Vampires, Bones and Treacle Scones

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Sorry! Not a customer,” Sherri Campbell called out as she entered the shop.

  “Hey, Sherri. Coffee?”

  “No time.”

  Margaret was already on her way back to the stockroom to fill a third ceramic mug. “You can spare a few minutes to take on fuel,” she sang out as she went.

  “I just stopped by to ask if you’d installed any of the scary stuff at the Chadwick mansion yet,” Sherri said.

  Liss registered the serious expression on her friend’s face and the fact that she was in uniform. That meant she was on the six-to-two shift, and that meant that she’d already been on duty for more than four hours. “What’s wrong?”

  “We had a report of suspicious flickering lights at the mansion last night. I’m on my way out to investigate. I thought I’d better check in with you first. Make sure it wasn’t just some sort of early promotion for the haunted house.”

  “None of my doing,” Liss said. “We don’t have anything rigged up yet, not even the generator we’ve arranged to borrow.”

  “Most likely it was just kids exploring the place on a dare.” Margaret pushed a mug of coffee, already doctored the way she knew Sherri liked it, into Sherri’s hand.

  Sherri gave in and took a sip, but she remained standing.

  “Muffin?” Liss offered the bakery bag.

  “I’m good.” Sherri inhaled the fresh-baked scent, a rapturous expression on her face, and finally cracked a smile.

  “I remember back when Ned was in middle school.” Margaret, seated opposite Liss, had a faraway look in her eyes. “He and his friends were fascinated by the rumors they’d heard about Blackie O’Hare.”

  Liss and Sherri exchanged wary glances. Aunt Margaret almost never talked about her son, Liss’s cousin, not since he’d been sentenced to five years in the state correctional facility for manslaughter.

  “They were certain there was loot from a bank robbery buried in the basement.” If Margaret sensed the sudden tension in the air, she chose to ignore it. “The boys went out there more than once, even though they were told not to. I don’t think they ever managed to get inside, but I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

  Liss took a sip of coffee and considered the current situation. Margaret was probably right. Teenagers were the most likely culprits, just as they were probably responsible for the cigarette butts and beer cans she and Dan had cleared out of the parlor. “Who reported seeing lights?”

  “Dolores Mayfield.”

  Liss swallowed wrong and coughed. Tears filled her eyes by the time she recovered.

  “I know.” Sherri heaved a resigned sigh. “But I still have to follow up.”

  “What was she doing out there in the first place? The Chadwick house isn’t exactly on her way home from the library. It’s not on the way to anywhere.”

  “Who knows? All she told me was that she drove by there last night and noticed a light shining through the trees. When she stopped the car to take a better look, it blinked out, but she saw it again in her rearview mirror as she was leaving. She says she thought about those lights all night long and decided she’d better report the sighting.”

  “How virtuous of her. I’m surprised she didn’t go tromping in there on her own to check it out.” Liss had to smile at the mental image that suddenly popped into her head—Dolores Mayfield, wearing the traditional white flowing Victorian nightwear of a Gothic heroine, looking over her shoulder at the tower of the Chadwick mansion as she fled through the woods, pursued by some unknown terror.

  “She probably would have,” Sherri said, “if it had been broad daylight. Even Dolores has sense enough to avoid an isolated and deserted house in the dead of night.” She gulped down the rest of her coffee. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Dan put a new lock on the back door. Do you need a copy of the key?”

  Sherri shook her head. “I borrowed the duplicates for the front door from the town office.”

  Left alone with her aunt, Liss returned to the subject of Margaret’s son. “Do you know how Ned is doing?”

  Margaret’s shoulders sagged. For a moment, she looked years older than she was. “He still won’t see me. I write to him, but he doesn’t answer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Margaret met her eyes. “It’s not your fault. I spoiled him when he was growing up. Everyone said so. It made him selfish and unfeeling.”

  “You’re not to blame, either.” Liss leaned across the coffee table to put her hand on her aunt’s forearm and squeezed.

  “I know that.” Margaret pulled away, stood, and busied herself clearing the table. “It took me nearly a year to believe it, but I know it’s true. Still, I bitterly regret what happened. I will until my dying day.”

  When she disappeared into the stockroom, Liss didn’t follow. A few minutes later, she heard the back door open and close and then the sound of Margaret’s car pulling out of the driveway.

  Less than half an hour later, Sherri returned to the Emporium.

  “Nothing. Nada. Zip,” she reported. “As far as I can tell, no one’s been inside the mansion since you and Dan were there to sweep the floors, install that lock, and put out the traps for the rats.”

  Liss paused in mid sweep with her feather duster and frowned. She’d heard an odd note in her friend’s voice. “But?”

  Sherri shrugged blue-clad shoulders. “It looked to me like someone tried to break in. There were scratch marks all over that pretty new deadbolt.”

  Liss went out to the Chadwick mansion that afternoon after work to see for herself. Stu Burroughs went with her.

  “How did you hear about the lights?” Liss asked him as she examined the lock. “Village grapevine?”

  “Direct from Dolores. She thought I ought to be informed, as she put it, since I’m on the Halloween committee.”

  “Funny. She didn’t bother to give me a call.”

  “You didn’t report back to her on your visit to the so-called famous writer.”

  Liss laughed. “Take a look at this, will you, Stu. These scratches don’t seem particularly ominous to me. The keyhole plate at the Emporium looks worse.”

  “Faulty aim with a key is pretty common,” Stu agreed.

  “Especially when you’re trying to juggle packages or the mail or too many tote bags.” There had been times, Liss recalled, when it had taken her four or five tries to jam her key home. “So—kids were out here again and tried to get in and were foiled by the new deadbolt?”

  “Looks that way to me. I wonder if Boxer Snipes was one of them.”

  “Give the kid a break, Stu,” Liss chided him as she unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen. She didn’t plan to stay long, but she wanted to drop off two Coleman lanterns. They’d be a help until the generator arrived. The days were getting shorter and the interior of the house was gloomy even on sunny days.

  “Two of his cousins are serving time in the youth center.”

  “So? My cousin is serving time in state prison. Does that make me dishonest? Boxer hasn’t caused a bit of trouble. In fact, he’s made several good suggestions. And yesterday he stopped by the Emporium after school and volunteered to help cut the paths in the corn maze—that’s more than I hear you doing!”

  “I’ve got a bad back,” Stu mumbled. “Are we going to take a look around, or what?”

  Using flashlights, they went through the house from top to bottom, but found no evidence that anyone had been inside since Liss’s last visit.

  “How can you tell?” Stu grumbled. “Between the clutter and the shadows, an army could be hiding in here.”

  Liss ignored him, locked up, and went home.

  Three days later, on Monday when the Emporium was closed, she was back. This time she was on her own. She’d spent the weekend thinking about the house. She’d gone through the file folder from the library. The items it contained had been interesting, but hadn’t given her any new ideas for Halloween.

  She’d also mapped out detailed p
lans for all the set pieces she planned to create in the haunted house. They’d be simple enough to put together, but each one required a good deal of advance preparation. The first step was to take careful measurements.

  Shrugging out of the lightweight, pale blue jacket she wore only a few weeks each year, in the spring and again in the fall, Liss hung the garment on the back of a chair, then lit one of the Coleman lanterns. The hiss of propane sounded abnormally loud in the stillness. She wondered where the other lantern had gotten to, but supposed that Dan or Sherri had used it and left it elsewhere. Both had been in the house at one time or other since Friday.

  It was eerily quiet in the mansion as Liss, lantern in one hand and tape measure and small, spiral-bound notebook in the other, headed for the dining room. No power meant the absence of all the familiar house sounds—no hum of a refrigerator; no dripping faucet. Only the occasional gust of wind provided a soundtrack, rattling the window frames and shaking leaves off the trees.

  Dan had removed a few of the boards from the windows. A little natural light filtered through the grime on the glass, but wasn’t much help in illuminating the room. Glad of the lantern, Liss set it down on the sideboard and got to work.

  I can bring the manikins out any time, she thought as she wrote down the dimensions of the table. And the prop food, too. She’d titled the scene in this room “Death by Poison” and would display an entire meal spread out in front of her “victims.” When she finished taking measurements, she jammed pencil and notebook into the back pocket of her jeans and stood at the head of the table, trying to visualize the final display.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Liss saw a sudden movement on the far side of the window. She started, then felt like a fool when she peered through the dirt-streaked panes. No one was out there. She’d only imagined there was. Or maybe it had been a bird flying past.

  “Overactive imagination,” she muttered under her breath. She hadn’t thought it would bother her to spend time in this spooky old house alone, but maybe her subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo.

  Liss picked up the lantern and walked across the hall to the parlor. She cast a wary glance at the chandelier even though Dan had assured her the house was now rat free. When nothing moved and she heard no scurry of little feet, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The parlor’s set piece would make use of the skeleton she’d borrowed from the theater department at the University of Maine at Fallstown. She made a note to herself to bring a three-step stepladder with her the next time she came out to the mansion. She’d need it to reach the molding to install a hook. Her in-house expert on all things to do with the construction of houses would know how to manage it without damaging the woodwork. Then, if they laid out “Mr. Bones,” as young Adam had dubbed him, on the sofa, they could use very thin wire, invisible to the naked eye, and a pulley arrangement to hoist him upright every time the door to the hallway opened to admit another group of eager-to-be-scared tourists.

  Liss gave a nod of satisfaction. The effect would not be difficult to implement. She just needed to work out the logistics. She was holding her lantern high and running her gaze along the length of a strip of ornate molding, considering the best location for a hook, when she heard a loud thump. Momentarily startled, Liss froze. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Had the sound really come from the second floor?

  “Idiot,” she muttered. She was alone in the house. Of course she was. She’d locked the door behind her when she came in.

  Like that would stop a ghost!

  “Shut up,” she told the little voice in her head. There are no ghosts on the premises. And no burglars, either.

  She slowly lowered the lantern, wishing she was armed with a supersize Maglite instead. Oh, for a generator, pouring bright light into every room!

  Moving quietly, she made her way back into the hallway and peered up the staircase. She couldn’t see much except shadows, but as far as she could tell, nothing moved. She heard nothing, either. The house was silent as a tomb.

  Squaring her shoulders, Liss reminded herself that she was responsible for the Chadwick mansion until the first of November. Undoubtedly, there was a simple explanation for that odd noise. Maybe a small animal had gotten in—hopefully not another rat! Or one of the windows had been broken by a branch blown into it by the rising wind. The day was certainly gusty enough. That’s it, she told herself. The wind blew in through a broken window and knocked something off a table and onto the floor.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor. Straight ahead of her was a linen closet, the door closed. Three bedrooms and a bath opened off the hall. Their doors were open, as they had been on Liss’s last visit. She poked her head into each room, shining the lantern around.

  Every corner was filled with ominous shadows. When she passed too close to a chair protected by a dust cover, the fabric stirred, lifted by the current of air she generated as she sidled past. It was only her over-active imagination that made it seem as if the yellowed, once white cloth was trying to follow her. And that the eyes in the portrait on the wall of the master bedroom were watching her.

  Nothing accounted for the sound she’d thought she heard. She found no broken windows and no intruders. There weren’t even any new droppings to indicate that the rodent population of the house had returned.

  “Next you’ll be imagining vampires,” she muttered under her breath as she left the last of the bedrooms and returned to the hallway. “Except that it’s daylight.”

  But sunshine, she recalled, only stopped vampires from moving around during the day in some versions of vampire lore. Other writers came up with varied scenarios that allowed these “creatures of the night” to be awake and biting twenty-four/seven.

  Fiction, Liss. There are no such things as vampires in real life. Or ghosts.

  Annoyed that she’d allowed the house to spook her, Liss stomped back downstairs. If there was anything in the Chadwick mansion more dangerous than an overly aggressive spider, she’d dress up as a vampire herself on Halloween, right down to the phony fangs.

  Liss had just reached the foot of the stairs when the front door slammed open. She gasped. Her eyes went wide with shock. The figure looming in the opening came straight out of a horror movie. A slouch hat, pulled low, hid most of his face. His long, dark coat resembled nothing so much as Count Dracula’s cloak. When he spoke, it was in a deep, sepulchral voice that chilled her right down to the bone.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” the apparition said.

  The man sitting opposite Liss in one of the three booths in Patsy’s Coffee House was no vampire, although he had been known to suck the life right out of innocent victims. His “killings,” however, had all been in the realm of real estate. In person, he was depressingly human—not overweight, exactly, but getting flabby. What had started life as a strong, jutting jaw was well on its way to becoming a double chin.

  “I thought you’d seen me through the window,” Jason Graye said for the fourth time since he’d scared Liss out of ten years’ growth. “I never intended to frighten you.”

  Liss didn’t believe him any more than she had the last three times he’d apologized.

  As soon as she’d recognized the intruder, her heart had resumed its normal slow and steady rhythm. Graye had wanted to come in, but she’d had enough of the Chadwick mansion for one day. Over his strenuous objections, she’d insisted they go elsewhere to talk.

  “Meet me at Patsy’s in fifteen minutes,” she’d told him.

  Taking only enough time to extinguish her lantern, she’d herded him onto the front porch and followed him out, locking the door behind them. She hadn’t given him any opportunity to argue. Leaving him to descend the terrace steps to his car, she’d circled the mansion to the small parking lot at the back to retrieve her own vehicle.

  Patsy’s small restaurant and bake shop was situated right next door to the municipal building and was a popular meeting place, but at the moment, they had it to themselves. The o
ther booths, the two tables, and the five stools at the counter were all empty. Patsy was in the kitchen, whence wafted the good smells of that morning’s baking. Liss inhaled yeast, chocolate, cinnamon, and another aroma she couldn’t quite identify. The cumulative effect was soothing—exactly what she needed after the scare Jason Graye had given her.

  “Who’d have thought Liss MacCrimmon would be such a nervous Nellie,” Graye marveled. “Why, I always thought you had nerves of steel.” He took a huge bite out of the homemade fudge brownie he’d ordered.

  His mocking tone raised Liss’s hackles. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but she didn’t trust him and never had. She took a taste of her choice, a generous wedge of apple pie, before she replied. “Anybody would be a little jumpy if someone came barging in like that through a door that was supposed to be locked. In fact, I’m sure it was locked. Have you taken up breaking and entering?”

  Graye bristled at the accusation. “I’ll have you know that I borrowed the keys to the front door from the town office. No one had any objection. They know I’m interested in buying the place.”

  On the surface, his explanation was reasonable. He was a real estate agent and he occasionally bought properties and then resold them. But he also had a long history of using questionable methods to lower a seller’s asking price. As far as Liss knew, he’d never broken any laws, but he’d certainly skated close to the line. She couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t already been at the mansion. She wouldn’t put it past him to walk off with a Victorian curio or two. Nor would she have been shocked to hear that a water heater or an oil tank had sprung a leak just after he’d “inspected” them, thus lowering the asking price for the property.

  “Kind of sudden, this interest,” she drawled. “The town has owned that house for a couple of years. Why haven’t you taken a look at it before this?”