Night of the Living Dandelion (16 page)

Vlad gazed at me in a way that made me think he knew my lame ruse was just that. My face felt so hot that I knew it was flushed, which always made my freckles stand out like bran flakes in a bowl of milk. I hoped he didn’t think I was flirting with him behind Marco’s back.

Where was Marco anyway? Couldn’t he show up about now and spare me further embarrassment? Couldn’t
someone
show up? Please?

I had no choice but to forge ahead. “It turns out my supplier is having difficulty getting your voodoo lily. But everything else should be in on Monday.” I gave him a sheepish shrug.

Vlad leaned forward, his hands folded together on the table. “Are you all right, Abby?”

As right as a train wreck could be. “Of course. Did you know Lori Willis?”

Damn that missing tact gene!

Vlad’s gaze never wavered. “No. Is there a reason you thought I might have?”

No reason I was willing to admit to. “I got to thinking about her murder and wondered if she’d ever come into the bar and, you know, maybe introduced herself to you, because you have a lot of admirers up there, Vlad, and she could have been one of them. Maybe you even saw her with a guy or noticed something unusual about her behavior—or something else useful.”

I was babbling like a fool. Someone please shoot me now!

“If she was here, she didn’t introduce herself,” Vlad said calmly.

I shrugged again. It was starting to feel like a twitch. “Then never mind.”

Shrewd wolf eyes searched mine. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

My shoulders were on their way up when Gert butted in. “Abby, someone at the door wants to see you.”

Dear God, it was about time someone stopped me.

I turned to see who it was, and there stood Sergeant Reilly in his police uniform.

Reilly
had to be the someone?

He motioned for me to hurry. Yeah, right. On crutches.

Vlad instantly sprang into action, pulling out the Evil Ones, helping me get balanced, and shepherding me to the door.

“Thanks,” I said with a sheepish smile, feeling guilty now for questioning him. If Vlad had met Lori, he would have mentioned it to Marco as soon as her murder was announced.

“Abby, would you come outside with me for a moment, please?” Reilly said, ignoring Vlad.

“Why?” I asked.

“Just come with me,” Reilly said. “Alone.”

“I
’ll get your coat,” Vlad said.

“Thanks, but I shouldn’t be long.” I waited for Reilly to open the door, then hastened outside. He pointed toward his patrol car, where I saw Jillian sitting in the backseat. “Oh, my God! You arrested her?”

“No. I should have, though. Wait till you see her.”

Reilly strode to the car and opened the back door so I could talk to her. I hung on to the crutches and leaned in. “Jillian, for heaven’s sake, what did you do?”

She turned her head toward me. Her lips, chin, and neck were stained red. She had on a black trench coat and no makeup, making the red juice stand out in stark contrast to her pale skin. Her beautiful copper hair hung straight down around her face, and her eyes were bleary, with dark purple circles underneath.

“What time is it?” she asked, as though in a daze. “I have to get home before dawn.”

“Jillian, stop that!” I whispered. “You’re not a vampire.”

“Why won’t you believe me?” She started to cry and covered her face with her hands. She was wearing black nail polish and still had traces of blood on her fingers.

I turned back to Reilly. “Where did you pick her up?”

“Outside the Happy Dreams Funeral Home. She was ringing their private doorbell, scaring the bejesus out of Delilah and Max. Good thing they weren’t having a viewing this evening. People might have thought someone had come back from the dead.”

“Did you ask Jillian why she was there?” I asked.

“She said she wanted to buy a casket.”

“I want to go home,” Jillian said through her tears.

“I’m not releasing her in that condition,” Reilly said. “She looks like Vampira. I tried to call her husband, but he didn’t answer.”

“He’s out searching for her.” I leaned into the car. “Why do you want a casket, Jillian?”

“So I can sleep,” she said, sniffling. “The light keeps me awake.”

“Can’t you turn the light off?”

“It’s the sun, Abby!” She dug in the pocket of her coat for a tissue. “Vampires sleep during the day. Duh.”

“Okay, that’s it, Jill. I’m ending this vampire nonsense. Reilly, I’ll be right back.”

I knew the only one who could convince Jillian that she wasn’t a vampire was Vlad, so I hopped to the door to catch his attention. But he was mixing drinks and had his back to me.

Marco came striding through the bar carrying my coat. “Vlad said you needed this. What’s going on?”

“Jillian is sitting in Reilly’s squad car,” I said, as Marco helped me don the coat. “He picked her up trying to buy a casket at Happy Dreams. I need Vlad to go out there and tell her he’s not a vampire and didn’t bite her.”

“Not a good idea. It would be demeaning for Vlad. I’ll talk to her.”

Marco acknowledged Reilly with a nod as he strode to the squad car. Then he crouched down beside the open door and had an earnest conversation with my cousin.

I phoned Claymore and said, “Found her! She’s outside Down the Hatch in the backseat of a patrol car. Sergeant Reilly picked her up at Happy Dreams Funeral Home.”

“Is she all right?”

“She’s definitely
not
all right, Clay. Take her to a doctor and have those bites tested.”

“I’ll call for an appointment tomorrow. Tell Jillian to sit tight. I’m two minutes away.”

Marco came over to me just as I put my phone away. “Problem solved,” he said. “We’d better head over to the coffee shop. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“What did you tell Jillian?”

“That if she was actually turning into a vampire, she’d have fangs. She checked her teeth in her compact and they looked fine. As I said, problem solved.”

When it came to Jillian, nothing was ever that simple to resolve.

“My car is parked right around the corner,” Marco said.

“The coffee shop is only four blocks up Lincoln. I can walk it.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Abby? Crutches can rub the underarm area raw.”

“I’m wearing a coat. It won’t be a problem. But I need to say good-bye to Jillian first.”

“I’ll wait up the street,” Marco said, as I veered toward Reilly’s car.

Jillian’s head lay against the back of the seat and her eyes were closed. “Hey, Jill,” I said. “Claymore is on his way to get you. Go home and get some sleep, okay? See the doctor tomorrow. And no more raw meat.”

Jillian lifted her head to gaze at me through heavy-lidded eyes, then let her head fall against the seat again.

“Thanks for your help, Reilly,” I said. “Jillian’s husband will be here in two minutes.”

“Before you go,” he said quietly, “I know Marco’s not happy that I’m investigating his friend, so would you pass along a message for me? Tell him I didn’t ask for the assignment.”

“Sure.”

“One more thing. Is Marco running his own”—Reilly glanced around, as though he didn’t want anyone to overhear him—“investigation?”

I pretended to be shocked. “Where would he find the time? He’s leaving in less than two weeks, if you remember.”

Reilly narrowed his eyes at me, but said nothing.

“Here comes Claymore now,” I said, pointing to the silver Jaguar gliding up behind the patrol car. Then I navigated up the block to where Marco was waiting.

“What did Reilly want?” Marco asked, as we started up the sidewalk together.

“Ow, ow. He wanted you to know he didn’t ask for the assignment.”

“He didn’t turn it down either.”

“Could he have? Ow.”

“He could have said he had a conflict of interest. They would’ve assigned someone else to the case.”

“Oh. Ow.”

“Crutches rubbing your underarm?”

“I’ve got a coat on. It’s not possible. Ow.”

“I told you we should have taken the car.”

I gritted my teeth and finished the walk in pained silence.

Ahead was the Daily Grind, now back to its original name. It had been La Journalier Routine several weeks back. That was when the town square had undergone a frenzied renovation caused by the arrival of a local TV celebrity who brought with him the starlet he was dating, plus television reporters from all the major stations.

The hysteria created by their arrival had been compounded by a homicide. But once the case had been solved, with my help, normalcy had eventually returned, and shop names were slowly reverting to their familiar forms.

Inside the brightly painted coffee shop, with its mismatched wooden tables and chairs, soft lighting, and crowds of university students, we found a table in a corner at the back where my crutches would be out of the way. I glanced around for Jerry Trumble, but he hadn’t arrived.

“What would you like?” Marco asked.

“Dark hot chocolate, please. Large.” Nothing like a big dose of dark chocolate to take my mind off my burning armpits. I settled into a chair while Marco placed our orders.

“Trumble just walked in,” he announced, returning with two steaming mugs.

“How do you want to handle his interview? Should I do what I do best?”

“We’re going to need tact, Sunshine.”

Well, that left me out. “Then I’ll enjoy my cocoa and watch the show.”

“Feel free to jump in at any time. Just be—”

“Tactful. Yes, Marco, I get it.”

Jerry Trumble stopped at the counter to pick up a cup of coffee, then headed toward our table. He had on a black baseball cap, a blue satin baseball jacket, and black jeans. With his broad neck and shoulders and slim hips, he looked more like a professional athlete than a pharmacist.

“Thanks for meeting us,” Marco said, indicating a chair.

Trumble sat down, unzipped his jacket, and lifted his cup to take a sip, studying us over the rim. Beneath the jacket, he had on a blue-and-green-striped polo shirt that was snug enough to show off a trim waist.

“Do you work out?” I asked, then remembered I wasn’t supposed to be nosy. I gave Marco a quick apologetic glance.

“Jujitsu,” Trumble said. “Purple belt.”

“Congratulations,” I said, storing away that bit of information.

Trumble leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, a classically defensive posture. “Let’s cut to the chase, okay? My babysitter leaves at ten thirty. Explain to me why you think I can help you.”

Marco also leaned back, but left his hands on the table, and said with an easy confidence, “I’ve learned in my years of investigative work that people often know things they don’t realize are important. I’d like the chance to see if what you know about the deceased might help us.”

Trumble answered with a tilt of his head, as though to say,
Give it a whirl.

“I’d like to ask you some questions to help us build a portrait of Willis’s life,” Marco said.

Trumble shrugged, as if it really didn’t matter.

“I know this will be painful,” Marco said, “but can you recount the events leading up to your wife’s death?”

Trumble glanced casually around the room, then took a slow drink of coffee and placed the cardboard cup just so in front of him, turning it so he could see the logo on the front. I suspected he needed time to gather his thoughts.

“Dana and I had just returned from a trip to Australia. It was a long flight, and she’d complained of leg pain during the last several hours, but once we were home and she’d taken aspirin, she said it felt better. That evening her pain intensified, and nothing helped it. Her leg was swollen and hot to the touch, too, making me think she’d developed deepvein thrombosis. I rushed her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with DVT and admitted.

“Willis was the nursing supervisor on Dana’s floor, and took control of my wife’s case. I knew Willis as a regular customer at Dugan’s and thought Dana was in good hands. But that night, Willis injected Dana with heparin in a dose ten times what the doctor had prescribed. The heparin caused her to have a massive stroke—”

Trumble broke off. He dropped his head and shaded his eyes, as though he didn’t want us to see him tearing up. Marco picked up his coffee and took a swallow. I swirled the chocolate in my cup, mixing in what had settled on the bottom, giving him time to pull himself together.

When the pharmacist looked up again, he wore an expression of sadness, yet he was dry-eyed. “Dana died before I could get to the hospital. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.” He sighed heavily, as though still burdened by grief. Then I saw him turn his wrist to check the time, a gesture that struck me as being at odds with his emotions.