Page 37 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

The Witherbornes didn’t know anything or weren’t talking.

I knew what I had to do.

I needed to speak to the Briars. Which meant applying for that vacant pool maintenance job.

“I know that look,” Bet said, putting her cup down.

“What look?”

“The ‘you have a plan and nothing is going to stop you’ look. You got that same look when you started your business.” She sighed and leaned closer. “You’re doing really well, Owen. I don’t want you throwing away this opportunity for another guy who’ll likely burn you.”

Ouch. That landed hard.

“You’re right,” I admitted. I was falling into the same trap. People like me took the fall for the pretty ones. But damn, what if the fall was worth it?

I picked up the ring and turned it over between my fingertips. Maybe I should just walk away? I knew I should. But also knew I wouldn’t. Vampire or not, Theo needed help. Maybe he needed help more because he was a vampire and had nobody else to help him.

Something was very wrong between the Briars and the Witherbornes, and if it wasn’t dealt with, then more people would get hurt. My gut told me that much.

Somebody had to do something.

Unfortunately, it was looking like that someone was the pool boy.

CHAPTER 10

The Briars’ box house in the daytime was somehow more foreboding than at night. A neat driveway snaked through jade-green gardens that were so pristine, it felt as though each blade of grass had its specific position. The Briars had to have an army of garden maintenance people to keep the gardens looking so neat and tidy, but nobody was around when I pulled my car to a stop outside their house.

All the large rectangular windows were tinted and reflected the sky back while hiding any signs of life.

Home wasn’t a word I’d use for the house. The Witherborne Mansion was a sprawling, intimidating castle, but at least it had warmth. When the housekeeper let me into the Briar place, and I stood in the entranceway with its marble floors and white walls, I’d never been anywhere as cold and unwelcoming and I’d spent two years in jail.

Austere-looking pictures of family members hung on the wall, mixed in with what was probably expensive art. Someone with more class than me would know what they were looking at, and might have been impressed. But I stood in the foyer, feeling small and alien.

“Ah, yes,” Jeremy said, hand on the stair rail as he made his way down the curved staircase. “Owen Marsh, isn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s me, sir.”

“Interesting surname. Very earthbound with a little of the wetlands intertwined.”

“Uh, yes?” He didn’t need to know I’d changed my name to Marsh at eighteen.

He wore slacks and a polo sweater, his chestnut hair pushed back and styled in a way that made him look younger than when we’d first met, when he’d been barefoot in a bathrobe. He looked more sophisticated now, less weird neighbor. Although, we had first met right after he’d been staring at a dead guy in his pool, so the weird wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Jay’s ghost was in the room with us, between every sentence. Not literally. But I couldn’t untie the image of this Jeremy to the man I’d seen calmly staring at Jay’s body.

I offered my hand, and this time he shook it.

“I did try to call you,” he said.

“Oh, yeah . . . Sorry about that. I’ve been crazy busy these past few days, sir.”

He nodded, but I couldn’t decide if he believed me or was just humoring me. With a smile, he waved me to follow along behind him.

We passed through a room that seemed to exist to display trinkets and things in glass cabinets, then into a lounging area. Maybe a living room, maybe a room just for these white, pristine couches. A small staircase rose at the back. It seemed as though the house had a lot of rooms, all stacked on each other at angles, as though none of them actually fit or flowed in any normal rhythm.

“Sit.”

“Oh, uhm . . . thank you.” I perched on the edge of a white couch cushion. “So, are there any other family members around?” I asked, hoping it sounded like typical small talk. I’d never been very good at social cues, and small talk for me consisted of telling everyone about the chemical makeup of chlorine.