Immortal

by V. K. Forrest

  “None.” Fin lowered his head, propping it with the heel of his hand, his elbow on the desk. “ME agreed that the victim had been in the ocean prior to death. The body fluids he found on the inside of Colin’s shorts were probably contaminated by the salt water. We sent them to the lab anyway. Just in case.”

  Fia was silent on the other end of the line.

  “So what do you think?” Fin finally asked.

  “Honestly?”

  He sat up and leaned back in the chair. Through the glass, he could see a couple of officers milling around in the bullpen. Everyone else was out on the street, either patrolling the town or still conducting interviews on the boardwalk. The force had been amazingly cooperative and efficient so far. No one seemed to resent Fin taking over the investigation, nor did they seem surprised. “Honestly,” he said. “I mean, we’re coming up on seventy-two hours. I know that isn’t good in a human case; it’s a long time. But in V time, it’s just a blink of an eye.”

  “I think this is going to be a tough one, Fin. When you go to the General Council meeting tomorrow night, I doubt anyone is going to stand up, raise her or his hand, and confess to the digression.”

  “It just doesn’t make sense.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I mean, I know it happens once in a while, but why kill a tourist? Why risk our livelihood like this?”

  “You know why. Human blood.”

  He frowned but said nothing.

  “Look,” she went on. “We all do foolish, dangerous things, Fin. Things we know are wrong. Sometimes we just can’t help it. It’s why it’s called a curse.”

  There was something in her tone that caught him off guard. “You speaking from experience?”

  “I didn’t kill him,” she answered, not answering his question. “Call me if anything comes up.”

  “That’s it?” He pushed the hair out of his eyes. “I have a dead twenty-two-year-old HM and I just wait to see if anything comes up?”

  “You keep interviewing tourists. Make sure no one saw anything that night on the boardwalk. It wasn’t that late. Surely someone else was there.”

  “Obviously someone was there, otherwise Colin Meding wouldn’t be dead.”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “Keep your ears open around town, but yeah, that’s it. You just have to wait until someone confesses or something comes up.”

  “Like another dead body?”

  “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Gotta go, bro.”

  Fin hung up the phone and stared at the thick file on the desk labeled Meding, C. He really didn’t know where to go from here. All he could think of was that the kid ended up on the boardwalk. There had to be clues there.

  He rose from the chair. So that was where he needed to be.

  “Anyone see you?” Gazing out over her backyard to the alley behind her property, Mary held open the door for Victor.

  “What do I care if anyone saw me?” he grumbled. But as he passed, he kissed her cheek. “Smells good.”

  Smiling to herself, she closed the door and followed him into the kitchen. Victor’s bark was far greater than his bite, she was coming to learn. “Fried oysters, stewed squash, corn on the cob. All your favorites.” She smoothed the flowered pink paisley apron she wore over her shorts and T-shirt. “I’ve missed you. I thought you were coming by Friday night. I waited for you, wore my new nightie. Didn’t hear from you Saturday or yesterday, either.”

  “Anything I can do to help you?” he asked, though he’d already seated himself at the kitchen table she’d set for two.

  She hesitated. He’d been acting a little odd lately, odd even for Victor. She considered pressing him to see why he hadn’t come Friday, but decided to let it drop. She was just glad he was here now. “Supper’s all set,” she said. “But you could light the candles on the table.”

  “What’s the matter, didn’t pay your electric bill?” He rose from his chair and went to a drawer to get a lighter. “Back in my day, we used candles because we had to, not because they were romantic.”

  “You want the fried oysters, I want the candles.” She retrieved his dinner plate from the table and began to heap it with the crispy, aromatic fritters. “You get your homemade meal, I get a romantic dinner with my beau.” She began to add squash to his plate. “You don’t like it, old man, you can go home to your Chef Boyardee out of a can.”

  Victor lit the candles on the center of the small table and sat down again. “Sure smells good.”

  “Thank you.” She placed his plate in front of him and took her own to the stove.

  Victor waited politely for Mary to serve herself. She took her time, removing her apron and hanging it on a hook on the wall before sitting down across from him. She smiled across the table. She knew a lot of people wouldn’t understand her attraction to Victor, not with Bobby having only been killed two years ago. But Victor was good company for her. They liked the same foods, liked to watch the same things on TV like Jeopardy! and Dancing with the Stars. And despite his constant complaining, he was good to her. After Bobby died, Mary had felt she had died with him. Wished she had. Victor made her feel alive again.

  “Would you like to say grace or shall I?” Mary asked, sliding her hand across the table to take his.

  He stole a quick glance across the table, his gray eyes twinkling. “You do it, ole girl, but hurry up. Oysters are getting cold.”

  Chapter 8

  “Thanks for meeting me.” Fin sat across from Elena at a small high-top table at O’Malley’s, a restaurant on the boardwalk. It was a private joke among sept members. The O’Malleys, a family of vampire slayers, had been the ones who had finally driven the Kahills from Ireland. Instead of wiping them out, the O’Malleys had inadvertently given them a chance to redeem themselves in the New World. The Kahills toasted to the O’Malleys regularly.

  Elena wrapped her slender fingers around the pomegranate martini she had ordered. They had to lean close to be heard over the music being piped in through speakers over the bar. Classic rock and roll. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.” Her long, dark hair framed her heart-shaped face as she studied him with big dark eyes. “I’m glad you did.”

  An untouched glass of Molson sat in front of him. “Like I said on the phone, can’t promise I’ll be great company.” He met her gaze and half smiled. “But I’m glad you came.”

  “I understand. Preoccupied. Any leads on the murder?” She sipped the ruby red drink. “Such a handsome young man. I saw his picture in the papers.” The sound of Mick Jagger’s throaty voice pulsed in the air.

  “I can’t talk about the investigation.” He sipped his beer. It was good. Light, not heavy like the ales and stouts he drank at the Hill with his own kind.

  “So that would be a no.” She set her martini glass on the square napkin on the table and leaned back, crossing her long, suntanned legs.

  As she did so, it occurred to Fin that every movement, every gesture Elena made, no matter how small, was fluid, like a classical dancer’s. Maybe she was a dancer, but he didn’t think so. This went deeper than a hobby or occupation. The way she moved was about who she was, where she had come from.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she continued. “I can see you’re upset. You are very devoted to your job.”

  “Not really. It’s a summer thing. A favor. It’s just that…” He looked down at the beer glass between his hands, and then up again. “I feel responsible. This boy was someone’s brother. Someone’s son.”

  To his surprise, Elena’s eyes teared up. He was not surprised, however, that the display of vulnerability actually made her even more beautiful.

  Elena averted her gaze, obviously embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “I’ve said something—”

  “No. It’s all right.” She gave a little laugh and sniffed, but did not wipe away her tears. She looked at him again. “I was just thinking how fortunate his mother is, to have a man like you so dedicated to findin
g her son’s killer.”

  Fin continued to hold her hand and for a minute they were silent, both lost in their own thoughts. With every minute that ticked by, he thought less about Colin Meding and more about Elena.

  The emotional moment passed and she slid her hand out from under his to take her drink.

  “So what brings you to Clare Point?” Fin asked. “You said you came with your sister and her family on holiday, but Delaware is a long way from Florence.”

  “How did you know I was from Florence?” She stared at him over the rim of her martini glass. He couldn’t tell if she was simply surprised by his assessment or upset by it. “I didn’t tell you I was from Florence.”

  He shrugged. “Just a guess. You sound like you’re from Florence.”

  “My accent?” She lifted a dark brow. “Most Americans would say my English is very good.”

  “Oh, it is. It is. I just have this thing.” He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “For languages.”

  “You speak Italian?”

  “Sì sì. I was a student there once.” Only a half lie.

  “So you’ve been to Italy. Where? Besides Florence.” Her eyes sparkled again.

  They talked for a few minutes about places he had visited in Italy and the architecture he admired; he had to concentrate not to reveal more information than he should. Sometimes time ran together in Fin’s head. One century was much like another; he didn’t want to slip and refer to a cathedral that hadn’t stood for the past thousand years. Talk of Italian architecture led to a conversation of other buildings they’d both seen all over the world. He found Elena smart, observant, and sexy from the top of her dark head to the tips of her manicured toenails. The longer they conversed, the more infatuated he became. He’d asked her out with no greater aspirations than finding a willing bed partner, but Elena was clearly more.

  As she sipped the last of her martini, she leaned over the table. It was so small that when he leaned toward her to be heard above the melancholy Eric Clapton, they were nose to nose. “My sister and her husband are taking the children to a late movie tonight. Ten o’clock. You should come to the cottage.”

  He did the math. Ten o’clock. He could make the General Council meeting at one-thirty without any trouble.

  When he didn’t answer immediately, she sat back. “I’m sorry. I have offended you with my forwardness.” She crossed her arms beneath her small, round breasts. She was wearing a silk flowered dress that revealed hard nipples. “You American men, you like to make the first move.”

  “No. No, not at all. I like a woman who can take control of a situation.” He smiled. “Must be the Irish influence.”

  She tipped her glass, finished it, and slid off the bar stool. “Come if you like. I’ll be there. As I said before, no strings.”

  Fin watched her walk out of the bar and wondered why he had the feeling he was already caught in a web.

  Fin sat down on the edge of the couch, forcing Regan to move his feet to make room for him. He set his shoes on the floor. “How’d the job hunt go today?”

  Regan flipped through the channels on the TV. “About as well as the killer hunt.”

  “That’s not funny.” Fin slipped one foot and then the other into his shoes.

  Regan looked at him for the first time. “Where you going, all spiffed up?”

  Fin glanced at his brother. Regan was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a Mario Bros. T-shirt. “I’m not spiffed up. I took a shower. General Council tonight.”

  “Not at nine forty-five.” Regan began to run through the channels again on the TV. “You’ve got a date, you lucky dog.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Fin walked to the front door. The cardboard boxes were still precisely where they had left them the day they moved in. “You fix the faucet today?”

  Regan watched a cough suppressant commercial. “No, but I beat twenty-seven kids at air hockey at the arcade. Ah, cool, Power Rangers are coming on. Did you know they were running all the original episodes?” He turned up the volume.

  “Fix the damned faucet.” Fin pushed open the screen door. “Tonight. Before I get home. Or I call Ma and tell her you’ve relapsed.”

  Regan popped up on the couch. “Jezus. You wouldn’t stoop that low.”

  Fin smiled to himself as he went out the door. Why hadn’t he thought of threatening Regan with Mary Kay before? If Fin so much as hinted that his brother might be abusing drugs again, their mother would be calling twenty times a day. She’d be visiting every hour, on the hour. The woman could be relentless. “Try me,” Fin dared, letting the door slap shut behind him.

  Kaleigh spotted Katy at the Dairy Queen service window and abandoned cleaning the soft serve machine. “Hey,” she said.

  “Nice hat.” Katy rested her elbows on the counter and leaned through the window. “Do I have to work here to get one or can anyone wear one?”

  Kaleigh adjusted her white paper hat and reached for a big jar of maraschino cherries so she could start refilling containers while she talked to Katy. “At least I have a job.”

  “Right. A loser job in a loser town,” Katy groaned. “God, but I hate this place. I don’t understand why you don’t, too.”

  Katy had been on this kick for months. She hated Clare Point. She wanted to live somewhere else in the world. Anywhere but here. That, of course, would never happen. “I get off soon.” Kaleigh tried to sound cheerful. She tugged on the jar lid, but it wouldn’t budge. “You wanna come over and watch a movie or something?”

  “Can’t. Got a date.”

  “Wait a minute.” Still unable to get the lid off the jar, she turned the jar upside down and slammed it on the counter, trying to break the seal. “As of six o’clock when I came to work, you were pissed at Pete and you were never speaking to him again.” The lid still wouldn’t budge.

  “I am and I’m not.” Katy’s eyes sparkled mischievously. Then she frowned. “Give me that. You’re going to hurt yourself.” She grabbed the maraschino cherry jar out of Kaleigh’s hands and opened it with one twist.

  Kaleigh looked at the lid as she took it from her. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, you going to order or what?” An HF stood behind Katy. Two clone children, a boy and a girl, pulled at her terry cloth cover-up, whining about chocolate ice cream and sprinkles.

  Katy and Kaleigh both ignored them. Kaleigh began to scoop cherries into plastic containers using a big metal spoon.

  “You’re going out with someone else?” Kaleigh whispered.

  “Beppe.” Katy grinned.

  “Katy, that’s a bad idea and you know it. Flirting is one thing, but—”

  “Excuse me, but if you’re not going to place an order could you move so someone else could?” The HF now sounded as whiny as her children.

  “Could you give me a sec?” Katy threw over her shoulder. “Or maybe go to the next window since this one says closed, anyway.” She pointed to the cardboard sign in the window and then turned back to Kaleigh. Jersey, she mouthed.

  The woman snatched her children by the hands and moved to the line one window over, which was growing longer by the second. The shop closed in fifteen minutes, and the last fifteen minutes of the day always seemed the busiest.

  “I better help at the window.” Kaleigh put the lid back on the cherry jar. “Can you wait for me?”

  Katy stood, ducking out of the service window. “Can’t. I have to get home so the rents will go to bed so I can sneak out. My mom wants to have a family meeting.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m hooking up with Beppe at midnight. He’s got to go to some lame movie with his family, but then we’re going to Tomboy’s. I’ve got an open invitation to stop by any time, now.”

  “You shouldn’t be going out with him. You shouldn’t be going to humans’ houses.”

  “You went.”

  “Not with a human. You’re going to get into trouble.” Kaleigh looked over Katy’s shoulder. The line was even longer. She really needed to help the girl at the other window
. “I have to get back to work. Can’t you just wait?”

  “Tell you all the details in the morning.” Katy slapped her hand on the counter. “Well, maybe not all the details.” She laughed and walked away.

  “You better not do anything stupid,” Kaleigh hollered after her.

  “Do I ever?”

  “All the time,” Kaleigh uttered under her breath.

  Either Fin walked too fast or Elena’s family was running late because as he walked up the driveway to the rear, street entrance to the cottage, the door opened. A woman who could be no one but Elena’s sister walked out onto the lamplit porch, speaking in Italian to someone behind her. Fin didn’t really want to meet Elena’s family; he was all about keeping this simple. But there was nowhere for him to go, no place to hide.

  “We’ il ll parla di questo quando otteniamo la casa, Beppe. Nient’altro!” The Elena look-alike strode across the porch in a dress with a pashmina thrown over her shoulders. Same amazing legs as Elena’s. She was younger, but not as pretty in the face.

  There was obviously a disagreement between the sister and someone. Then someone walked out onto the porch a second later. A teenage boy. An obviously disgruntled teenage boy. He was followed by two adolescent girls; one on the cusp of the teen years, the other slightly younger. A small, dark-haired man brought up the rear.

  When the sister spotted Fin, she smiled. “Elena’s friend, welcome to Rose Cottage.” She extended her arms graciously.

  Elena was the last to walk onto the porch. When she saw Fin, she lifted her arms in silence as if to say she hadn’t thought they would still be there either.

  He smiled back. It wouldn’t hurt to meet the family. He and Elena were both unattached adults; they weren’t doing anything wrong. Well, he was because she was human, but that wasn’t the issue here, was it? He took the staircase up to the open back porch. Because the cottage was built on pilings on the beach, the porch was a full story off the street. It was breezier here. Cooler.

  “Fin Kahill.” When the sister offered her hand, instead of shaking it, he kissed it. A throwback from the old days. It was the right call. When he lifted his head, she and Elena were both smiling.