They arrived at Emily and Eric’s. As her cousin had assuredher, there was just enough space on the side of the old house for the little carthey had rented.
Emily quickly came out onto the small porch that led to theresidence. Just three steps and perhaps three or four feet of brick. Cheyenneglanced up as they arrived. The home had two floors and an attic, two charmingtowers, dormers, and turrets. It was lovely and painted a soft bluish-gray. Theporch wasn’t wide but wrapped around the structure, and the house had manywindows.
Emily appeared especially tiny against the rise of thefaçade, though the building wasn’t at all huge. She had a soft shade of hairmuch like Cheyenne’s, and pale green eyes.
Her delicate face showed signs of the strain she’d beenenduring.
“Cheyenne!”
She raced down the steps to throw her arms around Cheyenneand hold her tight. For a moment, Cheyenne lost her breath. She hugged her cousin fiercely in return.
Emily began to babble. “I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’thave asked you to come. Eric says that I shouldn’t have. I mean, thinking backon Janine and her murder and the killer and what you’ve just been through…”
“Emily, I’m an FBI agent. That’s what I do—deal with thebad.”
“Because of what happened to Janine,” Emily murmured.
“Yes, but what we do is important. You called me. If youhadn’t, I’d have come anyway and…”
She paused. Emily was staring at Andre, and Cheyenne managedto smile and step back to draw him closer.
“Emily, Andre. Andre, Emily.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Emily,” Andre said. “Though I wishthe circumstances were different.”
Emily nodded, pumped his hand in greeting, then looked atCheyenne. “He’s gorgeous!” she said. “Oh, sorry, come in, come in, please. Theytook the crime scene tape down early this morning, thank God. We can come andgo through our front door again, but that means nothing given the dead woman onour steps. And, poor Eric! He’s so distressed. He and Sheila didn’t break upbadly, contrary to what everyone seems to think. Well, except for those whowant to think they were still in love.” She shook her head.
“And, obviously, I must be a monster of a person, killingtwo women to make it look like a would-be vampire is doing it. Oh! Of course,there are those in the area who do believe the vampire has come back.People are sneaking into the cemetery at night, carrying out more Satanicrites, raising the dead—vampires among them. But come in. Come in, please!”
Cheyenne couldn’t help but inwardly grin at her cousin’sramble. Emily kept Cheyenne’s hand as they reached the porch. And as theyheaded up the steps, Eric appeared in the doorway.
Cheyenne had learned through her years in criminology and asan agent, that killers didn’t have a particular look. Some wereobviously a little demented; others, like Ted Bundy, were capable of such charmthat they could far too easily lure unwary victims into their clutches.
But if she were to pick someone who didn’t looklike a killer, it would be Eric Morton.
Eric loved books, reading, languages, and history. He was afairly tall man at about six feet, but like Emily, he was very thin. He woresoda-bottle thick glasses, had scruffy, short-cropped blond hair, and powderblue eyes that looked as if they belonged on the most innocent babe. And he wasalways quick to smile.
Again, like Emily, he tended to be naïve and look for thegood in others. Someone could repeatedly stab him in the back metaphorically,and he’d be oblivious to the fact.
Today, however, he didn’t appear ignorant. He looked tired andworn and far older than his thirty-eight years. He smiled when he saw Cheyenne,though, extending welcoming arms.
She accepted his hug, introducing Andre as she did, and themen shook hands.
“In, in, in!” Emily said. “Trust me. They’re watching us fromthe new high-rise, and the damned walls seem to watch you these days. Oh, don’tget me wrong, I love Highgate. But…”
“These are very strange times,” Eric said.
“Tea. We have tea on. Oh, dear. I’ve been in England a longtime now. I should have made coffee,” Emily murmured.
“Tea is great,” Andre told her.
They were soon seated in the expansive kitchen, one that hadprobably been upgraded about a decade ago. It had little bits of charm such asa brick wall to one side, and hanging copper pots and utensils. A large butcherblock, probably almost as old as the house, was in the center, and they sataround it on carved wooden stools.
“Let’s start right in, shall we?” Andre said. “What do thepolice think they have on you, Eric?”
Eric lifted his hands. “My relationship with Sheila, and thefact she was found on my steps,” he said.
Cheyenne realized she loved to listen to him talk. He had abeautiful accent, clear and concise and yet…so wonderfully British.
“Did they accuse you outright?” Andre asked.
Eric shook his head. “No, they just brought us both in.Emily and me. And we went through my relationship with Sheila.” His faceclouded. “I lost a friend. We were still friends. We were just friends going indifferent directions. And she knew Emily. I believe she was even happy for me.”He hesitated, glancing at Emily. “She felt I had found someone…as boringlyrustic as myself.”
“Charmed,” Emily murmured and then shook her head. “I justcan’t believe this happened. I’m so, so sorry. Yes, we’d met, of course. Sheilalived closer to the center of London, but we met with a group of friends fordinner a couple of times, and she knew me. And I knew her. We laughed about ourrelationship being awkward and all, but…we were fine with one another.”
“And you told all that to the police?” Cheyenne asked.
They both nodded.
“Okay, did you know either of the other young women who werekilled?” Andre asked.
Both shook their heads, almost as one.
Andre looked at his notes. “The first woman was killed thefirst day of October, and the second on the thirteenth. History shows thatHalloween is when all the sightings and whatnot begin. But, seriously,Halloween in England isn’t like the crazy American event, right? Not untilrecently.”
“From ancient
