Blood in the Batter

by Melissa Monroe

  Immense relief flooded Simon’s face, and he bent over Avalon’s shoulder to examine the screen. Priscilla didn’t miss the glance down at Avalon’s cleavage either. She ground her teeth. This man was no good.

  “That will be seventy-five dollars, Miss Pratt,” he informed her coldly.

  Priscilla was grateful she’d withdrawn a large amount in anticipation of paying Scott Allen. She pulled out her wallet and peeled off the bills, placing them in a stack in front of the doctor. He counted them and then frowned.

  “This is too much, Priscilla. You’ve given me five hundred.”

  “For Ms. Sheppard’s son,” she said coolly. “I’m not sure what’s wrong, but I’m sure that will cover the majority of it. And if there’s anything left over, clean the poor woman’s teeth. I doubt she’s had a checkup in years.”

  She hadn’t thought that Simon’s stare could grow anymore steely. She’d been wrong.

  “Get out of my office,” he said quietly, pocketing the cash. “Right now.”

  Priscilla hiked her bag further up her arm. At least she’d gotten what she’d come for. Her mouth was clean, and her bag contained evidence that might lead to an arrest. She didn’t feel guilty for angering the odious little man.

  Avalon bounced up from her seat. “That means I’ll have to be going too,” she said.

  “What? But you’re good at this. I could use the help. Stay.”

  “I can’t, dear,” she replied breezily. “I’m the designated driver while the sun is up. Toodles.”

  “At least take my card,” Simon insisted. “We can discuss employment at a later date.”

  Avalon waited patiently while Simon retrieved a card from behind the counter. His hand lingered too long on hers as he gave it to her. Priscilla resisted the urge to slap his hands. With the way her luck had been going, he’d probably file a police report claiming assault. And Arthur was in such a foul mood, he might use the pretense to take her in for a night.

  The sun had risen even higher in the sky by the time they stepped outside. Priscilla groaned. She hated midday sun. It was like someone had shoved two spikes into her eye sockets and twisted them until they were raw.

  Avalon helped her into the passenger’s seat. Priscilla was grateful she’d put on a camisole beneath her blouse. It enabled her to pull the fabric over her head without exposing herself to oncoming traffic.

  “What an unpleasant little man,” Avalon remarked as she put the car in drive. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m going to work for him.”

  “About that, Godmother …”

  Ava groaned. “Don’t go dragging me into this scheme, Priscilla. I don’t need the drama.”

  “We both know that’s malarkey. You live for drama.”

  Avalon sniffed. “That might be the case, but I’m not signing up for sexual harassment, Priscilla. A girl has to have limits.”

  “What can I give you that will convince you to do this?” Priscilla asked. “I have a feeling about him, Ava. I think he might be our man. He had a cut on his forearm that required stitches. There’s blood on the broken glass of my upstairs window. I don’t think it’s just a coincidence. But I need more than a gut feeling to take to Arthur.”

  True, she had the blood sample, but that didn’t give her any definitive proof. She didn’t even have a motive. All she knew was that something had transpired between the dentist and his receptionist around the time of the murder. Why else would Simon have gotten so uptight and ordered them to leave?

  Avalon considered the question for a few minutes before answering. “A date with Arthur. And it has to be a good one. No drive-thrus or takeout. I want a real, sit-down date. That’s what I’m asking for.”

  She might as well have asked for the moon. Priscilla doubted that Arthur would agree under the best of circumstances. He was a recent widower and wouldn’t want to date anyone so soon. It had been embarrassing enough for the pair of them when he’d pretended to date Priscilla in order to attend a party she was catering. It had been necessary to solve a murder at the time. To go on a date with a woman he didn’t care for … well, Priscilla thought the odds of that were slim.

  And to make things worse, she’d gone and ticked him off by dragging Scott Allen into his interrogation room to defend Maddison. Priscilla didn’t regret what she’d done, but she had to admit it had had some unforeseen and unfortunate ramifications.

  “I’ll put in a good word,” Priscilla said. It was all she could do. Avalon’s silence told her that she didn’t like that at all, so she hastily added, “And besides, think of all the undercover work you’ll get to do on Arthur’s behalf. I’m sure he’ll be very impressed.”

  The impromptu addition seemed to please Avalon. “I can break out my spy wardrobe.”

  “Try not to be conspicuous, Avalon. It sort of defeats the point of going undercover.”

  “I’ll be inconspicuous, Priscilla. I promise.”

  And maybe she’d be out throwing salt on the ground when hell froze over.

  Chapter Six

  Priscilla met Anna covertly at Secondhand Spellbooks, the new addition to Bellmare’s small businesses. It had apparently been open for a few months, but she’d either been too busy to notice the grand opening in the papers, or simply hadn’t cared enough to go.

  Priscilla hoped it was the former, but depressingly realized it could also be the latter to blame.

  The place smelled like coffee and book glue. The shop was rather large and could hold quite a few bookcases. Nearby, a grouping of plush armchairs sat around a wooden coffee table. Stylish little coasters were scattered around, just in case someone wanted to set their coffee down.

  Olivia had neglected to mention that Diane Webb didn’t just sell used books. She also acted as a part-time barista in her own shop. So far, Priscilla hadn’t seen any other employees and assumed that Diane must be doing all the service herself. It might have been impressive to see her working during a rush hour, but right now the shop was pretty much dead, which was advantageous for Priscilla’s purpose in being here.

  She placed the wadded-up bib in Anna’s hand. “Voila!”

  “… a snot-rag?”

  “No,” Priscilla said with an exasperated sigh. “There’s a tissue inside that contains the DNA of a suspect. I need you to get this to your father.”

  She and Anna were sitting at a table, and Anna was leafing through a book as she waited for Diane Webb to arrive with her coffee.

  “Please tell me you haven’t been sneaking around, Priscilla. He’s really mad at you right now.”

  “No sneaking,” Priscilla lied, putting on her most sincere mask. “I just happened to be having my teeth cleaned and noticed that Mr. Grant has a deep gash in his arm. Deep enough it required stitches, in fact. I just thought your father might be interested in what I observed.”

  Anna closed her fingers around the bib with a sigh. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?” Priscilla asked. “Until forensic teams finish, I’m stuck living in the bed and breakfast outside of town, and I’ve only bought myself two changes of clothes. I’m going stir-crazy, Anna. I want to get back to work. Of all the shops in Bellmare, why did he have to die in mine?”

  Anna shrugged. She looked tired, with dark circles beneath her eyes. That was strange. Priscilla would have thought that being free from work for a few days would have let her sleep in. It looked like she hadn’t slept at all in the days since the murder.

  “What’s wrong, Anna? You don’t look well.”

  “It’s nothing,” Anna said quickly.

  Priscilla stared her down until she began to squirm.

  “All right, all right. It’s something. Just a few little things here and there. I’m not sick, I promise.”

  “I never said you were. What are these little things, and is it anything I can help with?” she asked.

  “Well, your crazy godmother got ahold of our new phone number and has been calling the
house nonstop, even at night. That’s why I look all Night of the Living Dead. If you could find a bug trap about Ava’s size, that’d be great.”

  She felt a pang of guilt at that. She’d known Ava would be relentless, but had hoped that she’d be bothering Arthur, not Anna. “And the other things?”

  “Thing,” Anna corrected. “And … it’s nothing you can help with.”

  “Tell me anyway. It might help to talk about it.”

  “Jamie and I are fighting.”

  Priscilla had to wonder if that might also be her fault, because of her interference in the investigation. None of the officers had seemed particularly pleased with her after that. Jamie Emmerson was the youngest member of Bellmare PD at twenty-eight years old. He was a smart, attractive young man, but a little too old for Anna, in Priscilla’s opinion. There was an almost seven-year age gap between the two. But Priscilla couldn’t exactly throw stones at her assistant. After all, she’d run away with and married her sire who’d been over a hundred years older.

  “I’m sorry,” Priscilla murmured. “Was it because I called Allen? You know I don’t mean to come between you two. Maybe we can convince Rebecca Brown to give us use of her kitchen for an hour. I could make sugar cookies as a belated birthday present.”

  “It isn’t all your fault, Priscilla. Don’t go taking the blame. He’s being a stubborn, stupid jerk and I’m not talking to him again until he apologizes. Him and Dad.”

  “You can’t give them the cold shoulder forever, Anna.”

  “I can try,” she said stubbornly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You got Maddison the legal counsel she was justly entitled to by the law that they are sworn to uphold. Some of the names that Jamie called you were awful and he needs to apologize.”

  “Not to me,” Priscilla said. “I knew what I did was going to upset them. It was only to be expected. If you want an apology from them, have it be for Maddison. She’s the one wearing an ankle tracker.”

  Anna stuffed the bib-covered tissue into her rucksack and scowled. “I’ll get it to Dad later tonight, but I’m not talking to him.”

  Priscilla couldn’t help a small smile. “Then how will you stop him from throwing it away? After all, it resembles a snot-rag according to you.”

  “Okay, fine,” she huffed, glaring down at her own book. “I’ll tell him what it is. But he’s only getting reheated fish sticks for dinner. And Jamie doesn’t deserve sugar cookies.”

  “Have you celebrated his birthday at all?” Priscilla asked pointedly. “It will only upset him further if not.”

  “It’s not my fault somebody died on his birthday,” Anna said defensively. “And it’s not my fault he started acting like a jerk when I brought him a surprise birthday treat.”

  Priscilla sighed. “Please try to reconcile with your father and Jamie, Anna. This is already a hard time for them without any extra antagonism on your part. I’ll do what I can to stop Ava if you make up with them.”

  Anna pursed her lips and didn’t answer. Diane Webb finally sauntered over with Anna’s coffee and set it in front of her. Priscilla didn’t have to ask what decade Ms. Webb had been turned. For this vampire, the 1920s had never left.

  Diane Webb’s caramel-colored hair had been cut in a stylish bob that fell just beneath her sharp chin. She still wore the round, black-rimmed spectacles that were the style of the day, though Priscilla doubted she needed them. Perhaps that had also helped her overlook the fact that this woman was a vampire. If she’d been paying close attention, the clothing should have been a dead giveaway.

  Priscilla had no doubt that the pieces that Diane wore were her own, from almost a century before. After all, stockings were not in regular fashion anymore, and those that were worn beneath dresses and skirts were made of nylon, not silk. The pleats of her A-line skirt were crisply ironed, and the jacket she wore over the whole ensemble was trimmed with real fur. Priscilla was sure the long strand of pearls around her neck had been passed down to her by her mother or older sister.

  The look the woman gave her was almost disdainful as she glanced over Priscilla’s wrinkled blouse and slacks. Priscilla hadn’t bothered to change when she’d reached her temporary home at Brown’s Bed and Breakfast and had fallen asleep shortly after closing the curtains.

  “Can I get you anything?” the woman asked her finally.

  Priscilla gave her a smile wide enough to flash fangs. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry at the moment.”

  Diane frowned at her and strode away. Anna clutched at her cup tightly, staring thoughtfully at the brown liquid within.

  “It just feels like a surrender,” Anna finally muttered. “They’re hurting my friends. I don’t want to tell them that’s okay.”

  “It isn’t okay,” Priscilla said, patting her free hand. “But repaying insult with insult isn’t the way, Anna.”

  Her lips quirked slightly. “For someone who hasn’t been to church in over three hundred years, you still have quite a propensity for quoting scripture.”

  “I was a Puritan. I was taught to read using the Bible. I’d be disappointed in myself if I didn’t remember these things.”

  Anna took a long drink of her coffee and smacked her lips. “Do you still want to make those cookies? I was thinking we could actually make a batch for Holly Burke. I saw her in Landry’s this afternoon, and she looks awful.”

  “Who?” Priscilla asked.

  “Holly Burke. Aaron’s wife. I know you probably don’t know her. She and Aaron were a few grades above Jamie in high school. I hung out with them a couple times when Jamie took me to a pool hall in Westwend.”

  Priscilla arched a brow. “A pool hall. Was this establishment alcohol free, Anna? I happen to know you only became legal a few months ago.”

  “Holly might have given me a fake ID,” Anna hedged. “She has a lot of them. She’s still really young-looking for her age, you know. I think she was older than Aaron.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Yes, a thirty-year old woman. What a crone. I’d hate to see what I’d look like at that age.”

  Anna pouted. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean she’s in good shape, after all she’s been through. She smokes, and I don’t think she’s ever gone light on the partying until recently.”

  “What, did she reform?”

  Anna glanced nervously around the shop. “I shouldn’t talk about it.”

  “Well, you’ve already begun. Go ahead and spill the beans.”

  Anna glanced behind them. Diane was shelving books a few yards away and was well within earshot. She could have eavesdropped even if she’d been human. With keen vampire senses, she’d almost certainly hear what they were talking about.

  “Fine,” Priscilla said. “Let’s go. You can tell me on the way to the bed and breakfast.”

  They didn’t speak until the door of Secondhand Spellbooks shut behind them. Anna leapt into the passenger’s seat of Priscilla’s beat-up cargo van. The red paint was beginning to flake off in places. She’d need to retouch the paint. Even the logo on its side was looking worse for wear these days. The van was the only piece of property she had access to until the forensic teams finished with her shop. She could have slept in it, if she’d been so inclined, but instead had chosen to patronize the bed and breakfast.

  They trundled down the road slowly. Priscilla had come to accept driving as a part of human life, but still didn’t trust automobiles. They were huge and unwieldy and could easily become a death trap if one wasn’t watching where they were going.

  “Tell me about Holly Burke, please.”

  Anna took a deep breath and began. “I don’t know that much about her. She isn’t my friend, just someone I met. But from what I can gather, she stopped drinking and smoking because they were trying to have a baby. She lost a few in a row. It was tough on her and Aaron, and they fought a lot about money. The medical bills were insane without insurance.”

  Priscilla frowned. “Simon Grant doesn’t provide insurance?”

  �
�Well, he does, but only for the employee. Aaron couldn’t put Holly on it, and all the operations and checkups were done on her.”

  “Poor Holly,” Priscilla murmured. “Has she relapsed since?”

  “I don’t know,” Anna said with a shrug. “Like I said, we aren’t friends. I just thought it would be nice to bring her something. This has got to be tough on her.”

  “Right. We’ll get on that. But first, I need you to give that tissue to your father.”

  Anna groaned. “Do I have to? He’s been a total nightmare to be around lately. Can’t I just leave a note?”

  Priscilla gave her a steady look until Anna finally capitulated. “Fine. I’ll do it. Later. After the cookies. But you owe me.”

  “Of course,” Priscilla said. “Sugar cookies and all the Gatorade you can drink.”

  Anna nodded. “Darn right.”

  Priscilla was up to her elbows in dough when Arthur called her.

  “I thought I told you to stay away from this case, Pratt.”

  Priscilla scraped the dough off her hands and arms as best she could. It was difficult. Her fingers were sticky. The Browns didn’t have any of the usual amenities that she was used to. No gloves or hair nets, for one. But this batch of cookies was for Jamie, and she doubted very much if he’d mind that she touched them. The next batch was for Aaron Burke’s wife, and the young woman would never have to know that Priscilla had touched them with her bare hands.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Arthur.”

  “The bloody tissue I just sent to forensics says otherwise,” he said. “I told you not to pursue it. You aren’t welcome on this case.”

  Priscilla flinched at the hostility in his tone. She was hoping that he’d eventually calm down. She might not be able to earn her way back onto the case, and she’d accepted that as a possibility. But it would have been nice for the antagonism to have dropped by a fraction, at least.

  “So noted,” she said frostily. “Heaven forbid I get my teeth cleaned. I’ll be sure to ask for your permission before I go next time, Dad.”