Murder in Vein (2010) (3 page)

As she brushed, Madison opened the door wider, letting the
light from the bathroom splash across the bedroom. The woman
hadn't returned. The bedroom was beautiful and inviting, the
sort of room she'd only seen before in magazines. She rinsed and
spit, then studied her bruised reflection in the mirror again, trying to piece together the lost time.

The last thing Madison remembered was a man and a woman
standing over her, deciding her fate. She closed her eyes and concentrated. The man had been inclined to kill her; the woman had
not. Then something was placed over her face. She'd had dreams
while she slept. Dreams of being carried through the woods.
Dreams of fangs and blood and Bobby's final cries. The man had
killed Bobby ... hadn't he?

Looking at the shower with longing, Madison decided against
it. Until she had some answers, she didn't want to be naked and
standing under running water. She'd seen the movie Psycho.
Instead, she took up the fancy soap again and wet a facecloth.
Gently, she washed her face, traveling carefully around the bandages, then over and around her neck. It made her feel better and
helped clear the cobwebs.

The woman.

Madison stopped washing and stared out the door, into the
bedroom. The woman hadn't returned yet. Then it hit Madison.
It was the woman's voice that was familiar, not her face. The older
woman was the woman in the woods. She was sure of it.

If the woman, the retired nurse, was the same woman in the
woods, then who was the man? She shut the door, locking it. The
man had wanted to kill her. To finish what Bobby had started.
He-the man-had fangs. The sight of the blood-covered fangs
exploded from her deep memory like a ball through a plate glass
window. The man had bitten Bobby, torn into him like a barbecued rib on the Fourth of July.

She looked around for a window. Nightgown or not, Madison
was ready to squeeze through a bathroom window and hit the
ground running. But the bathroom was windowless. The only
way out was through the bedroom. She started to unlock the
door but stopped, still unsure of what she had seen.

"There's no such thing as vampires," she scolded herself in a
barely audible whisper. She paced the small room, repeating the
phrase several times. The man had killed Bobby, true, but he'd
also saved her life. The biting, the fangs, must have been a product of her overactive and stressed imagination.

She lowered the toilet lid and dropped down onto it, still trying to convince herself. She must have heard wrong that he'd
wanted to kill her, too. She was alive, wasn't she? And why would
they bring her here if they meant to kill her? Then again, why
hadn't they taken her to a hospital? Or to a police station? Her
last question hit home. If she'd nearly been murdered, where
were the police? Her mind reeled with contradictions.

A knock on the bathroom door sent Madison into near cardiac arrest. "Madison, are you all right?" It was the older woman.
"Madison," the woman called, knocking again. "Do you need
help, dear?"

"I'll ... I'll be right out." Madison rose and went to study herself in the mirror again. She couldn't stay in the bathroom forever. Her cell phone was in her bag on the dresser, but what good
would it do? She had no idea where she was.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, Madison peeked out. The
bedroom was empty. As soon as she stepped into it, her nostrils
filled with the aroma of something hot and inviting. She followed the fragrant trail to a small desk, on which sat a tray holding a large bowl of soup, buttered toast, and a tiny pot of hot tea
with its own matching teacup. The soup looked homemade. Her
mouth watered. Sitting down in the desk chair, Madison picked
up the soup spoon and stirred it through a broth thick with
chicken, potatoes, and chunks of an unidentifiable orange vegetable. With the spoon, she plucked a chunk of potato from the
bowl and tenuously put it in her mouth. It was delicious. She'd
downed several more big spoonfuls when the woman returned.

"Good?" she asked Madison.

With her mouth full, Madison could only nod.

"That's Pauline's special chicken soup. People love it. It has
pumpkin chunks as well as yams and regular potatoes"

Pumpkin and yam. Those were the orange vegetables Madison couldn't identify in the bowl.

In the woman's arms were some folded clothes. "It's a Jamaican recipe. Pauline is our housekeeper. Her family is originally
from Kingston."

"It's awesome," Madison said between gulps.

"Here are some fresh clothes for when you're ready to get
dressed." The woman placed them on the dresser. "You're about
my height but slimmer. Still, these should do for now. And no
rush getting dressed. You've been through quite a lot. Feel free to
climb back into bed if you like."

Noticing for the first time a white linen napkin next to
the soup bowl, Madison picked it up and wiped her mouth.
"Thanks," she said bluntly. She wondered if she should offer
more words of gratitude, but instead she blurted, "Who are you,
and where in the hell am I?"

The woman sat on the edge of the bed nearest the desk. "My
name is Dorothy Dedham, but everyone calls me Dodie. My husband is Douglas. You are in our home"

Madison ran her eyes over Dodie's lined face. She appeared
to be in her late sixties, attractive, with porcelain skin and light
auburn hair, which she wore pulled back in a clip. Her eyes were
blue and crinkled when she smiled. She was dressed in sharply
pressed khaki slacks and a blue V-neck sweater pulled over a
white tee shirt. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up to her
elbows. The pink slippers were still on her feet.

The memory of being carried crept forward from the back
of Madison's mind. She blinked and stared at the older woman. "Did you carry me through the woods?" she asked, hesitating. "I
know it seems crazy..." She shook her head at the thought. "I'm
not very heavy, but you're ... old."

Dodie laughed. "Old doesn't mean decrepit, dear. And I had
help. Doug helped me carry you to your car, then he drove it here
to the house."

It sounded feasible but didn't jive with the picture in Madison's
head. Her memory was of being carried through the woods, cradled like a child in the arms of the woman seated in front of her.

Madison looked around the room until her eyes settled on a
clock near the bed. She hadn't noticed it before. It was ten minutes after five. Standing, she went to the window and pulled back
the heavy drapes. From the second-story window, she could
clearly see that nightfall was coming to the October evening and
that the house was surrounded by thick stands of trees.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, still looking out
the window.

"About fourteen hours."

Madison turned sharply on Dodie. "Fourteen hours?" Now it
was clear why her head had been so heavy and thick when she
woke. "You drugged me?" The tone was accusatory.

"When we carried you to the car, you passed out. Once we got
you here and started dressing your injuries, it was obvious you
were in a lot of pain, so I gave you a sedative to help you rest."
Dodie's words were matter-of-fact, not defensive.

Before Madison could say anything more, Dodie rose and
approached Madison, her face calm and comforting. "I called
Detective Notchey to let him know you're awake. He wants to
drop by tonight to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to it,
or would you rather sleep some more?"

Madison hesitated before answering. She wasn't fond of the
police, but this was an unusual situation. "No, I'll see him"

"Good" Dodie smiled at her. "Why don't you finish your
dinner and get dressed?" She headed for the door. "Feel free to
take a shower. Just be careful of the bandages if you wash your
hair. There's a hair dryer and clean brush in one of the vanity
drawers."

In spite of Madison's concerns, the pieces were falling into
place with reasonable explanations. She sat back down to finish
her soup. Digging an orange chunk from the bowl, she carefully
tasted it. Was it a yam or a piece of pumpkin? Yam, she decided.

Maybe some things were exactly as they seemed.

Freshly showered and dressed in the warm leggings, tunic sweater, and socks provided by Dodie, Madison picked up her dinner
tray and headed downstairs. Like the upstairs, the main floor was
a harmonious blend of gleaming hardwood floors and antique
furnishings mixed with expensive fabrics and area rugs. Once on
the first floor, she heard voices coming from the back of the
house. In front of her was the front door. For a fleeting instant,
Madison thought about running out the front door, but her
purse was upstairs, and who knew if her car keys were with it.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders and headed toward the
voices.

In the spacious, modern kitchen, Dodie was at the counter by
the sink fussing with a blender. The older man from the woods
sat at the table teasing her. There was a distinguished and knowledgeable air about him. Madison hung back, staying out of sight,
not wanting to disturb their intimate banter.

Dodie placed a glass in front of the man. It held a thick liquid
the color of red velvet cake. He tasted it, swishing it around in his
mouth as if tasting a fine wine. "New recipe?" he asked.

Dodie turned to him and wiped her hands on the cotton
apron that protected her sweater and slacks. "Why? Don't you
like it?"

He took another sip. "It's fine. A little on the gamey side, but
in a good way."

She took a drink from her own glass. "I mixed equal parts
domestic and wild. I thought it would be nice after last night's
smoky, boozy aftertaste."

"Ah, yes," the man said, lifting the glass again to his mouth.
"Last night's dinner wasn't very pleasant, but it was fresh."

Dodie shook her head. "When are people going to realize that
they really are what they eat?"

Turning toward the doorway, Dodie waved to Madison.
"Come on in, Madison, and meet Doug."

Embarrassed at being discovered eavesdropping, Madison
sheepishly stepped into view. "I thought I'd bring my tray down."

Doug downed the rest of his smoothie in two big gulps before
turning to greet Madison. When he did, she saw the reddishbrown liquid from the glass clinging to his lips and teeth.

Instantly, Madison was back in the woods-back on the
ground, tied and immobile. She saw fangs. She saw blood. She
heard Bobby Piper's screams. She staggered. The tray in her
hands crashed to the floor.

Doug Dedham wiped his mouth with his napkin and
addressed his wife. "If she's going to stick around, we need to
have a talk with her. Pronto."

hey're freaking vampires!" Madison shrieked at Detective
Notchey. They were in a comfortable wood-paneled den on
the first floor of the Dedham home. In the fireplace, a small,
cheerful fire danced. The door was closed. Detective Michael
Notchey sat in a high-backed leather chair, one denim-clad leg
crossed over the other as he calmly reviewed his notes. In front of
the fire, Madison paced like a panther. Her arms were wrapped
tightly around herself-not for warmth but to hold herself
together, as she feared she was falling apart.