“You can sign me up for a latte a day,” Ms. Stillford says.
“Okay, okay. Such is the way of caffeinated progress. But for today, what can I get you guys? And Ella, can I send some not-too-feeble Colombian home with you?”
“Sure,” Ella says. “And I’ll take a not-too-feeble Colombian with cream right now.”
“Quinnie? Moxie?”
“Sure, Dad. And Cheese Nips.”
“Okay, girls.” I can tell by the tone of Ms. Stillford’s voice, she’s about to get down to business. “I have an idea.” She’s drumming her fingers on the cover of Transylvanian Drip. “We have only a few days of school left before summer break, and you’ve worked so hard all year. How about we spend the little time we have left—while our famous visitors are in town—reading and analyzing this book? We could do a compare and contrast with Bram Stoker’s Dracula. We could maybe meet with the authors . . . if they are up to it, that is.”
Ella is jumping out of her skin, she’s so in love with this idea. I’m about to say, “Okay, sure,” since I’ve already read Transylvanian Drip, when the café door opens and Mom leads the biologists and Dominic inside.
“Blythe,” Mom says, walking them up to our table. “Let me introduce you to the Moldartos: Dr. James Moldarto, Dr. Mary Ann Moldarto, and I know you have been expecting Dominic.”
I look at him standing there with his hands in his pockets, and I don’t know who I feel sorrier for—Dominic, because he has to go to a new school for the last three days’ worth of lessons, or me and Ella, because a new kid is invading our perfect private tutoring world. I’m guessing he’d rather be going to Rook River Middle School, like Ben, but he’s stuck with us.
“Dominic, why don’t you join our group?” Ms. Stillford steers Dominic into a seat next to me. “How much fun is this? A new student. We are going to have so much fun!”
“Hey,” he says to me.
“Hey.”
“We had a police escort down here,” he says cheekily.
“I saw that.”
“It made me feel very safe.”
“Shut up.” Okay. He’s a little funny.
“Dominic,” Ms. Stillford starts, “Ella and Quinnie and I were just talking about a possible project. Have you read Victoria Kensington’s Transylvanian Drip, by any chance?” Ms. Stillford holds up Edgar and Ceil’s book.
“Uh-huh,” he says.
This is huge for Ella. She’s looking at Dominic with new interest. She slyly winks at me. I realize she’s sizing him up as good enough to be my boyfriend. His having read her aunt and uncle’s book is a big plus.
“How about Bram Stoker’s Dracula?” Ms. Stillford asks.
He nods. “Sure. Yeah. I’ve read it,” he says.
“Excellent.” Ms. Stillford beams at him. “How about you two?” she asks Ella and me.
“No,” Ella says.
“Nope,” I say. “Not Dracula.”
Then Ms. Stillford gets that glint in her eye that means she’s having teacher-kind-of-fun, and asks Dominic if he can list three defenses against vampires.
He laughs. “Sure. A crucifix. Garlic. And . . .” He looks like he’s going to scratch his forehead, but instead he makes the sign of the cross and points two fingers at Ms. Stillford.
Ms. Stillford throws back her head and laughs so heartily, I think she might not catch her breath. What the heck? Dominic has been here five minutes, and now he and Ms. Stillford are talking in some kind of Dracula sign language.
Dominic leans back and looks a lot more comfortable. I glance sideways at his face. Under his golf hat, which I guess he never takes off, he has blue eyes and a friendly mouth with a slightly crooked smile.
Ms. Stillford starts talking about getting Ella and me copies of Dracula and how we’ll do a comparison of the two books. She tells Dominic he can lead the first discussion. I think I hear him groan just a little bit. But now, I’m feeling a little more comfortable too. I realize that having another kid in our class spreads the work around.
3
Pretty soon, all the school talk around our café table fades, and Ms. Stillford and I start sharing Maiden Rock stories with Dominic.
“When Quinnie’s dad was your age, he worked as a busboy right here in Gusty’s. That was the second Gusty, I think,” says Ms. Stillford. “It’s been a Boyd family institution, right, Quinnie?”
“Oh, yeah? How many Gustys have there been?” Dominic asks.
“Three. My dad, his dad, and his dad.” Then I add the phrase I’ve heard for years, “And they all made a wicked blueberry pie.”
“But it was Gusty the Second who started the tradition of tossing French fries to the gulls,” says Ms. Stillford. “Because they didn’t have French fries before that. They had fried potatoes.”
“Tossing fries to the gulls?” Dominic’s left eyebrow arches, tilting the brim of his hat.
“You’ll see,” says Ella. “Hey, wait a minute. There was a time without fries?”
“It was the olden days, dear,” says Ms. Stillford. “Back when horses pulled wagons and we walked to school through blizzards with hot rocks in our pockets.”
“Oh my gosh. The weather,” Ella says. “Last winter, the snow was up above the kitchen window.”
“Last winter was a bad one, I agree,” says Ms. Stillford, “but not as harsh as the year we got clobbered with sixty-one inches. They had to bring in military trucks with plow heads the width of the road to dig us out.”
Dominic has lost his amused expression, so I try to think of less daunting Maiden Rock tales. In my moment of hesitation, Ella jumps in. “There’s a really old convent out on the point—”
“Ella!” I don’t mean to snap at her, but she’s about to talk about things we don’t usually bring up in front of Ms. Stillford.
“What?” Ella charges right ahead. “The nuns there used to feed the feral cats and they had like a hundred of them.” She looks at me like, See? I’m not saying anything that I shouldn’t say.
“Whoa,” Dominic says and widens his eyes. “I’d say I want to see that, but I’m not sure I want to see that.”
“Oh, they aren’t at the convent anymore,” Ella says. “They run a cat rescue foundation in a lighthouse.”
“It’s actually a neat old place,” I add, then stop myself from yapping on. He probably thinks we have so little to do here that seeing a bunch of feral cats in a crumbling lighthouse is a big deal.
“Well, I think it’s time for me to get going.” Ms. Stillford stands up and gathers her notes and Post-it tabbed copy of Transylvanian Drip.
I give Ella a now-look-what-you’ve-done glare, but she forges ahead in defiance. “The sisters—”
Owen Loney interrupts her before she can go any further, walking to the table and touching Ms. Stillford’s elbow like he can tell she’s ready to leave.
Ms. Stillford says, “Well, we’re off. Girls and Dominic, I’ll see you all bright and early Monday, and we’ll talk about vampires.” As they leave, I hear Owen Loney grumbling to Ms. Stillford about “vampire foolishness and whatnot.”
Dad’s at the table now, picking up the empty plates and cups. When I offer to bus our stuff myself, he says, “I’ve got it, Quinnie. I’m going to run another dish load. Looks like the afternoon pie rush is about to start.”
I’m about to introduce Dominic to Dad when the café door opens and Sisters Ethel and Rosie bustle in.
Dad wipes the table. “See? Here come the sisters for their daily afternoon slice.”
Those of us who live here are used to seeing the sisters in their old-fashioned nuns’ habits, so I don’t think anything of it, but I notice Dominic’s surprise. They are “a couple of characters,” as my mom calls them. The tall, thin one is Sister Ethel—full name Sister Ethelburga—and has a face like a wrinkled apple-head doll. Sister Rosie—full name Sister Maria Giuseppe Rossello—is short, round, and bouncy. She loves cats, hot chocolate, and mini-Snickers bars. She also drives their white van like a speed demon,
which makes my mom crazy.
The sisters were the last two nuns to depart the old Our Lady of the Tides Convent. All the others passed away over the years. Now they run the cat rescue on Pidgin Beach just south of here, while a younger nun is working to turn the old convent building into the Maiden Rock Spiritual Center. Sisters Ethel and Rosie took the demotion with dignity, but given the circumstances, which we don’t talk about much, they didn’t really have a choice.
On the way to their regular seats at the counter, they stop at our table.
“Hi, Sisters,” Ella says. “This is Dominic. He’s new.”
“Oh, hello, Dominic,” bubbles Sister Rosie. “Welcome. Where are you from?”
I can tell Dominic didn’t expect to have to talk to the sisters. He straightens up in his seat.
“We’re from New Jersey. And we’re living next to . . .” He looks at me and blanks on my name. This is not a good start.
“Us,” I say. “His family is living in the Buttermans’ house this year.”
“Oh, they’re not coming back?” Sister Rosie makes a pouty face on my behalf, because she knows how much I miss Zoe. Then she turns back to Dominic. “What do your parents do?”
“They’re marine biologists. They’re going to teach at the college in Rook River for a year.”
“Do they like cats?” Sister Rosie goes right for the cat placement opportunity.
“Rosie, give the boy a chance to eat his first piece of pie before you try to get him to adopt,” says Sister Ethel.
“Ella’s aunt and uncle are here too,” I say.
“Yeah, but they’re resting. They need some time off,” Ella says.
“The ones who wrote that book?” says Sister Rosie. A small wrinkle appears between her eyes.
Ella brightens. “Transylvanian Drip. Did you read it?”
“Yes, dear,” says Sister Rosie. “I think everyone around town has read it, since we all heard they were coming. Will they be signing it here at Gusty’s?”
“Did you love it?” Ella asks.
Sister Rosie wrings her hands. “Well, I wish they hadn’t been so mean to the cat.”
Ella’s face falls. She looks to Sister Ethel for support. “It’s just a story,” Ella says. “It didn’t really happen.”
“Sister Rosie knows that, Ella,” says Sister Ethel. “She’s just sensitive about the kitties. Right, Rosie? You’re not saying it wasn’t a good book.”
Before Sister Rosie can elaborate, Dad waves the sisters over to the counter.
“Two blueberry pies and two coffees,” he calls out.
Ella looks bummed. I can tell she’s taking Sister Rosie’s criticism personally.
“It was a unique detail,” Dominic says. “Who would have thought to kidnap a pedigreed cat for blood ransom?”
“They don’t hurt the cat,” Ella says a little peevishly.
The truth is I’ve only skimmed the book. I didn’t read every single word. I’m not a big vampire fan. I didn’t even read all of Twilight when the whole world was gaga over it. I watched the movie, though. It was okay.
“Have a drink of my Moxie,” I tell Ella, trying to distract her. I know she hates Moxie.
She perks up and looks at the can. “No, Dominic, you drink it. You won’t be a real Mainah until you learn to love this stuff. And try and deny that it tastes like toothpaste!”
Ella holds the can up to his lips. As Dominic attempts to take a sip and not let her spill it on him, Ben walks through the café door. I guess he didn’t have practice today. No sweat or shower hair.
I look at Ben. He looks at Ella and Dominic. His head tilts a little like he’s trying to understand what’s going on, and there’s the tiniest flicker of concern in his eyes.
4
Ella sees Ben and her face lights up. In a second, she pulls a chair up between her and Dominic and pats the seat for Ben to sit. Ben’s concern dissolves and he slouches into the chair.
“Want to read Dracula with us this week?” Ella asks him.
She has to be kidding.
Ben’s expression turns from relief to dread. “But I read the Transylvania book.”
It’s clear he would rather eat worms than read any more vampire books. Ben likes running, playing baseball, and weird scientific details. Ella laughs. “Never mind.”
Dad is at our table again, asking if the guys want anything.
“I’ll have a milk, thanks,” Ben answers.
“This is Dominic,” I tell Dad.
“Hey, Dominic. How’s it going? I just met your parents.” Dad tips his head toward the table where Mom is showing the Moldartos a map of the Maine coast. “What can I get you?”
“Give him a Moxie too,” says Ella. “It’s a rite of passage.”
“Coming right up,” Dad says.
As Dad walks away, I open my mouth to say that Moxie is really good, but Ben interrupts me to say, “Vampires are science fiction. I’d rather read real science.”
“Meet Ben,” I say to Dominic. “He’s a walking Wikipedia.”
Ben smiles as if he approves of the description. “It’s all made-up,” he continues. “Science fiction is for kids.”
“Some of the best stuff ever written for adults is sci-fi,” Dominic replies, almost scoffing. The tension soars.
Ella and I share glances in a cone of uncomfortable silence. Are these two guys, who’ve barely said “hey” to each other, going to have a science–versus–science fiction smackdown right here?
Ella puts her hand on Ben’s arm. “Ben, Dominic’s family just moved into Zoe’s house.”
The guys consider each other. Well, I realize, now I know a little more about Dominic. He’s not the kind of guy who backs down when he believes in something. I just wish that something wasn’t sci-fi.
And then Dominic starts the argument again. “Stephen Hawking thinks there are aliens. He’s about as scientific as they come.”
Ben laughs. “I know that.” He whispers to Ella, “It’s a ten-year scientific search for life beyond Earth. It’s called Breakthrough Listen.”
“I’m just saying,” says Dominic, “why look for something you think isn’t there?”
Ben says, “Maybe to disprove that it’s there, so people can stop imaging they’ve had their brains probed.” He turns back to Ella. “Do your aunt and uncle think vampires are real?”
Ella looks confused. When did the conversation become about who believes in vampires?
“I don’t know,” Ella says. “They say they’re retelling Count Le Plasma’s actual life as he tells it to them, but I kind of figure that’s just part of the whole thing. You know. The fans like it.”
“Really?” I stifle a laugh. “The vampire tells them stuff and they write it in the novels?”
“It’s on the back of all the books, Quinnie.” Ella’s getting mad. She is seriously touchy about them.
“People have believed stranger things that turned out to be true,” Dominic says, once again looking at Ben. “Like how the earth revolves around the sun . . .”
Ben stands up. “Nice to meet ya, Dominic, but I gotta go.” This is Ben-speak for, Dominic, I think you’re kind of a jerk. With that, he walks toward the café door.
“Wait, Ben.” Ella gets up and follows him, but not before giving me big, accusing eyes, which I resent, because I’m not the one who ticked off Ben.
Dad reappears and puts the Moxie, the milk, and two strong coffees to go on the table, plus a refill on the Cheese Nips. “Where are Ben and Ella?”
“They had to leave,” I say.
“I don’t think I can recall a time when Ben didn’t eat or drink free food,” Dad says.
“I’ll drink the milk and the soda,” Dominic volunteers. “But not the coffee.”
“No!” Dad and I say at the same time and shake our heads in unison.
“We don’t mix milk and Moxie ’round these parts,” Dad says and walks away with the glass.
Dominic reaches for a fistful of Cheese Nips and
shakes them into his mouth. Orange crumbs fall to the table, and he brushes them into a mound with the back of his hand. “Mmm,” he says. “These are good.”
An important question works its way to the front of my mind. I decide it needs to be asked. “So, let’s get this straight. Just how sci-fi are you?”
“What do you mean?”
I want to scream out, How much of a geek?, but I say, “Do you dress up like Yoda and go to conventions?”
He laughs. It’s a nice laugh. His eyes get drawn into it. He has straight teeth like he’s had braces. “No. No Yoda costumes.”
“Any costumes?”
“No Yoda, no stormtrooper, no Kylo Ren. No costumes.”
“Any hand signals?” I raise my hand and try to make the Mr. Spock V.
“That’s Star Trek, and no. No hand signals.” He pats down my hand. “Stop that, you suck at it.”
“How about those little dolls? The Funko-things?”
He sits up and gets really serious. “Quinnie. That’s your name, right? Quinnie?”
I nod.
“Yes. I have a collection of Funko Pops. They have serious monetary value, by the way. I have the full Star Wars vinyl collection, the Wolf Man, zombie Merle Dixon, and zombie Bicycle Girl, plus a few Game of Thrones my uncle gave me. You would like Bicycle Girl. If that makes me a geek, then yes, I’m geek and I’m proud.”
I’m not sure what to say. He’s just owned up to geekiness. And he doesn’t care who knows. It makes me wonder exactly what’s so bad about geekiness in the first place. But I do have one more question. I point to the pi on his T-shirt. “Do all of your T-shirts have mathematical symbols?”
He tilts his head like he’s thinking through the vast number of shirts he owns. “Yep. Well, either math or something A/V-related.”
“You make videos?”
“No. I’m just seriously into the equipment . . . Yes, I make videos.”
“Of what?”
“Lots of things,” he says. “The stuff in my room.”
This is too much. “What do you film in your room?”
Vampires on the Run: A Quinnie Boyd Mystery (Quinnie Boyd Mysteries) Page 2