Page 9 of Dead & Breakfast
Arthur didn’t need a better look to know for sure. “He’s definitely dead.”
“So am I, but I don’t see you tiptoeing around my corpse,” Salvatore muttered, but his hazel eyes grew round as he peered at the dead man.
Now was hardly the time for undead jokes, so Arthur ignored him. Instead, he grabbed hold of the back of Salvatore’s shirt as if he were a small child likely to wander off and turned to Nora. “This is a potential crime scene. We’d better not touch anything.”
“Oh, suddenly this is one of your episodes ofLaw & Order SUV?”
“SVU.”
“Whatever.” But Salvatore’s voice didn’t have its usual teasing edge. Instead, nervousness laced his words as he rocked back on his heels into Arthur’s touch.
Arthur stood straighter and held Salvatore a little closer, both for his own peace of mind and for Salvatore’s comfort. He wasn’t detective Olivia Benson—or any detective at all—but maybe that was okay. Sal didn’t need him to solve crimes; his husband simply needed Arthur by his side. He could do that. He could quiet the part of his mind that yearned to note the awkward angle of themayor’s body and the rumpled state of his shirt and the smear of blue ink on his sleeve—
“We need to call the authorities.” Nora took a step back from the body. So did the cat, which was a small mercy. Arthur had read once that cats would eat their dead owners. He silently hoped that didn’t apply to undead temporary caregivers.
“Ms.Anderson, Nora, I’m so sorry about all of this—” Arthur spared a moment to be mortified that her review would now assuredly be one-star, and she’d probably be checked out of here by the time the police arrived. “Why don’t you come inside with me while I make some calls. You can help yourself to the food, anything you need.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Salvatore asked, eyeing the dead body warily. “Don’t leave me alone with it.”
“Him,” Arthur corrected. George Roth was a mayoral pain, and he was dead, but he was still a person, not an object. “Someone has to stand guard while we wait for the authorities.”
“Why must it be me?” Salvatore turned his face toward the sky, as if speaking to a higher power. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”
Arthur, who had been regaled with enough stories of Salvatore’s life to last him forever, could think of a fair few things, but he didn’t say so. Nora remained only a few feet away, now cradling the cat in her arms. She’d definitely witnessed their exchange. What would she think of such unprofessional behavior?
“Why don’t we all wait here?” She didn’t make eye contact with the corpse, staring instead at the cat, which began purring. “I don’t think I can stomach breakfast after this, anyway.”
“I myself am feeling all weak and woozy.” Salvatore swayed on his feet before falling limp into Arthur’s arms in a swoon.
“Is he okay?” Nora asked, a note of alarm in her tone. “I didn’t think vampires could pass out like that.”
“They can’t.” Arthur pinched Salvatore’s nose, eliciting a snort from his husband. “When you’re done being melodramatic, give me your phone so I can call 911.”
Salvatore cracked one eye open and whispered, “I’m never done being melodramatic.”
“No need,” Nora said. “I’ll just call the sheriff. Emergency services will take much longer to get all the way out here.”
“You know the sheriff?” Arthur asked. He had no love for Trident Falls’ law enforcement, but still, Nora hadn’t yet started her job as new city manager, and she already had connections with the local authorities. She must’ve been a savvy networker.
“I don’t,” Nora said to his surprise. “I saved every municipal number to my contacts as soon as I got the job offer.” She set the cat gingerly on the ground once more before retrieving her cell phone.
As she stepped away to make the call, Arthur helped Salvatore to his feet, not that he needed it.
“I bet you twenty dollars she’s a Capricorn sun.”
Arthur didn’t know a lick about astrology except that his husband was a Leo, whatever that meant, so he just shrugged.
Salvatore glanced back at the body and shuddered. “Inourgarden…who would have thought? And after he went out of his way to not attend wine and cheese night.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft. There was something disingenuous about it, too. Arthur glanced at the late mayor, then at Salvatore, trying not to think about all those stories of Sal’s undead youth.
“Let’s wait a bit farther away,” Arthur said. “We need to keep clear of the scene. Especially that cat.” He nodded at the stray, which sat several yards from the body, watching the corpse with a keen feline gaze, still purring despite the death all around.
“There’s no need to be rude to Rumble.” Salvatore sniffed.
“You named it?”
“She’s obviously a Rumble.”
“She?”
