What little sleep she got that night was plagued by nightmares. She dreamed that the mayor and the Fairfields had come to the house and banged at the door in the early hours of the morning, and that when she opened the door, a firing squad waited behind them, ready to send her to her maker.
The next morning she couldn’t shake the nausea that the nightmare had left her with. She tried to ignore it by nursing the bloody, matted mess that was her new pup back to health. She fed him chunks of Jezebel’s meat mixture. Jezebel came sniffing around when she smelled her food. Westie would’ve been more concerned about the dog and the chupacabra’s first encounter had Nigel not stuffed Jezebel so full of raw meat, she was as plump as Myrtle Grey.
Westie scrubbed the dog in the tub. When she heard someone pounding on the door downstairs, her back stiffened. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for escape. They’d come for her. She thought about fleeing out the window and shimmying down the lattice on the side of the house. Then she thought again how guilty that would make her look, and so she decided to stay and deny having anything to do with Olive’s death.
But what if they saw the manzanita tree, and the evidence of the dog? They’d find her bathing him and know she’d been at the scene.
She heard footsteps making their way upstairs. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tub. When the door to the washroom opened, she tried to remove any traces of guilt from her face.
She looked up to meet her accusers. But it wasn’t the mayor, or the Fairfields, or a firing squad.
“Costin?”
He leaned against the door, clad in black as usual, his glistening black hair falling over his shoulders. He wore a bowler hat with his lace shroud tucked into the brim.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, not sure whether to feel relieved or suspicious.
He pushed off the door, gliding toward her. “The door was unlocked. I tried knocking, but no one answered.”
Westie glared at Jezebel, who’d been too infatuated with the dog to notice the intruder.
Costin looked at the dog. “I see you’ve picked up Nigel’s affinity for strays.”
“He was hurt.”
“I see that.”
Westie didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she scrubbed the dog even though he was clean.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked.
The edges of the cuts caused by the bramble thorns had wrinkled from being in the water. They were deep and would probably need stitches. “I was helping in the garden.”
He nodded but didn’t look convinced.
Costin knelt beside the tub, his skin as white as curd next to hers. He grabbed the bucket of fresh water to rinse the suds from the dog’s back. The dog instantly took to the vampire despite him being a predator, and wagged his tail, splashing Westie.
“Would you like to know what I was doing last night?” he asked.
“Not particularly.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I was hired by the mayor to find evidence of foul play in the death of Olivia Fairfield.”
Westie sucked in a breath. “Well,” she said with a tremor in her voice she couldn’t help, “don’t leave me in suspense. Did you find anything?”
Costin looked like he was trying not to smile.
“What happened in the woods, Westie, with that little girl?” he asked.
She stopped breathing, mouth going dry.
“Can’t say I know what you mean. I was at the docks yesterday morning.”
“You know, the Native Americans get all the credit for their tracking abilities, but I’m an excellent hunter myself. I see things clumsy men wouldn’t notice. That’s why the mayor asked for my help. I’m good at reading people too, and you, my love, are hiding something.”
Westie pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Twin tears raced down her cheeks.
Costin reached out, took her chin in his cold palm, and brushed away a tear with his thumb. The gesture was so foreign she forgot herself a moment and leaned into his touch. She nuzzled against his hand as Lucky had her leg—a wounded animal starved for affection.
He said, “I saw the hoofprints in the woods where Isabelle’s body was found.” Westie pulled away from him then. She leaned against the tub, mindlessly petting Lucky. “I also found a manzanita tree.”
Her machine, rapidly tapping the tub, kept time with her heart. The gears had begun to grind after being in water. She’d need to oil it soon. “Ain’t that something?” she said dumbly. “I thought all the manzanita in the forest burned up in the lightning fires. They burn hotter than other trees, you know.”
He went on, ignoring her babbling. “So many dead animals, and fresh dog feces, yet no dog.”