Page 26 of Dead & Breakfast
“Forgot to wear my watch today.” That was the truth. Arthur never wore it while cooking, and breakfast had been interrupted by finding a dead body, after all.
“Do you really not have a phone?” Lore asked.
“Of course I have a phone. It’s at the front desk of the Iris Inn.”
She covered her laugh with her hand, and Arthur imagined he could hear the playful eye roll in the sound, though he dared not look at her. They weren’t exactly Cold War spies meeting to exchange intel, but it was close enough. Arthur was almost certain acoroner giving out autopsy information for an ongoing case was an ethical gray area at best.
“I think you’ll be interested in my preliminary report,” Lore said, getting down to brass tacks.
Juggling Rumble and the umbrella, much to the cat’s chagrin, Arthur withdrew his notebook and flipped to a new page.
“Cause of death wasn’t exsanguination. The blood loss was postmortem. Blunt-force trauma to the back of his skull killed him.”
“So, it might not have been a vampire at all,” Arthur mused as he jotted her words down in his notebook. “Anyone can hit someone in the back of the head.”
“My thoughts exactly!” Lore kept her voice low, but her leg bounced with energy. “I rushed out as soon as I’d finished the autopsy, but there are some other irregularities I want to look into. Figured you and the sheriff should know that there’s no reason to suspect Salvatore over anyone else at this point.”
Sal might really be innocent, then. Arthur’s shoulders slumped, tension leaving them. He hadn’t realized how stiffly he’d been sitting until that moment. This was huge. It complicated the murder, but any new avenue was one he was eager to follow to its end.
“Thank you,” Arthur said. “I know this is a risk.”
“Don’t mention it. Especially not in court.” Lore laughed at her own joke. “And I have one more piece of good news for you.”
“Oh?” Arthur raised his pencil, ready to write more clues down.
But instead of something very convenient likewe found the footprint of a high-end shoe they only made thirty ofor something similar, Lore continued, “Yeah. I think I know how to get Sal out of jail.”
“Oh…I mean, that’s fantastic news! How?” Arthur exclaimed rather more loudly than he’d intended, but no one except a few nearby birds seemed to notice the sound at all, chirping back to himas though in conversation. Arthur found them endearing instead of overly cheerful as he watched a spring breeze rustle the trees nearby. Anyone might’ve killed the mayor, which meant Sal wasn’t the only suspect. Just one of many. It was going to be a good day.
“Well, I can’t be sure—I don’t know all the rules—but I thought when I arrived at the inn I heard…well, it didn’t seem as though McMartin followed protocol. I don’t recall him reading Sal his Miranda rights before arresting him. Between you, me, and Nora, I think we might be able to make a case to get him freed, with the right lawyer.”
“The right lawyer?” Arthur asked, but as the words left his lips a shadow crossed in front of him and Arthur’s heart sank. He tilted his umbrella up, gaze snagging on worn hiking boots, blue jeans, and an all-too-familiar T-shirt sporting a logo he wouldn’t soon forget.
Theodore Park, owner of the Big Bad Brew. Of all the people Lore might have summoned here, the man standing before him was the second worst, after Sheriff McMartin himself.
“What’s Ted doing here?” Arthur could barely keep the derision from his tone. What Lore was thinking, bringing Theodore into the mix, he couldn’t understand, especially as things were beginning to look up for him.
“Theowas kind enough to offer his help. He’s part of an organization that provides pro bono legal advice to paranormal individuals.”
“Lore texted me about what’s happening with Sal,” Theodore said. “That’s some bad luck.”
Arthur bristled at the familiar way he spoke Sal’s name. “Did she, now?” Arthur turned and shot her a heavy look.
Lore rolled her paint-splatter eyes in response and mouthed,Get over yourself.
“Listen, I want to help if I can. It’s not right what the sheriff’s doing.” Theodore stepped forward, holding out a business card.
Arthur took it and nearly groaned aloud. It read,Theodore Park, Attorney-at-Claw.
This town was going to be the (second) death of him.
Chapter 7
If there wasone thing Arthur could not abide, it was a bad pun. He’d suffered many in the trenches of his marketing job before he’d died, and as eternity stretched out before him, he longed for a future with better wordplay. Salvatore, a pun aficionado, would have loved the werewolf’s business card. In fact, he probably would have hired Theodore on the spot. Attorney-at-claw, indeed.
“What an interesting business card, Ted,” Arthur said, frowning at it. He’d take great pleasure in running it through the paper shredder later.
“I prefer Theo, actually.”
