by D C Young
That had been the case at the theater where Detective Tanner had removed the memories of the gruesome scenes we had encountered in that basement just hours before.
After seeing all that carnage and then bringing Mason and his goons down, it only took that bitch, Detective Tanner a few sentences to relieve Sherbet of all his memories of the take-down. He even forgot that I’d been right by his side as we’d uncovered the gruesome scene.
***
I sat carefully watching the crime scene investigators go about their business. Once I had processed what was going on around me, I realized there was missing something there. Something wasn’t quite gelling.
Everything seemed so matter-of-fact… seamless even. There were no hysterics. And I couldn’t help but wonder why was no one interviewing me? Other than Sherbet giving me a quick update, he had taken to ignoring me, too.
It was almost as if I wasn’t there. Then I realized, I wasn’t… not to them, anyway.
Someone sat next to me. I turned, startled. It wasn’t easy to sneak up on me.
There was, of course, only one person that I knew who could pull it off.
Although Detective Hanner’s eyes were looking at me, I sensed she was also aware of all the activity going on around us, too. Her eyes always seemed to be open a little too wide, a little too alert, as if she were always in a mild state of surprise. It looked like a conscious effort, something forced by someone who was trying too hard to look like something she wasn’t… human.
She stared at me without blinking for a long time. There was a light, like fire, just behind her pupils that seemed to burn with supernatural intensity. Maybe only I and others like me could see it, I wasn’t sure. Hers were not human eyes.
I waved my hand toward the action on the stage. “Are you the one responsible for this?”
“Just as much as you are, Sam.”
“What the H- E- double hockey sticks are you talking about?”
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know. You have drunk the blood of many who were slain here, Sam.”
“You told me that came from willing donors.”
“Some were more willing than others, Sam. But I recall telling you that quite often.”
“You never told me you killed people.”
She tilted her head a little. It was not a human gesture. It was alien. “I did not kill these people, Sam. I was only a buyer. And an active supporter of the arts.”
“You covered these crimes up.”
“Of course, I did. Mason was of value to me and our kind.”
“Sherbet knows everything now though,” I said. “Even about you.”
Her eyes flared. “Are you sure? I’ve removed the memory of your conversation. As I have done with all those here tonight. They don’t suspect our involvement, or that of our kind in any of this. In fact, most of them aren’t even aware that we’re sitting here, watching them.”
“How?”
“It’s not very difficult to do, Sam. With a little training, you could do the same. Especially you.”
“What does that mean, especially me?”
“You are...gifted. You display a wide range of...abilities.”
“I thought all vampires do what I do.”
She shook her head. “Not so, Sam. Very few can do what you do, although most of us possess typical gifts.”
“Gifts?”
“The ability to influence thoughts and change minds, minor psychic sensitivity, although only a few of us can transform into something greater.”
“Can you?”
“Sadly, no. You, my dear, are a rather rare breed.”
***
I had almost gotten tired of hearing that from Spinoza, Sherbet, Hanner, Kingsley, even Fang. But when I’d met Julia Agrippina and heard it from some of the oldest immortals I’d had the pleasure of encountering, I’d begun to think differently about the sentiment. My friend Max had put it most eloquently to me one day when we had been in the Occult Reading Room at Cal State Fullerton. It was a secret room that most people seemed to walk right past without noticing. In fact, there had been a time when I had seen exactly what they see… a wall with portraits of the founders of the University.
It was the day I had brought the diamond medallion to Max… apparently my special abilities were a direct by-product of the entity that resided within me. The dark Master that provided my vampirism and immortality among many other gifts, some of which I was yet to discover.
I was angry that day and I pressed Max for more than he was obviously willing to tell me plainly and in a way, he eventually did.
“Why me? Why am I the one finding all these medallions? Why do you help me? I’m just me, no one. Just a mom who got attacked a long time ago.”
Just then, I couldn’t help but notice the Librarian’s demeanor softening. He set the medallion down on the desk, near my agitated fingers, inhaled deeply and, for the first time ever, I saw the young man who wasn’t young express real emotions. To my surprise, that emotion was heartbreak.
I looked him in the eyes. I couldn’t read his mind, but I sensed there was something big going on here.
Suddenly, I sensed it from deep within me.
Then, I sensed it from her… The demon within.
A cold shiver ran up and down my spine. “The demon inside me...”
Chapter Six
“I’m headed to the Valley tomorrow… new case.”
“Really? I thought you were calling it for this year and taking some time to reflect and enjoy Christmas with the family.”
“That was the plan especially thinking how Christmases have generally gone since becoming a vampire…”
“Everything just gets weirder and weirder doesn’t it?”
“Only if you don’t take anything for granted,” I replied.
“That’s an occupational hazard on both our parts, Sam.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“So, what’s the case about?”
“Disappearing cattle.”
“What?” Kingsley cried, almost choking on a mouthful of the cabernet sauvignon he was sipping.
“I know it sounds completely out of control but from what I’ve been told by my client, the small coop of ranches he belongs to lost almost 200 pregnant cows while driving them through a stockade to their winter grazing grounds on an adjacent ranch.”
“So they just vanished?”
“Pretty much.”
“Sam, I don’t know how much you know about cattle ranching but that is literally impossible. A stockade is an enclosed corridor that they use as a sort of cow highway between fields or farms. There’s no way out except by a gate along the fence line or at either end.”
“I know that, Kingsley,” I replied lifting my glass of Sauvignon Blanc. “That’s why I’m so excited about heading out there… no ghosts or even chupacabras, just a good old fashioned who-dunnit.”
Just then the waiter came up looking like he was about to topple under the weight of all their dinner paraphernalia. We’d both ordered from the specials menu; Kingsley had gotten a huge porterhouse steak and three side dishes while I had gone for a sizzling carne asada platter that came with fresh corn tortillas, sliced avocado and fried plantains.
Loving this food eating ring… had I mentioned that?
In addition to the giant tray, he also carried a folding stand to set the tray on beside the table. The poor man was also trying to balance the bottle of Modelo Especial I had decided to get with my food at the same time. To his credit, he made it without incident, got everything placed on the table correctly and even poured my beer before leaving.
I should remember to leave his tip. Big meanie over here never adds more than ten percent to the bill and the fellow would have to jump through fiery hoops to even get that much.
The beef was rare, as I still preferred it but kissed tenderly by the open flames and seasoned with all the wonderful Mexican spices the chef could conjure for the meal. The tortillas were warm and s
oft and the avocados crisp with flavor. It was entirely delicious. I even made a small taco of the food for Kingsley to taste and of course, he agreed it was very good. His steak was medium but I cut a piece off and tasted it at his insistence. The superior cut of grass-fed Angus was remarkable and so were the garlic and herb mashed potatoes, baked mac and cheese and skillet cornbread he’d ordered to go with it.
Wonderful, delicious food! That is all!
The plates were cleaned and I was relaxing, sipping on what was left of my beer before Kingsley spoke again.
“So all you have to do is find the missing cows?”
“I wouldn’t say that. The guy advanced me ten grand, I think I should at least find one culprit who can be arrested for the crime.”
Kingsley nodded. “Indeed, at least one.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean, Mister?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s just I’ve never seen you go into an investigation with the thought to do the bare minimum. I just had a vision of the entire administrative structure of this little cooperative ranching outfit being shaken until something falls loose.”
I laughed. “You just might know me too well, friend.”
We talked well up until closing time and even after the other tables had been cleared and patrons had left the restaurant, our waiter stayed close and very attentive. I left an extra fifty under my beer bottle for him that night… he deserved it.
***
The next day, I was on my way to Modesto. I wasn’t certain why I was looking forward to the drive and the open road so much but the anticipation was real. At Kingsley’s suggestion, I rented a Chevy Tahoe for the trip expecting the terrain to get a little rougher once I hit Highway 132 and started heading east towards Coulterville and the Foothills at the edge of the Yosemite National Park. The Silver Creek, Blue Corn and Hermosa ranches covered quite a bit of the ground in a place called Granite Springs and that would also be the scene of the crime.
I’d never been that far into the Central Valley before, despite all my years living in South California. I’d been to Sacramento once, San Francisco a couple of times, but that was about it. I did know that it was a very diverse place and fruitful… very fruitful. There were farms, vineyards and ranches everywhere and most of the economy in the area was based around some form of agricultural enterprise.
The drive across L.A. was daunting for a Sunday afternoon but it was only a week and a half until Christmas… people were scurrying everywhere trying to get all the gifts their bank accounts could afford and their little hands could carry. I shook my head in dismay. I was glad of the three gifts rule Danny, my very dead ex-husband, and I had developed as a Christmas tradition in our household. Mary Lou and Rick have the same rule too. I can still hear Danny trying to explain to a whining Anthony why he would only get three gifts while Tammy… always trying to act older than she actually was… rolled her eyes dramatically.
Baby Jesus got three gifts; if three were good enough for Him then three are good enough for you!
Damn right! Our kids got a gift from each of us and one from Santa Claus… or the Christmas Spirit as he became known once they stopped believing in Santa, anything else they got from relatives was extra and they were free to ply their aunt and uncle for whatever extras they wanted; whether they actually got it or not was besides the point. Actually, for the past few years, Rick and Mary Lou had given up on trying to shop for their aging niece and nephew and had resolved to buy them gift cards which the kids enjoyed immensely.
These young’uns of today!
As my mind came back to Interstate 5 stretching out in front of me, I realized how much I was enjoying the ride in the SUV and laughed at how un-Californian it was to admit that. It was giving me great gas mileage and handling like a dream so I was happy I’d taken Kingsley’s advice.
It took me just over two hours to get to the interchange with Highway 99 and another three before I arrived in Modesto. I stopped to grab a bite to eat and pondered spending the night there but there was a double room in an old boarding house in Blanchard with my name on it and it seemed best to get to my destination and be settled in before my meeting with Earnest early the next morning.
Chapter Seven
“Let’s go ahead and bring that last sixty head in for handling tomorrow morning,” Juanita Esperanza announced as she stepped into the office of her ranch manager, Bill Kellerman.
Bill looked up from the computer screen and acknowledged Juanita’s presence. She was a little overdressed for a dairy farm, especially for being out in the barn. He tried not to take in the shapely curves of the forty-something woman who strolled through the doorway and stood looking out the large window, which overlooked the milking barn below.
“Same processing as the last bunch?” he asked. In spite of himself, he couldn’t help where his eyes wandered, especially when she leaned on the sill of the window, which highlighted the fullness of one of her best features.
Juanita looked back over her left shoulder, noticed him staring at her and smiled. Turning his eyes away quickly had been useless, he’d been caught and there was no need denying it. She straightened herself and turned around, still grinning.
She pushed the smile from her face. “Preg test, vaccinate and then send them into the quarantine shed.” They were the same directions she’d given him for each of the last two bunches of sixty head they’d brought in. Before that, she’d been acquiring much smaller bunches. “Do we have space for them?”
“I’ll move everything out of the milking and maternity shed and into the main herd in the morning,” he responded, keeping his tone businesslike and hoping that she would forget that she’d caught him leering at her. It wasn’t easy to keep his eyes off of his boss. She looked good in a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, boots and her hair tied up, but the curve hugging number that she had on that evening was particularly enticing. It showed off a long pair of smooth caramel legs and revealed an ample amount of what rounded her out up above. If that hadn’t been enough to keep him staring, her waist-length, glistening black hair, large dark eyes and full lips probably would have.
Bill watched her consider sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, change her mind, snatch a Weekly Dairy Bulletin from his desk, spread it out over the seat of the chair and then perch herself on it. “Let’s go over a few numbers while I’m here,” she smiled.
It wasn’t out of the ordinary, so Bill knew which numbers she was talking about. He opened the spreadsheet file on his computer and then started to give her a report on numbers and cattle, which ones were due to have their calves and would be coming fresh, how many cattle were being milked, how many gallons they were producing and some bottom line figures of gross profit verses net profit for the month-to-date.
“Those numbers aren’t quite up to where I wanted them to be,” Juanita frowned.
“We haven’t really hit that place where we’re singing yet,” Bill replied.
“I know,” she replied. “I’ve just got to be patient and keep growing my herd. The ones coming in tomorrow will help.”
She pushed her lower lip out into a seductive pout and then focused her eyes on her hands in her lap. Bill wasn’t sure if it was for show or if something was really bothering her, so he waited. When she didn’t look up or speak after a few moments, he decided to ask.
“Is everything okay?”
Juanita smiled inside, but kept the troubled look on her face. That, and Bill’s more than obvious desire for her, were two of her best tools for keeping him under complete control. Paying him double what most ranch managers made didn’t hurt either. Whoever said loyalty couldn’t be bought was a fool. “I don’t know.” She drew out her hesitation. “I guess I’m worried.”
“A hundred and eighty head is going to make quite a bit of difference,” Bill pointed out.
“It’s not that,” she sighed. She kept her eyes focused on the floor, counting out several beats before looking up at Bill. “What if someone finds out?�
�
“Nobody is going to find out,” Bill replied. “At least not from me.”
“At some point, people are going to wonder where Caldera Ranch came from as it suddenly rises up and becomes one the biggest and most prosperous dairy operations in the area.” Juanita wasn’t worried at all, she had those possibilities covered and she hadn’t left many tracks, but by seeming vulnerable, she drew Bill in and strengthened his loyalty.
“We’re covering those bases, boss,” Bill replied. “If anyone starts asking questions, we’ll have all the right answers for them.”
“You’re sure?” She allowed an expression of perplexity to linger.
“I’m sure,” Bill replied, watching her and wishing that he could hold her; well, do a lot more than that, but holding her would be a good start.
“You’re so good to me, Bill,” Juanita beamed, seizing the moment to leap up from the chair and make her way around the desk. She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her ample breasts into him firmly. “I probably don’t deserve anyone like you.”
“You take good care of me,” he muttered into her neck as he became intoxicated by the scent of her high-end Parisian perfume mixed with the scent of her hair, which smelled as if it had been washed in rose petals.
“I do, don’t I?” she responded as she released him and stood. She patted his cheek with a little more force than a tender touch. Her eyes changed from troubled to threatening. She backed away from him moved toward the door and pushed it open. Before she stepped through, she paused and faced him. Her eyes glistened with a warning. “Try to keep that in mind.”
She allowed her words to sink in by fixing her eyes directly upon Bill’s and holding them there for several long beats and then she smiled her brightest smile and in a musical tone said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Juanita had no doubts that Bill was fully onboard with her, but it was always good to drop some reminders. Being dressed the way she was for an evening out had provided a perfect opportunity for her to provide a reminder for Bill. She knew the man often had to fight off a hard on when she was dressed in her regular ranch clothes and so would be deemed entirely helpless when she was dressed in a form-fitting dress and matching stilettos. She laughed softly as she picked her way through the gravel between the barn and cobblestone drive that separated her from the Hollywood style ranch house. There was one more person to check in on before she left for a special 90th birthday celebration of the Stockton Symphony Orchestra.
