Page 87 of Dead & Breakfast
“Someone attacked Brody Young with the intent of framing me. Someone faked a vampire bite and made it match my teeth. I know what you’re thinking—evil vampire twin—but no, I was an only child, and the attack on Brody couldn’t have been done by a real vampire, or he’d be turning by now.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know you’renotthinking that. You’re only thinking about bread.”
It was what Sal would think, though. It was what Sal would say.
Arthur pushed away the hurt and pulled the food tray forward for easier access. Feeding the mouse was about all he was good for right now anyway, so he may as well do a decent job of it.
“Let’s assume whoever framed me did so with plain old-fashioned science, shall we? So they had to have access to my dental records. That narrows the list significantly.” Arthur began ticking names off on his fingers. He would have rather written them in his notebook, but alas, McMartin had taken it from him. “The sheriff, of course—though I suppose I have to concede his innocence now that I’ve seen his alibi. Lore could have falsified the report to point to me, though I doubt it. She seemed awfully sorry to implicate me at all.”
The mouse stared with wide black eyes.
Arthur stared back, and even though Sal wasn’t there to say it, the thought drop-kicked him right in the brain.
It was the dentist.
“He was far too distraught about the attack on his son, no, no. I shouldn’t even think it.”
But think it he did, the idea festering and flourishing in his mind. Trip Young would have been able to use Arthur’s mold to create the appearance of a vampire bite on Brody’s neck—one that would implicate Arthur. And he knew Arthur and Sal were out looking for his son. He had the means and the opportunity and the information to set Arthur up to take the fall.
He just didn’t have a motive.
“Why, though?” Arthur asked aloud. “Why would the dentist want his own son dead?”
The mouse had no comment on that either, just greedy eyes that followed the path of Arthur’s hand as he pulled a slice of pepper jack free from the sandwich and passed it through the bars.
“It could be he was upset that Brody killed the mayor, but…” Arthur shook his head. The idea that Brody had actually killed the mayor seemed less and less plausible the more he thought about it. Even though people assumed Brody was anti-paranormal, his actions spoke otherwise. But that assumption had to come from somewhere. “They disagreed about paranormals…so that’s something, I guess. The mayor was anti-paranormal, so I suppose Brody might have been trying to take a stand, but then why try to frame me and Sal? It’s inconsistent.”
If only Nora could have stayed to chat, maybe he could have worked it out. A mouse wasn’t exactly the best conversation partner, and no amount of back-and-forth would tell him why the Youngs were so tangled up in the death of George Roth.
“Brody killing him doesn’t make sense. None of this does. But he was there, at the park that night, moving something that certainly looked like a body. Dr.Young told us—”
Arthur paused. If Dr.Young was an attempted murderer, that put everything he’d told them into question.
“Brody was out past curfew—we know that’s true because of the security footage—but his friends said Brody had to leave early because of his curfew. So why didn’t he go home?” Arthur didn’t bother looking to the mouse for an answer. “He just…stopped randomly in the park to commit murder? How would he have even known the mayor was there?”
Arthur got to his feet and began pacing again, much to the chagrin of the mouse, who darted forward to continue its meal while weaving in and out of Arthur’s legs.
“The Youngs only have the one car, so…” Arthur stopped in his tracks. So did the mouse. “What if Dr.Young didn’t call his son to tell him to come home? What if he called him to meet him at the park? If he wanted to move a body, he’d need the truck.”
The implications were chilling to say the least, and it was hard to make a vampire feel cold.
“Do you think Trip Young killed George Roth?” Arthur whispered to his mouse friend.
It turned to him andshrugged.
Arthur blinked. “Can you understand me?” It couldn’t possibly. Arthur must’ve imagined the motion.
But then the mouse nodded. A distinct up-and-down movement of its head.
“What? But that’s impossible—I…” Arthur trailed off. Mice were nocturnal. Creatures of the night. Perhaps the incident with the raccoons hadn’t been a fluke after all. And if Arthur’s powers really were beginning to activate, that meant he had a lot more in his arsenal than his confidence in his own innocence and a hazy understanding of the facts of the case.
“Can you do me a favor?” Arthur lowered himself back to themouse’s level. “If youcanunderstand me, maybe you can help me get out of here. Please?”
The mouse looked longingly at the sandwich and, more pointedly, at the empty bag of chips beside it.
“I’ll buy you an entire bag from the vending machine on my way out. I promise.”
With a happy squeak, the mouse scurried away.
Arthur sat in silence for a long moment. Maybe the mouse couldn’t understand him at all and he was just losing his grip. At least Sal wasn’t here to witness his failure. But after a few minutes, a light jangling sound filled the quiet station. The mouse returned, dragging a ring of keys. Arthur stood up.
