Page 64 of Bad Luck Vampire

“Marguerite told me,” he admitted, feeling bad even as the words left his mouth. It didn’t make him take them back, though. First of all, that was actually the truth. Secondly, he could smooth over the Marguerite business later. But most importantly, right now he needed Sophie to trust him.

“Well, how the hell did she know?” Sophie asked, amazement on her face.

When Alasdair gave a helpless shrug, unable to explain without revealing everything to her, she huffed with exasperation and turned to hurry out of the room.

He followed, worried about what was coming and how they were going to handle this without telling her who and what they were.

Twenty-Two

Sophie entered the kitchen to find Tybo, Colle, Ludan, and Connor sitting in the tall chairs at her island. Without any other options, Inan and Odart had hefted themselves onto the kitchen counter. Her gaze slid slowly over the uncles, noting that they were wearing kilts again. Although, not really kilts. These ones had large swatches of cloth drawn up over one shoulder and across the chest. Plaids, she thought they were called, before she turned her attention to the men as a whole. She’d heard them talking as she’d approached, but their voices had all died immediately at her appearance.

Crossing her arms, Sophie surveyed them, her gaze running over each one in turn before shifting back to Tybo and halting there. She arched one eyebrow.

Tybo kind of froze under her gaze, then glanced down at the steak he’d been cutting into when she entered. Setting down the fork and knife, he muttered, “Sorry. It smells good and I was only going to try a bite.”

Sophie scowled and said, “Why were you looking into my parents’ deaths? And how did Marguerite know about my fiancés?” She paused a beat, before the final question burst out of her almost against her will. “Was it really arson?”

Tybo hesitated, and then simply turned to hold out a hand to Inan. Alasdair’s uncle immediately picked up a black valise she hadn’t noticed on the counter beside him. He handed it silently to Tybo, who held it out to her.

Sophie stared at the valise for a moment as if it were a snake, but then reluctantly reached out and took it. Clasping it in both hands, she glanced to Alasdair as he shifted beside her. Meeting her gaze, he nodded encouragingly, and she sighed unhappily and carried the valise to the bit of free counter next to the refrigerator to set it down and open it.

Everyone was silent as she pulled out several files and laid them out side by side. There were copies of the police and fire investigator’s reports on the death of her parents, as well as copies of both her medical files and her files from the caseworker who had been assigned to her on her parents’ deaths.

Swallowing, Sophie started with the easiest and opened the caseworker’s file. There wasn’t much there that surprised her, except that from her caseworker’s notes, the woman had seemed to like her. In her memory, the woman had always seemed busy and harried, with little time for her, but her notes showed that she’d kept a close eye on Sophie and had found her sweet and intelligent. She’d thought she would do well in life despite the traumas she’d suffered.

Smiling faintly, Sophie closed that file and moved on to the medical file. That was much thicker, and she really just leafed through it quickly with only a brief stop here and there if something caught her eye. Again, there were no surprises. Most of it was just medical jargon for “this kid is traumatized by watching her parents die,” and then more medical jargon on the different medications and methods they’d used to help her through it.

Setting it on top of the caseworker file, Sophie debated over the last two files. The police report on her parents’ deaths, or the fire investigator’s report. Which to read first? Finally, she selected the file holding the copy of the fire investigator’s report and opened it. Words immediately started jumping out at her. Catastrophic level fire. Incendiary cause. Pour pattern. Accelerant.

Sophie flipped through the pages more quickly, freezing when she came to copies of photos. The first was of a burnt-out husk of a room that she presumed was in the home she’d grown up in. But she couldn’t even tell which room it was. It was just a blackened wall on one side and charred two-by-fours on the other two visible walls where the drywall had apparently burned away. Other than that, there was just black debris everywhere, the burnt ashes and remains of whatever furniture had filled the room.

Afraid of what the other photos might hold, she didn’t look further, but closed the file and then just stood there trying to absorb that the fire that had killed her parents and the family dog, Blue, and that she’d always thought was accidental, had been arson. Someone had deliberately set their house on fire, resulting in her parents’ deaths. Murder.

Why had she never been told? How could this have been kept from her? Sophie wondered if the Tomlinsons had known, but even as she did she realized they must have. Surely it would have been in the news at the time. As for why she’d never been told, she knew the answer to that too. They all—the Tomlinsons, the police, and her doctors—had no doubt felt it better not to tell her for fear she’d have a “setback” and wind up in the hospital again.

Her gaze slid to the medical file and her eyes narrowed, then she snatched it up and opened it again. This time she read more carefully and found her answer. It had been deemed “inadvisable” to inform her at that time that the fire that killed her parents had been arson. Perhaps when she was older, more stable and better able to cope with the information, it could be shared with her, but as of the date of her release from the psychiatric hospital, it was considered more prudent to withhold that information.

Sophie’s mouth tightened, and then she shifted the medical file aside again and reached for the police report, only to pause when a hand was suddenly on top of it, keeping her from opening it.

Turning sharply, Sophie scowled when she saw that the hand belonged to Tybo. He now stood beside her, his expression solemn.

“There are pictures of your parents’ bodies, Sophie,” he warned gently. “You don’t want to see that.”

Sophie released her hold on the file at once and stepped back as if it might bite her. Because he was right, she had no desire to see her parents’ charred bodies. Her memory of her mother on fire had been hard enough to live with. She just couldn’t...

“Come sit down, lass.”

Sophie turned to see Connor getting up from the chair he’d been occupying and gesturing to it. Suddenly aware that her legs were shaking, she nodded faintly and crossed to the chair, relieved when Alasdair followed and took the seat next to her, his original seat and the one Tybo had been sitting in just moments ago.

“Right.” Connor walked around to stand on the opposite side of the island and leaned against the range on that side as he met her gaze. “Ye’ll be wantin’ some explanations.”

“Please,” she said, her voice raspy and throat dry.

“Fetch ’er a drink,” Ludan growled.

Inan sprang off the counter and hurried to find a glass.

“Lass,” Connor said, drawing her attention away from Inan. “I’m jest goin’ to lay it out fer ye.”

---