“I’m a mother. Worrying is basically how I pray,” I told her. “Wait, when you say the case was ‘directed’ to Judge Holyfield . . .”
“Sweetie, you don’t want to know,” Jane told me. “Let’s just say that as a local Council representative and the wielder of all of its questionable resources, I’m glad to finally wield for the sake of good.”
“Thanks, Jane.”
The storefront had gone very quiet as the tall man from before, the bloodspresso chugger, stood with his back to us, espresso cup in one hand, while he weepily explained how he couldn’t find friends in the undead community.
“It’s just so lonely,” he whispered, shoulders heaving. “I don’t understand why I can’t find friends among other vampires. I’m a nice guy once you get to know me.”
The reek of desperation could have something to do with it. Men who have to point out that they’re nice guys are very rarely actual nice guys, I thought, rather loudly, so Jane could hear me. But she didn’t respond. Weird.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
“That is Crybaby Bob,” she said. “Crybaby Bob is one of our newest members and a little nervous about finding a support system nearby. And by ‘nervous,’ I mean a person-shaped sieve constantly leaking tears. Hence the accurate but somewhat mean nickname.”
“You’re not going to try to set me up with Bob, are you? Because I’m not ready for undead playdates.”
Jane shook her head and whispered, “Bob is needy as hell and working my last nerve. He’s been a vampire for three years. You’d think that would be time enough to take the training wheels off of his fangs.”
“I just need someone who understands me!” Bob sobbed.
Jane cringed, and I mouthed, Wow.
I drove home, sipping on a blood-coffee-chocolate concoction Andrea told me was a guaranteed “better mood in a bottle.” I knew better than to ask questions, so I simply listened to Norah Jones and sipped my vampire Prozac while I slowly, calmly guided my van home. Because getting pulled over for speeding while drinking from an open blood container would not help my chances of keeping Danny at home.
From the highway, I could see an unfamiliar shape on my front porch. Kerrianne hadn’t texted to warn me of visitors, and Jed wouldn’t have let someone loiter on our shared porch. Frowning, I threw my van into park and jumped out, running toward the house with more speed than I could safely put on my engine.
I skidded to a stop in the gravel drive, crouching slightly.
Sitting on my front porch, cool and crisp as you please, was a man in a light blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled at the elbows. The even matinee-idol features were now brightened by a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his dark goatee. It was Mr. Gentleman, the vampire who had intervened in my conversation with Wade in the Walmart parking lot. And as the wind changed directions, the scent of sandalwood drifted toward my sensitive nose.
There was something familiar about him, and not just from that one incident in the parking lot. I knew him somehow. His smile filled me with what I could only describe as a warm, giddy sort of peace.
Attempting to keep some semblance of cool, I cleared my throat. “So did you just walk around, sitting on all of the front porches in town until you found mine?”
He snorted, and the warm, flirtatious smile bloomed into something more like delight. “Oh, I have my ways. Your babysitter made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome in the house. And if she hears one distressed sound out of you while we are talking, she’s going to, and I quote, ‘pepper my ass with salt and silver buckshot.’ ”
I looked over at my front window, where Kerrianne waved . . . what looked to be a shotgun. Where did she get a shotgun? Did Jed loan it to her? Then again, this was Kentucky. A better question would be where couldn’t Kerrianne get a shotgun.
For the record, answers to that question would not include the local bait shop, the church rummage sale, or the quilters’ guild luncheon. We would have to have a long talk about my concerns about gun safety and proximity to Danny some other time.
“She’s a smart lady, my babysitter.”
“Are you all right?” he asked. “That had to be frightening for you earlier, seeing that weird guy in the parking lot with the ski mask.”
“How did you know about that?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I would love to stand out here with you and try to figure out your cryptic quips, but I have other things to do. Enjoy your night.” I took the steps, light on my feet, but he caught my hand as I passed.