Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (6 page)

“And I’m guessing that would be you?”

“Uh-huh…” he muttered. “Still not funny.”

“Okay, got it, a number twelve with chili,
and the aspirin,” she said.

“You forgot the extra onions,” my friend
reminded her.

“Actually I remembered but I was hoping you’d
forget,” she quipped. “I’ll go ahead and bring you a roll of breath
mints with that too.”

“Jeez, you’re a friggin’ laugh a minute
today, ain’t ya’?”

“Aren’t I always?” she said with a smile.
“How about you, Rowan?”

“I don’t know… Do I want a number three?” I
asked.

I had learned long ago that Wendy wasn’t
going to let me order for myself. She always asked what I wanted at
the outset, but nine times out of ten she would endeavor to talk me
into something else. I still had no idea why she insisted on
ordering for me because she didn’t do it for everyone, only a
select few. In any case, it hadn’t taken long for me to simply roll
with it and let her have her way.

“No… I don’t think so,” she returned, shaking
her head. “You really look more like you want a number five
today.”

I didn’t bother to inquire what a number five
was because I already knew all of the single digit selections on
the menu were varying numbers of eggs with some combination of
breakfast meats and toast. Besides, she’d never steered me wrong
yet. Instead I just asked, “Do I want my eggs scrambled?”

“I think you’re in the mood for over hard
today,” she replied.

“Okay, do I want a side of biscuits and
sausage gravy with that?”

“Definitely.”

I grinned. “Great, I was hoping I did. Okay,
sounds good to me.”

Ben waved a finger at me and told her, “Oh
yeah, in case he forgets to tell ya’, give him the check. It’s his
turn ta’ buy.”

Wendy winked at me as she turned to go put in
our orders, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the cop discount.”

I gave her a quick nod and smile.
“Thanks.”

When she was gone I turned my attention to
the steaming cup of coffee she had slid in front of me. Leaning a
bit to my left I snatched the saltshaker from the end of the table
then tipped it up over the brew and gave it a couple of healthy
jiggles. After a moment I set it aside and gave the contents of the
mug a quick stir with a spoon.

Ben had been watching me the entire time, and
now he grunted, “So what’s your excuse, white man?”

“For what?”

“For bein’ brain dead this mornin’.”

I took a sip of the coffee. “What are you
talking about?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are ya’ tellin’ me
that tastes okay to you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Row, I just watched ya’ put salt in it
instead of sugar.”

“I don’t take sugar in my coffee. Except when
it’s really bad coffee.”

“So ya’ did it on purpose?”

“Yes. Besides, if you thought I was screwing
up, why didn’t you stop me?”

“‘Cause I thought maybe when ya’ tasted it,
the look on your face would be funny an’ I could use a laugh.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Jeezus,” he mumbled. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’d
ya’ just salt your friggin’ coffee?”

“It’s an experiment,” I replied. “I’m trying
to stop the voices in my head.”

“Voices in your… You mean like the
Twilight Zone
stuff?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“Why?”

“I’m retired, remember?” I offered the
rhetorical question as my answer. “I’m just Rowan Gant, computer
consultant now. No more consulting for the cops. I’m through
talking to dead people and chasing down their killers. Finished.
Done.”

“Uh-huh… So then why do ya’ keep dunnin’ me
about Devereaux every coupl’a days?”

“That’s different. She’s unfinished
business.”

“Yeah, right.”

“She is.” I shrugged. “But if it makes you
feel better, then you can call me semi-retired for the time
being.”

“How ‘bout I call ya’ full’a shit,” he
grunted. “So…is it workin’?”

“You mean the salt?”

“Yeah.”

“I think so.”

“Prob’ly ain’t all that great for your blood
pressure,” he commented.

“And the pot said to the kettle…” I replied,
implying reference to the overabundance of salt he customarily
doused on his meals.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So, since you brought her up, is there any
word on Annalise yet?”

He shook his head. “I’ve still got some
feelers out, but like I keep tellin’ ya’, you’re askin’ the
impossible. Last thing I heard was she lawyered up with some kinda
high-dollar dream team.”

“What good will that do?” I asked. “I thought
there was a ton of hard evidence against her.”

“There is,” he replied. “But she still gets
‘er day in court, and she’s got more money than God, so there ya’
go… Might not get ‘er off, but they might be able ta’ skate on the
needle if they play it right. All depends on how good they are. But
what the hell, either way somebody’s makin’ a paycheck.”

I rubbed my neck as the pain ebbed, then I
let out a sigh. With a little luck, maybe things were finally
starting to loosen up, and I wouldn’t have to deal with the
nuisance the whole day.

“Do you think you could get me some of their
names?” I asked. “Maybe I could come at it that way.”

“Yeah, I can get that no problem,” he said
with a nod. “But I doubt it’s gonna do ya’ any good. You’re pretty
much the enemy where she’s concerned. Why the hell would they let
ya’ talk to ‘er?”

“I don’t know, Ben, but it’s worth a
try.”

“Well, personally I think it’s a waste of
time, but then it ain’t my time so whadda I care.”

“Exactly.”

“So lemme ask ya’ somethin’ anyway… Don’tcha
figure you and Firehair are in the clear now? I mean it’s been like
what? Better’n two months now without a peep?”

“When I’m able to undo that spell, then I’ll
figure we’re safe. Not before.”

“Yeah, well I hope that works out for
ya’.”

“Just keep trying for me, okay?” I asked.
“And if you can get me the names of her attorneys I’d really
appreciate it.”

“Yeah, okay. That I can do.”

I switched the subject. “So, enough about
that. How’s Constance? We haven’t talked to her in a week or
so.”

“Pissy,” he replied. “But other than that,
good…” A low trill started and began escalating in volume. Ben
reached over to his wadded up jacket and rummaged around in the
pocket while adding, “She’s got cabin fever if ya’ know what I
mean. They’re gonna let ‘er start physical therapy next week, so
I’m hopin’ that oughta help ‘er mood a bit.”

I nodded agreement as he flipped open his
phone then pressed it to his ear and said, “Yeah, Storm.”

Wendy appeared at almost the same instant,
carrying plates and the carafe of coffee. Settling the hot globe on
the table, she shuffled one of the oblong dishes out of the crook
of her arm and slid it in front of Ben then placed the other in
front of me. Reaching into a pouch on her apron, she pulled out a
bottle of aspirin and set it on the table as she topped off our
mugs.

“I’ll be right back with your biscuits and
gravy,” she told me quietly. “Oh, and by the way, Chuck said since
you’ve got to put up with Storm, breakfast is on the house this
morning.”

“Tell him I said thanks,” I whispered with a
smile.

“…Okay, and you’re sure?” Ben was saying.
“Yeah… Uh-huh… Yeah… I’m not so sure I wanna do that…” He glanced
up at me for an instant then looked away. “Yeah… I know… But, who…
Uh-huh… Okay… I’ll see what I can do, but I ain’t makin’ any
guarantees… Yeah… Okay, so when is that? Yeah… Okay… No, I’m
throwin’ down some breakfast over at Chuck’s… Yeah… Prob’ly half
hour, maybe forty-five minutes… Yeah…okay, see ya’ then.”

“Problem?” I asked as I watched him fold the
phone and tuck it away.

“No. Not really,” he replied.

I wasn’t convinced, but then again, I knew
better than to pressure him about that sort of thing. Odds are it
was work related anyway, so I definitely didn’t need to hear it.
Instead of pursuing the topic, I shrugged and reached for the
peppershaker, but as I did, a sharp twinge erupted on the side of
my neck once again. I pulled my hand back and reached up to massage
it as I had done before.

“Neck again?” my friend asked.

“Yeah,” I said, wincing. “I must have really
seriously pinched a nerve or something.”

“Maybe you should have it looked at,” he
said, while liberally salting the mound of food in front of
him.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Or then again, maybe it’s somethin’ else,”
he suggested, a mildly cryptic tone in his voice.

“What do you mean?” I asked, shooting him a
puzzled look.

He slid the saltshaker toward me then reached
for the aspirin. “Ya’ might wanna salt your coffee again.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sure you don’t wanna salt your coffee?”

“Ben…”

He shrugged. “Okay, don’t blame me, I tried…
So I know you say you’re retired and all, but lemme ask ya’
somethin’. Whaddaya know about vampires?”

“I get it,” I replied, voice flat and clearly
humorless. “My neck hurts. Vampires. Witches. Very funny for a
Halloween joke. Too bad it’s March and not October.”

Ben shrugged as he tossed back the aspirin.
After taking a swig of his coffee, he picked up his fork and said,
“Yeah, well tell that to the girl I watched the coroner stuff in a
body bag a few hours ago.”

I stared back at him without saying another
word. He, however, now appeared to be ignoring me in favor of the
“coronary on a plate” in front of him. Of course, what he appeared
to be doing and what was actual fact weren’t always the same thing,
and I knew that, so I waited in silence.

After swallowing a bite, without looking up
he repeated the preamble to his question, “Like I said, Kemosabe,
don’t blame me. I handed ya’ the goddammed salt.”

“So you think your homicide case is why my
neck hurts?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe.”

“It hurts because I slept on it wrong,” I
replied with heavy emphasis on each word.

Unfortunately, I had a feeling what I said
was for my own benefit as much as his. There was a familiar
peculiarity about the pain that I had been purposely ignoring since
its onset, one that transcended the boundaries of the physical.
Now, of all things, I had a gnawing bother erupting in the pit of
my stomach that definitely wasn’t a mere attack of hunger
pangs.

“Whatever you say,” he grunted, not even
bothering to try hiding the fact that he didn’t believe me.

“Come on, Ben… Even if I’m wrong, you aren’t
seriously saying that you think a vampire killed this woman, are
you?” I asked.

“Didn’t say that,” he replied. “But you’re
the one holdin’ your neck.”

Out of reflex, I dropped my hand to my side,
even though the pain had become sharper and more pronounced.
“Dammit, Ben. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just two and two, Row,” he said with a
shrug. “That call was a status on the prelim from the medical
examiner. I got an unidentified, very dead young woman with a hole
in ‘er neck and most of ‘er blood gone, but no blood at the scene.
Now I got the king of the friggin’
Twilight Zone
—namely
you—sittin’ across from me holdin’ onto his neck. Gimme a break… Do
ya’ really think I’m not gonna at least ask?”

“Fine, but that really isn’t the point,” I
replied. “Be serious. You know as well as I do vampires don’t
exist. Metaphorical vampires, as in people who prey on others, yes…
I’ll even give you psychic vampires because I’ve actually dealt
with a couple of them myself… But, even then it’s still a
metaphorical term. In the literal Count Dracula, undead, blood
sucking sense of the word, they simply don’t exist.”

He held up his free hand and shook his index
finger as he narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, but what about the wingnuts
that think they’re vampires?”

“That’s a whole bizarre subculture in and of
itself, and I really don’t know what to tell you there. It’s
definitely not my thing.”

“Okay, just wonderin’. They touched on some
stuff about ‘em in a seminar I was at last year. The brainiac
givin’ the lecture said there was a crossover with Pagans and the
occult and all that jazz, so I thought ya’ might know
somethin’.”

“Paganism in general attracts all sorts of
people, and it definitely gets its share of the Goth crowd, so it
wouldn’t surprise me to get some of them as well. But as to the
vampire types, I’m pretty sure the operative phrase there is
think they are
, Ben. Because that’s all it is. They aren’t
really vampires.”

“You don’t want to say that to them,” a
familiar voice offered.

We both looked up to see our waitress as she
was sliding a plate of biscuits smothered in gravy onto the table
next to me.

I shook my head and apologized, “Sorry,
Wendy. I didn’t realize I was being that loud.”

“You weren’t. I’ve got really good hearing,”
she said then pointed to the lunch counter a few feet away.
“Besides, I was just right over there.”

Ben waved his fork absently. “So you actually
know somethin’ about these freaks?”

“A little.” She shrugged. “Not a lot. I mean,
it’s way too weird for me, but someone a friend of mine knows is
heavily into the whole scene.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod.

“So this person actually thinks…” he began as
he settled the fork on his plate then reached over to his jacket
and rummaged around for his notebook.

Reading the unspoken question in his hesitant
pause, Wendy answered, “She.”

“Thanks… So she thinks she’s a vampire?” he
finished.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “And, she’s
pretty serious about it too. The first time I met her she was
really offended that I thought she was joking.”