Chapter 9
When they returned home, the Iris Inn looked the same as ever, but Arthur felt it had an extra sparkle when Salvatore was in residence. Arthur stowed their tandem bike in the garage while Salvatore fussed over Rumble, cradling her against his chest like a newborn.
“You kept it all the same!” Sal exclaimed as he entered the lobby. “Hello, walls; hello, doors; hello, desk. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”
“I doubt the desk did,” Arthur said. “You don’t spend much time behind it even when you are home.”
Salvatore ignored him. “You couldn’t have dusted it while I was gone?”
“I was a little busy getting you out of jail. Besides, that’s your job this week. Don’t you check the chore wheel?” Arthur glanced out into the living room for Nora—it wouldn’t do for her to overhear them arguing like this—but it seemed she hadn’t yet returned.
“I can’t be chained to some wheel of expectations, darling.”
“You were all for the chore wheel when it meant breaking out the glitter glue.”
“Glitter glue…” Salvatore said wistfully. “Would that all menial tasks included it.”
“Speaking of, the kitchen’s still a mess from this morning.” Arthur eyed Sal, attempting to gauge the likelihood of getting help with that today.
Surprisingly, Salvatore pitched in without a fuss, though he did it all while extolling the comparative virtues of various brands and colors of glitter glue.
The fact that he wasn’t bemoaning his time in lockup anymore could mean one of two things: he’d forgotten all about it, or it was actually bothering him on a deeper level than his usual dramatics could soothe.
Arthur was torn. If it was the former and he asked about it, he ran the risk of working Sal into an unnecessary fervor, but if it was the latter, he wouldn’t want to let Sal suffer alone.
In the end, he decided to trust that his partner would confide in him if and when he was ready.
By nightfall, the Iris Inn was once again in tip-top shape for guests, and they’d both worked up an appetite. After unpacking and deconstructing the Fresh Bites box for recycling, Arthur portioned out the first bag of blood into matching tulip glasses.
Sal went to the pantry to retrieve a can of tuna for Rumble. “Don’t forget the—”
“Crazy straw. I know.” Arthur plopped a purple straw with plenty of twists and turns into Sal’s drink, garnishing his own with a long stick of celery.
“Oh, you’re both here!” Nora’s voice, too bright for the evening hour, wafted in from the entryway.
Arthur scrambled to hide the glasses. Though Nora hadn’t seemed put off by their vampirism, one could never be sure how someone would react to the physical consumption of blood—especially through a crazy straw.
“I do apologize, Nora. I haven’t started preparations for dinner just yet,” Arthur began, but Nora waved him off.
“Don’t you worry about me. I got pizza.” She held up two boxes with the logo from the local combination pizzeria and ice cream parlor, Sugar and Slice.
“I got extra just in case, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be home yet…
or if you…eat food?” She winced. “I’m sorry.
I don’t know how to say that in a way that isn’t rude. ”
The truth of it was that while vampires could and did eat the way humans did, they certainly didn’t need to.
Vampire anatomy deprioritized the parasympathetic nervous system, slowing down everything else, including digestion.
When they ate too much, it could cause lethargy among other side effects, which ranged from the appearance of illness to intoxication.
Most vampires indulged in human cuisine from time to time, especially now that vampire hunting was no longer legal and the need to remain vigilant had diminished, though blood remained the only form of sustenance they required.
Sal in particular enjoyed revisiting his favorites from his mortal years as much as he delighted in discovering new delicacies, and Arthur would admit he was a bit of a gourmand himself.
That was all rather too much for a casual response, though, so instead Arthur simply said, “We uh…obviously eat…food.”
“Especially pizza! You know, I can’t resist the food of my people.” Salvatore eagerly swept past Arthur, jostling his arm just enough that Arthur had to move the glasses from behind his back to avoid spilling any.
Arthur smiled sheepishly at their guest. “Sorry,” he said rather dully.
“Don’t be. We all have to eat.”
Salvatore took the boxes from her, practically waltzing with them as he gestured her toward the living room. “We were going to watch a spot of television, if you’d like to join us.”
“We were?” Arthur asked.
“Love Is Dead is on tonight, my dear. You know I can’t miss an episode.”
“It’s a dating show,” Arthur explained, abandoning the goblets of blood for a stack of plates and napkins.
He’d been skeptical at first, but as with most things Sal liked—tango dancing, escargot, Nicolas Cage—Arthur had learned he liked it as well.
Each week, they cuddled up on the couch to watch humans lust after what Sal described as “a corner-store Dracula,” and Arthur was as invested in the love story as Sal was at this point. His husband was quite the tastemaker.
“Is that the one where they’re competing to marry a vampire?” Nora asked, picking up the glasses without a moment’s hesitation.
Arthur nodded, eyeing her steady hands. Perhaps Nora’s interest in vampires was genuine, after all.
Then again, it was possible it was all just a clever front to keep suspicion off her.
Arthur wasn’t ready to strike her name from his suspect list just yet.
Still, he silently hoped she wasn’t the culprit.
It would be a shame if the first friend he and Salvatore made in town turned out to be a murderer.
Nora led the way out of the kitchen, stepping carefully over Rumble, who’d zoomed from her now empty can of tuna to join Salvatore on the couch. “Doesn’t the winner get turned at the end?”
“It’s so romantic,” Salvatore chorused from the living room. “Come on, it’s starting! I hope Samantha gets the wooden stake tonight. She’s the worst.”
Samantha was the worst, as it turned out.
Arthur, Salvatore, and Nora spent the next hour and a half heckling her and the other contestants on Love Is Dead with gusto.
Arthur didn’t usually enjoy television by himself, but watching with Sal and Nora was almost enough to take his mind off the murder that had taken place in their garden nearly twenty-four hours ago.
Almost.
“So, Nora dear,” Sal said during a commercial break, rudely placed right before the Count (so named because of his status on the show, not because of any noble lineage) revealed who’d be going home. “I noticed a bit of tension between you and Quinn Clark. What’s going on there?”
“Nothing!” Nora reached for another slice of pizza and took a bite with haste. Her voice was a touch too high, her eyes a touch too frantic.
Arthur was inclined to let it go. Everyone had their secrets, and as long as it had nothing to do with the mayor’s murder, he was prepared to let Nora keep hers. Sal, of course, could never let anything lie.
“My dear, I’m simply too old not to notice that level of drama when it’s right in front of me.” Sal wiggled his eyebrows. “You can tell us. We take secrets to the grave.”
Not a particularly reassuring promise from two vampires, of course.
After a drawn-out moment, Nora set her pizza down and leaned back into the couch. “Quinn has…a reputation. She’s ambitious, which normally I’d admire. I’m ambitious, too. But she’s been known to take it too far, from what I’ve heard.”
“Very interesting,” Salvatore said. “Got any examples?”
“I shouldn’t gossip.” All Nora’s good cheer was gone. The commercial break ended, but no one seemed to care. Sal always said all the real fun was on social media after the show ended, anyway.
“Why not? Gossip is half the reason I wake up in the evening,” Sal pressed.
“She—I mean I heard this, I can’t be sure—but she doesn’t personally support the mayor’s platform.
She just goes along with it because she thinks sucking up to the mayor will help her career.
Everyone knows she has plans to run when…
” She trailed off, then in a much softer voice finished, “Well, when Roth retired. Guess that didn’t go exactly to plan. ”
Arthur sat up at that. Perhaps this had more to do with the mayor’s death than he’d thought.
His fingers itched to reach for the notebook in his pocket, but he didn’t want to scare Nora off the topic.
Instead, he adopted his best nonchalant tone and said, “She didn’t seem to take it well this morning when the city council gave you the role of acting mayor instead of her. ”
“No.” Her voice broke and she tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “She took the news hard. Maybe harder than the news of Roth’s death.”
“Perhaps she expected the promotion herself?” Arthur suggested.
“I think it was less about her and more about me. Even before the mayor’s death, she’d been…
well, absent, really. Like she was protesting me getting the city manager job.
It was a shock to see her at the wine and cheese night, that’s for sure.
I’d hoped we could be allies, actually, since she seems to agree with most of my policy proposals, but she’s been nothing but unhelpful so far. ”
“That’s odd.”
“It’s too bad. We could really make a difference in this town, if only she could see that we’re on the same side. But I guess it’s more important to her to see me fail.”