Did I come here to kill a vampire? Hell, no. Was I protecting myself in case something very strange was going on? Hell, yes. And things only seemed to be getting stranger by the minute.
I heard footsteps well before anyone got to the door. That's what happens when you have a massive home covered in polished marble flooring. The footsteps grew louder, appearing just behind the door, where they paused. No doubt I was being peeped at through the peep hole. I must have passed the peep test because a moment later the door clicked open.
"Mt. Spinoza," said Mrs. Perkins. She tried to sound surprised but I knew a fake surprise when I heard one. A sort of unnatural rise in octave. Prior to life as a private eye, I had spent years investigating insurance claims - and frauds, too. I knew bullshit when I heard it. "What brings you back here?" she asked.
"I'd like to speak with you inside," I said, "if you wouldn't mind."
Her eyes briefly darted up...up to where I knew a woman was hiding - and with this being daylight - no doubt sleeping. Her gaze settled back on me and she nodded reluctantly. "Okay, but please be quick about it. I have...some errands to run."
I said I would, and she let me inside. I followed behind her, my blanketed arm behind my back. For now, she hadn't noticed it.
She led me deeper into the mansion.
Chapter Nineteen
We were soon in the same wide-open living room.
She motioned for me take a seat on the couch, with my back to the hallway. She asked if I wanted a drink and I said no. She said she wanted some hot tea and I said fine. I recalled it had been 98 degrees outside and suspected I might have been hoodwinked.
When she left the room, I immediately switched positions to an overstuffed chair-and-a-half that gave me a good view of anything approaching from the hallway. I also felt more comfortable with my back against a wall.
Vampires, I suspected, were sneaky.
My heart rate increased considerably while I waited. I adjusted my grip on the crossbow, which now rested in my lap, partially hidden by the chair's overstuffed pillow. From my position in the living room, I couldn't see the upstairs landing.
Mrs. Perkins returned five minutes later, carrying a steaming cup of tea.
"Now," she said, as she sat on the couch across from me. "How can I help you, Mr. Spinoza?" She didn't seem to notice that I had switched spots. If anything, she seemed very distracted.
I heard movement upstairs. Something heavy fell. I looked up at the sound, but Mrs. Perkins ignored it completely. Her demeanor was different this time around. Gone was the sour old lady, replaced now by something overly friendly.
And that's when I noticed the white cloth wrapped around her neck; in particular, what appeared to be a splotch of blood.
"What happened to your neck, Mrs. Perkins?" I asked.
The question seemed to shock her. She jerked a little and sat up straighter. She reached for her neck but never quite touched it. "Oh, that?" Her strange, pleasant demeanor never wavered. "Oh, that was just a minor...thing I had removed at the doctor's the other day."
I motioned to her arms, both of which were wrapped up in a similar white cloth. "And you had other...things removed from your arms as well?"
She smiled serenely. "It's horrible getting old, Mr. Spinoza."
"I'll remember that."
I found myself scanning the room...in particular, the two exits. One seemed to head off into what appeared to be a library, and the other went down the hallway. I suspected there were a few offshoots from the hallway, an opening to the kitchen, no doubt, and the stairway leading up to the second floor.
"Who's upstairs, Mrs. Perkins?" I asked.
Her slender form tensed a little; her fingers clawed the arm of the couch. "What do you mean, dear?"
"I mean, who's that I hear walking around upstairs?"
"Oh, I have a guest."
"Who?"
"Isn't that a personal question, Mr. Spinoza?"
"Perhaps you could tell the police then."
"Oh, I'm sure the police would have no interest in - "
"And you can also show them the wounds on your neck and arms - "
"Please, Mr. Spinoza, there's no need for that."
And that's when a woman's voice resonated from somewhere down the hallway. "I would suggest," and the voice, growing louder as the speaker drew closer, "that you leave my mother alone."
And as the last words were spoken, a very lovely, pale-faced woman stepped into the living room.
It was, of course, Evelyn Drake.
Chapter Twenty
She looked sick and weak.
My first impression was that I was looking at someone who should probably be in the hospital, or lying in bed.
Or in a grave.
She didn't stand entirely straight, as if the weight of something was dragging her down. I also noticed she was supporting herself by resting a long-fingered hand on an elegant couch table sporting a vase with flowers. Dead flowers.
She looked like the perfect candidate to be gasping for air but, as far as I could tell, she wasn't having any problems breathing. Did vampires even breathe?
I didn't know. In fact, I didn't know much about the undead at all, and I was seriously beginning to regret my decision to come here at all.
After all, the woman in front of me was the same woman I had seen in the autopsy report. The same woman whose body had been covered in knife wounds.
Seventy-two of them, in fact.
Her feet were bare. She was wearing a dark robe. Silk, I think. Her hair was slightly mussed. She had been sleeping, roused, no doubt, by her mother. A little pit stop on her way to making tea.
Evelyn Drake was pretty in an undead, goth sort of way. Her cheek bones were prominent. Her lips full, her eyes round and seemingly all-seeing. Her blondish hair was matted in places and I figured even vampires get bedhead.
"You're supposed to be dead," I said.
"Now, that's not a very nice thing to say to a woman," she said.
She stepped into the room, feeling her way over the furniture, which supported her weight. She stumbled slightly over the spot where the carpet met the marble flooring.
The skin showing around her robe was so white that I found myself staring. Her thighs and arms and neck...like pure alabaster. Her lips were red, but not exorbitantly so. I had an image of those lips covered in blood as she fed.
She smiled as if she had read my thoughts.
"How long have you been living here?" I asked, unnerved. I had read somewhere that vampires could read minds. And so I did all I could to not think of the crossbow hidden under the blanket. In fact, I imagined I was holding a puppy. It's just a puppy. A puppy, dammit.