Marco walked me to Bloomers carrying his folded cot and blankets, studiously ignoring the bunch across the street. One of them stepped forward and yelled, “Vampire lover! If the killer strikes again, it’s on your head, buddy!”
“Did you say good-bye to your mom’s student teacher?” Marco asked.
I eyed the protesters warily, admiring Marco’s calm. “Yes, I said good-bye, but she barely noticed because she was busy flirting with Rafe.”
Marco locked the shop’s front door behind us, then stood at the window for a moment watching the marchers.
“I don’t know how Vlad stands it,” I said, switching to the wheelchair. “I’d be on the next train back to Chicago.”
“I know the strain is getting to him. Still, he told me if he leaves now, those people across the street will think they’ve won, and everyone else will believe the rumors about him. One thing about Vlad, he isn’t the kind to give up without a fight. The shame of it is that he likes it here. It’s just idiots like them”—Marco hitched a thumb at the marchers—“who ruin it for him.”
He turned away. “Let’s get your cousin set up.”
I preceded him to the kitchen. At the landing, I called downstairs, “Jillian, I have a cot and blankets for you. Marco is going to bring them down.”
There was a sudden scuffling sound as Marco started down the steps. At the bottom, he pulled the cord to turn on the light, then called up to me, “I don’t see her, Abby.”
“She’s hiding. Just leave everything by the Neiman Marcus bags. She’ll find it.”
He set up the cot, turned out the light, then jogged up the steps. “She has a place to sleep now.”
“Jillian?” I called. “Did you hear that? You’ve got a bed now, plus food and water up here in the fridge. If you don’t speak up, I’m going to lock you in the shop for the night. You can always call me, of course, but I’m leaving right now. This is your last chance.”
“Go away,” was her raspy reply.
I gave Marco a shrug. “Let’s go. I’ll call Claymore on the way and give him an update. If Jillian isn’t better by morning, I’m going to call an ambulance and have her taken to the hospital.”
We returned to Down the Hatch but ended up sitting in Marco’s office because the place was packed. Vlad was back at the bar performing for the women as though the news report had never happened. So we took the opportunity to go over all the notes we’d made so far and to discuss the upcoming interview with Dr. Holloway. Marco was still a little nervous about me seeing him alone, so I assured him I had a plan.
“Want to elaborate on that?” he asked.
“I’m going to play to Holloway’s ego. Self-centered people love to talk about themselves, and thinking that someone came all the way from Paris to see him is going to put him in an agreeable mood.”
“Holloway’s going to figure out your French persona is a sham. Why not be straightforward with him? Tell him you’re investigating a murder and you need his input.”
“Did straightforward work for you?”
Marco didn’t answer.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control. If he catches on—
when
he catches on—I’ll swap out one story for another, and he’ll have no choice but to believe it. Who would lie twice?”
“And if your second story doesn’t work?”
“O ye of little faith.”
By nine o’clock the protesters had departed, so Marco felt comfortable leaving head bartender Chris, along with Evan, Rafe, and Vlad, tending bar, giving us a few precious hours to ourselves. But before we returned home, I asked Marco to make a quick stop at Bloomers to check on Jillian.
I unlocked the front door and Marco held it open for me, but inside, I didn’t hear the familiar beeps of the security system. “Is someone here?” Marco asked, glancing around.
“It could only be Lottie or Grace, and they would turn on a light. I must have forgotten to set it when I left.”
I switched to the wheelchair; then we made our way to the kitchen, where I found an empty plate on the counter. “Marco, look! Jillian ate the meat with the pills in them. I’d better call Claymore and tell him the good news.”
“Wait, Abby.” Marco bent down and picked up something off the floor. “Are these her pills?” He showed me two familiar-looking capsules. Just to be certain, I got the amber-colored plastic container from the fridge and opened it. Yep. Same pills.
“That does it. I’m going downstairs and force these pills down her throat. She’s going to get better whether she wants to or not.”
“No, you don’t,” Marco said, standing in front of my chair. “You’ll fall.”
“I’ll scoot down on my rear. You don’t know where the hiding spots are.”
He frowned at me, and when that didn’t work, he said, “Stay there until I get your crutches.”
Carrying the Evil Ones, Marco headed to the basement and waited at the bottom while I came down the old wooden steps one at a time. Luckily, I wasn’t wearing light-colored pants. Once balanced, I saw the cot Marco had set up and noticed that Jillian’s white silk sheets had been spread out on it and all of her various creams had been lined up on a shelf nearby. I went through the warren of rooms, checking a few tucked-away places, finally reaching the furnace room way in the back, where I had once hid from a murderer. But Jillian wasn’t there.
“I told you she wasn’t here,” Marco said.
“She must have left the building while we were eating. That’s why the alarm was turned off. I’ll bet she memorized the security code when she worked here. I’ll have to remember to change the code.”
I headed for the steps. “I’d better alert Claymore that Countess Jillian von Dracula is on the loose.”
It had been a busy, productive, yet ultimately frustrating day, so by the time I slid under the bedcovers, I was ready for a good night’s rest. Lying in Marco’s arms, drifting off to sleep, I heard him murmur, “I like having you as my partner.”
I snuggled closer to him and said drowsily, “And I like
being
your partner.”
Then, just as my eyelids fluttered closed, he said, “I’m meeting with Dave tomorrow to finalize my will.”
It took a few minutes for his words to sink into my semisomnolent brain.
My eyes snapped open.
His will?
I didn’t get restful sleep that night, not only because I was worrying about my cousin but also because of that little bomb Marco dropped about his will. I figured he was merely being cautious, not wanting a probate court to decide what to do with his assets if, God forbid, something were to happen to him, but still, did I want to know about it?
Now that I did know, though, I was curious as to why he had told me. But he didn’t mention it the next morning, so I hated to bring it up. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant way to start the day.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” Marco said, coming up behind me as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. I had propped myself against the sink to put on my silver earrings.
I smiled at his reflection as he slid his arms around my waist. “Hey, yourself, Salvare.”
“You look way too sexy in that sweater and skirt to meet a doctor who’s hot to trot. I’d better come with you.”
“Don’t worry. I know how to handle frisky men.”
“Do you now? Want to show me?”
I turned to wind my arms around his neck and smile at him. “You bet, but let’s save that show for tonight. I’ll be late for work if we don’t leave right now.”
“Spoilsport.” He handed me the crutches and helped me into my coat, then, before we left, stooped down to scratch Simon behind his ears. Simon rubbed his face against Marco’s hand, then gazed adoringly at him and meowed.
“Is he hungry?” Marco asked me.
“No, he’s had his breakfast. He’s just saying, Don’t go! Stay and play with me.”
“Sorry, buddy,” Marco said. “The boss says we have to go.” He pretended to whisper to Simon, “You know what an iron will she has.”
Iron will . . . Will . . . Last will and testament.
No, I was
not
going to ask about it. Not. Going. To. Ask.
“We’re leaving you in charge, Si,” Marco said, rising. “You’re the man of the house now. Guard it well.”
Well . . . Will . . . Oh, hell. “Marco, why did you tell me you had your will drawn up?”
He opened the front door for me. “Because you’re in it.”
I was in his will? I waited for him to enlarge on that, but he didn’t. So that was how I left it—hoping that I would never need to find out the details.
On the drive to Bloomers, I phoned Claymore to see if Jillian had turned up, but he didn’t have any news. “I’m frantic with worry, Abby. The police won’t help until she’s been missing for two days. I’ve been driving all over town, hoping to spot her, I’ve got her parents out searching, and I’ve even alerted her favorite shops and restaurants in case someone sees her.”
“I doubt she’d be dining out or shopping in her condition. Does she have her credit cards with her?”
“She should have them. She took her purse.”
“I’ll bet she checked into a hotel.”
“Good thinking. I’ll call around. Thanks, Abby.”
“Call me the minute you find her, Clay.”
Marco gave my hand a squeeze. “Jillian will turn up. Don’t worry. This town isn’t so big that a sick woman in a black cape can walk around unnoticed.”
Grace and Lottie were standing at the window watching for me, and when they saw Marco’s car out front, they sprang into action. Within five minutes, I was in the wheelchair sitting in the parlor with a cup of coffee in front of me, filling them in on Jillian’s escape.
“Claymore has a posse out looking for her,” I said. “So far no reports.”
“Maybe this will explain her whereabouts. It was by the cash register this morning.” Lottie handed me an envelope that was marked in capital letters: TO A. KNIGHT FROM J.
KNIGHT-OSBORNE, FORMER WARDROBE CONSULTANT.
I opened it and unfolded the piece of Bloomers stationery inside. In a spidery hand, Jillian had written:
I’ve gone to be with my own kind.
I know you think I’m out of my mind,
But thanks for the meat on which I dined.
Your cousin Jillian has this note signed.
P.S. I never expected you to try to poison me, too.
Grace and Lottie read it over my shoulder; then Lottie said, “Why would she think you tried to poison her?”
“I hid antibiotics in her food and left it in the fridge, but it didn’t work. She found the pills and left them behind.”
“Does your cousin always rhyme her notes?” Grace asked.
“She never did before. Jillian always hated poetry. Mother Goose rhymes used to give her fits. When Jill tumbled down the hill after Jack, Jillian took it personally.”
“Her own kind,”
Lottie mused. “Would that be delusional rich people?”
“If Jillian truly believes she’s turning into a vampire,” Grace said, “she might check herself into a hospital, mightn’t she?”
“Or a bat cave,” Lottie offered.
Hmm. Where
would
Jillian go? I didn’t have a clue. But I knew someone who might. All I needed was a reason to drop by and see him.
“What I’d like to know,” Lottie said, “is how Jillian got out of here without setting off the alarm.”
“That puzzled me, too,” I said, “but I think I’ve figured it out. Remember when Jillian was helping out here while I was investigating the clown’s murder during Picklefest? I gave her a spare key and never asked for it back. She was usually with me when I set the alarm at night, so she probably memorized it. She has an uncanny memory for numbers—phone numbers, dates, bank accounts, you name it.”
“She sure has your mom worried,” Lottie said. “She and your dad helped Jillian’s parents search until late in the night.”
“You talked to my mom this morning?”
“She dropped off another mobile,” Grace said. “Lottie and I have already unpacked it. You’ll find it hanging safely behind the dieffenbachia.”
Right. Like there were any safe spots when it came to Mom’s art.
Lottie was tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I was just thinking about something. You heard there was another so-called vampire sighting last night, didn’t you?”
“No. Where?” I asked.
“People coming out of the movie theater reported seeing someone in a long black hooded cape running out of the bushes and disappearing behind the building,” Lottie said. “And Jillian was wearing a black cape with a hood when she showed up here. Do you think it might have been her?”
“I’ll let Claymore know so he can search there,” I said.
“It sure started up the rumor mills again,” Lottie said. “The radio was full of people reporting sightings. Then the leader of that so-called Garlic Party phoned in and put out a call to arms. This vampire hysteria is out of control. I feel sorry for Marco’s friend.”
“If I were Vlad,” I said, “I’d be hopping a train to Chicago.”
“By the way, love,” Grace said, “the plants you ordered for Vlad are in.”
“The dandelions, too?”
“Yes, two flats of dandelions. That’s what you ordered, wasn’t it?”
And there was my reason!
“What the heck does he want with so many weeds?” Lottie asked.
“Maybe I’ll find out when I deliver them.”
“
You’re
going to deliver them?” Lottie glanced at my wheelchair. “I don’t think so.”
“My two weeks are almost up,” I said. “I should be able to take my bandage off so I can put on a shoe and drive.”
“That’s a bad idea, sweetie,” Lottie said, as I unwrapped the mile of Ace bandage around my ankle and foot. “I’ll deliver the orders. You stay put.”
“I agree with Lottie,” Grace said. “There’s no need to test your ankle when she can make the deliveries. You can’t rush the healing process.”
I knew they were looking out for my best interests, but delivering those houseplants to Vlad was an opportunity I couldn’t miss. I tossed the stretchy bandage aside and examined my lower leg. Other than my ankle being a tad on the scaly side, it didn’t look that bad. The swelling was completely gone.