Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) (6 page)

Bram continued, “I speak Loutish but I will need help reasoning with the mayor and protecting the graves. Cushion is up for re-election and is an opportunist. In the last twenty-four hours he has rebuilt his campaign based on cleansing the village of vampires.”

“Do you think the mayor could be behind these murders and the stakings?” I asked. “After all, he is a politician.” I resisted the temptation to touch his grave-germy arm. I’d already shaken his hand. “We can’t leave you here alone. You might be the next victim.”

He looked over the cemetery. “I have two assistants besides these Louts.” He motioned to two young priests dressed entirely in white. The men stepped from the shadows. “This is John and this is Paul, they are postulants, trainee priests.”

The duo bowed.

Kit bowed.

Roger bowed.

I tugged Kit’s elbow. “Enough bowing already.”

One of the postulants dusted off a tarnished lamp and lit the candle in the glass compartment while the natural light grew even dimmer. I scanned the graveyard for vampires, werewolves, and politicians. Nothing.

The spirals on the tombstones bugged me. They bent and twisted like the decrepit television antennas I had once seen in Warsaw. The coiled wires resembled miniature tornadoes, each cemented into the upper right hand corner of the tombstones. Did they perhaps have something to do with the murders? Maybe the gypsies had a secret Internet.

“Are those wire thingies for television reception or communication?” I asked.

Roger moaned.

Father Bram looked at me as if I grown a second head. “This is a cloistered order. They have no contact with the outside world and certainly no interest in television,” he said.

“It’s the hormones,” Roger said patting me on the head in a move that would cost him dearly when I got him alone.

“Those wire spirals are flower holders. That’s where bouquets are placed on the anniversary of the deceased death.” A smile played at the edge of Rodger’s mouth as he explained the tombstone Slinkies.

Mister Smartass Grave Expert.

Father Bram smiled benignly. That cued the postulants who joined in the soft chuckle at my expense. The Louts leaned on their shotguns and laughed out loud.

I turned to Kit, who was busting his cheeks holding back laughter. “Don’t let me stop you.” He joined in the male bonding at my expense. Screw them.

I felt my face redden. “Gentlemen, far be it from me to poop on your party, but you’re standing over a passel of dead clergy. There’s nothing to laugh at here.”
They didn’t look like flower holders.

Roger hugged me. “It’s past her naptime and she hasn’t eaten. We’ll take her back to the Van Helsing. Will you be okay here tonight? I’ll return in the morning.”

I fumed. Roger was
so
going to pay for patronizing me.

Father Bram nodded. “The Lord will protect us but your expertise is most appreciated.”

“We’ll
all
be back in the morning,” I said.

From behind Father Bram’s shoulder I could see a ghostly image of Donald Sutherland’s face bearing two drooly fangs.

“Roger!” I tugged at his arm and pointed over the priest’s head.

“What?” Roger followed my finger.

The face was gone.

He cut me another tolerant look. His count was going up. At this point his next canoodle would be for his eightieth birthday.

“Let’s get you back to the Van Helsing. You need food and rest, in that order,” he said pretending not to feel my sizzling laser stare.

With Roger’s arm around me, I hoisted the toilet plunger. We followed Kit through the gate, stumbled our way out the courtyard and down the scree covered road to the inn. I proceeded cautiously, walking for two and staying alert for Vlad the baby stealer.

It was deadly dark by the time we got back to the Van Helsing. The porch light was on and the interior lights glowed. We made our way up the front stairs, grit sliding under our feet. Grave-grit? I scraped my shoes on the threshold, not wanting to track in dirt.

Roger held the door and I stepped inside. The wooden floor of the lobby was slippery from some sort of sand and the whole place smelled like a pizza parlor.

Squirl popped up from behind the registration desk wearing a white peasant blouse, black skirt, and a necklace of garlic bulbs. She clutched them as I stared at her.

“Sorry. The village is officially out of fresh garlic … but,” she pulled an army-green canister from behind the desk. A faded picture of a garlic bud was painted on the face of the container. “Garlic salt,” she grinned and clanged the can on the counter.

I cut her a questioning look.

“To keep Vlad away.”

Jonathan Harker came up from behind the desk. “Still your mouth!” he snapped at her. What
was
down there? A stage set from
Saturday Night Live
or a shag-rug?

“Not to worry,” Squirl whispered. “I sprinkled the entrance, all the doors, and every windowsill with garlic salt. That will keep that baby stealer away.”

A cold quake took hold of my body as I thought of Big Roger’s tale of kidnapping gypsies. I patted Little Roger and tried to shield his ears wherever they were.

“Next time ask before you take a plunger,” Harker said pointing to my weapon.

“There won’t be a next time.” I wanted to call him a jerk, but bit my tongue. It would be waste of a good insult. Jerks never admit to jerk-hood. Besides I was way too tired to debate his I.Q. Using the plunger as a cane I mounted the stairs with the guys following me.

Squirl placed her hand on her mouth to amplify her little voice. “Your dinner is in your room. Sorry it’s cold.”

Roger thanked her.

A whine lodged in my throat and swung from my tonsils. I knew it would hurt Roger if I ran screaming down the road away from the luxurious Van Helsing Resort and Spa. Come to think of it—where was the spa?

Once in our suite, I hit the potty, this time keeping the door open in case Vlad appeared for an encore. The rooms smelled like linguini with clam sauce. The garlic salt might not work on vampires but it sure could drive guests away.

Kit and Roger were setting up our food service when I exited the potty, relieved in more than one way. No Vlad sighting and a temporarily void bladder.

The guys took the silver lids off the sub sandwiches that looked suspiciously darker than roast beef. I bet they
were
Bambi with horseradish sauce. Gross.

We each popped a bottle of water and chugged. I took the armchair with the best support. The guys sat on the sofa facing me with their backs to the windows.

I could see my reflection shiver in the glass behind their heads. The drapes had been closed when we left the room. Who opens drapes at night? This was a pretty ass-backwards place.

Kit banged the silver platter lid. “We can melt down these servers and make silver bullets to knock off any vampires.” He stacked the covers.

“Silver bullets are for werewolves, wooden stakes are for vampires. Besides, do you have a bullet-mold on you? I forgot mine.”
Tired
and
Cranky
joined my moody dwarfs of pregnancy.

Kit looked sheepish.

I couldn’t stop myself from being snippy. I was on a
crab
roll. “In the future, you don’t address a priest as ‘Your Honor’.”

He slumped into the sofa a ball of black satin, his pom-pom slippers crusted with mud.

How could I be so mean to him? “Sorry Kit.” I mouthed the word ‘hormones’ so Roger wouldn’t see. No sense in letting my know-it-all fiancé know he might be right. He gloats when he’s right, or maybe that’s me. Tiredness took over my brain and drove it headlong into a fog bank.

The sight of glowing eyeballs and slobbering fangs floated by our window in a slow putt-putt. It was Vlad of the mirror looking like Donald Sutherland cut off at the knees. He grinned at me, wiggling his long waxy fingers. A chill skittered up my spine. Little Roger was very still. I felt him listening to my heart race and tried to slow down the tom-toms.

“Don’t turn around, but that Vlad guy is outside the windows,” I said.

The guys stared at me as if I’d just discovered a vampire leering at them.

I handed Roger my phone. “Pretend you’re looking at the screen, but check out his reflection in the face of the phone. Quick, before he disappears again.”

Vlad vanished just as I handed the gadget to Roger.

“Damn! I mean darn.” Would I ever learn mother-speak?

I plastered a fake smile on my face and spoke through my teeth. “Keep looking at me. I think he’ll be back.”

Roger screwed his face. “We’re on the third floor. There’s no balcony.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. Just keep your eyes on me and pretend we’re talking.” I spoke through clenched jaws.

As I finished the sentence Vlad repeated his float but this time upside down, his white hair dangling loose like a ghostly mop, his cloak dropping over his shoulders, his cheeks flopping over his eyes, his feet paddling above his head exposing ankle-length pointy boots. He appeared to be engaged in some sort of aerial battle with his own body. He wrestled with his cloak and punched at his back. Maybe an invisible vampire slayer had him by the scruff of his neck.

Roger tilted the phone. “I see him!” he yelled. He tossed the phone at me and dashed to the window with Kit at his heels.

Vlad waved and motioned to them to open the glass.

“Don’t open it! That’s inviting a vampire in,” I said.

I grabbed a blanket, covered my belly, and joined the guys at the window.

Whap! Whap! Whap! The apparition repeatedly slammed its entire body against the pane.

“Is he trying to get in or kill himself?” Kit asked.

“If he’s a vampire, he’s already dead. But he does seem out of control. Cripes! Did he just fall?” I said as the mini-Sutherland dropped from the sky.

The three of us leaned on the windowsill pressing our noses to the glass. “Where’d he go?” Kit asked.

All I could see was a puff of smoke.

“That was a scream. I’ve heard enough. We’re not staying here tonight.” Roger threw his arm around me drawing me from the window.

Kit pulled the drapes closed. The drag queen was ghastly pale despite his Miami Beach tan.

“As much as I want to cut and run, we can’t leave here. There’s nowhere to go,” I said thinking of the rough coach ride back down the mountain in the dark. “Besides we promised Father Bram we’d return in the morning.”

Roger wore his stumped expression.

“I’ve got this one!” Kit spun on his heels and headed for the door.

“Are you running away?”

“Have I ever run away? I’m getting that canister of garlic salt. I’ll be right back!”

My stomach headed for the exit ramp via the up-chuck route. “No more garlic! I’d rather risk that drifting dope than inhale more garlic salt.” I ran to the bathroom with the dry heaves.

Gone in a flash, Kit didn’t hear my plea for mercy.

I hung over the bowl wondering how many people in this ancient inn had placed their butts on this seat. And still I couldn’t barf.

It seemed like mere seconds when Kit returned carrying the canister of garlic salt under his arm like a conga drum.

The Miami Beach drag queen launched into a dance that resembled something from a European folk festival. He sprinkled the stinky salt on everything, including Roger and me. To think I objected to the idea of throwing rice at our wedding. We smelled like Gino’s at midnight.

Roger walked me to the bed. “You need to eat something. Have those potato crisps. Get something in you for the baby’s sake. And drink that entire bottle of water now or you’ll dehydrate.” He stood over me to make sure I obeyed. He was right.

I sat on the bed nibbling the chips and slugging the water. “Look guys, take shifts during the night, please. I can’t stay up and I won’t be able to sleep with that creature of the night yo-yoing outside. Plus, somehow he got into our room today. I know I saw him in the bathroom mirror.”

Kit hoisted his silky pajama bottoms. “I’ll take the first watch.” He plunked into the hardback armchair, stretched his legs and kicked off his pompom slippers. He wiggled his toes and yawned.

My eyes burned, and my back felt as if I had been kicked by a mule wearing sneakers. I placed my water bottle on the nightstand. “Little Roger and I are going to sleep now.” I flicked off the bedside lamp.

“Wake me at two, earlier if you get sleepy,” Roger said to Kit, as he lay on the bed. He pulled me next to him in a spooning position. I shoved him away. “Hey! Grave germs! Get in the shower before you snuzzle me.” I decided to cut him some slack on the patronizing bit. Tonight I needed hugs. His pompous putdowns would go on my
naughty list
. I’d get him later.

Grumbling like a ticked off teen, Roger made his way to the shower.

“Keep the door open!” I yelled. “And sing so we know you’re okay.”

“I take requests.”

“Do Sinatra.
Strangers in the Night
.”

Roger belted out half the song, while Kit groaned and pressed a pillow over his head.

My husband-to-be returned to our honeymoon bed dressed in striped pajamas looking like my grandpa. Not that I’ve ever seen my grandpa in or out of pajamas.

Doctor and Mrs. Jolley-to-be gave spooning another try. The mattress owned some ungodly lumps of stuffing that dug into my right hip and elbow creating an entirely new batch of aches. Little Roger gave me a goodnight kick and then settled down for what I hoped was a snooze. His daddy snored lightly.

I was somewhere in the gray zone before REM sleep when my brain kicked in.

“Whoa!” I yelped, half-asleep but wide-awake with brilliance.

Roger sat bolt straight up in bed and looked to the right and left as if under attack.

A snorted snore came from Kit’s chair. So much for our watchman.

My eyes were twice their size as I shared my smartipantsness with Roger.

“Vlad can’t be a vampire! We’ve seen his reflection!”

Morning was announced by a rooster. I thought they were extinct. If not, they should be. It was way too early.

Sometime during the night, the guys had changed shifts. Kit snuffled on the sofa under the windows, the dusty spread heaped on the floor. Roger sat bleary-eyed in the armchair. I guessed Vlad had fled for the evening.