One look at the headlines and she forgot all about eating.
FOURTH WOMAN FOUND DEAD
BODY DRAINED OF BLOOD
She quickly read the story. The body had been found in a vacant lot in Woods Hollow by a late-night jogger. There was no evidence of foul play. The police were certain that the murderer was the same person who had killed the three women in Pear Blossom Creek.
Bodies drained of blood… She shook her head, dismayed by the turn of her thoughts.
There was no such thing as vampires. She repeated the words aloud, hoping that it would somehow reassure her, but it didn't. Vampires or not, someone was killing women and draining them of blood. Perhaps a Satanic cult was behind the murders.
Didn't they use blood in their rituals? But good Lord, how much blood did one cult need?
She poured her breakfast down the garbage disposal, changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and went into the den to clean the aquarium. And all the while she thought about Tom Duncan and vampires. Of course, she knew there were stories and legends from ancient times, when anything that could not be explained logically was ascribed to something mystical or magical, like vampires or witches. In olden times, people believed that a moved or fallen tombstone, horses shying away from a grave, or footprints leading away from a grave were indications of a vampire's resting place. People with pale skin and long nails, or those who had no appetite and an aversion to bright lights, were also suspected of being vampires.
Others who might be accused of being vampires were those who were never seen during the day or who were reluctant to enter a house without an invitation. Vicki frowned. She had never seen Antonio during the day. He always waited to be invited into her house. She had never seen him eat…
Vicki shook her head in exasperation. She was becoming obsessed with the Undead.
Vampires, indeed. Serial killers often behaved in ghoulish ways. That didn't mean this one was a vampire. Serial killers often killed their victims in bizarre ways, or kept body parts for souvenirs, or collected personal items. This particular killer liked to drain his victims of blood and take a lock of their hair. That didn't mean he drank the blood, but what did he do with it?
She remembered watching a special about vampires and those suspected of being vampires back when she viewed the existence of such things as an interesting myth and not a possible reality. One such, Elizabeth Bathory, had murdered hundreds of young girls and bathed in their blood, believing it would keep her young and beautiful.
Eventually, the truth of what she was doing became known and she was walled up in her bedroom, where she died four years later.
"Stop it!" Going outside, Vicki lifted her face to the sun, letting its warmth wash over her.
She took several deep breaths, clearing her mind of all her ghastly thoughts. Even if there were vampires, and she wasn't ready to admit such a thing, she was safe now.
She spent the next hour and a half working in the yard. She raked the leaves from the lawn, both front and back, pulled some weeds, and watered the grass, thinking she would have to mow it soon. Thinking how nice it would be to have a husband and children to help with the yard work. For a moment, she imagined her husband teaching their son how to mow the grass while she and their daughter worked in the garden.
Later, they would sit in the shade and drink lemonade and then go for a walk in the woods, or go down to the lake for a swim… It came as no surprise that the husband of her dreams looked a lot like Antonio Battista.
Returning to the house, she put an Elvis CD in the stereo, made a cake and put it in the oven, and then fixed a quick sandwich for lunch. When she finished eating, she rolled up her sleeves and mopped the floors in the kitchen and bathroom.
And still, thoughts of vampires and bloodred moons crept into her thoughts. She recalled what Mrs. Heath had said and wondered if Tom Duncan was related to the Duncan that Mrs. Heath had known.
She would have to ask Tom about it when she saw him tonight.
She took the cake out of the oven, changed the sheets on her bed, then frosted the cake, and before she knew it, it was time to get ready for her date.
Standing on Vicki Cavendish's front porch, Tom Duncan straightened his tie, brushed a piece of lint off his trousers, and blew out a deep breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had been out with a woman. Hell, he wasn't sure he even remembered how to act on a date! He spent most of his life prowling around dilapidated houses or crawling around in caves and cemeteries. Hardly the kinds of places where a man was likely to meet a woman he'd want to take out. Then, too, he rarely stayed in one place long enough to get acquainted with very many women, let alone establish any kind of relationship. Of course, he might be here in Pear Blossom Creek for quite some time, since he hadn't found a single clue as to where his prey was hiding.
Running a hand over his hair, he summoned his nerve and rang the doorbell, all the while reminding himself that this was just one date, nothing more.
He couldn't help staring when the door opened. "Wow."
She smiled at him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He didn't know what Vicki had done differently, but she was a knockout in a pair of black pants and a short-sleeved, vee-neck green sweater that was the perfect foil for her red hair and made her eyes seem even darker and greener than he recalled.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked.
"Sure. Just let me grab my handbag."
He stood on the porch feeling like a teenager on his first date. "So," he said when she reappeared. "Where would you like to go for dinner?"
"The Sea Crest is nice."
"Great. Let's go."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No."
She smiled and took his hand. "That's okay, I do."
He opened the car door for her, closed it behind her. Walking around to the driver's side, he suddenly wished he was driving a new convertible instead of a beat-up black Camaro.
They talked about the weather and the possibility of rain on the ride to the restaurant.
Duncan had the feeling she was holding something back, that she was dying to ask him something but didn't know how.
The Sea Crest was a nice place. The tables were covered in crisp white cloths. The lighting was soft enough to encourage lovers but not so dark as to discourage families.
There were paintings of seascapes and tall-masted ships on the walls.
The hostess, apparently pegging them as lovers, showed them to a small table in a corner. She handed them each a menu, smiled, and left the table.
Duncan looked around. "Do you come here often?"
Vicki shook her head. "I've only been here once before."