Night of the Living Dandelion (3 page)

That was my aha moment. As in,
Aha! So that’s why he made a joke about being a vampire
.
He drew blood for a living!
Although he did resemble the stereotypical Hollywood vampire. Was that intentional? Was that why Marco had laughed?

Vlad had come to New Chapel after deciding he needed a career change, something completely different from his routine nine-to-five job. Marco had suggested he might enjoy owning his own bar and grill, and offered him the opportunity to get hands-on training. Intrigued, Vlad had agreed to try it, so three days ago he’d started as Marco’s intern, where he was currently learning how to be a proper bartender. And since I knew interns didn’t make much money, I had to infer that the income wouldn’t be a problem.

“So, Vlad,” I said, as I dipped a crunchy fry in ketchup, “you weren’t serious earlier about wanting those houseplants, were you?”

He stopped chewing to focus those striking eyes on me. “Why? Is there something wrong with them?” He pronounced
wrong
as
vrong.

Okay, so he
was
serious. “Not wrong . . . per se.”

Marco glanced at me, clearly as puzzled as Vlad was. “Are they hard to grow?”

Be tactful, Abby.
“Well, you could say that about some of them.”

At that moment, a slender yet curvaceous brunette stopped by the booth to bat her eyelashes and say in a breathy voice, “Hi, Vlad.” Her girlfriend, a slender yet curvaceous blonde, echoed the eyelash batting and the breathy voice. “How’s it going, Vlad?” They both giggled shyly when he turned his intense gaze on them.

“Hello, Lara. Hello, Holly.” He smiled, flashing those long white canines, causing them to moan in ecstasy as they glided away to join friends at another booth. I watched them whisper together, then turn to gaze at him longingly.

“I have an excellent green thumb,” Vlad said, showing me his digits, ignoring the girls’ avid interest. “I collect unusual houseplants. I even have plant lights and a humidifier.”

Poor guy. He was doing his best to convince me. “I’m not doubting your green thumb, Vlad. It’s just that some of the plants on your list are kind of . . .” How could I explain? Tact was not something that came easily for this redhead.

Vlad pulled out the list, smoothed the wrinkles, and turned it so both of us could see it. “Which ones?”

“Okay, take bloodwort, for instance,” I said. “It’ll cause a skin irritation if you touch it, and it’s semipoisonous if you ingest it.”

“Do you have a pen?” Vlad asked.

I took one from my purse and handed it to him. He made a note next to
bloodwort
.

“Now the Dracula orchid is a strange-looking plant that prefers to grow in shadow,” I said. “It also likes cold temperatures, which probably wouldn’t make your other plants happy.”

Vlad noted that, too.

“You also have to be careful what species of devil’s tongue you get, because some can grow up to five feet high, a foot across, and weigh in at twenty-two pounds—not exactly houseplant material, in my opinion.”

“Duly noted,” he said.

“Hi, Vlad,” said a thirtysomething auburn-haired woman in a revealing sweater, giving him a “come hither” glance.

“Hi, Shari,” Vlad said without missing a beat. He smiled at her; she grew breathless; I glared at her; she moved on; Marco nudged me.

“Then there’s wolfsbane,” I said, ignoring Marco’s nudge, which was meant as a reminder to be nice to his patrons. “Wolfsbane gives off a highly unpleasant odor, probably not something you’d want in your house, especially if you plan to entertain.”

Yet, given the way women were fawning over Vlad, I doubted whether they’d notice his plants, stinky or not. “On the other hand,” I said, “if you need to ward off any werewolves, wolfsbane is your go-to flora. I hear werewolves are highly sensitive to smells.”

I waited for Vlad to chuckle—or at least to smile. Instead, he wrote it down. I glanced at Marco and gave him a nonplussed look. He merely shrugged.

Okay, then. I’d saved the worst for last.

“Strangleweed is a parasitic vine,” I explained. “It’s also known as devil’s guts, witches’ shoelaces, and dodder vine. It starts out as a tiny tendril with no roots or leaves, then, like a skinny green snake, starts searching for a sweet-smelling host plant. Once it finds its victim, it wraps itself around the stem, sinks its fangs in, and starts drinking the sap. Sounds like a vampire, doesn’t it?”

Marco put down his beer with a clunk. Vlad stopped writing. Neither one chortled at
my
vampire reference.

“You seem to know a lot about these plants,” Vlad said.

“I’m a florist,” I said with a modest shrug. “It’s what I do. I also take online courses. In fact, I learned about these particular specimens in a course called Scary Plants.”

Marco rested his arm along the back of the booth so he could face me. “Scary plants?”

I nodded.

Vlad appraised me for a moment, then pointed to his list. “What about the others?”

“Mistletoe is also a parasite, but its victims are usually trees. You definitely want to avoid it. Some species can hurl their seeds up to thirty or forty feet away. The berries stick to the tree trunk—or another plant—and send out shoots that penetrate the poor victim’s innermost core, where its vital sap is sucked dry. Yet another type of vampire.” I paused to arch one eyebrow for effect. “And to think we view mistletoe as romantic.”

Both men stared at me. Was I creeping them out?

“But the voodoo lily and bat flower are okay,” I offered. I had to give Vlad something. “They require a bit more care than the average houseplant, but that shouldn’t be a problem for someone with a green thumb.”

Vlad crossed off only one—mistletoe—then pushed the list toward me. “Would you order those, please? And make sure the devil’s orchid is one of the short varieties.”

“Sure.”

“One more thing. Would you add dandelions to that list?”

He had to be joking this time. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them offered by any of my suppliers, but hey, my dad has some in his yard. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind parting with them.”

“How many?”

He wasn’t joking. “I don’t know, a dozen perhaps? My mom went green this year to keep all those toxic pesticides out of the water supply, so they have to dig up the weeds by hand.”

“Your dad wouldn’t mind if I helped myself?”

“He’d be overjoyed. Let me know when you want to pick them and I’ll alert my parents.”

“Terrific. Is there any way you can procure a few flats for me now?”

“Flats? I’ll have to look into it.”

“I appreciate that. My supply is low. And now I believe it’s time for me to tend bar.” Vlad rose and gave me a slight bow. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner. It’s been a pleasure.”

He gave Marco a nod and left us.

I watched him walk around behind the bar and bump knuckles with the other bartender. As though they’d been waiting for a signal, women from every corner rushed up to the counter and began clamoring for Vlad’s attention.

“He’s a great guy,” Marco said, observing his intern at work. “One of those men you want guarding your back—or your bar.”

“Why would he want dandelions?”

“Why would Vlad want any of those plants, Abby? He collects unusual specimens.”

“Two flats of dandelions isn’t a collection. It’s a crop.” I propped my chin on my fist and watched him flirt with the women. “I wonder if dandelions contain toxins. Vlad was in your outfit in Iraq, right? Did he work with toxic nerve gases or anything?”

“No. He just likes odd plants. Believe me, you get to know what a guy is really like in those circumstances, down to the nitty-gritty.” Marco paused to take a pull of beer. “You were a little heavy-handed with those vampire references, weren’t you, considering the situation?”

“What situation?”

“The rumor going around about Vlad being a vampire.”

I paused to stare at Marco, a french fry halfway to my mouth. “I didn’t hear any rumors about Vlad. You mean he was serious when he introduced himself?”

“He wasn’t serious. He was making a joke
about
the rumor. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it from Jillian, or that she hasn’t stopped by to pump you for information about him.”

That
was
odd. My cousin was always on top of the latest town gossip. Why
hadn’t
Jillian stopped by? “Seriously, Marco, I haven’t heard a thing about Vlad, but I can understand how someone might get that impression of him. He has that classic movie star Count Dracula look.”

“He’s not a vampire.”

“I’m not saying he
is
, Marco. I’m sure he’s completely normal.”

Except for wanting weeds and life-sucking vampire plants in his house.

“H
ey, look who’s here!”

At the sound of the familiar male voice, I glanced around to see our friend Sean Reilly, a sergeant on the New Chapel police force, and his girlfriend, Sara, a nurse at County Hospital, heading toward our booth.

“Hey, man,” Marco said, rising to shake his hand. “Good to see you. Sara, how’s it going? You guys want to join us?”

“As long as you’ll tell us to leave when you want to be alone,” Reilly said. They slid in opposite us and took off their coats while Marco went to get menus.

Sergeant Sean Reilly had been a rookie cop when my dad was on the force. Reilly trained under my dad, then, as coincidences go, later took a rookie by the name of Marco Salvare, fresh out of the military, under his wing. Reilly was about forty years old, divorced, father of a young teen, and an upstanding cop. He was our go-to guy for information and had helped us out many times. He was nice-looking, too, with brown eyes, short brown hair, and a tall, sturdy build.

Sara was his girlfriend, also divorced, also tall and browneyed, with abundant auburn hair. We’d hit it off immediately, and I had a feeling she was
the one
for Reilly.

Now she leaned across the table to say quietly, “What do you think about Marco’s new bartender?” She raised an eyebrow, as if to say,
Have you heard the rumors?

Was I the only one who hadn’t?

At that moment, Marco returned with their beers and menus. Reilly handed Sara one of the beer mugs, then picked up the other and held it aloft. “Here’s to a short separation and a speedy reunion.”

“Hear, hear,” Sara said, as we clinked glasses.

“Thanks,” Marco said.

“We’re still trying to absorb the news,” I said with a wistful sigh.

Marco reached for my hand under the table and entwined his fingers in mine, bringing a film of tears to my eyes. I blinked them away, unable to wrap my mind around the idea of him being gone. I couldn’t imagine my life without Marco in it.

Reilly and Sara didn’t know that we were engaged. In fact, we hadn’t told anyone but my friend Nikki. Since she was my roommate, in addition to my closest friend, it would’ve been impossible to keep it from her.

We’d hoped to announce our engagement after we knew for sure whether Marco was going to be deployed. But my eagle-eyed cousin Jillian had spotted my engagement ring under my sweater and decided to spread the word herself. I persuaded her to let me tell the family at our next Friday night family dinner, and she had agreed, as long as it was in just one week. That was as long as she could keep it in. Until then, I kept my ring on a chain around my neck, close to my heart.

“Is it a done deal?” Reilly asked. “You’re sure you’re going overseas?”

Marco lifted a shoulder. “It’s the army. Who knows? I have to plan as though I am.”

As Reilly and Sara ordered their sandwiches, and Marco and I sipped our beers, I found myself wanting to freeze the moment: good friends enjoying each other’s company, all healthy in body and mind. I squeezed Marco’s hand. Sensing my thoughts, he put his arm around my shoulders, drew me closer, and changed the subject.

“What’s new down at the police station?”

“It’s crazy,” Reilly said. “People calling to ask if it’s safe to go out at night. Senior citizens, mostly, but also parents with little kids, worried about vampire attacks.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many people came into the ER today, asking to be checked for vampire bites,” Sara said, laughing. “Main complaint? Feeling light-headed—as though someone had drained their blood while they were sleeping.”

A man that I recognized as my postal carrier, also one of Marco’s regular customers, stopped at our booth to say to Marco, “Hey, man, are you serious about letting that new guy make drinks? Everyone’s saying he’s a vampire.”

“Everyone’s wrong, Bob,” Marco said. “Hey, I’m sitting across from a cop. Would
he
be calmly drinking a beer if I’d hired someone dangerous to bartend?”

A frown flitted across Reilly’s face, as though he wasn’t at ease with Marco’s statement.