Night of the Living Dandelion (27 page)

I’d never been that close to Vlad before, and I had to admit, it wasn’t such a bad experience.

Okay, Abby. Stop thinking like that.
“Claymore, if you’ll bring my crutches—”

“No need for that,” Vlad said. “I’ll carry you out to the car.”

“I’ll pull my car around front,” Clay said, and took off.

Nice of them to ask what
I
wanted to do. “Before we go, I dropped my purse back there.”

“No problem.” Vlad carried me back through the hallway, lowered me so I could retrieve the purse, then straightened—all without breaking a sweat. For a tall, slender man, he had amazing strength. He smelled good, too, like fresh herbs.

“Thanks,” I said, “and not just for that. You were kind to take my cousin in and care for her. Jillian can be a handful on a good day.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” he said, his light gray eyes quietly assessing me. “After all, it brought you here, and that gave us a chance to get better acquainted.”

“That’s true.”

“So,” he said, “let me show you my casket.”

 

There I was, in the arms of the alleged vampire, with no witnesses in sight, being carried to the room that contained his coffin. Why did I feel like I was living that horror movie?

Vlad managed to open the door and hit a light switch that turned on a table lamp without dropping me. I did a quick survey of the room but didn’t see a single coffin in sight.

He carried me into a cozy living room and put me down on a caramel brown suede sofa. In front of the sofa was a beautiful old wooden chest with an arched lid and brass trim. “This is it,” he said, nodding toward the chest. “My casket.”

“That’s not a casket.”

“According to the HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE Web site, it is, although I prefer the term
blanket chest.
But who am I to say?” Vlad smiled again, clearly finding humor in the rumors being spread about him. I, on the other hand, felt like an idiot. I’d been completely willing to believe he had a coffin in his living room.

“Have you considered putting up your own Web site to counter the rumors? You could post a photo of the chest to prove it’s not a casket.”

“If I do that, Abby, I give the creep behind that Web site validity. The best thing is to ignore the rumors and let people judge me by what they see—a friendly guy mixing drinks behind the bar.”

“You’re right, but it angers me that someone is able to get away with spreading lies.”

“It’s why we live in the United States, isn’t it? To have such freedom? Anyway, I have every confidence that Marco will find out who it is and handle the problem.”

My cell phone rang. I took it out of my purse and saw Claymore’s name on the screen. “Hi, Clay. I’ll be right down.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Claymore said. “There’s trouble out front.”

“Do you have a window that looks out in front of the building?” I asked Vlad.

He carried me to one of the windows in his bedroom. We lifted a slat and peered through.

A big white van sat at the curb, and as we watched, a panel door in the side of the van opened and a group of angry, baseball-bat-wielding large men jumped out. They were all wearing T-shirts that said GARLIC PARTY VAMPIRE SQUAD.

“Kill the vampire!” one of them shouted.

“Kill the vampire!” the others repeated, slapping their palms with the bats. Then they headed straight toward the building.

“T
ell Clay to go around to the alley behind the back parking lot,” Vlad said, as he carried me to his front door.

I relayed the message to Clay and put my phone away. Vlad stopped to take a black leather man bag from a drawer in a table by the door and hand it to me. “Hold it for me, please.”

He carried me out of the apartment, down the hallway to a flight of steps, and out the back door. I didn’t know how he did it, but he wasn’t even breathing hard.

Vlad checked carefully before leaving the building, then carried me through the parking lot and straight toward the black BMW idling in the alley. He opened the passenger door and put me inside, took the leather bag from me, then shut the door and patted the window. “Go!”

“What about you?” I cried, rolling down the window. “You can’t go back. Come with us.”

“I can take care of myself. Now go!”

I turned to watch as Vlad disappeared behind the garage, then buckled myself in as Claymore sped away. “I hope he’ll be all right.”

“I called the police. They’re on their way. Do you want to come with me to the hospital and have your ankle X-rayed?”

“No, thanks. Icing it should work.” I hoped it would, anyway. I had to interview Dr. Holloway at two o’clock. No way did I want to be stuck in the ER all afternoon. “But please call me later and let me know how Jillian is.”

“I can’t thank you enough for helping us, Abby. If I can ever return the favor, just ask.”

I tucked his offer away. It might come in handy one day.

 

Claymore wasn’t familiar with Operation Abby, so he watched in amazement as Lottie and Grace swooped out of Bloomers, got me onto my crutches, and had me inside the shop in two minutes flat. I had just enough time to glance up the block and see that there weren’t any protesters across the street. My ankle, however, was protesting a lot.

“Lordy, would you look at that?” Lottie cried, after I’d peeled off the yellow boot. “Didn’t I tell you unwrapping your ankle was a bad idea?”

“I’ve got to make it all better so I can keep my two o’clock appointment. Marco will be here to get me in less than two hours.”

“Your doctor’s appointment is today?” Grace asked.

“Yes,” I said. Stretching the truth wasn’t considered a lie, was it?

“I don’t think the doctor will be pleased to see the damage you’ve inflicted on your ankle,” Grace said.

“I’ll get you some ice,” Lottie said, starting toward the kitchen. “We’ve still got a few of those old metal ice cube trays filled with water in the freezer, don’t we, Gracie?”

“Last time I checked,” Grace said. She had a look on her face that made me suspect she was on the verge of lecturing me. She took hold of the edges of her crisp navy blazer, clearing up any doubt as to her intentions.

“I’m reminded of the words of Thomas Fuller, a physician in the early seventeen hundreds, who said, ‘Health is not valued till sickness comes.’ I believe we can safely say you’ve proved him correct, can’t we? And, of course, we shouldn’t forget—”

“Gracie, would you give me a hand?” Lottie called. “The trays are frozen to the freezer.”

We shouldn’t forget to thank Lottie for her timely interruption.

 

By the time Marco came to pick me up, the swelling had gone down, my ankle was back in its Ace bandage, and Grace and Lottie had promised not to mention my mishap to anyone.

“Hey, Honeypot,” he said, coming into the workroom. “How’s it going?” He kissed me on the cheek, then pulled up a stool and sat down at the table with me, watching as I tied a satin bow around a bouquet of callas and roses.

“Good news. We found Jillian, and she’s now in a private room at Parkview Hospital being treated for her infection and dehydration.”

“Where was she?”

“At Vlad’s apartment. She thought since he was a vampire, he would give her refuge.”

Marco groaned. “Poor Vlad.”

“He didn’t seem to mind. Anyway, one of the EMTs who came to pick Jillian up was Kyle, and he gave me something for you. It’s in my jacket pocket.” I pointed to my jacket hanging on the back of my desk chair.

Marco opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. On the paper was a four-by-six-inch scanned photo of Lori Willis taken shortly after she’d been brought into the morgue. It showed her lying on her back on a stainless-steel table, dressed in a white blouse and a navy skirt, both badly stained and wrinkled, no doubt from the time spent in the garbage bin. Her shoes were missing. Her blond hair had been pulled away from her face, and her head turned away from the camera so that two pinhole-sized marks were visible on one side of her throat.

“Do you have a magnifying glass?” Marco asked.

“In the desk drawer.”

He got it out and took a closer look. “Whoever drained her blood must have known exactly what to do. There are two puncture marks on her neck but no bloodstains.” He moved the magnifier slowly across the image. “I’m not seeing any ligature marks. I would expect to see some kind of restraint, since she was held for several days, but maybe it’s the poor quality of this copy. I’ll have to have this enlarged and sharpened. There may be other things we’re not seeing.”

“Or maybe there aren’t any ligature marks because Lori was locked in a basement or a storage shed—or even a barn. There are lots of abandoned barns scattered around the county.”

“She would have tried to get out and her nails would show it. It doesn’t look to me like her nails are broken.”

I took the magnifier and held it over the photo. “It looks like they were just manicured.”

“Her killer must have used drugs to subdue her. Somehow I’ve got to get a copy of the tox screen.”

I studied the photo again. “In the casino video, Lori was wearing a yellow flower pendant and earrings. Where did they go? Her purse was intact, so is it likely that her killer would steal her jewelry but not her wallet?”

“Could’ve been taken as a souvenir, although that’s more typical of a serial killer, and I don’t think that’s the case here.”

“When I get home, the first thing I take off is my jewelry so that it doesn’t snag my clothes. My rings and necklace are also the last things I put on in the morning. So maybe Lori was getting dressed for work Wednesday morning, or had just come home Tuesday night, when she was abducted.”

“Good point. We’ll have to talk to her neighbors.” He glanced at his watch. “We should get going now so you won’t be late for your appointment with Holloway. After supper, if everything is quiet at the bar, we’ll head over to Willis’s neighborhood and see what we can dig up.”

We were in for a busy day. But at least we’d be together.

 

Sebastian Holloway’s office was on the second floor of a private medical clinic across the street from County Hospital. In contrast to the old hospital building, the clinic was new and modern, with lots of windows and skylights and comfortable waiting areas. Surprisingly, when we reached Holloway’s office, there were no other patients in sight.

“Still feel comfortable meeting Holloway alone?” Marco asked, after I’d signed in at the desk.

“Gabriella La Cour?” the nurse called from the doorway.

“That was fast,” I said to Marco, as he helped me get balanced on the crutches. “When was the last time you saw a doctor that quickly?”

“Maybe he doesn’t have many patients. He did suffer a blow to his reputation. And remember, I’ll be right here if you need me.”

 

After having me fill out a consultation form, a nurse took me into Dr. Holloway’s office and asked me to sit in one of the chairs facing the doctor’s desk. “Doctor will be in as soon as he finishes up with his patient,” she promised.

She closed the door and left me alone in the office. I glanced around, noting the expensive oil paintings, the beautiful black cherry furniture, the overstuffed chairs, and built-in cabinets filled with leather-bound books, marble sculptures, and framed photographs.

I could hear a man talking in the next room and assumed it was Holloway, so I decided to do a little snooping. I hopped to the bookcase by holding onto the backs of furniture, then examined the photos. Some were of Holloway being presented awards. A few had been taken with political figures, the governor and a state senator among them. There was also a photo of a much younger Holloway with an attractive woman and two small children. Next to it was a shot of an older Holloway with two teenaged children, minus the woman.

I was studying the photograph of Holloway with his children when I realized the talking in the next room had stopped. Quickly, I put the frame back on the shelf and turned just as the door opened and Dr. Speedo himself stepped in. He still had the dashing appearance of George Clooney, but with more girth around the middle and the start of a sagging jawline.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,”
he said with a smile, checking out my sweater and skirt. He finished that off with a lustful stare at the cleavage showing where I’d left the top two sweater buttons undone.
“C’est un plaisir de faire votre connaissance,”
he said, finding my face at last.

His accent was deplorable, but he got the French right.

Gabriella,
ma cherie
, if he speaks
Français
, you’re in trouble. He’ll know right away you’re a—how you say—fraud? In which case he won’t be as pleased to make your acquaintance as he thinks.

Holloway came toward me with his hand outstretched, his white physician’s coat flapping open, revealing a white shirt and blue silk tie, with tan pants that matched his ostrichleather shoes. He caught sight of my crutches lying beside the chair and came to a stop. “I didn’t realize you were injured.
Qu’est-ce que s’est passé?
”