She slid a good deal of the way when she hit a patch of ice. Catching herself on a stop sign pole, she swung herself around, using the momentum to send her into a dead sprint in the direction of apothecary.
What moron had thought it would be a good idea to tell Matthew Porter’s excitable friends who had sold the castor beans that had killed Kierra? Didn’t anyone have the common sense to think that a group of grieving people might take justice into their own hands and enact some old-fashioned mob justice? All they needed to do was ask Noah or Rebecca Brown about Tobias and they’d have gotten the story that had ruined him for tourists forever.
Years ago, Tobias had assaulted a customer and his wife after their son had destroyed a priceless decoration he had had on a shelf. The young man had meant to do it, and when his parents had refused to pay what Tobias had spent on it, he had flown into a rage. He’d tried to strike the son first, but the mother had stepped in front of the punch. After Tobias had laid the man’s wife out flat on the ground, the husband had destroyed even more of Tobias’ property and had dislocated his jaw. By the time the police arrived on the scene, Tobias had blacked his eye and knocked out a tooth.
Putting together the missing castor beans and his long history of violence, the group would have come to the exact conclusion Tobias had feared that the police would. And even if he hadn’t actually ground up the poison that killed Kierra, he had sold it to someone. He’d had a hand in the death, as surely as if he’d spooned the poison into her mouth himself. That’s what they’d have told themselves.
It was faulty logic, fueled by fear, the same sort of thing that had led to the deaths of many innocents in Salem centuries before. It was easy to fall into, as Priscilla had proved by suspecting Olivia initially. Tobias had had no motive she knew of to kill Kierra, other than his dislike of tourists.
She rounded the final corner and found herself facing down more than the eight people she was expecting. There were a handful of news reporters on hand with cameras, two vans with broadcast company logos on their sides, and three print journalists pressing forward to try and reach the front door. There were several people she recognized from town as well. Rebecca Brown and her three children stood off to the side, looking confused and a little frightened. Matthew’s Volvo had been impounded as of last night, and Kierra’s keys were still in a baggie in the coroner’s office with her other possessions. The maid of honor and the unnamed man from the night from before were sitting on top of a stolen police car, shouting at the front doors.
The homes closest to the apothecary had emptied and Tobias’ neighbors were shouting along with everyone else. Short and round, Mrs. Stout and her cohorts from the historical society were shaking their fists at the apothecary.
“How dare you defile the halls of Robshaw Inn with blood!” Martha shouted.
Priscilla slowed to a human pace as she approached. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself by going at more than human speed. The cameramen couldn’t catch her on film if she decided to do something blatantly supernatural in front of them, but the print journalists would certainly report it. She had no desire to attract negative attention from a large news outlet like the Wakefield Journal.
It wasn’t going to take the crowd long to force its way through whatever barrier Tobias had erected to protect himself. He’d be trampled to death or worse when that happened. She pulled her legal pad from her bag, approaching the apothecary with a thoughtful expression, as if she was wondering what snappy line she’d start an article with. Meanwhile, she inched her way around the corner of the building with no one the wiser. There were more people waiting for Tobias at the back of the shop, so that wasn’t an option either. The unhappy citizens had pried open his cellar and discovered there were only dusty jars and rats waiting for them below. The shutters had been drawn and locked by Tobias.
Priscilla couldn’t go under, sideways, or through. There was only way she could think to get in and she didn’t like it one bit. She stuffed the legal pad into her bag once more and shoved it beneath a dying shrub. It wasn’t a very effective hiding spot, but it was the best she could manage at such short notice.
She backed up several paces until she was in the neighboring house’s yard. Then she bounded forward, using all her strength at the last moment to leap high enough to reach the eaves. The metal made a horrible crunching sound beneath her fingers as she locked around it in a vise-like grip. She gritted her teeth and then reached up her other hand to grab hold of a shingle. To her relief, it didn’t come loose in her hand. She reached up another claw-like hand to get a handhold beneath the next row. Then she began to climb. It was a precarious endeavor and she nearly fell twice, only superhuman reflexes keeping her from pinwheeling to earth like a falling leaf.
After a few minutes she was balancing like a tightrope walker on the apex of the roof. The building trembled slightly beneath her as the crowd threw their bodies at its front. Priscilla approached the chimney with mounting anxiety, glad she hadn’t showered that evening. It would be wasted on her now.
She knelt beside the opening and spoke into it as loudly as she could. She could only hope that it didn’t attract the attention of the angry crowd below. “Tobias!”
For a moment she heard nothing except the roar of the crowd and the whistle of the wind in her ears. Then, “Priscilla?”
Tobias’ voice was faint, and it sounded as though he was speaking through a stuffy nose.
“Yes, it’s me. Listen carefully. I’m not here to hurt you but I do need in.”
“Then why haven’t you broken down the door and carried me out like Superman?”
“Because,” she said, a bite of impatience in her voice. “Someone rescinded my invitation to enter.”
There was a sheepish silence on the other end of the chimney for a moment then Tobias spoke again. “Come in, Priscilla.”
“Excellent,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. The chimney was real and had been used once upon a time, even if it wasn’t now. Modern buildings only added chimneys for aesthetics, not for ventilation, and as such they weren’t usually very large. This one was large enough for a chimney sweep to fit into for regular cleaning, so she suspected she’d fit. Even so, it was not going to be comfortable.
Priscilla held her breath and then lowered first one leg and then the other into the tight space. She’d never before been grateful for her lack of a womanly figure. She’d always been rather impressive on top and didn’t have the child-bearing hips that had been so popular back in her day. She braced her hands on either side of the brick walls and began to wriggle her way down. Ash coated her blouse at once, and a cloud of dust billowed up in her wake. It tickled her nose and she fought the urge to sneeze.
Tobias’ two-story shop felt as big as a skyscraper as she fought her way down its chimney. She pitied the poor men and women who’d been forced to clean the flues during the heyday of the Industrial Revolution. She was coughing and sneezing by the time her boots crushed the ash and wood that remained at the bottom. She kicked the grate out of her way and crouched in Tobias’ fireplace, looking like something that had crawled out of a burning building.
Tobias winced as the metal grate clattered across his floor, scattering ash and debris in its wake. Priscilla would bet everything she owned that if he survived the following hours, he’d close for the day and scrub every inch of the shop.
“Are you okay?” she asked, climbing out of the fireplace on all fours. She sat down next to him, and a small crowd of dust billowed up in her wake. Tobias scooted away from her noticeably.
“That Neanderthal broke my nose,” Tobias said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Thankfully, the blood had dried sometime before she’d arrived.
Priscilla stood to her full height and peered over the counter. She saw a man as big as a NFL linebacker laid out flat on the floor. He’d apparently wreaked havoc on the shop before Tobias had a chance to stop him because coffee beans, candy, cough drops, and more were strewn across the fl
oor with wild abandon. Tobias must have been apoplectic when he saw the damage done. Maybe that was what had given the tall, spare man the strength to beat down Manzilla.
“How’d he get in?”
“He came in before the others,” Tobias muttered, clutching the bridge of his nose. “I barricaded the front and back before they followed.”
Tobias had slid the shelf bearing the brass scales in front of the door. It wobbled slightly with every push on the door. Priscilla offered Tobias a hand up. “I’ll hold the front door. Don’t worry. Arthur is on his way and the rest of the department will be behind him soon enough.”
“Why are you doing this for me?” Tobias asked, taking her hand. “I’ve never exactly been friendly to you.”
“Because I don’t think you should be injured or killed because of baseless conjecture. I know you didn’t do this.”
“Tell that to them,” he said, nodding to the crowd outside his door.
Priscilla chuckled and strode across the floor, being careful not to tread on fallen gumballs or Tobias’ attacker’s hand. She braced her hands against the back of the shelf, putting a fraction of her strength behind them. The next blow to the door shook the wall, but not the shelf. Tobias removed the brass scales from the shelf and set them aside delicately.
“So,” Priscilla began conversationally. “What’s your alibi?”
“I didn’t do it,” Tobias growled.
“I know that,” she said. “But they don’t. What are you going to tell the authorities about the night Kierra was murdered?”
Tobias blew out a breath that ruffled his bloodstained cravat. His blood wafted to her on the breath but wasn’t as appealing or distracting as Arthur’s had been the night before. She wondered why exactly that was. The panic could have stolen her appetite. Or perhaps Arthur just smelled better. He’d love that.
“I’m supposed to keep that confidential. It’s not a done deal yet.”
“What isn’t?”
Tobias glanced around, as though someone might be listening in on him. The giant man on the floor grunted in his sleep, making them both jump.
“I was contacted months ago by a television executive. He wants to film in Bellmare.”
“Is that all?” Priscilla snorted. “There are television crews in Bellmare all the time. We’ve been featured on a lot of ghost hunting shows.”
“It’s not paranormal, it’s historical. They want to do re-enactments of events and urban legends that take place in the town.”
Well, that was new. It might even be a refreshing change of pace after the glut of ghost stories and overdone acting that had been par for the course whenever Bellmare was featured on television.
“And you were going to let them film here?”
“I was negotiating the price,” Tobias said. “The last thing I needed was for you and Arthur to come in asking questions about murder. That’s a good way to lose the contract I spent weeks negotiating.”
He gave a weak chuckle. “I might still lose it, after this gets on the news. Who’s going to believe I’m innocent? Just look at me.”
He spread his arms wide so she could take in the full effect. His hair had been mussed by the struggle, and the blood from his nose had dried on his lips and chin. With his old-fashioned clothing and pallid skin, he fit the popularized image of a vampire better than she did.
“I believe you,” Priscilla said. “And what’s more, Arthur believes you. We’re going to get you out of here safe and sound.”
Outside she could hear the distant wail of a siren and over all the noise, Arthur shouting into a megaphone.
“Back up, people. I mean it! If you do not cease and desist immediately, I will have every single one of you arrested. Yes, that includes you, camera guy. Back away.”
The general din that had been background noise to everything she’d done in the last fifteen minutes subsided and soon only the original eight from the wedding party were left shouting obscenities at Arthur. Tobias sagged against the wall and made an inarticulate sound of relief.
“He’s probably going to take you into protective custody, Tobias,” Priscilla informed him. “Just so this doesn’t happen again.”
“I don’t care. As long as he gets me away from these madmen, I don’t care if I have to sleep in a cot in the closet of Bellmare PD. At least I’m alive.”
“You should probably have someone set that nose for you too,” Priscilla said.
He touched it gingerly, looking thoughtful. “It might look more period appropriate if I let it heal crookedly.”
“Don’t be a prat, Tobias.”
He chuckled once more and together they waited. Priscilla didn’t let up on the pressure on the shelf until Arthur’s voice came through the front door. “You can move now, Priscilla. I’ve got the situation handled.”
“Give me a minute,” she called back. “I need to move this out of your way. I think it’ll upset Tobias if anything else breaks in his shop today.”
She pushed the shelf back into its position. The noise seemed to rouse the beast of a man that lay on the floor. She strode over to him as Tobias let the police inside. She knelt and watched as his eyelids fluttered open. When they focused on her, she gave him an unpleasant smile and reached out a hand to flick him between the eyes. She exerted just enough pressure that the man’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped unconscious once more. He’d probably have a small bruise where her finger had struck him.
Arthur watched the whole scene with an air of amusement. “You know we could have just put him in cuffs.”
“If you could have taken him down, that is. I’m not sure anything short of a tranquilizer will do if this fella picks up speed.”
It took four policemen and Tobias to haul the man’s dead weight to a waiting ambulance. She would have helped, but Arthur seemed to still feel guilty for making her sick the day before. She was sure that the backs of his officers didn’t appreciate the gallant gesture.
There were six emergency vehicles waiting outside for them—all five of Bellmare’s squad cars and the ambulance. Three police cars were taken up by the wedding party, who were still making rude gestures at the policemen. Arthur took Tobias gently by the elbow once they’d delivered the injured man into the care of the emergency responders.
“You need to come with me, son,” Arthur said.
“Wait,” Priscilla called as Tobias was led away. “Wait a minute. I need to ask him a question.”
“Can’t it wait?” Arthur asked, a hint of his earlier exasperation rising to the surface.
“No, I’m afraid it can’t. Don’t you want your answer? We can end this here and now, Arthur.” She turned to Tobias. “Who bought all those castor beans? We don’t need the receipt. Just tell us, was it Matthew Porter?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know the guy’s name and I didn’t ask. He just said he needed a lot of ’em for somethin’ he was cooking up.”
She and Arthur exchanged a hopeful glance. “Do you remember what he looked like?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Was he short for a man? With sandy blond hair and blue eyes?”
Tobias shook his head slowly. “No, that wasn’t him at all. He was average height and had brown hair. Brown eyes too, I think. All I know is he needed to comb his hair and get some sleep. A businessman shouldn’t look that sloppy.”
Tobias’ forehead scrunched in apparent effort. “I know I’ve seen him somewhere. Out at that ... hotel or somethin’ he’s been running.”
“The bed and breakfast?” Priscilla asked.
Tobias snapped his fingers. “Right. That’s the one. He came in and bought every last one of my castor beans. Said he was making something important with it, that it was going to change everything around here.”
Priscilla’s stomach sank. So it hadn’t been Matthew Porter after all. Perhaps his story had merit, perhaps not. She still couldn’t rule out foul play. One thing was certain, though. She’d only met one man in Bell
mare that fit Tobias’ description.
“Noah Brown,” she whispered.
Chapter Eleven
“What a mess,” Olivia fussed when she returned home covered in soot. “You look like you rolled around in a coal mine.”
“Yeah, Priscilla, what did you do?” Anna asked, clearly trying to hold back laughter.
“Lost a fight with a dragon,” she quipped, striding past all of them. “I’m going to shower and then I am coming down to bake.”
She needed to have something normal in her life after the last 48 hours of insanity. She wanted to dig her fingers into dough and mold it, shape it into something she could control and someone else would enjoy.
She left a trail of ash in her wake as she mounted the stairs. She kicked her shoes off at the threshold, lest she track more across the carpet, caught a glimpse of herself in the specialty mirror, and flinched. Her hair was gray, coated in ash. She got a fleeting glimpse into how she might have looked if she’d been able to age and die just like everyone else. Her clothes were in tatters and every inch of her was streaked with filth.
She stripped all of it off and tossed it into the trash. There would be no salvaging any of it, even if there had been a dry cleaner within a hundred miles of Bellmare. Spinning the dial all the way up, she stepped under the steaming spray.
Gooseflesh erupted along her arms as her body adjusted its temperature in response to the stimuli. The wind outside had been frigid. The water that slammed into her back was scorching and would probably burn her skin. She didn’t care. She needed to scour the dirt off, and her skin could always heal.
She tipped her head back and let out a sigh of relief as the worst of it sluiced off under the deluge. A muddy puddle formed beneath her feet and for a few minutes she just let the water course over her, removing what it could while she enjoyed the sensation.
Fangs in Fondant Page 12