by H. Y. Hanna
“And you believed him? I mean, how do you know he didn’t escape from a nursing home or something—”
“No, Pomie, he’s the real deal. He’s a vampire.”
Pomona put her hands up. “Wait, wait, wait… you’re telling me he is the murderer?”
“No! No, of course not! He would never attack anyone.”
“Does he have fangs?”
“Yes.” When he hasn’t lost them somewhere, Caitlyn thought.
“Well, that guy who got murdered had fang marks in his neck, right?”
“Yes, but not all vampires drink blood—Viktor’s a fruitarian, actually. He only eats fruit. Because he shifts into a fruit bat, you see.”
“Huh? No way! That old man is a shape-shifter?” asked Pomona, her face a mixture of incredulity and horror.
“Yes. Viktor changes into a bat, although he says he can change into other things too.”
“No, no, you’ve gotta be wrong! Shape-shifters are, like, hot guys with killer abs who turn into alpha wolves—”
Caitlyn laughed in spite of herself. Pomona’s dismay was so comical. “I guess the romance novels got things wrong. Or maybe there are some hunky young shape-shifters out there… but Viktor’s not one of them. He’s quite cute, though, in his bat form—he’s sort of a fuzzy brown fruit bat with big black eyes. A bit like a cuddly toy. A rather grumpy cuddly toy.”
Pomona looked like she was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of a stooped, balding old man being a shape-shifter.
“So he’s your uncle?”
“Well, not a real uncle. More like a guardian uncle, I guess. He keeps talking about needing to watch over and protect me—and I have to admit, Viktor got me out of a few tight spots. In fact, he was the one who brought me the protective herb bouquet when I had to deal with that bonfire on Midsummer’s Eve. If Viktor hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“If he’s been around all this time, how come I never knew about him?” Pomona asked, frowning.
Caitlyn gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Pomie—I suppose I should have told you earlier. It’s just that you guys never happened to meet and… anyway, Viktor sort of does his own thing a lot of the time.” She gave a dry laugh. “Actually, he seems to spend a lot of his time looking for his teeth—he’s always losing his fangs.” She sighed. “I just hope he’s okay at the police station. He might be a vampire but he’s also a very old man.”
Pomona’s face softened. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. You can check on him first thing in the morning.”
Caitlyn nodded. She bent down to pick up the dropped pillow. “Come on—we’d better get to sleep.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Caitlyn had a restless night. She kept seeing Pierre Rochat’s body in her dreams, with his wide staring eyes and alabaster skin, and the fang marks in his neck… and somewhere behind his body lurked a shadowy figure… a vampire? But who was it?
When she finally opened her eyes and sat up blearily, she realised from the light streaming in through the curtains that it was already mid-morning.
“Pomie! Get up!” She went over to the other bed and gave her cousin a prod. “We’ve overslept!”
The other girl just burrowed her face deeper into the pillows and mumbled something unintelligible. Caitlyn sighed as she remembered how difficult it was to rouse Pomona in the mornings. Giving up, she took herself to the bathroom to shower and dress. As she brushed her hair, she wandered over to look out of the bedroom windows. This side of the Manor faced the lawn which had been used for the outdoor cinema last night. In fact, the giant screen was still standing at the far end. And below her, near the site where the body had been discovered, were James and Inspector Walsh, together with a few other police officers.
Caitlyn threw her towel down and rushed out of the bedroom, running down the main staircase and out to the lawn as fast as she could. Panting, she arrived just in time to hear Inspector Walsh say:
“…speaking to the antique dealer, Mr Digweed, in Gloucester. He came forward this morning to say that he was a colleague of Pierre Rochat and had seen the man the day before. He remembers Rochat being very interested at the mention of the Tillyhenge Open-Air Cinema and expressing great enthusiasm for the idea… although that could simply have been an act. Rochat may have known about the cinema event all along but pretended he didn’t, just so he could use it as an excuse to come to the village.”
“You mean, he had been planning to come to Tillyhenge for another reason and the cinema was a cover?” Caitlyn spoke up. “I thought it was strange that he would come to watch a vampire movie.”
The two men turned to look at her.
James smiled warmly. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Caitlyn, giving him a shy smile in return. “Sorry, we overslept… actually, Pomona’s still in bed.”
James chuckled. “I get the feeling that your cousin is more of an owl than a lark.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. Trying to get her out of bed in the mornings is like trying to dig something up from underground.”
Inspector Walsh cleared his throat. “You felt that Pierre Rochat’s behaviour yesterday was suspicious, Miss Le Fey?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know if you’d call it suspicious. Just a bit… odd, I guess. I remember thinking that he didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d be into vampire movies—although I suppose appearances can be deceptive. And the other thing that was weird was that he didn’t bring anything to sit on.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“For the movie,” Caitlyn explained. “Everyone had come with cushions and blankets and things… but he didn’t have anything. I remember thinking that was strange. Like—if you’d come to spend two hours watching a movie, you’d bring something to be comfortable on, wouldn’t you? But he was just sitting on the grass. Pomona even offered to share her beanbag with him, but he declined. Then he got up just as the movie was starting and said something about getting a drink—and walked off.”
“Hmm… yes, you mentioned that in your statement,” said Inspector Walsh, stroking his moustache. “That does sound as if he had no intention of watching the film.”
“It sounds like he was waiting for the cover of darkness and the distraction of the film to prevent anyone from noticing his activities,” commented James. “The question is, what was he doing in Tillyhenge if he hadn’t come for the Open-Air Cinema?”
“What about Viktor?” asked Caitlyn tentatively.
Inspector Walsh’s face was inscrutable. “Mr Dracul is still helping us with the investigation. He is remaining at the station at present.”
“You don’t seriously believe that he could murder anyone? He’s just a harmless old man!”
“I regret to say, Miss Le Fey, that I have known many old people who were dangerous individuals. Criminal tendencies don’t disappear simply because you age.” He looked at her evenly. “In any case, there is Mr Dracul’s own testimony to consider, and the fact that he was found lurking near the body, with a red-stained mouth… especially in light of the… er… wounds on the victim’s neck.”
Caitlyn looked at him disbelievingly. “I thought you didn’t believe in the paranormal. Are you saying you think a vampire killed Pierre Rochat?”
“No, of course not,” growled the inspector. “All that talk of vampires is a lot of nonsense. In fact, the forensic pathologist is performing the autopsy this morning and I am sure she will find an alternative—non-supernatural—explanation for the puncture marks on the victim’s neck. However, I am aware that there are people who may try to hide their crimes under the guise of a supernatural attack.”
“What do you mean?” asked Caitlyn, frowning.
“He means that someone may be trying to cover up their crime by making it look like a ‘vampire murder’,” said James. “There have been some real-life cases of serial killers who have pretended to be—or believed they were—vampires, an
d they drank the blood of their victims.”
“Eeuugghh…” Caitlyn recoiled from the image. She turned to Inspector Walsh. “But surely you don’t think Viktor is a serial killer? He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time!”
The detective regarded her curiously. “You seem to take a keen interest in Mr Dracul’s welfare. Do you have a relationship with the gentleman?”
“Er… I…" Caitlyn licked her lips. “He’s a good friend.”
The inspector raised his eyebrows. “Have you known him for long?”
“No…. um… I met him when I arrived in England, actually.”
“And when was that?”
“Um… back in May.”
“So you have only been acquainted with him for less than three months?”
There was nothing accusatory in his tone and yet Caitlyn felt defensive.
“Yes,” she said. “I know that doesn’t seem like long but sometimes you just hit it off with someone as soon as you meet them, right? And I’m telling you—I know Viktor. He’s not a murderer. He’s just… he’s just a sweet old man.” She squirmed slightly. Okay, “sweet old man” might be taking it a bit far. “Plus… that wasn’t blood on his lips. That was raspberry juice—”
“Yes, I know,” Inspector Walsh admitted. “Forensics have examined Mr Dracul and concluded that there is nothing suspicious on his person, including no trace of the victim… and vice versa.”
“So that means you can’t hold him, right?” asked Caitlyn quickly. “You can only hold someone for twenty-four hours before you have to charge them. And you have to have proper evidence to charge someone.”
Inspector Walsh hesitated, then sighed and said, “Actually, we are entitled to hold a suspect in custody for up to ninety-six hours in the case of a serious crime such as murder—however, in this case, if no further evidence comes to light linking Mr Dracul to the victim, we will be releasing him tomorrow morning.” He looked at Caitlyn sternly. “That does not mean that something might not come up between now and then. We are still continuing with the investigation—speaking of which…” He turned back to James. “I wanted to ask you, Lord Fitzroy, about any new residents in the village.”
“New residents?” James frowned. “Well, in terms of tenants, the two old workers’ cottages on the edge of the main estate have recently been leased. They were refurbished earlier this year, with the intention of renting them out as short lets for weekends and on a weekly basis. A lot of Londoners like the idea of a ‘holiday home’ in the Cotswolds, you see, and this provides them with a way to indulge in that fantasy without the cost and hassles of buying and maintaining a second home.”
“When did the new tenants arrive?”
“Both of them moved in last week. The larger cottage is rented to a Mrs Gertrude Smith; she’s a widow—a middle-aged lady with a small terrier—”
“Oh! I think I might have met her,” said Caitlyn. “Last night, just before the film began… there was a rather aggressive terrier that ran up to Bran and started trying to attack him.”
“Yes, that would be Rocco,” said James with a rueful laugh. “He seems to have taken a dislike to poor Bran and we’ve had quite a few skirmishes since they moved in. She has the cottage on a weekly basis, to be renewed each fortnight—I am not sure how long she intends to stay.” His tone was neutral but Caitlyn got the distinct feeling that James was hoping Gertrude Smith and her belligerent terrier would decide to leave soon.
“And the other?” asked Inspector Walsh.
“The other cottage is rented to a young man called Lionel Spelling. He’s an English teacher—he teaches in a language school in London—and he’s taken the cottage for a month. I haven’t seen much of him, to be honest. The estate agent handled all the details.”
“Do you know if he was at the cinema last night?” asked Inspector Walsh.
“I didn’t see him—but that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t there, of course,” said James with a shrug. “I’m afraid there was such a large crowd and I wasn’t particularly looking for him, so…”
“No matter. I shall speak to Mrs Smith and Mr Spelling in due course. We will be conducting a search of the cottages as well.” The inspector looked towards the Manor. “And I believe that you also have a new member of staff, Lord Fitzroy? One of my men mentioned that.”
James looked startled. “Yes, Giles Mosley, the new butler—but surely you don’t suspect him? He came with excellent references.”
“Anyone who is new to the village is of interest to me. When did Mr Mosley arrive?”
“The day before yesterday. Poor chap, it was in at the deep end for him. He barely had time to unpack before he was roped in to help with the preparations for yesterday’s cinema event.”
“So he was on the scene yesterday?”
“Oh yes. He was helping the staff set up on the lawn.”
“Hmm…” Inspector Walsh stroked his moustache again thoughtfully. “I’d like to question him later.”
CHAPTER SIX
An hour later, as the girls drove back towards Tillyhenge, Caitlyn was still mulling over the mystery of Pierre Rochat’s murder. Was Inspector Walsh right about the “vampire” aspect of the murder simply being a cover—a way to distract from the real crime? Who would want to kill Rochat? And why?
A petulant “Mew!” from the wicker basket on her lap brought her out of her thoughts.
Pomona chuckled in the driver’s seat next to her. “I don’t think Nibs likes his new way of travel.”
“Yes, I’m sure he’d prefer to ride loose, so he could get up to more mischief!” said Caitlyn. She looked affectionately at the little whiskered face peeking out through the bars of the carrier and wagged a finger at the kitten. “No more stowing away in Pomona’s handbag, Nibs, or running up a tree and forcing me to break into the Manor to rescue you.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Pomona.
Caitlyn laughed. “Okay, ‘breaking into’ is a bit of an exaggeration… Nibs climbed up a tree and jumped onto a window ledge at the back of the Manor and got stuck up there. I had to find a way in through an old locked door and up the back staircase to rescue him. I ended up in this creepy room trying to grab him from the inside of the window but he jumped off the ledge before I could reach him.” Caitlyn shook her head at the memory. “I nearly had a heart attack until I saw that he was all right!”
But Pomona’s attention had been caught by something else. “Creepy room? What creepy room?”
“Maybe creepy is the wrong word. It just had a sort of vibe… or maybe it was just the way it looked: everything was covered in white sheets. It’s actually the Portrait Gallery and there are loads of oil portraits of the Fitzroys—James’s ancestors—along one wall.”
“What’s under the white sheets?” asked Pomona.
“I don’t know—I didn’t look. Furniture, I guess. Maybe display cabinets? James told me that his father kept his occult collection in there.”
Pomona took her eyes off the road to stare at her. “James? James’s father? The old Lord Fitzroy? He was interested in magic and the occult?”
“Yes, he had an almost fanatical interest, apparently. It seems strange, doesn’t it? I mean, James doesn’t believe in the paranormal at all.”
“Oh yeah, you can say that again! I was talking to him the other day and he told me that he broke up with a girlfriend in college ’cos she got, like, really obsessed with magic and witchcraft.”
“Really?” Caitlyn looked at her, startled. “That seems a bit… extreme, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve heard him scoff at myths and superstitions sometimes, and I know he doesn’t believe the village rumours about the Widow Mags being a witch, but I didn’t think he’d break up with a girl just because she believes in magic.”
“Well, you know, some things are just deal-breakers for some people… Like, I had this friend who would never go out with any guy who smoked. No matter how cute or rich or awesome he was, if he smoked—he was out. I kinda got t
he impression James feels the same way about people who are into magic and witchcraft and stuff. Anyway, this girlfriend sounded like a total nutcase. She was always, like, wanting him to go to Stonehenge with her and do magical rites at sunrise and stuff like that… Besides, if his dad was obsessive about it—maybe that turned him off too.” Pomona shrugged.
Caitlyn digested all this in silence. She had to admit that, deep down inside, she had harboured a secret wish that she could tell James the truth about herself one day. But would he ever look at her the same way again if he discovered that she was a witch? She couldn’t bear the thought of him recoiling from her in disgust or contempt.
When they arrived at Bewitched by Chocolate, however, all thought of James left her mind. There was the most incredible rich chocolatey fragrance coming from the kitchen at the back of the converted cottage. Caitlyn and Pomona walked in to find the Widow Mags standing at the central wooden table, surrounded by a variety of mixing bowls, baking trays, and ramekins.
The old witch glanced up. “About time,” she snapped.
Caitlyn smiled to herself but said nothing. She had learned by now that her grandmother’s bark was a lot worse than her bite. Beneath that gruff exterior was warm wisdom and a kind heart. She also wondered if the old witch might’ve been slightly peeved at her decision to stay at the Manor for the next few days. Proud and fiercely independent, the Widow Mags disliked admitting that she had any weakness or wanted anyone for company, but Caitlyn suspected that her grandmother had grown used to having her around.
It made Caitlyn feel warm inside to think that the cantankerous old witch actually missed her. She hadn’t had an easy time since arriving in Tillyhenge. Well, discovering that you had an entire family on the other side of the world took a bit of getting used to—never mind finding out that you belonged to a family of witches! And if she had hoped to find a sweet cuddly old grandmother waiting to receive her with open arms, she had been sorely disappointed. The Widow Mags was blunt, cranky, and demanding, with a fierce appearance that reinforced her reputation as the “village witch”. Oh, it wasn’t her fault, of course, that nature had given her dark slashing eyebrows, a slightly hooked nose, and wild grey hair, which she usually pulled back into a messy bun, but it was easy to see why most of the village was afraid of her. And especially since they whispered that the chocolates in her shop were bewitched. Oh, they had to be, the local gossips insisted, because nothing could taste so mouth-wateringly delicious and make you feel so sinfully good without the help of magic…
