by Lynsay Sands
“Anyway, I was kind of freaked out and worried, so I kept an eye on Mr. Purdy’s house and noticed some odd stuff happening.”
“Like what?” Santo asked.
“Well, I saw his cousin come and go several times and he was a lot younger than I expected. I mean he wasn’t a kid. He was old like you guys, but Mr. Purdy is ancient, he’s like seventy or something, so for him to have a cousin so much younger seemed unlikely.”
Pet grimaced at the “old like you guys” bit. Both Santo and his aunt looked to be in their mid to late twenties. Five to ten years younger than her own thirty-six years. Which she supposed meant her nephew saw her as ancient too. She said gently, “That’s unusual but not impossible, Parker. My best friend in high school was a girl whose aunt was the same age as us. She even had some of the same classes as we did. And look at Marguerite and her nephews, they all look about the same age.”
Parker just shrugged that away and continued, “And I haven’t seen Mr. Purdy since the day he answered the door. His cousin comes and goes a lot, and he brings women with him that I never see leave, but Mr. Purdy hasn’t come out again at all, not even to water his garden and he’s usually always watering his garden in the summer.” Shaking his head, he added with bewilderment, “His plants are dying and he’s just letting them.”
Pet was a bit concerned by that comment. Now that Parker mentioned it, that did seem rather odd. Her sister’s neighbor had always had a beautiful garden. It was one of the things she’d noticed during her sporadic visits. The garden next door was lush, beautiful, and well-tended. She’d even seen the older gentleman Parker was talking about working in his garden several times as she arrived and left. Not this time, though. When she’d arrived earlier that day, she’d noticed that the usually gorgeous garden was beginning to droop and look a little abandoned.
“And the dogs and the cats in the neighborhood don’t like Mr. Purdy’s cousin,” Parker continued earnestly. “They go crazy when they see him. Heck, they don’t even have to see him. Mrs. Matherson’s little schnauzer is usually the sweetest little guy, but he goes Cujo every time she walks him past the house. He just suddenly starts growling and barking and pulling on his chain as he lunges, trying to drag her away. He does it whether there’s anyone outside or not, but he only started doing it since Mr. Purdy’s cousin showed up.”
“There are just some people that animals don’t like,” Pet said reassuringly, not wanting to add to his fears. But she was thinking that animals usually had good instincts when it came to people and if the pets in the neighborhood didn’t like Mr. Purdy’s cousin, he wasn’t someone she would seek out.
“Yeah, but then yesterday after school, Oksana forgot to close the front door after getting the mail and Mrs. Wiggles rushed in. I told you about that,” he reminded Pet. “About how Oksana started shrieking ‘home invasion’ until I caught Mrs. Wiggles and took her back outside. I was going to take her back to Mr. Purdy, but . . .” He looked away and seemed to shrink a bit, his shoulders hunching, and Pet reached out to squeeze his shoulder. He’d obviously been too afraid to knock on the door and was ashamed to admit it.
“You didn’t want to bother Mr. Purdy while he had company,” she suggested, giving him a way to save face.
Parker nodded and then straightened a little and cleared his throat. “So, rather than bother Mr. Purdy, I decided to put Mrs. Wiggles in the backyard so she could scratch at the screen to be let in. It’s what she always does when she’s finished with her wandering and ready to go back inside for the night,” he explained. “She scratches the screen and Mr. Purdy opens it for her. But she didn’t want to go anywhere near the door. I carried her over and set her down and she followed me back to the gate. I did that three times and then I finally scratched at the screen for her, set her down, and hurried back to the gate. I glanced back when I heard the door open and it was Mr. Purdy’s cousin. He saw Mrs. Wiggles and . . .” Parker shook his head with bewilderment. “He kind of growled low in his throat, and then he opened his mouth and these fangs slid out and he actually hissed at her like he was a cat too.”
Pet stiffened at this news, but Parker didn’t notice and continued, “Mrs. Wiggles arched her back and hissed back, then rushed over and launched herself into my arms.” Parker paused, his expression tightening with remembered fear. “That’s when he noticed me and said, ‘Bring that damned cat around here again, boy, and I’ll break its neck!’ and then he slammed the door.”
Parker paused and let his breath out on a shudder of remembered fear. “He was real mean about it, Aunt Pet. Real mean, and he had an accent. British, I think. But not,” he added with confusion. “It’s like he started out British and lived somewhere else that kind of changed the accent a bit if you know what I mean?”
“Sì,” Santo said when Pet didn’t respond. She couldn’t; Parker’s comment about the fangs had sent fear slithering down her back. She was suddenly desperate to get him away from the entire neighborhood. Forcing herself to remain calm, she blocked those thoughts and simply listened, but her eyes were sliding around the room, checking out exits and anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Anyway,” Parker continued, “I was pretty upset. I mean, Mr. Purdy loves Mrs. Wiggles, but this cousin won’t let her in, and that didn’t seem right, so I brought her home. Dad wasn’t here yet, and Mom was upstairs getting ready for work—she’s been working nights in the ER the last week because one of the emergency surgeons was off sick,” he explained, and when everyone nodded, continued, “Anyway, I knew Dad wouldn’t be happy if he found Mrs. Wiggles in the house, but I couldn’t believe Mr. Purdy would be happy with all this, so . . .”
“So?” she prompted, eyeing him with concern.
“I called 911,” he admitted on a sigh. “I thought maybe if the police went there, they could . . .” He shook his head helplessly, and then his shoulders drooped in defeat. “But they thought it was a crank call.” Parker scowled unhappily and then muttered, “I never should have mentioned Renfield syndrome. Maybe if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have thought I was pulling a prank, and would have checked on Mr. Purdy.”
“I don’t understand,” Pet said slowly. “Why would they think you were pulling a prank? What is Renfield syndrome?”
“Oh.” He shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s just . . . it’s a psychiatric disorder where the patient believes—” He paused abruptly and admitted, “Actually, it’s never been officially recognized and published in the DSM or anything, so I’m not sure if it would be considered a true illness. But a psychologist named Richard Noll came up with the term and published it in 1992 as—”
“Parker,” Pet interrupted patiently, knowing he’d explain absolutely everything he knew about the diagnosis if she let him. The damned kid was entirely too intelligent for his own good. When he stopped and peered at her in question, she said, “Just tell me what Renfield syndrome is, please.”
Parker took a deep breath and then rushed out, “It’s when an individual believes himself to be a vampire.”
Pet stiffened but avoided looking at Marguerite and Santo and forced herself to remain calm as she asked, “You think Mr. Purdy’s cousin thinks he’s a vampire?”
“Yes.”
Pet nodded, but her mind was racing. Her nephew was a fricking little genius, intelligent beyond his years. His parents had figured that out quickly and pulled him out of public school right after kindergarten to put him in a school for gifted children where they shaped the education to the child. There, Parker had already sped through the standard grade school curriculum, and at the age of eight was halfway through the high school curriculum as well. It was something Pet didn’t agree with. The kid was book smart, sure, but he had no friends and couldn’t possibly grow up properly socialized this way.
Now she was wishing he wasn’t so bright for other reasons. To her mind, his brilliant little brain was leading him to dance a little too close to the fire for comfort.
“And that’s okay,” Parker said now. �
��I mean, I don’t care if he wants to run around wearing fake fangs and scaring the dogs and cats in the neighborhood, but I’m worried about Mr. Purdy. What if the cousin decides to bite him or something?”
“So, this visiting cousin has fake fangs?” Marguerite asked solemnly.
Parker nodded. “Yeah. The fangs are super real-looking, but they have to be fake,” he assured them and then added an uncertain, “Right?”
“Yes, of course,” Pet said quickly, but noted the glance Marguerite and Santo exchanged.
“Yeah,” Parker agreed, seeming disappointed. But in the next moment he perked up and said, “I wish I knew where he got them. I’d be Dracula for Halloween, ’cause those fangs were super cool. They actually seemed to slide down out of his upper gums.”
“Did they?” Pet asked weakly, and then decided it was time to get off this subject. “So, what happened after you called 911 and they didn’t believe you?”
“Well, I took Mrs. Wiggles to my room. I mean I couldn’t just leave her outside. She’s a house cat. Mr. Purdy lets her out to sun herself in the garden during the day, but she always sleeps indoors,” he pointed out, and Pet murmured an agreement when he seemed to be waiting for one. Once she had, he continued, “Everything was fine until Dad came home. He was late getting in, and I was already in bed. Mrs. Wiggles was sleeping with me, and Dad must have looked in on me, ’cause he freaked out and woke me up!”
Parker grimaced and then explained to Marguerite and Santo, “Dad’s super allergic to cats, so wasn’t too happy to find one in the house. But I told him what had happened and how worried I was about Mr. Purdy and what Mr. Purdy’s cousin said he would do if he saw Mrs. Wiggles again, and Dad said she could stay for one night, but he was taking her back in the morning, and he’d check to be sure everything was okay with Mr. Purdy when he did.”
“That would have been this morning?” Pet asked, just trying to be sure she was getting the time line right. When Parker nodded, she asked, “And was Mr. Purdy all right?”
The boy scowled, anger clouding his face. “Dad never went over. When I got up this morning, Mrs. Wiggles was still in my room and Mom was cussing and swearing on the phone to you about Dad taking off without even talking to her about it, and she couldn’t believe he’d done that when he knew she had that big convention and she was the keynote speaker and everything.”
Pet nodded solemnly. The phone call Parker was talking about was the reason she was looking after him. Her sister, Quinn, had been in a heck of a state when she’d called to ask if Pet could look after Parker for the week. She had a convention to go to and her husband, Patrick, was supposed to be the one looking after Parker while she was gone. But instead Quinn had received a text message on her way home from the hospital that morning, announcing that Parker was still sleeping and while Patrick had waited as long as he could for her to get home, he had to head out or he’d miss his flight. He was going out of town on business and would call when he could.
Fortunately, Quinn had only been minutes from home at that point, but she’d been livid. “A text message! Can you imagine? He left Parker all alone and didn’t even have the balls to call me,” she’d shrieked. “Probably because he knew I’d react like this. The convention has been on the calendar for almost a year. Patrick knew how important it is to me. He knew I counted on him to watch Parker, and then he just takes off ‘on business’ hours before I’m supposed to fly out? Leaving our son alone at home! What fricking business? He’s an oncologist, not a stewardess.”
“I think they’re called flight attendants now,” Pet had responded automatically. The silence that followed had clued her into the fact that it had not been the right thing to say and Pet had quickly offered to look after Parker while Quinn went to her conference. She’d then spent several minutes trying to calm her sister before she managed to hang up.
What had followed was a mad rush to pack up everything she might need while she stayed in her sister’s home and looked after her nephew. Pet had then headed to work, knowing she would be coming here at the end of the day rather than her own place. Fortunately, UAlbany was on the summer schedule now and she only had a couple of lectures a day, so would be here when Parker got out of school. The private school he attended wouldn’t stop for summer break for another couple of weeks.
“So,” Parker continued, “I fed Mrs. Wiggles and tried to think what to do. I wanted to tell Mom about Mr. Purdy and his cousin and Mrs. Wiggles and about Dad not taking her home and checking on Mr. Purdy like he’d promised, but she was already so mad at him I thought maybe I’d better not. And then she was so grumpy, I decided it might be better just to put Mrs. Wiggles in the basement for the day and figure out what to do later.”
Heaving a sigh, he shook his head and said, “Only I was so excited to see you when you came to pick me up after school . . . and then we went to dinner and came back and played video games and . . . I forgot all about her until bedtime,” he admitted, shamefaced.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her then?” Pet asked quietly. “I would have taken her back and checked on Mr. Purdy for you.”
“I almost did,” Parker admitted. “But then I was afraid the cousin might hurt you or something, and decided I’d better not.”
Pet normally would have bristled at the suggestion that she couldn’t protect herself, but this time, she didn’t and simply nodded in understanding.
“The cocoa’s ready,” Marguerite said into the silence that had fallen over the room. Pet glanced around to see that the woman had moved away to prepare four cups of hot chocolate while she’d been distracted listening to Parker.
“Santo, why don’t you carry the cocoa to the table while I plate the cookies?” Marguerite suggested and the comment made Pet blink with surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone refer to plating food since her university days, when she’d worked waiting tables in a restaurant to make extra money. Marguerite obviously had a similar experience. That or she was a chef. The thought made Pet frown as she realized she didn’t know a thing about these people. In the normal course of events she would have asked such questions. In this instance, she hadn’t . . . and wouldn’t.
Pet pushed that thought away as soon as she’d had it and forced a smile. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing, dear. Just sit down. I’ll be right there,” Marguerite assured her. Pet could see that it was true. The woman had already retrieved a plate and was even now transferring cookies to it from a Tupperware container. Pet made herself remove the hand she’d had on Parker’s shoulder almost since their arrival and settled in the chair next to him. She couldn’t resist scooting her chair a little closer to his, though, and then Santo was suddenly leaning over her to place a cup of hot cocoa on the table in front of her.
Pet stilled, her body automatically going on high alert as it prepared for fight or flight. He didn’t touch her, didn’t even brush against her, but she was very aware of the heat from his body. His scent, a heady musk, briefly enveloped her and she found herself closing her eyes and inhaling deeply to suck the intoxicating aroma deep into her lungs.
“Here we are.” Marguerite’s voice was cheerful and drawing nearer.
Pet flushed guiltily and blinked her eyes open as Santo straightened and moved on to set down Parker’s cocoa. She watched silently as the woman set a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table. Marguerite then settled in the chair opposite Parker, leaving Santo to sit next to Pet.
“Hot cocoa and cookies are my comfort food,” Marguerite said cheerfully as she took a cookie and then pushed the plate closer to Parker and Pet. “They always help me put things in perspective.”
Pet managed a polite smile but didn’t reach for a cookie. Parker immediately took one, though, and settled down to eating it and drinking his cocoa with an enthusiasm she envied.
“Aren’t you going to have one, Petronella?” Marguerite asked gently.
Pet shook her head at once. “My stomach’s still churning. Too much excitement I guess
.”
Marguerite murmured sympathetically, and Pet glanced away, her gaze landing on Santo. She stiffened when she noted the concentrated expression on his face as he peered at her. Shifting uncomfortably, she turned back to her nephew. “Hurry up and finish, Parker. You need to get to sleep. Tomorrow is a school day.”
Nodding, the kid took another bite of his cookie and reached for his cocoa. Pet was watching him tensely when a dog barked somewhere in the house. Raising her head, she glanced to Marguerite, almost hopefully. “You have a dog?”
“Yes, dear. A Neapolitan mastiff,” she said, seeming amused by something.
Pet almost shuddered with relief but tried to look regretful as she said, “Oh, well, we should probably go stay at a hotel then. I mean, I wouldn’t want Mrs. Wiggles to be a problem.”
“Nonsense, J loves cats,” Marguerite said at once.
Pet frowned, seeing her chances of escape slipping away, and then rallied and said, “Yes, but I’m not sure how Mrs. Wiggles will react to him. She might swat him with her claws or something. I wouldn’t want—”
“Let’s see, shall we?”
Before Pet could protest further, Marguerite was on her feet and out of the room. A moment later, the soft clack of claws on hardwood announced her return as she led a huge leashed, black dog back into the kitchen. Pet’s eyes widened as she stared at the beast. He was just short of three feet tall on all fours, but she suspected would be taller than her if he stood on his hind legs. She was equally sure he weighed a good fifty pounds more than she did, and all of that appeared to be muscle.
“J, this is Pet,” Marguerite announced, stopping next to her.
Pet stared at the dog blankly and then blinked when the animal stepped forward and laid his head in her lap in greeting.
“It’s all right. He won’t bite,” Marguerite said gently.
“He will drool, though,” Santo said with amusement.
Pet smiled faintly and petted the beast’s big head, surprised at how soft his fur was. She gave a startled laugh when the dog slid his tongue out to lap at her arm as she petted him.