by Sharon Joss
“If it gets out, it won’t come from either the vamps or me. Look, you need to know that someone is hunting dhampirs. Harvey, er, Kid Harsh was the first to die—then Buddy Ramone disappeared. Then your cousin William and the sax player, Eddie Reale.”
Brunson rubbed his mouth. “I had no idea. I thought they were being recruited to become vampires. Juno had been part of their crowd in high school, but he decided to turn vamp a few years ago. I was worried he was trying to convince William and the rest of the band to turn vamp as well. It’s why I hired Lou. Then, when Lou found William dead, I didn’t know what to think. The coroner assured me it wasn’t a vamp bite. Some sort of venom, he said.”
I didn’t know how much he’d been told, but I wanted him to have as much information as possible. “The FBI special investigator told me he thinks the killer may be some sort of shape shifter or were.”
“What, like a were-snake?” He gave me a doubtful look. “Full moon isn’t until Saturday. Look, I saw you talking to Sheriff Reynolds and the coroner yesterday, after the parade. I saw all the crime scene tape. That was another murder, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t a dhampir. They’re trying to figure out if they’ve got a serial killer on their hands. Whoever or whatever it is, yesterday’s victim was human. Mel Moody.”
His eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Killer Dave?”
“Yeah. They’re trying to keep it quiet until after the festival. Don’t want to scare off the tourists or create an international incident.”
“Oh dear. I suppose someone should tell Felicity.”
“Felicity? Why would she know?”
She’s the chairwoman of this year’s Spirit Ball. Enzo told me that Killer Dave’s was providing the food for the event. This is really going to hurt her plans. She looked positively exhausted when I saw her last.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll have Enzo call her.”
Secretly, I’d been positive there was something going on between Felicity and Mel, so maybe their relationship was purely business after all. It dawned on me that it might be possible to ask Felicity some carefully couched questions about Luçien. “Really? I’m having my final fitting with her this afternoon.”
Brunson gave me pensive look and winced. “No offense, Mattie, but you’re not the most tactful person. Better let Enzo handle it.” He turned to make the call.
“No, wait.” I stopped him. “What about you? I mean, have you met anyone unusual lately or seen anything that struck you as strange? Any um, odd dreams?” I had to admit, Brunson looked clear-eyed and on his game this morning. No dark circles under his eyes. His shirt and suit were crisply pressed, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Aren’t you worried?”
“What?”
“If someone’s hunting dhampirs, maybe you should be careful.”
He gave me a sharp look. “I’m more worried that someone will let what I am slip to the press than I am of being turned into beef jerky.”
I blushed. “No, I would never say anything. You have my word on that. Believe me, I know how to keep a secret. Enrique and Neldene wanted me to warn you, that’s all. We don’t know who this killer is. Until yesterday, I thought he was hunting dhampirs, but after we found Mel, it’s clear that no one is safe.”
“Well, thanks for the warning, but I’m not too worried. You see, that’s one of the reasons why I live in Picston. I admit, I ‘d rather live in Shore Haven, but here’s a lot less of this kind of nonsense there.”
I watched him cross the parking lot and disappear inside the building. He was right, of course; I’d never really thought about it. All the band members lived in Shore Haven. Technically, Mel had a house in Webster, but he practically lived at the restaurant. Except for his recent Spirit Festival appearances, Jim Brunson spent his days behind the secured premises of Picston City Hall, and his nights in his townhouse in gated community in a pricey Picston neighborhood.
There were no hotels in Shore Haven. That probably meant that the killer wasn’t just here for the Spirit Festival. And Kid Harsh had died several weeks before the festival. That meant that the killer probably lived here. Yes. That sounded right. But Mel didn’t. And Mel wasn’t into music, and he wasn’t a dhampir. In a flash of understanding, I realized that the victims did have something in common—they were all involved with the planning of the Spirit Ball. Wiley Willy and the Rogues. Mel Moody. Holy crapoli, that was it. I wondered if there were other victims that Roper and Reynolds knew about.
Probably. Only one way to know for sure. As much as I hated the thought, I needed to have another chat with Agent Roper.
CHAPTER 19
My reduced hours meant I didn’t work on Thursdays. That meant I had plenty of time to kill before my final fitting with Felicity, so I drove out over to the FBI office in downtown Rochester. The nondescript, five-story, 1980s government building was located near High Falls and the inner loop. It was nearly midmorning by the time I found a place to park, passed through the security screen, and made my way to the general reception area on the third floor. I didn’t have an appointment, but the receptionist said I could wait for him.
Thirty minutes later, I was given a visitor badge, and Ted Roper led me back to his office, which I immediately recognized as belonging to his predecessor, Frank Porter. I’d been here a couple times, during Porter’s tenure, neither visit had been particularly pleasant. You might say that Roper’s office held few clues to his personality; either that, or he had no personality. It was just as cramped and functional as I remembered, with gunmetal grey modular furniture, a single plastic guest chair, and a couple of framed certificates on the wall.
I told him my theory, about how all the victims had all been dhampirs and all lived in Shore Haven. “The killer has to be a local. Someone who lives in the area and is involved with the Spirit Festival.”
Roper shook his head. “Hey, give us a little credit. We’ve already considered that angle. First of all, just about everyone in Shore Haven is involved with the festival, in one way or another. And you and the sheriff both confirmed that Moody wasn’t a dhampir, so that doesn’t fit. And Moody didn’t live in Shore Haven. And the sax player, Eddie Reale didn’t actually live in the house with the rest of the band. He’d had a fight with his girlfriend a couple days earlier and was just crashing there for a couple days.”
I couldn’t help but think there was more he wasn’t telling me. “Yeah, but he was a dhampir, and unless there are more victims you haven’t told me about, Mel is the only anomaly. I mean, he closed the restaurant—he never closes. He must’ve had a good reason. And the window of time between when he closed up the place and whenever the coroner got the call pretty much nails his death to a two or three-hour window. You said yourself the body was dumped there. The means the murderer had to know about the ice house. Chances are better than good that the murderer is a local.”
“Are you guessing or do you know something?”
He had me there. “Hey, I’m just saying, Luçien Bold had been staying with his aunt for the summer. He could have--.”
Roper cut me off. “Give it up. We double-checked the aunt’s story. Flight to Rome from LaGuardia last Friday. Believe me, he’s not the guy. Besides, we have already identified a person of interest. We’ve got him under 24-hour surveillance.”
“Who is it,” I asked, not expecting and answer, but unable to stop myself.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” he smirked. “Let me just say that he’s been on our radar for years. We believe he arrived a couple weeks before William Parry’s body was found.”
“So you’re saying you think a guy from out of town did this but you don’t have enough proof for a warrant.”
” When he makes his move, we’ll be ready for him.”
I shook my head and left, knowing he was barking up the wrong tree. Ted Roper hadn’t listened to a word I said. I didn’t know whether Roper was dumb or arrogant.
Time to talk to Felicity Caprice abo
ut her nephew myself.
CHAPTER 20
I arrived at Felicity’s dress shop at 2pm, but the shop was closed and locked up tight. Her lavender car was parked out front, so she couldn’t have gone far. My appointment wasn’t until four, so I had a couple hours to kill. Might was well go feed Mel’s fish. I walked up the street to Dave’s Killer Burgers. This time, and there was a bigger CLOSED sign on the front door and Mel’s car was gone. No crime scene tape, though.
I let myself in. Mel’s office door was open, and when I peeked inside, it looked different from the day before. The Aqua Velva bottle was gone and everything was neat and orderly. The safe was open and empty, and his red accounting ledger and checkbook were gone. Maybe Mel had family in the area after all.
I checked the walk-in and noted that all the fresh produce and about half of the meat were gone, too. Mel’s kin would probably be back soon to finish the job.
After grabbing the bag of defrosted shrimp I went out to the dining room to feed the fish. But I soon discovered that whoever had been in to close up the place had turned off the filter, heater, and light over the tank. The fish were all clumped together at the bottom of the tank, looking decidedly unhappy. Poor fish. The water temperature had dropped to 68 degrees. If I hadn’t come in when I did, they would have died within a day or two.
I turned the equipment back on and made a mental note to contact Sheriff Reynolds about getting hold of the family. These weren’t just any dime store goldfish. Mel had a select list of clients he sold the babies to. No doubt someone would be interested in the adults, too. Or maybe a zoo somewhere...
I couldn’t feed them. The water’s oxygen levels had dropped, and the cold water had slowed the piranha’s metabolism. Any food dropped in the water now would be ignored and just clog up the filters. I had plenty of time before my appointment with Felicity. Might as well wait for the tank to warm up and feed them before I left.
I perched on the ladder beside the tank, my hand trailing in the water, waiting for it to warm up, but that probably was just a good way to get bit. I crawled up onto the open tank cover, where I could see the water thermometer better. Once the water temperature reached 78 degrees, I could feed them and go.
The quiet hum of the aqua filter had me nodding in moments. The idea of a quick power nap sounded great, but it wasn’t a very comfortable spot, and I didn’t want to accidently roll off the cover and fall into the tank. Henri claimed his meditation practice was as refreshing as a nap. I decided to try a little of Master Foo’s meditation practice, concentrating on my breathing.
I don’t know how long I lay there. I wasn’t asleep, exactly, but when the fish began grunting nervously below me, I was instantly awake. The water thermometer read 80 degrees. Good.
I tried to get up and couldn’t move. Very, very bad.
Once again, I was spread-eagled wrapped in silk. This time, bound firmly to the lid of tank. From somewhere near my feet, Luçien chuckled and began to crawl up my body. “So glad you woke up early. I thought you were going to sleep through the whole thing.” Something had happened to his hands. There were smears of silk emerging from his wrists, and his fingers had curved into hook-like structures which continued to wrap silk across my lower extremities.
My mouth had been sealed shut was well, and my screaming sounded no louder than the piranhas agitated grunting below me. Luçien was naked, a cruel smile played at his lips. Long black hairs had sprouted from his shoulders and back, and along his upper arms and legs. “Although I prefer passive women, it’s so much more fun when they’re scared. Tell me, Mattie. Are you scared? You won’t be for long. Ask Felicity. Once you’ve had the best, nothing else will ever do.”
This was no dream. Beneath me, the fish were frantic, grunting up a storm, caroming off the sides of the glass.
He’d bound my hands across my chest. There was no way I could hurt him with my shears. The more I struggled, the tighter the silk threads pulled, until I could barely breathe. My legs from the knee down were tightly bound in silk. His hooked hands caressed the inside of my bare thighs. I tried to buck him off, but I was too tightly bound to the lid of the tank. Once again, I was helpless to stop him.
There was no one to hear me. No one even knew I was here. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes.
He laughed then, and I saw two long brown needle-like fangs emerge from behind his front teeth. Brown liquid drops emerged from the tips as he lowered his head to my groin.
On blind instinct, I wrenched my body sideways, toward the water. The lid of the tank suddenly flipped over and folded shut. Secured to the door by his silk, I was suspended less than six inches from the surface of the water, but Lucien dropped into the tank full of hungry, angry piranhas.
They went for the fleshy bits first.
From my vantage point, I had a too-close-for-comfort bird’s-eye view of the carnage. The water churned like a washing machine full of bloody laundry, splattering me with bits of flesh and bloody foam. He was a small man. It didn’t take long before the bones started to show through the carcass. As the fish fed, their frenzy gradually slowed and I began to wonder how I was going to get myself out of the tank. I don’t know how long it took, but eventually they stopped feeding, and moved back into their little rock habitat.
I pulled my scissors into my hand and managed to snip through the silk across my chest a few threads at a time, freeing my arms. There was no way for me to open the lid—my weight held it shut. Ever-so-slowly, I carefully snipped at the silk bindings. There was nothing to hold on to-nothing to brace myself against. As I cut through most of the silk, the rest gradually gave way and I managed to slip into the water without making much of a splash.
Thankfully, the piranhas were tired and full, and kept to their familiar corner, grunting occasionally as I slowly folded the lid back and carefully heaved myself up and over the edge of the tank.
I dropped clumsily to the rubber mat below, alternately sobbing and shuddering convulsively for a time. White bits of flesh floated in the still-dirty water, but most of the soft tissue from the face, skull, torso, and inner organs were gone. Only the strangely inhuman bones remained on the bottom of the tank. There were far too many leg bones. I looked closely to be sure that yes, he was dead. A deep satisfaction flooded through me, taking the edge off the terror I thought might never leave me.
My clothes, or what was left of them, lay in shreds on the floor. There were dry towels in the linen closet and I helped myself to a pair of checkered cooks pants and chef’s jacket, rolling up the too-long sleeves to above my elbows. I debated calling 911, but this was no longer an emergency. Luçien wasn’t going anywhere.
The only message on my cell phone was from Abe, asking me to stop by when I could. I called both Roper and Sheriff Reynolds, but neither man answered. Figures. The way my luck with men was running, I wasn’t surprised. I’d be damned if I was going to wait around for a man to call me ever again. I left them each a curt message to call me as soon as possible, and let myself out.
I walked to Felicity’s dress shop. I was after 6 o’clock, and the place was locked up tight. Dang, I’d completely missed my fitting. Her car was gone, too. She was probably pretty mad at me.
I didn’t believe for a minute that Luçien was her nephew, or that she’d taken him to the airport. She had to have been victimized by him as well, poor thing. No doubt she and her decorating committee were over at the amusement park right now, decorating the Grand Ballroom for Saturday’s gala. She’d been terrorized long enough—the sooner she knew he wouldn’t be back, the better.
CHAPTER 21
I had no trouble spotting Felicity’s hideous lavender Ford Taurus in the Heavenly Shores parking lot. I parked next to her, and flashed my Guest of Honor badge at the ticket booth, which enabled me to get into the part for free during Spirit Week. Not a bad deal.
Abe’s tent was on the way, and on a whim, I decided to stop in and say hello. With a nod to Charlie Crimmer, I ducked inside. Abe saw me and wav
ed me over. Today he wore a top hat, striped yellow and white pants, and spats.
He gave me a puzzled look. “What are you wearing, girl? You look like one of those food concessionaires.”
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I wanted to thank you again for these.” I flexed my hand briefly, still tickled to see the ancient scissors came into my hand. “They came in pretty handy today.”
“Glad to be of service.” His grin was contagious. “I’ve got something to show you over here.”
He took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. In spite of the humidity, his skin was as dry as ancient parchment. He walked with an odd gait—each leg pausing in mid-air like a heron stalking frogs.
“You asked me about a dreamstriders. I thought on it and thought on it, but I couldn’t remember ever coming across that term before.”
He led the way down a row of glass-fronted cases housing a portion of his amazing collection of arcane, occult, and just plain weird objects he’d gathered in his travels. He paused in front of one, and pulled out a small silver key from his waistcoat and unlocked a deep drawer beneath the display cabinet.
Inside the drawer were dozens of large glass pickle jars, each containing some sort of dead thing. He lifted up the biggest and held it up for me to see the contents, a large grey-and-cream colored tarantula. “This is Theraphosa Hallucinor, or, as it’s sometimes known, a dream spider. A much-dreaded creature of myth. No adult has ever been captured alive. Their silk is the strongest known. When you asked me about a dreamstrider, it got me thinking. Could it have been a dream spider?”
The body of the hairy thing was as big as my hand, and the legs, if they’d been stretched out would have been as long as my forearm. Ugh. A shudder ran up my spine. “I’m not sure. Agent Roper thinks it’s some sort of shifter, but I don’t buy it.”
