edge. The judge took a step back, but he-like those Old Testament patriarchs he resembled-looked more righteous than wrong.
The shadowy room again got quiet. Virgil Furmeister looked flummoxed by the emotions that had flown around us like rabid bats-not only because of the Judge's behavior, but because the childlike redhead Legg had spanked couldn't keep her fangs back.
The mortician turned paler than one of his corpses. 'Gentlemen, such information can't go beyond this room,' he rasped. He was inching in my direction, his fingers flexing. 'Had I known, Harry, that you-well, if Moore spreads this around town, that you killed-and that you were here tonight dancing with Virgil-my reputation will be-'
'Reputation?' I brayed. I pointed at the lifeless woman who would forever smoke that stogy wearing nothing but buckle-up boots. 'Hell's bells, Dammet! We all know you offed your own mother, as revenge for when she whittled your pencil. You're not exactly as white as the snow you wrote in-and neither is Judge Legg!'
It was the wrong thing to say. I escaped by slamming the door on the slender male hand that would've grabbed my sleeve. The anguished cry that followed came not from the pain of crushed fingers, but out of mortal terror. I peeked through the window in time to watch that pigtailed vampire attach herself to the judge's jugular, and then stepped away.
I crossed town at a brisk walk, no longer hungry like I was when I'd left my office. I entered my quarters and fell back against the door, as though I could shut out the events I'd just witnessed, along with their tragic ramifications. All this because my lust for Billy Tripplehorn had gone awry- But no! Why was I not surprised that, as soon as I was seated, a demure redhead materialized to sit on the edge of my desk? She now wore a gown of rose brocade trimmed in nipple-pink fur-and she was only one of three biting reasons my life had rushed headlong beyond my control. I was homeless, I was alone, I was horribly confused. And I was not happy about how things had been manipulated lately!
'I suppose you left a mess for some poor unsuspecting soul to find, when they go looking for those three-'
'Andrea, your insensitivity appalls me!' Pink fidgeted with the rose above her ear, fighting a grin. 'Actually, I told the deputy to write a glowing obituary for the magistrate, who died of heart failure. And I said Dammet should provide a funeral like no one in Redemption has ever seen. I left them too damn scared to do anything else.'
'You could've staged your little play after I asked the judge about Perfidia being-'
'His wife and your mother?' Those eyes rolled with the sarcasm only an eternal adolescent can show. 'Honestly, Andrea! How can you think she'd submit to a horny old goat like like Harold Legg? Falling for Billy Tripplehorn must've really scrambled those lawyer brains of yours!'
'But then,' she said with added with a wistful sigh, 'everything changed when Billy came…and came… and…'
That part was accurate: those vamps had become so competitive with Billy in their midst, they splintered off into separate forces, determined to outdo each other. So now the orphanage was gone, along with Pandora. And Perfidia had told me some gawdawful lies-if I could believe Miss Pink, whose appetites always got the best of her.
Who could've known what a difference a man could make? All because I'd found the one I wanted.
'I know you're wondering,' she said in her high, childlike voice, 'so I'll admit I killed Lucy. She was going to die a painful death at the hands of her perverted daddy anyway. But mostly, I didn't want Billy going back to her, when he ran from the mansion that first night. I wanted YOU to have him, Andrea! Because you deserve him. And because I knew you'd…share him with the rest of us.'
'Well, that won't be happening,' I stated, shooing her off my desk. 'It was a mistake to bring him to the house, and now that he's left me again, I'm leaving well enough alone. I advise you to get on with your life, Miss Pink. Just like I am.'
I swiveled my chair toward the file cabinet behind me, resolute in proving I could live without this vampire and her companions, thank you. I'd come to love them-mostly-for they were the only family I had, but I was ready to make my own way without their interference. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Behind me, I heard the rustling of her dress and felt the breeze from the door she didn't need to open. 'Believe what you like, Andrea, but you'll be trying to find me within the week. I know where Billy Tripplehorn is.'
Of course I turned around to gawk at her! But she'd evaporated, leaving the door wide open in her wake. Only her disembodied voice remained.
'He's one of us now, you see,' she finished with a giggle. 'Billy has a lot to learn, but who wouldn't want him for a student?'
Chapter 10: Carried Away
I'll say this for Nat Dammet: he put on a funeral like Redemption had never seen. Not only did he make Harold Legg appear regal and wise, in a casket lined with purple velvet, he somehow elevated the magistrate's reputation to almost heroic status. Amazing what an undertaker who's been scared witless can do with a little makeup and some positive gossip.
Although the judge didn't attend services at St. Mary's, Father Dominic gave a glowing eulogy for the man who'd served as 'a lighthouse on the town's stormy seas.' It was probably the biggest congregation the priest had ever seen, for everyone in town came. But by the time we interred Judge Legg, next to Lucy's fresh grave, the raw wind had people murmuring about the cold…among other things.
'Mighty strange, the way things've been happenin',' the woman in front of me muttered to her husband. 'Weren't that long ago when Harry caught Miss Lucy and that Tripplehorn boy goin' at it, and she turned up dead. Now he's gone, too. Somethin' ain't right.'
Her man gazed over the crowd, toward the hillside where the mansion once sat. 'Yep, cain't put my finger on it, but things is differ'nt, all right. Things ain't what they used to be.'
Virgil Furmeister stood like a silent sentinel during the service. Such remarks made him glance my way with a strained expression, as though he blamed me for the incidents in Nat Dammet's work room. In his tight cap and an overcoat that swelled over his belly, he might've been a bowling pin still quivering after one close to him had been struck down by the black ball of fate.
I focused on the priest, intoning his benediction over the open grave. What else could I do? Miss Pink and her two cohorts had always been beyond my control. Hadn't I suffered my share of loss, as well?
I wouldn't whine about losing my home and my lover-my innocence and basic beliefs-to those wicked women, however. These salt-of-the-earth folks suffered no nonsense about vampires. It was against their religion. So Virgil and Nat would be taking the truth about Harold Legg's final moments to their own graves-another dark secret festering beneath the benign surface of this quiet Pennsylvania town.
The crowd dispersed quickly. It was too damn cold for lingering in the cemetery, and the ladies were hostessing a funeral lunch. It would've been the best meal I'd eaten for days, but I passed. Despite the camaraderie of the crowd, I was feeling very much the outsider. Why, I don't know-I'd worked among these people as Alex Moore for more than a decade. Perhaps my sense of alienation was the result of the dual identity I'd hidden behind for so long.
I entered my office, and knew someone had been there: an old brass key on a faded red ribbon awaited me on my desk. An eerie vibration went up my arm when I picked it up. Years of handling wills and estates told me it would open a safety deposit box-but why was it here?
Were Furmeister and Dammet playing a trick? Would there be a nasty surprise related to Harry Legg's death when I opened the box? I had visions of body parts the mortician lopped off, as payment for my role in that episode between Miss Pink and the magistrate-even though I couldn't be held responsible. I considered tucking the key away, until the aftermath of the judge's funeral had worn off, but the prickling at the nape of my neck had me heading for the bank.
I presented the key to Miss Pritchard, and the prune-faced teller nodded her usual greeting. 'Number thirteen?' she queried. 'My gracious, that box was rented back when we first built the bank. I don't believe it's been opened since.'
Constance blinked behind her spectacles, expecting me to elaborate. She'd been the keeper of these keys since she started work here as a young woman.
