Page 85 of Dead & Breakfast
“Do you think Theo will be able to get you out of here?” Her voice held a tinge of hopefulness that wasn’t convincing either of them.
“Not this time. There’s evidence. And now I have no more suspects.”
“Does that mean you’ve cleared me and Quinn?” she asked wryly.
“Sorry about all that. I had to exhaust all my options before letting the sheriff take me in.” Arthur rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion suddenly overtaking him. “In truth, Ithoughtit was the sheriff, but he finally showed me his alibi and it’s…solid. So now I’m back to square one.”
“It was a good guess.” Nora frowned. “Although, now that I think about it, I’m not sure the sheriff has the brains to really pull this sort of thing off.”
“That’s what Sal…” Arthur had been about to attribute the thought to his very absent husband when, in fact, it had been only his imagination. “That’s what Sal would say if he were here,” he finished.
“Where is he, by the way?”
Arthur shrugged, the tightness in his throat a harbinger of tears.
“No!” Nora gasped. “He wouldn’t just leave you. I may not have known you for very long, but even I know a devoted husband when I see one.”
“We…had a fight,” Arthur croaked. “He refused to stay; I refused to run away with him. I couldn’t leave without solving the case.”
“Arthur Miller, no relation!” Nora cocked an eyebrow. “You may be stupider than our bumbling sheriff.”
Arthur shook his head. “Staying was the right thing to do. Sal doesn’t care about finding the real scoundrel who did this—he’d rather move on than try to fix this mess. You know, he once shattered a vase that belonged to some duchess or other three hundred years ago and to this day he won’t set foot in Prague.”
“Yes, butyouaren’t in Prague.” Nora cleared her throat, seeming to correctly guess that Arthur wasn’t in the mood to argue the point. “What’s next, then?”
Arthur flopped back down onto the bench. “I suppose I’ll be here until the FPI arrives to take me into their custody.”
“You’re just giving up?” Nora’s voice rose and the deputy finally glanced up from her desk.
Arthur didn’t dare say more with her attention on him, so he angled his body toward Nora and whispered, “I’m afraid I’m not the detective I thought I was.” Saying it aloud was harder than he’d anticipated. It had all seemed so clear, so cut-and-dried, before seeingthe sheriff’s alibi. “We may never know who hurt Brody, especially if it was just a random vampire attack.” It was possible some other vampire with fangs similar to Arthur’s had come through town and happened upon Brody. Possible, though not likely. Truly, Arthur’s luck was terrible.
“Well, I don’t know about all that.” Nora perked up. “That’s what I came to tell you. I spoke with Lore, who spoke to the doctor, and it looks like Brody is showing signs of waking up. If he does, and he saw his attacker, he can clear your name.”
“That’s wonderful,” Arthur said, but it didn’t feel wonderful. It didn’t feel like anything. Brody might wake up, or he might not. Plenty of other things could go wrong, too. He could refuse to talk or have no memory of who hurt him. And there was still the huge issue of Brody’s own guilt in the murder of George Roth. Even worse was the prospect that Brody himself might wake up less alive than he’d been before. Would the FPI believe the word of another vampire, a freshly made one at that?
Arthur worried a loose thread on the hem of his jacket, staring at the floor. “Is he showing any signs of turning?”
“Not that the doctors have noticed. He’s stable, and still very much alive. So don’t give up hope, okay?” Nora rapped her knuckles on the bars to get his attention. “And you’re not a bad detective. This whole thing has been a mess.”
Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Nora hesitated. “I have to go back to city hall. More work to be done.”
“But it’s Sunday.” Which meant tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow would bring the FPI and Arthur would likely be transferred to their custody. Part of him didn’t want anyone to see him—not even Nora, who’d been nothing but kind. He didn’t need witnesses to his lowest moment. “You deserve a night off.”
“Maybe next Sunday. You and Salvatore can cook a big elaborate dinner and I can catch up on old seasons ofLove Is Dead.”
“Sounds perfect.” Arthur held her gaze for a moment, smiling sadly and hoping that could come to pass. Maybe if not next Sunday, thensomeday.
Chapter 22
When the sunset, Arthur felt like he was finally exhaling a breath he’d been holding all day. Not that it did anything to lessen his anxiety about Brody Young and the possible killer still on the loose. The edge of alertness nighttime gave vampires wouldn’t do him any good in jail. It was the vampiric equivalent of drinking just enough caffeine to make one’s heart race without any of the positive side effects of the drug.
The police station was nearly empty now. Even McMartin had gone home. Only one deputy remained, the one who’d been very absorbed in her phone. Now she was clearly sleeping, arms pillowing her head on her desk. Arthur envied her that. He couldn’t sleep. There was no time.
He needed to solve this case before the sun rose. He needed tothink. And he needed to think about more than the fact that he needed to think.
It was easier said than done. Each time he felt on the cusp of a breakthrough, he was jarred from his thoughts by a noise. It sounded like someone was sharpening a pencil in the distance or scratchingon a very quiet chalkboard. He glanced up at the deputy, who was still slumbering silently. Perhaps it was an overactive imagination or a raccoon in the alley behind the station making a meal of someone’s rubbish bins.
