Dead is the New Black (6 page)

Once more, my heart tightened.

I wanted my mom back. My real mom. The smart,
feisty, independent woman who’d been nurturing friend and stubborn
adversary, stalwart champion and harsh critic, protector, teacher,
parent—but now, child. The woman who remembered me, loved me.

I missed that.

I missed
her
.

Until I had children of my own, the abiding
love a mother feels for her child was unknown to me. I’d had no
idea how much my mother loved me until I held my own babies in my
arms. And I had no idea how much I loved my mother until I lost
her.

“You’re fifty-nine, Mom.”

She smiled her old smile, and for a moment,
one brief moment, she was
there
.

“That being the case,” she said, “I’d have to
say if I were twenty years younger, I’d give you a run for your
money, Lady.” Then she winked, and her eyes sparkled happily. Hope
began blossoming in my chest until, just like that, her smile faded
and her eyes grew dull once more as she resumed staring without
purpose through her window.

“No run for my money, Mom,” I said softly.
“Dr. Van Graf is my…I’m just his…”

Hell, I was defending myself against a charge
that was too ludicrous to consider, with a woman whose sense of
reason no longer existed.

“He’s my new boss, Mom. Not my new man.”

When Van Graf reached the SUV, I rolled my
window down enough to talk but not so far as to let in a lot of
snow.

He bent toward my open window. “Need any
help?” Before I could answer, he gestured past me to the folded up
wheelchair. “If you’ll pop the back, I’ll get that out for
you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The stone stairs I’d climbed that morning
were out of the question, given my mom’s wheelchair, so I followed
behind as Dr. Van Graf pushed my mom in her wheelchair up an icy
pathway that led from the garden to a side entrance.

Watching Van Graf’s denim-clad butt set my
long-neglected hormones all atwitter.

Not my new man. Pity,
that.

I sure could use one right about now.

But he’s a vampire; you’re
in danger.

No, he’s a Vampire; you’re
safe.

But he’s really sexy;
you’re at risk.

No, he’s your boss; not an
option.

I shook my head and focused on taking one
step at a time. The pathway was slushy, making walking difficult.
The fact it was literally a slippery slope was not lost on my
conflicting thoughts and emotions.

An hour later, I was ensconced in my bedroom
while my mother was right next door in hers. The rooms were
spacious and beautifully appointed, and visually appealing with
cherry furnishings and rose-and-mint floral wallpaper. We shared a
spacious connecting bathroom, which would serve as a pathway
between our two rooms, making it convenient for me to check on her
during the night without having to venture into the exterior
hallway in my jammies.

And I could lock both doors myself. From the
inside.

The drive to the estate had tired Mom, so she
was napping. A good thing since it would give me some time to
unpack the boxes Igor and Wolf had set in the corner. But before I
even put a hand on the first carton, I heard a soft knock on my
door.

I opened it to a pretty young woman in a blue
cotton dress and white apron. Her short, fire red hair exploded
from her head like living flames.

“Hello, missus,” she said. “I’m Lucy.” She
grinned, revealing an unexpected absence of her two front teeth.
The empty space served to make her canines appear disturbingly
pointy, like a Disney wolf princess after a particularly violent
game of rugby.

“Hi.” I tried not to stare, but it was a
challenge. “Lucy, did you say?”

She nodded.

“What can I do for you, Lucy?”

“It’s what I can do fer you, missus.” Her
golden brown eyes sparkled with cheer. “Dr. Van Graf asked me to
send you to the study right quicklike. I’m to stay here and keep an
eye on yer mum fer ya. Okay?”

“He wants to see me now?” As I stepped back
and opened the door wider to allow Lucy entrance, I laughed at my
own silliness and shook my head. “Of course he wants to see me now.
I need to get started.”

Closing the door behind Lucy, I said, “My
mother is sleeping. Her name’s Jeanne Wilder. She usually responds
to Jeanne or Mrs. Wilder.”

Lucy smiled. “Jeanne. Mrs. Wilder. Got
it.”

“She shouldn’t wake for a while, but if she
does, will you please call for me? She’ll feel disoriented in an
unfamiliar place with new people. She might get frightened.” I
looked into Lucy’s eyes. “Do you have any experience with
Alzheimer’s patients?”

The young maid gave me her semitoothless grin
once more. “No. But you can count on me, missus. I’ll take real
good care of her.”

I felt a little nervous leaving my mom with
someone I didn’t know, especially someone with very pointy teeth.
But this was the bargain I had made, and now I had to trust that
things would be all right.

Lucy clasped her hands in front of her waist.
“You can use t’elevator at the end of t’hall, like as you come up
in, but it’s quicker if you take the stairs at t’other end. Leads
right down to the first floor and the study is just there, second
door on t’left.”

I quickly checked my reflection in the
dressing table mirror, patted my hair into place, and pinched my
cheeks.

Let me just say right now that I’m not bad
looking. I mean, when I squint at myself in the bathroom mirror in
the early morning, I don’t cringe. Most days, anyway.

I’m of medium height, have shoulder-length
blonde hair, and expressive hazel eyes. I’ve been told such,
anyway, usually by men in bars who have an agenda apart from mere
social intercourse. Eh-hem. I have to say that when I get buzzed
enough, even I admit my eyes are pretty damned expressive.

But I digress. It’s because of nerves, I’m
sure. I’m unsettled on too many levels to name. All the loose ends
in my life are twisting around inside my head, tightening around
each other, confusing me, exhausting me, worrying me.

But I was here now, in this new place, new
life, new expectations, and I was at my new employer’s disposal.
I’d been promised this was simply a job and not the first step
across the threshold to the dark side of everlasting bloodlust, so
I had no choice but to trust my mom to Lucy’s care and head for the
study to see what Dr. Van Graf needed me to do.

Arriving at the study door, I knocked and it
immediately opened. But instead of Dr. Van Graf’s gorgeous face, I
was met by a very short, very round, gray-haired woman wearing a
pink floral apron, sensible shoes, and a scowl.

“Hi,” I said, offering a cordial smile. “I’m
Stephanie Scott. Lucy said that Dr. Van Graf—”

“I be the cook. You’re a troll.” She thrust a
pudgy little hand at me. As with just about everyone else I’d met
in the house, she had a heavy accent. Hers seemed to be
Scandinavian…ish.

Unsure I’d heard her words correctly, I shook
her hand, which turned out to be damp and a little sticky, and
said, “I didn’t quite get that. Did you say I’m a…troll?”

“Nej. She’s my sister. I’m a goon.”

“Oh? You’re a
goon
?”
I blinked, hoping it would help clear up my sudden-onset hearing
disorder. “But I thought you said you’re a
troll
.”

“Ja.”

“Uh. Okay. Is your sister a troll or a
goon?”

“She was troll like me, ’til she married dat
goon fella.”

“Okay. Your
sister’s
a goon.”

“Ja. I’m a goon.”

“But I thought you said you’re a troll.”

“Ja,” she shouted. “You’re a troll!”

Apparently, what we had here was a failure to
communicate, so I decided to cut to the chase. “Dr. Van Graf asked
me to meet him in the study. Is he—?”

“Nej.”

My ears rang. My brain hurt. I wanted to weep
in frustration. I glanced around, desperate to locate an
interpreter. Just where was Dr. Van Graf? Perhaps this was some
kind of welcoming prank and any minute, Van Graf would jump out
from behind the door and he and this cook person would regale me
with laughter.

Or perhaps this was a test to measure how
well I could cope with an alien life-form.

“Well,” I said finally. “In any case, I’m
pleased to meet you.”

I think.

The Scandihoovian
woman-cum-cook-cum-troll-cum-goon opened the door to allow me
inside the study. Like an angry drill sergeant, she pointed
straight-armed at one of several chairs by the fireplace.

“Sit,” she ordered. “Wait here. The doctor
was called to der phone. He to be with you directly.” With a sharp
nod apparently intended to indicate her departure, she stormed out
of the study, slamming the door behind her.

By comparison, the silence she left in her
wake was deafening.

As directed, I sat and waited for my employer
to make his appearance, hoping it would be sooner rather than
later. I wanted to get back up to my room and make sure Mom was
okay. And I still needed to call my kids.

I’m a troll. No, you’re a
troll. I’m a goon and you’re a troll. I’m a troll and you’re a
troll and I’m a goon and you’re a—

Oh. I sat straight up. That’s it.
Names
. Those were names. Ura Troll was the
cook and her sister was Ima Goon.

Sisters.

Very, very weird sisters.

In fact, everyone I’d crossed paths with
since arriving that morning—with the sort-of exception of Dr. Van
Graf—was weird. None had threatened me or made me feel in danger,
it was my own idea of who they were and what they were that gnawed
at my fears.

I sat back into the deep cushions of the
chair and tried to relax as I let my gaze wander.

The study was enormous, classically appointed
in mahogany paneling and gilt-framed oil paintings. Two walls were
lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves containing thousands of
leather-bound volumes. Additional bookcases filled the middle of
the room creating alcoves and aisles, much like an enormous public
library. Five multipaned windows along the south wall would
beautifully illuminate the room during the day, but with the night
and the storm, they appeared more like shiny black etchings, each
one uniquely designed by frost and wind and wandering
snowflakes.

Brass and leaded glass lamps cast the room in
muted light, adding to the coziness, while several brocade-covered
wingchairs stood gathered in a semicircle in front of the blazing
fire.

What a room. I loved it.

I settled down into my chair—the one closest
to the fire —wondering how long I would have to wait for my new
employer to arrive. For a moment, I thought to seek out La Troll,
but then remembered Wolf’s warning not to wander through the house.
I had no idea what the layout of the place was, but given its size,
I would surely get myself lost. So I’d simply bide my time and—

What was that?

I bolted out of the chair and turned toward
the bookcases.

There it was again. A noise. A sort of
groan?

Holding my breath, I waited, listened, but
all was silent—except for the sound of my heart slamming against my
eardrums. The fire popped, and I jumped. A log fell into the ashes
creating a hissing sound, like the warning of a startled snake.

So, had I heard a noise? I wasn’t sure I had
now, but, no, well, yes, I really had heard something. It hadn’t
been my imagination. Maybe a book fell over on a shelf.

“H-hello?” I ventured. Silence. “Is someone
there?” Nothing.

Shit. I was going to have to go look. See for
myself whether it was just a fallen book or some kind of brain fart
and I hadn’t really heard anything at all.

Slow-w-w-ly I turned…

Step by step…

Inch by inch…

I crept toward where I thought the sound had
come from. Peeking around the last bookcase, my “Anybody there?”
clogged in my throat.

My blood froze.

I could not move.

Barely able to speak, all I could manage was
a whispery, “Help? Somebody? Help?”

I didn’t
scream. I don’t have a pretty scream. Mine’s more like a raspy
choke. Not musical in the least, nor high and girly. More like a
quarterback calling an audible before the ball’s snapped.

I shut my mouth and stepped cautiously toward
the man who lay sprawled between two bookcases. His face was turned
away so I couldn’t see his features clearly.

What I did see…was blood. Lots of blood.

Bright red blood covered half his face—the
half that had obviously taken quite a blow.

Was he really dead? He sure looked dead.

Had that Troll person killed him and left me
behind to take the blame?

Kneeling, I was able to see him better. It
was not Dr. Van Graf.

I surprised myself by giving an involuntary
sigh of relief, thankful it had not been my handsome new
employer.

It wasn’t Wolf or Igor or anybody I’d ever
seen before.

Okay. Okay, Steph. The ball’s in your court.
What would Debby Destiny do?

Body on floor. Blood. Signs of violence.

Look for signs of life.

I was sure no Debby Destiny, but Debby was
fiction and I was human and I was here. It was up to me to do
something for this guy, if I could.

I sucked in a deep breath and placed two
shaky fingers on the victim’s carotid artery. Nothing. I checked
his wrist. No matter what I did, I could not find a heartbeat.

He was dead.

Placing my open hand on his chest, I could
feel he was still warm, so he couldn’t have been dead for long. Was
that noise I’d heard his last gasp before dying? If I’d found him
even minutes earlier, might I have saved his life?

My head felt light, as if my brains had grown
wings and fluttered away leaving me with an empty skull. My muscles
deserted me, too, weakening me so my butt plopped down on the floor
next to the dead man. I rested my back against the bookcase for
fear I’d faint and keel over.