Chapter 12
Trip Young lived in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Trident Falls, on a quiet street not far from downtown. It was a shady area full of large rhododendron blooms and tall fences to keep nosy neighbors at arm’s length.
“I don’t know why we’re bothering to talk with him,” Sal said, stopping in his tracks on the sidewalk with a glare at Dr. Young’s house. “It was obviously his truck. Why not let the sheriff handle it from here?”
“So he can bungle more of the investigation? That video doesn’t actually show who moved the body. I’m sure he’d find a way to turn it back around on us.” Arthur gritted his teeth. “I’d sooner trust Rumble to handle this than McMartin.”
“Detective Rumble does have a nice ring to it.”
“I was joking, Sal— Please don’t get her a police uniform or anything.”
“Arthur! I would never.” Sal clutched the backpack still holding Rumble to his chest, his mouth open in horror. “Rumble knows better. Snitches get stitches! She would obviously be a private investigator or maybe a vigilante! She could have her own theme song—”
“Okay,” Arthur said before Sal could start singing. “Well, my point is that involving McMartin will only slow things down. We’ll ask Dr. Young about that night to see how he reacts. If he’s guilty, we can bring him to the station ourselves.”
“Just a few moments ago you were certain it was Quinn and Nora. Why can’t we just…deliver their brunch invitations and continue things tomorrow?”
“Really? You want to bother them?”
“Better than incurring the wrath of a dentist.”
“Wasn’t it you who suggested he might be the culprit to begin with?” Arthur asked.
“Yes, but that was when I was behind bars and far away from him and his drills and tools and little suction thingy.”
Arthur was sorely tempted to make a crack about how Salvatore didn’t always seem to mind such things in the right context, but now was neither the time nor the place for jokes of such a risqué nature.
Instead, he merely fixed Salvatore with a weary stare and said, “Wouldn’t you rather take him down yourself?
Prove once and for all you’re more powerful than a dentist?
Not even the melodramatic potential of a citizen’s arrest, it seemed, was enough to sway Salvatore to go to Dr. Young’s house.
He stood resolute at the end of the driveway and said, “It could be dangerous. He might be armed with one of those plaque scrapers!” He shuddered.
“No, I shan’t be going with you. Our daughter needs to be fed, anyway. ” He tapped the tip of Rumble’s nose.
“Do cats have to eat three meals a day?” Arthur asked.
“I’ll google it. And you”—Sal turned and booped Arthur’s nose as well—“be careful. Rumble needs both of her fathers in one piece.” Sal kissed Arthur’s cheek before sauntering off back toward the inn, cooing to Rumble as though she were an infant all the way.
Dr. Young lived in a charming two-story home.
A sign to reelect Mayor George Roth was still displayed on the neatly trimmed lawn.
Arthur stalled just before the porch, pausing to scrutinize the wilting daffodils in a brick-lined raised bed.
A frown creased his lips. If he was right about the dentist, neglecting his flowers would be the least of his crimes, but he couldn’t help but glance about for a hose or watering can.
There was nothing in the yard or the driveway—not even the silver truck that had led him this far.
With a sigh, he approached the door and rang the bell. Dr. Young answered a few moments later, looking perplexed to see Arthur on his porch.
“Arthur Miller?” he asked, eyes widening at the sight of him. “What are you doing here? You haven’t broken a fang, have you?”
“No, nothing like that.” Arthur fidgeted, nearly taking off his sunglasses.
He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for showing up at someone’s house to ask if they were a murderer, but he suspected he shouldn’t broach the subject standing in a doorway.
“There’s a sensitive matter I’d like to discuss. ”
Dr. Young hesitated, surveying Arthur with narrowed eyes. “I suppose you’d like to come in.”
The phrasing was deliberate, Arthur was certain.
It wasn’t every mortal who’d voluntarily invite a vampire into their home, and Arthur wasn’t about to push his luck.
It would be easier to get information if Dr. Young wasn’t on edge.
Besides, if he turned out to be dangerous, Arthur would rather be in full view of the street.
He glanced back at the neglected yard and frowned.
“I noticed your flowers look a bit parched. Perhaps you might allow me to tend them while we chat.”
“I guess that would be fine,” Dr. Young said, still eyeing Arthur with trepidation. “My ex-wife planted them. I’ll admit, I don’t have much of a green thumb, so I’ve just let them run their course since she left.”
Arthur nodded, a pang of empathy rocking him. He’d left a flower bed behind once, too. He wondered if anyone had taken care of it after his departure.
Dr. Young closed the door behind him as he stepped out to join Arthur. “There’s a hose around back.”
Arthur closed his umbrella, set it aside, and rolled up his sleeves as Dr. Young fetched a trowel, gardening gloves, and the hose for Arthur. Perhaps today wouldn’t be a wash after all. With any luck, he’d uncover a murderer and rescue a few flowers.
“I assume you didn’t stop by solely for yard work,” Dr. Young said eventually.
“Right. Yes. Of course.” Elbow-deep in soil, Arthur turned to glance over his shoulder at the dentist. “Please excuse me for asking such a pointed question, but…where were you Thursday evening?”
Young blinked. “I was out with the chamber of commerce for pizza. Left there around six or so to go to my office.”
That aligned with what Quinn had said. Perhaps they were in cahoots as well. “And after that?”
“I went to my office to wait for your husband to show up. When he was half an hour late for his appointment, I locked up and came home.”
“You didn’t make any stops?”
“No.” Dr. Young frowned. “Is this about the mayor?”
Arthur heaved a sigh and sat back on his heels, careful not to get dirt on his khakis. “A silver truck that looked an awful lot like yours was seen near the scene of the crime.”
“I walked home—didn’t have my truck that night.” Young deflated with relief, then he stiffened again. “Brody, my son, had it.”
Arthur kept his face very still, but his mind was whirring.
He’d been braced for a confrontation, ready—hopeful, even—to unmask the culprit.
He’d seen Dr. Young’s truck on the video feed and taken that alone as proof of guilt.
Perhaps he’d allowed Salvatore’s biases to sway him when it came to the dentist.
Now that he was face-to-face with the man, could look him in the eye and see the worry rooted there at the thought of his son’s involvement, Arthur felt a wave of empathy wash over him.
It was a terrible thing to discover a loved one might be embroiled in a murder plot. Arthur knew that all too well.
“Do you know what time he got in that night?” Arthur asked tentatively.
Dr. Young leaned forward, eyebrows pinched. “What’s your interest in all this? I heard your husband was released from jail. Is he still a suspect?”
“Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen looking into the events.” Outright admitting that he was an amateur detective trying to get his husband cleared of the murder might not have gone over too well.
With a sharp sigh, Young glanced at Arthur. “Brody’s curfew is nine.”
Arthur furrowed his brow. The time stamp on the video footage had put the truck near the park around then, but if Brody had come home on time, Arthur would be back to square one.
Hesitating, Dr. Young shrugged one shoulder.
“He was late coming home. I called him, but he wouldn’t tell me where he was, other than out with friends.
He’s been getting into trouble lately, with all that graffiti nonsense.
He lost his part-time job a few weeks ago, too.
It’s not good for kids to have so much free time, you know.
They need somewhere to put all that energy.
I never thought he’d do anything serious, but…
” Young shook his head. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone. You don’t think that, do you?”
Arthur’s stomach sank lower and lower as Dr. Young spoke. “Brody was with friends, right? Do you know their names?” Maybe the friends could confirm Brody’s whereabouts…or maybe they couldn’t. Either way, Arthur needed to know the truth.
“Yeah, I can text you their names,” Young said.
“I don’t have a cell phone.” Arthur wished Salvatore had come along, if for no other reason than this. Instead, Arthur withdrew his notepad and flipped it open to a blank page. “Do you mind writing them down?”
“Sure.” Dr. Young took the offered pen and scribbled a few names. “Brody’s a good kid. Most of the time. I’ve been trying to keep him in line, but he really hasn’t been the same since his mother left. These past few years have been tough on him. I hope he’s not mixed up in anything dangerous.”
Arthur accepted the piece of paper. “I hope so, too.” And he meant it. Solving a murder was all well and good, but if a teenager was the murderer, that would indeed be a tough pill to swallow—tougher even than getting Salvatore to take his multivitamin.
After bidding Dr. Young and his much-improved flower beds farewell, Arthur went on his way.
He really didn’t fancy walking back to the Iris Inn to get Salvatore, only to retrace his steps once more to follow up with Brody’s friends, but he was in luck.
As he passed Sugar and Slice, the combo pizza and ice cream parlor, he spotted Salvatore sitting on one of those horrible gray-blue benches, sharing an ice cream cone with Rumble.
Arthur cringed. Vampires didn’t have to worry about infectious diseases, but still. It wasn’t at all hygienic.