some soap, water and linen to clean and bandage Josephine’s wound.

  “We need to pack. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Praise the Lord, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a while. You liked to scare me to death being gone like that.”

  By sun-up, they were on their way back to Curtea de Arges to meet the train. Josephine had no idea how she was going to explain their extra baggage to Grace. The truth seemed too risky. But do I have a choice? Josephine thought.

  As they bumped their way down the road toward the train station, Josephine could feel a strange tugging at her heart, like a compass needle searching for the North Pole. Was something inside of her searching for Blasko? The idea was ridiculous, yet she wondered…

  “I have to tell you something you probably won’t understand,” Josephine started. Grace looked at her expectantly, but suddenly Josephine decided to take a different tack. “How would you like to make more money?” she blurted.

  Grace stared at her, trying to decide if she’d heard what she thought she’d heard. “I’d like that a whole bunch,” she finally said, thinking Josephine must have hit her head while she was lost in the woods. But then again, white folk were strange. She knew she’d have to be careful. Grace had heard stories and most of the ones that started out with a white person being kind to a black person didn’t end well for the black person.

  “I can give you a sizable raise, but I’m going to need something from you in return.”

  Uh oh, Grace thought, here it comes. Aloud she said, “I got to know what it is ’for I can say yes or no.”

  “All you need to do is be quiet about… something. Really quiet. Not like only-telling-some-people quiet. But never-tell-anyone quiet,” Josephine said.

  Grace chewed on this as the carriage rocked along the road. I want to know how much money, she thought. But I don’t want to make her mad. Wish I knew what the big secret was. With white folk, there’s no telling. That’s when it became obvious to Grace what the secret had to be. Miss Josephine must be pregnant. Boring, she thought. The daddy is probably that big lunk Bobby Tucker. That would explain why he was hanging around the house so much before we left.

  The more time Grace took to answer, the more nervous Josephine became. She knew that Grace was pretty religious, so she was probably having a hard time agreeing to keeping a secret. No doubt she was afraid that it was something immoral. She couldn’t take Grace’s silence anymore and decided to make an offer that was beyond generous. “I’ll pay you thirty-five dollars a week.”

  Grace almost fainted. She must be pregnant with twins, was the first thought that popped into her head. With that kind of salary, Grace could take care of both herself and her brother’s family.

  “I’ll do it!” Grace couldn’t imagine any secret she wouldn’t be willing to keep for that amount of money.

  Josephine had seen her father make financial deals both with farmers and some of the richest men in the county. Whenever they wanted to seal the pact in an ironclad fashion, there was only one way for it to be done. Josephine turned up her hand and, locking eyes with Grace, she spat into her hand and held it out.

  Grace looked at Josephine and knew she was making a deal with the devil for sure. No white man or woman would ever spit in their hand and then shake with a black person. Not unless they were agreeing to something terrible. I should say no, a little voice in her head said. You need that money, fool! shouted her more practical side. Before she could change her mind, Grace spat into her hand and shook with Josephine.

  The box containing the baron was waiting at the station when they reached Curtea de Arges. According to Luca, Blasko wouldn’t need to feed until they reached Cherbourg. Along with the coffin, he had sent a few other boxes, including one with bottles of blood packed in ice. Luckily the weather was still cool, but even so the ice would be melted by the time they reached France. Josephine would have to feed Blasko and repack the blood to keep it cool for the trip across the Atlantic.

  Josephine felt better just being on the train with Blasko. An insane reaction considering what a pain in the ass this is going to be, she thought.

  Josephine had decided not to reveal the truth to Grace until they were back in Alabama. She had been curious about the boxes, but she wasn’t pressing Josephine for answers. Wisely, Grace had decided that not asking questions was one of her new duties.

  Surprisingly, everything went smoothly during the trip and, in less than two weeks’ time, they were pulling up in front of Josephine’s house, followed by a truck bearing their luggage and three large crates.

  Chapter Eight

  Present…

  Josephine didn’t believe Blasko had killed Samuel Erickson, but she couldn’t deny that this was a disturbing development.

  “I told you he was going to kill somebody. Didn’t I?” Grace insisted, following Josephine down the stairs.

  “I heard you the first dozen times. The baron didn’t kill him. I’m… sure of it.”

  “I don’t know how you can be sure. Him up walkin’ around all night while the rest of us are sleepin’.”

  “You know he’s allergic to the sun. He only has the nighttime,” Josephine said, turning to face Grace. She wanted to go down to the basement and talk with Blasko, but she knew that if Grace followed her it would just turn into a giant pig-wrestling match of a mess. “I’ll deal with this. You need to get back to work.”

  Grace stared at her. She’d kept Josephine’s secret for almost six months, but it was wearing on her nerves. A naturally garrulous person, she was finding it ha
rd to spend time with her friends and not gossip about the blood-drinking freak in the basement. Everyone knew that Blasko was staying with Josephine, but no one but Josephine and Grace knew his true nature.

  Sometimes Grace wondered if there was more to the story than Josephine had shared with her, but the bottom line was that, in her heart, she’d come to trust Josephine more than any white person she’d ever known. Besides, she needed the extra money Josephine was paying to help her brother and his family.

  “Whatever you say, Miss Josephine,” Grace said reluctantly, turning to go. “But he’s goin’ to kill all of us in our beds, sure ’nough,” she muttered as she walked away.

  Josephine sighed. At least I can talk to him alone for a second. Still wearing her robe, she knocked on the door under the stairs that led to the basement. Most homes in southern Alabama didn’t have basements, but Josephine’s neighborhood was built on one of the highest hills in the county. On the hill, more than a dozen houses touted cellars. The Nicolsons had used it mostly for storage until Josephine had brought Blasko home. He’d spent the last several months remodeling it.

  Blasko opened the door, dressed in an ornate burgundy housecoat that was more suited to the turn of the century. His disdain of modern culture could be cringe-worthy.

  Josephine felt something slink past her legs. Poe had decided that Blasko was his soulmate. Every evening the black cat pushed his way into the basement as soon as the door was opened.

  “What? You know that I’ve just risen,” Blasko grumbled. He was always at his worst first thing in the evening.

  “I need to talk with you,” Josephine told him, stepping forward to let him know that this wasn’t a conversation for the doorway.

  “Very well. Come down,” Blasko said reluctantly, turning to walk back down the newly installed walnut staircase that was ornately carved with images of plants and animals native to the Carpathian Mountains.

  As she followed him, Josephine thought she heard an odd squeaking sound. It seemed to be coming from the shadows cast by the rafters. Maybe it’s the rats Poe hunts. All I know is I never heard squeaking down here before Blasko arrived, she thought.

  “A man was killed across the street,” Josephine told him once they were standing in his parlor. He was enamored with the Victorian period and the room looked like a cross between a bordello and Queen Victoria’s Silver Jubilee barge. He spent his own money, she reminded herself every time she saw it.

  “Tragic,” Blasko said, sounding bored. “Anyone I’ve met?” He’d picked up a meerschaum pipe from the mantel and was looking at it closely.

  “This is important,” Josephine said, exasperated with his attitude.

  “I’m sure it is. But I’m not convinced that it’s important to me.” He set the pipe down and looked at her.

  “Would you consider the police searching your rooms important?” Josephine asked.

  “They wouldn’t dare!” the baron said, realizing at the same time that he had no idea what the constabulary in this country could or couldn’t do.

  “If Grace is right and Mr. Erickson was murdered, then they’re going to be searching every nook and cranny close to the murder scene.”

  “Surely not in this neighborhood. You told me yourself that even in this country, money has privileges.”

  “Sadly, if it had been a poor person that was murdered, then no, they probably wouldn’t bother us. But Mr. Erickson was the richest man in the county. Not just rich, he was also politically connected. The man was mayor for ten years.”

  “Ah, I begin to see your point.”

  “Did you have anything to do with this?

  “Bah, why would I kill some stranger?” Blasko said dismissively.

  “Well…” Josephine let the obvious implication hang in the air.

  Blasko rolled his eyes dramatically. “I get enough… nourishment thanks to you,” he said, sounding aggrieved at the suggestion. But he wasn’t being entirely truthful. The current situation was keeping him alive, but he’d felt himself growing weaker over time.

  Josephine picked up a hint of hesitation in his voice, but she dismissed it. His need for blood still made her uncomfortable. Once she had figured out how to get blood shipped to the house from a medical supply company in Atlanta, for an exorbitant amount of money, she had allowed herself to hope that it would be the last time she’d have to think about it.

  “Besides, if he was just discovered, then he was probably killed this afternoon. How could I possibly have done it? You shouldn’t throw around accusations without evidence,” Blasko continued.

  Josephine knew that his fascination with the Victorian era extended to literature, including the stories of Sherlock Holmes. More than once, he’d tried his deductive powers on the household and visitors with very limited success.

  “You have a point. I’ll have to find out when he was killed,” Josephine said.

  “A murder, you say?” Blasko mused, becoming intrigued in spite of himself.

  “If it was murder, then they’ll probably arrest the person soon,” Josephine said, not liking his tone.

  “But you could be right. This could pose a threat to me. I should probably look into it. You said the murder occurred across the street?”

  “Never mind. I’ll go talk to Grace and see if I can get more details,” Josephine said, hoping to shut him down.

  “I’ll be dressed in a minute. I can probably do a better job questioning her.”

  Damn, Josephine thought. “Dragomir, you know she’s not very comfortable around you.”

  “Impertinent servant. I really don’t understand why you haven’t fired her,” he said dismissively as he walked into the room where he kept his bed—the coffin he’d traveled in from Romania—and a couple wardrobes full of clothes.

  “Really, you shouldn’t talk to her right now. She’s very upset,” Josephine insisted.

  “You might be right. If she is hysterical, then I’ll get more accurate information from the police!” Blasko shouted from his bedroom.

  How do I head this off? Josephine’s mind was racing. I never should have told him. After six months, she knew that when Blasko got the wind in his sails, there was no way to stop him. The best thing she could do was to find out as much as she could from Grace. Please don’t let this really be a murder, she hoped.

  Josephine went back upstairs and quickly finished dressing. Then she went hunting for Grace, finding her staring out the front window at the frantic comings and goings across the street.

  “What exactly did Myra tell you?” Josephine asked the maid.

  “Not much. She couldn’t hardly stand, she was so shaken up. Was yellin’ to everyone that he was beaten to death. Blood was everywhere, Myra said.” Grace paused and looked at Josephine. “You didn’t tell him to get out, did you?”

  “No. The baron didn’t beat Mr. Erickson to death,” Josephine said, trying to sound as sure as she could. “Besides, Mr. Erickson would have had to be killed during the day. And you know the baron can’t go out in the sunlight.”

  “Whoever heard of someone who can’t go out when the good Lord’s sun is shinin’? You know that man’s the devil,” Grace said, shaking her head.

  “That’s ridiculous. He’s a little… peculiar. But the devil? Not that.” A demon, maybe, Josephine couldn’t help thinking.

  They heard the sound of the basement door opening and closing. Blasko came striding past them, heading for the front door. Josephine had to be quick to catch him before he got outside, wedging herself between the baron and the door.

  “Going over there isn’t a good idea.”

  “Of course it is. I might be able to help them with their investigations.”

  “Sheriff Logan doesn’t like people butting in on his job,” Josephine said, speaking from personal experience. Two years ago, they’d had a problem with a teller who was stealing from the bank. Every time Josephine had tried to point out something that might have helped the sheriff’s investigation, he had almost bitten
her head off. At one point, he had told Josephine’s father to keep her locked up in the house.

  “I’m sure that, as one lawman to another, we’ll get along well,” Blasko said, trying to maneuver around Josephine.

  “You, a lawman! When?”

  “As the voivode of the district, I also acted as the magistrate when necessary.” Again he tried to get around her, but she continued to block his way.

  “How long ago?” she asked, looking over his shoulder to make sure Grace couldn’t hear.

  “A hundred years or so.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But detective work is the same today as then.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “No, of course there weren’t fingerprints. Well, there were fingerprints, but we couldn’t collect them. Doesn’t matter. People are the same. They kill for the same reasons now that they killed then. With few exceptions, their methods haven’t changed. Now, blast it, you were the one who thought we should be worried about this murder. I’m trying to do something to prevent the investigation from spilling over into our house and here you are blocking my way.” Blasko was exasperated. He thought Josephine might be the most contrary creature he’d ever met.

  “Fine, if you think you can help them, then be my guest.” Josephine moved out of his way, bowing sarcastically as she did so.

  “That’s better,” Blasko said, ignoring her tone. Blasko opened the door, grabbed a hat from the rack by the door and donned it with a flourish, then nodded to her. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “If they don’t throw you in jail,” Josephine said loudly enough for him to hear her as he walked away.

  Blasko strode across the street. Gawkers had already started to gather outside of the Erickson house. Some of the bystanders were holding lanterns of one sort or another and had the look of a mob waiting to jump into action.

  The home was a large, square brick edifice with four columns and a narrow, unwelcoming front porch. As Blasko reached the steps leading up to the entrance, Sheriff Tom Logan came barging out of the front door, followed by a deputy.