Dead is the New Black (3 page)

Slash? Why slash? Why not
hyphen? Hyphens never conjured up images of Jack the
Ripper.

“…the timing for me couldn’t be worse,” he
continued, “so I need to replace her as soon as possible.”

“Timing?”

“Yes. She’s scheduled to leave as soon as
possible. Whomever I hire will have to learn Leech’s household
duties and the rest very quickly.”

“The rest?” Like dust the dirt in your
coffin?

Just as I was relaxing a bit, there went my
nerves again.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Wouldn’t you
know, I have a houseful of guests, Hollywood types who arrived
yesterday, and since I can’t be with them the whole time they’re
here, Leech was to see to their comfort and continue running the
household.”

“And that would be my job.”

“Yes.” He sat back in his desk chair. “Have
you ever worked as a housekeeper?”

“Not professionally.”

“Secretary?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Admin or personal assistant?”

I considered my views regarding lying on job
interviews, but since I’d basically been self-employed since
graduating college, in truth, I was not only
not
qualified for
this
job, I
wasn’t qualified for any job.

Leaning forward, I gave him a wide smile.
“Here’s the thing, you see. While I’ve cared for my own house,
typed business letters, and been my own admin, and while I have all
those skills, the only letter of recommendation I can give you is
my word that, if you’ll give me a chance to prove myself, I’m sure
you’ll see I learn quickly, work hard, and am efficient.”

He eyed me for a moment. “I don’t see it on
your resume, but the agency informed me you are a published
author.”

“Was,” I quickly corrected him. “I
was
an author.”

“But you do have several books out, yes?”

“I do. Yes. Well, did. Well,
do
, if you count Amazon and used book stores. It’s
been over three years since my last book was published.”

My last book ever
, I
thought, but did not add.

“I confess,” he said, “I don’t believe I’ve
read anything you’ve written.”

Based on my last royalty
check, you’re not the only one, pal.

I smiled and said lightly, “Oh, pshaw. No
apology necessary. So many books; so little time and all that.”

“May I ask what it is you write?”

I licked my lips. “Um, I
wrote
cozy romantic mysteries.”

He picked up a pen and pad from his desk.
“Under your own name? Can you suggest a couple of titles so I can
give you a read?”

My heart jolted. He wanted to read one of my
books?

Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sure someone
such as yourself wouldn’t find my stories very interesting. They’re
mostly for women, you see. They’re romances and—”

“Men like romance.”

Silence. I think my lashes fluttered, but I
can’t be sure. I know I averted my gaze, looked down to study my
fingernails.

I heard him say, “Take me for example…” To my
bowed head, he continued softly, “I’m a man…and…I…like
romance.”

I looked up, prepared to respond, but the
words died in my throat. Many days, I’m the queen of brilliant
comebacks, but apparently not today. I was completely at a loss as
to what to say to him.

Van Graf pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“You were going to give me a couple of titles?”

Normally, I love talking about writing and
how I came to be published, about my plots and why I chose them.
But I didn’t want to talk to this man about any of that, and I
certainly didn’t want him reading my books.

Every insecurity I had started gnawing away
at my already-facedown-in-the-dirt confidence and my lost sense of
literary self-worth.

Few men read romance novels; fewer men
got
them. He would open my book, flip
through the pages.
Fluff
.
Typical bodice ripper. Yawn. Hardly worthy of my
time.

I knew that’s what he’d think; it’s what they
all thought.

I’m not sure why I cared what
he
thought, though, but for some reason, it was
important to me that I have his respect.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out,
“My first book was
Debby Destiny, Private Eye:
The Magnolia Murders
.”
Like,
you-want-to-make-something-of-it-buster
? “It’s about a
female private detective—“

“The titular Debby Destiny?”

“Yes. Titular Debby. That’s sure how I think
of her.”

He lifted his brows as though expecting me to
elaborate.

So I elaborated. “Debby is hired by a retired
Southern schoolteacher and a former district court judge to solve a
series of killings at the senior center where they live. And in
doing so, they fall in love.”

“Debby and—”

“Oh, my no. The schoolteacher and the
judge.”

“Ah.”

Carefully, I watched his face for the smirk I
just knew would come. Instead, he smiled and jotted down the title.
“Sounds charming. Any others?”

Was he genuinely interested or just being
polite?

“Thank you,” I managed. “Well, let’s see. The
next book was
Debby Destiny, Private Eye: Arsenic
and Hemlock and Strychnine, Oh My
.”

“That one’s about poisons, I trust?” He
grinned into my eyes.

Dammit, cut that out! Why
aren’t you gagging like most of the other men I’ve met? You’re
getting me all discombobulated.

“Poisons?” I repeated. “Um, yes. Good call.
See, a retired bookkeeper and a former tax auditor hire Debby to
solve a series of murders in the small town where they live. And in
doing so, they, uh, you know, like in the other book, fall in
love.”

“Are all your books about Debby Destiny?”

“Yes. All ten. There are…there
were
, ten.”

“Does Debby herself ever fall in love?”

“No. She’s sort of like Agatha Christie’s
Miss Marple in that regard.”

“A spinster?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I had more than
one argument with Agatha about that. I always thought she should
let Miss Marple find love and happiness, in the end.”

Dr. Van Graf had known Agatha Christie? My
God, she’d died in 1976 at the age of 85. Was Van Graf joking, or
had he indeed been Dame Agatha’s contemporary? If so, that would
make him well over a hundred years old—yet he didn’t appear to be a
day over forty, and a young forty at that.

Before I could question him about it, he
added, “Even fictional characters deserve, especially beloved ones,
to end up happily, don’t you think?”

“It’s a matter of art imitating life,” I
murmured. “Real life people often end up, um, alone. Miss Marple
and Debby Destiny are more focused on crime solving. It’s how
they
obtain emotional fulfilment.”

I left it at that. To continue would open
more wounds than I was prepared to expose at the moment.

He straightened. E

“Do any of Debby’s adventures include
Vampires?”

Like, as if.

Rather than answer, I shook my head.

“Public opinion is still quite harsh
regarding my people. I need to know how you, as a potential member
of my staff, stand on the issue. Tell me honestly,” he said softly.
“How do
you
feel about Vampires? Love us,
hate us, get us, fear us?”

Leaning forward, his attention was fully on
me.

His eyes held a challenge.

He was testing me.

Would I pass and be hired?

Or would I fail and risk not only losing the
job, but my life as well?

I considered
his question and how conflicted I was about Vampires.

Fact: They existed.

Fact: They were integrated into society.

Fact: They sucked the life out of humans, or
at least, used to.

Fact: That’s all I really knew about
them.

“Okay,” I began. “Here’s what I think. A
vampire is a regular person who’s bitten by a vampire. Once you’re
bitten, you become immortal and are referred to as the undead, but
since you’re technically dead, you can’t be rekilled in the usual
way.”

I raised a brow and looked at him for
verification. He gave none, but simply said, “Please go on.”

I blew out a breath. “Yeah, so, vampires are
immortal as long as they have a constant supply of fresh blood,
therefore they’re always searching for mammalian sources, which can
be either people or animals—wolves seem to be a popular choice.
Vampires can only come out at night because sunlight makes them
shrivel up into prunes. Victims are helpless against their physical
and mental powers, but a person can hold a vampire at bay by using
the sign of the cross—either a little one dangling on a necklace,
or two crossed candlesticks. Ice cream sticks would probably work,
too, though I’d be nervous trying that one.”

Across from me, Professor Van Graf’s face
remained interested, but unreadable.

“Garlic,” I hurried on, “seems to keep them
at arm’s length, as it does most of the men I’ve dated. They sleep
in coffins that contain dirt from their homeland—uh, vampires, not
the men I’ve dated.” I shrugged. “Mostly.”

“Anything else?” he said, his eyes curiously
bright.

I tilted my head and let my gaze wander to
the window. “Hmm, yes, a couple of other things,” I mused. “They
can turn into bats in order to fly through large, screenless
bedroom windows carelessly left open, while nubile young women in
flimsy nightwear lay sleeping with their necks and, more
importantly, their cleavage exposed. Vampires are either Nosferatu
ugly or Hugh Jackman hot, depending on whether the heroine is
supposed to be repulsed by the vampire or have monkey sex with
him.”

“Interesting,” was his only response. “I can
see you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”

I snickered. “Not really. Everything I know
about vampires I learned from old movies.”

He slid me a sidelong look. “The classics,
such as those that used theremin music.”

I just about popped out of my chair. “You
know what that is?”

He chuckled, adjusted his glasses. “When
you’ve been around as long as I have, there isn’t much that gets
by. Besides,
Léon
was a
friend of mine.”

Wow. He’d known Christie
and
Theramin? Dr. Jon Van Graf really got around.

Where was he from?
When
was he from? Van Graf sounded German or Dutch or
something; could that give me a clue to his origins, if not his
year of birth?

Does he have superhuman strength? Can he
morph into a bat or some other menacing creature? Does he sleep in
a coffin filled with the soil of his homeland? Did he need a supply
of fresh blood to sustain his existence?

Was he immortal?

I wanted to ask him so many things, but he
was the interviewer and I the interviewee. It wasn’t my place to
quiz him—but I have an inquiring—not to mention nervous mind—and I
wanted to know.

Swallowing, I said, “Can I ask you some
personal questions? It might help me better understand—”

“Perhaps another time,” he interrupted.
“Today is a bit of a rush.”

He was putting me off, and we both knew it.
Then, tenting his fingers in front of chin, he said, “I will say
only that your impressions are incorrect. Vampires do not have
special powers, nor do we enslave victims, resurrecting them from
the dead as newly minted Vampires. These misperceptions are not
your fault. They are unfair stereotypes perpetuated by tawdry
novels and fantastical films. It’s those myths this docudrama is
intended to dispel.”

Oh, right. The Hollywood houseguests he’d
mentioned.

“Okay,” I replied, wanting to believe him,
yet the images from those old movies were difficult to dispel.

“In fact,” he said, “I only agreed to let
Foremost Films use my home in the hopes that their docudrama might
further our cause.”

“Your
cause
.”

He shrugged in such a way that showed his
frustration. “For many years, Vampires have tried without success
to end people’s fear of us. To make it clear we are not the
bloodsucking monsters portrayed in books and movies, and therefore
are not a threat to anyone. When Robert Renfield, the director,
approached me and asked me to relate my own personal struggle, I
agreed. He thought using Moonrise Manor would make the perfect
location for such a film, which is why I need to find a replacement
before Leech departs.”

“May I ask,” I ventured, “why Leech is
dep…uh, leaving?”

He seemed to cast about for the right words.
Then, “It’s a bit complicated, so just let me say that every few
years, she must return to her place of her birth for a period of
time in order to perform certain rituals necessary to her continued
longevity.”

I was confused. “Do all Vampires have to do
that?”

“Leech isn’t a Vampire.” He flashed those
pearly whites again. “Vampires are in a class by ourselves.”

I’ll say.

Still a bit confused, I asked, “Well, if
she’s not a Vampire, what is she?”

“Generally known as zombies, they include
gnomes, demons, succubae, ghouls, bloodsucking parasites.
Supernatural entities who are dead, yet behave as if alive.”

“So Leech’s birthplace is Transylvania?”

“No. Washington, D.C.”

Ah.

He relaxed back into his chair. “Did the
agency tell you the job is a live-in position?”

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

“Room and board are supplied in addition to a
monthly salary. Your evenings and weekends are free, unless there’s
a function that requires your presence. Those such events are
pretty rare, though.”

“I see.” I did see, but I still had one big
question that needed answering. “The agency assured me,” I began
cautiously, “and you have
re
assured me
that I am in no danger, however, I’m sure you can understand my
trepidation. Vampires have a really, really,
really
bad reputation.”