“Are you coming home tonight?” The plaintive note in her voice made me sad for her.
“I’ll buy you new ugly dolls tomorrow, okay?”
“I—don’t—want—a—doll.” She spaced her words for emphasis, and her tone had turned as ugly and frightening as the dolls.
“Why don’t you go home with Uncle Frank? You can spend the night there, and I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“Oh no you don’t. She’s your problem, not ours.”
“Aunt Anna already locked the doors and told me to go home.” She sounded like a lost little girl.
I couldn’t believe they would speak so cruelly in front of Heather. No wonder she’d become a mean girl. She’d learned to be unkind. I couldn’t even imagine the hurt she felt at being unwanted. Maybe it wasn’t surprising that she lashed out at other people, like Vegas. It also explained her indifference to her cousin, Gabriel.
“Fine. I’ll just walk the streets then, and one day you’ll both be sorry! One of you might be sorry sooner than you expect . . .” Heather sniffled and left through the gate.
“What did she mean by that? You don’t think she’d turn me in, do you?” asked Frank.
Her father snickered. “Who would believe her?”
An awkward pause followed, as though each waited for the other to make the first move.
“Mars!” Natasha’s voice shot through the night like an angry bullet.
Bernie and Mars moaned, and for a moment, I thought they’d given us away. Unfortunately, things only got worse when Natasha shuffled across the lawn in tiny Morticia steps, shouting at Karl. “Mars, is that you? You better not be with another woman!”
I clamped a hand over my mouth. Bernie poked me gently, and I knew he was cracking up, too.
“It’s not funny,” Mars hissed.
Frank fled out the gate.
Karl stashed his flask inside his jacket and ambled toward Natasha. “Lost your man, have you?” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t want you tripping in that sexy gown.”
“You’re such a gentleman. Tell me about Maggie. Is your relationship serious?”
“Not if I can have you instead.”
“Oh you! Seriously. I need to know. Are you . . . with her every night?”
“We’re not living together—yet—if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Well, I’m all for encouraging your relationship. Maybe we’ll have you and Maggie over for dinner. Do you like Lamb Wellington?”
Their voices faded, and we heard the sunroom door close.
“Looks like you’re having dinner guests soon.” I stood up and stretched, stiff from crouching.
“What’s up with Maggie and Karl? For a moment, I thought Karl and Frank would come to blows over Maggie. And why is Natasha being so snoopy about it? What have I missed?” asked Bernie.
“Natasha think Mars is having an affair with Maggie.”
“Which is nonsense,” Mars muttered.
“I think Maggie is using Karl to make Dash jealous,” I added. “So what’s the deal with absinthe?” I asked Bernie. “I thought it was illegal.”
“Not anymore. We have it at the bar. Mates of mine who consider themselves connoisseurs of the stuff claim most of the legal U.S. versions are watered down and not the real thing. It has quite a history of murder, suicide, and death because it was made with wormwood, which contains a toxin called thujone. The U.S. limits the amount of thujone, thus leading to the complaints. People thought drinking absinthe led to madness. It’s a hundred and six proof—more likely it led to being completely snockered.”
“Lovely,” I said.
“They call it The Green Fairy. Addicts say they get high on it. They pour it over a spoonful of sugar to take off the bitter edge. I don’t see the attraction myself, but it looks like Frank has been cultivating a bootleg business.”
We walked toward the house and when we entered, I avoided Mars’s eyes. The guilt of that kiss still haunted me. I should probably face him and have a little talk to straighten everything out—but not during a party that had already disintegrated into chaos.
I shooed everyone out of the kitchen. Maggie lingered behind, and I caught her rinsing her wineglass.
“You don’t need to clean up!”
She glanced at the doorway and whispered, “I’m not. Karl and Frank have a thing for this awful drink called absinthe. It knocks me for a loop, so I keep pouring it out.” She chuckled. “I have a large fern in my living room that’s nearly dead because I keep dumping this stuff in it.”
“Why don’t you just tell them you don’t care for it?”
She tilted her head. “When did I become such a wuss?” She scratched her cheek and studied the floor. “When Patrick was murdered. And the doll showed up. I’ve been scared to death with that vampire on the loose. That’s why I’m always begging Frank or Karl to stick around. I’m . . . I’m afraid to be alone. I wish Dash would come home.” She gasped and looked at my neck. “I don’t have to tell you. The vampire tried to bite you!”
No one else was in the kitchen. I motioned to her to sit in one of the fireside chairs, and I eased into the other one. “Please don’t be upset with Dash, but he told me about your condition. The thing is, I don’t think a vampire attacked me or killed Patrick. It was a real, mortal person. As far as I know, you and I are the only people to have received the dolls. The only connection I can think of is the kids. Don’t you suppose someone like Heather left them?”
“You mean it wasn’t meant for me? Why would Heather leave Blake a doll? No, Sophie, I fear you’re wrong about that. Someone sent those dolls as messages for us.”
“Why would they want to scare us?” I asked. “If I wanted to attack or hurt someone, I don’t think I would send a warning so he would be on the lookout.”
“Sophie!” Jen peeked in at us. “Madame Poisson is about to begin again.”
“We’ll be right there.”
Jen ran back to the other guests.
“You don’t believe in vampires, do you?” asked Maggie.
It seemed unkind to tell someone with a fear of vampires that I didn’t think they existed, but it seemed important to be honest about it. “I’m sorry, Maggie—no, I don’t.”
“That’s okay. Most people don’t understand because no one in their family was killed by a vampire. They are, indeed, very real and extremely devious and dangerous.”
For once I was speechless. Dash had said Maggie had been to countless shrinks about her problem. If they hadn’t been able to convince her that vampires couldn’t exist, then I surely couldn’t!
Wong wandered into the kitchen. “Ooo. Girl talk?” She drew up a chair. “Who are we talking about? Karl or Dash?”
Maggie flapped her hand through the air. “I’m not interested in Karl.”
Wong frowned. “What about Frank?”
“Oh, my word!” Maggie sat up straight. “Please tell me people don’t think I’m
seeing
them both. What must they think of me?”
Wong and I exchanged a look.
Maggie shrank back against her chair. “It’s not like that! I’m not sleeping with them! I’m just afraid to be alone. I know he’s coming for me.” Her voice trailed off, and I got the impression Maggie needed to talk.
“It’s okay. You can trust Wong.” At least I thought she could.
Maggie started with a tremor in her voice. “A couple of years before I was born, a vampire by the name of Viktor Luca lived in Old Town.”
Wong jumped back in her seat, and I could feel my eyes widen.
“You’ve heard of him?” asked Maggie. “I thought I was the only one left who knew about Viktor. You see, he bit my Aunt Peggy on the neck, and she died three days later.”
That explained Maggie’s resemblance to Peggy. Where had we put the picture? I rose to look for it.
Wong pounded the arm of her chair with her fist. “Peggy Zane was your aunt? Wait until my granny hears about this! She used to help out at the Widow Nagle’s boardinghouse . . .”
“. . . where Viktor lived.” Maggie finished Wong’s sentence. “That’s why I was sick with worry about Blake working there.”
I couldn’t quite follow her logic. “You thought he would be harmed? But Viktor has been gone for decades.”
Maggie laughed like I was naive. “Decades mean nothing to vampires. They’re like days or weeks to them. All my life I’ve know that Viktor would come back, looking for me.”
I found the photo. “Here it is.” I handed it to her, and Wong leaned over to have a look.
“Now that’s scary,” said Wong. “Girl, you are the spitting image of Peggy.”
“I’m named after her, too—Margaret. They tried to call me Peggy, but when I turned seven, I overheard my mom and her mother talking about Viktor. From that day on, I insisted on being called Maggie.”
“He’s not bad looking for a vampire. Very artsy. Nothing personal, Maggie, but they both had weird taste in jewelry.”
The bat necklace!
How could I have forgotten it? It must be in my pants pocket upstairs. I didn’t dare show it to Maggie, though. If she’d been scared before, she would flip out at seeing the necklace. I bent over the two of them to see the picture again. There was no question in my mind that the bat hanging from a chain on Viktor’s neck was the very same one we’d found earlier today in the haunted house. A shiver ran down my back. Surely that confirmed the stories about Viktor living there.
“That bat is weird enough, but what does Peggy have on?” Wong pointed at the photo.
“That’s her astrological sign. She was a Scorpio. They were big on that sort of thing back then. You know, Age of Aquarius and all that. Would you mind if I kept this photograph, Sophie?”
“I’d be delighted. And I bet Faye would be, too.” I glanced up at her portrait on the wall over Maggie’s head. It didn’t swing to the side.
“Everybody’s waiting!” Jen poked her head in from the foyer again.
“We’re coming right now.” I motioned to Maggie and Wong.
Minutes later, we were back in our seats holding hands. Madame Poisson called to the spirits, beseeching them to speak to her. Only this time, the occasional slurred word caused me to wonder if she had overfortified herself with wine.
“Shpeak to me. Are you with ush, Patrick? Oh! Oh! Who are you?”
I knew I should have had my eyes shut, but Madame’s performance was simply too good not to peek. Besides, watching everyone else yielded some interesting information, too. Dash couldn’t take his eyes off Maggie and Karl. Maggie bowed her head, but Karl, eyes wide open, focused on Madame. Blake’s gaze darted from his dad to his mom and back. Ray scanned us as if he hoped to identify Patrick’s killer.
“I can’t make out what you’re saying. There’s a man and a woman. The woman keeps pointing at a picture. She seems oddly familiar.” Madame gasped. “It’s the woman on your wall in the kitchen—she just bared her shoulder like in the portrait. She seems very happy. But the man . . . Who are you? Are you Patrick? If you’re Patrick, send us a sign.”
“Bwahahahahaha!”
Cackling came from my kitchen. “Want some candyyyy?”
THIRTY-ONE
Dear Natasha,
I’m hoping to do a voodoo Halloween decor. Any ideas besides the obvious ones?
—Witchy Mama in Spook Hill, Maryland
Dear Witchy Mama,
How about shrinking some heads? Peel apples and carve faces in them. Allow them to shrivel. Display in groups, or as a grisly decorative treat on a dessert platter.
—Natasha
In spite of the screams, I jumped up and ran to the kitchen, Bernie on my heels. We came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. All was quiet, and except for Mochie, the kitchen was empty. Mochie walked innocently toward us. I opened a pouch of salmon cat food and emptied it into his bowl.
The cackling candy dish sat on the counter, undisturbed.
Karl sidled into the kitchen. “Did you hire someone to hang out and make noises?”
“Hardly. I never heard of Madame Poisson before she showed up tonight, and I’m not the one who invited her. I had no idea she would be here.”
Karl frowned. “Then how did Madame Poisson arrange for that cackling?”
“That’s what we’re all wondering,” said Bernie.
We returned to the living room, where Maggie pleaded with Madame Poisson. “Please, just one more try. You clearly reached Patrick. Everyone heard it. He has to tell us who killed him.”
How could he manage that by cackling? Would Madame pretend to translate?
“I need a little bracer. Excuse me.” She made a beeline for my kitchen, poking Karl on the way.
The second Karl left the living room, Dash said to Maggie, “I’d like a quick word with you, please.”
What was up with these people? I watched Jen and her friends, who remained seated, discussing the mysterious cackle.
Bernie whispered, “What’s with Karl and the medium? Do you think they’re a team?”
There was only one way to find out. “Would anyone care for another cup of coffee or tea?” When no one replied, I said, “I guess it’s just the two of us, Bernie.”
Acting casual, we sauntered into the kitchen in time to see Karl pouring liquid from his flask into Madame Poisson’s teacup.
She seemed a little bit pale to me. I suspected she’d already had too much to drink. I edged up beside her. Her teacup trembled in her hand.
“Do you feel all right?” I asked.
“Honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you got ghosts in your house!”
I shouldn’t have teased her, but the temptation to tweak her a little bit seized me. “The young woman in the ball gown?”
“Okay, not her so much, but those others”—she stopped for a gulp of liquor—“I don’t know where they came from!”
“Didn’t they come because you called them?”
She stared at me, blinking. “I suppose they did! Except that one woman, the one right there in the picture.” She pointed at Faye’s portrait. “She acts like she lives here, flitting around from one to the other like she thinks she’s the hostess.”