Night Of The Living Dandelion Part 17

"A pharmacist? Definitely check him out. Talk to his wife's friends. They'll know what kind of husband he was. By the way, I asked around as to whether Lori was seeing anyone, but no one knew. All they said was that she loved to gamble at the casino boat.

"And one more thing." Nikki got up and went to the answering machine on the table beneath our picture window. "Tara left a message for you."

She hit the PLAY b.u.t.ton: "Aunt Abby, you need to go to that awful Web site-HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE.COM-and scroll down to the bottom to the photos. They're bad!"

Nikki brought my laptop to me, then watched over my shoulder as I typed in the URL. When the Web site opened, I scrolled down until a photo appeared. It was a view through a gap in drapes hanging at a window, and showed what looked like half of an oak casket sitting in the middle of the room. It had a s.h.i.+ny bra.s.s handle at the end, bra.s.s embellishments at the corners, and an arched lid. Beyond it, I could see the arm of a chair or sofa. Beneath the photo was a caption that read: THIS IS WHERE THE VAMPIRE SLEEPS.

"Could that have been taken at Vlad's apartment?" Nikki asked.

"I don't know. I've never been inside. I have a feeling, though, that this was staged."

I scrolled down farther to find a grainy black-and-white photo of a parking lot filled with cars, with the Calumet Casino River Boat in the background. The caption below that photo read: WHO IS THE VAMPIRE AFTER NOW?

In the photo was a tall figure in a black trench coat walking among the cars. He'd been caught in profile and had glowing white skin and black hair combed away from his forehead.

"Can you read the time stamp on the second photo?" I asked.

Nikki clicked the magnifying gla.s.s icon. "It's dated last Wednesday night. Didn't you tell me Vlad worked that night?"

I felt my stomach twist. "No, Nikki. He was off that night."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I phoned Marco at the bar and told him about the photos, but he sounded busy, so I didn't keep him on the line. Instead, I did an Internet search on Trumble's deceased wife, Dana, and discovered that her Mys.p.a.ce page was still up. Her profile didn't reveal any personal information, but she'd posted pictures of herself with Jerry and her son, pictures of herself with two girlfriends, and several pictures of just her little boy.

Fortunately Dana had labeled her photos, so I was able to find her friends' pages and learn that they lived in New Chapel. I spent an hour trying to track down phone numbers, and in the end sent friend requests to them, with a message saying I wanted to do something in Dana's memory and thought they might have ideas. I kept it vague and, I hoped, nonthreatening.

By the time I crawled into bed, I still hadn't heard from Marco, and when I woke in the morning, I was alone. a.s.suming he hadn't forgotten about driving me to work, I showered, dressed, and played hide-and-seek with Simon. I skipped breakfast because on Mondays Lottie made her egg-skillet breakfast, a tradition she'd started when she owned Bloomers.

At seven forty-five I had already made my way down to the front door to wait when Marco pulled up. I watched through the gla.s.s pane as he got out of the car. He looked so masculine in his black jacket and slim jeans, his dark hair s.h.i.+ning in the sunlight, that my heart swelled with love. Our last days together were slipping away too fast.

Marco caught sight of me and pushed away from the car, striding up to the door to hold it open. "Morning, Beautiful."

I stopped to give him a kiss. "Good morning yourself, Salvare. I missed you."

"Missed you, too, babe." He opened the car door and tossed the Evil Ones in the backseat. "But I had a productive evening. I'll tell you about it on the way to Bloomers."

"I had a productive evening, too," I said as he started the engine. "I found out what the hospital's procedure is for administering drugs, and you wouldn't believe how easy it would be for someone with the know-how to give a patient a lethal dose and make it look like the fault of the last nurse to administer it."

"You're referring to Trumble? Okay, explain the procedure for me."

I gave him Nikki's information, then waited as he mulled over my theory.

"I can't deny that it's possible," Marco said, "but I've learned that it's best to start with the most logical explanation, which is that if Trumble killed Willis, he did so because of her error. Always test the most logical first."

At least he hadn't told me to store it away for the future. "I also found a Mys.p.a.ce page for Dana Trumble and found two of her friends right here in New Chapel. I sent friend requests as a way to make contact in case we want to talk to them."

"Good idea. I'll let you handle that."

"Thanks. So tell me about your evening."

"Well, surprise of surprises, Rafe is actually hanging in there. He sat down with me last night to learn how to keep track of inventory and figure out how much to charge in order to see a profit. I was afraid it was way over his head, but he didn't lose patience or give up in frustration. He seems genuinely eager to learn the business. I was proud of him."

"That's fantastic, Marco. Rafe's finally starting to mature. I think being here with you is the best thing for him. I hope you complimented him."

"I did. He said he wants to keep up the lessons."

And there went our evenings together.

Marco tweaked my chin. "Don't worry. We're going to meet before the bar opens."

"I wasn't worried."

"b.u.t.tercup, I can read your face like a book."

I swiveled toward him. "Really? What is my face saying now?"

Marco waited until we reached a STOP sign, then glanced at me before driving again. "It's saying"-here he switched to a falsetto voice-" 'How did I ever get so lucky in finding the man of my dreams?' "

He glanced at me again. "Now it's saying, 'How should I show that man how much I missed him last night?' "

"You're incorrigible."

"I try. And what's more, I talked to Vlad last night about his trip to Chicago."

"Seriously?"

"He did go into Chicago to see Ed, not knowing that Ed was off that day, and also not in possession of Ed's new phone number. So Vlad saw the exhibits, had lunch at a nearby restaurant, and rode the train back home late in the afternoon. He said I could call Ed and check with him to verify that he was off work that day."

"Are you going to call Ed?"

"I don't feel the need." Marco glanced at me. "I will if you want me to."

"If you're okay with it, Marco, I am, too."

Okay, am not. Didn't Marco realize that if Ed was off that day, he wouldn't know whether Vlad was telling the truth? But Marco trusted Vlad, and if I kept tearing down Vlad's explanations, it might seem as though I didn't trust Marco.

"What did you think of the photos posted on the HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE Web site?" I asked.

"They're bogus. Vlad said he's never been to the casino boat. Whoever put up that site faked the photo to cast suspicion on him. And a casket in the living room? That's just stupid."

I didn't want to point out the obvious-once again we had only Vlad's word on it. But it seemed that was going to have to be good enough.

"The service provider won't give me the Web site owner's information, so I put in a call to a computer-savvy friend of mine and asked him to find out who's behind it."

"Do you think the person who put up the site is Lori's killer?"

"It's possible they're linked. It's also possible that someone's taking advantage of the murder to torment Vlad."

Marco simply refused to consider the third option-that Vlad was the killer.

"I'm going to meet with the nurse who was fired over her affair with Dr. Holloway at a quarter past nine this morning," Marco said.

"Darn! I wish I could be there."

"Your wish is my command. We're meeting at Bloomers."

"Thank you! Except how do I explain this meeting to Grace and Lottie?"

"If they ask, we're working on a new case and you don't have any of the particulars."

"But I told them you weren't taking any new cases."

"You'll think of something, Gabriella. By the way, I tried to get you off the hook for that interview with Holloway, but he wouldn't consent to see me. All it took was one mention of Willis's name and that was the end of our conversation."

"I don't mind being on the hook."

"I don't know, Abby. The idea of you pretending to be French doesn't sit well with me."

"You're adorable when you're in caveman mode. Don't worry. I can handle it. You know how I love a challenge."

Marco pulled up to the stoplight and leaned over for a kiss. "So you missed me last night?"

A horn honked behind us. I kissed him quickly. "Marco, you have the green light."

The horn sounded again, more urgently this time. "Yeah, yeah, I see the light," Marco said to the unknown driver as we pulled away. After a third and much longer honk, Marco glanced in the rearview mirror, then put on his turn signal and looked for a place to pull over.

"What's wrong?" I asked, swiveling for a look.

"I don't know, but I think we should find out. It's your mom."

"Oh, no. Something must have happened," I said as we parked the car. "Hurry, Marco, go see!"

"Too late. Here she comes. Your side."

I rolled down my window as my mom came briskly up to the car. Not one strand of her bobbed honey brown hair was out of place, thanks to a heavy coating of hair spray. She had on a tan wool coat and comfortable brown flats-her teacher shoes, as she called them. And she was smiling. Clearly, it wasn't an emergency.

"I'm so glad I spotted you," she said breathlessly, leaning through the window to give me a hug. "Saves me from having to lug the box to your shop myself."

"What box?"

"Hi, Marco. How are you?"

"Just fine, Mrs. Knight."

"And your mom? I haven't spoken to her in a while."

"She's fine, too," Marco said.

"What box?" I asked again.

"How is your ankle?" she asked me. "When do you see the doctor?"

"Ankle is fine. I see the doctor this Wednesday. What box?"

Mom checked her watch and frowned. "I'd better hurry. School will be starting soon. Marco, come with me, please."

Marco hopped out of the car to follow.

"It's my new piece of art," Mom said moments later, as Marco slid a large cardboard box onto the rear seat. "You'll be able to set it up this morning instead of waiting for me to bring it after school."

Yippee?

She shut the back door and leaned in the front window to kiss my cheek. "There you go, honey. Be careful when you unload it. It's fragile. I'll see you later." And away she went.

"What's inside?" Marco asked, glancing at the box through the rearview mirror.

"Whatever it is, it's not going to bite you," I said, laughing at his expression. I cut the laugh short when I heard something s.h.i.+ft inside the box. Maybe I'd spoken too soon.

"What's in the box?" Lottie asked, after Marco had deposited both me and Mom's box inside Bloomers.

"My mom's latest art project," I said. "Do you want to open it now or wait until after breakfast?"

"Eggs are all ready," Lottie said. "You decide."

Within minutes the three of us were seated at the narrow strip of counter in the galley kitchen at the far back of the shop, chowing down on Lottie's eggs. She'd used organic brown eggs, asparagus tips, feta cheese, mushrooms, and chopped tomato, cooking them lightly in olive oil, with sea salt and black pepper added at the end.

"Delicious," I said, shoveling in a large forkful. I stopped for a swallow of Grace's coffee, made with a touch of cinnamon and hazelnut today, then started off our morning meeting by announcing that Marco and I were going to see new clients in the parlor later that morning.

Next, Lottie reported on s.h.i.+pments due in, and Grace filled us in on her hunt to find an automatic door opener for under five hundred dollars. So far, she hadn't had any luck.

"With all the business we've had lately," Lottie said, "I think we should just bite the bullet and get one ordered at the best price. They're not going to get any cheaper."

"You're right," I said. "Let's do it. Grace, would you order one from a local retailer?"

"I know just the fellow. Perhaps I can persuade him to come down a bit more, too."

I glanced at my watch. We were fast approaching nine o'clock. It was time to deal with the box. After taking a few deep breaths, we headed into the parlor to unpack it and see what wondrous new objet d'art Mom had thrust upon us.

"Looks like the spines of an umbrella," Lottie said, as I held up the first part out of the container. It consisted of eight curved wire spines painted a s.h.i.+ny bright red, joined at the top and fanning out in a circle.