House of Bathory(67)

A silence.

“Jaz! You are terrific. Yes, we’re there now. See you in about forty minutes?”

Daisy snapped her cell phone shut and left the ladies’ room. She imagined the sensation Jaz would make when she entered. She was a Latina Goth, but she wore tight-fitting red clothes—slinky and sexy. She always had high heels with her in her bag, even in the winter, taking off her snow boots and putting on the black dagger stilettos once she got inside.

Luis would go crazy over her. The thought made Daisy smile, her tooth glinting.

The bar was dark, and the sour smell of old beer permeated the air. There were little linoleum-topped tables set in front of two musicians with electric guitars. A Latina waitress, with big hoop earrings and a flouncy orange blouse, sauntered up to their table. Her silver bracelets jangled as she placed two cans of Coke in front of them.

“Tu especialidad, Luison,” she said, eyeing Daisy. “Hey—it’s Christmas! You still celebrating Halloween?”

The waitress put her hand on her hips, throwing back her head and laughing. The gold hoop earrings glittered under the fluorescent lights.

“No, as a matter of fact,” said Daisy, narrowing her eyes. “Are you still celebrating Cinco de Mayo? Nice costume, girl.”

The waitress’s smile vanished.

“Ok, chicas. Basta,” said Luis. “Gracias, Lupe. Gracias.”

The waitress stomped off, cursing under her breath in rapid-fire Spanish. Daisy only caught the word “Puta.”

“I didn’t order a Coke,” said Daisy.

“And that ain’t one. Pruebala.”

Her taste buds anticipated the sweetness of a soft drink. The stinging bite of tequila made her smile.

“Very cool. Like mucho.”

“Yeah, Lupe is una amiga. She didn’t mean nothing bad about your funeral clothes.”

“Cinco de Mayo is a nice day, too,” said Daisy, settling back into her chair smiling. She tipped up her Coke can. Luis turned to listen to the band, making the wooden chair squeak under his weight.

Daisy glanced at the time on her cell phone.

Thirty minutes to go. Daisy was running out of time. She knew Jasmin wouldn’t stay at the bar with Luis all night—she always had other plans.





Luis had left lights on in the little Victorian house. It made it difficult for Daisy to prowl about without being seen as she searched for an unlocked window.

Carbondale was in the Christmas spirit, rowdy and raucous. Despite the cold she could hear loud voices on Main Street, laughter and shouts, people on their way to restaurants or bars.

She walked across the frozen grass, her boots crunching over patches of hard snow. What was she going to look for? Something worth breaking into a house. Something worth digging up a grave. Grave robbing. The idea sounded Goth—the reality in the cemetery had made her shiver. She had no idea what might make someone do that. But she felt certain she’d know it when she saw it. She’d feel it.

All she knew was she had to get into the house.

She had forgotten her gloves. The cold slick glass and frosty chipped paint of the window frames bit at her fingers. She pushed up hard, grunting, trying every window she could find. Her bare hands came away covered in paint chips. Everything was locked up tight.

Damn, she whispered. She thought hard where a spare key might be hidden. Not under the old hemp mat, not under the flowerpots outside the door. Not nailed around the corner, or in a fake stone hide-a-key.

Then Daisy nearly tripped over the cellar doors, which were covered in snow. They were the old-fashioned kind that were at a shallow angle to the ground, opening up to what had been a root cellar in the mining days.

Daisy brushed away the snow to expose the metal handles. She tugged at the door and it opened, breaking a seal of frost. She pulled her headlamp from her backpack and went down the old wooden stairs.

There was a wet earthy smell inside. The cellar was packed floor to ceiling with boxes, old furniture, a brass coat stand. Daisy picked her way through the maze, until the beam of her headlamp fell on cement stairs leading up to the main floor of the house.

She heard the savage bark of Ringo on the other side of the door.

“It’s OK, Ringo. Good dog,” she said.

Ringo quieted and then began a series of joyous yelps.

She opened the door and emerged in a hallway, a lamp lit on a desk. No papers or files here. Ringo thumped his tail. He whined until she scratched him behind the ears.

Daisy walked into the front room, Betsy’s office. The file drawers were locked. She checked the pad beside the telephone. Only a few words jotted there, “embassy” in big letters with a long distance phone number. She bent close to the pad and shone her headlamp on a scrawled word.