Chapter 9 #2
With quick fingers, Arthur pinched the notebook from his pocket and scribbled a few notes.
This was promising, indeed. Quinn had been at the inn last night.
In fact, she might’ve been the last person to see the mayor alive.
She claimed to have left him at the office, but perhaps the truth was far more sinister.
He made a note to himself to check with Lore about the official time of death.
“Sounds like more than simple professional jealousy,” Arthur began, but a commotion from the television prevented him from steering the conversation further.
Nora gasped, eyes darting back to the screen.
“Samantha just slapped Evie!” Sal exclaimed, and the subject changed for good.
Arthur knew when to let things go, so he returned his attention to the TV, but his grip on the notebook remained tight until the credits rolled.
Long after Nora had gone to bed and Arthur had tidied the inn twice over, sleep was still far from his grasp despite how deprived of it he was.
The usual routine of brushing and flossing and putting in his fang guard—to preserve his teeth from his anxious night grinding—didn’t settle him like normal.
Plush satin-cased pillows and drawn curtains around their king-size coffin weren’t enough to lull him into slumber.
His mind whirred, shuffling through suspects and evidence endlessly.
“Would you feel better if we slept upside down?” Sal asked after a half hour of Arthur tossing and turning.
“I doubt it.” Arthur rubbed his eyes. “I just can’t get my mind to turn off.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I might like to sleep upside down?”
Arthur sighed and sat up. “Would you like to sleep upside down?”
“Why, yes, Arthur, my love, I would.” Salvatore threw off the coffin lid and blankets and his silhouette rose against the velvet drapes as he turned around so his feet were on the pillow. Then he threw the blankets back over himself, all but his toes disappearing from view.
Arthur waited until gentle snores disturbed the silence before adjusting the blanket to cover Sal’s feet.
The last thing he needed was his husband catching cold.
As far as he knew, no vampire had ever gotten sick that way before.
Still, when Sal complained of tummy trouble or rheumatism, regardless of his physical ability to contract such ailments, he was more dramatic than William Shatner. Best to err on the side of caution.
Try though he might, Arthur couldn’t drift off.
He kept circling around his two top suspects: Nora and Quinn.
Both people who stood to benefit from the mayor’s death.
Both people here at the inn last night. Arthur wanted to move Quinn up to top suspect alone, but all the testimony about her had come from Nora, a woman who clearly disliked her.
And there was, of course, the matter of how friendly and helpful Nora had been. Sal might be fooled, his easy social manner impeding his better judgment. Arthur was far more shrewd. People who went out of their way to act friendly usually had a reason for it. Niceness wasn’t kindness.
Either way, he knew the next step of his investigation. He was going to have a chat with Quinn Clark.
Despite his churning thoughts, Arthur managed a little sleep.
When he woke, he actually felt rested and relaxed, though not for long.
The coffin lid was open and Sal’s place beside him was empty.
The clock on his wardrobe read ten thirty, and judging by the light filtering in under the curtains, it was of the a.m. variety.
Jolting to his feet, Arthur scrambled into a pair of gray slacks and a pink-striped shirt, accidentally buttoning it off-kilter twice before extracting himself from the bedroom. He found Sal in the kitchen surrounded by dirty dishes.
“What are you doing just sitting around?” Arthur threw his hands in the air as he came to a halt at the kitchen counter, crashing into the open silverware drawer.
“Relax, my dear.” Sal reached for Arthur’s hand, but Arthur was already dragging pans from a lower cabinet.
“Nora will be so disappointed—”
“Nora’s already gone into the office.”
“Are you joking? I can’t believe you let me sleep that late. It’s well past breakfast, you know.”
“Exactly, it’s past breakfast.”
“How are you being so calm about this? Our first guest in weeks, and we skip the most important meal. It’s literally in the name—bed-and-breakfast.”
Sal simply gestured to a stack of dishes near the sink. Arthur glanced at them to see a thin layer of syrup and leftover jam.
“You…you already ate.”
“Despite appearances, I am actually capable of feeding our guest without you.”
“I didn’t—”
“We had pancakes in the shape of hearts.” Sal pushed his pointer fingers and thumbs together to make a heart in the air.
“Oh, that’s actually quite nice—”
“Anatomically correct hearts.”
“O…kay…”
A grin spread across Sal’s face, mischief in his eyes. “I put strawberry jam underneath so when we cut into them it looked like real blood was gushing out.”
Arthur groaned and collapsed onto the counter, elbows sliding out from under him. “You didn’t.”
“I didn’t.” Sal patted him on the shoulder. “I promise I was every bit the picture of a modern major humanoid. Normalest normaler to ever normal about these parts.”
Arthur peered at his husband through a gap in his fingers. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you’re a very sharp detective, of both mind and fang, my love.”
“Speaking of which…” Arthur pulled out his notebook. “I’ve got a lead we can track down. If you still want to help.”
“Of course I’m going to help! What’s Shuttlecock without his Wattpad, after all.”
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?” Sal’s smile was completely guileless. “I’ll be ready to go in just a moment.”
Arthur selected a new umbrella for the day—black with glow-in-the-dark bats on it, the least ostentatious one he owned, but he needn’t have bothered. When Sal returned with Rumble in the cat backpack, he was sporting a pair of aviator sunglasses and holding a deerstalker cap in his hand.
“What’s that for?” Arthur asked, against his better judgment.
“The vibes, my dear.” Sal deposited the hat on Arthur’s head and handed over a folded pair of aviators to match his own. “Now, where to?”