by Ward Parker
Schwartz stood at the top of the steps looking down at her.
“What were you doing next door?” he asked.
“What are you doing here? Were you stalking those young people on the beach?”
“I’m taking in the beauty of the night,” Schwartz said. “Since when has that been against the bylaws?”
“No one said it was. Hunting on or near our property is a different story.”
“When is this going to stop, Agnes? Am I going to be accused of breaking the bylaws every time I wander outside my condo?”
“You may choose not to believe it, but I’m trying to protect you.”
“No, I don’t believe it. You know I want you removed from the board. Getting me arrested on trumped-up charges would be a perfect way to stop me.”
Over the course of many centuries, Agnes had learned how to control her temper. But Schwartz was really getting to her. She resisted the urge to call him a barbarian, her most vicious insult because though she was born into a noble family, the Romans used to call her and her people barbarians.
“Listen to me, dimwit,” she said. “I don’t care about your petty machinations with the board. Go ahead and have me recalled, no one would vote for you as president anyway.”
Schwartz waved a hand dismissively.
She continued, “And if the police catch you, they won’t arrest you. They’ll stake you. Yes, they’ll stake you on the spot. Some of them know vampires exist and they’re executing us without any pretense of justice, killing us like cockroaches.”
Schwartz’s mouth dropped open.
“It’s true,” Agnes said. “So even if you’re the most innocent vampire walking the earth, you’d better be careful. No more stalking young people. Stay away from the ice cream shop. Lay low until these murders are solved.”
“Can’t I just visit the beach?” Schwartz asked.
“Frankly, I wouldn’t advise it.”
20
Under Scrutiny
The morning sun slanted between the two buildings of Seaweed Manor when Missy left after completing her werewolf patient appointments. She cut through the gap in the border hedge and entered the Squid Tower visitor lot where she had left her car. And then she saw him.
Affird was prowling around the property, pretending to be ambling casually while constantly glancing around, looking for something. She walked quickly to intercept him.
“Good morning, detective,” she said with a fake smile. “What brings you here today? Any developments in the case?”
He stopped and studied her without a trace of an expression. She observed her reflection in his mirror shades. Her hair looked bad. So did the bags under her eyes.
“I can’t discuss the case,” he said.
“Can I help you with anything here?”
“No. I was here to talk to residents, but no one is answering their door. No one is around anywhere. It’s dead here.”
She studied him. Was his double-entendre intentional? She couldn’t tell; he apparently wore a poker face his entire life. He had probably been the only poker-faced baby in existence.
“There are plenty of cars in the lot and the parking garage,” he said. “Do people here really sleep this late? I thought seniors get up early.”
“Last night was Bingo Night. I’m sure they’re all exhausted.”
“When I’ve come here at night, there were always people around,” he said.
“You’ve heard the slogan, ‘active senior lifestyle’? They really believe in it here. They’re very active and it makes them young at heart. They’re like teenagers—staying up late, sleeping late.”
He stared at her. His expression was illegible, but she didn’t think he was buying her nonsense.
“And the fact is,” Missy said, making it up as she went along, “there really aren’t many people here this season. That’s why so many of the hurricane shutters are closed.”
He glanced up at the tower. “Then why are there so many cars here?”
“Well, the snowbirds fly to Florida and leave a car here to use. The year-round residents, if they’re married, have two cars. And some auto enthusiasts have extras.”
He shook his head. “Excuse me, I want to find a resident to speak with.”
“Let me take you to Agnes, the board president. She’s an early riser.” A night-owl was more like it. “Please follow me.”
“She and I have already met,” he said.
He followed her into the lobby and up the elevator to the eighth floor and Agnes’ unit on the end. Missy pressed the doorbell. She knew the vampire was checking out her visitors through the doorbell camera.
Agnes answered the door wearing her usual outfit of a conservative dark-gray, matching pants suit. It wasn’t exactly typical Florida resort wear. She smiled. Her fangs were retracted and safely out of sight.
“Good morning, Ms. Geberich,” he said.
“Detective Affird, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Your bad luck, I guess. I was in the neighborhood and decided to poke around.”
“Come in, please.”
He followed Missy into the apartment. It was dimly lit by a couple of lamps and the heavy curtains were closed. The furnishings were spare but high-end. Though she was the daughter of a wealthy Visigoth nobleman, much of Agnes’ time after she’d been made a vampire had been spent in poverty. Somehow she had managed to claw her way out of it, and then some. Having an infinite time horizon is definitely an advantage when investing.
“Please sit down,” Agnes said, gesturing toward an antique settee. She sat in a Queen Anne armchair. It was low enough to the ground to not make her look so short. “Can I get you some water?”
“No thanks. I won’t take much of your time,” Affird said, still standing, still wearing his shades.
Missy sat down on the couch, out of the way.
“When did you move here?” Affird asked Agnes.
“In 1981. I’ve loved it the entire time.”
“I was looking at the records from the property appraiser’s office. Lots of current residents bought units here when the building was constructed in the 1960s.”
Agnes nodded.
“Those residents must be really old now,” Affird said.
“Oh, we do have some oldsters here. But those who bought at the beginning were investing prior to retirement. Pre-construction prices are impossible to beat.”
“Uh-huh. I did a little cross-checking of names and I found out some residents here bought property in the area even before Squid Tower existed. Leonard Schwartz, for instance, bought a bungalow in town in 1921. Which is odd. Even if he somehow bought it as a child, that would make him well over a hundred years old.”
“I’m sure it’s a different person by the same name,” Agnes said.
“I checked public records, and it appears to be the same Schwartz—from Brooklyn, New York.”
“It’s probably his father or grandfather.”
Affird ran a bony hand through this thick hair. “Don’t think so, though I’d have to do more research to be sure. But there are more examples of other homeowners like him.”
“Detective, please give me the courtesy of forthrightness. Why are you here today? Do you suspect a resident here of murdering the mayor’s daughter?”
He frowned. “I can’t comment on the investigation. But there’s this impression we’re only investigating the murder because it’s the mayor’s daughter. The fact is, there have been several victims and disappearances associated with this stretch of the beach and A1A. I’ve been investigating them all along. And I will be forthright with you. It’s very odd that so many incidents have clustered around your community.”
“Then you do suspect one of us is a killer?”
Affird stared at Agnes for an uncomfortably long time, his eyes hidden behind the shades, his face unreadable.
“I do,” he said. “Maybe more than one of you.”
“I see,” Agnes said. She sounded sincerely s
urprised, but Missy wasn’t. Missy had feared the police were homing in on Squid Tower.
Agnes asked, “Is there someone in particular?”
“I can’t divulge that. I’ve already said more than I meant to.”
“I hope you’ve considered the possibility that a killer could have lured his victims here to cast suspicion on the residents instead of on himself,” Missy said.
“But why Squid Tower?” Affird asked. “And why make the deaths look like a vampire did them at Squid Tower?”
Missy wished she hadn’t asked the question.
“Like I said before, I can’t get my head around the odd hours you people keep here,” Affird said. “You know, the department gets constant noise complaints late at night—”
“Regarding the people next door,” Agnes said. “At Seaweed Manor. They’re stuck in adolescence.”
“Yes, I know about them. But we get complaints about here, too, from your neighbors on the other side. Horns honking all night, arguments on the pickleball courts, someone playing the bagpipes at four in the morning.”
“That’s Duncan,” Agnes said to Missy. “Remind me to talk to him.”
“Ms. Geberich,” Affird said, frustration in his voice. “Why are your drapes closed at this time of day?”
“I have an eye condition. I’m overly sensitive to light.”
“It’s odd you’d live in the Sunshine State.”
“I love the warmth.”
He was at a loss for words. Then he reached into his shirt and withdrew a crucifix on a chain. “This was my late grandmother’s. I was having a disagreement with my wife on whether it’s silver or platinum. What do you guys think?”
He removed it and offered it to Agnes, watching her closely.
Agnes held it in her hands, examining it. “Sterling silver, I’d say. It’s very pretty.”
Affird took it back, looking defeated. “Thanks. My wife was right.” He moved to the door. “I won’t waste any more of your time. Have a nice day.”
After he left, Agnes said, “That man is becoming a big problem.”
“Yes. He knows or suspects too much for comfort,” Missy said. “I have a question. The crucifix? I thought—”
“Silly folklore. Why would being undead make you fear a symbol of any religion—Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, whatever? Just so you know, I converted to Christianity from paganism over fifteen hundred years ago, so don’t you dare think a crucifix is going to scare me. And silver has never bothered me.”
“So what are we going to do about Affird?” Missy asked. “You realize he could arrest one of us at any moment?”
“One of us?”
“Just because I don’t live here and I’m not a vampire doesn’t mean I’m not part of this community,” Missy said, trying to keep her eyes from tearing.
“And, indeed, you are, child. We depend on your medical care and all your support in so many ways. We are truly fond of you.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t begging for a compliment, but I am very worried things could go much worse than an arrest. There could be large-scale raids on this place. Then they would massacre everyone. Out of the public’s eye, of course. And does anyone here have human relatives who are still alive who would try to find out why their great-grandma disappeared? I doubt it. This attack on us could happen any day now, any moment, as long as this case remains open. I’m not being hyperbolic.”
“I know,” Agnes said. “We need to give the police a reason to leave us alone.”
“Yeah, by finding the real killer.”
When Missy left Squid Tower, she passed an SUV parked illegally on the shoulder of A1A. A man was using binoculars pointed in the direction of Squid Tower.
It was Affird. And Missy believed he didn’t care if he was seen.
21
Of Love Lost
Why did she feel such a protective instinct toward the vampires? She often asked herself that. A lot of it had to do with her grandmother being mistreated at the nursing home where she ultimately died. The vulnerability of seniors naturally made her want to protect them. Her mother was reaching the age of needing extra care. And not having any children, Missy knew she would be alone and in a precarious position when she herself reached advanced years.
But why vampires? She wasn’t some goth vampire fetishist. But she did know a vampire once: her ex-husband.
Tom had bankrupted them, cheated on her, and then left her. She understood why on the latter two counts. He had been a closeted gay who was miserable in heterosexual matrimony. While their friendship had been fine, diving into romance and marriage was a serious mistake. And when he was turned into a vampire by the partner he was having an affair with, leaving her seemed to be the only thing to do.
Even after Tom left her, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. He had truly loved her on a platonic level, and at first he was also eager in bed and she had no clue he was overcompensating. He was a physician’s assistant to an orthopedic surgeon, and they had met at the hospital where she worked. He came from a very conservative family in a small town in Iowa and told her he had never even met an out gay person until he was in college. There, he said, he did some “experimenting” but had always been convinced he was straight.
Tom was hardworking, kind, and affectionate. He tried so hard to be the perfect husband. Sometimes she thought she saw the strain beneath his handsome, preppy face—the struggle to deny his true nature. But then after a few years of marriage, as it always goes, he grew distant. On the night he finally admitted being unfaithful, and that he had been with men, he sobbed on her shoulder. He told her he didn’t want to be like this and do what he had done. He promised he would stop and be a good husband.
Missy wanted to believe everything would return to normal. Happy ever after, and all that. She hoped he was just going through a phase. She blamed herself for gaining weight and not trying hard enough in bed. And, for a while, things were all right.
But then Tom met Carlos and everything went off the rails.
Tom was in full romantic love for the first time in his life. He had the decency not to say this to Missy, but she could tell by his buoyant moods and his nighttime absences beginning again, yet now lasting all night.
She had no idea at first that Carlos was a vampire. She never met him, of course, and, besides, she didn’t believe in vampires back then. She thought the drops of blood she found on Tom’s collars and the adhesive bandages on his neck were from shaving mishaps. As they continued to appear, she wondered if they were from overenthusiastic love bites. He didn’t come home with wounds every time he disappeared for the night, but they started appearing more regularly, and his pale, haggard condition the next morning looked worse than hangovers or lack of sleep.
When Tom was turned, he disappeared for ten days. He didn’t call or text once. She called his employer, fishing for information without it being obvious that she didn’t know where he was. When the office manager acknowledged they hadn’t heard from Tom, Missy managed to invent a story about him having to leave town for a seriously ill relative. She didn’t know if she was convincing at all.
Tom finally returned home before dawn on a Tuesday. She was in bed when the front door opened, the alarm keyboard beeped as it was disarmed, and his footsteps came down the hall. She was relieved he was back, but braced herself, expecting him to look like he’d come off a bender. He knocked lightly on the bedroom door as he opened it. She turned on the bedside lamp and took in his appearance. Her expectations were wrong.
He looked fantastic. He smiled at her, brushed a strand of blond hair from his forehead, then paused on his way to her side of the bed. His cheeks were slightly flushed as if he had run home to her and his blue eyes glittered with happiness. He even seemed a bit taller and more muscular, but that didn’t make sense. The clothes he wore were new.
His skin was remarkably pale, though not white in an unhealthy way. It was a whiteness glowing with health.
“I’m so sorry I did this to you,�
� he said. “But I couldn’t call you. Not just mentally—I physically was unable. I went through a bad sickness of sorts.”
“You look pretty well now.”
“Yes. It was quite a transformation. Literally.”
Tom came to her, bent down and kissed her forehead. Then he told her Carlos was a vampire. And now he was, too.
“Don’t play games with me,” she said.
“You mean you’ve never wondered if they exist?”
“No. I’m a nurse. I deal with the science of the human body and the unpredictability of the human mind. Why would I believe in vampires? Or unicorns, for that matter?”
“I didn’t either. Until I saw them with my own eyes and felt the effects in my own body.”
He told her about Carlos and a small group of other vampires who lived in loft condominiums in the warehouse district. They partied at clubs, just like humans, but he soon observed them feeding on humans. Carlos began feeding on him, as well, but only in small amounts and as a gesture of intimacy.
“So what, they drank blood,” Missy said. “Anyone can drink blood and say they’re a vampire. Give me proof.”
He was gone. She had been looking up at him as he stood over the bed and then suddenly he wasn’t there. He had simply vanished.
“Over here.” He was standing on the other side of the bed.
“Okay,” she said in a faint voice. “I believe in vampires now.”
He smiled and continued with his story. Spending time with Carlos and the other vampires fascinated Tom. He was allured by the evidence of their heightened senses. He was fascinated by the thought of immortality. Although he didn’t say it directly, he was blown away by vampire sex. He decided he wanted to be a vampire. Carlos at first resisted, but then, out of love, agreed to change him.
Tom skipped over many of the details of being turned, but he admitted that after Carlos drank all his blood Tom had died, at least clinically, until Carlos fed him with his own blood. This began the transformation, which was painful and psychologically harrowing. Tom said his body felt like it had the worst case of flu ever, his mind careened from panic to ecstasy and back to panic. And he was roiled by strange thoughts and cravings. It took days before he could function. Even now, he struggled to make sense of his new reality.