She wished Travis hadn’t left so early. She had questions. So many questions. Who better than a retired hunter to answer them?
Coffee, she thought, shuffling into the kitchen. She needed coffee and lots of it. She smiled when she saw the note on the refrigerator, held in place by one of her Star Wars magnets.
Hey, sleepy head: I’ll call you tonight.
Maybe we can take in a movie? Travis
She wondered where he’d gone. It was Saturday. He didn’t have a job. Had he gone looking for one? What kind of employment would appeal to a retired vampire hunter?
What he did was really none of her business, she thought. They had just met a few days ago, after all. He didn’t owe her any explanations.
She had just filled the coffee pot and was contemplating what to make for breakfast when, on the spur of the moment, she decided to walk to town and eat at the café. It was the only business that opened before noon. But first, she needed to call a repair service to pick up her car, though she didn’t know how she’d explain that a vampire had ripped the door off. The truth certainly didn’t seem like a good idea. They would probably haul her away instead of her car.
Sara had just ordered French toast, bacon, and orange juice when a heavy-set man wearing brown slacks and a tan sweater over a white dress shirt entered Winona’s Café. She’d seen so few men in town, she couldn’t help staring. She judged him to be in his late fifties. His hair was dark brown turning gray, his eyes pale brown behind thick glasses, his skin pale, as if he didn’t spend much time in the sun.
When his gaze met hers, he looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. With a nod in her direction, he took the table across the aisle.
Sara acknowledged his greeting with a quick smile, then looked away.
A moment later, Winona came out from behind the counter to take his order. From what Sara had seen, Winona was not only the waitress, but also the cook and the dishwasher. She was a nice-looking woman, with curly brown hair and blue eyes, perhaps forty years old. Sara had tried on several occasions to engage the woman in conversation, but Winona didn’t seem inclined to make small talk. Not with Sara, and not with the new customer.
“She isn’t very friendly, is she?” the man remarked when the waitress returned to the kitchen. “Are all the people in this town like her?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met that many.”
“Hmm. Seems like a nice, quiet place.”
“It is that. So, what brings you here?”
“I’m a freelance writer.”
“Really? Well, if you’re after an exciting story, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.” Or had he? For a moment, she was tempted to tell him about last night’s incident, but quickly changed her mind.
“I hope not.” Rising, he crossed the aisle and extended his hand. “I’m Carl Overstreet.”
“Sara Winters.” His hand was cool, his grip firm.
“Pleased to meet you.” He shifted from one foot to the other, as if his feet hurt.
She hesitated a moment. Inviting strangers to share her table was becoming a habit, she thought. First Travis Black and now Mr. Overstreet. But then, deciding it would be nice to have someone to talk to, she said, “Won’t you join me?”
“Thanks.”
He lowered himself carefully onto the chair across from hers and blew out a sigh. “Hell to get old,” he said. “I don’t recommend it.”
“Did you come here to cover a specific story?” Sara asked, although she couldn’t imagine that anything worth reporting had ever happened in Susandale.
“I got a hot lead on something that might pan out.” He smiled at the waitress as she brought their orders.
Winona didn’t smile back. “Can I get either of you anything else?”
Sara shook her head. “Not for me.”
“I’m good,” Carl said. “Thanks.”
With a curt nod, Winona scuffed back to the kitchen.
“I don’t know how this place stays in business,” Sara remarked, spreading grape jelly on her French toast. “I’ve never seen more than one or two people in here at a time.”
“I’m not surprised,” Carl muttered, sprinkling salt and pepper on his eggs.
“Why do you say that?”
“What?” He looked up, as if unaware he’d spoken out loud.
“You said you’re not surprised more people don’t come in here.”
He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Small town. They probably don’t get a lot of tourists most of the year.”
“I guess so,” she agreed. Now that he’d mentioned it, there hadn’t been more than a few visitors since she’d been here. Still, the town was off the beaten path. “Would I have read anything you’ve written?”
“It’s possible. I wrote a series of articles on vampires a while back.”
“Vampires!” Good Lord. Should she tell him about what had happened last night? she wondered, then decided against it. Just because he wrote about such things didn’t mean he believed in them. Or did he? “You don’t think they’re real, do you?”
“I know they are.”
“You’ve seen one?”
“Two of them. I don’t recommend it.”
Sara thought again of telling him about the attack last night, but decided it was best not to mention it. She wanted to forget it had ever happened, not share it with a stranger, especially when he was a writer. All she needed was for him to write a story about it that might make its way into a newspaper back home. Her father would be out here to drag her back home before the ink dried.
“So, have you lived here long?” he asked.
“Just a few months.”
“What brought you here?”
“I’m trying to prove to my father that I can make it on my own.”
“Good luck with that,” he said with a wink. “Seen anything unusual since you’ve been here?” He added two teaspoons of sugar to his coffee.
Sara stared at him, her heart pounding. Once again, she wondered if she should tell him about
