Page 52 of Dead & Breakfast
Arthur nudged Salvatore. As much as he appreciated Salvatore’s levity, now was not the time to rile the sheriff further. McMartin was surely trying to trip them up, get them to change their story.
But they wouldn’t, because theirs was the truth.
Theodore made an exasperated noise from where he sat at the counter, but he said nothing. He’d arrived before the paramedics and had stayed after to offer the sheriff a comfortable place to get everyone’s statements. But now this was turning into an interrogation. Arthur shot a look at Theodore. What was the point of having a werewolf lawyer on retainer if he didn’t do any lawyering? He hadn’t seen any more than they had, but he could’ve at least vouched for their characters.
Perhaps Arthur was right not to expect much from a werewolf.
The unkind thought sped into his mind and lingered there. It was better than dwelling on Brody Young and his precarious state, or the fact that he could be a murderer who’d tried to frame Arthur and Salvatore.
Each time Arthur blinked, he saw Brody lying there, helpless, so very young, skin too pale. Random details buzzed through Arthur’s thoughts. One of his red-and-white sneakers had been untied. The tips of his fingers on his right hand were stained blue. There had been a paper coffee cup lying near him.
Salvatore touched Arthur’s arm, and with a jolt he realized he’d missed the last few minutes of conversation.
“Can you tell the sheriff where we were this evening, once again?” Salvatore said, voice gentle. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he took in Arthur’s fatigued expression.
Arthur straightened his spine, determined not to let the sheriffbreak him. “Yes, of course,” he said. There was no point in pushing back against McMartin, troublesome though his methods were. This would all get cleared up. “We decided to take a nice walk before dinner. When we came down Main Street—”
“Where’s that ridiculous bike?” McMartin interrupted.
Arthur paused. He, Salvatore, and Theodore had agreed to not mention the fact that they were looking for Brody. It was the sort of thing the sheriff would seize upon as proof they had hurt the boy. But he hadn’t thought to explain why they’d left their tandem bicycle near the barbecue restaurant.
“We planned to pick it up later,” Arthur said.
“After a nice romantic stroll,” Salvatore added. “You know, Arthur may not love animals, but he’s a bit like a dog sometimes—he needs his walkies or he gets cross.”
The sheriff didn’t reward Salvatore’s tangent. “During this walk, you just happened across Brody, unconscious?”
“Yes,” Arthur said. “And we immediately telephoned for help.”
“Very convenient story.” McMartin sat back like he’d just called checkmate, though Arthur couldn’t figure out for the undeath of him how.
“I’m flattered you think us criminal masterminds.” Salvatore leaned forward, closing the space between him and McMartin. “But unlike us, this blame game is getting a little old. Can we go home now? We left our cat alone, and I fear she might be overcome with worry for us and shred our furniture with her mighty claws if we don’t return soon.”
McMartin seemed indifferent to their plight. “Brody Young is seriously hurt. He might not make it to morning. And you people think a cat is more important?” For a moment, real emotion edged into McMartin’s expression, but he pasted smugness over it with alarming ease.
“We’ve already helped Brody as much as we can,” Arthur said. “We aren’t doctors. I wish we’d found him sooner, or seen who hurt him—”
“I know who hurt him.” The sheriff crossed his arms, malice dripping from his words.
“Are they under arrest?” Theodore asked from his perch at the counter.
“Not yet, but you’re both persons of interest in this. Don’t even think about leaving town.”
“We won’t.” Arthur stared the sheriff down. He didn’t want to leave town. That was why he’d gotten so embroiled in this mess. “Trident Falls is our home, you know,” he added in a softer tone.
“Maybe not for much longer,” the sheriff grumbled. “But you can go now.”
Everyone rose from the table, but before Arthur could take so much as a step toward the front door, it burst open. Dr.Young stood framed in the doorway, eyes wild, face red.
“What did you do to him?” Young shouted, the sound echoing off the exposed brick walls of the coffee shop.
His sudden arrival was enough to make everyone, even McMartin, step back.
“Trip.” McMartin recovered quickly. “What are you doing here?”
“Those monsters attacked my son!” Young pointed at Arthur, Salvatore, and even Theodore. “Why aren’t they locked up yet?”
McMartin raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Come on, now, let’s calm down and lower our voices.” He was obviously as skilled at de-escalation as he was at investigating murders.
