The Bloody Mary Diet: The Detective Adele Series Book 1

by Caroline Stuchlik

  I asked him how he knew and he just shook his head. It had been fifteen years. I was lucky to have gotten what I did but it did show something. You don’t remember something that long unless you really believe it. Unless it really bothers you. I stand up to thank him and he offers to walk me out. He had only come in to talk to me anyway.

  We are complaining about the wet weather as we leave the building and when we exit the door it hits us in the face. Drizzle mixed with smoke. The McNeil house is on fire. I can hear sirens in the distance and a car is pulling away from the curb. I hear a choking noise next to me and I turn just in time to see Prof. Roberts start to fall. I lower him to the pavement as best I can but I know he is gone. His eyes are blank.

  I push the button on my radio, identify myself and ask for back up. Address, civilian down, witnessed arrest, starting compressions. I drop my radio and begin CPR. I know it is too late. I know he is gone. It wasn’t his heart that killed him but it is no longer beating. So thirty compressions and two breaths for what seems like forever. I know who will come first. I can hear the Alfa Romeo over the sirens.

  From the time I place the call to the time the medics are on scene is four minutes but only because they have to get by the fire equipment that is at the house. My call came in second. It is a very long four minutes.

  That bitch killed him. I felt her do it and if I wasn’t more powerful then she is she would have killed me too. She reached in and crushed his heart and then she turned on me. I shoved her back hard just seconds before the car pulled away. She was in that car. Her anchor was in that car. I know it but you can’t charge a ghost with murder so I am going to have to find her before she kills and dumps this one. Trevor is here. I show him what I saw in my mind and we move together toward the burning house.

  The roof is engaged on one corner but the fire seems to be burning itself out. The smoke is almost gone. By the time we get to the drive Trevor has called Michaels for back up and asked for forensics as well. I know better than to argue when he gets that look. In addition to being crazy violent Michaels is smart and fair. He won’t fuck you up unless you deserve it but if you deserve it you will be properly fucked. Count on it. I have no idea how old he is or how he knows Trevor but every time I have ever had real trouble they both have showed up at about the same time in separate vehicles without any call from me. I don’t know what the link is, just that there is a link. He is also the hottest guy in the city next to my husband.

  Michael is the fastest driver on earth anyway and we only have a minute to talk. Trevor points at the driveway. It is at the opposite end of the house from the fire and it leads to the backyard gate. A muddy shovel leans against the garage door and muddy foot prints go in and out and down the drive. It has been raining all day. These are new. I take out my phone and start taking pictures. The drive, the shovel, the open gate.

  Michael shows up with the bugs and worms guys and we all go into the backyard together. I am the only witch but you would have to be in a coma to not feel the evil coming from this place. She was here and in some way still is. There is a hole by the far fence. A hole about the size of a shallow grave. One of the forensics guys holds up a muddy women’s shoe. We tape off the backyard and declare it a crime scene.

  We all head back to the station to wait for the forensic reports. I need to call around and find out what the official cause of death was for Gretchen McNeil. I am starting to feel like this might be even worse than I had initially thought. If Christine Vail was the real vic 1 then Gretchen McNeil might have been the real vic 2. If I can tie Christine Vail to Gretchen McNeil then we have two fifteen year old cold case murders as opposed to one and Prof. McNeil knew about it this whole time. I wonder if Creepy Carl would have the records. I don’t know how long they keep these things on sight.

  I need to make one call before I head to the evidence room. Yesterday, I can’t believe it was just yesterday, Trevor had managed to get an old phone number from the roommate. It had belonged to her parents and it was 15 years old so it is a long shot but I decide to try. A woman picks up on the third ring. My number comes in on caller ID as San Fran PD and I always identify myself as a police officer. She responds in a much put out tone, “And how can I help you.”

  “I have some questions about Christine Vail, I believe she was your daughter.”

  “She is my daughter.”

  “My apologies, she is your daughter. Some new information has come up regarding her case and I was wondering if you could provide me with any information regarding her whereabouts or her disappearance.”

  “Christine disappeared to us when she left for San Francisco. I have no information or interest from that point.”

  “Maybe I have not made myself clear. I am a member of the Greater San Francisco Practitioners Council and I am investigating your daughter’s disappearance and possible murder and I would appreciate any assistance you can give me.”

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Detective Catherine Olivia Adele, my grandmother is a Sawyer witch and my great grandmother was as well.”

  “Regardless of your pedigree I have no interest in the where a bouts of my daughter. If you have any further questions regarding this you may contact my attorney.” She gives me her attorneys name and hangs up. What a bitch!!!

  A quick online check of the family shows that they are very active and prominent in the Boston majiking community. Her pedigree doesn’t trump mine but it matches it. Up until Salem witches traced their lineage though the maternal line. She is still a bitch. I find her e-mail address on the Boston Practitioners web site. I quickly go on-line and fill out every questionnaire and enter every contest I can find giving her name, address, email and home phone. Welcome to telemarketer, spam, and junk mail hell. Don’t fuck with me, later I will go online and order her a bunch of magazines, maybe even porn, and have it billed and delivered to her address. I wonder if that is legal? I will have to ask IT. They probably won’t know but they will think it is funny and I would be negligent if I didn’t at least check with someone.

  No wonder Christine is such a head case.

  If her mom doesn’t care enough to talk to me I will have to go to the Boring Brigade headquarters and look though the evidence room. I doubt I will find much but I am probably not going to get anything out of anyone else at this point. I make one last quick call using my blocked number to ask Mrs. Vail’s attorney if you can sue someone for giving you an STD. I leave the Vail home number as a call back. It is a legitimate question and I bet you don’t know the answer so don’t judge.

  I am not going to tell Trevor where I am going. I am still a little pissed about the whole vampire servant married thing. And he can find me anyway so what’s the point.

  I walk out of the station and hail a cab. The evidence room is at the regular station and no one will want to look for evidence from a fifteen year old cold case on a Saturday. I jump in the cab and call the city morgue. No one answers so I call Jan and tell her where I am going. I feel bad. I should have told Trevor. I leave a message for Jan and think about what I can hope to find in the evidence room. There was no body, so no DNA, it wasn’t reported until weeks after the potential abduction took place and until today there was no way to rule out the possibility that she just walked off. We will have to wait for the forensics report just to get that.

  We seem to have been driving too long and I stop thinking long enough to look around. That’s when I notice that we are not heading to the new station. We are almost outside city limits. I ask the cabbie if he is lost he gives me a creepy smile and says, “No, but you might be.”

  I look at the man in the mirror and he is sporting a serious pair of fangs. His face does not match the ID hanging on the dash below. This man is not a cabbie. Demetri has me. Fuck, I should have told Trevor.

  We are driving on an open stretch of road and I can’t possibly jump out at this speed. I am along for the ride. I scroll my phone to Trevor’s number, hold the phone in my lap and wai
t for him to pick up. When he does I start talking, loud. He has vampire hearing and I know I don’t have to but I can’t help it. I am nervous. I tell the driver that I know he is working for Demetri and that everyone else will as soon as they notice I am not at my meeting. He laughs and says they want Trevor to know. How will he know how to behave if he doesn’t know who will suffer the repercussions. Good point. I tell the guy driving the cab that Seams Street is a shitty area and he gives me a funny look. Big points for being too stupid to take my phone. The GPS is picking up every turn and I am sure Trevor is recording every word. I hear Trevor’s voice in my head, “Stay on as long as you can.”

  “I love you, Trevor.” I feel him in my head. I hope it is not just my imagination.

  We pull up in front of a very posh two story house in the middle of nowhere. I managed to give the last street name I saw but I have no idea where we are. I am still on the phone and I have managed to say the cab number and the ID on the badge. The guy driving is as dumb as a box of rocks. He knows I have my phone, does he think I am not going to use it? I can only hope whoever is in the house is just as stupid. The last thing I do as the car comes to the stop is slip the phone under the car seat as far back as I can.

  The driver opens my door and drags me out. He is way bigger than me and I don’t resist but he slams my head against the door a couple of times anyway. When we get to the top of the stairs and he opens the door we are greeted by several other vampires all wearing similar suits. They all look very cheap and very greasy, I know none of these guys can be Demetri. The biggest one comes up to us. He asks how it went and my driver, Victor, says “It went fine. She’s just a girl.”

  Big laughs all around. I swear to God, when I am out of here I am going to do a study to prove there is a correlation between being extremely stupid and extremely mean. Like, how many skin heads are members of MENSA, I am betting not a lot. The average IQ of members of the Westborough Baptist Church, probably significantly below average. I wonder how these jackasses have the brain power to get dressed in the morning.

  The big guy asks if he patted me down and Viktor answers, “No, I was driving.”

  Big guy smiles like he just won the lottery and I realize that I am just about to get felt up in a very public way.

  By the time they shove me into an attic room I have been totally molested and slapped several times but no one has asked me a single question. Not even one. Those assholes can underestimate me all day long as far as I am concerned. They may have got to slap my butt and laugh but I got to leave my phone turned on in the stolen car out front. Trevor will know where I am by now and it’s just a matter of time until he and Michaels get here.

  Demetri should have hired smarter flunkies.

  It is very dark and very cold in the small attic room. If I had known I was going to be abducted I would have dressed more appropriately. Flats and a coat would be good because these heals and my thin jacket are just not doing it. A protein bar and some bottled water would also be nice. Maybe next time.

  I raise a small witch light and I can see a few pieces of old furniture in the room along with some old magazines and papers. They must have paid extra for the spider webs because there are a ton of them. One of the pieces of furniture is a dresser with a small broken mirror. I walk over to check my reflection. My face will be a mass of bruises. What kind of sicko gets off on slapping a girl in the face? I slide down the wall and try to think. I have to get out of here. It’s only a matter of time until they think of more fun things to do with me and I don’t want to be here when they do.

  I feel a tickle inside my left ear. I put my finger up to it and it comes out cover in blood. My left ear is bleeding from the inside. That is probably not good.

  The room doesn’t offer a lot in the way of comfort but I am able to find a broken shard of glass. I use it to carve a protection spell into the floor of the attic. It is a warding spell designed to keep evil away. It’s not strong enough to make them leave but it will make them feel very uncomfortable. Like listening to nails on a chalk board or Nancy Grace. Relatively harmless but irritating. I use the blood from my ear to cover my hand and place it in the middle of the protection rune. Witch’s blood really amps up a spell and since I have some readily available I figure, WTF.

  I watch as the carving fades slowly into the floorboards along with my bloody handprint. My people don’t use blood majik or anything with spells. Majik like that is never free. Never. It may not cost you anything today or tomorrow but someday, and for the rest of your life. I may have stolen that.

  The men downstairs start arguing. They are feeling the effect of the spell and it is making them uncomfortable. Because they are assholes they start taking it out on the only other people there. Each other. Maybe they will all be dead by the time Trevor and Michaels get here. It is definitely turning violent from what I can hear. They may tear down the whole house. Shitheads.

  They looked in my handbag when I arrived but no one seemed to notice my phone was missing. I guess it must have occurred to one of them that this was odd because I hear someone coming up the stairs, someone who is yelling about a cell phone and they are very pissed off about it. I guess they couldn’t all be completely stupid. Someone had to think of stealing the cab, just for instance. I use majik to lock the door and jam it closed just as they grab the handle and start pounding. I can hold this for a very long time but not forever and the wood on the door looks like it could give at any minute.

  The only way out is a tiny window on what is effectively a third floor dormer. I am tiny so I can fit but I am not sure I want to fall that far. When I get the window open I look down, not an option. I look up and it is iffy but doable. I think I can get to the roof. As soon as I am standing on the window sill holding on to the roof I picture the room bursting into flames and it does! I have never been able to do that before. I am getting way better at this witch stuff. Adrenaline is such a rush.

  The noise of the fire should cover anything I need to do to get out of here and keep it will keep them busy. Just for good measure I seal all the doors and windows, both the interior and the exterior ones. I can’t do everything majik but I am very imaginative with the things I can do. Hopefully being locked in a burning house will occupy their little minds while I think of a way to get away. I set another fire on the first floor just to make sure. I hope they all get bruises on their bums.

  I hop up onto the roof and as I am running along the roof line I hear a car. It’s a vintage Jag, restored and painted a candy apple red. I watch it pull up as I bend down to crouch on the roof. No one ever thinks to look up when they are trying to find someone but I am not taking any chances. A huge man jumps out and runs toward the house. I see him drop what looks like his keys. Kick ass.

  Smoke and flames are pouring out the upper windows. There is an oak tree on the other end of the house that reaches over a second story ledge. If I don’t fall and kill myself I might make it to the tree in time to avoid burning to death in the fire I set.

  I am so good at making good plans. Just really good.

  I make it to the tree just as he knocks in the front door and goes into the house. I jump to the ground and run to grab the keys. They are the keys to the Jag. I am saved, sort of. I torch the front porch and reseal the door to buy some extra time. I have only driven once or twice before so there is a pretty good chance that I still suck at it but I have to try. I grab a large rock and smash the front windshields of the three other cars out front. I can’t stop them from following me but I can slow them down. I jump in the Jag, crank it up and try to turn it around in the front yard. I accidently hit the cab and one of the other cars in the process. Twice. I am not totally sure but I think I may still suck at driving.

  I hit the third car on purpose. Twice. I am getting better.

  When I am facing the drive I take a look back at the house. It is almost completely engulfed and no one has come out yet. They are probably still trying to get me. Dead hostages are way less fun to torture and
if they want to use me against Trevor they need me alive. I know they probably won’t die from the fire but it’s still funny. I totally can’t wait to tell the guys at the station.

  Thank God we are in the middle of nowhere because I have managed to hit about three things in the last five minutes and none of them were even moving. One was a mailbox and one was a perfectly innocent looking street sign. If I had to contend with other traffic someone might die.

  The Jag is a full size sedan and it is pimped. It has a cherry dash that is probably original and a sound system that is definitely not. The leather is new and it is too tacky for words. I don’t even feel bad about trashing it. I drive for about twenty more minutes and wish that I had a cell phone. I need to get off the road because in all likely hood this car is equipped with some kind of GPS and even with missing windshields in the other cars they will be looking for me soon.

  I need to find a barn or somewhere I can hide a car and figure out how to call Trevor. It takes about another five minutes but I find a bridge with a gradual slope that I can pull off on and hopefully under the bridge. As I start to steer over to the side and down the slope I step on the gas instead of the break and end up in the stream with blood gushing from my nose. I didn’t break the steering wheel with my face but I had definitely tried. Thankfully I am in shock or this would probably hurt like a bitch.

  It really is a good thing I don’t drive because I really am bad at it.

  When my eyes start to clear I look more closely at the dash. It definitely has a GPS. Shit. I also notice a hands free phone. I weigh my options and call Trevor’s cell. He picks up on the first ring. I tell him that it is me and that I am alive. I don’t mention my broken nose and probable concussion. He says he will find me and to stay where I am.