Page 81 of Bad Luck Vampire

“I brought you flowers and a small gift to cheer you up,” he announced, holding up both items. He then rushed past her, headed for the kitchen, saying, “We should put these in water.”

Eyes wide, Sophie closed the door and hurried after him, glancing up the hall to the living room as she went. But with the curtains closed, it was dark enough that she couldn’t see the men sleeping in there.

“I got your favorite: carnations and daisies,” Mr. Tomlinson announced as he retrieved a vase from under the sink and began to fill it with water. “Hopefully they do the trick and make you feel at least a little better.”

“A little better?” Sophie asked with confusion, not only at his words, but because he knew where she kept her vases, and had somehow got inside her building without her having to buzz him in. Megan had a spare key to her apartment, but Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson didn’t.

“I know you must be upset about your friend and not being able to go to Niagara Falls,” he explained, quickly removing the wrapping around the flowers. “That must have been disappointing. And, of course, the accident must have been distressing too,” he added, his voice a little stiff.

Sophie stared at his back for a minute as he worked, and then asked, “How did you know about my friend having an accident?”

Mr. Tomlinson turned off the tap with the vase only half-full, dumped the flowers into it, and turned to face her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Papa,” she responded slowly, and then asked, “What’s this all about?”

When he just peered at her kind of helplessly, Sophie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and asked sadly, “Oh, Papa, what have you done?”

“I love you, Jasmine,” George Tomlinson said desperately, and Sophie felt her blood run cold at his calling her by her mother’s name.

Twenty-Seven

“I do love you, Jasmine. You must know I do,” George said desperately, moving toward her. “I love you so much, I—”

He stopped abruptly when Sophie took a step back. Blinking in confusion, he breathed, “Sophie,” with a small frown, as if just recognizing her.

She stared at him silently, not recognizing this man herself. This wasn’t the friend of her parents, and the father of her best friend, who had taken her in and raised her along with his own children through high school. That man had always been calm and self-assured, a take-charge kind of guy. This man was disheveled, confused, and he’d called her by her mother’s name. There was obviously something wrong with this man, and where she’d been certain her papa could not be behind the deaths, Sophie could believe this man was.

Mouth tightening, she asked point-blank, “Did you run down Alasdair in front of my apartment Friday night?”

When her foster father stiffened, his eyes going wide, but his mouth unmoving, she asked, “Did you T-bone the tow truck yesterday?”

“I brought you flowers,” George blurted, ignoring her questions. He picked up the vase and held it out to her.

Sophie’s gaze didn’t even flicker to the offering. “Did you kill Derek? And John?”

George shifted his own gaze down to the flowers and stared at the bloodred carnations among the white daisies.

“Beverly and Andrew?” she tried next.

He raised sad eyes to peer at her and the silence continued until she finally said, “My mom and dad?” the words little more than a whisper.

That brought a reaction. Whirling away, George smashed the vase into the sink, sending glass and water everywhere. Then he gripped the edge of the sink and stared into the red-and-white mess, his shoulders hunched.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Sophie’s attention, and she glanced to the side to see Alasdair starting into the kitchen from the dining room entrance. She quickly held up her hand to make him stop. She wanted her answers, and she wanted to hear them herself, not from one of the men reading his mind. But if George knew Alasdair or anyone else was here, she was sure she wouldn’t get those answers.

Alasdair hesitated, and for a minute she feared he’d continue forward, but then Ludan appeared behind him, caught his arm, and urged him back into the shadows of the dining room. A shuffling sound behind her drew her gaze over her shoulder in time to see Colle ducking around the entrance to the entry and out of sight too.

Letting her breath out on a slow hiss, Sophie turned back to stare at her foster father’s back. George hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the flowers, back hunched, head hanging slightly.

“I loved her so much, your mother,” Mr. Tomlinson said, sounding more like himself, until he breathed, “Jasmine.”

Sophie felt her hands clench at her sides, but stayed silent.

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. Inside and out. Sweet and brilliant and—oh my God, she was so good with the kids... and I wanted to tell her about my feelings. I tried to tell her a thousand times, but I could never get her alone to do it. Either your father or Deb were always there. Always getting in the way, interrupting me, driving me crazy,” he finished, his voice becoming a frustrated growl.

Sucking in a long breath, George straightened and raised his head, and then let it tilt back on his neck so that he was looking up at the ceiling.

“That night—” He paused and swallowed thickly before continuing. “You were over playing with Megan and she asked if you could stay for dinner, and when Deb said yes, she then asked if you could stay the night.” He gave an affectionate laugh. “Megan was always pushing it just a little, get permission for this, and then tack on that.”

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