“I just mean it’s difficult to be objective when you’re the victim,” he said gently. “But it’s inevitable that we’ll find him. He’s not savvy, and he’s leaving a very obvious and literal trail of bread crumbs.”
But when would we find him? I wondered, leaning against the window, the glass cool against my forehead, and watching the city spin past us. How long would this particular sword hang above our heads?
I wasn’t going to let him control us forever. And when we rolled through Hyde Park, I had an idea.
“Hey, pull over, will you? At the blue house?”
I pointed and Ethan pulled to the curb, and I climbed out, waddled toward Mrs. Plum, who stood at the gate.
She was sixty-four years old and shared the house with her grown daughter, her son-in-law, and their children. She was ten years a widow, still wore her wedding ring, and still preferred to be referred to as “Mrs.”
Her skin was dark, her hair a short crop of silver curls, the lines around her eyes the only suggestions of her age. She was slender and elegant, and wore jeans, a Northwestern T-shirt, and a gardening apron, as she watered the annuals near the fence. Mrs. Plum didn’t sleep much, and she said she liked to give her plants—a bed nearly overflowing with pink and white petunias—a drink at the end of a long day.
I wasn’t sure if my grandfather’s canvass of the neighborhood had made it to Mrs. Plum, but it seemed worth the check. She knew my walking routine better than anyone else outside Cadogan House, and more importantly, she knew the neighborhood itself.
She looked up when we walked toward her. There was suspicion in her eyes until she recognized us, and the distrust faded to pleasure.
“Merit! I’m so glad you’re here.” She reached over the low fence to offer a hand, and I squeezed it.
“Mrs. Plum, I don’t think you’ve met my husband, Ethan Sullivan. Ethan, Mrs. Donna Plum.”
“A pleasure to meet you, dear.” That she called him dear, when he was more than three hundred years older than her, was one of the reasons I adored her.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, and pressed his lips to her hand. And even the unflappable Mrs. Plum looked a little flapped. Ethan’s charms were pretty much universal.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“It’s fine. But I heard about your incident, and I wanted to make sure you were all right. I was going to walk down to your school and check on you when I finished with the plants.”
Mrs. Plum had decided Cadogan House was essentially a vampire college. Since we had dorm rooms, a cafeteria, training sessions, and a sexy headmaster, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I mean, I know you’re immortal, but I think that would have scared the pee out of me.”
“It scared me plenty,” I said. “Mrs. Plum, the vehicle was a dark blue Festival—a small four-door sedan. The vampire was white with brown hair, probably five eleven or so. Medium build. Do either of those ring any bells for you?”
She frowned. “I don’t know about the car model, but I’ve seen plenty of sedans and plenty of white guys.”
I bit back a grin. “Fair enough. What about pizza delivery men?”
“Every once in a while, sure. I’m out watering my plants nearly every morning, every evening, and—wait.” She looked back at me, and there was a gleam in her eyes. “Pizza delivery, you said?”
“I did say.”
She glanced down the street toward the corner. “Come to think of it, three or four nights ago”—she put her hands on her hips, frowned as she worked to remember—“No, four. Four nights ago, I was watering the plants and saw this little car pull up. Older car, four doors, and not very big. One of those lights on top that the delivery drivers use, but it just said pizza. Didn’t have a name, and I found that odd.
“He pulled up to the corner right here”—she pointed—“and I was a little suspicious, mind, because the Ewings are on vacation. They’re in Italy on one of those river cruises, and I’m so glad they finally managed to get away. Anyway, they wouldn’t have ordered a pizza, so he was either lost or had some sort of bad motivation. He got out of the car, walked over, and I kept my hose trained on him, just in case.” She held up her sprayer. “And I realized he didn’t have a pizza box, and that's just odd. White man with brown hair. I said, ‘Can I help you find something?’ He looked surprised to see me. He said, ‘No, ma’am,’ then looked around a little bit like he was lost. And he looked down toward your school, got back in the car, and drove away.”
Scoping your route, Ethan silently suggested, using the telepathic link between us as he glanced at the streetlight at the corner, glowing orange, that spread a circle of light on the asphalt. The location of the streetlights, the distance from the House, any barriers that might impede his escape.
Yeah, I said, my discomfort inching up again. Had I passed this man on the street without knowing who he was or what he was planning? Maybe offered a nod or a smile? He hadn’t looked familiar, but without some reason to think he was a threat, I may not have paid much attention.
“Mrs. Plum,” I said, and pulled out my phone, showed her the sketch. “Does this look like him?”
She slid on the boxy glasses that hung around her neck. “Somewhat?” She tilted her head as she considered. “I believe his jaw was a little softer. His lips a little thinner, I think. He wasn’t this, I suppose, hard looking, if that makes sense.”
Given I hadn’t gotten a good look at him and had thought him a monster, it made perfect sense that I’d unconsciously hardened his features.
“Would you be willing to speak to Merit’s grandfather?” Ethan asked. “The sketch artist could use your information to improve this. That would help us identify him.”
“Of course I’ll help. Do I need to go see the police?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll take care of everything. I know it’s late, but they may want to speak with you yet tonight.”
“I’m happy to help.” She slid her gaze to me. “You’ve snagged a very polite young man.”
I could practically hear Ethan’s sarcastic retort to the “young” comment. But he kept his gracious smile in place.
“He’s very mannerly,” I agreed.
She nodded. “I’ll just finish with their drink,” she said, and aimed the soft spray of water on the plants. “You all have a good night.”
“We will, Mrs. Plum,” I said. “And thank you for your help.”
She nodded. “Oh, and Merit,” she called out, when I’d reached Ethan’s car again.
I glanced back.
There was amusement in her eyes that I liked a lot better than the concern. “They adopted the corgi.”
7
We called my grandfather on the way back to the House and coordinated Mrs. Plum’s meeting with Kat. Then we went to the House’s Ops Room—the strategy room in the basement that served as the HQ for the Cadogan guards—and discussed what we knew.
The Ops Room was the most technologically intensive room in the House. There were wall monitors for reviewing information, a bank of surveillance cameras where guards kept an eye on the house, and, stretching nearly from end to end, an enormous conference table with built-in screens.
The guards sat at the table, Luc at its head, and were passing around trail mix. I dug out a handful of cashews before passing the bowl to Lindsey, who sat beside me.
“What is this nonsense?” she said, gaze narrowed at me.
“What? The baby doesn’t like raisins.”
“The baby doesn’t care about raisins,” she said flatly, pouring unadulterated trail mix into her hand. “You don’t like them, or anything else, and you just pick out the cashews.”
“You should buy trail mix without raisins. And sunflower seeds. And those yogurt things.”
“So trail mix that only consists of cashews.” Kelley sat across from us, and her voice was just as dry.
“Yes,” I said.
“So just a bag of cashews.”
I ignored the tone. “Yes. And it would be delicious.” Unapologetically, I stuffed the rest of the cashews in my mouth, dusted the salt from my hands. “Sorry not sorry.”