Murder in Vein

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  As she brushed, Madison opened the door wider, letting the light from the bathroom splash across the bedroom. The woman hadn't returned. The bedroom was beautiful and inviting, the sort of room she'd only seen before in magazines. She rinsed and spit, then studied her bruised reflection in the mirror again, trying to piece together the lost time.

  The last thing Madison remembered was a man and a woman standing over her, deciding her fate. She closed her eyes and concentrated. The man had been inclined to kill her; the woman had not. Then something was placed over her face. She'd had dreams while she slept. Dreams of being carried through the woods. Dreams of fangs and blood and Bobby's final cries. The man had killed Bobby ... hadn't he?

  Looking at the shower with longing, Madison decided against it. Until she had some answers, she didn't want to be naked and standing under running water. She'd seen the movie Psycho. Instead, she took up the fancy soap again and wet a facecloth. Gently, she washed her face, traveling carefully around the bandages, then over and around her neck. It made her feel better and helped clear the cobwebs.

  The woman.

  Madison stopped washing and stared out the door, into the bedroom. The woman hadn't returned yet. Then it hit Madison. It was the woman's voice that was familiar, not her face. The older woman was the woman in the woods. She was sure of it.

  If the woman, the retired nurse, was the same woman in the woods, then who was the man? She shut the door, locking it. The man had wanted to kill her. To finish what Bobby had started. He-the man-had fangs. The sight of the blood-covered fangs exploded from her deep memory like a ball through a plate glass window. The man had bitten Bobby, torn into him like a barbecued rib on the Fourth of July.

  She looked around for a window. Nightgown or not, Madison was ready to squeeze through a bathroom window and hit the ground running. But the bathroom was windowless. The only way out was through the bedroom. She started to unlock the door but stopped, still unsure of what she had seen.

  "There's no such thing as vampires," she scolded herself in a barely audible whisper. She paced the small room, repeating the phrase several times. The man had killed Bobby, true, but he'd also saved her life. The biting, the fangs, must have been a product of her overactive and stressed imagination.

  She lowered the toilet lid and dropped down onto it, still trying to convince herself. She must have heard wrong that he'd wanted to kill her, too. She was alive, wasn't she? And why would they bring her here if they meant to kill her? Then again, why hadn't they taken her to a hospital? Or to a police station? Her last question hit home. If she'd nearly been murdered, where were the police? Her mind reeled with contradictions.

  A knock on the bathroom door sent Madison into near cardiac arrest. "Madison, are you all right?" It was the older woman. "Madison," the woman called, knocking again. "Do you need help, dear?"

  "I'll ... I'll be right out." Madison rose and went to study herself in the mirror again. She couldn't stay in the bathroom forever. Her cell phone was in her bag on the dresser, but what good would it do? She had no idea where she was.

  Slowly opening the bathroom door, Madison peeked out. The bedroom was empty. As soon as she stepped into it, her nostrils filled with the aroma of something hot and inviting. She followed the fragrant trail to a small desk, on which sat a tray holding a large bowl of soup, buttered toast, and a tiny pot of hot tea with its own matching teacup. The soup looked homemade. Her mouth watered. Sitting down in the desk chair, Madison picked up the soup spoon and stirred it through a broth thick with chicken, potatoes, and chunks of an unidentifiable orange vegetable. With the spoon, she plucked a chunk of potato from the bowl and tenuously put it in her mouth. It was delicious. She'd downed several more big spoonfuls when the woman returned.

  "Good?" she asked Madison.

  With her mouth full, Madison could only nod.

  "That's Pauline's special chicken soup. People love it. It has pumpkin chunks as well as yams and regular potatoes"

  Pumpkin and yam. Those were the orange vegetables Madison couldn't identify in the bowl.

  In the woman's arms were some folded clothes. "It's a Jamaican recipe. Pauline is our housekeeper. Her family is originally from Kingston."

  "It's awesome," Madison said between gulps.

  "Here are some fresh clothes for when you're ready to get dressed." The woman placed them on the dresser. "You're about my height but slimmer. Still, these should do for now. And no rush getting dressed. You've been through quite a lot. Feel free to climb back into bed if you like."

  Noticing for the first time a white linen napkin next to the soup bowl, Madison picked it up and wiped her mouth. "Thanks," she said bluntly. She wondered if she should offer more words of gratitude, but instead she blurted, "Who are you, and where in the hell am I?"

  The woman sat on the edge of the bed nearest the desk. "My name is Dorothy Dedham, but everyone calls me Dodie. My husband is Douglas. You are in our home"

  Madison ran her eyes over Dodie's lined face. She appeared to be in her late sixties, attractive, with porcelain skin and light auburn hair, which she wore pulled back in a clip. Her eyes were blue and crinkled when she smiled. She was dressed in sharply pressed khaki slacks and a blue V-neck sweater pulled over a white tee shirt. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up to her elbows. The pink slippers were still on her feet.

  The memory of being carried crept forward from the back of Madison's mind. She blinked and stared at the older woman. "Did you carry me through the woods?" she asked, hesitating. "I know it seems crazy..." She shook her head at the thought. "I'm not very heavy, but you're ... old."

  Dodie laughed. "Old doesn't mean decrepit, dear. And I had help. Doug helped me carry you to your car, then he drove it here to the house."

  It sounded feasible but didn't jive with the picture in Madison's head. Her memory was of being carried through the woods, cradled like a child in the arms of the woman seated in front of her.

  Madison looked around the room until her eyes settled on a clock near the bed. She hadn't noticed it before. It was ten minutes after five. Standing, she went to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. From the second-story window, she could clearly see that nightfall was coming to the October evening and that the house was surrounded by thick stands of trees.

  "How long have I been asleep?" she asked, still looking out the window.

  "About fourteen hours."

  Madison turned sharply on Dodie. "Fourteen hours?" Now it was clear why her head had been so heavy and thick when she woke. "You drugged me?" The tone was accusatory.

  "When we carried you to the car, you passed out. Once we got you here and started dressing your injuries, it was obvious you were in a lot of pain, so I gave you a sedative to help you rest." Dodie's words were matter-of-fact, not defensive.

  Before Madison could say anything more, Dodie rose and approached Madison, her face calm and comforting. "I called Detective Notchey to let him know you're awake. He wants to drop by tonight to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to it, or would you rather sleep some more?"

  Madison hesitated before answering. She wasn't fond of the police, but this was an unusual situation. "No, I'll see him"

  "Good" Dodie smiled at her. "Why don't you finish your dinner and get dressed?" She headed for the door. "Feel free to take a shower. Just be careful of the bandages if you wash your hair. There's a hair dryer and clean brush in one of the vanity drawers."

  In spite of Madison's concerns, the pieces were falling into place with reasonable explanations. She sat back down to finish her soup. Digging an orange chunk from the bowl, she carefully tasted it. Was it a yam or a piece of pumpkin? Yam, she decided.

  Maybe some things were exactly as they seemed.

  Freshly showered and dressed in the warm leggings, tunic sweater, and socks provided by Dodie, Madison picked up her dinner tray and headed downstairs. Like the upstairs, the main floor was a harmonious blend of gleaming hardwood floors and antique furnishings mixed with
expensive fabrics and area rugs. Once on the first floor, she heard voices coming from the back of the house. In front of her was the front door. For a fleeting instant, Madison thought about running out the front door, but her purse was upstairs, and who knew if her car keys were with it. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and headed toward the voices.

  In the spacious, modern kitchen, Dodie was at the counter by the sink fussing with a blender. The older man from the woods sat at the table teasing her. There was a distinguished and knowledgeable air about him. Madison hung back, staying out of sight, not wanting to disturb their intimate banter.

  Dodie placed a glass in front of the man. It held a thick liquid the color of red velvet cake. He tasted it, swishing it around in his mouth as if tasting a fine wine. "New recipe?" he asked.

  Dodie turned to him and wiped her hands on the cotton apron that protected her sweater and slacks. "Why? Don't you like it?"

  He took another sip. "It's fine. A little on the gamey side, but in a good way."

  She took a drink from her own glass. "I mixed equal parts domestic and wild. I thought it would be nice after last night's smoky, boozy aftertaste."

  "Ah, yes," the man said, lifting the glass again to his mouth. "Last night's dinner wasn't very pleasant, but it was fresh."

  Dodie shook her head. "When are people going to realize that they really are what they eat?"

  Turning toward the doorway, Dodie waved to Madison. "Come on in, Madison, and meet Doug."

  Embarrassed at being discovered eavesdropping, Madison sheepishly stepped into view. "I thought I'd bring my tray down."

  Doug downed the rest of his smoothie in two big gulps before turning to greet Madison. When he did, she saw the reddishbrown liquid from the glass clinging to his lips and teeth.

  Instantly, Madison was back in the woods-back on the ground, tied and immobile. She saw fangs. She saw blood. She heard Bobby Piper's screams. She staggered. The tray in her hands crashed to the floor.

  Doug Dedham wiped his mouth with his napkin and addressed his wife. "If she's going to stick around, we need to have a talk with her. Pronto."

  THREE

  hey're freaking vampires!" Madison shrieked at Detective Notchey. They were in a comfortable wood-paneled den on the first floor of the Dedham home. In the fireplace, a small, cheerful fire danced. The door was closed. Detective Michael Notchey sat in a high-backed leather chair, one denim-clad leg crossed over the other as he calmly reviewed his notes. In front of the fire, Madison paced like a panther. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself-not for warmth but to hold herself together, as she feared she was falling apart.

  "The Dedhams can seem rather odd," Notchey commented dryly without looking up. "But they're nice enough people." He'd just questioned Madison about the events that had led up to her being kidnapped and her time in the woods, but it had been tough pulling the information out of her when all she wanted to focus on was the vampire issue.

  "Odd, my ass." Worked into a frenzy, she spun to face him. "Did you not hear a word I've said? They're not people. They're vampires!"

  This time, the detective looked up at her, his face weary with impatience. "How could I not hear, with the lungs on you? And just so you know, the Dedhams can hear you, too, even if you weren't shrieking like a banshee. They have very acute hearing."

  That's not all they have, Madison thought to herself as she glared at the detective.

  After she had dropped the tray, Dodie Dedham had rushed to Madison's side. "Dear, are you all right?"

  Madison had slumped to the floor and was sagging against the doorjamb. Her hands were over her face, trying to squeeze out the invading memories from the night before.

  "Madison, what's wrong?" Dodie had asked again. She knelt beside the girl, speaking in a soft, soothing tone.

  "Last night," Madison began, lowering her hands just enough to stare in terror at Doug. "Last night I saw you kill Bobby. You wanted to kill me." "

  "Nonsense," cooed Dodie next to her. "You're still alive, aren't you? We took you in and cared for you, didn't we?"

  I heard him," Madison persisted. "He wanted to kill me. He killed Bobby."

  Doug Dedham leaned back in his chair, totally unperturbed by Madison's accusations. "Would you rather I didn't? Should I have left that scum to kill you instead?" He let loose a low chuckle reminiscent of dark, dank corners. "Certainly would have saved us all a lot of trouble."

  "Stop it, Doug. You're scaring the girl." Dodie started picking up the tray and its former occupants. The teacup had broken, but everything else was sound. When she got to her feet, Madison rose with her but never took her eyes away from Doug.

  Rising from his chair, Doug took his glass to the sink and rinsed it out. "Better scared than dead-at least for her. Me, I prefer dead over scared."

  "Don't mind him," Dodie told Madison as she took the tray to the kitchen counter. "He has a very dark sense of humor." She turned to her husband. "You behave," she ordered, poking him in the chest with an index finger.

  "I am behaving, darling." He smiled at his wife while rubbing his hands up and down her arms in a tender motion. "But she really needs to know, especially if you plan on keeping her."

  "Keeping me?" Madison straightened up, her fear downgraded a notch by her indignation. "What am I, some sort of pet?"

  The Dedhams turned and looked at her in unison-Doug with amusement, Dodie with frustration. Without waiting for an answer, Madison made a break for the front door.

  Upon yanking the door open, Madison screamed in blinding white terror. On the other side, Doug Dedham filled the doorway, tall and elegant with his silver, slicked-back hair and strong jaw. But it was impossible. It had to be. There was no way he could have gone out the back door and made it around the front before she reached the main door. No freaking way, she told herself. Not at his age.

  Madison glanced behind her to see Dodie standing a few feet away in the doorway that connected to the kitchen.

  "Madison, please," Dodie pleaded, as if Madison were a young, naughty child misbehaving in church. "Sit down and listen. We're not going to hurt you."

  "No!" Madison backed up and weighed her options. To her right was the staircase, and next to it Dodie, moving slowly toward her. To her left, Doug watched her with a hungry eye.

  "I saw you," she said to Doug, pointing a finger in his direction. "I saw you bite Bobby." She shot a look at Dodie, keeping track of her movements.

  Doug stepped into the house. He was smiling. Madison backed up, a cornered rabbit amid a hunting party.

  "You ... you had fangs," Madison continued, feeling at this point she had nothing to lose.

  "Fangs?" Doug inquired.

  "No, Doug," his wife warned. "She's been through enough."

  Doug grinned. Ignoring his wife's caution, he looked right at Madison. "You mean like these?" As if triggered by a spring, fangs shot forward, framing each upper corner of Doug Dedham's mouth as his eyes widened with a red, burning light from within.

  Madison felt her mind fading as her body tried to fold in upon itself like a tumbling house of cards. She fought to hang on to consciousness. She tried to scream. Her mouth opened in horror, but nothing came out. Finally, she dropped to the floor out of emotional exhaustion and waited a second time to die.

  Her complete breakdown was interrupted by another voice, a different voice. "What's going on here?" the new arrival had demanded. It was Detective Notchey.

  Back in the den, Madison had looked at Detective Notchey in disbelief but continued, her voice toned down. "So the vampire thing-this isn't news to you?"

  "No, it's not. I met the Dedhams a while back" He paused. "On another case."

  Madison's eyes widened with new fright. "You're not a vampire, too, are you?"

  Notchey stared at her a moment, then laughed. "No, I'm not. I'm a beater, just like you"

  "A ... a beater?"

  The detective beckoned to her. "Come here, Madison." When she hesitated, he repeated his reque
st. "Come here" He said it as gently as he knew how.

  Madison shuffled over to the detective. He held out a hand to her. With caution, she placed her hand in his. He drew it forward and placed her fingertips on his neck, just under his jaw.

  "What do you feel?" he asked.

  "Besides stubble?"

  "Besides stubble, what do you feel?" He kept his eyes riveted to Madison's face.

  Madison pressed her fingers gently into the warm flesh of Notchey's neck. "I feel your pulse"

  "And a pulse is?"

  "A heartbeat." She pulled her hand away. "Heartbeat ... beater. I get it."

  Notchey nodded. "You and I have heartbeats, like all living creatures. The Dedhams do not. Vampires refer to us as beaters."

  Before Madison could say anything further, Notchey went back to his foremost concern: asking her questions. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You knew Bobby Piper before he snatched you, right? Are you sure you're telling me everything?" He looked at her with a cocked eye, as if she'd left out a vital piece of information on purpose.

  Madison wanted to hit him, not once, but twice. Once for disregarding her own concerns, and the second time for his barely veiled accusation. She knew damn well where he was going with his prodding questions, and she was ready for him like a fighter prepped for the fight of a lifetime.

  Detective Mike Notchey of the LAPD was irritating and rude, but then so were most of the cops she'd met in her life. Just a bit taller than her and with a slight, wiry build, he reminded her of the bantam rooster that had ruled the back yard at her second foster home. The small, ill-tempered chicken had terrorized her and the other children with its aggressive demeanor and arrogant ways until the day it turned up headless. They'd all been severely punished, even though all evidence pointed to Jodie Hormel, the oldest girl staying at the home, as the culprit.

  "I'm telling you the truth," Madison insisted. "Bobby came into the diner every now and then. Sometimes he tried to talk to me while I worked. That's how I knew his name-he told me. That night, I didn't see him until he grabbed me."