Marguerite might very well have been visiting one of the prostitutes in the window…to feed.
Thomas found the idea disturbing. He’d never known his aunt to choose people over bagged blood. But why hadn’t she contacted Bastien and had blood shipped out? The longer she was missing the more worried he became. Something was obviously wrong, and he was the one in charge of finding out what that was. It was a task he couldn’t fail, not just because he didn’t want to let down the rest of the family, but because he himself needed her to be safe and well. She was the central focus of family to him. He loved Jeanne Louise and Lissianna as sisters, but Marguerite was stability and the very embodiment of home and family for Thomas. He had hardly cared that Jean Claude, Marguerite’s husband, had died except that it meant he wouldn’t be around to make the wonderful woman miserable, but losing Marguerite would be a crushing blow.
The red-lit windows had thinned out as they walked, separated more and more by bars and shops. When they reached the new coordinates, Thomas found they were standing on a walkway that was a little wider than the one they’d just left. On their right was a row of bars and restaurants, on their left was a row of outdoor tables with large outdoor umbrellas sporting various beer logos.
No doubt they had stopped here to eat. While Marguerite was over seven hundred years old and no longer ate, Tiny McGraw was mortal and did. If that was the case, they might still be here. Surely it would take some time to cook a meal and eat it.
“Is this the spot?” Inez asked, her gaze sliding over the tables.
Thomas nodded and they both began to move slowly along the walkway between the tables and buildings, their eyes moving carefully over the patrons seated outside.
“Maybe she’s inside one of the restaurants or bars,” Inez suggested as they drew near the end of the tables.
Thomas nodded and frowned as he glanced toward the front of the buildings, unsure what to do. He was afraid that if they started going into the restaurants, Marguerite might come out of one while they were in another and leave without them seeing her.
“I could wait out here while you check the restaurants, that way we would be sure not to miss her,” Inez suggested.
Thomas glanced at her, grateful for the suggestion his own brain was in no shape to come up with, but he asked, “Do you know what she looks like?”
“Yes. I met her when I was in New York.”
Relieved to have the matter settled, he glanced around and then suggested, “Why don’t you have a seat at one of the tables on the end here so that you can watch all the doors. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Nodding, Inez moved to the nearest table, settling herself in a seat that put her back to the rest of the path but gave her a view of the entrances of the row of restaurants and bars.
The moment she was settled, Thomas headed for the door of the first bar.
Fifteen minutes later, Inez watched Thomas walk into the last bar in this little area and sighed to herself. Obviously, he hadn’t spotted Marguerite in any of the other bars, and she suspected he wouldn’t find her in this one either. No doubt they’d missed her again. She probably hadn’t stopped here at all, but had been tracked in the area as she was passing through again. They’d probably have to call his friend, Herb, and have him track her phone once more and Inez was beginning to fear they would spend the whole night hurrying from spot to spot chasing after her until near sunrise when she’d settle into whatever hotel she was stopping at. Inez was too tired for this nonsense.
A burst of laughter drew her gaze to a group of men seated at the tables of the next bar over, and she smiled faintly when she recognized the stag party group from Britain. They were laughing and having a good time, but the groom was looking a little the worse for wear. His wig was lopsided, he had several runs in his stockings, the makeup on his face—garish to begin with—was smudged as well as bleeding down his face with sweat. He still appeared to be having a good time, though; his smile was bright and beaming.
Shaking her head with amusement, Inez started to glance back toward the doors, but paused as her gaze landed on a man seated alone at a table two over from the stag party. He had short, spiky black hair above a thin face and looked vaguely familiar to her. Inez only peered at him for a moment, and then decided he too must have been on the plane with them. Amsterdam was a small city and every one seemed to go to the Red Light District at some point, if only to tour through and gawk. If she sat there long enough, she’d probably see every single person from their flight pass by, Inez thought as she glanced back toward the restaurants.