Immortal Prey

by Diana Ballew

  “Oh, you know how I hate surprises, Frederick.” She sighed and covered her eyes. “But if I must.”

  He led her by the elbow to the large display window. “Open them.”

  Out front stood a brand new carriage parked at the edge of the street. “Oh, Frederick, it’s truly a handsome carriage. Is that yours?”

  “And now I have my own driver, as well. After you, my dear.”

  Delia emerged through the curtained doorway. “Are you two leaving?”

  “Oh, wait.” Erin patted Frederick’s arm. “I almost forgot.” She looked about the store. A copper bucket bursting with pink carnations sat at the edge of the wooden counter. She jutted her chin forward. “I’ll take a dozen of those.”

  Delia wrapped and tied the vibrant bundle with a delicate yellow ribbon. “Y’all have fun now.”

  Frederick guided Erin by the small of her back and closed the shop door behind them.

  Erin cast her attention to the brightly-polished carriage. A short, stocky man she had seen with Frederick down at the docks sat perched up high, holding leather reins in his gloved hands. “When did you find the time to purchase this?”

  Frederick opened the door and waggled his brows. “Oh, I’ve had it ordered for quite some time. I wanted to make sure my business dealing went through. I received it just today. Next time around I plan to order one of those horseless carriages everyone’s raving about.”

  Erin entered the enclosed carriage and ran her hands over the rich leather seats. Frederick scooted in next to her. “It’s truly lovely,” she said.

  They headed down Broadway with Frederick waving out the window at everyone he knew along the way. Erin laughed. “You’re incorrigible, showing off in your fine new carriage.”

  Frederick Dimsdale grinned, his white teeth gleaming beneath the bristly mustache, clearly charmed by her spirited teasing.

  By the time they neared the cemetery, Frederick had catalogued all of his recent business accomplishments, and Erin couldn’t wait to get out of the carriage and stretch her legs.

  “And I told that bad-tempered old man, ‘you can’t afford not to do business with me.’ And he said —”

  “Watch where you’re going!” the coachman barked. He reined in, and the horses came to an abrupt stop, sending Erin lurching forward.

  Frederick poked his head out the window and screeched at the offending coach driver, “Dammit! Watch where you’re going, man! You nearly killed us!” He reached for Erin’s arm and steadied her back on the seat. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  Erin recognized the disheveled coachman passing hurriedly in front of them. It was none other than Derek’s driver who had picked her up at home and driven her to the costume ball. She slumped in her seat and nudged the brim of her hat over her brows. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Some people,” Frederick growled. He rapped on the ceiling, and his coachman urged the horses along.

  Once they stopped, Erin retrieved her satchel from under the seat, and she and Frederick exited the carriage. “Here.” She handed him the leather bag. “Mind this for me. I’ll be right back. I want to put these flowers on my mother’s grave first.”

  He took a step. “I’ll go with you.”

  Erin thrust her hand out. “Thank you, but no. It’s nothing personal, Frederick. I prefer to visit my mother alone.”

  He cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, of course, dear. I completely understand. I’ll be here when you return.”

  “It’s just over there.” She pointed. “See the pyramid tomb? Near there.”

  A light breeze carrying the scent of the salty bay blew gently across Erin’s face as she hiked up the hill toward her mother’s gravesite. She sighed and laid the flower bouquet against the weathered granite headstone. Instantly, the vision of her mother appeared in her mind’s eye. She could still see the serene, oval-shaped face framed by blonde hair that used to shine so brightly in the sunlight. In every image, her mother wore the same simple gingham dress covered with the usual beige apron tied around her slender waist. Fortunately, the memories of her mother had faded very little over the years.

  “Sweet dreams, Mama.” She kissed her finger and placed it on the cold headstone. As she stood, movement passed behind the large pyramid-shaped tomb up ahead. Curious, she held her breath and slowly put one foot in front of the other and headed toward the crypt.

  He was standing with his back to her, but the dark-blond hair brushing against his frock collar and the unmistakable tall, lean build gave his identity away immediately.

  Her breath caught deep within her chest, and a voice inside her head poked and prodded, begging her to turn and quickly walk away. But something deep inside urged her feet forward. She swallowed hard, recalling the intensity of Derek’s sapphire eyes the night of the party, and how the very thought of looking into those blue depths again beckoned her headfirst toward the tomb where he stood. Each advancing step felt as though she were moving in slow motion through an evocative dream she could no longer recall.

  She stopped in her tracks. Oh, dear Lord, what am I doing?

  She slowly stepped backwards. One step … two steps … three. She spun around on her boot tips to flee undetected and stepped on a crisp, weathered pinecone. Crunch!

  She froze.

  Derek turned. “Oh, Miss Richland.” He stepped aside, and a woman suddenly came into view. Apparently, she’d been there all along, her smaller body concealed by his larger frame.

  Erin took a shaky step backwards and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I … I didn’t mean to intrude.” A rush of heat burned her chilled cheeks.

  Derek slowly approached and reached for her hand, his azure gaze locking upon hers. “Nonsense, Miss Richland. Your charming company is most refreshing.”

  She accepted Derek’s hand, but her gaze snapped to the well-dressed female marching toward them. Clearly, the striking woman was new to the area. With her long, wavy red hair and unique brown eyes, Erin would have noticed her around town.

  Erin squared her shoulders, released Derek’s hand, and stepped toward the advancing woman. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Miss Richland, I’d like to introduce you to an acquaintance of mine,” said Derek. “An old friend … from France. Madame Regine Delacour, meet Miss Erin Richland.”

  “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Richland,” Regine said, her accented words rolling like silk from her tongue.

  Derek cleared his throat. “And what brings you back to the cemetery, Miss Richland? Another story — for the newspaper?”

  Erin wrenched her gaze from Regine’s lovely face and turned toward Derek. “Um, yes. More trouble, I’m afraid.” Behind her, she could hear Frederick grumbling unintelligibly as he watched her from the cemetery entrance below.

  Derek lifted his chiseled chin and glanced over her head. A single eyebrow rose. “It appears someone is trying desperately to get your attention.” His gaze lowered, his piercing eyes locked upon hers. “A beau, perhaps?”

  Erin ripped her gaze from Derek’s and peered over her shoulder. Frederick stood beside a man. She faced Derek, matching his sharp, insistent gaze. “Oh, him. He’s just a good friend … like your Madame Delacour, here.”

  “Touché, my dear.” Regine stepped forward, slipping between the two of them. She smiled and brushed a wayward auburn tendril behind her ear.

  Frederick called out again.

  Ignoring Regine’s intrusion, Erin looked evenly into Derek’s eyes. “I had best be on my way.”

  “So soon?” he asked, his brows furrowing. “But you’ve just arrived.”

  Regine looped her arm within Derek’s, her radiant eyes glinting with smug amusement. Derek’s stance instantly stiffened, and the muscle along his jawline pulsed.

  Madame Delacour tilted her chin and glared at Erin. “Perhaps we’ll have a chance to meet again, Miss Richland. Derek has agreed to show me around the area.”

  Erin’s chest tightened. “Is
that so?” She raised her chin high and avoided Derek’s gaze. “Yes. Perhaps we shall meet again, Madame Delacour. I’ve heard Mr. Rudliff is very good at showing a woman a good time.”

  Regine lifted a gloved hand to her generous lips and laughed. “Oh, so true. You have heard correctly.”

  Erin cleared her throat, demanding the vile words coming to mind remained locked inside her head. She summoned a bright smile and said, “Good-bye, Madame Delacour.” She nodded. “Mr. Rudliff.” She turned on her heels and started toward an awaiting Frederick, her heart beating so hard she thought it would burst. “I’m so stupid,” she quietly muttered, “So. Very. Stupid!”

  Frederick shuffled forward with her satchel in hand. “I’ve been calling for you. I’m afraid the policeman here has some rather distressing news.”

  The chubby policeman standing next to Frederick nodded. “Hello, Miss Richland.”

  Erin retrieved a notebook from her satchel. “What can you tell me, Officer?”

  “Well, as much as I hate to say it, we’ve definitely got a predatory wolf.”

  She pursed her lips and frowned. “And you’re sure it’s a wolf?”

  “Absolutely. Look here.” He showed her the paw prints leading south from the forest. “Appears to be a lone wolf — no other prints except these. No graves were disturbed, but the animal sure did a number on the caretaker.”

  Frederick chimed in. “Not that I wish to see it, but is Mr. Avery’s body still here?”

  “No. What was left of him was taken to the morgue, poor guy. His throat had been literally ripped out.”

  Erin winced. “That’s horrible.”

  “Looked like he fought back hard, too. Lots of fur and skin were found under his broken fingernails. The coroner took everything to the laboratory for microscopic analysis. Should have confirmation of what we’re dealing with when the results come back.”

  “Have you spoken with the man that who found Mr. Avery’s body?” Erin asked. “Mr. Henkle, is it?”

  The officer removed his hat and wiped his brow. “Yeah, I sure did. The old guy’s a mess.”

  Erin gazed around the grounds. “I was planning to interview him after we’re done here.”

  “Well, you might check down at Dinkbottom’s Saloon. Poor man was shaking in his boots last I saw. Said he planned on tying a big one on down there.”

  Erin was having a hard time catching the policeman’s every word. Up above, she could see Derek talking with Madame Delacour. Her slender arms flailed about dramatically, while he stood tall, rigid, his hands on his hips. Whatever the conversation was about, by all appearances, it appeared heated.

  She faced the policeman. “Thank you for your time, Officer.”

  “Yes, indeed, Officer, thank you,” Frederick said, shaking the man’s hand.

  Erin took notes while stealing unnoticed glances at Derek and the attractive red-head in the distance. She stuffed the notepad in her satchel. “Let’s go, Frederick,” she said, glancing at the two walking away together. “I’m tired of being here.”

  No one answered the door at the Henkle home, so she and Frederick headed to the saloon. Erin followed Frederick through the swinging wooden doors, and the place instantly went silent. She nudged her chin high, glaring at the men seated at the bar staring at her. Seconds later, the low voices of chattering men resumed.

  “What was his name again?” asked Frederick.

  “Henkle. Wiley Henkle.”

  Loggers, draymen, millworkers, farmers, you name it, all the men eyed her with suspicion, as she walked around in her tidy attire, searching for an unoccupied table.

  “Stay close to me,” Frederick said, guiding her by the elbow toward the bar. “I hate having you come in a place like this. But I know you won’t rest until you get this interview out of the way.”

  Frederick approached the bartender. “Sir, could you tell me if a Mr. Wiley Henkle is in your establishment?”

  “You wanna drink?” the bartender asked, gnawing on a wad of smelly tobacco.

  Frederick clutched the lapel of his jacket. “Ah, no, um —”

  “I’m Henkle, what can I do ya for?” an elderly fellow said, holding a beer in one hand and a glass in the other. Three empty shot glasses with flies buzzing around the rims sat on the bar in front of him.

  “Ah, hello, my good man.” Frederick looped Erin’s arm through his. “This is Miss Richland with the Everett Messenger.”

  Erin rummaged through the satchel for her notepad. “Hello, sir. I only wish a moment of your time. I have some questions about what you found today at the cemetery.”

  The old man’s eyes widened to bloodshot globes. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He poured the remainder of the beer down his gullet. “I don’t ever wanna talk about it, ya hear me?” He reached into his pocket and tossed a wad of bills on the bar.

  Erin took a step toward him. “But —”

  The older man teetered on the edge of his stool, his breath reeking of tobacco and booze.

  “Listen up, Miss. What I saw when I found old man Avery will haunt me ’til my dying day. If I was you, I’d leave this alone. Nothing but evil did that.” His voice trailed off. “Nothing but pure evil.”

  Mr. Henkle stood to leave. Frederick reached out to steady the drunken lout before he could fall in a heap of soiled coveralls to the sticky hardwood floor.

  “I got it,” said Henkle, swatting Frederick’s hand away as he started for the door.

  Erin’s heart raced. All she could see was opportunity heading for the saloon exit. Louder than expected, she quickly piped up. “But there were paw prints. Wolf prints. Did you see a wolf, Mr. Henkle?”

  Henkle’s bleary eyes wobbled around in their sockets as he struggled to focus. “Naw, I didn’t see no wolf, but what I felt was real. And it was evil — dark as the devil himself, I tell ya. Now I have to get home to my wife before she sends the sheriff out looking for me again, so if you’ll both pardon —”

  Erin pressed her hand to his arm. “Would you mind if I arranged for a picture —”

  “Picture? Hell, no!”

  The saloon went dead quiet, and all eyes focused on the trio.

  Henkle swallowed hard and sighed. “No picture. Now, please, just leave me alone, Miss.”

  He took a wobbly step forward and inched his face so close to Erin’s, she felt tipsy from the fumes on his breath.

  He whispered, “Pure evil, I tell you. What I saw was pure evil.”

  She and Frederick watched in silence as he turned and staggered out the swinging doors. She rubbed her arms, trying to smooth the goose-bumps creeping along her flesh.

  Frederick sighed heavily. “Well, my dear, there you have it. The man doesn’t wish to talk about it. End of story.” He held his arm out, gesturing toward to exit. “Shall we?”

  Erin nodded compliantly, but her mind sprinted in all directions. One thing was certain. This story was far from over.

  She sat in silence next to Frederick and gazed out the carriage window at the crimson sunset bleeding across the bay. In the distance, a blanket of fresh snow covered the ridged peaks of the Olympic Mountains, thrusting boldly into the heavens above.

  Frederick cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to pry into your personal affairs, but was that Rudliff — at the cemetery?”

  “Yes,” she replied said coolly. “What of it?”

  “No matter, really.” He smoothed his mustache, twisting the ends to a sharp point. “I just find it odd that both times you’ve run into the man it’s been at the cemetery.”

  Erin sighed. “And each time, I was there on business matters. Perhaps Mr. Rudliff has business to attend to as well.”

  Frederick snorted. “Business? Who was the woman with him — with the magnificent red hair?”

  Having no desire to conjure up the mental image of the earlier impromptu gathering with Derek and Madame Delacour, she waved her hand and hoped a casual tone in her answer would avoid further questioning. “Just an old acquaintance. I
believe she’s from France.”

  Frederick snickered. “Hmm. Well, from where I stood, they sure appeared to be much more than acquaintances, wouldn’t you agree?”

  His assertion simmered inside her head, reaching a boiling point within seconds. She whacked him on the head. “You men!”

  “Huh? What?” He flinched and rubbed the spot where she had just smacked him, his brown eyes wide with astonishment. “What did I say?”

  Chapter Seven

  London

  Enchanted by a young prostitute he had known for only a short time, Franz hired a London artisan to create a unique gift of sparkling combs for her hair. Approaching the woman’s humble home with the gift in one hand and a jug of fine Madeira in the other, he heard peculiar noises coming from within the small flat.

  “I was confused,” said a weary Franz. “I should have left right then and there.”

  “And what happened?” I asked, though instinctively I felt it was something horrific.

  Franz ran his hands through his thick hair and sank into the upholstered chair. “God help me.”

  I knelt by his side. “Look at me. I need to know.”

  He tilted his chin and stared me squarely in the eyes. “I couldn’t help it. I had to look. I maneuvered my way around the rose garden leading to the window.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t wish to talk about it. Please don’t force me. It happened just last night. It’s too painful —”

  “But you must,” I said decisively. “I sense we could all be in danger here, Franz. Am I correct?”

  As though suddenly pulled from a deep dream, his steel-gray eyes opened wide. “I gazed through the window. She was with another man. She was fucking him, not me.”

  “You expected this whore, for whom you’ve developed a fancy, to be faithful to you, Franz? Is that what this is all about?” I exhaled heavily, relieved that I was simply dealing with nothing more than wounded pride.