Page 62 of Dead & Breakfast
“No,” Arthur said with a smile. “We’re going somewhere better.”
Chapter 17
The McMartin Ranchwas situated a few miles outside town, but after they picked up the tandem bike from outside Trident Slaws, the trip passed quickly. The roads were deserted and a bright gibbous moon hung overhead, lighting their path. If not for the business with the murder and attempted murder, it might have been a very lovely night indeed.
As the neat rows of houses in town fell away to sprawling fields and old-growth woods, the scent of wildflowers hanging in the air, Arthur found himself relaxing. He didn’t mind the hustle and bustle of town, as long as Salvatore was with him, but he much preferred quieter places where nature wasn’t so far away.
Set back from the road was a long structure with a gabled roof and large double doors—horse stables, if the ranch sign was to be believed. Arthur raised his eyebrows as they passed. The building was larger and nicer than most people’s homes.
The McMartin house was massive as well. A towering shadow in the night, it was more of an estate than anything else. The familyhad owned this land for a long time, as Arthur understood, and all the local McMartins lived there.
Salvatore let out a low whistle, looking up at the house as they pedaled up the driveway before coming to a stop. “Reminds me a little of the old days, back in Italy. Have I ever told you the story of the time I dated one of the Medicis just for the architecture?”
“I don’t think so.” Arthur made sure the bike was steady on its kickstand before stepping away. “Perhaps after we’ve talked to McMartin you can regale me.”
“Assuming he even answers the door.”
“What, no tricky workaround to get us inside this time?”
“And incur the wrath of the great McMartin family? No, thank you. I’ve had enough of jail.” Salvatore pulled off his helmet and fluffed his hair around his shoulders.
“Preening for the sheriff?” Arthur whispered as they walked up the front steps.
“Ew.” Sal knocked three times on the door and straightened his shoulders. “But yes—one must always look better than one’s enemies.”
Enough time passed that Arthur began to worry it was indeed too late to come calling on McMartin, but eventually the door opened to reveal an elderly white woman in a robe and slippers, curlers in her wispy gray hair.
“Can I help you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes up at them. She was even shorter than Salvatore.
“We hope so, ma’am,” Arthur said. “We’re here to see Patrick McMartin.”
“Awfully late to visit my grandson.” She continued to scrutinize them. “What’s this about?”
“You might have heard about some recent unpleasant events intown. We’re here to help deduce what happened to Brody Young.” Arthur used his most polite tone. He was normally great with parents and grandparents. “We think your grandson’s input will be instrumental.”
“I should think so, as he’s the sheriff and it’s his job.” She stepped back. “Come on in, but no funny business—no necking.”
“We—we would never—” Arthur sputtered. “Just because we’re vampires—”
“You’re vampires?” Mrs.McMartin stopped in her tracks, adopting an astonished expression of dubious sincerity. “I just assumed if you were calling this late you had some ulterior motive of the boudoir variety.”
“Certainly not!” Arthur began, but Sal laughed.
“I must say, Mrs.McMartin, you’re a delight. Your son isn’t even remotely my cup of tea, but if you’re ever in the market for a nighttime visitor—”
Arthur elbowed him hard in the ribs. Far be it from him to stop Sal from flirting with the occasional senior citizen, but Arthur would be damned if it got in the way of his interrogating the sheriff.
“What? I was only being polite!” Sal clutched his side.
“You’re being petulant, that’s what,” Mrs.McMartin said, but Arthur could’ve sworn she winked as she left them in the grand foyer. “I’ll get Ricky.”
“Did she just call him Ricky?” Arthur whispered.
“I do believe she did.” Salvatore’s grin was wide and full of fangs. “RickyMcMartin. It’s honestly an insult to the entirety of pop music.”
A minute later, the sheriff walked into the foyer, arms crossed. “What are you two doing bothering my granny at this hour?”
“Don’t be rude,” Mrs.McMartin said. “Invite your guests to sit down at least. I’ll bring them some tea.”
