Vampires on the Run: A Quinnie Boyd Mystery (Quinnie Boyd Mysteries)

by C. M. Surrisi

  I almost yell, Oh, no, Ben! as the heavy thing splashes into the water next to him and he darts under the dock.

  Lardy and Snooks have a tangled time trying to cast off, but soon they’re cutting through the Pool waters at a speed that could easily overtake the Connie Will.

  Dominic and I rush to the dock, yelling, “Ben! Ben!”

  Ben pops up amid a throng of boats banging around from the wake.

  There’s no time to be relieved that he’s okay. “Pick a boat,” I yell. “We have to follow them!”

  In a split second, Ben’s aboard the Morgan family’s little ten-foot Navigator.

  “A training boat? Really?” I yell.

  “It’s this or nothing,” he yells back.

  The next thing I know, all three of us are aboard. Ben has started the motor. I’m hoisting the sails, and Dominic is looking everywhere for a life preserver.

  As we come around the lobster pound, headed into the channel, I see something that would’ve been bad news an hour ago but now makes me feel nothing but relief: Mom’s cruiser has screamed up with its sirens and flashers in hot pursuit mode. The trouble is, it’s headed for the lobster pound, not the yacht club. What the heck is she doing?

  32

  The tide is going out fast and taking me, Ben, and Dominic onto the open sea. We’re riding low in the water, and waves are splashing over us each time our bow cuts into a swell. But at the spot where the narrow outlet from the channel meets the Atlantic currents, we hit slack water and stall. Dominic crouches as low as he can, trying to stay out of the way as Ben and I urge the boat to go south. The little tiny motor is straining, and the wind at our backs is feeble.

  I think, Okay, this is a good time to call Mom. Except when I pat my pockets, I remember I left my phone at home. I ask Dominic for his, and he leans to the side so I can reach into his pocket. No point. Dominic’s phone has zero bars. I want to throw it overboard, but I jam it back in his pocket.

  Ben has pulled up a paddle from the bottom of the boat and handed it to Dominic.

  “Stroke, stroke,” he says to him and points south.

  Maybe two hundred feet ahead of us, Lardy and Snooks’s motorboat has stalled out and started rolling in the waves, its onboard lights bobbing up and down. We’re coming up on them, slowly. They’re arguing and yanking at the pull cord on the motor. Beyond both our boats, the fog is rolling in.

  “Go around them, go around them,” I keep saying to Ben, who is holding the rudder and the main sail. Salt spray has soaked my hair through to my scalp.

  “Give me more speed,” he says, but the Morgan family’s little putt-putt engine is full out, and I’m afraid it will blow.

  We have no running lights, so Lardy and Snooks do not see us laboring toward them. And they’re yelling so much about engine trouble that they don’t hear us coming. To keep it that way, Ben cuts our engine, and our momentum takes us port side of them. For a few seconds, we’re sailing by close enough that they could reach out and grab us, but they don’t realize it, and a swell lifts us right past them.

  “What the—!?” Lardy screams when he finally sees us. “Get them!” he yells to Snooks. “Grab that boat.”

  Snooks looks around like he doesn’t know what Lardy is talking about. He missed our float-by entirely. When Lardy points in our direction, Dominic raises his hand and waves at them.

  Lardy starts cussing a streak as we charge south using wind power and a little paddle power.

  A foghorn blasts in the distance. It’s telling us to get to shore.

  Through the rising and falling waves, I think I see the Connie Will ahead of us. Her one running light bobs up, then disappears. We’re up, I see it. We’re down, I don’t. They’re up, I see it. They’re down, I don’t. The swells underneath us seem to be getting bigger, and the wall of whispery gray fog that was a mile away a minute ago has now blotted out the moon.

  “I see them,” Ben says.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. I’m questioning which way is which, until I catch a glimpse of lights from the beach houses. Thank goodness. We’re still headed south.

  “Oh, man. I just heard a motor start up behind us,” Dominic says, paddling faster. “Hurry! Those guys’ll be on us soon.”

  The fog is on my skin. In my hair. Up my nose. I’m starting to think we should beach the boat while we can still see the houses along the coast. We could be right in front of my house, for all I know. I want to tell Sister Ethel to beach the Connie Will, too, and run for it. Run up to my house. Don’t go around the point. Don’t risk the rocks.

  Where is Mom, I wonder? What was she doing at the pound? Is she back at home? I wish I was back at home. I wish we were all back at home.

  The vroom of a motorboat closes in on us. I pray they don’t hit us. They don’t. But Lardy and Snooks come so close, their wake rocks our boat violently. We see only the stern as they speed past us, bearing down on the Connie Will.

  Ella and Sister Ethel have no idea what Lardy and Snooks really want. And Lardy and Snooks have no idea that, in addition to Edgar and Ceil, there’s a nun and a young girl onboard the Connie Will.

  Dominic stops rowing and fumbles in his pocket. “How do you do SOS on a cell phone?”

  “It’s no good,” I tell him. “I tried.”

  “No signal. No signal. No flipping signal.” He waves his phone in the air.

  Through the fog, I hear Sister Ethel yelling, “You’ll never board us!”

  Then Ella screams, “Help!”

  33

  I hear the thud of hulls banging together. We reach the scene seconds later. The other two boats are bumping and knocking, and the wake from the tussle sends us in the opposite direction. Ben and I drop to our knees and start stroking the water with our arms, trying to draw ourselves toward the Connie Will, as a mouthful of salt water burns through to my nose.

  “What the—?” Lardy’s voice fills the night. “Who are they?”

  I have to get there. I have to try and save them. I have no idea what I’ll do, but I’ll do something!

  Like he’s reading my mind, Dominic offers me his paddle. I reach up to grab it, but when he stands to give it to me, our boat rocks violently, and I twist and fall backward overboard.

  “Quinnie!” Ben yells.

  Dominic is trying to get out of the way, but he steps backward to do it. This rocks our boat again, catching Ben off guard. In a blink, he loses his footing and falls overboard in the other direction.

  Now I’m freaking out. Freezing and freaking out. Ben and I are desperately treading water, while Sister Ethel’s yelling “Back off, you creeps!” in the distance. Dominic has crouched down, holding onto the gunwale of our boat, which the tide is tugging out to sea.

  “Where’s the paddle!?” I yell to Dominic.

  He points overboard, then, as if he realizes what a big problem that is, he starts to paddle the water with his hands, feverishly digging into the waves. But it’s a useless effort.

  “Get your hands off me!” Ella’s voice rings out again.

  Ben starts to swim toward her.

  “No! Ben, go for Dominic,” I yell. “You’re the strongest swimmer!”

  Dominic is a helpless passenger. If we don’t catch him right now, he’ll disappear behind the curtain of gray fog. Ben shifts his attention and puts all his swimming power into catching up with the Morgans’ boat.

  I turn and attack the waves between the Connie Will and me.

  “Ella!” Ceil screams.

  “Aunt Ceil!” Ella cries out, followed by a splash.

  “Get her, Edgar!” Ceil says.

  Behind the fog, the voices seem to be coming from different directions. I swim toward the sound of Ella’s voice.

  “Edgar! Help!” Ceil yells, followed by a splash. Now she’s in the water too.

  I reach the Connie Will and cling onto the side, pulling myself up to see what’s happening.

  Sister Ethel is struggling with Snooks, who’s trying to toss her overboard. The fie
rce nun looks like she’s winning.

  Lardy pulls at Edgar’s shoulders while Edgar hangs over the stern, trying to hoist Ceil back aboard. Ceil’s left arm is dangling at a crazy angle and she’s whimpering. Ella is behind her in the chilly water, trying to hang onto her aunt.

  The cold is getting to me. My teeth are starting to chatter. I’m not sure whether I should climb aboard to help pull Ceil in or swim around to Ella.

  Through the mist, I hear Ben yelling to Dominic and Dominic yelling back.

  Suddenly, Ceil cries out in agony as Edgar strains to pull her up.

  I make my way around the boat as fast as I can, intending to help Ella.

  Sister Ethel keeps banging her fists on Snooks’s head and shouting, “You swine!”

  Up close, I see Edgar’s in a rage trying to free himself from Lardy. He finally bites into the crook’s forearm.

  Lardy yelps, spins Edgar around, and screams, “No more games! Where’s the loot? We want our share!”

  Edgar tilts his head like he’s trying to understand. “Loot? We don’t have any loot.”

  “Don’t give me that,” growls Lardy. “You wrote all about it in that book.”

  I take this opportunity to boost Ella aboard the boat, then wrap my arms around its gunwale.

  “The book,” Ceil whimpers. “The diner! The story!”

  “What diner?” Lardy demands to know. “Is it stashed at a diner!?”

  A look somewhere between fear and embarrassment passes across Edgar’s face. He understands . . . something. “Help me get her in the boat and I’ll tell you everything,” he pleads.

  “You’ll tell me now or she ain’t gettin’ in this boat ever again,” Lardy says.

  “Tell him, Edgar,” Ceil begs.

  Snooks lets go of Sister Ethel and turns to hear what Edgar’s going to say. The ocean seems to freeze in place.

  “We didn’t steal your money,” Edgar says. “We stole your story.”

  34

  “What’re you talkin’ about?” Lardy screams. “We ain’t got a story! You write the stories.”

  I look at Lardy, who’s looking at Edgar, who’s looking at Ceil who is cradling her arm and wincing.

  And the roar of a boat engine fills my ears.

  A big, big boat from the sound of it. Whatever it is, if it doesn’t see us in this murk, it could plow us right over. I start screaming, “Stop! Stop!” Everyone else realizes why I’m doing this and joins in—even Lardy and Snooks. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

  The engine roar cuts back to an idle. Whoever’s driving has tried to bring the craft to a halt. Still, I know the momentum may force it straight through us before we can be seen. I look for the right direction to dive off, just in case. Suddenly, two large boats appear. The Blythe Spirit, Owen Loney’s trusty lobster boat, pierces the fog barrier. It sidles in next to us with Loney at the helm and Mom leaning over the side. A huge white Coast Guard cutter looms behind them.

  “This is the Coast Guard,” a woman’s voice yells over a bullhorn. “Stay where you are until we pick you up. Stay where you are until we pick you up.”

  A crisscross of brilliant light beams sweeps the area and slices through the fog. Ceil and Edgar’s escape boat bangs against the cutter’s hull.

  We’re boxed in. Lardy and Snooks sink down to the floor, resigned to the fact that they’re trapped. I shout to Mom, “Dominic and Ben are still out there without a paddle!”

  “We’re here!” I hear Ben yell.

  Mom runs to the starboard side of the Blythe Spirit and calls into the fog, “This way! Follow my voice, boys! Keep it coming straight this way!” She grabs a gaff hook and leans over to turn and steady them as they plow into the side of the lobster boat.

  As the captain of the cutter is barking orders to her crew, I yell up to them, “Ceil hurt her arm. We’re cold. We need blankets.”

  “We’re coming aboard,” a man calls back.

  I sit down and hold on.

  * * *

  Mom boards the Connie Will first, pointing out Lardy and Snooks to the Coast Guard. Next, she helps Ceil onto a stretcher that a Coast Guard medic has lowered down and directs me, Edgar, Sister Ethel, and Ella to climb up the ladder to the cutter’s deck. I ask where Dominic and Ben are, and she tells me they’re already on board the Blythe Spirit.

  It’s a fast and choppy cutter ride to the Rook River harbor, where harsh lights and lots of people are waiting to meet us. Emerging from a cocoon of blankets, I see the Blythe Spirit next to us at the dock.

  A paramedic guides me down the cutter’s gangplank, trailing Ella and Sister Ethel, and I step into one of the ambulances. Another paramedic helps Ceil and Edgar in with me. The paramedics keep trying to keep Ceil flat on the stretcher, but she won’t stay still. She moans and grabs her arm. Edgar is whiter than I’ve ever seen him. Finally, one of the paramedics grabs a splint and wraps Ceil’s left arm, the one she hurt when she went overboard. The other paramedic jabs an IV in her right arm, and a bag of something starts flowing. It must be a painkiller, since she falls back on the stretcher and relaxes almost immediately.

  35

  I’m face-to-face with Dad in the Rook River Hospital Emergency Room, and I can tell that he has worried his brain to a crisp. He grabs me and squeezes me so hard I wince. Before I know what’s happening, he has his arm around me, and I’m up and moving. We push our way past nurses and doctors, from one curtained space to another, looking for Mom. We finally find her talking to a Coast Guard officer and making notes. We wait for her to turn our way.

  Mom says the hospital is holding Ceil overnight for observation, and Edgar is staying with her. Ella wants to stay too, but her dad is making her go home with him. Like me, she had a close call with hypothermia, but the doctors say we’ll be okay.

  As Dad drives me and Mom home, Mom tells me that she’s arranged an interview with the sisters first thing tomorrow morning. I can tell she’s still a little suspicious of the idea that Rosie and Ethel were actually helping this time around. Once I straggle into the house, before I go to my room, I say to Mom, “What happened to John and Bob? I mean, Lardy and Snooks. The guys, with the . . .”

  “They’re in custody in Rook River.”

  36

  The next day, Edgar and Ceil come to our house to be interviewed. I take this as a good sign. At least they’re cooperating with Mom.

  Normally, Mom would interview witnesses behind the door of her small, multi-purpose home office, but this thing has gotten way too big, what with the mysterious John and Bob and a high speed chase on the ocean. The captain of the Coast Guard cutter is here. An FBI guy is here. It’s all happening in our dining room.

  Before it starts, I try to talk to Mom. “I have something to tell you,” I say. I want her to know this whole thing is somehow about stolen stories.

  “Later, Quinnette,” she says. Her voice isn’t what I’d call angry. It’s more like her I’m-so-disappointed-that-I-can’t-talk-to-you-right-now voice. I’ve heard it once before. I feel terrible.

  But not so terrible that Ella and I don’t eavesdrop on the interview. Ben and Dominic are in lockdown, grounded, so they can’t be here. But Ella and I position ourselves at the top of the stairs and compare bruises until it starts.

  “I’m going to tape this to be sure we get it all,” Mom says.

  “Fine, fine,” Edgar says.

  “Okay. Let’s begin. In your own words, tell us when this all started.”

  “We write a series of vampire novels about a Count Le Plasma, and as part of the—uh—charm of the series, we profess to be in direct communication with the Count,” Edgar says.

  “He tells us his stories, and we write them down,” says Ceil.

  “But,” says Mom, “you don’t actually talk to vampires.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact.

  “Correct,” says Edgar.

  “And we have some unusual fans who are infatuated with vampires,” says Ceil.

  “Two of them have been fol
lowing us, claiming that they talk to the Count too and that he’s told them they can have the profits from our most recent book,” says Edgar.

  “And they’ve been stalking us, demanding the money,” says Ceil.

  Edgar clears his throat and then goes on. “And we thought that was all this was about. Simple, out-of-control vampire worship.”

  Ella and I scoot to the edge of the step we’re sitting on, waiting for Edgar to explain what he blurted out at Lardy in the boat.

  “Jack and Wally Woodley—” Edgar starts.

  “Ah, you mean Edward Regan and Donald Fisher,” says the FBI man. “Go on.”

  “Anyhow,” Edgar says, “a little over two years ago”—he stops and coughs—“we were at our regular haunt on Fifth in Park Slope, drinking double espressos and brainstorming our next book, and two churlish sorts were seated at the next table over.”

  “We weren’t paying attention to them at first, but then we heard them grumbling and getting themselves pretty worked up about something,” says Ceil.

  “We weren’t eavesdropping,” says Edgar. “But they grew more and more upset over someone named Gordo. For running off with the loot.”

  “Our first reaction was, let’s get out of here. But then they started to talk about the cat,” says Ceil. “It was a gem of a story! They kidnapped a bank guard’s prize cat and swore they’d hold it hostage until the guard unlocked the safe for them. And the poor man was so distraught, he did whatever they wanted.”

  “And this is the best part: they described being in a van with the cat. They’d been stationed inside while their”—Edgar searches for the word—“colleague did the robbing. Many hours in a van with the cat and its terrible temper and litter box. Meanwhile, this Gordo got the money and took off.”

  Ella and I look at each other and at the same time mouth the words, Transylvanian Drip!

  It all comes together. Edgar and Ceil used the story they overheard for their book . . . and when Lardy and Snooks read the book . . . they thought Edgar and Ceil were in on the heist.