by Zoey Kane
“So why are you telling me all this?” Zo asked. “Why spell it out?”
“I just want you to know.” She shrugged her shoulders in her baggy orange uniform. “Monsters aren’t born. They’re made. I’ve done some heinous things lately, but the world dealt me a bad hand. I tried playing by the rules and that got me nowhere.”
“I’m not accepting that,” Zo said, standing up eye-to-eye with her. “Because you got jealous of my time with Kellen, you came after me.”
Cocoa shook her head and gave an evil laugh. “He’s not what he seems. In your dreams he may be the perfect man. But, know this, he has a secret that would make the hair on your neck stand up.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zo asked, narrowing her eyes.
“It’s a secret, so dark, so deep, that nobody around here but his niece, Lacey, knows. And, actually, I’m doing you a favor by telling you this. Stay away from him, if you’re smart at all. Only a woman crazy like me could be a good match for him. You have no idea.”
“Oh, I see.” Zo thought that over a moment longer. “You’re just telling me this to scare me away, even though you never have, and you never will, have a chance with him.”
Cocoa gave another weak laugh. “It’s true that I hate seeing Kellen in the same room as you, let alone touching you, but you’re gravely in error if you think I’m lying.”
Zo said, “You are not someone to be trusted. You’re a murderer and a manipulator. You think that just because you have a sob back story, you should be let off the hook. You think those cats had to die for your ‘cause.’ Then you killed Cheryl, and unsuccessfully tried pulling the same stunt on me. No. Life’s hard. Learn to deal with it like the rest of us. We don’t kill; we get a divorce. Now you’ve lost everything, because as I told you before, you go too far!”
“Rahhh!” Cocoa yelled, gripping her hands around Zo’s neck.
Zo was choking, trying to pull the woman’s fingers off her throat, as Claire jumped behind the woman trying to yank her away at the waist.
“Get. Off. My. Mom.” Claire strained, pulling as hard as she could.
Cocoa tightened her grip. “Neverrrrr.”
The huge cellmate, surprisingly, came over and calmly, using her hand like a mallet, thunked Cocoa on the head. Cocoa instantly let go of Zo and crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Zo and Claire looked at their unexpected hero with dropped jaws.
“I have six cats,” she said with a deep voice. “Three are missing.”
Their mouths still hung open as they processed what had just happened. Claire tried to form words. The giant woman grabbed both the mother and daughter into a big hug under her armpits.
BUZZZZ. The cell was unlocked, and the tall officer who had booked them said, “Zoey Kane, Claire Kane, come with me.”
TWENTY-SIX
The Kanes were happy for a reason to uncork their heads from the woman’s pungent armpits. The large woman waved goodbye to the ladies, then threw a blanket over Cocoa, whistling as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“Bail posted already?” Zo said, stepping out.
“No,” said the officer, closing up the cell upon Claire’s exiting.
Claire said, “But we have the money. We can pay. What happened?”
“Follow me.” He passed a guard standing at a desk. The guard buzzed the door open that led to a long hall.
As they followed, Zo grabbed her daughter’s hand, pointing at their wrists. This time they weren’t cuffed. They were escorted to a room that said, “Chief Mavis” on the door plaque. The officer opened the door for them, and they entered.
“Have a seat,” the chief said, gesturing to two open chairs in front of his shiny desk.
The women obeyed.
“I’ve been reviewing your file,” he said. “Your answers as to why you were out in Hall Cemetery, why you say you took the seaman’s Bible. It says here you two consider yourselves sleuths.”
“Yes,” Zo said with a wide smile. “Yes, we do.”
Although Claire had helped solve some riddles and murders in recent months, before tonight she had never thought of using the word “sleuth” to describe herself. But it did make sense. She and her mother were sleuths.
The detective gave an amused smile. Zo liked his mustache that made him look extra official and handsome. “Just how many mysteries have you two solved?” he asked.
“Let’s see,” Zo counted on her fingers. “There was the one at our residence, Hillgate Manor. Then the one on the cruise. After that, my old college acquaintance hired us to solve another. That would make three. Our latest mystery was at a dude ranch. And now, here, we’ve solved our fifth. So five total.”
“A dude ranch?” the chief said, his smile widening even more. “Are you for real?”
“Yes,” Claire answered. “Danger, as cliché as it sounds, follows us around.”
He turned his computer’s monitor toward them to see a report from the Riverside Bugle, their hometown newspaper, across its flat screen. Above a black and white photo of them, it read Hometown heroes, Zoey and Claire Kane, solve the riddles of Hillgate Manor.
“That’s us,” Claire said.
Zo smiled with pride.
The chief said, “It says here in the article that you built a gravesite with your own money…”
They nodded.
“On your own property…”
They continued nodding.
“In loving dedication to a family, of no relation to you…”
“Yep,” Zo said.
Claire added, “You need to understand, though, they became like family to us. Their artifacts they left behind, their journal entries, their memories. They’ll always have a place in our heart.”
“We’ve even made a charitable foundation in their honor: The Lilly Fillmore Foundation,” Zo said.
“No.” The chief shook his head, amused. “Stop. Are you for real?” He looked up at the officer who brought them in, and asked him, “Are they for real?”
Zo said, “I just made out a check to a resident here by the name of Edna Mavis for two-hundred thousand dollars.”
Surprised, the chief inhaled sharply and choked on some spit accidentally. He coughed a few times, until he could compose himself. He said, “Edna Mavis? Ladies, did either of you happen to read my name on the door before entering?”
“Yes,” they said, but neither remembered what it said.
The chief lifted one of his business cards off his table and passed it to them. “Look,” he said.
“Chief Donald P. Mavis,” it read. “You ladies gave my Aunt Edna that money! Hoo-eeee! Ain’t that a trip? I was wondering what she was talking about when she called me, acting like she won some sort of Publisher’s Clearing House thing or something or another. Now I know it’s the God-honest truth. I thought she was believing some stupid scam or something.”
“No, it’s very real,” Zo said. “I hear she’s selling her house right away to go invest out of state in some nice property.”
That was news to him. His brow wrinkled. “What? Stop. This is too good to be true.” He leaned back in his leather seat, shaking his head. “You two are a hoot.”
“People often think we’re too out-there, too farfetched,” Zo laughed.
He clamped his hands together with resolve and leaned forward again. “Listen, ladies. If you respect the dead enough to dedicate a nice plot of land to a family, and their beloved servants and nannies, then I know for a fact that you had only good intentions when fiddling around the Stranger’s grave here in Hall Cemetery. You aren’t going to go to jail. You’re no grave robbers. You’re released. No bail necessary. I’ll put in the books that we’ve made a mistake. There’s enough evidence here for me to let you go.”
“Oh my goodness!” Zo hugged her daughter and they squealed in delight over the news.
“We’ll finish processing the confiscated items from the grave—the wedding ring and Bible—and we’ll put the ol’ seaman respectfu
lly back to rest.”
Zo said, “Oh, you’ll be sure to lay him to rest with his dearly departed, right?”
“What do you mean?” Chief Mavis’s expression became extra serious.
“Well, doesn’t it say right there in the paperwork that we found Isobel?”
The chief clutched his chest. “You ladies are going to give me a heart attack. Just what do you mean?”
*
Chief Mavis, and an entourage of five of his officers, followed closely behind Zo and Claire as they stepped through the graveyard. It was now early afternoon. The sun was out, and a few gray doves were cooing in some bare branches.
The Kanes led them right over to Pastor Hall’s mausoleum. Claire pushed the obscure stone set in the granite wall’s memorial, and the ground underfoot rumbled as the door opened. The men pushed it open some more, and the chief ordered three of them to stand guard as the rest headed down the staircase with him.
Flashlights went on as the Kanes led the chief and his two assistants down the dark steps into the stone tunnel and up to the bell tower’s door leading inside the chapel. They looked over Isobel’s remains respectfully, read the note on the lectern about her death, visited the records room where the journal was kept. Everything was explained. Zoey and Claire connected the dots for them. How the seaman didn’t make it to his wedding because of the storm nights prior. How Isobel died in sorrow. How a pastor, doctor and mayor kept the secret of her suicide to their deathbeds.
It all made sense. There was no denying the evidence. The quaint little beach town was in for a big surprise.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The chief got things rolling with the mayor. They rush-ordered for Ted and Isobel’s bodies to be taken to the morgue and prepared for marble casings so they could be memorialized within the church. The ring would go on display within the chapel, as would the surgical knife from Isobel’s chest and the parchment notice that explained her death. The pastor’s journal would be set in security glass within the mausoleum.
All kinds of contractors and subcontractors were soon walking within the mausoleum and the church, checking out the secret passage, writing notes and talking to each other about what they could accomplish in cooperation with each other.
In the meantime, the police put tape around Ted’s gravesite. They knew that it, with the original gravestone that dubbed him “Stranger,” had historical value.
News channel vans started parking outside Hall Cemetery, because the town couldn’t miss the many cop cars mingled with sedans displaying official city license plates. Curious people even parked at the castle for easy-access walking. They didn’t get far, however, before security guards lining the graveyard told them to back up.
Rumors started buzzing around town. Some people thought cultists must have done a mass suicide. Others believed aliens had landed, and were stationed in the mausoleum. Others said that would be ridiculous. Obviously they’d prefer the chapel; it had much more space.
Evening was soon upon the small community, and thankfully then Chief Mavis called a press conference to explain the situation at hand. Within a brief ten-minute talk, a dozen microphones shoved at his mustache, he was able to dispel false urban legends that had haunted their community for more than a century. And as a cherry on top, he announced the arrest of Cocoa Fulton as the suspected murderer of Cheryl Willis and many cats.
For once in the history of journalism, there was a mass cheering of anchor-people when Chief Mavis concluded, “You can all sleep well tonight.”
“But…” he inserted between the applause. “I have two special people here with me I’d like to publicly thank for their good sleuthing, their attention to detail, their keen eyes and minds … that brought us to this amazing conclusion.”
He waved Zo and Claire over. They had been watching from a close-but-respectful distance, wearing rain slickers that had been passed out by a city secretary, since dark clouds were threatening a downpour.
The chief announced, “Mother and daughter, Zoey and Claire Kane.”
Dozens of pictures were taken, bright lights flashing all around. Zo grabbed a hold of her daughter’s hand and raised it up victoriously. Claire smiled a wide, pretty smile at her mother, and there was more cheering.
Lenora’s voice piped in above the roar. “We know them!”
Beth called out, “Yes, we do!”
The Binger sisters were in the parking lot with more than a hundred other curious townsfolk, Mr. Federbal sandwiched between them. He lifted his bowler hat and waved it.
Frank wasn’t too far away, either, a wry smile spread across his face, thankful that he was released from jail, and shocked further to find out Zoey Kanes’ nosiness did some good after all.
A city official came up to Chief Mavis, whispered in his ear, and handed him a piece of paper. The chief nodded and read the notice with big eyes. He cleared his throat and waved the paper in the air. “I have another announcement!”
Things became so quiet that not even a bird was heard, not even a whisper of wind whooshed by. He cleared his throat, dozens of microphones again standing at attention, pointed at his mustache. “Excuse me,” he said, wiping his brow again, looking down. Emotion was evidently sweeping over him, though no tears were dropping.
“What’s the big announcement, Chief?” News Channel Six asked.
“Yeah, what’s the big announcement?” the other journalists asked.
He again cleared his throat, then looked up into the many camera eyes. “The Bible. The Bible that was buried with the Stranger, Ted Miller, was a Gutenberg Bible. I, um, have the appraisal right here in my hands.” He lifted the white paper that had been passed to him.
There were many ohs and ahs in response.
“As some of you know,” he went on, “Gutenberg Bibles were the first Bibles printed by a moveable printing press. It says here, the estimated worth is ten million dollars.”
More ohs and ahs waved throughout the crowd. Zo and Claire shared amazed expressions.
“The Skipping Betty’s treasure is found! Every puzzle piece to the mystery has been uncovered.” That was especially good news for everyone in town. Because less than a month later, the rare treasure would be sold for its asking price, and the money would be used to beautify and, in a manner of speaking, bring back to life the abandoned century-old graveyard for over another hundred more years.
Fortunately, not a drop dripped from the heavens, until Zo and Claire started heading back to the castle. The crowd had mostly dispersed.
Jim came running over with long-legged strides. “Hey, Claire! Hey!”
Claire said, “Excuse me, Mom,” and she ran off to give him a hug and say hello … for a while.
As Zo walked on, toward the castle alone, someone grabbed her from behind. Not again! she thought, thinking the worst—Cocoa has escaped jail.
TWENTY-EIGHT
It was Dracula.
He twirled Zo around into a Tango dance position. “I thoughd I’d take this opportunity to have a last dance with you, my darlink. You leave tomorrow. I will miss you.”
Zo smiled up at him, her rain slicker’s hood still up. “You know what, you ol’ darling, I’ll miss you too. I want to be friends who keep in touch.”
“Fabulous!”
He danced her toward a remote corner of the cemetery, far behind the chapel, the mausoleum, and many tombstones. Their feet crunched dried leaves as they moved. There was no music, but it wasn’t necessary.
Zo was having a ball, being twirled out and back in with such grace, dancing like there was no care in the world. Actually, she thought, now that the mystery is solved, there isn’t any other care in the world. Everything was perfect. Peaceful.
Then the shadows of the night deepened as dark clouds moved across the moon’s bright face, and there was something different about Dracula. His right eye started shimmering a brilliant purple. Much like … Kellen’s.
As they continued on, every step feeling more and more like they were floa
ting more than dancing, Zo couldn’t help but consider Dracula’s eyes. A flash of Cocoa in the prison cell entered her mind, her warning that Kellen was more than he seemed. That he had a dark, dark secret. That if Zo knew what that secret was, it would make the very hairs on her neck stand up.
“Kellen, you’re missing a contact,” she decided to say, unsure of how to feel at the moment.
His brows went up as he paused his steps.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, going to a tree stump, his back facing her.
Zo wanted to know what the heck was going on. Should she run?
But he soon turned around and approached her without phony eyebrows or the ratty, long goatee. The other contact was out now too. He ran his fingers—they were still pointy—through his long hair and looked down into her eyes. “Did I ever mention … I’ve been in the theater?”
“It seeped in somewhere,” she remembered. “The dragon over your couch has been a point of interest to me. I keep thinking of those purple human-like eyes. And, uh, doesn’t the word Dracula mean ‘dragon?’”
“Yes.”
“So what does all this mean, Kellen?”
“It means sometimes legends have truth to them.” He had an absolutely serious expression as he said, “I’m a dragon.”
“Oh, brother! You’re not going get that one over on me.”
“Okay, I’m teasing about the dragon,” he said, while pulling down her hood and smoothing her hair with his hands. “I’m a vampire.”
After a moment he said, “What are you thinking?”
Zo smiled, and embraced Kellen in a heart to heart hug. “That every hair is standing up on my neck … but in a good way.”
“That’s because I’m no risk to society,” he assured.
“I somehow know that,” she said. “How do you get blood?”
“Uncooked steaks, among other ways.”
Zo remembered his bloody plate at The Lobster Loft, and so that made sense.
“I can eat and drink, if the occasion presses. I’m not a purist like others.” He kissed the top of her head, thinking of something else. “Now that my stalker’s been locked up, my only problem is keeping this hotel. I’m going to have to sell it, as I’m running out of money.”