La Vida Vampire

“Okay, then. I’m Detective March of the St. Johns County Sheriff’s Department. You two found the body?”


“More like it found us.” Neil gestured down the beach where more official cars had now parked. “We told the other officers what happened.”

“Yeah, and they should’ve separated you, but we’ll work with what we have.” The detective paused and gave me a look.

“You’re the vampire?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You saw the marks on the body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You kill her?”

“No, sir.”

“Figured it wouldn’t be that easy.” March actually cracked a weary smile. “Tell me what happened.”

Neil recounted the time we arrived, the approximate time we entered the water, and how long we’d surfed before the body floated up between us. I nodded a lot, nice and cooperative.

“So you towed her in,” the detective said, looking up from writing in his small notebook. Neil shrugged. “I didn’t think you had much of a crime scene in the water. Not in this weather.”

“You decide that from watching CSI?”

“No, I’m an anthropologist with forensic training.”

The detective grunted. “Good for you. Here’s the bonus question of the day. Either of you know the victim?”

Was that my future cell door creaking, or did the wind whistle especially loudly? Didn’t matter. I had to tell him now or be under more suspicion later.

With Neil reassuringly stationed at my shoulder, I said, “I don’t exactly know her, but I know who she is.”

“Name?”

“Yolette.” March stared at me, but I’d learned a thing or two from reading. Rule one: Don’t volunteer information to fill the silence.

“Last name?”

“I don’t remember.”

He frowned. “Then how do you know her?”

“She took two of my ghost tours. I’m a guide.”

“When was this?”

“Monday and Tuesday nights.”

“Time?”

“Eight to nine forty-five and nine thirty to ten thirty.”

“Tuesday’s tour was shorter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We, uh, didn’t tour the haunted buildings.”

Detective March scribbled in his notebook. “She with anyone? And, please, don’t be afraid to give me more than a tenword answer. This wind is hell on my sinuses.”

Yep, March was on to my say-nothing strategy, but he’d cracked a joke. I struck a balance with my next answer.

“She was with a man I understood to be her husband. They ’re French, and I think they ’re on—were on—their honeymoon.”

“The husband’s name?”

“Etienne.”

“You know where they were staying?”

“Some house on the beach. I don’t know where.”

“How’d you know it was on the beach?”

I frowned. Had Holland said so? Yes, but so had Etienne. “The husband mentioned it during a tour.”

“Did you see the victim at any other time?”

I hesitated, not wanting to talk about the embarrassing scene at Scarlett’s. “I saw them at Scarlett O’Hara’s Monday night after the tour. They were having dinner.”

“And you haven’t seen the woman since Tuesday night?”

I shook my head and pulled my slipping beach towel tighter again. How sad that the honeymoon was well and truly over.

“What’s your relationship?”

“Hunh?” I said, thinking he referred to Yolette.

March pointed his pen at me then Neil. “Your relationship. You two just surf buddies or what?”

Points for Neil. He didn’t gag at the “or what.”

“I’m teaching Cesca to surf,” he said. “My girlfriend is her sponsor and roommate.”

“Your girlfriend’s name?”

“Maggie—Margaret—O’Halloran.”

“Address?”

We’d given our names and numbers to the deputies, but March took Neil’s information again, then mine. Address, home, cell and work phone numbers. My boss’s name and number at the tour company.

“Oh, wait,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Yolette’s last name. It’ll be on the incident report.”

March’s eyes narrowed on me as if I’d just confessed to the crime. Maybe an aha! moment shouldn’t be shared with cops predisposed to suspect the worst.





March’s voice rumbled. “What incident report?”

The hell with it. I hadn ’t done anything wrong, had nothing to hide. Besides, the cops needed to notify Etienne, and Yolette’s killer needed catching.

“Ms. Marinelli?”

“On the Monday tour,” I said, measuring my words, “this guy I’m pretty sure belongs to the Covenant made a scene. The people who were still with me when it happened gave us their names and numbers for the incident report we filed. Yolette and her husband were two of those tourists.”

“Who is we?” I must’ve looked blank because he added, “You said the report ‘we’ filed. Who else are you referring to?”

“The other tour guides. Janie Freeman and Mick Burney. The supervisor was notified by phone. The written report was turned in Tuesday.”

“So your boss at the company—” He looked down at his notes. “—Elise Williams will have the names and contact info?”