Page 22 of Dead & Breakfast
“Once I’m out of here, I’ll help,” Salvatore said without a hint of sarcasm.
Arthur cocked his head, admittedly surprised. Sal would tell anyone who sat near him long enough about the time he was stuck overnight in a reputedly haunted castle while the other party guests investigated what turned out to be a farcical attempt by a rival to devalue the property. Salvatore himself had found the sleuthing to be very dull indeed, as it impeded his attempts to seduce the countess who was hosting the party. True, there was a lack of marriageable nobility around Trident Falls for Sal to distract himself with this time, but still, that he had offered to help was no small thing.
A grin spread like bat wings across Sal’s face. “We’ll be like the Hardly Boys.”
“Hardy Boys,” Arthur corrected, though he couldn’t help but smile back. Salvatore believed he could do this. It helped Arthur himself believe it, too.
With impressive speed, Salvatore finished his coffee, looked around the cell for a trash can, then—failing to find one—pushed the cup through a gap in the bars so it fell on the outside. Arthur was against littering as a rule, but he kicked the cup toward the sheriff’s door, where it would hopefully get in McMartin’s way.
Sal winked his approval and wrapped a hand around the bars. “You’ll sort this out in no time.”
Arthur stepped closer and placed his hand over Salvatore’s.Even though both of them were cool to the touch, something warm bloomed to life in Arthur’s chest like an unexpected dahlia, miraculously surviving the winter to open vibrant petals to the sun. Sal was his ray of sunlight—luminous and constant and potentially dangerous if one was overexposed. He’d cling to that sliver of brightness. It was the only hope he had.
Quite ruining the sincerity of the moment, McMartin’s office door opened and he sauntered out, followed by Dr.Young, the dentist, and Lore, a folder in her hand and a strange expression on her face, as though she were repressing a smile. Her pink eyes shone as she glanced in a meaningful way at Arthur, then Salvatore, then Nora by the desk.
Arthur dropped his hands and moved away from the holding cell, not eager for a verbal lashing from the sheriff. McMartin scowled as he hastened to remove the coffee cup from the toe of his cowboy boot.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you a more definitive answer,” the dentist was saying as he closed the office door behind him. “Based solely on a photo of the bite, I can conclude it was made by a vampire—as for which one? I would need to look at the body in person and compare my dental records.”
“Can’t do it, Trip.” Lore shook her head vigorously. “Not ’til I’m done taking samples, at least.”
Dr.Young stroked his closely trimmed beard and nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your process.” He spoke in a near monotone, revealing only the slightest edge of annoyance. White, with dirty-blond hair, Trip Young was an approximation of a human cornflake. He was an average sort of man—average height, average width, average amount of hair remaining on his head. Arthur, a fairly average man himself, liked him for it.
“No rush on that,” McMartin said, sliding a clipboard towardDr.Young. “I actually needed you to come in to confirm the timing of Mr.Conte’s appointment last night.”
Dr.Young looked from the clipboard to the sheriff to Sal and back to the clipboard. “I…” He blinked rapidly, shooting another look at Sal.
“Salvatore claims he had a dentist appointment at seven thirty. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
McMartin looked visibly put out. “And he was there for an hour?”
“There’s been some mistake. Salvatore had an appointment at seven thirty, but I’m afraid he didn’t show up.” He glanced once more at Sal, then at Arthur. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding like he actually meant it.
The sheriff’s chest puffed up as he turned to face Salvatore’s cell. “Now, thatisinteresting.”
Arthur closed his eyes. Sometimes if he did this when he was dreaming, he would wake up. But Salvatore was the one with the overactive imagination, not Arthur. This was no foul concoction of his mind. It was reality.
When Arthur opened his eyes, Salvatore looked back at him with an expression to rival that of a mournful basset hound.
“Last time he scolded me for not flossing!” Salvatore exclaimed before Arthur could so much as shake his head in disapproval. “And I don’t like the bubblegum-flavored polish.”
“Well, he wouldn’t do that if you’d just floss, would he?” It was hardly the point, but Arthur couldn’t very well chastise Sal for lying about his alibi in front of the sheriff, so dental hygiene would have to do.
Dr.Young nodded gravely. “And as I told you last time, we can order another flavor for the polish—though not blood flavor like you suggested. Maybe cinnamon would be more to your taste?”
“So, where were you when the murder occurred?” the sheriff asked smugly.
Nora held up a finger to silence Sal, a feat Arthur had never mastered himself. “And what time was that exactly, Sheriff?”
The sheriff’s gaze shifted to Lore.
Lore flipped open her folder, though she didn’t look down at her notes. “My best estimation is that he was killed sometime between the hours of eight and midnight last night.”
“Well?” The sheriff crossed his arms and surveyed Sal with all the respect a pigeon might show for wet concrete. “That’s around the time you were supposed to be getting those pearly whites cleaned. What were you doing instead?”
Salvatore grumbled unintelligibly.
