Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5)

by Barbara Silkstone

  Squirl was obviously one of those folks who enjoys being the bearer of scary news. “All the monks were murdered at the same time. They died at the last full moon when the Lugosi Comet appeared in the sky. The good brothers were all staked in their coffins, right through their hearts. ‘Tis very upsetting.”

  Chapter Five

  I hadn’t noticed Roger slip into Kit’s room. He moved to the bed and put his arm around me. I shivered and buried my head in his shoulder.

  “There’s a Vatican priest at the monastery?” he asked.

  “I understand he’s a nice young man. Name’s something like Reverend Bram Soaker, I think,” Squirl said.

  “I’ll bet he’ll marry us,” Roger said squeezing me close. He conveniently didn’t hear the part about the dead bodies.

  “Damn it!” I shoved him away shooting him my most shriveling look. “There’s a collection of monks pinned like butterflies in their coffins, and you want some guy who has touched those corpses to join our hands in holy matrimony?”

  “Oh yeah… the bodies. Since when are you so squeamish?”

  “I’ve always been squeamish. I’ve just never found the right time to tell you.”

  He patted my hand. “You take a nap. Kit will stay here with you. I’ll just jog up the mountain to the monastery and have a chat with that Vatican priest. I’ll see what’s what. Might not be a bit of truth to the tale. When I return we’ll have a nice dinner downstairs.”

  “You are not fooling me, Roger Jolley. You want a look-see at those dead monks. I’ll not be widowed before I’m married. Besides, I want to be sure that you don’t touch anything germy. We go together or not at all.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said in his most patronizing tone.

  Roger stretched and yawned. “We could all use a little nap. I’m jet-lagged. After a snooze we’ll visit the monastery.”

  I thought I saw him wink at Kit, but it could have been a case of dry-eyes from the long flight.

  We left Kit in his room and returned to ours in time to watch a dust cloud settle on our bed. Squirl pulled back the velvet spread, folded it into a circus-sized tent, and placed it on a sofa under the windows.

  I checked the sheets for holes and mildew. Clear.

  Thanking Squirl, we locked the hall doors after her but kept the door between our room and Kit’s ajar. I slipped into a flannel mom-nightie. Roger stripped down to his skivvies and fell into the bed like a rock. I peeked in at Kit. He snored lightly. Jet lag had caught up with the guys.

  Being tired all the time was the only downside to my pregnancy. I couldn’t tell where poop from preggers left off and jet lag began. I felt like a wrung-out dishtowel.

  I slipped into bed next to Roger and gazed out the window at the gray-blue sky and the tops of the green-black trees. The resort was pretty in a Hansel and Gretel way. Where was the witch?

  Hovering on the edge of sleep, I awoke with one of those sudden jerks that happen when you feel you are falling from a dream cliff. Roger! That little stinker, his eyes had lit up at the mention of the staked monks in coffins. No way would he be able to resist those dead friars while I napped. What kind of fool did he take me for?

  Maybe he was faking sleep waiting for me to nod off? I lifted his right eyelid and ran my finger lightly under his nose. No response. He was asleep.

  Just in case he decided to wander, I pulled a drapery cord off the bed curtain canopy, tied one end around my left wrist and gently tied the other end around his right hand using a tricky double-knot I’d seen on the Discovery Channel. “Sorry, love,” I whispered, lying next to him. I watched him breathe in and out, in and out, the rhythm lulling me into a deep sleep.

  The need to pee woke me. I thought I was a frequent pee-er before pregnancy, but now I felt as if I were going twenty times a day. The bedroom was dark. Someone had closed the drapes. I sat up and struggled from the soft mattress trailing the drapery cord from my wrist. My fiancé was not on the other end. I glanced back at his side of the bed. No Roger. I tied him to me like a puppy on a leash and now he was gone. That little shit!

  I was going to kill him, but first I needed to tinkle.

  The bathroom smelled of Pine Sol and bleach. It contained a potty, an ancient pedestal sink with two faucets, and a tub with a circular shower curtain and a handheld spritzer. The commode was an oldie with a tiny seat. Louts must have super small butts.

  With a sigh, Little Roger and I had a satisfying pee. The toilet paper could have used some fabric softener but at least it didn’t contain the wood splinters I’d found embedded in the potty paper in Cairo.

  I turned on the sink faucets and let them run for a bit. No telling how long the water had been sitting in the rusty pipes. Standing before the basin, I unwrapped a bar of pink heart-shaped soap and sniffed it. It had the scent of funeral roses. The mirror over the sink was pitted and peeling at the corners. My reflection told me I’d lost my pregnancy glow, if I ever had it. Dark circles cupped my tired green eyes.

  The cold water trickled over my hands as I rubbed the soap with my palms. I glanced up at the mirror. A shadowy figure stood behind me. The image leered at me with two large canine teeth on either side of narrow purple lips. His white hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his boney face reminded me of a former real estate client after his last facelift.

  The creature’s eyes spun like red and yellow pinwheels casting a hypnotic web that drew me in. My body refused to move, frozen in place. Little Roger booted me snapping me awake just as the monster leaned forward and sniffed my neck.

  Keeping the creature’s reflection fixed with my eyes, I slammed my elbow back into him, not making contact, and spun around protecting my baby bump with both hands. There was no one there. I was alone in the room. A hallucination? Pregnant women have strange dreams, true, but I was awake and he was real.

  I leaned my butt against the sink and ran my wet hands through my hair. That dude was flesh and blood, or least blood. I didn’t imagine the stench of skunk ape that lingered in the small room.

  I needed a weapon. Something heavy. A quick inventory of the bathroom told me there were no ashtrays. A toilet plunger sat behind the commode. It wouldn’t pack a wallop but I grabbed it and held on as if it were Excalibur.

  Armed with a gummy rubber ball on a stick I peeked out the bathroom door. No boogie men. No fiancé, either. Barefooted, I carefully stepped along the carpet toward Kit’s open door holding the plunger like a sword with the rubber end out. The most damage I could inflict would be to suck off someone’s face.

  “Come and get it, big guy!” I yelled to the ghost in the suite.

  “Yikes!” Kit was lying on his bed in one instant and in the next he was on the ceiling shivering in his black satin pajama bottoms. “You scared the daylights out of me!” He crawled back down the wall and under his sheets.

  I waved the plunger over my head for emphasis. “There was a monster in my bathroom!”

  His nerves were jelly but his good heart wanted to protect me. Kit leapt from the bed, his legs tangled in the sheets causing him to trip, falling forward. He skidded on his chest along the floor, stopped at my feet, and clambered to a sitting position. “Now that hurt!” He rubbed his nose.

  Refusing my outstretched hands, he performed a gymnast’s jump up. “Don’t be so quick to help lift one-hundred and seventy-pounds. Remember your condition.”

  He hiked up his droopy silk pajamas.

  “Is the monster still in the bathroom?” He wrapped his hands around the stick next to my white-knuckle grip. Four hands on one toilet plunger.

  “I only saw his reflection in the mirror. He disappeared when I turned around.”

  Kit loosened his fingers. He cut me one of his doubting looks. They don’t happen often, but when they do, they really piss me off. I pulled the stick out of his hands.

  “Where’s Roger?” I asked.

  “He tiptoed out about ten minutes ago. Told me to keep an eye on you. He was headed to the monastery.”

 
“We’re going after him.” I signaled Kit to follow me.

  “Maybe you should get dressed. WHERE did you get that … that …?”

  I looked down at my flannel nightgown. “It’s comfortable. Pregnant ladies like to be comfortable.”

  “This is your honeymoon! That is the nastiest looking thing I’ve seen outside of Walmart.”

  “You’ve never been in a Walmart. How about you getting dressed? You look like Liberace’s boy toy in those satin pajama bottoms. At least put the top on.” I pulled the plunger from his hands.

  Kit grabbed the jacket half of his snooze-wear struggling to get his long arms into the sleeves. He slid his feet into black slippers with pom-poms on the toes.

  My shoes were near the bed. I scooted over and stepped into them. Raising the plunger, I plunged ahead as Kit fussed with the satin covered buttons on the pajama top, his elbows out at ninety-degree angles. Side-by-side we attempted to dash out the door in perfect imitation of two of the Three Stooges.

  Yanking open the door, we tripped over Squirl, knocking her to the carpet.

  Not in the mood to be polite, I yelled at her, “Were you listening at the keyhole?”

  She wobbled to her feet, brushing the floor dust off her apron. “Yes.”

  An honest snoop. “Why?”

  “I’m worried about your baby.”

  I stepped back, covering my belly with my hands. “Why?”

  “Vlad.”

  “What’s a Vlad?” I asked hoping the answer had nothing to do with Dracula.

  “Vlad’s Impala is parked out front. That means he’s here in the Van Helsing. I heard he steals babies.”

  Chapter Six

  Shivers ran through me like mice in a barn. “I don’t have time for ghost stories. Which way did Roger—my fiancé—go?” I sounded brave but it was pure bull.

  Squirl curtsied and blotted her lips with a lace handkerchief. “He’s on the path to the monastery. But miss, please don’t go there for the baby’s sake.”

  I pushed past her with the palm of my hand. Kit followed.

  A thought occurred to me as I made it to the top of the stairs. I padded back to her and held her left arm so she couldn’t wiggle away, “This Vlad guy, does he have long teeth and spinning eyeballs?”

  “I think…”

  “Nuts!” The yellow-eyed bathroom drooler must be this Vlad, the possible baby stealer. I headed for the stairs with Kit two paces ahead of me.

  We dashed down the front steps, my buddy running belly-interference in case I stumbled. A gaggle of villagers lingered like dead plucked chickens around the hotel entrance. Gray-on-gray, plus fifty shades more. What a depressing lot.

  I smiled my friendly, American, perfect-teeth grin.

  They burned me with their laser beam eyes.

  I gave them a little royal wave with the plunger.

  They met my wave with mad-dog snarls.

  “Lovable bunch,” Kit said.

  “If the Louts got any friendlier they’d be chasing us with clubs. I guess the local economy doesn’t depend on tourism.”

  We edged past the townies. Collectively, they smelled like creosote and potting soil. My stomach heaved.

  Kit raised his arm for me and I held on with my left hand. The plunger became my walking stick to help me negotiate the rocky road. The terrain was as uneven as a Hialeah highway. Last thing I needed was a sprained ankle.

  The sun dropped behind the mountain, cutting the glare and also warning us that the day was growing long in the tooth. Lunch and the dinner curfew at the Van Helsing might have to hold until tomorrow. I wondered if they had a McDonald’s in Loutish. Not that I would feed Little Roger fast food, ever. Except for Kentucky chicken.

  I spotted a familiar silhouette about three-hundred feet ahead. Doctor Roger Jolley.

  “Roger!” I screamed at the top of lungs. Little Roger gave me a sharp punch in my bladder. I could discern the shape of his sweet little fist. “Cool it, son.”

  Big Roger stopped flat in his tracks, turned, and trotted back toward us. The expression on his face was of a kid caught watching an X-rated YouTube video.

  “I couldn’t stop her,” Kit said.

  Roger shook his head. “You should be resting.”

  I took his hand and placed it on my tummy. “Can you feel your son kicking? He’s saying no.”

  Roger touched my bump and then lowered his ear to my belly. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Little Roger is using code. He’s telling you to return to the hotel or mom’s going to tie you up like a runaway toddler, this time using double knots.”

  “Wendy, I just don’t think…”

  “That’s okay, you look good,” I said.

  He blocked my path.

  Hands on my hips I confronted him. “Do not go to the monastery! I have a bad feeling. We can find a notary in the village to marry us. Forget the monks, dead or alive.”

  “You’re not enjoying this adventure, are you?” he said.

  My jaws locked in a face-freezing grimace. Seven and a half months pregnant, in an unfriendly foreign country with a bunch of staked, dead monks. Yeah, I’m hard to please.

  Still pissed over having to disguise my condition to get on the plane, I wanted to deck somebody, anybody. Vulgar Airlines refused to fly women in their third trimester so I was forced to wear a football jacket over my slinky DKNY maternity dress. Okay, so slinky is a bit of a stretch but still I was proud of my baby bump and wanted to show it off. Instead I had to smuggle it onboard.

  Roger put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. His touch had a calming effect. “Let’s check out the monastery, cloistered or not. Obviously, if they’ve taken a vow of silence they don’t have a phone. I’m sure the folk tale about staked monks is just Squirl’s way of teasing us out of our pre-marital jitters. I’ll bet those friars are as fat and happy as Friar Tuck. At least one of them should be qualified to marry us, even if he has to do it using sign language.”

  I ground my teeth. “I don’t want a sign-language wedding.”

  Roger gave me a fake humor-her smile.

  I smacked his shoulder. My hormones fumed.

  “Okay, so I’m curious. Aren’t you?” Roger asked.

  “Nope!” Kit and I said in unison.

  “I planned to hold our ceremony at the top of that cliff where the monastery sits. That’s why we’re in Vulgaria. The view from that mountaintop is to die for.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” I looked up at the precipice and vertigo kicked in. That was the other problem with being pregnant, my constant companions, Sleepy and Dizzy.

  “We’re going to miss lunch and dinner,” I said.

  “Thought of that,” Roger said. “Squirl is having double-sized sub sandwiches sent to our suite in a cooler. Bottled water and venison subs will be waiting for us whenever we’re ready to eat.”

  “Bambi? I will not eat Bambi!”

  “Oops. Not venison. My mistake. Roast beef.” He took me by the elbow.

  “Kit, grab her arm. I’ve got this side.”

  “Roger friggin’ Jolley, I am not a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon. You don’t have to hold me like that!” I squiggled to free myself from their grip of love.

  Ah what the hell-heck? I let the two men in my life half-carry me up the hill. I kept tripping over their feet and bopping them with the toilet plunger. So much for allowing the male ego to lead.

  It took close to thirty minutes to trudge to the abbey. I was exhausted from being helped.

  “If you touch anything newly dead, consider yourself celibate for the rest of our honeymoon.” I yanked free and marched ahead of the guys.

  Lately, every dang thought I thought required a re-think. Pregnancy does make you addle-brained. I should have been all over Roger for choosing Vulgaria. He owed me an explanation.

  Stopping dead in my tracks like a stubborn mule, I tromped back and went nose-to-nose with my betrothed. “Of all the romantic spots in the galaxy, why h
ere?”

  Sweat dripped from his head and beads of perspiration sat on his eyelashes.

  “Use your words!” I snapped.

  He blushed the color of a poppy. “Mrs. MacGuffin appeared to me in December. She said if we came to Vulgaria I would find the answer to my quest.”

  I could feel my eyebrows knot to the point of giving me a headache.

  Kit’s eyes bounced from me to Roger and back. He was trying to follow our conversation. “Is that the old lady who called me to rescue you from that burglary caper?” he asked.

  “Yes. That was Mrs. MacGuffin. She’s a psychic fairy godmother. And for the record, that was a re-theft not a burglary.”

  Roger elbowed his way between us. “MacGuffin told me that if we came here before the baby was born, I might find …”

  A lump formed in my throat, I fought it down and cleared my throat. “Your baby brother?”

  He nodded. “We were staying at the Van Helsing when he was kidnapped.”

  Chapter Seven

  My anger mounted like steam in a pressure cooker left on high. I was going to blow. “How could you expose me and our baby to such a risk?” I fought for a breath and clutched my stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” Mr. Clueless asked.

  “What’s wrong? You put our baby in danger to chase a fantasy!” I pushed him so hard he fell over. “You should have asked me first.”

  Kit put his arm around me as I stumbled forward. I settled onto the ground in a heap.

  “It’s not a fantasy. It’s a MacGuffin.” Roger sat yoga-style next to me. “I have tried to tell you a dozen times in the last few weeks, and each time you cut me off. You wanted to be surprised? Well … surprise.”

  “You should have forced me to listen. You know how pig-headed I am. What if there is something evil here?” I waved my arms at the Hammer Film’s forest just as a wolf stumbled onto the path.

  I was not in the mood for lupine threats. “Scoot! Shoo!”

  The wolf squinted his eyes as if assessing my strengths and weaknesses. He stepped back into the shadows. If that was a werewolf, he’d best find himself another tale to wag.