Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5)

by Barbara Silkstone

  Kit leaned over the precipice.

  “Watch out!” I screamed.

  Bram yanked Kit back on terra firma just in time.

  “I think that was Vlad,” I said.

  “Well he’s no vampire,” Mina grumbled. “I’m the only vampire in Vulgaria.”

  “What about Edward?”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We’ll be back before midnight. Keep a light on in the window,” Roger said.

  Mina clung to Bram’s hand as she spoke. “The monastery has a guest room. I’ll dust it before you get back.” I noticed her tiny feet were inches off the ground. She was gliding with happiness.

  “We just have to grab our gear and find a restaurant.” I had the hunger shakes.

  “Don’t suppose there’s a Morton’s Steakhouse in Loutish?” Kit said.

  Bram shook his head. “The only place that serves food is the Van Helsing.”

  Renfield passed us a smoky torch and we tottered down the mountain path to the hotel. I kept my hand on Roger’s shoulder for balance. I was really pushing my luck, the law of falling averages might kick in any minute.

  The Van Helsing glowed like a giant jack-o-lantern. Its windows looking like evil eyes. Could the night before the rest of our lives be any more unromantic? I held my breath, prepared for the stink of garlic.

  Surprisingly the porch smelled of lilac and lavender. The garlic salt must have blown off in the wind and been replaced by a field of flowers.

  Roger held the door and Kit went first, I followed, hands over my belly just in case.

  “Squirl!” I called from the lobby.

  No answer. I repeated her name louder touching my tongue to the space where my tooth had been, shushing the whistle.

  We stepped cautiously through the lobby testing for the slippery garlic salt. It was swept clean.

  The sound of a baritone voice drifted down the stairs in a blend of a Gregorian Chant and a chorus of Boys Just Want To Have Fun. Icy fingers tinkled down my spine. “Squirl!” I screamed balling my fists from the effort.

  Still no answer.

  We headed for the staircase—Roger in the lead, me in the middle, and Kit bringing up the rear. I grabbed the banister and hauled my tushie up the steps. I was tuckered out.

  The weird singing came from Squirl’s bedroom. Roger gave the door a square kick and it burst open. Squirl was on her back on her bed with what looked suspiciously like a moldy young monk on top of her. The room stunk like Madame Bovary’s boudoir, not that I’d been there. Talk about catching someone in fragrante delicto! Barf!

  The combination of lavender, lilac, and an underlying scent of soil threw my hungry stomach for a loop. I put my hand over my nose and stepped into the room.

  The monk lifted his head and snarled. Blood dripped from his lips. He wasn’t bad looking if you liked movie star faces and hunky bods. The only things off-putting were his red eyes. I’ve never been a fan of the hangover look. I’m a dark-eye enthusiast. This guy was no Johnny Depp.

  “Edward?”

  He lunged at me crazed by the interruption.

  Not about to wrestle him for the innkeeper’s honor, I reached in my pocket for Squirl’s religious cross and pulled out my dental floss instead. Damn. Darn. I groped around and finally found the cross and held it where Edward couldn’t miss seeing it.

  He came to a screeching mid-air halt flinging his arm over his eyes in a theatrical move.

  Roger jumped between me and the horny monk using his trademark hamster punches, totally ineffective.

  Kit dashed to the foot of the bed and pulled Squirl by her tiny boots. She slid off the foot of the mattress into his hands. He wrapped his arms around her, drew her close and whisked her to my side as Edward turned on us with the enthusiasm of a rabid dog. The monk’s fangs dripped and his nostrils flared.

  Roger hurled himself at Edward. Had my guy learned nothing about vampire powers?

  Touching Roger with the tip of his index finger the monk sent the world’s greatest archaeologist flying into the drapes where he clung like a kitten until the rod broke and he landed in a heap on the floor.

  I held the cross at eye-level and advanced toward the vampire. Edward backed up shielding his face like a hammy actor in an old black and white movie. He stepped out of the window. I followed him with the cross. He crawled down the Van Helsing wall, face first.

  Squirl came out of her trance as Kit stood her on her feet holding her by her shoulders.

  “He bit you!” I said hesitating to come any closer.

  “My momma didn’t raise no fool. I didn’t bite him back. I know men only want two things from a woman, sex and a blood swap. I refused his blood.”

  “Edward is a nymphomaniac necrophiliac?” I asked.

  “He may be dead, but I will have you know I’m not!” She straightened her dress and tightened her ponytail. “I needed a good roll in the hay.”

  I shuddered. Imagine needing sex that badly. I had to get her out of here while she still had some sense left in her Loutish noggin.

  “We’re spending the night at the monastery. Come with us,” I said slipping the chain of the cross over my head. I nestled the simple crucifix between my boobs. I had boobs! That was one of the upsides of being preggers. I peeped down my décolleté. Not bad.

  “Will Edward be there?” Squirl chirped.

  “Hell no!” Roger snapped.

  I shot him a dirty look. “Heck. Mommies and daddies say ‘heck’.”

  She shrugged. “Okay… Disappointed but they’ll be another time.”

  What the heck? Was she enjoying the bloodletting?

  “I’ll be right back. I have a surprise for you.” She skittered away as if she hadn’t just been lying under a handsome but deadly Nosferatu.

  “Kit, you go with Squirl. Meet us in the lobby in ten minutes. I’ll get your dress.”

  “Don’t forget my makeup and my wig!”

  “Cher or Carol Channing?”

  “I’m wearing a blue hat! The Carol Channing, of course!”

  What do I know about hats?

  Roger helped me up the third staircase to our room. I was starting to slow down. Vampire hunting can be a very tiring vocation.

  Once in our suite, I stuffed my gown and red ribbon wedding shoes in my Louis Vuitton bag, grabbed Kit’s maid-of-honor dress, flung it over my shoulder, and plopped his floppy brimmed Downton Abbey hat on my head. Roger grabbed his bagged tux, our passports and credit cards, the Carol Channing wig, and Kit’s makeup case, which weighed a ton.

  In less than ten minutes, we’d gathered in the lobby. Kit came from the kitchen pulling a little red wagon bearing a three-tiered wedding cake with red icing roses swirling from the huge round bottom to the tippy top. Nuts and blueberries scattered along the edge of each tier. It was a work of art and probably took hours of Squirl’s time. She was a sweetheart despite being confused about what qualities to look for in a potential mate.

  I placed the maid-of-honor hat on Kit’s head and handed him his dress.

  “Squeeee!” Squirl chirped as she came through the swinging doors bearing a knotted canvas bag. “How do you like your wedding cake? See the little bride and groom on top?

  I looked closer. Yup, there were exact replicas of Roger and me wearing the traditional bride and groom outfits but with tiny red icing shoes on the bride’s feet.

  “Would you be one of my bridesmaids?” I asked.

  I thought she was going to jump out of her knickers. “Me? A bridesmaid? I’ve never been a bridesmaid before. I’ll do a good job. I promise!”

  My smile exposed my tooth-gap and I quickly converted it to a grin.

  “I have more surprises later.” She jiggled her bag.

  “Don’t suppose you packed us a dinner-to-go?” I said.

  “Jonathan Harker raided the pantry before he left. It’s empty.” She frowned. “He even took the yucky canned lasagna. Not to worry about tomorrow’s wedding feast, I’l
l gather nuts and berries from the forest and whip up a dinner from nature’s table. Unfortunately, tonight we’re screwed. That’s the proper American word, screwed?”

  “Hang on junior,” said to my baby bump. I hoped being without food for long stretches wouldn’t stunt his growth or cause him any unusual cravings in later life.

  Once we were all out on the porch with our bags, and Kit had the wedding cake secure in the little red wagon, Squirl locked the Van Helsing door and tucked the key in her bosom.

  “How did Edward get in?” I asked.

  “I let him in my window,” she said matter-of-factly. “You have no idea how long it’s been between hay rolls for me. He wasn’t half bad once I got passed the stink.”

  “You should never let a vampire in,” Roger said falling into step with us.

  “There is no stopping a sex fiend.” Squirl grinned.

  I wondered just whom was the sex fiend. “You sure you didn’t take a little sip of his blood?”

  “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  We continued yet another trudge up the hill to the monastery of the dead. Loutish should seriously think about installing a cable car.

  “I managed to get some pillow talk out of Edward,” Squirl said scampering over the stony path, her ponytail swishing to and fro.

  “With all that singing and yowling what could he possibly have told you?”

  “The villagers intend to attack the monastery tomorrow. They plan on a mass beheading followed by a torching.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I’ve been alone in a crowd my entire life and yet I’ve always felt a connection to someone, something. I thought it was my religious calling. Now I wonder if it wasn’t my very own brother reaching out to me,” Bram said.

  Mina flitted off the ground, floated to his cheek, and gave him a peck. I wasn’t experienced with vampire facial expressions but I could have sworn she was jealous of Bram’s affection for his brother.

  I turned away before she could see the confuzzlement on my face.

  Bram appeared to possess a poetic and yet accessible manner. Roger shared the accessibility but the poetic gene was lost in his scientific mindset.

  Kit hung our dresses in the wardrobe. The gowns were no worse for the schlep, the wrinkles falling out as he closeted them. Aside from the missing tooth and the haunted look in my eyes, I was going to be a stunning bride.

  The Downton Abbey hat sat primly on the dresser. My red bow shoes were on a chair by the door.

  Kit would sleep on the sofa; Roger and I would take the bed.

  “I am really tired. I missed my pregnant lady nap and I’m starving. Let’s eat something, anything, then conduct a short rehearsal and call it a night.”

  “I was going to save these for tomorrow, but under the circumstances …” Squirl opened her sack. It was loaded with her teeth-breaking biscuits. I shook my head frantically as Roger reached to grab one.

  “We checked the abbey’s larder. There is a case of Spam in the cupboard,” Bram said, the faintest glimmer in his eyes. “The monks loved Spam. We ate it every Sunday. Not much else.”

  A sigh of resignation escaped my lips, whistling through my tooth socket. I was glad we weren’t getting a wedding write-up in the New York Times.

  Following an afternoon of corking dead monks, the wedding party dined on Spam and red wine.

  The dining room was Danish Modern sleek. Not only had the monastery been hit by a blood-sucking comet, but it had evidently survived an attack by a low-budget Scandinavian interior decorator. Light oak tables staged in a U-shape provided room for at least fifty guests. Simple religious murals in shades of blue and gray depicted the lives of saints from floor to ceiling.

  A small built-in food service window the size of a microwave wedged in the wall to the left of the tables. Mina explained that was how she sent food from the kitchen to the dining room. Women, even vampire women, were not allowed to enter a room where the cloistered monks gathered.

  Roger and I sat at the head of the table. Bram and Mina sat to Roger’s right, Kit and Squirl to my left. Renfield sat by himself at the very end of the table, hermit-like. The postulants, John and Paul served the Spam.

  I looked down at my plate with a single slice of Spam and got the giggles. I imagined Roger and me coming back for our fiftieth anniversary and reenacting this scene finishing the leftover Spam, which would still be eatable.

  The wedding party drank red wine from the cellar. I sipped bottled water.

  Squirl held a glass of wine, stood, and toasted us. “To the funnest bride and groom to ever honeymoon at the Van Helsing.”

  “Have there been many weddings at the inn?” I asked.

  “You are the first.” She raised her glass and downed it in one gulp.

  I slugged the rest of my water and turned to Bram. “What will the Vatican do with the monastery buildings now that…”

  He looked down at his plate as if the answer were in his Spam. Then he returned his gaze to meet my eyes. “My superiors will most likely sell the land and the buildings. Sadly, fewer young men are taking their vows. There may be no one to occupy the abbey. We’ve been losing monks in Loutish at a steady trickle for centuries. They just disappear as if bewitched.”

  Squirl jumped onto the table and stood there grinning, her ponytail swaying, a slice of pink processed meat in her hand. “We have a surprise for the bride!” She winked at Mina. “A bachelorette party in the library in five minutes.”

  I glared at Kit.

  “Not my idea. Your newly acquired bridesmaids booked this one.”

  Mina clapped her hands. “I’ve never been to a party before! I am so excited.”

  How could I say no?

  I pushed back from the table and excused myself for a potty break. No telling how long a bachelorette party with a drag queen, a slightly nutty innkeeper, and a vampire might last.

  “Meet us in the library. It’s across the hall,” Squirl chirped.

  Wobbling down the empty stone halls the thought occurred to me that I should have enlisted a potty-partner. I felt eyes watching me. Did I have a stalker or was I merely being paranoid?

  Should I turn back or face my imaginary lurker? When I stepped in front of the archway I heard a foot-shuffle and a wheeze. Where did I leave my spatula?

  I could sense the stalker hiding to my right just inside the archway. With a silent prayer I hauled back with my left fist and blindly clocked the wheezer right on what felt like a smushy face.

  Bingo. I was on target. Renfield dropped to his knees and then rolled to the floor rubbing his right eye socket.

  “Why’d you hit me?”

  “Why were you watching me? You scared the bees out of me.”

  “The American lady carries bees? I’m allergic!” he crabbed-crawled backwards.

  I grabbed his grubby collar and pulled him up to meet my face. “Explain yourself or by George I will see to it that you are barreled along with the monks.”

  “I am neither a servant nor a lackey and yet you treat me as such. It is time you knew who you are addressing! I was once the abbot of this most holy hermitage.”

  He caught me off guard with that bit of info. The little frog was once the head honcho of the monastery? “Are you a religious now?”

  He sighed and dropped his head. “I was lead astray by a woman,” he mumbled into his chest. “A very sexy woman.” When he looked up he broke into a brutally off-key rendition of an old rock ‘n’ roll song. “She was a gypsy woo-man…” he yowled. “All through the caravan she danced with all the men.” His rendition fell far short of the Impressions’ hit song.

  “She came to my bed and enchanted me. Mina is the blessing from that one night.”

  “You’re Mina’s father!” The little vamp was the end product of a one-night stand between a fallen abbot and a gypsy woman. I was impressed with her lineage.

  The old gent clung to my arm as I steadied him. Curiouser and curiouser.

  “Sorry
about your eye. Put some Spam on it. It should take down the swelling.”

  He seized my shoulders. “It’s not Mina’s fault she’s a vampire. She has a good heart and has never tasted so much as a drop of human blood since the day the comet dribbled her.”

  “She really drinks only wine?”

  “The monks wine possesses curative powers. I was able to convert Mina from blood to wine. She poses no threat to humans or animals. She is more a danger to herself.”

  My bladder was bursting. I patted Renfield on the shoulder. “I’m headed to the toilet. Please stand outside the door just in case.”

  “One more thing. Please do not tell Mina I am her dad. She does not know I was the abbot or her father. If she knew she was the product of my fall from grace it would surely damage her.”

  “Deal.” I shook his grimy hand.

  He toddled after me, his presence somewhat comforting. I creaked open the heavy door and left him standing arms crossed at the entrance.

  Sweet! What a relief… one of the nicest parts of being preggers was the bladder-emptying. It was like swing dancing in a swishy dress. Very liberating.

  The ancient toilet had no flusher. I scanned the tiny room. A chipped pitcher sat on the counter. I filled it with water from the sink and poured it down the bowl. I must have seen that on the Discovery Channel.

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out my travel-sized non-alcoholic mouthwash and with a quick slug I cleaned the essence of Spam from my cheeks. I dabbed a teeny bit of tap water on my face, hoping it didn’t contain cooties.

  Renfield fell in as I pulled open the door. He trotted after me as I headed to the library. “Please Miss Wendy, I wish for Mina to have a happy time with the ladies. She has never experienced a party and is very much looking forward to your celebration.”

  I shot him a feeble smile and ducked into the library.

  An ancient gramophone played a warped recording of Elvis singing You’ll Never Walk Alone. The library was heavy with the smell of old books and ancient tufted furniture. I gave the room a quick skim and made my way to the only chair that appeared not to have holes in its upholstery.