“Faith!” Reginald said gazing off into the distance. “There’s so little faith these days.”
He reached forward and started rummaging through his mail.
“Thank you, Cheryl. That’ll be all.”
Cheryl nodded, taking care to steal one more glance at her trusted employer. He really did look exhausted. She reasoned something was going on at home – something personal that was taking its toll. She vowed to include him in a special prayer this evening. She smiled knowing that a heartfelt prayer could work miracles.
Reginald heard the door close just as he spotted the handwritten letter. He didn’t get too many of those. Most people used computers for business and personal correspondence these days. He picked it up to examine it more closely.
It was just his name and address written on the front in big sprawling letters. The heavy looping looked familiar. Where had he seen that writing before? He turned the envelope over and had his answer. Willie Figgs had sent him the letter. Figgs was in the habit of leaving him handwritten notes about Weatherly. He’d often seen the expansive script telling him about a leak or some other ailment suffered by the old manor.
He felt the envelope and determined the check couldn’t be in it. The check was too large to fit in the small envelope. It would have to have been folded in half and there were no ridges poking through. It felt like a single sheet of paper was inside.
Reginald sliced through the ecru stationery with his silver letter opener. He took out the solitary sheet that looked as if it had been torn to fit. Although there were just enough words to fill up the small page, they packed a wallop that a blustery soliloquy would not. He read the closing paragraph.
“I can’t stand it no more. That vampire won’t leave me alone. Pray for my soul, sir, and I’ll pray he don’t come for you.”
Reading the words stole every ounce of energy from Reginald. The final stroke of the “y” trailed down the whole of the page and off the end – as if it were the last rivulet of blood oozing from a body.
The crazy feeling he had the other day erupted inside him. He buzzed Cheryl on his intercom.
“Yes, sir?”
“Cheryl, get William Figgs on the phone. Now!”
Cheryl stared for a moment before picking up the phone and fulfilling her boss’s request. It was so unlike him not to say “please” when giving an instruction. It was even more unusual for him to use words like “now.” After 20 years, he knew that Cheryl fulfilled all requests promptly – even the trivial ones – without having to be told.
Cheryl didn’t take it personally. She didn’t have time to be offended. She knew her employer was in trouble and that contacting William Figgs fit squarely in the middle of the quagmire.
Reginald was still staring at Figgs’ letter when he heard the reciprocal sound. It must be Cheryl telling him Figgs was on the line. Reginald couldn’t wait to talk with him and find out what prompted him to write such an unnerving note. The fact that it was coupled with Pinckus’ suicide note was causing the concern. What were the chances of both speaking of the same mythical, non-existent creatures? The fact they were was disquieting to Reginald’s calm disposition. It rattled his composure and he knew he’d have to apologize to Cheryl for the shortness of his tone in barking an order, but that would have to wait until he’d talked to Figgs.
“Hello!” Reginald boomed expecting to hear Figgs’ reply. Instead he heard Cheryl. She hadn’t transferred the call yet. He felt his temperature rise. He was getting angry. It was the first time in years he felt this emotion, but right now he felt like snapping at someone and Cheryl was the logical victim.
“Sir, I couldn’t get Mr. Figgs on the line. There’s some sort of …”
“Cheryl! When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed! If he isn’t available than call me when he is! And keep trying!”
Reginald was about to hang up when he heard Cheryl’s muted pleadings coming from the receiver.
“Sir? Sir! Please let me finish! Sir!”
Reginald counted to three and brought the phone back up to his ear.
“All right, you may finish, but this had better be good!”
“There’s some sort of problem with Mr. Figgs. I have an Inspector Daniels on the phone. He won’t tell me anything.”
Reginald’s mind was racing. An inspector? At the Figgs’ residence? What did it mean? What was going on? More trouble? He hoped it was a mistake. A gigantic mistake he could fix just the way Cheryl expected him to.
“Put him on, Cheryl. I’ll get to the bottom of this. “
“Fine, sir.”
“Oh, and Cheryl?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I am sorry.”
“I know you are, sir.”
Reginald heard the click telling him the call had been transferred.
“Inspector Daniels? Reginald Charles here. I’m the barrister in charge of handling the Perry estate where William Figgs was employed. My assistant tells me that he’s unavailable. I would like to speak to him about severance pay that is due him. It’s fairly urgent.”
“Well, I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr. Charles. No one can speak to him.”
“And may I ask why that is, Inspector?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
The words hit Reginald in his stomach. It began to ache causing him to feel as if he were going to vomit. He collapsed onto his desk. His hand balled into a fist causing the mysterious note to become twisted and lined. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his lips trying to wet them. They’d dried up when he learned the news.
Dead? How could it be?
“Now may I ask what business you had with Mr. Figgs? You mentioned severance pay, I believe?”
“Business?” Reginald repeated. He was buying time. Trying desperately to think of something to say.
Why not the truth?
Reginald rejected that notion. He’d tell a lie. He wasn’t used to lying to police officials. It wasn’t his style, but he felt a need to protect Miranda and Arthur’s memory from any scandal. Even the rantings of someone that had gone mad might be viewed the wrong way. Having someone raving about vampires being connected with Perry Antiques wouldn’t do. It might affect Arthur’s reputation and cast his business in a bad light.
“I was following up on a final paycheck sent to him. He’d left our employ and I wanted to make sure he’d received it.”
“I see. Was there some sort of trouble? Was he terminated from his employment?”
”No, no trouble. It was entirely his decision to quit and he could have had his job back if he wished. I made that clear to him.”
“So he wasn’t upset about leaving?”
“On the contrary. He left it to spend more time with his wife and to pursue other interests. He was employed by Perry Antiques as caretaker of Weatherly Manor. It was a big responsibility and – from what he said – he was happy to be moving on. Inspector? May I inquire as to why you’re asking me such questions? If he died naturally .. then …”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. The preliminary findings are that Mr. Figgs took his own life sometime this morning.”
“May I ask how?”
“It needs to be confirmed, but it appears that he put some type of poison in his morning tea. It was a particularly painful death.”
“That’s horrible – just dreadful.”
Reginald heard himself speaking, but it was as if someone else were saying the words. He knew he was distancing himself from what was happening. He did that sometimes to gain objectivity and balance. He smoothed out the note before him on the table and placed the Pinckus’ suicide letter next to it. The word “vampire” seemed larger than any other of the words on the papers. Reginald felt himself being drawn into a dream. A dream where the ending was a beginning and where death is not the finality, but only the commencement of a new existence ….
“Mr. Charles? Are you still there?”
“Oh,
sorry, Inspector. Was trying to do two things at once.”
“Will you be available if we need you?”
“I will be at your disposal, Inspector … Daniels was it?”
“Yes, Inspector Daniels. If there’s nothing else.”
“No, nothing.”
Reginald replaced the receiver staring at it as if it were not really there. He heard a soft knock on the door. He thought he heard someone tell his assistant to come in. He thought he heard the door open and soft footsteps made by shod, shapely feet caressed by plush office carpeting. He thought he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. He thought he grabbed the soft, delicate hand as someone said, “Are you alright, sir?”
Someone replied, “Yes, thank you, Cheryl. I’ll be just fine.”
CHAPTER 13
Dr. Sara Puhlman sat filling in the medical record of a Skye terrier named Dusty. It wasn’t good news for Dusty or her owner. It had been one hell of a week for Dr. Puhlman. First Velvet, and now Dusty. Dusty had broken away from her owner. She’d run out into the street where she was immediately hit by a speeding car. She was rushed to the trauma center by her hysterical owner. Puhlman had performed emergency surgery, but the beloved, feisty terrier succumbed to her injuries. In spite of Sara’s best efforts, she died on the operating table.
Dr. Puhlman hated giving out bad news. She was well aware of the bonds that existed between human owners and their pets, but there was another aspect to it – and that aspect was pride. She hated when her own extensive medical expertise could do nothing to prevent the cloud of death from claiming another small victim. It made her feel insignificant and ineffectual. She much preferred being in control.
She heard Velvet’s cry coming from down the hall. She felt her eyes pulling shut. One glance at the clock on her desk told her why – it was midnight. It wouldn’t be much longer, and Dr. Puhlman wanted to finish up the paperwork. It helped her to put things in order, but did nothing to undo the uneasy feeling of failure that she felt about being unable to save the small dog.
She heard Velvet call out again. She bit the tip of her pen. She was glad that Velvet had pulled through the operation and was alert, but it didn’t explain her owner’s absence. Puhlman had pegged Rachel for one of those women that adored their feline companions, but she’d been wrong. What else but indifference would have made her not show up to take Velvet home today?
“How about a crisis at work or an accident?” came the soft voice behind her.
It was Rachel Abbott’s voice. Dr. Puhlman whirled around wondering how she’d gotten in, but saw nothing except the large picture window. She looked to either side and then twirled around in her swivel chair – inspecting all four walls. Even after the careful scrutiny, there was still no one there. No one could have spoken to her. Not Rachel Abbott – not anyone. She was completely alone. Even the parking lot she saw through the window was deserted.
Sara rubbed her bloodshot eyes. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. Her adrenalin had kept her going, but it only went so far. She put down the pen and shut the folder. It was enough for one day. After all, when you start hearing voices, you know it’s time to go home.
She leaned over and reached under her desk for her purse when she heard the soft scratching. It seemed to be coming from the same spot the voice had come – from behind her. She decided to ignore it. It undoubtedly was conjured up by the same part of her brain that had imagined the voice. The scratching persisted and so Sara pivoted her chair around. She jumped when she saw the face of Rachel Abbott staring at her through the clear pane of glass.
Rachel smiled, unconcerned with Sara’s panicked reaction. She pointed towards the walkway that led to the front door. Dr. Puhlman didn’t understand. She was still trying to recover from the shock. What was she doing here at this hour? It was a little late to be picking up her cat. Besides how did she know anyone was even here?
Sara was confused by the disruption. She slowly recovered from the surprise of the late visit – feeling foolish at being so startled. Yes, it was late, but it was Rachel Abbott. There was certainly nothing to fear about her. Nonetheless, when she rounded the corner and saw the shadowy figure standing at the door, she felt her pulse quicken.
She turned the deadbolt lock and opened the door. There stood Rachel smiling in the moonlight, her hair loose and flowing. There hadn’t been any wind earlier in the day, but it must have kicked up while Sara was tending to her four-legged patients. Rachel’s mass of thick hair seemed to billow out from a bone-chilling wind that went right through Sara’s thin, cotton coat.
She was expecting the Rachel Abbott she was used to seeing. When she looked into this person’s face, she wondered if someone else were standing before her. Had she misidentified the person and opened the door to a stranger? Sara examined the woman standing before her more closely. No, it was Rachel, but there was something about her – something different about the way she looked. So pale – unearthly, so …. frightening was the only word that came to mind.
Sara smoothed her blunt cut sandy blonde hair, tucking it behind one ear.
“Rachel? What are you doing here?”
She tried to keep her voice light and breezy. She didn’t want to give away her fear. Rationally, she knew there was nothing to be nervous about. Rachel was a quiet, demure woman. A woman – not a man. It made a difference – a huge difference. A woman possessed no physical threat. Besides, she’d known Rachel Abbott for years. She’d taken care of Velvet ever since he’d been a scrawny little kitten.
“I came for Velvet,” she replied evenly. The smile never left her face and she never left the spot on which she was standing – the spot right outside the door. Rachel’s hair rose in the air from the ghostly, frigid wind. In the background, a flurry of leaves flew up into the air – making a scurrying sound. It seemed more like the end of October than the middle of summer.
“But how did you know I’d be here?”
Rachel’s eyes locked on Sara’s.
“How could I have?” she explained, her smile suddenly getting wider from a private joke known only to her. “I just took a chance.”
Sara took a cautionary step inside. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give her Velvet at this hour of night. It was most unusual. There was billing and protocol. It was clearly against the rules, but she was here. And she was the doctor, so it wasn’t an assistant making a possibly harmful decision to release a pet that needed further treatment. There was the other reason – the reason she didn’t want to admit. The truth was that Sara was afraid of telling Rachel no.
She tried to keep her movements even. It would only take a second to get all this over with. She’d have her assistant send her a bill in the morning. It wouldn’t make a difference. Rachel had always paid on time. Going with the flow would only mean that they’d both leave happy.
Sara stepped inside the doorway and to the side to allow Rachel to pass. Rachel remained stationary. It told Sara all she needed to know. Sara chided herself for being concerned about Rachel. This was Rachel and Rachel was so strait-laced and conservative that she stood and waited until she was invited to come inside. In other words, she wasn’t assuming it would be alright and was aware that the midnight call was an imposition. A bell from a church somewhere in Fairfield rang out the hour.
Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.
It must be midnight. That meant the clock in her office was fast. She made a mental note to fix it.
Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.
“Well, come on in. It’s a little unusual, but Velvet is awake and alert. I heard him a little while ago.”
Bong. Bong. Bong.
Rachel walked past Sara as the last note rang out.
Bong.
There was a troublesome quiet. And a coldness that comes from dead things. Sara knew the feeling, but had felt it intensely when Rachel swept past her. That cold from the outdoor wind had shot through her, but the breeze Rachel created bothered her more. She grabbed her arms and shivered, much to Rachel’s obvio
us delight. Why was she acting so weird? Why?
Sara ignored the giggle that escaped from Rachel’s throat. Perhaps it was something else that she was finding amusing. It could be something that happened at work earlier in the day, or a joke exchanged with a friend coming back to her. Sara had done that. Walked down the street and recalled something funny. She’d begun laughing out loud as someone passed by, but the laughter had nothing to do with them – had no connection whatsoever. Sara understood.
She closed the door snapping her fingers as she turned around.
“You know, I’ll bet Velvet knew you were here! That must be why he was crying.” Sara commented trying to break the painful silence. It was the kind of silence that pervades a graveyard. She wished the church bell were still tolling. The sound had at least filled up the skeletal atmosphere.
Adduné (The Vampire's Game) Page 16