Oh yes, he’d driven me to the store, but he’d groused about it the whole way.
I took a shopping cart from the nice cart lady at the door, looked over my shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”
Since Maggie really didn’t keep much food in the refrigerator—or the cabinets for that matter—I headed to the grocery department first.
“We have Saturday and part of Sunday to get through. What do you want to eat?” I asked.
“Will it bother you if I broil a steak?”
“Broil away.”
I pointed him toward the meat counter and followed at a distance with the cart—the distance because the smell of meat turns my stomach, even in a store. The odor of cooking meat is worse, but what could I expect when the villagers had deep-roasted vampires, and I’d had to smell it? On the other hand, I love the aroma of charcoal. Go figure.
After he grabbed the biggest T-bone in the case, Saber moved on to the vegetables, where he picked up a bag of pretossed salad and baking potatoes. Next we moved to dairy, where he snagged real butter, sour cream, and a package of cubed cheddar cheese. As we moved up and down the other aisles, he added two kinds of steak sauce to the cart along with salad dressing and a box of animal crackers. The dressing was French, a sharp reminder of why we were together in the first place. The animal crackers? Maybe he ate creatures now instead of hunting them, but the choice was rather endearing.
When he was satisfied with his grocery selections, I wheeled the cart toward the clothing section.
“You’re not buying Wal-Mart clothes, are you?”
“Actually, I’m looking at purses, but what do you have against Wal-Mart fashions?”
He shook his head. “Vampires don’t wear Wal-Mart.”
“They don’t know what they’re missing,” I said as I paused and eyed the purses. A quick look told me they didn’t have the color I was looking for. I’d try Bealls Outlet another time.
I wheeled through the women’s department to a major aisle and turned right to head toward the back of the store.
“Didn’t like the purses?” Saber asked, trailing behind me.
“I need a different color.”
“So now what are you looking for?”
“The classic movies they have on DVD.”
“And then what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, waving a hand. “I might price an external hard drive for my computer. Wander through the small appliances. Pick up self-tanning lotion and hair straightener.”
“Your hair is fine the way it is.”
My heart stuttered a beat. “It is?”
“Yes, and stop fishing for compliments. You’re milking this Wal-Mart trip to annoy me, aren’t you?”
I stopped the cart, my back to the sporting goods section.
“You know, now I understand why women hate to take men shopping. Sheesh! What are you in such a hurry to do? Is basketball on tonight? ‘March Madness’?”
“I want to review the narrative with you,” he said, all business. “A woman is dead, and you’re involved, however innocently. You saw something or heard something that might help find the killer.”
“So you don’t think I did it?”
“No.”
“Oh,” I said, biting my lip and feeling ashamed. “And if I didn’t remember to write this particular thing?”
“We’ll go over and over those two days until we find the key. Unless you want March to put your butt in prison.”
“Prison, hell,” a gravelly voice said behind me. “You ought to be executed.”
I whirled to find Stony—Victor Gorman—not five feet away and closing fast. He was dressed like a black ops guy from TV, but with less gear. Worse, he carried a box of gun cartridges in one hand and a bow—as in bow and arrow—in the other.
“You have some goddamn nerve setting me up,” Gorman growled. “I could kill you right now and be glad to die for the cause.”
Saber stepped in front of me, and I let him. “Mr. Gorman, I’ll remind you I’m a state investigator and caution you to watch what you say.”
Gorman gave Saber the evil eye and pointed the tip of the bow at him. “What the hell are you doin’ here with…that. You used ta kill these things, and now you’re shoppin’ with ’em?”
I leaned around Saber. “Hey, I have excellent taste.”
“You’re not helping,” Saber warned me, then turned back to Gorman. “In light of your new threats, if Ms. Marinelli turns up with so much as a stubbed toe, I’ll be sure we haul you in for it. Do you understand me?”
“Ms. Marinelli?” He sneered and raked my sole dressy outfit with a look of disgust. “Dress ’er up any way you want, but she’s a fuckin’ parasite. I got the right to free speech, and you can’t tell me different.” He shifted his cold blue eyes to me. “You’re gonna pay for killin’ that Frenchie, bitch. I know where to find you.”
With a last glare, he spun and stalked back to the sporting goods counter. If Wal-Mart carried missile launchers, he was fired up enough to walk out with a dozen.
Saber faced me and put his hands on his hips, but I was way ahead of him.
I made a NASCAR-worthy one eighty with the shopping cart and headed to checkout.
I changed while Saber put the groceries away. We hadn’t talked much on the way back, but I knew Saber was ticked from the way his hands had clenched the steering wheel. If he’d been using vampire strength, he would’ve crushed it to dust.
The confrontation had shaken me, but I was calm by the time I called Maggie again. She took the news of Saber staying at the penthouse in stride when I told her he was protecting me from Gorman. Fine, she said. The linens on her bed were clean because she’d anticipated Janie using her room. All in all, not the ordeal I thought the conversation would be.
In my jeans and St. Augustine T-shirt, I walked barefoot into the dining area to join Saber at the table, where he sat reading my notes. His eyes held no warmth, no appraisal now. Nothing to make my tummy flutter, but it did anyway. Maybe it was just his holstered weapon on the table.
“Find the missing links?” I asked, hoping against hope he had. Especially when I noticed a chair set squarely beside his.
“No, but I have a list of questions.”
He turned the page of a white legal pad, headed it Suspects, and wrote Victor Gorman’s name first.
I tapped the page as I sat. “I thought you’d cleared him.”
He shrugged. “In light of the threats he made tonight, he’s staying on the list. Let’s start with what he said and did, and how the others reacted.”
I closed my eyes and started from the beginning—from the first time I noticed him until he stormed out of Scarlett’s—while Saber took notes.
“So the French couple indicated that Gorman had been following them even before they all showed up for the tour.”
“Right. Yolette said he was spoiling their honeymoon, and I told her they should report it to the police.”
“Which she didn’t.”
“No. I specifically asked on Tuesday when Yolette threw a fit about Gorman being on the tour again.”
“Cover the time after Gorman left the tour on Monday.”
Again I closed my eyes to picture the scene. “We walked back to the substation chatting. I asked why Yolette and Etienne came to St. Augustine for their wedding trip, then Millie asked if they were staying in a B and B downtown.”
“And that’s when you knew where to find them.”
“No,” I snapped. “I never knew where to find them, and I didn’t want to.”
“Then what exactly did they say?”
“They were staying in a modern place on the beach where they watched the sunrise.”
“That’s it?”
“You want to hear this or argue with me over every detail?”
“Go on.”
“That’s about the time Yolette made a crack about Millie’s perfume. She said it was strong, and that her first husband—no wait, her late husband�
�had an aunt who overused Shalimar.”
“Was Millie insulted?”
“She was when Yolette said it had made the dead husband sick.” I paused. “In fact, Millie looked more than insulted. She looked—”
“Angry?”
“Stricken. Insulted, but sort of sad at the same time.”
“Then what?”
“Millie asked how Yolette’s husband died, and Etienne said it was an accident.” I looked at the table, then back at him. “But in my head I heard, Murder.”
He gave me the narrowed eyes. “In your head?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’m psychic, okay? I mean when I’m not blocked by the dark of the moon, I can hear thoughts, or I have flashes about people or have the occasional vision. Not constantly, but more if I focus. That night it was close to a new moon, but the energy of the group must’ve been so weird that I picked up the odd thing here and there.”
“Why can’t you do this all the time?”
“Beats me. It’s like a channel with various amounts of static at various times. Something will burst through, then static again.”
“So when you picked up Murder, who was thinking it?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know.” I got up to pace around the table. “I thought it was Millie at first, just because she was the one who asked about the dead husband. But the voice sounded more masculine in my head.”
“So Etienne said it was an accident and you, what? Simultaneously heard Murder in your head? Heard it afterwards?”
I stopped pacing. “It was more simultaneous.”
“Can you smell lies, Cesca?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. I can smell a change in body odor when people are under stress. Sometimes that means they’re lying, sometimes it’s just nerves.”
“So you didn’t detect that either of the Fourniers were lying.”
“No, but people lie effortlessly all the time.”
He rubbed his face. “Point taken. What about the guy you call Gomer? Where was he?”
“Watching the Fourniers.” I closed my eyes and tried to picture him. “He was tense, but that’s all I remember.”
“And you didn’t see him at Scarlett’s later?”
“No. I didn’t sense him around at all, but then I didn’t sense the Fourniers or Stony in the restaurant either.”
“Did Gomer seem to know anyone on the tour? Hang around anyone?”
“He stuck close to the wiseguys—the men who sounded like Sopranos characters. Gorman stayed close to the Fourniers. The rest of the tourists stayed in the groups they came in.”
“How about Tuesday? Your notes say the Fourniers seemed to have had a fight.”
“They weren’t lovey-dovey like on Monday, and Yolette was in a real snit about something.”
“How did Etienne act?”
“Like he didn’t care. He flirted with me, but I gave him the brush-off. Then he walked with Millie and her ladies, Yolette walked in front of them right behind the writer group. Gomer walked with Gorman.”
“Did you overhear any conversations?”
“Nothing that struck me until Detective March said Gorman had been fishing. Then I remembered hearing Gomer and Gorman talking about deep-sea fishing, and Gorman mentioned a trip.”
“He tell Gomer where or when?”
I shook my head. “Not that I heard. When I tuned in to them, I was listening for trouble, not a vacation report.”
Saber jotted more notes, then tore a fresh sheet of paper from the pad and handed it to me. “Grab a pen and help me summarize this.”
Can you say please? I thought but snagged a pen from the junk drawer. This all seemed jumbled to me. Maybe writing the key points would crystallize the information.
“Let’s start with Gorman,” Saber said, as I wrote. “Hates vampires. Made overt threats against Cesca and the Fourniers. Confirmed member of the Covenant. Weapons found in his home, two being tested for ballistics match. May have known where victim was staying, but alibi in Key West during times of both the murder and vandalism.”
Saber glanced up from his notes. “Need me to slow down?”
“Nope, I’m fine. Who’s next?”
“Gomer aka Holland Peters. Gave false name to Cesca. Knew Fourniers were staying in a house on the beach, but did he know where? Carries concealed. May have known details of Gorman’s fishing trip. Motive to kill Yolette? Motive to vandalize truck? Why lie about identity?”
Saber paused and shuffled his papers.
“Next we have Millie. Didn’t like Fourniers and seemed to disapprove of Yolette. Yolette insulted her. Any connection to Yolette’s dead husband? Carries concealed. Motive to kill? If related to the dead husband, could be revenge, but for what? Did Millie know where couple was staying? Did she know Yolette would be on honeymoon in St. Augustine? If so, how?”
“It does stretch coincidence to be on the same tour by pure dumb luck,” I said.
“By light-years,” Saber agreed. “Let’s do Mick next.”
“It’s a waste of energy and paper to list him.”
“Cesca.”
“All right. Shoot.”
“Mick. Didn’t seem to like or dislike the Fourniers. Unlikely he knew where they were staying. Has a bad history with vampires but appears friendly with Cesca. Has gun permit but doesn’t appear to carry. Might kill to protect Cesca or Janie.”
Saber paused. “Did you get all that?”
“No, I played tic-tac-toe instead.”
He flashed a grin and tapped my paper. “We’re almost done. Etienne Fournier. Opportunity a given. Means possible, though no weapons found when house searched. Motive? Bears looking into. Yolette ticked with him on Tuesday night. Why? Did he have anything to do with death of first husband? Did she?”
I finished and looked up. “Shouldn’t we list what we know about Yolette herself?”
“Go for it.”
“Yolette,” I wrote as I talked. “Widowed, maybe by accident, maybe by murder. Etienne second husband. Or were there more? How long had she known him? Claims they had sex with vampires. Did she and the now-dead husband also have sex with vampires? Claims Gorman followed them around the city prior to Monday. How long had they been here? Peeved with Etienne on Tuesday. Why? Run-in with Millie. Could Yolette’s dead husband be Millie’s nephew? Yolette said she never met the aunt. Would Millie know who Yolette is? Know that Yolette would be in St. Augustine?”
When I finished the list, I looked at Saber. “So what now?”
“Until we get a lead on Gomer, I talk to March about digging deeper into the Fourniers and Millie.”
“Why not do a little digging ourselves? There are lots of resources online.”
“We can try it.” He cleared his throat. “I want to go back to something else, though.”
“For Pete’s sake, what? I’ve told you everything.”
“You haven’t,” he said steadily, “told me how you became a vampire.”
I went still for a split second, then said lightly, “You mean what was a nice girl like me doing with a nasty bunch of monsters?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Well, it’s not like I raised my hand and said, ‘Bite me, bite me.’” I flipped a hand as if to bat away the question. “It’s ancient history. Why do you care?”
“Because you’re so damned determined to be an unvampire, and I want to know why.” He caught my hand and tugged me into the chair beside him. “What did the monsters do to you, Cesca?”
THIRTEEN
I didn’t want to go there, to the dark time when I’d lost control of my life and my future. I’d despised being a victim, but I hadn’t been strong enough to end my own half-life in order to escape the demi-hell that had been Normand’s court.
Now Saber was asking questions I’d hoped he wouldn’t. Unlike the newspaper reporter who’d written of Maggie’s rescuing me, Saber would pester and probe until I spilled my guts enough to make him happy.
“Other than change my entire life, not much. No beating, no raping.” I paused. “Actually, I was bored stiff most of those three years.”
“You’re dodging me. You were psychic before they caught you, right? Normand—” He pronounced it as the French would. “—knew you. He had his eye on you all along. Am I right?”
“He and an old suitor of mine, yeah,” I admitted. “How did you know?”
He kept his gaze level. “I’ve studied vampires for a long time. Even the modern ones like to have a psychic or witch or sensitive of some kind around. It’s a power thing, and if the person won’t cooperate willingly, the vamps threaten families and friends.” He paused. “That happen in your case?”
I nodded. “I gave a few command performance readings when I was the mortal me, but the king always let me go home. He cooked his own goose when he turned me, though. Being underalive screwed with The Gift.”
His mouth twitched. “Bet he was ticked.”
“And then some,” I agreed. Old Normand had been so angry, he’d turned redder than the blood he drank.
“Who was the old suitor?”
I sighed and considered barricading myself in the bathroom, but I’d have to come out sooner or later—to face myself if not Saber. Maybe it was time to talk. Maybe the dark time wouldn’t seem so bleak if I did. And maybe a cup of peach tea would help.
“We all went to school together,” I said as I got up to put water in the electric teakettle, Saber turning to watch. “In fact, we went to the oldest schoolhouse down on St. George Street. Triton was the adopted son of a Greek fisherman, and Marco was the son of a soldier who came in the second Spanish period. Triton and I had known each other since we were three or so, and we were so close we read each other’s minds.”
“You loved him?” Saber asked.
“Yes, and Marco was jealous. He courted me—he and a few others who weren’t terrified of The Gift. I couldn’t stand any of them. I would’ve married Triton in a heartbeat, but there were, um, obstacles.”
“Family objections? Religious differences?”
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