When Ari entered her apartment that night, she placed the packet of herbs under her pillow. No more pillow talk, Mr. Vampire. You’re gone. Out of my life.
Hoping for a dreamless night’s sleep, she was ready to crawl into bed when she remembered to check the small answering machine that sat on her kitchen counter. She’d notified dispatch of her unavailability and had put her cell phone on forward when she’d left for Rosalina’s. The light was blinking, the counter showed one message. When she pushed the button, the voice on the recording got her immediate attention.
“This is Thelma West. Can you call me as soon as possible? Even tonight? I want to clear things up. Eddie’s been protecting me.”
Ari stared at the machine. Was Eddie’s mother confessing? Ari looked at the clock over the fridge. The call had come in three hours ago, it was now 1:03. Too late. It would have to wait until morning.
Ari’s mind rewound and replayed their interview. Had Mrs. West’s emotional display been a cover? Had she resented Jules enough to commit murder? Still, this didn’t fit the facts. Thinking a matronly lady could kill a vampire was more incredible than pinning it on Eddie. The only thing that fit was Eddie taking the blame. Who wouldn’t lie for their mother? Whatever her story, Eddie’s all-together-looking family was a mess.
Ari tossed restlessly for a long time, but when she finally fell into exhausted sleep, no unwelcome visitors invaded her dreams.
By 7:30 that morning, Ari was in her office waiting for Mrs. West. She’d called Eddie’s mother an hour earlier, foregoing her usual morning run to come into work early and already had the coffee pot on. She’d chosen her office rather than the PD because she still thought Mrs. West was an unlikely killer. If the woman provided a believable confession, Ari would take her straight to Ryan for a formal statement, but there was a good chance this was a mistake or a lie. It would be very much in character for Mrs. West to concoct some story in a misguided attempt to protect her son.
Ari was pouring the first cup of coffee when Thelma West arrived.
“Thank you for seeing me. I’ve been so worried ever since we talked. I now know I need to tell you everything.”
“Why don’t you have a seat,” Ari said, handing her the coffee. “Tell me what you meant by Eddie was protecting you.” Ari studied her as the woman gathered her thoughts. Another dress, this time with a sweater. Sturdy pumps. Large straw handbag placed beside her chair. Carefully combed curls.
Mrs. West set down her cup. “I told Eddie I was going to shoot Jules,” she announced, her voice flat. “I was angry about the bonding, and Eddie said it would somehow work out. As if it could! So I told him my plans. I wasn’t going to let that vampire…that vermin…ruin our family. Do you understand? Jules was stealing my daughter’s life. Worse than killing her.” Mrs. West’s look was defiant. “I practiced killing him in my head. Just like shooting rats at Granddaddy’s farm, and I’ve had plenty of practice at that.”
Ari was speechless. She’d never expected such bitter hatred from this woman. The flat voice made the confession even more chilling.
Mrs. West looked away for a moment, then brought her focus back to Ari. “I’d do anything to protect my children, and shooting him was the only way to save her. Eddie had every reason to believe I shot that…thing. I needed to save Lorraine from herself. She was bound to a godless creature, and she…she wanted Jules to make her one of them.” The woman shuddered at the thought. “I didn’t want my only daughter, my baby, to burn in hell.” Her voice caught on the last words, revealing the first sign of her underlying conflicts.
“Tell me exactly what happened the night Jules died.” No matter what Ari thought of the things she was hearing, she wanted to keep her talking.
Mrs. West regained her composure. Her voice was calm again, resigned, as if she was determined to face whatever was coming. “We’d had a family Fourth of July picnic, but Lorraine had left early to meet him. Eddie and I argued, like I told you before, and I ran out of the house with his father’s gun. Eddie knew I had it, because he searched the house. I found the open drawers when I got home. That’s why he confessed. He believes I killed Jules.” She lifted her chin. “I planned it. Bought the silver bullets. And I waited outside Lorraine’s house.” She hesitated, and her shoulders slumped. “But I kept thinking what it would do to her to witness that. God help me, I failed. I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough to face my daughter afterwards. So I walked down by the river and then went home.” Her jowls trembled, and she avoided looking at Ari. “Someone else saved my daughter,” she said, so quietly Ari barely heard her. Mrs. West covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
What the hell? Ari stared at the older woman. Mrs. West had gone from an apparent confession to denial in seconds. Was this the truth or an attempt to get both herself and her son off the hook? The woman appeared more than capable of pulling the trigger, and Jules might have let her get close enough, but how would she get away without being seen? Unless Eddie and his mother were covering for each other. Hmm. It was worth considering, but by Mrs. West’s account, she was outside Lorraine’s home and never at the Woodland Inn.
“Where’s the gun?”
Mrs. West opened the straw handbag and took out a pistol, encased in a plastic zip bag. Ari took it, so Ryan and the police lab could do their thing. They had nothing to compare it to, no bullets, but the lab could at least tell if it had been fired recently.
“I don’t see how this clears Eddie,” Ari said, as she placed the baggie in her drawer. “What makes you think he didn’t shoot Jules to keep you from committing murder?”
Mrs. West’s face pinched in alarm. “No, no. Eddie was angry, but not filled with hate. Someone else did this. And I hope he or she gets away. I know it’s wrong, but I will bless that person every day of my life.”
Ari ignored an urge to argue with her, and there wasn’t much else to say. Ari was used to bigotry, had heard a lot of anti-Otherworld comments her whole life, but never out of the mouth of a motherly, middle-class woman like Thelma West. Ari was glad it wasn’t her job to judge the love and hate that warred inside this woman. Mrs. West’s confession was ugly, but if it turned out to be accurate, the law wouldn’t be holding her accountable. It didn’t punish evil thoughts. Ari watched as Eddie’s mother left the Cultural Center, her back straight, her head held high. Human beings were a strange lot.
Ari called Ryan and repeated the entire conversation. He wasn’t impressed and said it didn’t change anything. Since she’d expected that reaction, she wasn’t disappointed. Still, it was good news as far as she was concerned. She had a reason why Eddie would have lied. Now, all she needed was the right suspect.
That afternoon, Ari spent two hours waiting on customers at Basil & Sage, while Claris bought plants and supplies from a local nursery. Afterward they shared Claris’s homemade chicken soup, and Ari recounted her visit to Rosalina.
Claris didn’t have much to say. “What do you think this all means?” she asked, not looking at Ari.
“I’m not sure. She said the Goddess doesn’t make the decision, I do. But if the dreams are supposed to reveal my true feelings…” Ari grimaced, not liking where that train of thought led. “How could that be? A vampire for a soul mate?”
Claris reached out and clutched Ari’s hand. “She didn’t say that, did she? As she pointed out, you have a duty to produce children. Even I know that vampires are sterile. So maybe none of this is set in stone.”
“I have to believe that,” Ari said, so quietly her friend leaned forward to hear. “But the dreams are so real, so insistent. Sometimes I feel drawn to him.”
“Maybe it’s a vampiric trick? Something Andreas is doing?”
Ari lifted her head and met Claris’s worried gaze. “That would be preferable. Maybe I could do something about it.” Hearing the whine in her voice, Ari straightened, a wry quirk on her lips. “Listen to me. Can’t believe I’m talking like this. No matter what else happens, nobody gets to decide my fate, except me.”
Claris heaved a sigh as Ari came out of her funk. “That’s one of the things I admire about you. The way you take matters in your own hands.”
Ari laughed, genuinely amused. “Yeah, and we’ve seen how well that works sometimes. At least, I try.”
Not long after that conversation, Ari headed out for her nightly rounds of the city. There were certain hot spots, like the park and the bars, that she always checked before going home. Along the way, maybe she’d plot a strategy for dealing with Andreas, or maybe she’d just enjoy the walk and not think at all. With luck she’d get home in time for a lazy, mindless evening in front of the TV. A few hours without worrying about vampires, or dreams, or murder.
She had completed a sweep of the bar district and was on her way to the park, when her pager beeped. The text was garbled, so Ari called in.
“Otherworld fatality, Goshen Park, north shelter,” Dispatch reported. “Meet Lt. Foster at the scene.”
Chapter Six
By cutting through the alleys, Ari arrived at the crime scene in under six minutes, but the press vans were already parked on the grass. News traveled fast and reporters even faster. Nothing was more than minutes away in Olde Town, especially Goshen Park, which provided a natural border between the older sections of Riverdale and the modern city with its suburbs.
Except for the flashing lights from emergency vehicles, the scene was still mostly dark. The park was closed to the human public at this time of night; park lights were on automatic shut-off, and there were no street lamps nearby. Highlighted by the recurring flashes, officers strung crime scene tape, and techs worked by battery-powered lanterns to set up the floodlights. She headed for the shelter house, the center of all this activity.
The floodlights came on, illumining the scene in a garish glow. Officers quickly finished with the yellow tape and switched their efforts to blocking the press and the growing number of spectators. Ryan was near the shelter; his blond head bent over a shadowed object on the ground. The victim, she assumed. A pudgy young man in his twenties sat on top of a picnic table inside the shelter, his head bowed into his hands, and a cop stood nearby. Another victim or suspect? Ari did a mental head slap. Everyone was a suspect at this point.