by Eddie Jones
“So far you’ve mentioned a deputy, a bookstore owner, the victim’s wife, a handyman hired to make improvements, a professional rival, the real estate agent who handled the purchase of the home, and …” She turned over her page of notes. “That’s it.”
“Let’s match that with what we know of Forester’s situation. We’ll call the deputy our Lieutenant McAlhany; obviously Raintree is the bookstore owner. Lucy Forester, the wife. I see the handyman hired to fix the home as our vampire expert, Barlow. Victor Hamilton is the professional rival.”
“Sounds like you could have written this script.”
“Except we also have Henry, the maintenance worker who found the body, and your boss.”
“I told you, Dr. Edwards —”
“Wouldn’t hurt a fly, I know. Let’s see who the killer turns out to be.” I silently read the rest of the synopsis. “Just as I thought: the real estate agent killed the husband.”
“But why?”
“Fell in love with the victim’s wife. Then when the couple began talking about reconciling, he got worried. He was afraid she might go back to the husband, so he pushed the poor guy from the balcony and made it look like the handyman had installed a faulty railing.”
I straightened and glanced around the lobby. “What time was Aunt Vivian meeting you?”
“She didn’t say exactly, but she told me she’d stop by the gift shop first. If I wasn’t there, she’d look for me in here.”
“In that case, I’ll read a few more.”
I reviewed an episode called “House of Horrors” from the television show CBI Sacramento. As before, Meg took notes of characters and motivations.
“Same M.O.,” I said, finishing the summary. “Jilted lover kills fiancé.”
“Still no sign of your aunt,” Meg said. “She must be making up for all those Christmases your family never spent with her.”
There were five episodes in all. I quickly went through the last three: “Mummy’s Little Helper” from Law and Murder, “Danger at Dead Low Tide” from Skull and Bones, and “Hacker’s Forward Slash” from Our Man in Budapest. Each episode centered on the purchase of a home, a pseudo-paranormal event, and a murder with a romantic interest who turned out to be the killer.
“None of this proves anything,” Meg said. “You can’t solve a crime from watching TV.”
“It proves one thing. It proves your boss falling in love with Lucy Forester and killing her husband isn’t that crazy of an idea. He’s been buying her flowers, did you know that? I discovered that little piece of information from reading the card on the arrangement of daisies sitting in Mrs. Forester’s painting studio. Here’s another thing I learned: Hamilton has a niece who works at the dealership. She claims your boss was told to stop leaving things in Mrs. Forester’s vehicle when it was in the shop. By the way, when I asked Mrs. Forester where she was that night, she claimed her car was in the shop all week. But the maintenance boy said he saw Lucy Forester’s car in the employee parking lot the morning Forester’s body was found.”
“Maybe he only thought it was her car.”
“Possibly. But I have another idea about what happened. I think Edwards didn’t want to be seen driving his car to and from the crime scene so he borrowed Mrs. Forester’s.”
“But wouldn’t that implicate her in the murder?”
“Yes, but it would be easy enough to check and find out she couldn’t have driven the car to the resort because it was in the shop and she couldn’t get it out of the dealership lot. Look, I’m not saying it happened exactly that way; I’m just saying I think her car was at the crime scene and the only person who had access to it was your boss. Maybe the maintenance boy didn’t see the car there. Maybe he was confused. But don’t forget, your boss is one of the few people who could have implanted fangs and added bite marks. I know he’s not a physician, but he probably has some medical skills, right?”
“Ah … yes, but —”
“My guess is, after your boss found out I was looking into the case, he panicked and moved the body before I could prove he murdered Forester.”
Meg rolled her eyes at me. “You got all this out of five stupid television shows? Unbelievable.”
“It’s not all that hard, Meg. People watch TV, get an idea, and act on it. It’s called a copycat crime.”
She released my arm and sat back in her chair. “You can’t prove any of this.”
I could tell she wasn’t buying it. I just sighed and said, “I don’t have to prove anything. I’ll let Lieutenant McAlhany build the case against your boss. My job is to flush the killer out into the open and write the story based on the facts as I know them.”
“You’re not sending your article from my laptop, I’ll tell you that. Not if you insist on accusing Dr. Edwards of murder.”
“Fine. I’m sure the hotel has a media center where I can borrow a computer.”
“Don’t, please,” she pleaded. “I’m begging you.”
“Why? What’s the big deal? If he’s a killer, wouldn’t you want him locked up?”
She got this hopeless expression on her face, one that made me feel bad for doubting her. My gut told me she honestly believed her boss was innocent, but how could she be so sure?
“Hey, Meg, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean or anything. I’m just looking at the evidence, but if you know something, I need to know it. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Dr. Edwards is dating my mom, okay? That’s how I know he could not possibly be involved with Mrs. Forester.”
“Okay, that’s some news I could have used earlier.”
“That night Forester died? Dr. Edwards was at our house. All night. That’s why I’m sure he didn’t kill anyone.”
The woop-woop of an ambulance interrupted me before I could suggest that Edwards slipped out of Meg’s house without anybody knowing. Seconds later two paramedics rushed through the front door and went charging across the lobby and down the hallway toward the shopping area. Guests and hotel staff stood gawking. A woman in a tennis outfit cornered a bellhop and demanded to know what was going on.
“Someone collapsed outside the gift shop. It might have been a heart attack.”
I found myself running after the paramedics without any recollection of leaving my chair. Kids spilled out of the bakery shop, blocking my path. A forest of heads and shoulders made it impossible to see down the walkway. I lowered my shoulder and shoved my way toward the front of the crowd.
Aunt Vivian lay on her back, the contents of her purse spilled onto the walkway. Her face was sallow, mouth slack. Eyes unfocused.
Talking to each other in low voices, the medics slid Aunt Vivian onto a stretcher, uncoiled the gurney’s legs and rolled her away. I followed behind, watching as EMTs tossed medical equipment bags into the back of the ambulance. The last time I’d felt that stunned was when I’d found our dog on the side of the highway.
They put Aunt Vivian into the truck, and one of them settled into a jump seat beside her. Standing at the rear of the ambulance, I blinked away tears as the paramedic slammed the door shut and got behind the wheel.
“She’ll be okay,” a security guard said to me.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist. “You don’t know that.”
“She’ll be okay,” he repeated.
But I wasn’t so sure. Aunt Vivian definitely didn’t look okay. Meg suddenly appeared by my side carrying Aunt Vivian’s purse and shopping bags.
“Get my laptop,” she said to me.
“What?”
“I’m bringing your aunt’s car around. I’ll drive you to Asheville General.”
“But you don’t have your license.”
“My laptop! Hurry!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CRYPTIC MESSAGES
I trotted back into the lobby carrying a leaden feeling of hopelessness. Aunt Vivian, in an ambulance, just like she’d feared. “About the only exciting thing that happens at ‘the home’ is when an ambulance comes to
cart one of us away,” she’d told me in the car before we went inside the morgue. “God help me, Nick, I don’t want to go out that way. Let me tag along with you, please? I want to have some fun.”
Some fun.
The crowd of rubberneckers began to drift away. Bellhops loaded bags onto luggage carts; front desk clerks swiped credit cards as guests checked in. From the bar came the sound of ice cubes clanking into sturdy drinking glasses. I couldn’t get the sight of Aunt Vivian out of my mind. Dad’s right. Family is everything.
I had thought he was doing me a favor by letting me travel to Transylvania alone, and he was, but the real gift was Aunt Vivian. She was by far the best part of the trip. I had pictured Dad’s aunt as a cranky, demanding old woman who was annoyed at having to babysit me, but she’d been the exact opposite. I could tell all our running around had left her tired, but she hadn’t complained. Just the opposite — she acted like I should be doing more to catch the killer. Aunt Vivian had become the sweet grandmother I’d never had, the one they make movies about where the actress playing the part gets an Oscar. That’s what Aunt Vivian was — a Golden Globe — winning aunt.
I reached the area where we’d been sitting but stopped well short of the chairs. Meg’s laptop was open, lid up, with a line of text on the screen. I whirled around but didn’t see anyone darting away. I went over and peered down at the screen. Instantly my pulse began to race.
Congratulations, Nicholas, you ALMOST solved the case.
I jerked my head around again, expecting to find someone watching me, but saw no one. More text crawled across the page.
Sit, we need to talk.
I remained hunched over the laptop, my palms damp with sweat.
I said SIT!
Dropping into the chair, I angled the laptop so only I could read the mysterious message.
Too bad about your aunt. She seems like such a nice person. It would be a shame if something happened to her … or that sweet girl, Meg, who you like so much.
The frowning face made my stomach flip. I whipped my head around. No sign of Meg with Aunt Vivian’s Cadillac.
Forester was murdered, that much you guessed correctly, but not with a wooden stake. The medical examiner found enough viable muscle tissue to rule his death a heart attack, so you might say Forester died of a broken heart. That’s a little joke, Nicholas. I would expect at least a smile.
No way could I smile; my heart was racing too fast.
Lieutenant McAlhany can confirm the medical examiner’s findings. McAlhany received the autopsy report this evening, I made certain of it. In fact, I personally delivered Forester’s body to the Buncomb County medical examiner. I did not want you or the lieutenant drawing the wrong conclusions about this case. A jilted lover, indeed. How foolish you were to think Dr. Edwards could possibly kill someone. Or Barlow, Hamilton, or Forester’s wife. And of course now he cannot kill anyone. He’s dead too.
I checked over my shoulder, desperately hoping to see Aunt Vivian’s car pulling up.
Stop wasting time, Nicholas. Soon the dark shadows of dusk will fall upon the mountain and you know what that means. Now I’m afraid it is too late. Bad things must happen and you are to blame.
I scooted to the edge of the chair and tried to tamp down the feeling of panic building inside me.
Forester was not a vampire, but you knew this already. I added the fangs and bite marks. Nice touch, don’t you think? By the way, I left a comment for your editor on that foolish ghoul website explaining that you would not be filing the final draft of your story. We had a lovely chat; it’s all there in the replies, if you care to look. He sounded disappointed to learn he would be losing such an eager young reporter, but I assured him your untimely “termination” could not be avoided.
I took a final quick peek back at the drop-off area, hoping to see Aunt Vivian’s Cadillac. Meg, where are you? This isn’t funny.
You think you’re so smart, Nicholas Caden. You with your television show detecting. Can you guess what comes next? No? Do I have to draw you a map? Very well. I left one in the side pocket of your backpack.
I looked down and I saw my backpack and Barlow’s medical bag wedged between the chairs.
Yes, I retrieved your things for you. I knew you would not be returning to your room. Not … ever.
Now then, I “suspect” you have already guessed I am waiting for you. The map will lead you there. But just so you are not surprised when you arrive, here is a little riddle: Monsters like us “reign” forever. We “book” our rooms in caskets and caves and roam the countryside in both day and night, just like the wolf. You will find your aunt’s car parked under the “tree” at the graveyard.
“Suspect … book … reign … tree.” Raintree? He’s the killer?
Come alone, Nicholas. For Meg’s sake, come alone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DUSK TO DAWN
I found Aunt Vivian’s car parked in the middle of a weedy field near a row of grave markers. I had not told the resort’s shuttle driver the real reason I needed to get off the shuttle halfway down the mountain, only that I wanted to walk the hiking trail back up to the resort.
Standing by the road, I studied the instructions left to me in my backpack: Place your backpack and the medical bag on the front passenger seat and put your phone in the cup holder. I will know if you do not.
I did as ordered and slammed the car door shut. No tools and no way to call for help. Great. The route had been highlighted in yellow. My journey began with a large X next to the gnarled oak overlooking an abandoned graveyard. I knew I was walking into a trap, but what choice did I have? Aunt Vivian’s car parked in the field proved Raintree was deadly serious about me finding him alone.
A buzzard came winging in low and circled the giant oak before settling on a branch. Turkey vultures are scavengers. They feed almost exclusively on the carcasses of animals and rodents and have laser-sharp eyes. But it’s their keen sense of smell that draws them to roadside kills and wooded hills with freshly dug graves.
I choked down the bile rising in my throat. If I was going to catch the killer and save Meg, I needed to become as calm as Raintree.
I followed a serpentine path across matted grass toward the tree line. Mountain shadows had turned green pines purplish-blue. Crickets chirped, gnats buzzed. Several yards into the woods I found the old logging road mentioned on the map. The road was little more than a foot trail. Dusk settled over the forest; the air grew cool. With each step I felt smaller and weaker. I had to keep reminding myself that Meg was ahead of me, waiting for me to save her. It took every ounce of courage to keep from running back to the car and calling the lieutenant.
Or Dad.
I picked up the pace, walking briskly up the darkened path. I’d been walking maybe fifteen minutes when I came to a mossy area guarded by towering spruces and pines. Though an edge of light sky remained in the western sky, the moon was already up and growing brighter as the sun set behind the mountains. Ferns sprouted from dead tree stumps, and a wispy haze cloaked the ground. I kept telling myself it would be okay, that I’d find Meg and all of it would turn out to be one big hoax, that someone — maybe her — was yanking my chain. She had insisted Edwards wasn’t the killer. Maybe this was her way of getting back at me for thinking her boss was the killer.
All I could picture, though, was Meg getting into Aunt Vivian’s Cadillac and a cold hand stifling her screams.
The breeze bending the treetops carried with it the sour odor of rot and decay. Twilight is a time of endings. End of work, end of day, end of sunlight and the freedom it brings.
The cooing of the wind fell away, leaving only the sound of my footsteps crunching dried underbrush. I reached the spillway we’d crossed the night before and paused. Behind me I heard snapping and crunching, like something prowling about. I pivoted and strained to see through the dark gray mist. My pulse quickened. I remembered how the wolf dog had appeared out of the fog and moved with phantom speed as it chased the ca
rriage. Is there one or more? A pack, maybe?
My heart pounded against the walls of my chest. I began a slow, measured jog up the trail, trotting farther into the woods until only the moon’s silver light penetrated the mist. The moon’s glow gave the forest an eerie green, phosphorescent tint. Again, leaves rustled behind me; once more I stopped and looked. Now I heard the heavy pounding of something barreling through the forest, snapping limbs and crushing leaves underfoot.
I raced toward the sound of rushing water, knowing if I could reach Skull Creek I’d find sanctuary in the catacomb I’d used to escape the manor. If the map was accurate, it wasn’t far ahead.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement, looked left, and in the moonlight caught a glimpse of the wolf dog darting through the mist. Its shaggy fur glistened silver in the damp air. I darted behind a pine and stood perfectly still. The tree provided no comfort, none at all. The wolf dog went past the trees in a brisk, bouncy trot, the way an animal will when it’s on a scent and ready to sprint in for the kill.
Past me and toward the creek it trotted. Then I saw its prey. A stag buck stood on the opposite bank. Its rack was ten points at least. The deer lowered its head to graze by the water’s edge, then looked up quickly, presenting a long, meaty brown throat. For several long seconds the stag stood frozen in the silver moonlight.
I slipped from behind the tree and circled down toward the creek, moving away while being careful not to make a sound. I reached the creek a good ways downstream and paused, looking for smooth stones I could step on to cross. The stag bent its neck and looked at me. Large mule ears angled toward me.
The wolf dog sprang with a deathly silence. Its claws clamped onto the deer’s haunch and deadly fangs sank into the stag’s throat. A ragged, pulsating gash opened that sent blood spewing into the creek. Under the weight of the wolf dog, the stag’s front legs buckled, and both fell splashing into the gurgling water now brown with blood. For several horrifying seconds I stood stunned, too afraid to move as the deer fought to kick free, but with fierce bites the wolf dog ripped away large chunks of meat with a savageness that sickened me.
