by Lyra Barnett
“And this is Reginald Shaw.”
“Delighted to meet you and I assure you my heart is in fine condition.” He gave a sideways glance at Mrs Bard.
“Only ‘cause it hasn’t had to do anything for twenty years!” She cackled again before my dad moved Betty on to Damien.
“And this is Damien Pound.”
“Nice to meet you Betty.” He took her hand and lifted it briefly to his lips. He hadn’t done that when he’d met me.
“Nice to meet you too.”
Betty’s voice sounded strange, as though it had dropped an octave and been dipped in honey. I looked at her expression and knew immediately that this was bad news.
“Can I get you a cocktail Betty?” Damien said, taking her arm and leading her towards the small mobile bar that dad wheeled out onto the terrace in summer.
“Oh, yes please!” Betty giggled giving me a giddy grin as she went.
“Get me one!” I called after them as my dad spoke to me in a low voice.
“All that nasty business with the murder over then is it?”
“Hopefully,” I said, unsure whether I thought it really was or not.
“Murder?!” Mrs Bard’s hoarse voice rasped. Whatever state her voice was in, her ears certainly had no issue. “I don’t believe a word of what they said on the telly!”
“What did they say on the TV?” I asked, moving over to her.
“They said she poisoned her boss and then topped herself! Load of old rubbish!”
“Why do you say that?” I said taking the cocktail that Betty handed to me as she returned with Damien from the bar.
“Well they said she’d been writing nasty letters to her beforehand. If you’re writing letters, you have time to plan to make sure you get away with it! You don’t have all the letters and the poison lying around your house!”
She had a point, and it was exactly what I had been thinking. I could sense my dad was uncomfortable at this topic of conversation, or maybe just at Mrs Bard being allowed to speak at all and quickly dived in to guide me away.
“Felicity, look what Reg has made.” He waved at the object Reg now held up in front of him. It was a wooden branch with an intricate carving of a vine covering its surface.
“I was just explaining to your father Miss Twyst, that the vine known as the Kudzu in south east Asia, wraps around a tree and eventually covers every part. Sadly, this eventually kills them through heavy shading.”
He said this in such a sombre tone, you’d have thought a loved one of his had just died, but I barely noticed. Something about the small piece of wood and the idea of a vine wrapped around a tree had stopped me in my tracks. Something about the imagery of it. I nodded and smiled as I listened to Reg explain how he had carved the piece to represent death after seeing about the murder on the news. Again, something jolted in me.
I drained my cocktail quickly and after making my excuses, moved off to make another one. Betty offered to help and followed me.
“You didn’t tell me Damien was so…” she paused trying to think of the right word, “smouldering!”
I raised one eyebrow at her as I poured a long shot of gin in the long island ice tea I was making.
“Smouldering? Really? This isn’t one of those slushy books you read where it’s all ‘manhood’ this and ‘throbbing’ that.”
She punched me on the arm playfully, making me drop the slice of lemon I had just picked up.
“He bloody is smouldering! Seriously though, he’s nice right?”
“Yes,” I said stirring my glass, “but you know he’s a vampire? That has… complications.”
“Oh you know that’s never bothered me!” she replied annoyed. It was true. Betty had taken the news that there were various members of what were generally referred to as the undead in popular culture, pretty much in her stride.
“Well yes, but you’re not normal are you?” I said laughing. She punched me on the arm again, but her gaze was directed over my shoulder.
“He is pretty yummy though, right?” she said dreamily.
“Betty, I’m serious. Don’t rush into anything, you don’t know everything about vampires you know.”
“Oh come on, you and your dad are harmless!”
I sighed. I had told Betty a lot about vampires like my dad and I, about zombies like my mum and werewolves like my cousin Portia, but I had left out some of the more… gruesome details. I realised it was high time that she had a little chat with my dad.
BETTY and I sat in armchairs opposite my dad in his snug. The room was lined with books and dominated by a large oak desk which stood in front of the far wall from which a large banner with the family crest hung.
There was a heavy silence as my father and I both stared at Betty, who in turn was staring at the fire.
“And this can happen at any moment?” she said quietly.
“Well, not at any moment, but given the right circumstances…” My dad trailed off and looked at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I think I’ll leave you two to have a chat alone now,” he said, standing up and walking to the door.
“You ok?” I asked hopefully.
“Yeah, I just didn’t really think about it I guess.”
“Well all those films were based on something…” I said.
It was true. The thousands of books and films that had been produced involving vampires pretty much all had an element of truth to them, but they were missing one detail. It’s true that vampires have to drink blood, but they were perfectly placid, normal people as long as they got their regular dose. The trouble was, if they didn’t. A vampire who had gone a day or two without blood was not one you’d want to get on the wrong side of. One that had gone a week? Run. Very fast.
“So if you didn’t have blood for a while, you’d leap at me and kill me?” Betty said, turning her huge dark eyes on me.
“Probably,” I nodded. “Sorry.”
“Even me?!”
“I’m afraid so. At a certain point, it could be anyone.”
Even just talking about it was getting my vampness going. Betty’s heartbeat was beating in my ears, making me feel like a cartoon wolf that sees a sheep as a leg of lamb. I wasn’t about to tell her this though, I think she’d had enough for one night. I’d dragged her away from the party and asked my dad to follow us. Once safely in the snug, he’d told her about his Uncle Arthur.
According to my dad, Uncle Arthur had been the life and soul of the party, even when there wasn’t a party to be the life and soul of. Funny, charming and apparently a ladies’ man, Arthur had lived life to the full. One day though, he had overdone the brandy during a poker game and had got into an altercation with someone who had accused him of cheating. Before things got out of hand and he had seriously hurt the man, the police had turned up and promptly arrested him, keeping him in for twenty-four hours.
Unfortunately, having been on a three day bender, he was already dangerously in need of a drop of the red stuff (hence the fight). The extra twenty-four hours made him sober, hungover and hungry. When they’d opened the door to his cell the next day, he killed two officers within minutes before being taken down with a tazer. Apparently he’s doing quite well in prison now, he gets cows blood sneaked into him by a sympathetic vamp who works in the prison kitchen.
“Come on, let’s go and have another drink,” I said, standing up.
“Definitely,” Betty said, smiling. “Just don’t expect me to make you a Bloody Mary.”
16
A PENNY DROPS
The next morning I woke with a start and a banging headache. Betty and I had ventured back to the terrace and decided to drink until things weren’t awkward anymore, which had turned out to be more cocktails than you’d think. It seemed to have done the trick though, Betty had been back flirting with Damien within just a couple of hours.
For some reason as I lay staring at the ceiling, I thought of the carving Reg Shaw had been showing off last night. There was something it was reminding me
of, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up slowly. I waited for the room to stop spinning and headed off for a shower.
Feeling much restored as I moved down to the kitchen, my phone buzzed in the pocket of my faded and battered jeans, which although had seen better days, were so comfy I was loathed to get rid of them. I saw Sandra’s face on the screen and answered.
“Hi Sandra. I thought I wasn’t in until eleven? Have I got it wrong?”
“Oh no dear, you’re right, I was calling about something else. Do you think you could come in to the café now?”
“Erm, yeah, but why?”
“I’ve got a little proposition for you and Betty, so bring her as well. She’s not answering her phone, but I know she’s at yours.”
How mysterious…
“Ok, I’ll go and wake her up now. See you in a bit.”
I downed some blood form our stock in the secret fridge, deciding that Betty probably didn’t need to see that this morning, and made my way up the stairs again to the room that Betty always stayed in when she stopped over.
Its door was only a few feet from my own, but the room backed into a different wing of the house as the two rooms were both situated on a corner. I rounded the ninety degree turn in the corridor and knocked on the door.
A moment paused before I knocked again and a muffled moan came through the thick wood which I took as a signal to enter. The room was dark as the curtains were still shut and I could barely make out the prone figure of Betty spread-eagled on the bed, her hair drifting around her on the sheets. Her face was buried in a pile of soft pillows.
“Betty, you need to get up.”
“That really, really doesn’t sound like a good plan,” she answered in a croaky voice.
“Tough, as it’s the only one we have,” I answered and walked over to the window, pulling the curtains wide. She wailed as though I’d thrown cold water on her, but eventually got up and began to get ready as I went and made us both coffee and toast before we ventured out towards the café, both sporting large sunglasses.
We hardly spoke on the short walk, but by the time we had reached the café, we were both feeling better from the fresh, cool morning air.
“Morning girls, come on through to the back,” Sandra said as we walked in. We said hi to Tracy as she passed carrying a tray of coffees and moved through the swing door where Sandra sat with three full to the brim port glasses in front of her.
“Oh god, what are you trying to do to us?!” Betty said, slumping into one of the chairs by the kitchen unit and averting her gaze from the spirit.
“Rough night was it?” Sandra asked. “Well tough, we’re celebrating.” She pushed the glasses towards us, causing a fresh moan from Betty.
“Celebrating? Why?” I asked, confused.
“Drink first.” Sandra gestured at the small glasses in front of us. It felt like she was testing us which despite my affection for her, got my back up slightly. I grabbed the drink and knocked it back, wincing as it burned the back of my dry throat.
“Done, now what are we celebrating?” I folded my arms and stared at Sandra who laughed at the sight of my annoyance. She turned to Betty who had put her head in her hands again and decided to give up on expecting her to drink.
“Well, I’ve got an offer to put to both of you.”
“An offer?” Betty said, finally raising her head.
“Yes, if you both stop asking questions long enough, I’ll tell you!”
Betty made a zipping motion across her lips and we both waited expectantly until Sandra continued.
“You know I’ve been thinking of retiring for a while, well it’s happening. I can’t face going through another summer rush, so I’ve booked myself a three month cruise and I’m off.”
We sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. I recovered first.
“That’s brilliant Sandra! Well-deserved I’d say!”
“Thanks love. Now neither of you need to worry about your jobs, you can have them as long as you want them.”
“So you’re not selling up?”
“No, I’m not. My Aunt Agatha died and left me some money, so that’s paying for the cruise and will clear off my debts and that still leaves a little.
Debts. I jumped up from the table, sending my chair screeching backwards across the tiles.
“Sandra, it sounds great, really, but I have to go.” I turned and dashed for the door, ignoring Sandra’s voice calling me back.
I left the café and ran straight to the small door which sat to one side of the butchers, leaping up the steps which led me to the dim low ceilinged room above.
A few moments later, I stepped back out onto the bright light of the street and blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust. OK, that was part of the puzzle solved, but there was more…
I looked up and saw a shop sign swinging above me. I felt another rush of adrenaline and dived inside.
Five minutes later, I stepped back out onto the street and pulled my phone from my pocket.
“James, it’s Felicity. You need to meet me at the Tranter’s place now.”
I hung up without waiting for him to answer, and started running.
17
HIGH DRAMA
M y vampness had now kicked in so hard, it was all I could do not snatch at the odd pigeon I sent scattering as I ran and take a bite. I tried to hold back on my run so I didn’t raise any eyebrows. Vamps can move fast when they were fired up, and I was just about as fired up as I had ever been.
The streets passed in a blur as I leapt over puddles still left from the overnight rain and dodged the odd startled passerby. By the time I reached the street where the Tranter’s lived, I was breathing hard and on full alert. I moved down the street slowly, I didn’t want to attract any attention.
As the house came into view, all sides of it covered in the scaffolding that Reg Shaw’s carving had reminded me so much of. It was like ivy round the trunk of a tree, covering and stifling the house, and now I realised with the same result as Mr Shaw’s vine. Death.
As I neared, I saw a flash of movement towards the top of the scaffolding. I looked down the road both ways, but there was no sign of James. He would be coming by car, but even so, he might not be here for another five or ten minutes. I made a decision and headed for the metal ladder which stood in the Tranter’s front garden and led up to the first platform. I climbed it quickly, checking that no one saw me from the front window of the house, but the place looked empty. I moved up another ladder to the second floor, and could hear footsteps on the board above me now. The sound of a heavy bucket being dragged across the boards allowed me to hone in on the exact location of the person above me. They were the opposite side of the ladder from me which ran up to the next level.
I jumped as a loud siren rang out from the street below. The idiot had come with the bloody siren blaring! The bucket stopped above me as the car pulled in below and James jumped out and ran to the front door, banging on it loudly.
I looked back up to see a man descend the ladder carrying a hammer. He turned to me, his eyes wild.
“Bob Jones? That is your name isn’t it?”
“Who the hell are you?!” he said in a low voice, hefting the hammer in his hand.
“Just someone who knows exactly what you’ve done Mr Jones.”
He froze and his eyes darted down towards the street where James had now backed out until he could see them clearly.
“Felicity?! What the hell are you doing?!”
I shouted down without taking my eyes from the man in front of me.
“This man killed Mrs Tranter and Joan Sithers.”
“You lying little…”
He lunged at me, hammer raised above his head as my ears filled with a shout of warning from James below. He needn’t have bothered. My vampness had reacted before I had even realised. My feet moved quickly to one side as my hands swung forward and grabbed the shaft of the ham
mer as it arced forwards. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as I pushed to my left along with the momentum of the attack and forcing Bob Jones to topple forwards onto the boards. He rolled until his head hit an upright pole and he came to a sudden stop and lay motionless in a heap.
“Are you alright?!” A breathless James Marsh appeared from the gap in the boards where the ladder from below emerged.
“Fine, he missed.”
He stopped halfway through the opening and looked from me to the crumpled form of Bob Jones.
“Missed, did he?”
He looked at me oddly for a moment, before venturing up and moving over to attend to the unconscious builder.
18
CROWD PLEASING
I opened the door of the Whole Latte Love Café and stopped in my tracks as I was greeted by a round of applause. Sandra and Betty stood behind the counter leading the reception with beaming smiles and hearty claps. The Barter twins cackled and clapped from their usual table as I made my way over to the counter, embarrassed at the response to my arrival.
“Don’t you come over here!” Sandra said, waving me away. “Grab a table. I’m bringing the port and the cakes and you’re going to tell us all exactly what happened.”
I smiled and moved off to a table at the side of the room. All of this was a bit embarrassing, but the story of the murder and subsequent capture of the perpetrator had been all over the local news, and I was apparently something of a hero.
Betty and Sandra arrived with a tray loaded with muffins, coffee and port, and immediately launched into the inquisition.
“Come on then, how did you know it was him?!” Betty asked, grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of a juicy story like this. I sipped at my port, making them wait for a moment.
“Well it was actually Reg Shaw who put me on to the whole thing.”
I noticed the confused expression of Sandra and explained that he was one of the new lodgers up at the house.
“He showed me this carving he had done of a vine that grows round a tree and suffocates it. Something bothered me about it, but I didn’t realise until the next day and you mentioned something about debt Sandra.”