Chapter 14
“Walk me through it again,” McMartin demanded.
Arthur sat at the table closest to the door of the Big Bad Brew, his eyes darting every few seconds to the unlit Open sign in the window.
Salvatore sat beside him, uncharacteristically calm under the scrutiny of the sheriff.
A deep scowl marred McMartin’s face and his usual glib air of superficiality was missing, like he’d finally realized this wasn’t just a movie script they were all acting out.
This was real. A man was dead, and another life hung in the balance.
Minutes ago, paramedics had taken Brody Young to the ER.
He’d been alive when they left, but Arthur had no new information beyond that.
Not as if knowing would change anything.
He and Salvatore had done all they could for Brody by calling for help when they’d found him unconscious and bleeding out.
Now their act of civic duty was being rewarded with more suspicion than ever.
“We’ve told you three times already.” Arthur sighed and reached for Salvatore’s fingers beneath the table.
Salvatore squeezed Arthur’s hand and shifted in his seat, glowering at the sheriff.
“Yes, perhaps you’d like us to record our statement for you.
That way, you can listen to it as often as you like—you know, I’ve been told my voice is rather soothing.
You could use it as a sleep aid or meditation tape. ”
Arthur nudged Salvatore. As much as he appreciated Salvatore’s levity, now was not the time to rile the sheriff further. McMartin was surely trying to trip them up, get them to change their story.
But they wouldn’t, because theirs was the truth.
Theodore made an exasperated noise from where he sat at the counter, but he said nothing.
He’d arrived before the paramedics and had stayed after to offer the sheriff a comfortable place to get everyone’s statements.
But now this was turning into an interrogation.
Arthur shot a look at Theodore. What was the point of having a werewolf lawyer on retainer if he didn’t do any lawyering?
He hadn’t seen any more than they had, but he could’ve at least vouched for their characters.
Perhaps Arthur was right not to expect much from a werewolf.
The unkind thought sped into his mind and lingered there. It was better than dwelling on Brody Young and his precarious state, or the fact that he could be a murderer who’d tried to frame Arthur and Salvatore.
Each time Arthur blinked, he saw Brody lying there, helpless, so very young, skin too pale.
Random details buzzed through Arthur’s thoughts.
One of his red-and-white sneakers had been untied.
The tips of his fingers on his right hand were stained blue.
There had been a paper coffee cup lying near him.
Salvatore touched Arthur’s arm, and with a jolt he realized he’d missed the last few minutes of conversation.
“Can you tell the sheriff where we were this evening, once again?” Salvatore said, voice gentle. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he took in Arthur’s fatigued expression.
Arthur straightened his spine, determined not to let the sheriff break him.
“Yes, of course,” he said. There was no point in pushing back against McMartin, troublesome though his methods were.
This would all get cleared up. “We decided to take a nice walk before dinner. When we came down Main Street—”
“Where’s that ridiculous bike?” McMartin interrupted.
Arthur paused. He, Salvatore, and Theodore had agreed to not mention the fact that they were looking for Brody. It was the sort of thing the sheriff would seize upon as proof they had hurt the boy. But he hadn’t thought to explain why they’d left their tandem bicycle near the barbecue restaurant.
“We planned to pick it up later,” Arthur said.
“After a nice romantic stroll,” Salvatore added. “You know, Arthur may not love animals, but he’s a bit like a dog sometimes—he needs his walkies or he gets cross.”
The sheriff didn’t reward Salvatore’s tangent. “During this walk, you just happened across Brody, unconscious?”
“Yes,” Arthur said. “And we immediately telephoned for help.”
“Very convenient story.” McMartin sat back like he’d just called checkmate, though Arthur couldn’t figure out for the undeath of him how.
“I’m flattered you think us criminal masterminds.
” Salvatore leaned forward, closing the space between him and McMartin.
“But unlike us, this blame game is getting a little old. Can we go home now? We left our cat alone, and I fear she might be overcome with worry for us and shred our furniture with her mighty claws if we don’t return soon. ”
McMartin seemed indifferent to their plight. “Brody Young is seriously hurt. He might not make it to morning. And you people think a cat is more important?” For a moment, real emotion edged into McMartin’s expression, but he pasted smugness over it with alarming ease.
“We’ve already helped Brody as much as we can,” Arthur said. “We aren’t doctors. I wish we’d found him sooner, or seen who hurt him—”
“I know who hurt him.” The sheriff crossed his arms, malice dripping from his words.
“Are they under arrest?” Theodore asked from his perch at the counter.
“Not yet, but you’re both persons of interest in this. Don’t even think about leaving town.”
“We won’t.” Arthur stared the sheriff down. He didn’t want to leave town. That was why he’d gotten so embroiled in this mess. “Trident Falls is our home, you know,” he added in a softer tone.
“Maybe not for much longer,” the sheriff grumbled. “But you can go now.”
Everyone rose from the table, but before Arthur could take so much as a step toward the front door, it burst open. Dr. Young stood framed in the doorway, eyes wild, face red.
“What did you do to him?” Young shouted, the sound echoing off the exposed brick walls of the coffee shop.
His sudden arrival was enough to make everyone, even McMartin, step back.
“Trip.” McMartin recovered quickly. “What are you doing here?”
“Those monsters attacked my son!” Young pointed at Arthur, Salvatore, and even Theodore. “Why aren’t they locked up yet?”
McMartin raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Come on, now, let’s calm down and lower our voices.” He was obviously as skilled at de-escalation as he was at investigating murders.
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Young stomped forward, towering over Salvatore, the only one shorter than him.
Arthur shoved down his instinct to get Young out of his husband’s space. The man was scared and desperate. He deserved some sympathy. Arthur didn’t have to reach very far to find some, pain twisting in his chest at the very thought of Dr. Young’s circumstances.
“We didn’t hurt your son,” Salvatore said without any trace of sarcasm or enmity in his tone.
“In fact,” Theodore added, taking a step forward, “Brody’s got some chance of living thanks to Arthur and Salvatore’s quick action.”
Arthur nodded. “He’ll be at the ER by now. Maybe you should be there with him. If there is any update—”
“Don’t you dare.” Young’s complexion bloomed even redder as he moved his accusatory finger into Sal’s face. “You tried to kill him.”
“Please, I’ve never tried to kill anyone,” Sal replied, putting a smidge too much emphasis on the word tried. “And Arthur’s too soft for that sort of thing—do you know, he won’t even kill spiders? Takes them outside to the garden in little jars. It’s adorable, honestly.”
Arthur could see things derailing quickly, so he stepped in, holding Sal by the shoulders and gently pulling him back a few steps. “The point is, we’re all worried about Brody,” he said. “And we want to find who hurt him.”
“Find someone else to pin it on, you mean? Like you were trying to pin George Roth’s murder on my son?
And you.” Young turned his furious gaze to the sheriff.
“You’ve been letting these vamps roam free around our town.
If Brody…” He swallowed audibly, as though the words were stuck in his throat.
“If Brody doesn’t make it, his blood’s on your hands, too. ”
“I assure you, I’ll get to the bottom of all this,” McMartin said, face stony. “Let me take care of things. Go be with your kid.”
“Yeah. I will.” Young glanced at Arthur, eyes wild. “You bloodsuckers won’t get away with this. Not again. I’ll make sure of it.”
With that, McMartin finally managed to corral Young out the door. Hopefully, the sheriff would escort him all the way to the ER so there wouldn’t be any surprise visits from the dentist. After the night’s events, Arthur was rather done with shocking twists. Oh, how he hated a jump scare.
“Well, that was a bit much,” Salvatore said, shaking himself like a large barn owl ruffling its feathers.
“His son’s in critical condition, Sal. I think he has every right to be irrational.
” Arthur’s words rang hollow in the wake of Dr. Young’s outburst, however.
He wanted to be understanding. He wanted to be compassionate.
But those were things neither the dentist nor the sheriff had been toward him and Sal.
Perhaps he was being too generous. “Could’ve done without the bloodsucker comment, though. ”
Salvatore nodded furiously. “And he did seem awfully serious about pinning all this on us.”
Arthur sighed and looped his arm through Sal’s. “I’d love to have just one day where no one suspects us of murder.”
“It does seem to come with the territory, doesn’t it.” Sal bared his fangs, a hint of resignation in his throaty tone. He patted Arthur’s hand and straightened his shoulders. “Now, did I ever tell you the story of when I was mistaken for the Countess Báthory and had to go on the run?”
“You certainly did, but I suspect you’ll tell me again anyway.
” Arthur didn’t mind so much. It was a bit like watching a favorite movie or reading a beloved novel.
Perhaps it was the familiarity of Sal’s voice or the way Arthur knew how the story would end, as all his stories did, with the two of them married and dying happily ever after.
In the midst of all the uncertainty they found themselves embroiled in now, the predictable nature of Sal’s story would be a comfort.
Sal didn’t tell it, though. Instead, he tightened his grip on Arthur’s arm and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Well, darling, what should we do now?”
The knot in Arthur’s stomach loosened just a little. “There’s only one thing we can do.” Arthur met Salvatore’s gaze, a pang hitting him square in the chest. He wouldn’t let this town ruin what they’d worked so hard to make. “We’re going to solve this case.”