Dead is the New Black (9 page)

Jon crouched in front of my suddenly and
incredibly coherent and articulate mother.

“Mrs. Wilder?” he said softly. “
Who
did you see?
Who
was the
man with the candlestick? Who killed Percy Usher?”

You could have
heard a pin drop. Everyone’s attention was riveted on my mother,
though she seemed unaware of the commotion she was causing. After
all, I was pretty certain that, in her mind, she was just playing a
child’s game. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. A slight
smiled curved her lips as she blinked up at Jon.

He cleared his throat and repeated, “Who was
the man with the candlestick?”

Mom’s lashes fluttered and she looked a
little disconcerted. “What man?”

He flicked a quick glance at me, and then
returned his attention to my mother. “Professor Plum,” he said
slowly, gently. His eyes shone with kindness, caring. And I knew
right then and there that this man could never hurt my mother. In
fact, he could never hurt anyone.

“In the hall,” he coaxed. “Can you describe
the man in the hall?”

My mother’s mouth turned down and she seemed
to retreat into herself again. “When?” She stared at up him,
crossed her arms, scowled. “Who
are
you?”
she demanded. “Why are you
badgering
me
like this?”

My heart skipped a beat. She was gone again.
Her bewilderment had bloomed into anger, and from experience, I’d
learned we’d get nothing more from her.

I exchanged looks with Jon. “I’m sorry. She
won’t—”

Obviously unused to dealing with dementia, he
raised his hand to halt my remarks. Still crouched before the
wheelchair, he simply watched her. The expression on his face told
me he was thinking, analyzing, trying to find the key that would
unlock my mother’s mind.

This was a serious situation—a young actor
laid dead a few rooms away and his killer was undoubtedly
pretending to be a guiltless observer of these goings-on. Whether
my mom truly had seen the killer, it was impossible to know. Was
there really a “Professor Plum” or was she merely replaying a game
from years ago?

Add to it the fact we were snowbound and
vulnerable,
somebody
had put two puncture
wounds in my demented mother’s neck, yet watching Jon trying to
comfort and communicate with my mom, I found all I could think
about was what it would feel like to kiss him.

I am a disgusting piece of
garbage. I am beyond inappropriate. What is the matter with me?
This man is a Vampire and my boss and we’re hip deep in murder, and
in spite of all that I have never been so attracted to someone in
my life. Ever.

Am I sick or just too
stupid to live?

I was so far gone, I’d even be willing to bet
that the “blood” I’d seen on his sweater was just red paint. Yes.
That was it. He’d been painting a, um, oh, I don’t know, a fire
hydrant maybe? Sure. That made perfect sense.

All around us, the room remained quiet.
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

I continued to watch Jon as he observed my
mother, speaking softly to her, using her name, smiling. Though she
made no response, he continued trying to find a word or phrase she
would recognize and would bring her back to us.

I knew from experience it would be nearly
impossible, but she had shown remarkable clarity this evening for
the first time in years, so who knew what might happen?

Jon was so intent that I could almost see the
gears turning inside his head. For a moment, I thought that’s what
I was hearing. Then I realized that the clicking and tapping
weren’t the cogs and wheels in his brain, but the stealthy
footfalls of someone quietly heading for the door.

While everyone’s attention was on my mom,
somebody was trying to sneak away.

I could tell the moment Jon became aware of
it, too. His gaze shifted from my mom to meet mine. He rose to his
feet, turning around to face the man tiptoeing toward the door.

“Going somewhere, Professor Plum?” When the
man made no reply, Jon demanded,
“Well?”
His accusatory bark shook the room like a roll of thunder. “Why did
you change your clothes, Igor?”

Igor swallowed and gave a nervous little
shrug. His eyes bulged so much, he looked like a carp staring out
of an aquarium. “I was, you know, uh, dirty,” he stammered. “I, uh,
wanted to change before dinner, see.”

Wolf left the love seat and moved to stand
next to Jon. “This is being not true, Doctor,” he said. “Inside, we
worked, because of the storm. I am not getting dirty. He is not
getting dirty.”

Of course. I remembered. Earlier that day,
Igor had been wearing the same color T-shirt as Wolf.

The shirts were purple.

Purple—like a plum.

Wolf was still wearing his shirt, but Igor
had changed. Was that because there was blood on it?

Abruptly, my mother pushed herself out of her
wheelchair and stood. My breath caught. Mom hadn’t possessed the
strength to stand or walk unaided for several years, yet here she
was, standing straight and tall and proud.

“Mom?” I choked, overcome with emotion at the
sight of her looking like her old self. When she wobbled a bit, I
put out my hand to help steady her. “Did you want to say
something?”

She nodded and raised her chin in obvious
triumph. Lifting her arm, she pointed straight at Igor.

“Professor Plum,” she announced. “In the hall
with the candlestick.
Woof
!”

Across the room, Igor’s expression changed
from trepidation to terror. He forced a smile, then shrugged again
and gave a cajoling little laugh. “Hey, hey, like, listen. She
don’t know what she’s talkin’ about. She’s got Al’s hammers, for
God’s sakes. She’s a thief. You can’t believe nothin’ she
says.”

Before anyone could respond, Igor lunged for
the door, grabbing the knob with both hands. But before he could
get the door open and make good his getaway, Jon and Wolf were on
him. Amid grunts and curses, Jon wrestled Igor to the floor and
pinned his arms behind his back.

Not even breathing hard after the tussle…

Oh, be still my
heart…

Jon said, “Wolf. Find something to tie up
this son of a bitch.”

With a quick, “Yes, sir,” Wolf leapt to his
feet and hurried from the parlor. Behind me, the movie people
applauded as though this were a performance staged expressly for
their entertainment.

But Percy Usher’s death was no stage
production. He was well and truly dead. Murdered.

I remained silent, continuing to hold my mom
steady, but as Jon yanked Igor to his feet and shoved him into a
chair near the fireplace, I said to Igor, “Did you kill Percy? Was
it you my mother saw in the hallway?”

His expression was flat, his head slightly
bowed, his jaw clamped tightly shut.

At that moment, Wolf entered the room with a
length of rope. Together, he and Jon tied Igor’s hands and feet,
trussing him up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Jon grabbed Igor by the front of his
overalls. “The lady asked you a question. Answer her. Now.”

Jon shoved Igor down into the chair.
Slouching down, Igor shrugged again, and then gave a halfhearted
nod.

“Why?” Jon asked. “You didn’t even know him.”
He crossed his arms and looked hard at the prisoner. “Or did you?
Yeah, that’s it. You
did
know him. And
more importantly, he knew
you
.”

Igor pursed his lips. “Aw, hell,” he sighed.
“It’s over now anyways.” He straightened in his chair. “Yeah. I
knew the little shithead. We was roomies together for a stint in
Camarillo.”

The movie people had been pretty quiet until
now, but on hearing Igor’s confession, Robert Renfield put his
hands on his hips. An expression of shock distorted his
features.

“Camarillo?” he yelled. “The California State
Mental Hospital for convicted felons? Rapists? Sexual
predators?”

Igor cracked a smile. “Yeah. Some fun,
huh.”

Teri Van BoobBounce gasped. “Percy was
incarcimated
there
? He was one of
them
?
My
Percy?”

This got a derisive snort from Igor. “Your
Percy, my ass. He was everybody’s Percy, whether they wanted it or
not. He wasn’t real good at takin’ no for a answer. Besides,” he
said on a tired breath, “when I knew him, his name wasn’t Nancy-boy
Percy Usher. His real name was Mack MacMack.”

Jon frowned. “Mack MacMack?”

Igor nodded. “Mack MacMack.”

“You sound like two chickens talking to each
other.” This from my mother, who had suddenly become aware of the
proceedings.

“Yeah,” snarled Igor. “Some moniker, yeah?
But when he turned porn star, he changed it to Ben Dover.” He
snickered, and then laughed out loud. “Guess when he went legit, he
changed it again to Usher.”

Barnaby Karloff piped up. “So you killed him
because he recognized you?”

“Yeah. I thought movin’ this far north, I’d
never see the guy again. But what do you think? The little perp
walks right into my life, sees me and informs me that for a few
bucks he won’t say nothin’. So I put it that I’ll tell on
him
, and he says I got more to lose than
he does, so I solved the whole dillenema with one of them big brass
candlesticks from the cabinet in the study. He was looking for porn
when I rang his bell. Permanently.”

I turned to Jon. “You have
porn
in your library?”

He shrugged. “Men are pigs.”

Every woman in the room murmured in
agreement.

“You’re a
doctor
,” I
rasped.

He arched a brow. “Yes, it just doesn’t get
any better than
The New England Journal of
Medicine
or
The Lancet
. Oh,
baby.”

Turning back to Igor, Jon crossed his arms
over his chest and scowled. “The candlestick. What did you do with
it?”

Igor’s eyebrows rose. “Tossed it out my
window in the snow somewheres. I imagine it’ll turn up after the
melt, but I’d planned to be long gone by then.” He smiled. “Long
gone and scot-free.” He snorted. “Shit. Busted by some old lady in
a wheelchair. What’s this world comin’ to anyways?”

I looked at my mother. She smiled at me, then
at Jon. Finally, she turned her attention to Igor. “I have only one
thing to say to that, you little prick.” With a saucy grin on her
lovely face, she whispered, “Woof!”

***

An hour later, the police and coroner had
been summoned and would arrive as soon as the roads were passable.
Igor was still trussed up and locked in a small laundry cupboard
with no windows and no means of escape. Wolf stood guard outside
the door, just in case.

My mom had been pretty quiet after the wild
events of the evening, so Lucy had taken her up to bed.

The movie people meandered about the parlor,
trying as best they could to understand what had happened. Renfield
was rather philosophical about it though, saying, “Hey, just
another day in Hollywood.”

When everyone had wandered away to grab a
bite to eat or chat or watch TV, I went to the fireplace and stared
into the bright flames, trying to give my brain time to process the
huge amount of data this day had brought—not to mention the
roller-coaster ride my emotions had been on.

A moment later, Jon sidled up next to me.
Together, we stood in silence, enjoying the heat from the fire,
and—I have to add from my personal point of view—the heat from his
übermasculine body.

Without looking at him, I said, “I knew you
didn’t do it.”

“I know.” His deep voice was rich and
incredibly sexy, and I decided I was okay with that.

“I do have a question, though.”

A moment ticked by, then another. Finally, he
said, “I thought you might.”

Turning slightly in his direction, I said,
“Your alibi was my mother.”

“Yes.”

“She has two puncture wounds in her
neck.”

“She does.”

“You lied. You told me you are a Vampire, an
ethnic group, and not a creature of the night.”

“I did, yes.”

“And that my mother and I would be safe here.
She has obviously been bitten. Do you care to explain to me how
that happened?”

He nudged my chin with his index finger and
looked deeply into my eyes. I looked back. I wanted to. In fact, I
think it was at that moment I decided I wanted to forever.

Softly, he confessed, “I was with your
mother, but I did not hurt her.”

Diverting the conversation for a moment, I
said, “What kind of doctor are you?”

“A neurologist, specializing in
dementia.”

I tilted my head. “And you are a
real
vampire,” I accused. “Lowercase V. One of the
undead. A creature of the night. A bloodsucking monster.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and no.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and
yes
,” I countered. “You attacked my mother.”

“I thought I could help her, and I believe I
have. You saw how she was this evening. More like her old self,
yes?”

I shook my head. “But how?”

He stepped closer. “I did not take any of her
blood. Vampires don’t need to do that anymore. These days, we have
alternatives.”

“Such as?”

“Such as Hemoglobin Helper and Plasm-a-Roni
and Doritoes. Platelet chips come in sour cream and onion now. And
lots more. We no longer need living donors anymore to survive.”

“Are you sure?”

He grinned that heart-melting grin. “I’m
absolutely O-positive.”

God, he was so incredibly charming, I felt
myself on the verge of my very first swoon. Recovering, I said, “So
how did you help my mother?”

“Instead of withdrawing blood from her, I
injected stem cells into her system. Much research is being done on
this treatment, but the process is slow, and your mother needs help
right now.
Now
, before she falls so far
into dementia, she can no longer be healed.”