Page 29 of Dead & Breakfast
“It’s my understanding there’s no reason, other than pure bigotry, to suspect Salvatore Conte of having committed any crime.” Theodore glanced at Arthur, then Salvatore, who was for once rendered speechless by something more dramatic than himself going on in his vicinity. “In fact, blunt-force trauma could have been committed by anyone, not just a vampire.”
“Yeah, but the cause of death doesn’t mean anything,” McMartin blustered.
“That’s not for you to decide,” Theodore said. “Now, charge Mr.Conte or release him. Which will it be?”
“The body was completely drained of blood. If that doesn’t scream vampire, what else would?”
Arthur’s racing thoughts hitched, hitting a wall of sorts. “Completely drained of blood?” he repeated.
“That’s right.” The sheriff looked smug.
Theodore looked worried.
Salvatore began to laugh.
“That’s…that’s reasonable grounds.” McMartin shifted his gaze between the three of them, confusion inching its way into his expression. “It’s not bigotry. Just deductive reasoning. Only a vampire could do that.”
“I hate to correct you, Sheriff…” Salvatore paused, considered, then added, “Actually, no, I love that for me.”
“There was no blood in the garden; we would’ve smelled it.” Arthur glanced at his husband to confer.
Salvatore nodded. “And I was famished—there’s no way we would’ve missed it.”
Arthur drew himself up and faced the sheriff once more. “Which means a vampire couldn’t have killed George Roth.”
“How do you figure that?” McMartin scoffed.
“There’s no way a vampire could completely drain a body in one go,” Arthur said, doing his best to suppress a triumphant smile, “and I can prove it.”
Chapter 8
Proof required achange in location. Sheriff McMartin was hardly eager to acquiesce. He grumbled incessantly as he released Salvatore from his cell and handcuffed him, trailing Arthur by only a few paces. He was clearly a man used to giving orders rather than following them. Arthur tried not to take petty delight in causing the sheriff trouble, but he didn’t try too hard.
“The town sure has changed,” Salvatore said as they walked down the street, Theodore following quietly behind.
Arthur had given up reminding Sal his stay in jail had only lasted a few hours, but McMartin did it for him.
“It’s exactly the same,” the sheriff grunted.
But that wasn’t true. Trident Falls was an ever-shifting beast. This late in the afternoon, teenagers who’d not skipped school began to flood the streets. Across the way, outside the coffee shop, Arthur spotted Dr.Young scolding his son with animated gestures. Perhaps he knew about the aforementioned skipping. Evening traffic was picking up as well, stalling McMartin’s insistence that they drive to their destination, though it was only a few blocks away.Arthur suspected McMartin only wanted to both impress and intimidate them with his unnecessary muscle car.
When they got to GrubStop, Salvatore hurried forward.
“Grubs!”
“What is he going on about?” Sheriff McMartin snatched the back of Salvatore’s shirt to stop him from rushing into the store.
Arthur pointed meaningfully at the signage above them, which boasted only five lit-up letters so it readGrubS.
Really, if Sheriff McMartin was this unobservant, maybe Arthur had a chance of out-sleuthing him after all.
“What are we doing here?” The sheriff glared with all the ferocity of a bottle-blond toad.
“If you’ll simply follow me, I’ll show you.” Arthur didn’t bother to match his tone to the politeness of his words. “Or if you’d prefer, I can waste more of your time by explaining what would otherwise be apparent momentarily.”
“You better not be trying to pull anything.”
Arthur hadn’t thought he’d spend the day escorting another vampire, a werewolf, and a sheriff down the baking aisle toward the very limited dairy section of GrubStop, but there he was, passing carefully stacked pyramids of frosting containers. Trident Falls was too small for any of the larger chains, something Salvatore had taken as a personal slight when they’d first moved to town. The GrubStop didn’t carry blood—ethically sourced or otherwise—so aside from purchasing ingredients for the Iris Inn’s rather sparse guest list, Arthur didn’t often have occasion to peruse the grocer’s offerings.
