Night Of The Living Dandelion Part 9

"Yes."

Both women gazed at me expectantly. "And?" Lottie asked.

"They're investigating."

"Do they know how she was murdered?" Grace asked.

"The coroner hadn't been there yet when we left."

"So you were there, too?" Lottie asked.

"Yes, but I waited in the car while Marco went to see what was happening. I couldn't see anything."

They studied me for a moment; then Grace said, "Are you feeling all right, love?"

This was never going to work. They knew something was up. How could I withhold information from them without hurting their feelings? Lottie and Grace had seen me through many crises. I trusted them with my life; I knew I could count on them to keep mum. But I couldn't break my promise either.

Giving myself a few seconds to compose my response, I put the scone down and wiped my fingers. "All I can tell you is that the police are investigating."

"That's all you can tell us?" Lottie asked.

I said carefully, "Yes. That's all I can tell you." I raised my eyebrows, hoping they'd pick up on the hint.

They exchanged glances; then Lottie said to Grace, "Looks like someone told Abby not to discuss the murder with us."

"I'd have to guess that somebody is Marco," Grace said, "and that he is undertaking a private investigation and has sworn our Abby to secrecy."

They both looked at me. With a smile, I popped the last bite of scone in my mouth and rolled my wheelchair out of the room. My work there was done.

The three-ring circus started sooner than Marco expected. By nine o'clock, four Chicago TV news crews and the local cable crew had camped out in front of Down the Hatch. They couldn't get in because the bar didn't open until eleven. After that, I could only imagine how Marco would be bombarded with reporters shoving mics in his face.

The news about the gruesome discovery also brought out even larger crowds of curious bystanders, as well as vendors selling hot dogs, soft drinks, and even pickled peppers left over from the last Picklefest. The only good thing that came of the hubbub was that Bloomers made all kinds of sales.

By ten o'clock, the radio newscaster announced that the body discovered in the bin was Lori Willis, director of nursing at Parkview Hospital, and that the police had no suspects at that time.

By eleven o'clock, the newscaster reported that the police considered Vlad Serban a person of interest and that his attorney had refused their request for an interview.

By eleven fifteen, Marco had given statements to four television reporters and one newspaper journalist.

By eleven thirty, Marco's news sound bite had already been shown on two of the four TV stations, with the others to air at noon, Marco had heard nothing from Vlad, and I had finished my seventh floral arrangement and was working on two more for a pair of customers waiting up front. The coffee-and-tea parlor was so full, people were standing at the coffee counter in the back and a line of people waited to pay at the cash register in the shop.

Which was probably why, at eleven forty, Lottie wasn't able to warn me.

One moment, I was humming peacefully in my private slice of heaven, carefully placing pink Veronicas, purple "Monaco" snapdragons, white spider mums, and green bells of Ireland in a bed of wet foam. The next, the curtain swept back and Jillian lurched in, looking wan despite the cheerful lime trench coat she wore.

She pulled out a stool at the worktable and sank onto it, propping herself up on her elbows as though she didn't have any strength left. "Did you hear the horrible news?"

"About the body found behind Down the Hatch?"

"Dear G.o.d, Abby, what other horrible news is there?"

I eyed the wet foam, imagining the splat it would make when it landed on Jillian's head. And speaking of her head, what was that awful odor coming from her hair?

"To think I gave him a ride home," she said.

"Who?" I sniffed her hair. Nope. That wasn't the source. "And what's that smell?"

She pushed me away. "Stop it! I'm talking about Vlad, okay? I told you yesterday how I helped him get away. What was I thinking? I could have been his next victim."

"Don't be silly. Vlad didn't kill anyone." I sincerely hoped.

"He kissed my hand, Abby." Jillian thrust the palm of her right hand in front of my face and pointed to two red b.u.mps on it. "Look at these marks and tell me what you see."

I examined her hand. "Insect bites-mosquito, maybe."

"In April? Please. You don't have to cover for Vlad. Your loyalty to Marco doesn't have to go that far."

She pulled a necklace from beneath her coat and removed it from around her neck. Dangling from the chain was a stainless-steel tea infuser. She opened the infuser and shook out pieces of raw garlic. No wonder she smelled.

"A lot of protection that offered," Jillian said, dropping the pieces into the waste can beside the table. "If Clayton hadn't driven up with our car when he did, I shudder to think what would have become of me."

"Okay, before you go all loopy on me, Jillian, where exactly did Vlad kiss your hand?"

She s.h.i.+fted uneasily. "Does that matter?"

"The palm is not where a gentleman kisses a woman's hand to thank her for something. If Vlad had bitten you-and I'm not saying he did-the bite would be on top of your hand." I turned her hand over and indicated the smooth flesh. "Nothing there. See?"

Her forehead wrinkled as she turned her hand over again to study the bites. "It's such a blur now. Maybe he did kiss my palm. Do I feel cold and clammy to you?"

I put my hand on the back of her neck. "No."

She felt her forehead, then her neck. "Yes, I am. I'm cold, clammy, and utterly exhausted. And that's another strange thing. I couldn't sleep at all last night. But now that it's daylight, I can't keep my eyes open. What does that tell you?"

"That you need coffee. Stay here."

I wheeled into the crowded parlor and managed to nab a cup of Grace's strongest brew. I balanced the cup and saucer on my lap and made my way slowly back to the workroom only to find Jillian asleep with her head on a pile of Veronica stems.

Lottie bustled through the curtain, headed toward our walk-in coolers, but stopped when she saw Jillian. "Good Lord, what happened to her? Is she okay?"

Jillian wasn't okay when she was okay. But did I want Lottie to know just how crazy my cousin was? "She's just tired, Lottie. She'll be fine." I found Jillian's cell phone in her purse, located Clayton's number in her directory, and called him. "Clayton, come get your wife. She's sound asleep on my worktable."

"I'm not surprised," Clayton said. "Jillian drank a pitcher of cola yesterday evening, then couldn't sleep all night. The caffeine in that soda could keep a bear from hibernating."

I cupped my hand around the phone. "She thinks she was bitten by a vampire."

Clayton sighed. "I know. She told me. I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

I put the phone back in Jillian's bag and returned to my flower arrangement.

"No, I'm definitely cold and clammy," Jillian said suddenly, lifting her head.

"Have some coffee." I scooted the cup toward her and swept up the crushed Veronicas.

She peered at the strong black liquid, sniffed it, then made a face and pushed it away. "I can't even stand the smell, and you know how I love coffee."

Her chin quivered and her eyes welled with tears. Then she held out her arms for a hug.

Right. Like I wanted to hug that.

"Abby, I'm turning into a vampire!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Jillian insisted that Clayton pick her up at the back door, claiming the alley was dark and out of the sun, which now hurt her eyes. Lucky for Jillian, the cops had finished their work on the crime scene two buildings down. Once she was gone, I took my lunch break, using the alley to reach Down the Hatch. It was risky on a bed of gravel, given the tricky nature of the Evil Ones, but I preferred that to fighting the throng that now filled Franklin Street.

The girl posse had returned-those who weren't in school. The news crews were still there, too, as were seemingly hundreds of bystanders waiting with their cameras ready. Members of the Garlic Party had lined up on both sides of the street, carrying signs that read VAMPIRE GO HOME! DEATH TO VAMPIRES! And of course the cops were out in force. Everyone was waiting for the alleged vampire to make his appearance. If Vlad showed up today, I'd be floored.

As I hop-stepped up to the big fireproof door at the back of Down the Hatch, I noticed that the bin where the body was found had been removed and another one put in its place. Otherwise, there was no sign that anything untoward had ever happened. Not even crime scene tape remained.

Inside, I found Marco's office door closed, so I headed down the hallway to the bar. Through the crowd, I caught sight of Rafe standing at the door, obviously posted there to keep the news crews out. It was too noisy for him to hear me, but I managed a quick wave h.e.l.lo without toppling over, then maneuvered a 180-degree turn and found Marco behind me.

"Is Rafe your doorman now?" I asked, talking loud to make myself heard.

He nodded. "Reporters are driving us crazy. Come on back. We can have lunch in my office. I'll put in our orders now."

"I'll have a turkey burger," I said. "Hold the fries."

"What kind of fries?" Marco asked, cupping a hand around his ear to hear my reply.

"No fries!" I yelled. My jeans were feeling a bit too snug in the thigh area, probably because I hadn't been able to take my morning power walks.

Marco opened his office door for me, then headed for the kitchen. He returned just as I lowered myself into a chair. "Pretty wild stuff going on out front," I said. "Picketers, cops, reporters, vendors-I'm waiting for the parade. Any word from the star of the show?"

"Nope. I've tried to reach him several times." Marco sat down at his desk and picked up a yellow legal pad. "I'm not worried. He'll show up."

I admired the confidence Marco had in his buddy. I wished I had it.

Marco tapped his pen on the pad. "I've been doing research, trying to give our investigation some direction, so I looked at who might be trying to frame Vlad. I went back into his work history, but I couldn't find anything to suggest he had made any enemies. I even called the hospital in Chicago where he worked last and talked to the current manager of the blood lab. As I expected, he had only good things to say about Vlad. Conscientious, courteous, reliable, no reprimands, and no employee complaints against him."

"What about someone from Vlad's personal life? A girlfriend, ex-wife . . . maybe even someone from your military days?"

"No marriages, no lawsuits, and nothing from our army days that I'm aware of, except for the one run-in over his clothing. Vlad was an exemplary soldier. I asked the manager of the blood bank what he knew about Vlad's personal life, but all he could tell me was that Vlad was a private person whom he saw occasionally outside work, mainly at one of their favorite hangouts, but never with a steady girlfriend-or 'never with the same woman' is how he phrased it."

Marco sat back. "I've accounted for everything except for eleven months following his discharge from the army. I couldn't find any work history for that period. Maybe he took time off to get his head together. A lot of guys have to do that after they get out."

"Did you?"

"I joined the police force."

No comment there. "Are you going to ask him about those months?"

"If I need to."

"If it's no one from Vlad's past," I reasoned, "then it has to be someone from the present. I wonder if he's seeing anyone in New Chapel."

"With working the late s.h.i.+ft and being new in town, when has he had time?"

"Mornings. Afternoons. A lot of women here at the bar are just waiting for a signal from him. Who knows? Maybe Vlad is out with someone right now. And maybe that someone has a boyfriend. That could make some guy want to go after Vlad in a big way."

"It would take a sick mind to go as far as murdering an innocent party for revenge."

"We've seen some sick people in New Chapel, Marco."

"We're talking about an abduction and brutal killing, Abby. I'm sure you understand that Lori Willis had to be alive to have the blood drained from her body. That speaks of someone who had a deep hatred of her."

"Or needed a supply of blood."

Marco frowned at me. "No vampire theories."

"How about a ritualistic killing? I've read about cults who drink blood."

"If that was going on in our area, we'd see a pattern of that type of crime."

"Unless this is the start of a new pattern."

"Let's keep that theory in reserve and stick with the simplest explanation first. So let's take a look at who might have wanted to kill the victim."

"Let's call her by her name. Victim sounds too impersonal."

"You're right. It's a habit. I'll try to watch that." Marco pulled his legal pad closer and began to read from his notes: "Lori Willis. Sixty years old, never married, no criminal record of any kind, not even a traffic ticket. She worked as a licensed practical nurse, then went back for a four-year nursing degree from Purdue. Moved to New Chapel from West Lafayette, Indiana, to take a job as an RN at County Hospital. Spent several years on the oncology floor. Taught nursing cla.s.ses in the evenings. Promoted to nursing supervisor, then when Parkview opened three years ago, she left County to take a position there as director of nursing."

Marco leaned back. "Thoughts?"

Just one. When was our food coming? My stomach was starting to eat itself.

"Thoughts. Okay. Judging by her upward mobility, Lori must have been considered quite competent, especially to be offered the position of director of nursing. Nikki said that was a position with a lot of power."

"And people in power make enemies. Why don't you see what Nikki can find out about how the victim-I mean Willis-got along with the staff at County? Anyone with a grievance, any reprimands she might have given out, that kind of thing. Also whether she was seeing anyone or had broken up with anyone. I'll take a trip across the street to the county clerk's office to see if the vic-if Willis was ever involved in any malpractice litigation."

"Sounds good," I said.