Blood Will Tell (28 page)

“You're no materialist. But I can't let you do all the giving, Brandy."

She laughed at the absurdity of that statement. “You're the one who gives all the time,” she said. “I feel so guilty that you're willing to work our time together in around my job."

“Guilty enough to give up the job?"

“No."

“Then I'll live with it. Now come and have a glass of wine and relax until the roast is done."

It wasn't “done” at all, by the standards Brandy had grown up with. Dan had prepared a small standing rib roast, very rare in the middle, but he gave her the brown end cut, just nicely pink on the inside. She now understood his taste for extremely rare meat, and said nothing.

However, she couldn't help mentioning, “We can't afford to eat like this every day."

“This is a special occasion—and you need red meat today, Brandy. Would you rather I had made liver?"

“Ugh!” she replied, wrinkling her nose.

It got the expected chuckle. Under Dan's spell, Brandy enjoyed the luxury of good food and pleasant conversation, followed by a contented cuddle on the couch while they ostensibly watched television but actually Brandy, at least, took a nap. When she woke, it was only 9:00pm. Dan unbraided her hair, combing it with his fingers.

Her love for him came tumbling over her, and she snuggled against his warmth, not wanting to move. But she could sense that he wanted to. “Let's go to bed."

They went upstairs and made love. It was better than last night. Exulting in the afterglow, Brandy wondered how long it could keep getting better.

It was not until the next day, when she met Dan for lunch, that Brandy once more broached the topic of vampires in Callahan County. They drove through Kentucky Fried Chicken, and sat in the car to eat Hot Wings. “Can one vampire control another?” Brandy asked.

“By influence, you mean? I don't know. I've never tried."

“What about vampire families?"

“Families?"

“So the gene is rare—if both parents have to carry it for a child to be a vampire, then there's the chance that other children in that family would also be vampires."

“My brother wasn't. I've never encountered any related vampires. The Andersons were married, not blood-related, and I didn't know about them until they were dead. Did they have any children, Brandy?"

Good question. “Wow. Not in their identities as Chase and Jenny Anderson, but who knows how old they really were? I have to develop a whole different line of thinking. I'll backtrack them and see what I can find. But to get back to families: people used to routinely have ten, twelve children. Where you find one vampire, wouldn't you expect the same parents to produce more? In a subsistence-level society, where few children lived to adulthood, wouldn't the vampires be most likely to survive?"

“I don't know,” Dan said. She could feel his frustration. “There is a total absence of scientific research.” He gave her a sad smile. “When you live even as long as I have, you develop patience. Imagine what a couple of centuries will do. I really do intend to take up biology and genetics the next time I have to change identities—but you want answers now."

“Yes—because it affects you, Dan. We know a vampire was able to influence the Andersons so they never reacted when their brains were blown out. Can any vampire do that to another if the victim doesn't have his guard up?"

“That's possible."

“But you don't know it."

“Legends of ‘master vampires’ who control others may come from such events. The old myth says one vampire creates another, after which he controls the new one, either until the master vampire is destroyed or until the new one learns to control his own powers. Take away the misinformation, and it would make sense that an older, more experienced vampire could take advantage of a younger one. Or a more cunning, cleverer vampire could manipulate a more naive or less intelligent one, no matter which is older."

Brandy nodded. “So, we don't have to assume that the Andersons were overpowered by a larger number of vampires. They were never more than petty criminals. I don't think they were very smart. A single vampire more cunning than they were might have controlled them."

“That seems to be a viable hypothesis."

“Thank you, Professor,” she teased him. “You were with me when it happened, so you are not the erudite vampire we're looking for. At the same time, we can assume your intelligence gives you some protection from him."

“Or her,” Dan added.

“So, does this other vampire know you're one?"

“I don't know. The things I use to keep everyone else from guessing my secret—the mirrored wall, the crucifix, the first date at an Italian restaurant—wouldn't fool another vampire.” Then he became very serious. “Brandy, I honestly don't know what's going on, and it worries me."

“It worries me, too. I don't like wondering if some combination of Dracula and Van Helsing is out to get you!"

“Usually knowledge is power, but a little knowledge is a dangerous thing."

“That's ‘learning,'” she corrected automatically.

“Do you have an eidetic memory?” he asked.

“No, but a pretty accurate one, and trained for police work. Dan, do you know how to use a gun?"

“No, and it wouldn't do much good against another vampire. I'm going to have to rely on my intelligence and hope that what's going on has nothing to do with me."

“Such as what?"

“Such as a crime ring made up of vampires,” he replied. “Think about it: strength, invulnerability, hypnotic powers, the ability to see in the dark. The Vampire Mob. I think I'll write a book!"

“And show your fangs on the Tonight Show,” Brandy commented. “But seriously, that's a great idea. If you're a crime boss, I mean. Dan, have you ever taken drugs?"

He blinked. “That one came out of left field! Yes, I tried pot in the 60's with everyone else, and I did inhale. It had no effect. I've never tried anything stronger."

“There's another advantage to a ring of vampires: you don't have to worry about them getting hooked on drugs. Can a vampire become an alcoholic?"

“I've never been drunk,” he said, “though I've pretended to be. Won a few bets in college drinking some of the frat men under the table."

“See? Vampires make almost perfect criminals, and you don't have to worry about losing them to the two major addictions. Suppose there's a crime ring made up of vampires, selling drugs, stealing cars, the whole business? That explains so many in the same locale. The Andersons got carried away—or maybe they simply got careless, and had to be disposed of."

“They must have become dangerous to the ring or they'd just have been broken out of that police car, not murdered."

“You're thinking like a cop now,” Brandy approved. “Anyway, if we're right, you're not involved. Stay out of it, Dan. Whoever is running things here has no compunction about killing vampires—and knows how to do it."

Chapter Twelve—Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving morning gave Brandy the luxury of not going to work. Dan got up very early on school days. Except immediately after he fed, he needed only three or four hours of sleep. Monday through Wednesday she had risen to coffee already hot, and her fiancé working in his office until he heard her clock radio. The weather had returned to cold rain, so Dan made oatmeal, insisting that Brandy needed to start her day with something warm inside her.

She stifled an off-color suggestion as to what.

But on Thanksgiving morning they could stay in bed and make love. Later, Brandy insisted on exhibiting her culinary skills. She did know how to make an excellent fluffy omelet, and she had croissants to warm, with strawberry jam her mother had put up last summer.

Alone, Brandy had often taken toast, pop-tarts, or corn flakes back to bed with a cup of coffee, a magazine, or the Sunday paper. Now she had someone worth putting on the black lace nightgown and peignoir she had been saving, if just for the pleasure of letting Dan take it off her.

They giggled and sighed the morning away, and too soon it was time to join the Joneses for Thanksgiving dinner. Brandy wore her new red dress.

Church and Coreen welcomed them warmly, and Dan presented the children with computer games while Brandy offered the mince pie she had baked. The crust was Kroger's ready-made, but the filling was her mother's famous green tomato mincemeat. Almost every day Brandy discovered something she missed by not having her mother in town.

Jeff's leg was now in a walking cast, the wheelchair abandoned in favor of crutches. Still, the boy had long therapy ahead, and the doctors would not know for months whether he would have a full recovery. His parents made the best of things, praising their son for his courage and progress.

Brandy showed off the diamond ring Dan had insisted on giving her, even though she could only wear it on special occasions.

Bings, pops, and doodle-oodle-oo's soon sounded from the little room where the computer was installed. The sounds were accompanied by laughter as Jeff and Tiffany tried the new games with Dan and Church cheering them on.

Coreen basted the turkey and told Brandy, “Let the big and little children play. You and I will have a nice glass of wine, and you can tell me all your plans."

Brandy was pleased to share her happiness. “With two drivers we can make it to Florida in one day. We'll have Christmas Eve and Christmas with Mom and Harry, and a couple of days for playing tourist before I have to be back."

“Just be careful you don't do too much honeymooning before the honeymoon,” Coreen warned.

“With our schedules? Not likely. Besides, for all his romantic streak, Dan has a very practical side. He wants to work out a budget.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I'm satisfied if my checkbook balances."

“Unglamorous as it sounds, Dan's right,” said Coreen. “If all you do is make sure you don't bounce checks, you'll never save up for important things—like kids. Till you have some, you have no idea how much they cost!"

Even though the house was closed up against the cold, rainy day, Brandy could hear raised voices coming from outside. “Speaking of marriage,” said Coreen disgustedly. She called, “Church! The Williamses are at it again!"

The computer noises paused.

Church came into the living room, muttering, “Dammit, not on Thanksgiving!” too softly for the children to hear the profanity. “I've been over there three times before,” he told Brandy. “Idiot won't press charges—which I guess I can understand."

“Does he have a gun?” asked Brandy.

“No, thank God.” But the shouting grew louder, a female voice screaming obscenities.

Dan joined them, asking, “What's going on?"

The phone rang. Coreen studied the ceiling for a moment before answering it. “Yes, Mrs. Gordon, we hear it. Yes, my husband will go over and try to calm them down.” She hung up. “Just because Church is a cop—"

“It's all right, Honey,” said Church.

He dug in his pocket for his keys, and unlocked the solid doors of an old oak desk in the hallway. There, out of sight of his children, he kept his gun and badge.

“Can I help?” asked Brandy.

Church eyed her. “Maybe."

As they opened the front door, the voices became even louder. A man's voice pleaded, “But Baby, it don't make no difference. It'll be just as good."

“I told you a tom turkey, and you got a goddamn hen!” the female voice raged, and let loose with another string of invective.

Brandy fought down a grin. “A case of husband abuse?” she asked Church.

“A few weeks ago she hit him with a frying pan. I guess he's too embarrassed to go for help. I've tried talking to him, but he insists his wife is just ‘feisty.’”

Dan followed the two police officers out of the house, joining several other people who had come out to see the excitement. “Stay back,” Brandy warned them all. A crash came from inside the Williams house.

Church banged on the front door. “Police! Open up!"

“Now see what you done!” Mrs. Williams screeched. “Damn you, Bobby Williams, you ain't nothin’ but trouble!"

“I said open up in there!” Church reiterated.

“She may not respond to male persuasion,” said Brandy, stepping forward. Putting on her most professional attitude, she called, “Mrs. Williams! I'm Police Detective Mather. Open the door, please."

“Well—open the goddamn door!” Mrs. Williams ordered.

“Aw, Leola,” her husband whined, but in a moment it opened.

The scene was straight out of a Naked Gun movie. Bobby Williams, the husband, was well over six feet tall and must have weighed 250 lbs. His wife was one of those tiny, scrawny women who probably didn't top 100 soaking wet. She wore a housecoat with lace edges of her slip showing, and her stockinged feet were thrust into worn bedroom slippers. Her hair was lacquered into a puff thirty years out of date, and her eyes were heavily made up with blue shadow. Blusher a shade too dark for her complexion hollowed cheeks that were already too thin, and lip liner ringed her mouth, lipstick chewed off in the center.

Obviously she had dressed up for church that morning, but taken off her good dress and shoes to cook dinner. Retaining the girdle that made her move like Frankenstein's monster suggested that she intended to dress again later in the day. Perhaps they expected company.

Leola Williams held a rolling pin in one hand, and something clutched tightly in the other. “I don't need no police,” she told them. “I k'n handle this damn fool.” She raised the rolling pin to threaten her cringing husband.

“Of course you can, Mrs. Williams,” Brandy said calmly. “But you wouldn't want to hurt your husband by accident. Why don't you just put the—"

“You lookin’ at her?” Mrs. Williams shouted to her husband. “Her in that devil's red dress? Is she what you want, you two-timer?"

“No, Loley,” her husband protested, but it was no use. Leola Williams was determined to hit him, police or no police. Brandy made a grab for the woman's weapon arm while Church dragged her intended victim out of the line of fire.

The frustrated assailant turned her wrath on the interfering police officer. Expecting it, Brandy wrested the rolling pin out of the woman's hand.