She spun on her heel and marched off, her army of disapproving old biddies flocking after her.
I turned to Morrie, barely able to conceal my grin. “Satanic feasts being conducted in the Argleton Presbyterian Cemetery. What is the world coming to?”
“I don’t believe them for a minute.” Morrie shook his head. “Any self-respecting Satanist knows that Lucifer is sick of eating goat and would much prefer pizza.”
* * *
For the rest of the day, I was too busy with customers to think about Dracula until Socrates bounded downstairs, his flapping makeshift chiton scaring away a group of teens. He waved my phone in my face.
“It’s possessed by a demon,” he yelled as a tinny rendition of the Sex Pistols’ ‘God Save the Queen’ blared through the speakers.
“That’s just the noise it makes when I get a text message.” I scanned the message from my girl friend Jo. She wanted to meet at the pub after work. My heart skipped a beat. Jo was the county medical examiner, which meant she performed the autopsies on Dracula’s victims. Jo didn’t know that a real-life vampire was loose in the village, or that I was the daughter of the epic poet Homer, or that Heathcliff, Morrie, and Quoth were actually literary characters come to life. I knew she’d want to chat about work, and I was half excited, half dreading what she might’ve discovered. She’d be one of the few people who could connect these murders to the body used to frame Morrie all those months ago.
I needed to find out what she knew.
“Mind the shop. I’m going to meet Jo.” I slung my favorite red jacket over my shoulders and clipped on Oscar’s harness.
“Arf!”
“That’s right, boy. We’re going to see Jo.”
We had to walk around the edge of the village green – the whole place was a mess of tangled wires, half-built booths, and piles of pumpkins. Mrs. Ellis stood in the center, surrounded by her posse of spirited ghost hunters, directing the chaos like a conductor of the damned. Despite everything going on, I felt a little flicker of excitement about the festival. Everything looked amazing.New York City, eat your heart out. Argleton is where it’s at.
I noticed my mother affixing a sign to a booth, but I wasn’t close enough to read what it said.
By Artemis, I guess she’s found a new scheme. I hope this one doesn’t end with a lawsuit or an Environment Agency fine.
As soon as Oscar and I stepped into the pub, Richard rushed over. “Hi, Mina. Jo’s in the corner booth. Do you want me to bring Oscar his water bowl and chew toy?”
“Thanks, Richard.” Being infamous in Argleton village for solving crimes did have its perks – namely, that I knew all the local business owners and they were happy to accommodate Oscar. Businesses were legally-bound to welcome service dogs on their premises, but they didn’t have to be happy about it. But we (well, Heathcliff) gave Richard so much business, and we solved so many murders in the village, that Oscar was a local legend. I still ran into trouble sometimes when I left the village, but I was getting better at standing up for myself and demanding my rights. It didn’t hurt that Oscar was freaking adorable, and I loved his big eyes and cleverness as much as I did the guys.
I directed Oscar to find the booth while Richard disappeared behind the bar to get Oscar’s things. If he’d discovered the random horse living in his barn, he wasn’t saying anything about it. Thank the goddesses for small mercies.
My friend looked up as I slid into the seat opposite her, her eyes rimmed with red. She’d been crying.
“Jo, what happened?” I reached across the table to clasp her hand. Someone had already placed a G&T in front of me. Even when she was upset, Jo thought about me. She was a great friend and I…I never stopped lying to her.
My lies are for her protection.
Jo shook her head. “He’s…he’s claimed another victim.”
I knew she was talking about the Dracula Killer. We hardly talked about anything else since he started littering Argleton with bodies, which made it all the more difficult to keep quiet the fact that the Dracula Killer wasactuallyDracula.
“That’s terrible. Do they know—”
“It’s Fiona!” Fresh tears streamed down Jo’s cheeks.
My heart stuttered. Jo had been seeing Fiona, a beautiful, statuesque Swedish backpacker for the last three months. Jo was completely head-over-heels in love, and it was the most wonderful thing to see. I’d met Fiona a couple of times at the pub, and she seemed exactly like Jo’s type – bubbly and fun and not at all squeamish about dead bodies.
Why did Fiona have to die? Why did Dracula have to take away Jo’s happiness?
“Jo, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe she’s dead. Are you okay? That’s a silly question; of course you’re not okay. Can I help with anything? Oh, by Isis, they didn’t make you do her autopsy, did they?”
Jo shook her head. Behind her back, a streetlight on the other side of the window illuminated a dark shadow. The Headless Horseman nodded his stump at me as he glided down the side of the building toward the stables. “They’ve asked the Loamshire office to handle it. They don’t allow us to work on people we’re close to. And yes, there is something you can do.”
“Anything. I’m here for you.”
“Listen, Mina. Hayes is completely stumped over these murders, and Wilson is so busy sneering at Mrs. Ellis’ Spirit Seekers Society that she’s not taking anything seriously.” Jo leaned across the table. Her fingers gripped mine like a vise. “I’m the only one who thinks there’s a connection between Fiona’s death and that body Kate used to fake her death. I need you to help me.”
