“Oh. I thought Robert Reed was the police chief.” She paused and must have already figured out the expression on my face because her eyes instantly filled with regret.
“He was,” Jean said before I even had time to think of an answer. “He passed more than a year ago and Delaney took his position. All of us are on the force actually.”
Piper’s face fell and it was clear she was embarrassed. “I’m so sorry to bring it up. And I’m sorry for your loss. My condolences to you all.”
“Thank you,” Myra said. “He was a wonderful chief and dad.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“Well, if you need anything,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Just give us a call. Welcome to Ordinary, by the way.”
“Thank you. It feels like coming home.”
I smiled. The little town had that effect on people sometimes. Someone would stop in on a vacation and then never go home.
“We’re glad to have you. Where are you from?”
“Oh, we moved around a lot, my mother and I. Most recently, Utah.”
“Pretty out there,” I said.
“Pretty, but nothing like the seashore. I just hate living anywhere away from the ocean. Miss it too much. Now let me get you that pie. On the house.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” Myra said.
“I’d like to. In thanks for all your work to keep this town—my home—safe.”
“Sounds great,” Jean said. “Thank you.”
Piper nodded and headed back to the kitchen.
We all took a moment to ourselves and sipped coffee. Even though it had been over a year since Dad died, it was still hard to think that he was gone for good. There was a Dad-shaped emptiness in all of our lives, and I didn’t think any of us knew how to fill it yet.
Music played softly in the background, a sort of melancholy blues and rock station that seemed to fit the rainy night, the diner, and our mood perfectly.
Jean pulled out her phone and fiddled with it a bit, Myra sort of gazed into the middle distance, and I rested my head against the booth, staring through the window beside us out at the night and the rain.
Piper was back before a new song started, just before things would have gotten really sad, pies balanced on a tray and a full, fresh pot of coffee in hand.
“Here you go, ladies. Pecan, apple, and banana bourbon caramel cream. Enjoy.” She set the plates down, topped off our coffee, and sashayed off to check on the trucker in the corner.
“So what did Old Rossi say?” Myra ate the crust off her pie with bites of vanilla ice cream first before working her way toward the apple center.
I picked at the pecan, which was actually very good, then sat back and drank coffee. My appetite wasn’t the best right now.
“Trouffle?” Jean mumbled through a mouthful of whipped cream.
“Yeah, trouble,” I said. “Sven’s been murdered. Bullet through the head wasn’t enough to kill him but the blood symbols on his body were. Apparently Rossi came up with the blood-kill thing over a thousand years ago. He calls it ichortechne. He didn’t explain how it’s done, but he did say it’s only used to kill vampires.”
I wrapped both my hands around my cup and stared down into the liquid blackness.
“And?” Myra asked. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“He said it was Ryder’s blood on Sven.”
They both stopped moving. Stopped chewing, stopped everything. Well, except for staring at me.
“You think he’s telling the truth?”
