Blood in the Batter Read online

  “Last I checked, you don’t give orders around here, Pratt,” Arthur said. He turned his attention back to Maddison. “Why couldn’t you hear?”

  “There were so many people in Mom’s half of the restaurant,” she whispered, and the look on her face was one of acute misery. Priscilla wanted to wring Arthur’s neck. Maddison disliked conflict, and he knew it. “All I could hear was Harvey Hays talking too loudly about his athlete’s foot.”

  “What happened then?” he prompted her.

  “There was a crash. I dropped the flour and ran upstairs and then—” Maddison cut off with a shudder.

  “And then?” Arthur asked, leaning forward.

  “There was so much blood,” she whispered. “It was going everywhere. I’ve never actually seen that much. The worst thing I’ve ever seen was in 1952 when my kid brother skinned his leg all the way down to the ankle, riding a bicycle.”

  Unfortunately, Priscilla had seen worse things. Punishment in the past had been cruel and unusual. She’d seen hangings, burnings, ritualistic murder, and much, much worse in her three hundred and fifty-four years of life. The twentieth century, for all its flaws, had been relatively tame as far as things went. Aside from the wars, which Maddison would not have been old enough to see or participate in, there had been relatively little bloodshed.

  Priscilla rubbed Maddison’s back soothingly. She stiffened under the touch at first, then relaxed after a moment or two.

  “Why’d you get on top of him?” Arthur asked, not seeming to notice or care that Maddison was obviously distressed.

  “You’re supposed to put pressure on wounds, right?” Maddison asked. “That’s what all the television shows say. If you put pressure on the wound, people don’t bleed out as fast.”

  “And you weren’t trying to feed, by any chance?”

  “No,” Maddison gasped. “Of course I wasn’t! He was dying! Why would I—” She cut off again and shook still more violently.

  “But you wanted to,” Arthur said.

  “What, is that a crime now?” Priscilla snapped. “She’s a vampire, and a young one at that. I was hungry, too, when I smelled it. I still didn’t drink, because there was a man dying on my floor! That took priority over my stomach.”

  “We still need to perform some tests,” Arthur insisted.

  “You need my client’s consent to run these tests,” Allen interjected, a smug note of satisfaction in his voice. “Not to do so is a clear violation of her bodily autonomy and against the law. Perhaps we could come to a compromise—”

  “I’ll wait until sunrise,” Maddison said softly.

  “What?” Allen said, derailed from his tirade.

  “Just let me wait until sunrise. If I stay up past sunrise, I’ll get sick and they’ll have their proof. Just have a bucket handy.”

  Priscilla’s heart sank. This was the sort of thing that she had been hoping to avoid by calling Allen. She knew that Maddison was too accommodating. It was a byproduct of growing up when she had. She couldn’t help but glare at Arthur as a fresh wave of anger swept through her. Couldn’t he have the decency to at least look guilty?

  Allen’s brow furrowed. “You do not need to subject yourself to illness or bodily harm, Ms. Baker. The Bellmare police department has a history of overstepping its bounds where the vampire citizens of this town are concerned. We could set a precedent for all future cases.”

  “I don’t want to be a precedent,” Maddison said quietly. “I just want to go home and see Olivia.” She lifted her head wearily to meet Arthur’s gaze. “Would that be acceptable? If I give you what’s in my stomach, can I go home?”

  Arthur’s face scrunched up in thought. Finally, he said, “If you agree to wear ankle tracker until such time as we can prove your innocence, I’ll be willing to let you go.”

  Maddison nodded. “All right, then. Put me in front of a window and get me a bucket.”

  Chapter Four

  Priscilla wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

  Arthur’s threats had not been idle. She was not allowed near the precinct or any member of the Bellmare PD until the case was closed. Anna had been barred from coming into work for the next few weeks, which didn’t inconvenience Priscilla badly, as her shop was on hiatus for the time being anyhow. All Arthur had succeeded in doing was to irritate her to no end.

  Her two most valued employees, Maddison and Anna, were both prevented from working with her for the time being. Maddison was not allowed further than five hundred feet from her house, had to charge her ankle bracelet every twelve hours or risk alerting the authorities that she was a flight risk, and she had to check in with Arthur every five hours until her name was cleared.

  Olivia was frothing at the mouth, and Priscilla had to agree. Sometimes her friend was too quick to become angry, but this time it was warranted. This was just cruel.

  Priscilla wouldn’t have put up with it, in her position, but she knew Maddison was an accommodating soul at the best of times. In this case, she was frightened of serving jailtime for a crime she hadn’t committed. Priscilla was sure that with her real age factored in, Maddison would almost certainly be charged as an adult.

  Olivia had finally gotten tired of her dithering outside of Fangs in Fondant and had invited her to work, temporarily, in the Big Bowl. Well, invited was a tricky word. She’d been pressganged into labor. Olivia had fewer workers even than Priscilla did, and with Maddison out of commission, she was playing both chef and waitress in her own restaurant. So, for the last few hours, Priscilla had alternately baked treats to go with the soup of the day and served the customers who stumbled through Olivia’s doors after dusk.

  “Do I really need to wear the uniform?” Priscilla asked, plucking at the overlarge shirt she’d been handed at the beginning of her impromptu shift. It was gray, and bore only the company logo. This one was probably one of Olivia’s spares.

  Olivia wasn’t obese by any stretch of the imagination, but she’d always been more voluptuous than Priscilla, even at the prime of her life. Olivia was shorter than she was, had a much larger chest, and had packed on a few pounds around the middle. She looked like a cozy woman at first glance, with auburn hair, a round face, and an easy smile. But beneath all that, Priscilla knew that a tiger lay sleeping. Arthur was going to regret getting on the wrong side of this woman.

  “Yes, you do,” Olivia snapped. She’d been sweating over a pot for the last hour, lest the soup scald. “Now bus table five, please. I’ll need those dishes when the insomniacs stumble in after midnight.”

  Priscilla took the order in stride and did as she was told. Olivia’s decor was a stark contrast to her own, and it had taken her a little while to get used to it. Fangs in Fondant resembled something close to a fifties diner with checkered tile floors, red handle-back chairs, a shelf that contained her cookies, and a pair of freezers tucked neatly into one corner to keep a few pre-made ice cream cakes from melting.

  Olivia’s decor was all dark hardwood, picnic-style benches instead of booths, and a non-functional stone fireplace against one wall. The best descriptor that Priscilla could think of when she’d stepped inside the place for the first time was rustic. There was an almost outdoorsy charm to the place that businesses in Bellmare seldom had.

  Priscilla seized a basin and deposited the abandoned dishes into it. The disinfectant that Olivia preferred to clean her tables with was strongly scented, and Priscilla was sure she wouldn’t be able to smell anything but pine and lemon for a month after she finished working here.

  The restaurant was largely empty but for the pair of them. Priscilla finally gathered up her courage and turned to face Olivia when she’d collected the bin.

  “Why haven’t you been able to feed Maddison properly?”

  Olivia froze, and even with her back turned toward Priscilla, she could tell that she’d struck a nerve. The muscles in Olivia’s neck bunched spasmodically, and she was sure that the look on her face must have been something to behold. A few minutes passed whi
le her friend tried to marshal her expression into something approaching calm.

  “What makes you think we haven’t been doing that?” The question still came out from between Olivia’s teeth, though she could tell that her friend was making an effort not to sound furious.

  “Her coloring,” Priscilla replied, depositing the bin full of dishes onto the counter. “I’ve been alive for over three hundred years, Olivia. I know what it looks like when a vampire hasn’t had enough to eat.”

  “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

  Priscilla sighed. “I want to help Maddison as much as you do, Olivia. But I can’t help her if I don’t know what led up to this point. Tell me what’s going on?”

  Olivia’s shoulders sagged. “She hasn’t told you? I thought she told you everything. You’re all she ever talks about at home. Priscilla this and Priscilla that.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m completely in the dark on this one. Do you mind filling me in?”

  “My husband has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. He hasn’t been able to keep up with work, so he was fired. I’m the sole breadwinner now.”

  Priscilla couldn’t do anything but stare. She’d been over at the Baker’s residence for dinner only two months before and hadn’t noticed anything amiss then. She thought back, trying to look at the memory with this new information in mind. Still, nothing stood out.

  “Are they sure?”

  “Fairly,” she said with a sigh.

  Olivia set her ladle down and scrubbed at her face with both hands. “I can only give so often, Priscilla. I try to supplement the supply, but I’m only one person. I can’t let my husband donate. It makes the symptoms worse, I think. This place is the only thing keeping us afloat.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked quietly. “I would have tried to help.”

  Olivia let out a snort. “Yes, you always want to help. But I can’t let you swoop in and save the day every time my family is in crisis, Priscilla. It’s wrong. You’ve already gotten her a lawyer, though God knows how you paid for him.”

  Priscilla didn’t tell her, because she was sure the answer would make Olivia uncomfortable. She owed Scott Allen a favor in the future, and he hadn’t said it would be strictly professional. Priscilla could only hope that it would be aboveboard when the time came. She began to pile the dishes into the sink, ruminating.

  “There are ways to get on assistance, Olivia. And there are people who would willingly donate. Anna, for one—”

  Olivia shook her head violently. “Oh no. I’m not letting her give. I don’t have anything against her personally, Priscilla, and I know you like her, but I don’t trust Arthur Sharp. He points fingers at every vampire in town when murders suddenly crop up. The only one who hasn’t been a victim yet is Diane Webb, and that’s because she always has her nose in a book.”

  “Who?” Priscilla asked, distracted from her task.

  “Diane Webb,” Olivia repeated. “She refurbished that old building on 8th Street and turned it into a bookstore, remember? It made the papers. The historical society loves her.”

  Priscilla did vaguely remember hearing about the project in the news a month or two back. But they’d neglected to mention that Diane Webb was a vampire. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Yes. She’s only a trifle older than Maddison. She stops by the library sometimes after work to talk to her about things.”

  Priscilla frowned, feeling strangely hurt by the exclusion. “She never stopped to talk to me after work.”

  It was Olivia’s turn to sigh. “Priscilla, you’re a nice woman, but you’re old.”

  “Hardly. By vampire standards I’m barely middle-aged.”

  “The point is Maddison needs people she can more closely relate to. Sure, you were alive during the twentieth century, but you were already a seasoned veteran by then. You didn’t have to make your way through the changing tides as a young woman and very new vampire. Diane did, and I think that’s what Maddison relates to.”

  Priscilla wanted to protest that she did understand. Did Olivia think that living through the seventeenth century as a young vampire had come without challenges? But she bit her tongue. This hadn’t been the point of her question, and she was getting sidetracked by completely irrational jealousy.

  “We need to find a solution,” Priscilla muttered. “If she touched any of Aaron Burke’s blood, then she could be charged with a misdemeanor at least. She wouldn’t have been so tempted if she’d been well-fed.”

  “Aaron Burke?” Olivia repeated. “That’s who it was?”

  She was surprised that Olivia hadn’t demanded to know exactly whose murder Maddison had been accused of. But then again, if Maddison had been her daughter, Priscilla would probably have been more concerned with getting her out of jail.

  “Yes,” Priscilla said, sidetracked once more by Olivia’s tone. “Why? Do you know him?”

  Olivia flicked the dial on her oven to low so she could let the soup simmer. “Sort of. He was the receptionist at Bellmare Dentistry.”

  Ah, so that was why the name had been niggling at the back of Priscilla’s mind this whole time. She must have met Aaron Burke at least once in the last year. As a vampire, she was immune to a whole host of diseases and, as long as she remained fed, she couldn’t suffer from tooth decay. Still, the enamel could stain, so she had her teeth professionally cleaned by Simon Grant every year, just in case.

  From what she could remember, Aaron had been a big man. He was taller than she was, which had once been an impressive feat. With the ready access to food these days, people could grow into their potential instead of what their bodies could leach from the nutrients they managed to get. Aaron’s bushy red beard and head of equally bushy hair had given her a wave of warm nostalgia for the Quaker men she’d met hundreds of years ago.

  “Why would anyone want to kill a receptionist?” she wondered aloud.

  “Perhaps they mistook him for the dentist,” Olivia said. “Simon Grant is a creep.”

  “Is he really?” Priscilla asked, cocking her head in confusion. “He’s never struck me as one.”

  “Probably because you have a reputation,” Olivia said. “But he’ll leer at any pretty little woman in a skirt. You should see how he talks to Maddison. Honestly, if he had a boss to report to, I’d have gotten him fired years ago. Unfortunately, he owns the business, and he’s the only dental clinic close by. You have to go all the way to Westwend to get competent care otherwise.”

  An idea began to percolate in Priscilla’s mind. She wasn’t allowed to help Bellmare PD directly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do a little snooping of her own. If she found a tidbit that Arthur could use, well … she’d sneak it to Anna somehow. For now, she needed a phone.

  “Olivia, can I borrow your cell phone?”

  Olivia quirked a brow at her. “Don’t you have one?”

  “I did, but it ran out of prepaid minutes. I’d use my landline but …” she gestured helplessly at her half of the restaurant. The back of Olivia’s shop had been plastered with police tape, lest her employees take a wrong turn and end up in the back of Fangs in Fondant.

  Olivia sighed and dug her phone out of her pocket. “Don’t take long, Priscilla. I told Maddison to give me a call if she needs me, and I don’t want the line tangled up for long.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. “I just have to make two quick phone calls.”

  Priscilla seized a copy of the Yellow Pages from beneath a wobbly chair and skimmed through it until she found Simon Grant’s place of business. No one answered the phone. She’d expected that might be the case. It was after normal operating hours, and he had no receptionist. He’d probably get her message in the morning. She left her number, reminding herself that she needed to pick up more minutes tonight in order to receive the call the following morning. She’d be groggy and sick, but turning up at Bellmare Dentistry could be beneficial for the case in the long run.


  The second number, she dialed by heart. She knew it too only too well. After all, the caller was part of the reason she had so few minutes in the first place. Priscilla had tried to stress that the number was emergency only, but some people just didn’t listen well. Or at all.

  “Hello?” a groggy female voice answered. “Who’s this? I swear, if you’re a telemarketer, I’ll curse you into oblivion. It’s almost ten.”

  “I’m not a telemarketer,” she said with a small smile. “And I thought your cursing days were over, Godmother. Didn’t we learn our lesson last time? Poor Mr. Reed took over a week to turn back into a human.”

  Joseph Reed, a film executive, had pestered her to sell the rights to her life’s story for six months following the first murder she’d solved. He’d learned his lesson when Avalon had caught him snooping in the bakery and had turned him into a frog.

  “Oh Priscilla, it’s you!” Avalon shook off the cobwebs with remarkable speed for someone who had apparently been trying to sleep. “Did you find Arthur? I heard he was asking about me. What did he say?”

  Priscilla had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. It wouldn’t do to insult her godmother so soon after calling. She needed her help, and faeries were known for being capricious.

  “I’ll tell you what, Godmother. If you do me a favor, I’ll give you his home number.”

  “You know the new one?” Avalon all but squealed. “Tell me!”

  Priscilla cringed inwardly. If Arthur didn’t hate her already, he was about to. In fact, she wouldn’t blame him for cursing her name to the blackest pits of Hades after this bargain.

  She could only hope that the case would keep him out of the house long enough that Avalon’s fervor would have time to cool down.

  Then again, after what Arthur was putting Maddison through he might deserve the irritant that she was about to expose him to.

  “That favor, Avalon. Promise me.”