Blood in the Batter Read online

  Emily Ann Sharp

  Wife, mother, and gentle soul.

  You will be sorely missed.

  “Emily,” Arthur breathed. His face twisted in anguish, and Priscilla fought the desire to wrap an arm around his shoulders. She didn’t think he’d appreciate the touch at the moment.

  Anna glared defiantly at the pair of them. “You are not going to argue over the body of my mother. Talk like civilized human beings and do what she’d want you to do. Solve Aaron Burke’s murder.”

  “Anna,” Arthur began wearily. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is,” she said stubbornly. “Priscilla did what she thought was best to prevent harm. If she’d done it against anybody but you, you’d be praising her for it. Let go of your pride and let her help.”

  Anna’s glare shifted to Priscilla. “And you need to stop being so wounded. He wasn’t trying to insinuate that Maddison was a killer because she’s a vampire. She was found half on top of a dying man and she was starving. Don’t attribute to malice what can be explained by logic, Priscilla. Dad’s doing the best he can.”

  Priscilla bit her lip and stared down at the headstone. It had been so long since she’d stood by her friend’s gravestone. She and Arthur had not been on good terms before Emily’s death, and it had only gotten worse after she’d passed. Arthur had forbidden her from attending the graveside service, and since the visitation had been held inside the church, Priscilla had lost any opportunity to say goodbye to her friend. She’d avoided visiting for some time, just in case Arthur spotted her and made her life more difficult.

  Priscilla’s eyes pricked, but she couldn’t cry. Only human blood fresh from the vein could allow her to have that physical reaction. Parliament didn’t dictate how and when a vampire could feed, just as long as the feeding didn’t hurt or kill someone. Still, the generally accepted view was that vampires ought to buy expired blood from humans. It killed two birds with one stone. Vampires ate, and it removed the waste of unused blood.

  It was at times like these that Priscilla wished she was still feeding properly. She wanted to cry. She still missed Emily so much. Emily would have known just what to say to appease them both. It was hard to believe it had been almost a year and a half since she’d passed. The brain aneurysm that had killed her had come with almost no warning, and Priscilla regretted that she hadn’t been able to stop it in time. She wasn’t sure if Emily would have enjoyed life as a vampire, but it was better than death, wasn’t it?

  She kept her grief to herself mostly, indulging it in quiet moments so she wouldn’t distress Anna. She didn’t want to divert a single ounce of the comfort and care needed to deal with the death from Anna or her father.

  Arthur cleared his throat, and it sounded like he, too, was trying not to cry. “You’re just like your mother,” he told Anna gruffly. “She’d have pulled a stunt like this.”

  “Dad,” Anna began warningly. Priscilla glanced up, hoping they weren’t about to fight. She wouldn’t disrespect the grave like that. If her presence was the cause of conflict, she’d leave.

  Arthur held up a hand and cut her off. “You’re right. Priscilla was … hasty. But she had her heart in the right place.”

  “I’m sorry, Arthur,” Priscilla whispered. “I overreacted. I should have—”

  “No. You did good, Priscilla. I was overstepping my bounds. And I … I guess I let my fear get in the way of things. That was the bloodiest crime scene I’ve seen yet. You know I haven’t seen blood like that since a motorcyclist got smeared on the highway last year? This stuff isn’t supposed to happen here. And the way she was looking at all that blood …”

  “She’s starving,” Priscilla said. “Olivia is the only one working or giving blood at the moment. Resources are scarce. She needs help.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Arthur said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “A little birdie told me.”

  He glanced sideways at his daughter. Priscilla blinked in surprise. Anna knew about Maddison’s predicament? When had she been told? Priscilla shook her head with a small smile. Well, it appeared she’d always be the last to know these things.

  “What are we going to do about it?” Priscilla asked. “We can’t very well let her starve.”

  “We’ll think of a solution,” Arthur said. “For now, I need you to tell me what you know about this case. What did you get out of Holly Burke?”

  Priscilla frowned. “Not as much as I’d like. You should go visit her. She’ll probably react better. She doesn’t appear to like vampires at all.”

  “Bigot,” Anna muttered.

  “Not exactly,” Priscilla said. “Vampires aren’t sad little victims, Anna, no matter how the news likes to paint the vampire rights movement. Yes, it’s horrible when vampires are attacked on the basis of their species, but it’s not without merit. There’s plenty of vampire-on-human violence going on too.”

  “That doesn’t mean she gets to paint all vampires with the same brush,” Anna said. “It’s discriminatory.”

  “I think I can give her a pass on this one,” Priscilla said with a shrug. “Her husband was killed, and one of the main suspects in his murder is a vampire child. I’d be a tad resentful if I were in her place.”

  “Still not right,” Anna said with a sniff.

  “What can you tell me then?” Arthur said.

  “Well, I was going to see if you had found a pair of glasses at the scene. In his photos, he’s wearing a pair of Ray-Bans, and I didn’t see any on him when he was being carried out of my shop.”

  Arthur pulled a small notepad out of his breast pocket and wrote that down. “We only found a few personal items on him. A wallet, a Swiss Army knife, and an old movie ticket. There were no glasses.”

  “So maybe the killer took them,” Anna piped up cheerfully. “It’s a clue, at least.”

  “Anything else?” Arthur said. “Did anything stand out to you?”

  “She’s very angry,” Priscilla said. “I expected more tears, but she was mostly fuming the whole time. She blames Simon Grant. He denied Aaron a raise three times. They were trying to save up to adopt a baby, because Holly couldn’t have one.”

  Arthur wrote that down as well. “What do you think? Could Grant be the culprit?”

  “I can’t say. The gash on his forearm is more than a little suspicious. It’s too much of a coincidence that the killer left behind his or her blood on a piece of glass and Grant just happens to have a cut that deep right now. I think it’s definitely worth looking into.”

  Arthur nodded. “Is that all? Really think, Priscilla. Anything could help.”

  “She was upset with Luna Sheppard,” Priscilla remembered after a moment’s consideration. “I tried to suggest Luna as a maid, in case she needed help around the house for a while. Holly doesn’t have any family left, and I thought that maybe she’d be willing to hire someone to do the hard work and babysit the kid.”

  “Upset with her?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. “As in?”

  “As in, furious with,” Priscilla said. “My presence irritated her, but just mentioning Luna’s name got me yelled at.”

  “Interesting.” Arthur practically hummed as he wrote down the name. “It could be something to follow up on. Luna Sheppard was married to Aaron at one time, you know. I bet there’s bad blood.”

  “What?” Priscilla blurted. “They were married? I thought Luna’s husband just left.”

  “Cameron was her second husband,” Anna said. “Luna got married right out of high school. The relationship was over after about two years. They fought constantly. Dad got called to their house a lot because of the noise complaints. Not that Mom and Dad wanted me to know that. But I eavesdropped a lot.”

  “Do you know what they fought about?”

  “What do most couples fight about?” Arthur asked. “Almost every time it was about money, and the fact they didn’t have enough of it. She eventually gave him an ultimatum. Find a different job, or she was leaving. You know what happene
d after that, I suppose.”

  Priscilla rocked back on her heels, absorbing all the new information. “Does this mean that Luna is a suspect now?”

  Arthur tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility. We’ll follow up on these leads tomorrow. I’ll send Jack over to talk to Holly in the morning. He’s better with grieving families than almost anyone else. He’ll be able to press her for more than you could.”

  “What about me?” Priscilla asked. “Does this mean I’m back on the case?”

  “On a temporary and limited basis,” Arthur said. “I still don’t want you too involved. You’re close to this case, Priscilla. It happened in your shop, and one of your employees was a person of interest. Even if it turns out to have nothing to do with you, I want the case to be as clear-cut as it possibly can be. That means avoiding any appearance of bias or favoritism. I’ll send you in to talk to Luna Sheppard with Jamie soon, but I want you to sit there and look sweet with a plateful of cookies. No hero business, you understand?”

  “I understand, sir,” Priscilla said.

  Arthur sighed and glanced down at his late wife’s grave. Anna took his hand and squeezed.

  “Mom would be so proud of you two,” Anna said, sniffling a little. “It would have made her so happy to see you two getting along.”

  “I think she might still be happy,” Priscilla said. “At least, I hope that’s true. Maybe she’s looking down on us with a smile.”

  Arthur gave a watery chuckle. “Or a sigh of exasperation. It took us long enough to work something out, didn’t it?”

  Priscilla stepped closer and took Anna’s other hand. She leaned her head on Anna’s shoulders, wishing she could cry. Bearing witness to Anna’s tears would have to be enough for now.

  It took ten minutes for everyone to be cried out. Then they began the slow journey through the cemetery back to the street and their vehicles.

  “Come home with us,” Arthur said when she reached into her pockets for the van keys.

  “I have a room at the bed and breakfast.”

  “And the Browns have three kids. Do you think they’ll appreciate you turning in at one in the morning? Come with us.”

  She didn’t argue. Stuffing her keys back into her pocket, she followed Arthur. It wasn’t how she’d expected the night to end, but it had been a better one than she’d hoped for. Things were mending between her and Arthur. The weight of his antagonism was gone from her shoulders and she felt lighter than air.

  There had been a victory tonight after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Priscilla nearly bit the hand that tried to prod her awake. It was dawn. Whoever was trying to wake her should have known better.

  “Hey, don’t snap at me.” Avalon’s voice was an added irritant and she bared her teeth just on principle. She opened her eyes blearily and glared at her Godmother.

  “This had better be good, Godmother, or I’m going to eat you.”

  “So dramatic,” Avalon sighed. “I came to talk to you about Simon Grant.”

  “And?”

  “All dentists are sadists, I swear,” Avalon said, shuddering in the seat across from Priscilla’s bed.

  She wasn’t completely sure how Ava always managed to track her down. Maybe it was the curse that made her able to find Priscilla at the most inconvenient times. Maybe it was a spell. Or it could be dumb luck. Whatever it was, Priscilla didn’t like it.

  “Ava, it’s seven in the morning,” Priscilla groaned, slapping one of the Brown’s fluffy down pillows over her face. If her internal chronometer was right, and it probably was—vampires had a funny way of telling time—then the sun had already been up for about a half an hour and she should be dead to the world. Instead, she was trying not to throw something at the annoying faerie at the end of her bed.

  “Yes, but I have to be at that odious little man’s office in another hour and a half, and I have a lot to tell you before I go. Now sit up.”

  One of these days she was going to be able to sleep through the day without any crises happening. But today was not that day.

  With a groan, Priscilla lifted herself into a sitting position and glared blearily at Ava. “What is it? What’s so important that you had to wake me at the crack of dawn?”

  “Grant is stealing from his customers.”

  Priscilla sat up straighter, adrenaline chasing away the early morning cobwebs. “Stealing? What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you picked up a dictionary recently? I know Webster published in 1806 but for you to be ignorant of speech in the twenty-first century—”

  “I know what stealing means, Godmother,” Priscilla snapped. “What do you mean Grant is stealing from his customers? Do you have proof?”

  Ava squirmed. “Well, not as such just yet. But trust me, Priscilla, I know corporate crime when I see it. A few of my old boyfriends were quite adept at embezzling.”

  “I pity you your taste in men,” Priscilla said, throwing off the cover. She might as well embrace the fact that she was up. This was becoming an irritating habit. She’d been up during daylight more in the last year than she had been during the three-hundred and fifty-three before it. Hopefully the murder problem in Bellmare would go down enough that she’d soon be able to go for another year without seeing the sun in its full, terrible glory.

  Avalon sniffed, though Priscilla knew she wasn’t really all that offended. If she had been, Priscilla would have found herself as a frog or maybe a snail. Ava’s preferred form of punishment was to turn her opponent into an animal, though it rarely came out the way she hoped.

  Priscilla swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her bones creaked as she stretched. She had to squint through the flood of morning sunlight to find the dresser where she’d stashed her new purchases. She wouldn’t have access to her regular clothes until Arthur told her the scene was clear.

  “Not jeans,” Ava groaned as she pulled out a pair. “Why do you always wear men’s clothing, dear?”

  “Trousers have been a perfectly acceptable form of dress for women for decades now, Ava. And you accuse me of not being with the times, honestly.”

  “They cover everything. How are you ever going to attract a man dressing like that?” Avalon let out a huff of frustration. “And where did you get that shirt? Out of a dumpster? It’s completely shapeless.”

  Priscilla pulled the pale pink shirt over her head. It was a little large for her, but nothing like the uniform she’d been wearing at Olivia’s. She’d gotten this one at a thrift shop outside of town, and the previous owner had been much better endowed.

  “Explain yourself or get out, Ava. How do you know Simon Grant is stealing from his clients?”

  “Because the paperwork doesn’t match up,” Ava said, watching her don the ratty jeans with clear disapproval. “And I’m not talking about minor human error. Like I said. We fae are good at counting things. It’s an obsession for some of us. So when I noticed the taxes he filed didn’t match up with his profits, I did a little digging.”

  “And?”

  “And there’s supposed to be an industry standard for what he can charge someone for certain procedures. He’s overcharging, then stashing away the money. It’s clear embezzlement.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Well … I don’t have any evidence on me right now. I didn’t exactly have long to look. When he’s not working, he’s staring at me. What a creepy little human.”

  Priscilla frowned. “I can’t go to Arthur with this until there’s some evidence. He can’t raid a place without probable cause. Can you get pictures?”

  Ava tapped her chin, seeming to ponder that. “I can but I won’t.”

  “Why not?” Priscilla snapped. “You were eager enough to wake me this morning. Where’s this reluctance coming from now?”

  “I want him to keep his promise. A date, or no naughty photos for Arthur.”

  Priscilla fought the urge to roll her eyes at the ter
rible innuendo. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled you’re blackmailing him into a date.”

  “Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I’ve been single for almost a month now, Priscilla. It just isn’t natural to have a dry spell this long.”

  Priscilla smiled wanly. She’d had a centuries-long dry spell. If she told her godmother exactly how little male attention she’d been receiving in the last three hundred years or so, she was sure the fae would go into a dead faint. She resisted the urge to inform her by searching for her socks and shoes. She found them, pulled them on, and set about putting her hair up. It needed to be combed, but she felt too sluggish to go rifling through her bag to find a comb.

  “I’ll be sure to let him know,” she said, gathering her purse up from the floor.

  “Where are you going?” Avalon spluttered. “I wasn’t done talking to you.”

  “I’m going shopping. You’re welcome to tag along, if you’d like to miss work?”

  “Where are you going?” Ava asked eagerly. “A mall? A boutique? Oh please tell me there’s somewhere you can get couture clothing around here.”

  “I’m going to Landry’s,” she said.

  “The grocery store? Why?”

  Because she’d made a promise to herself regarding the visit with Luna Sheppard. She’d arrive at her door with a full complement of groceries, and she wasn’t leaving until some of it had been consumed.

  She’d be damned if she’d let anyone go hungry because of their pride.

  Jack Riggs was the man in charge when she arrived at the precinct at half past eight.

  Since beginning to work with her, Arthur had adopted more of a nocturnal schedule than any of the other members of Bellmare PD. The power structure within the department had shifted accordingly. Jack, who’d been the main man on duty most evenings, now worked the day shift instead. That made his wife incredibly happy, but it seemed like Jack was having as hard a time adjusting to daylight as Priscilla.

  He was nursing a cup of coffee at his desk when she came in. He was scruffy and unshaven, though saved from looking completely unprofessional by the studious efforts of Mrs. Riggs, who ironed and starched his clothes with detail that a professional dry cleaner would have been proud of. Dark, bruise-like circles were forming under his eyes, but he smiled when he saw her nonetheless.