Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) (8 page)

The old caretaker wobbled bowl-legged, dragging his battered workman’s boots. He lingered in the courtyard long enough to touch the statue of Saint Francis and gaze at it with sorrow-filled eyes.

The guys were too busy grave digging to hear us approach. We picked our way among the open holes and slick fallen leaves.

Roger was on his knees leaning into a pit with his hands on a dead monk. He pulled back with a start like a kid caught in the cookie jar. I told him not to touch any dead bodies; but does he ever listen to me?

Bram tilted his head as we approached. Team Lout exchanged a whisper.

Did they recognize Renfield? Was I bringing them a humble caretaker or a mass murderer?

Renfield dropped to his knees in front of Bram. “Father forgive me!” he said.

The priest shot me a questioning look and then watched the little man clamber to his feet. “How have you sinned, my son?” The term didn’t fit their age difference but what the heck?

“This,” Renfield said moving his hand in a wave over the open graves.

“You took all these lives?” Bram said.

“No! We staked them and left the graves open.”

“They were bloodless when you found them?” Bram asked.

“White as a ghost they were. Except for Brother Edward.”

Kit passed the
Book of Names
to Father Bram who passed it to John.

“Look up Edward’s name,” Bram said.

Roger edged toward me. He placed his hand under my arm for support. Kit stood next to me. I could tell by his body language he was ready to jump between Renfield and me.

“Why did you leave the graves open? Wouldn’t the sunlight fry the bodies?” I asked.

Renfield waved his hand at the shady trees. “No sunlight can come through this canopy. The open graves were our way of signaling for help. We thought the Vatican would send help if they knew what had happened. We have no way to contact them except the local gossip.”

“But you staked them?” I asked, recalling enough of my vampire lore to know staking was supposed to be used on real vampires to trap them in their coffins.

“If they didn’t drink any vampire blood and transform, why stake them? And who’s
we
?”

The gnome ignored my questions.

“Where’s Brother Edward?” Renfield scanned the graves, his eyeballs bouncing, his mouth as taught as a wire cutting across his face.

“He’s in the tent.” I bobbed my head toward the tent.

The body-table was bare.

“He’s gone!” Bram said.

“And he’s bloody,” Roger said with a shiver.

“He did have blood on his lips, but his body was only down a pint. That’s why I culled him from the others,” Bram said, a mystified expression on his face.

Renfield grabbed at his belt freeing his gardening knife. “Edward must be staked! He is very dangerous!”

John held the
Book of Names
open for Bram to see. “Here’s Edward’s name and his birthdate.”

Bram read aloud from the page. “Edward Bella. According to this he’s twenty-five.”

“Did you take his body?” Roger spun the little guy causing Renfield’s knees to buckle. He fell to the ground sobbing, which led to a hacking cough. His face took on the appearance of a wet walnut.

“We did not take him and we did not stake him. He is the Comet’s dribble.”

Renfield cast a frantic glance about the graveyard. “We were about to stake him when his eyes opened. He moved so quickly, he was gone like
that
!” He tried to snap his fingers but his hands shook. The snap failed.

“The Comet dribbles?” I said.

“Every thirty years the Lugosi Comet passes over Loutish. It dribbles enough of its own blood to give birth to one new vampire. Edward is the dribble from this passing.”

Ick! Drool was not exactly the same thing as being bitten by sexy Frank Langella. Why didn’t Edward stay in the kitchen? Now we’d have to behead him and wad his neck with garlic. This would be worse than stuffing a Thanksgiving turkey. Gross.

“You said Edward was a nymphomaniac? So he’s not an innocent?” I asked.

“That depends on your interpretation of
innocent
. Edward came to the monastery to cleanse his desires. Accidents happen. A deviant may be dribbled by mistake.”

“How do you know so much about the Lugosi Comet?”

Renfield shook his head, reluctant to speak.

Bram put his hand on the little man’s shoulder. “You must tell us.”

“I am a life-long student and follower of Lee Christopher who first discovered the Lugosi Comet.”

Bump! Bump! Who was playing that music? I looked around but saw no orchestra.

Sitting in a puddle on the ground, Renfield gazed at the tombstones. “The spirals were useless. The poor brothers had no defense.”

My right eyebrow shot up. “What do the spirals have to do with this carnage?”

“The monks believed the spirals would repel the Comet.”

Roger caught my super-superior-highly-raised-right-eyebrow. Flower holders indeed. I was right, sort of.

“You keep saying
we
. Who are
we
?”

Renfield slammed his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean we.”

Bram stood to his full priestly height and looked down at the caretaker. “You must tell us now. Who helped you stake the brothers? You could not have done this alone.”

Renfield bowed his head. “Mina. The housekeeper.” He looked up; his eyes twin pools of panic. “Please don’t hurt her!”

Roger helped Renfield to his feet. “Why would we hurt her?”

“Mina because… well…”

“Just the two of you did this?” I looked out over forty open graves some with stakes visible even at a distance.

Roger leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Mina must be one powerful
dame
to have done this.”

“No shit. I mean no poop.”

Bram wore a drugged expression. Was he in a Transylvania trance? I couldn’t see any bites on his neck.

“We must question this Mina. Where is she?” I asked.

“I can question her,” Roger said.

“I can do it better. I’m the gentle one.”

Renfield looked like he was about to bolt.

“Grab him!” I said to Kit and Roger.

They lifted the caretaker off his feet just as he propelled into a roadrunner skit. His legs kept running even after the guys had him in midair.

“Now where is this Mina?” I said trying to sound tougher than I felt.

Renfield looked toward the monastery and then at Father Bram who seemed to be visiting la-la land. “She lives in the cellar under the sleeping rooms.”

Cellar. Great. Rats and mold.

“John and Paul, I’m deputizing you,” I said raising my spatula. “You’re the boss of them.” I pointed to the Louts who appeared to be in a grumbly mood.

Kit lifted his hoe in support of my deputization, and dropped his end of Renfield. The little man dangled from Roger’s arm.

Father Bram remained silent even as I commandeered his postulants.

Our odd party of vampire hunters marched into the courtyard following the bowl-legged caretaker to the monks’ cells.

“What’s in the cellar besides Mina?” I asked worried about getting my face wet with broken pipes or encountering holes in fabric.

“It’s a wine cellar. At one time the monks made wine to support the abbey. This was a common practice with friars since medieval times. Sadly the vines died in the last passing of the Lugosi Comet,” Renfield said. “Wine hasn’t been made here for over thirty years.”

Once again, we trod the uneven ground, the rotten leaves making for slippery footing. I held onto Roger and counted on Kit walking in back to catch me if I tumbled.

The cellar door opened into a rustic alley between the graveyard and the monastery. Perfect for Boris Karloff exits.

We picked our way down grit-slippery stone stairs. I followed Roger keeping my hands on his shoulders for balance. Kit stepped slowly behind me, the hoe in his left hand and his right at my side to catch me if I slipped.

The cellar reminded me of the last scene in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. The room went on forever with wine cask after cask as far as I could see into the darkness. There appeared to be enough wine to satisfy a dozen soccer-team moms for a year.

“Where is she?” I asked.

Renfield moved his hand in a hushing motion. “I’ll call her,” his voice was phlegmy. He cleared his throat.

I stood behind Roger for the sake of my belly. The tip of the spatula handle braced on his right shoulder. Kit edged his body close to my backside. I was expecting the Minotaur based on the hell the woman reeked in the graveyard.

“Mina! Oh Mina!” Renfield called in a singsong voice. “Come outenze!” Definitely a cuckoo clock dude.

I felt a chilly presence and the sound of hiccups, followed by a scratching sound like a trapped rat sneaking behind us. Roger, Kit, and I jumped, clinging to each other.

Bram turned slowly as if he knew who was coming.

Someone stepped out of the shadows.

“Mina!”

A four-foot tall porcelain doll with soft dark eyes, tiny fangs, and a cute black bob, materialized between two of the large wine casks. I made a note to get the name of her hairdresser.

The little vamp’s skin had never seen the Caribbean sun or the Indian Ocean; her complexion was flawless except for a sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of her nose. She wore a strapless dress with a velvet top and lace skirt. I joined Roger and Kit in a sigh, she was that pretty.

Mina shrieked at Bram and ran toward him. Her arms outstretched, her fingers clutching.

Roger launched himself at the little woman. With one hand she sent my fiancé flying into the first row of wine casks. He slammed hard and dropped to the ground, two casks rolled over him, a third landed on his chest.

A barrel tussle ensued. Roger won. He scrambled to stand, leaned his butt against a pile of casks, and went for another roll-off. The score was even, barrels one, Roger one.

Looking like a wax figure from a religious theme park, Bram managed to bite his pale lip.
Don’t bleed.

I licked my chops checking for tooth blood.

Mina had red drips from the corners of her cupid-bow mouth. She barely paused as she continued to advance on Bram. She grabbed him around the waist. It looked to be an attack.

My slow learner of a lover flew at the doll-girl again, evidently not recalling vampires possess supernatural strength.

The little vampire flicked him like a flea. Roger shot passed me, his brown wingtips barely missing my head. Kit caught him like a softball sailing over second base and dropped him to the floor.

Tears soaked the question marks in Bram’s eyes.

Mina held the priest and tipped her head like a little girl dancing with her daddy. “Bram! I missed you soooooo much!”

I couldn’t decipher his expression as it morphed into a kaleidoscope of emotions. He took a step back causing the vampire to release her hold and plop on her butt. She giggled and rolled to her side struggling to right herself. Each time she tried to prop her head on her elbow she missed, and clunked on the ground bursting into contagious laughter.

I caught the sniggers and Kit followed.

Giggle-pooper Roger was behind me. He whispered in my ear, “What the fu… udge?”

Bram took Mina’s hands as she stood. “I remember you,” he said.

She wobbled despite his grip. “Yesh…shs me, Mina.” She giggled and tumbled over again.

“Is she drunk?” Kit asked.

“No drunk. Just drank.” She shot him a sweet red smile and leaned forward falling against Bram.

Renfield wiggled his way between us and ran to her side. She leaned against him accepting his help but arguing. “My Brammy is here. I must hug him.” She glommed on Father Bram.

“Miss Mina was … is … a gypsy vampire,” Renfield said in a soft voice. “She has been weaned from blood to wine. At times she cannot hold her grapes but the effects soon pass.”

Clasping Bram, Mina turned and smiled at the little old man. “Every vampire should have a Renfield. Oy vey, the hangovers before he taught me the cure.”

She gazed up at Bram, love in her dark eyes. “Do you remember me? I was your nanny.”

I watched as recognition lit Bram’s face. “My Mina!”

He held her head to his cassock. I imagined his priestly self-control was being sorely tested as the little vampire pressed her face against his privates and sobbed with joy.

“You saved me from the Lugosi Comet,” he said. “I remember the story if not the exact rescue.”

“You were too young to remember. I carried you into the wine cellar just as the comet passed over.”

Renfield shook his head. “Mina did not make it in time. She threw you to me as I stood in the cellar door, but she sadly fell under the Comet’s dribble.”

The wizened old man looked at her with all the pride of a father. “She has not aged a day since that awful time when she became an undead being. And she has not tasted blood. She only sips the monks’ wine.”

A Tell-Tale Heart thrummed, echoing off the dense stonewalls. It belonged to Roger. He stepped forward and spoke in halting words, “Was the baby in a stroller?”

Hope mixed with fear for Roger. How many babies could have been out and about during the passing of the Lugosi Comet?

I suddenly knew why Bram looked familiar. He was a Jolley by birth.

With a nod of her head, Mina confirmed the wish that hung suspended on hope and prayers.

“My brother!” Roger said reaching for the priest.

Mina turned, facing Roger and protecting Bram with her back. “He’s mine. I saved him and raised him from a baby. I hid him from the monks for six years. I fed him leftovers from their cupboard and never once took his blood, but I could have.”

“I thought the monks knew about you.” I said. I was looking for holes in her story.

“Only Renfield knew at first. He helped us hide for a long time.”

“I was the caretaker of the monastery,” Renfield said. “Only I knew of the tunnels between the abbey and the village and the junction at the Van Helsing. That was how I kept them both at play during the early days. Hide and seek.”

“Hide and seek can get tiresome after a few years, even with the many tunnels under Loutish,” Mina said. “Bram was six when he grew bored with hiding in passageways and making pictures with glued noodles and corks. He wanted to run outside in the grass.”