Blood in the Batter Read online

  “You knew what you were doing, Priscilla,” he growled. “You went to the victim’s place of employment. You also overpaid him, from what I could gather. A bribe, I assume. If he is the culprit and it goes to trial, do you know how badly that reflects on us? One of my consultants, bribing the killer? The defense attorney will shred the case like tissue paper.”

  “It wasn’t a bribe,” she said, pressing a cookie cutter into the dough with more force than was necessary. “If you’d pressed that slimy little man, he would have told you that I left the extra to take care of Ms. Sheppard and her son.”

  “Luna Sheppard?” Arthur asked.

  Priscilla shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t actually see her over the phone. “I don’t know, Arthur. Her boy was in pain, and she couldn’t pay Simon Grant to fix whatever was wrong. I was just trying to pay it forward.”

  Arthur sighed. “She attends church with Anna and me. She’s struggling. Her husband ran out on her last month, and she didn’t have a job. She’s trying to find something, but it’s been hard on her.”

  “And no one has tried to help her?” Priscilla asked. “That’s not terribly Christian. Where’s the spirit of charity?”

  “She won’t take anything we’ve offered her,” Arthur said. “She returned all the checks we sent with thank you, but no thank you notes. None of us are sure what to do.”

  Priscilla’s heart ached for the young woman. She’d seen too many families ruined by a spirit of pride. Her own father had despised taking charity. He’d once gone for a week without food, rather than admit he couldn’t pay for it. Her stomach still twisted in an echo of that hunger anytime she thought of it.

  Had the little boy been eating? She hoped so. She’d have to remember to bake a few loaves of bread for the family. She made a mental note of it as she placed cookies onto the nonstick pan. Perhaps she could get Olivia in on it as well and give the woman and her child a proper meal for once. If they dropped it off anonymously, surely she couldn’t refuse? She’d have no idea who gave her the package.

  “Priscilla?”

  “Huh?” she said stupidly. She’d completely tuned Arthur out. How long had he been trying to speak to her? She dropped the ghost-shaped cookie onto the pan and it impacted with a dull plop.

  “Don’t do something like that again. I know you mean well, but you aren’t doing us any favors.”

  Priscilla felt abruptly tired. Despite the fact that dawn was still hours away, she felt like trudging up the stairs and curling up beneath the down comforters. She wanted to stay there until this whole kerfuffle blew over. The only positive she could see was that Arthur sounded resigned now, rather than angry.

  “All right, Arthur. I won’t. I’m making cookies for Aaron’s widow right now. After I deliver them, I’ll be done meddling.”

  “You’re just delivering them?” Arthur asked. “Nothing more?”

  “I’m not going to subject her to the Spanish Inquisition, if that’s what you mean. Now I need to pop these in the oven. Was that all you needed to called to say?”

  Anna was standing off to the side, clutching Rebecca’s counter until her knuckles turned white. She looked like she might burst from indignation. Priscilla was warmed that someone felt so strongly on her behalf. Still, she raised her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. She was sure that Anna’s defiance of her father’s edict not to see her would rekindle his anger. She wanted to end this phone call on a pleasant note.

  “No, that wasn’t all.” Arthur cleared his throat. “The results came back from Maddison’s … er … sample.”

  “And?” Priscilla practically bit out the word. She put the cookie cutter down for fear of bending the metal in her anger.

  “It didn’t match Aaron Burke’s blood. We’re not sure who it belonged to, and it’s pretty inconsequential in either case. The lab says it contained anticoagulants, so the blood probably came from a bag.”

  “I trust that she’ll be released from the ankle tracker soon then?”

  “It doesn’t mean she didn’t kill him,” Arthur said stubbornly.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, Arthur! Let her go. She didn’t kill anyone. You’ve eliminated her only motivation for killing Aaron Burke. If she was going to kill anyone from Bellmare Dentistry, it would have been Simon Grant for being such a pervert.”

  Anna raised an eyebrow at that and paused in the act of spooning out dough onto another tray. So apparently Priscilla hadn’t been the only one unaware of Grant’s proclivities. That made her feel slightly better.

  Arthur blew out a gust of air. On her end, the flapping of his lips reminded her comically of a horse.

  “Fine. I’ll send Jamie over to release her tonight. But if you’re determined to be involved, Pratt, check in on her. Make sure she stays out of trouble.”

  “It would be my pleasure. But if you don’t mind, I’d like Anna to drop off these sugar cookies I’ve made while Jamie is there. He’s just had a birthday, you know.”

  “As if I could forget,” Arthur grumbled. “He’s been whining about it all day. Anna didn’t get him a gift. I told him to get used to that, if they get serious. All women end up giving you the cold shoulder when they’re angry.”

  “I’ll choose to ignore that charmingly sexist remark for now,” Priscilla said. “When can I expect her to swing by?”

  “Where are you staying?”

  She told him.

  “Thirty minutes,” he grunted, and hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

  Anna giggled when, a few minutes later, her phone began to ring. She picked up just before it could go to voicemail. “Yes, Daddy?”

  Anna listened intently for a moment. “Sure, I can go. If you’re letting me see Priscilla again, that is.”

  Priscilla could have strained to hear the reply, but didn’t bother. She felt guilty enough about the deception already. Hadn’t she promised to be more honest with Arthur only the month before, during their last murder investigation?

  It was a harmless little white lie, she reasoned. It hurt no one, and saved herself and Anna trouble.

  Anna chatted for a few more minutes before she hung up the phone.

  “That went well,” she said brightly. “Good thinking, Priscilla. At least now we can see each other. When will I need to go see Maddison?”

  “I’m not sure when Jamie’s due to arrive, but I think we’ll head out there in about an hour. The sugar cookies will take fifteen minutes to cook, and the chocolate chunk cookies will take about thirteen. You’ll need to make the frosting while we wait.”

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “Then we frost them. No one likes an unfrosted ghost.”

  Anna smirked. “Priscilla, do you know why the naked ghost goes out in a sheet?”

  Priscilla groaned. “Oh no. Here it comes.”

  “He didn’t want anyone to see his boo-ty,” Anna finished.

  “That is possibly the worst pun I’ve heard in the last three hundred years,” Priscilla said. “Congratulations. You’ve killed comedy.”

  “Go me,” Anna said, not looking at all abashed.

  “Get to work,” Priscilla said. “You have a boyfriend to make up with.”

  “What are you going to do for the rest of the night while I’m gone?”

  “The same thing as ever,” Priscilla replied. “Try to catch a murderer.”

  Frosted Ghost Sugar Cookies

  These became a popular dish around Halloween five years ago, when Fangs in Fondant first opened its doors. A well-meaning woman from the local church donated all sorts of supplies to my store to give me a head start. Among them were a dozen or so holiday-themed cookie-cutters. As Halloween was close, I settled on the ghost-shaped cutters to make my first cookies. Voila, a tradition was born. You don’t have to wait until Halloween time to make these spooky treats. Make them whatever shape you like and be sure to enjoy.

  —Priscilla Pratt

  Ingredients:

  2 eggs

  2 sticks so
ftened butter

  4 cups all-purpose flour

  1 1/2 c granulated sugar

  1/2 tsp baking powder

  1 tsp vanilla extract

  1/2 tsp salt (optional)

  Frosting:

  1 cup powdered sugar

  2 teaspoons milk

  2 teaspoons corn syrup

  1/4 tsp vanilla

  Directions:

  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Grease cookie sheets.

  In a medium bowl, sift four cups of flour. Set aside. In another bowl, beat softened butter until smooth. Slowly add in the sugar and combine with a mixer. Add the eggs into the sugar/butter mixture one at a time, then mix in the vanilla extract, baking powder, and salt (optional).

  Add in the flour, one cup at a time, until the ingredients are combined. Roll the dough into a ball and cover with cling wrap. Refrigerate for 10 to 15 minutes.

  Once out of the fridge, roll out the dough and cut with ghost-shaped cookie cutters. Space evenly on a baking sheet, and bake for 6 to 9 minutes.

  While the cookies are baking, stir the powdered sugar and milk together until smooth. Add in the corn syrup and vanilla, using a beater, until the icing is smooth and has a glossy look.

  Once the cookies are finished, allow them to cool for a minute then brush on your icing. Serve with your favorite beverage.

  Chapter Seven

  Holly Burke lived in Larsonburg, only a block away from Olivia’s house. So Priscilla dropped Anna off in front of the Baker’s residence, glad to see that she had beaten Jamie there. It wouldn’t do to ruin the ruse by dropping Anna off in the company van.

  Priscilla drove past the house twice before realizing her mistake. The houses all looked the same. Larson hadn’t really been going for aesthetics when he’d built the low-income neighborhood so many years before. The houses here all had off-white siding, brown shutters over the windows, and slate-gray roof tiles. The only thing that differentiated one house from another was the occasional wreath on the door, or a flag flying from the porch.

  Holly Burke’s house looked plainer than all the others on the block. No effort had been made to personalize the outside of the place. The lawn hadn’t been raked free of dead leaves, and the tree in the backyard was so overgrown it was looming over the roof, scraping the tiles with every gust of wind. Maybe she could convince someone to prune it for Mrs. Burke. The last thing she needed was an expensive roof repair on top of the loss she’d already suffered.

  Priscilla parked on the street rather than blocking the narrow driveway. The cookies, chocolate chunk and sugar alike, had perfumed the interior of her car. She’d had to repeatedly remind Anna not to eat the apology cookies.

  Priscilla gathered the saran-wrapped plate into her arms as well as the thermos full of hot chocolate that Rebecca Brown had offered to go along with the cookies. She had to close the van door with her foot carefully. If she kicked it too hard she could easily dent the frame, and she doubted the insurance company would take “I overestimated my strength” as an excuse to pay out on the repairs.

  She made her way up to the door, trying not to trip over the uneven paving stones that passed for a sidewalk. Tucking the thermos into the crook of her elbow, she rang the doorbell.

  At first, nothing happened. No one called out or shuffled quickly toward the door. Priscilla waited patiently for five minutes before she ran the bell again. There was a small black Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway. Someone had to be home, and it wasn’t a completely unreasonable hour.

  This time Priscilla heard footsteps from inside the house, angrily slapping against the hardwood. A minute later, the door swung open. The woman didn’t push open the screen door, instead glaring at Priscilla through the thin metal mesh.

  “What?” Holly Burke demanded.

  Priscilla was rather taken aback by the young woman’s tone. She’d dealt with her fair share of hostility over the years, but it usually came from disgruntled customers, Arthur, or a suspect during a murder investigation. She’d never had someone react this badly to her presence unprovoked.

  “Hello,” Priscilla said as pleasantly as she could manage. “My name is—”

  “Priscilla Pratt, I know,” the woman finished flatly. “My late husband started getting sugar cookies from your shop every day after you opened up during daylight hours.

  Had he? Priscilla hadn’t been aware. Names tended to blur together when she checked receipts at the end of the month, and the day shift was a relatively new phenomenon. She tried not to let her surprise show.

  “I came by to give you this, Mrs. Burke,” Priscilla said, holding up the plate of cookies. “And Mrs. Brown, of Brown’s Bed and Breakfast, wanted me to give you this.” She shook the thermos for emphasis.

  Holly regarded her with a scowl. Priscilla was beginning to feel a bit anxious. What had she done to offend this woman? What could she possibly do to fix it?

  “May I come in?” Priscilla asked, forcing a smile. “I promise not to impose on you for long.”

  Holly continued to give her a bleak stare. Priscilla hadn’t noticed how dark the woman’s eyes were until she was forced to hold her gaze. The brown was perilously close to black, and it was hard to tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. Her dark hair hung lank and unwashed around her face, and he skin was sallow. Priscilla hadn’t seen someone so forbidding in some time. The woman looked like a hollowed-out husk. Not that it was surprising, considering what she’d lost.

  “You can come in once,” Holly said finally, propping open the screen door. “This isn’t a free-for-all. Once you’re done here, consider your invitation revoked.”

  Priscilla nodded and stepped into the hall. The house was dark. “You know a little something about vampires,” she noted. “Most people don’t know they can limit visitation. They just give their consent carte blanche.”

  “Most people are idiots,” Holly muttered.

  Priscilla wished she could honestly say that this was the first time she’d encountered that sentiment. Until Priscilla had begun working closely with Arthur on murder investigations, he’d felt similarly about vampires as well. Priscilla knew only too well that the mistrust was warranted at times. A hungry vampire was a predator, like it or not.

  Priscilla could forget that herself, at times. In this civilized age, when blood could be bought or donated by a friend, it was easy to forget that she was not, in fact, a normal person. She’d had a stark reminder of what she was just last month, when a murderous hit man had drained Priscilla of nearly half her blood supply. If it hadn’t been for the timely intervention of someone else, she might very well have killed or maimed Anna in the haze of bloodlust.

  She was lost in her own thoughts as she followed Holly into the house. It took her a few moments to realize that the house smelled terrible. There was a sickening scent in the air that Priscilla could not identify. She was sure she’d never smelled anything like it in her life. She traded comparisons in her mind, trying to see what came closest. Garbage? No, garbage usually smelled of rot. That also ruled out a dead animal beneath the house.

  Priscilla held her breath, trying to be inconspicuous about it. It wouldn’t be a lasting measure to ward off the smell, but perhaps it could buy her time to get used to it. Vampires, like humans, could eventually ignore odors if exposed to them for long enough. It would depend on how talkative Holly Burke was willing to be. Priscilla would still have to breathe in order to speak to her. It was no longer a biological imperative to take in oxygen, but it was absolutely essential for speech.

  The living room was the same size as Olivia’s, but somehow looked larger. Perhaps it was because furniture was spare in the room. Perhaps it was because there were no toys, backpacks, or games lying around to be tripped over in this house.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have any family over,” Priscilla mused. “Most families tend to band together during a crisis, no matter the distance.”

  “My family is dead,” Holly said dully.

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry.” It was all Priscilla could think to say.

  Holly sat down on her small, mustard-yellow couch and sneered at Priscilla. “No, you’re not. You don’t know me and you don’t really care about me. So spare me the useless platitudes and your fake empathy.”

  “I’m not faking anything,” Priscilla said, getting a little irritated with the antagonistic young woman, in spite of herself. “I wanted to make sure you were doing well. If you like, I can leave. You didn’t have to let me in.”

  “You’ve never even met me,” she pointed out. “Why should you care what happens to me now?”

  “It’s always a tragedy when someone dies. Especially someone so young and loved.”

  Holly’s sneer became more pronounced. “You’re such a humanitarian. Tell me, if you’d found my husband in your shop minutes before and could have saved him with your blood, would you?”

  Priscilla balked at the question. She’d never had the question posed to her quite that way before. She’d been asked why she had no children. Vampires over a hundred years old tended to have made at least one companion for themselves. Her own sire had changed three different women, including her, by the time he was sixty.

  But she’d never had anyone ask if she’d change someone to save their lives. She’d only considered that possibility once, after Emily’s death. It had been part of her grieving process, coming to grips, once again, with the fact that her friends were mortal and could die easily.

  “I …” Priscilla began, unsure of exactly what to say.

  Holly shook her head in disgust. “That’s the thing with you vamps, isn’t it? You’ve got all that power to save people, but you never do it. You’re all selfish. Who needs a vampire baker? A vampire librarian? I never see vampire paramedics, doctors, or police. At least if you were in one of those professions, you’d be doing something useful.”

  Priscilla was tongue-tied. She couldn’t think of a response that didn’t sound like a flimsy excuse. She could at least understand why it was a bad idea to put hungry vampires in the back of an ambulance with a bleeding human. But why didn’t more vampires go into life-saving or dangerous professions? She couldn’t think of an answer. Priscilla had only chosen to become a baker because it was one of the few marketable skills she possessed, even after three centuries of living. Growing up as a Puritan hadn’t given her aspirations of greatness. Working outside the home had been scandalous enough when she was young. She’d never had a dream to be anything more than she was.