I did know that. It was almost a circus, with Winkler surrounded by security at all times. That had to bother him. It would me.
"If you'll let me run to the store, I'll fix something tonight," I said. "In fact, I'll make Winkler a chicken-fried steak. Maybe the best he's ever had. At least it'll be authentic."
"Tell me what you want to drive," Davis was very interested now. There was a four-year-old Cadillac in the garage in addition to the two SUVs. I took the Cadillac and picked up everything I needed, along with enough chicken br**sts and thighs to do fried chicken for them in a night or two.
Winkler got his chicken-fry, plus mashed potatoes and gravy, baby peas and Texas toast. I made chocolate pie for dessert. No, I can't taste it anymore, but I'd been cooking for nearly thirty years. I knew what I was doing. I did eat a little of the meal to make things look normal, but I had to get rid of it later, which was a shame. I had the memory of what it all had tasted like. It was a good thing I made three chocolate pies; Winkler ate half of one by himself. And he loved the chicken-fried steak.
"What do you do to the mashed potatoes?" he asked. Those were a specialty.
"A lot of butter and half and half, and then you whip them," I said.
"Do you know how to make egg custard pie?" Whitney asked, her eyes pleading.
"Yeah. My mother taught me," I said. "I use half and half in that, too, instead of milk. It makes it creamier."
"Will you make one for me? Please?" She was begging.
"Tomorrow," I laughed. "I'll do fried chicken and make a custard pie."
"Can you make enough for two extras, tomorrow?" Winkler asked. "We're expecting guests."
"I think so. Do they eat as much as you do?" I teased.
"Probably," he grinned. "Thanks for cleaning up, by the way. Phil wasn't looking forward to vacuuming."
"We probably need to clean some more if company's coming," I put my hands on my hips, just like my mother used to. Gavin was standing in a corner, snickering at my antics. "Are they spending the night?" I asked, glaring at Gavin. He schooled his face into a blank expression.
"No, not spending the night," Winkler said. Sam and Todd came into the house then and helped themselves to what remained of dinner. There wasn't anything left to throw out or put away when I loaded up the dishwasher the second time. I hauled out the mop, cleaned the kitchen floor and then did a little vacuuming after that.
"I think these guys were raised in a barn," I told Whitney later, making her laugh.
My rounds came next. Gavin and I passed each other three times before he said anything. "They'll expect those things from now on," he pointed out.
"I know." I sighed a little. "I don't mind cooking and cleaning. At least I know what I'm doing."
"You don't know what you're doing now?" The question and his gaze were almost gentle.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," I told him. "I've had to make this up as I go along. It's isn't like somebody handed me a manual, or anything." That was a double entendre but he didn't know that.
"And what if the manual doesn't exist?" he stepped a little closer and I felt his breath fan the hair at my temple.
"Then somebody screwed up," I said tartly. "If there isn't a manual, then somebody needs to write it or show up. What's that old saying—when the student is ready, the teacher appears? That's all idealistic bullshit." I watched his lips quirk a little.
"I'm not sure they meant a physical teacher," Gavin was smiling now.
"Then they need to say what they mean and stop talking in circles," I grumbled. We were standing in front of the house where we usually passed each other on our rounds. Gavin lifted his hand, just for a moment, as if he were about to touch my cheek and then thought better of it. That wasn't him and we were standing in front of the house, even though all the lights were out and everybody was probably asleep. I started walking again. After a few seconds, Gavin did, too. We didn't speak again the remainder of the night.
* * *
"Lissa, this is Weldon Harper and his son, Daryl," Winkler introduced his guests. Weldon Harper was tall and almost as broad across the shoulders as Gavin was. Dark haired and eyed, he had rugged good looks and I imagined he might win the tough man competition should he ever decide to enter. His son Daryl looked very much like him. Maybe half an inch shorter, if that. Two others had come in as well—Shirley Walker and Daniel Carey. Here was the elusive Shirley Walker, and she didn't fit any of my expectations. Shirley was nearly six feet tall and looked like she could give Weldon Harper a good run for his money. Daniel Carey was tall and lean; he had to be at least six-six with a military bearing about him.
Thankfully, I had enough fried chicken. I'd asked Winkler if he wanted a sit-down dinner or if he wanted it buffet-style. He opted for buffet style, so everybody helped themselves. Phil, Davis and Glen almost fell over each other, offering drinks to Weldon and his son. Sam was there as well, keeping his eyes on Whitney most of the night while everybody else pretty much ignored him and Todd.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that Weldon was important, although nobody ever said how or why and I knew enough not to ask. Whitney hugged me after she ate her first piece of custard pie and then had another slice. She might have eaten more than that but all four pies were gone by that time. "I'll make more, sometime," I promised. That got me another hug. Go figure. Female Vampire-Security Guard-Cook. I wondered how that would fit on a business card. That brought me to the thought about vampires in general. I knew Ed and Serge had come to the bar together. How did they know each other? How had they met? Was there a vampire network out there somewhere? Some way to connect? There was no way of telling.
The fog settled in again that night as I cleaned up the kitchen and left Winkler and his guests talking and laughing in the media room. Afterward, I went off to make my rounds in the mist. The fog thickened as the night wore on, bringing up something I'd forgotten. Was it a possibility, (it was, according to fiction and folklore) that vampires could turn to mist? I thought that it was likely just as ridiculous as a vampire turning into a bat. It might not hurt to try, though, just for fun, since I was surrounded by mist as I walked the perimeter.
When it was time for my nightly break, I walked out toward the water, standing there and concentrating. I know, I thought it was ridiculous, too. I was ready to give up on my concentration after a couple of minutes, but that's when I noticed the change. Looking down, I could no longer see my hands. Or my feet. What the hell? That shook me a little, causing my limbs to rematerialize. Taking a couple of deep, calming breaths, I decided to try again. I think it took roughly five minutes or so, but I felt light as a feather after that, discovering I could move around just by willing it. I floated over the house. Man, this was something. I wish I'd known about this before. I returned to the foggy beach and concentrated on becoming solid again. It took another five minutes. Okay, not good as a weapon if you wanted to jump somebody—it took too long. But if you wanted to slip inside somewhere, or had time to turn and then turn back again, it had possibilities. Too bad I didn't have any vamp friends with whom to discuss this. Or the FVM, to explain all the ramifications. Actually, I was too excited about the whole thing at the moment. I could turn to mist and fly.