Always the Vampire

My hidey-hole was more attractive and better ventilated than a dark, dank coffin, but being underground in a small space still made my stomach cramp with unpleasant memories. Plus, even sealed in the bunker, I heard the siren blare on.

I waited. Wondering how quickly the police would arrive. Attempting to calm Snowball. Picking at a frayed cuticle Snowball had scratched.

When the phone rang again, I dove for it.

“Ms. Marinelli, are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“This is your all clear. The police are waiting for you at your door, and we’re remotely shutting off the alarm now.”

The house went silent, save for the faint knocking sound that got louder when I exited the safe room.

“Ms. Marinelli,” a deep voice boomed as I came out of the closet. “St. Augustine police, ma’am. Open the door.”

“Just a minute,” I called back, frantically searching for a robe.

I settled for a long, terrycloth swimsuit cover-up and threw it on as I raced to the living room and flipped open the dead bolt.

Two officers stood on my cobblestone patio, both male, both buff, both wearing grim cop faces.

Across the way, my neighbor Hugh Lister stomped to the jasmine hedge separating our back yards. “Jesus H. Christ in boxers, Marinelli, can’t you people be goddamn quiet?”

“Bless His holy name,” his wife Selma said, standing at his side, wringing her hands. “Hugh, come have some sweet tea.”

The younger officer covered a snicker with a cough. The older one eyed me sternly.

“Are you alone, ma’am?”

I nodded. “I was sleeping when the alarm went off.”

The older officer looked at his little spiral pad. “You’re a vampire, correct? That’s why you’re sleeping during the day?”

“Yes. Officer, what triggered that infernal siren?”

“This.”

The men stepped aside, parting like a curtain, and there on the edge of my patio laid two bodies.

The very dead bodies of the homeless couple I’d met last night. Eyes wide open, expressions frozen in horror.

I clapped a hand over my mouth and sagged against the door casing.

“You gonna faint?” the older officer shouted through the roaring in my ears.

I swallowed bile but couldn’t answer. Not because the poor couple were covered in blood; there was no blood at all as far as I could see. It was the woman’s open, empty eyes that tore at my soul. The terror in her death stare.

The older officer took my elbow and steered me inside to the sofa, and I sat in a daze while he went back to the porch. I heard him speak to his partner about securing the scene, and then he settled into an armchair across from me, the door left open. I didn’t fear that Snowball would escape. She’d headed straight for her carrier before I ever opened the door, and she wouldn’t venture out in all this commotion.

“Ma’am, I need to ask you some questions.”

I blinked at his face then his name badge. P. Huntington. I gave him a stiff nod.

After confirming the basic information he had from Sam’s Security, including my age and occupation, Huntington asked a few more basic questions before getting to the meat. Thankfully, the waves stopped crashing in my ears. Shock receded, burned away by low, slow anger.

“You know the victims?”

“Not by name.” And that gave me a heart pang that nearly made me cry. I swallowed hard to block the tears.

“You want to explain that statement?”

“They were homeless people I met last night after I’d given a ghost tour.”

“How were you associated with them?”

“I wasn’t other than I bought them a pizza and some drinks.”

“Alcohol?” Huntington asked sharply.

“Colas, tea, and water.”

“Why did you buy them a pizza?”

I sighed. “Gross as this sounds, they offered to let me drink from them if I gave them money.”

“Drink, as in blood? Feed from them?”

“I don’t bite people, ever, but I could see that the girl was desperate. I told them I didn’t have any cash, but I’d buy them a pizza and drinks. I paid with my credit card.”

“Where’d you buy the food?”

“I’m blanking on the name, but it’s the Italian restaurant on St. George Street between Hypolita and Treasury.”

He scribbled on his pad then eyed me again. “When did you last see them alive?”

“Thursday night. They took their pizza and drinks to go, and walked toward the bay front.”

“What did you do then?”

I knew not to mention too much, yet to tell as much of the truth as I could. “I went to meet the man I’m dating and another friend.”

“What time did you come home?”

“About one thirty, I think.”

“What did you do with these friends?”

“We exercised and talked.”

“You exercise that late at night?”

“We have for the last few nights.”

“Uh-huh.”

The younger officer knocked on the door frame. “Supervisor is here, and so is the Florida Department of Law Enforcement crime scene unit and the investigator from the ME’s office.”

Huntington looked vaguely surprised. “Thanks, Blair.”