La Vida Vampire

Three from Maggie: Call me. I have attorneys for you, Sam Owens and Sandy Krause. Call me. Two from Detective March: Get my butt to the sheriff’s office on U.S. 1 and Lewis Speedway before five. Not his exact words in either message, but I got the gist.

A call from work told me I needed to sign a waiver form if I wasn ’t going to make a claim on the injury to my arm. Someone from the office or an early shift guide would leave the form at the tour substation for me to pick up tonight. I tossed off the rest of my drink, washed and recycled the bottle, and had tackled drying my hair when the phone rang again.

“Cesca! Thank God! I was beginning to worry,” Maggie said when I answered.

“I’m fine, Maggie. Getting ready to go to the sheriff’s.”

“Have you called the attorneys yet? You haven’t, have you? All right, I’ll call their office and get one of them to meet you. They owe me. I’d be there, but I’m stuck in Gainesville with this new client. Don’t talk to the county cops unless at least one of the attorneys is with you. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“And call me before you go to work. I want to know how the interview went.”

I promised that, too, and hurried to dry my hair a little more while keenly aware that the clock was ticking. When I couldn’t afford to wait any longer, I put my damp hair in a ponytail and dressed in my favorite comfy jeans, a three-quarter sleeve navy and tan sweater, and tennis shoes.

At four thirteen I blew through the double glass doors to the sheriff’s office along with the wind and rain, and my umbrella with now-bent spokes. A woman with curly red hair shot out of one of the chairs against the wall. Her navy suit screamed expensive, her first words branded her as no-nonsense.

“Francesca, right? Sandy Krause, of Krause and Owens.”

She held out her hand and shook mine. Didn’t even flinch when she touched me. Points for her. I didn’t know exactly what to say, but those ingrained manners kicked in. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“Anything for a friend of Maggie’s.” She released my hand and addressed the woman at the reception counter. “Please tell Detective March that Ms. Marinelli and her counsel are here.”

She turned and motioned me back to the row of chairs where she picked up a black leather briefcase and a tan London Fog trench coat.

“I’ll request a few minutes with you in private before the formal interview, ” she said softly, “but tell me right now if you killed this woman.”

“I didn’t.”

She gave me the laser eye. “My job during the interview is to protect your rights. If I tell you not to answer a question, don’t.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said and nearly saluted. If Maggie was a warrior, Sandy was a drill sergeant. The metal door to the sheriff’s inner sanctum hissed open, and Detective March stood in the threshold, his brown suit looking more rumpled than it had this morning.

“Good of you to finally get here,” he said to me.

“Most vampires aren’t up yet, Detective.”

“Most don’t surf after sunrise and find bodies, either.”

I smiled. “Touché.”

“Ms. Krause,” he greeted Sandy.

“Detective. I’ve only just met my client. May I have a few minutes in private with her before we begin the interview?”

March jerked his head toward the corridor I could see stretching behind him. “We’ll walk to the investigations building. Ten minutes is all I can give you to confer. My wife will shoot me if I’m any later than I’m already gonna be.”

Sandy nodded, and we followed March through a maze of hallways, finally reaching a room with eight desks neatly partitioned with low movable walls. Closed doors to what I guessed were offices or conference rooms lined the perimeter of the large space.

March opened the door to a room not much bigger than a coat closet. An old metal card table with a scarred top crowded against a gray wall. Three institutional and uncomfortable-looking metal chairs sat neatly around it.

“Ten minutes, Ms. Krause.”

She nodded, told me to sit, and pulled a yellow legal pad from her briefcase.

“All right. Maggie and Neil told me what they know, but that’s secondhand information, and the cops have had all day to interview witnesses. Tell me what happened this morning.”

I did, recounting everything as closely as I could remember it.

“That tallies with Neil’s account. Now tell me about the tours on Monday and Tuesday. The trouble you had with the Covenant guy.”

I hit the highlights of Stony ’s threats, first to me, then to Yolette, and tried not to blush again over Yolette ’s pass at me while we were at Scarlett’s.

“So this Stony physically attacked you. Did he hurt you?”

“My right arm was sore for a while. I think he pinched the GPS tracker under my skin.”

“Any bruising?”

I shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t pay attention, and I heal quickly.”

“What about Tuesday?”

“Stony was back, but there was no trouble, just tension.” I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing everyone. “Stony stayed in the back of the group. The victim, Yolette, followed the writers, who were right behind me.”