Chapter 21 #2
“What would someone like you be doing auditioning for a show about matching humans with vampires? You hate paranormals!” Arthur said. And, because Sal wasn’t here to be dramatic for him, he continued. “Perhaps this is one of those deepfakes you claim to fear so much.”
McMartin rolled his eyes. “If you want to get cast in good roles, you have to suck up to paranormals. Everything’s about diversity these days. Can’t get a job as a regular joe anymore.”
Arthur nearly pointed out that the sheriff did, in fact, have a job—and a fairly powerful one, at that, despite being regular—but he held back. Now wasn’t the time for that particular argument.
“Everyone sells out. I just have to bite my tongue, at least until the residuals start paying out.”
As idiotic as he sounded, Arthur found himself believing the sheriff—about his alibi, not the nature of Hollywood.
McMartin wasn’t some villainous mastermind, after all.
Just a startlingly inept man with far too much unearned confidence.
Arthur had pinned his hopes on the wrong man, and now he was stuck in jail, with his main suspect cleared.
He should have run away with Salvatore. He should have given up this whole detective thing long ago.
Trident Falls was determined to believe in his guilt.
Salvatore’s words rang in his ears from what felt like eons ago, but in reality it had been only a little over forty-eight hours.
If they don’t want us, I don’t know why you’d want them.
But Arthur couldn’t help it—he wanted Trident Falls, or at least what it represented, more than he’d wanted much of anything over the years. No matter how the world kept rejecting him for being a vampire, for being odd, for being himself—he couldn’t give up.
McMartin coughed and gave Arthur a smug look. “I have some actual work to do. Gotta get your case file finished for the handoff tomorrow. You may as well get comfortable in there.”
Arthur returned to his perch on the hard bench, slumping as McMartin closed himself up in his office.
Arthur had only just begun the descent into what promised to be a very long, drawn-out, poorly attended pity party when a familiar pattern of clacking heels approached.
He looked up, not realizing he’d known Nora long enough to recognize her gait from sound alone.
Despite himself, and the situation, he shrugged on a smile and stood to greet her. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, ages.” She returned his smile, but it faltered almost immediately. “I should’ve known she was following me. I can’t believe she led the police right to you.”
“That wasn’t your fault. This was bound to happen eventually.” He tried to sound chipper, but Arthur could hardly summon the energy to shrug off his defeat. “Besides, it wasn’t Quinn who led them to me. That voicemail I left at the inn wasn’t exactly my brightest moment.”
“Do you think Theo will be able to get you out of here?” Her voice held a tinge of hopefulness that wasn’t convincing either of them.
“Not this time. There’s evidence. And now I have no more suspects.”
“Does that mean you’ve cleared me and Quinn?” she asked wryly.
“Sorry about all that. I had to exhaust all my options before letting the sheriff take me in.” Arthur rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion suddenly overtaking him. “In truth, I thought it was the sheriff, but he finally showed me his alibi and it’s…solid. So now I’m back to square one.”
“It was a good guess.” Nora frowned. “Although, now that I think about it, I’m not sure the sheriff has the brains to really pull this sort of thing off.”
“That’s what Sal…” Arthur had been about to attribute the thought to his very absent husband when, in fact, it had been only his imagination. “That’s what Sal would say if he were here,” he finished.
“Where is he, by the way?”
Arthur shrugged, the tightness in his throat a harbinger of tears.
“No!” Nora gasped. “He wouldn’t just leave you. I may not have known you for very long, but even I know a devoted husband when I see one.”
“We…had a fight,” Arthur croaked. “He refused to stay; I refused to run away with him. I couldn’t leave without solving the case.”
“Arthur Miller, no relation!” Nora cocked an eyebrow. “You may be stupider than our bumbling sheriff.”
Arthur shook his head. “Staying was the right thing to do. Sal doesn’t care about finding the real scoundrel who did this—he’d rather move on than try to fix this mess.
You know, he once shattered a vase that belonged to some duchess or other three hundred years ago and to this day he won’t set foot in Prague. ”
“Yes, but you aren’t in Prague.” Nora cleared her throat, seeming to correctly guess that Arthur wasn’t in the mood to argue the point. “What’s next, then?”
Arthur flopped back down onto the bench. “I suppose I’ll be here until the FPI arrives to take me into their custody.”
“You’re just giving up?” Nora’s voice rose and the deputy finally glanced up from her desk.
Arthur didn’t dare say more with her attention on him, so he angled his body toward Nora and whispered, “I’m afraid I’m not the detective I thought I was.
” Saying it aloud was harder than he’d anticipated.
It had all seemed so clear, so cut-and-dried, before seeing the sheriff’s alibi.
“We may never know who hurt Brody, especially if it was just a random vampire attack.” It was possible some other vampire with fangs similar to Arthur’s had come through town and happened upon Brody.
Possible, though not likely. Truly, Arthur’s luck was terrible.
“Well, I don’t know about all that.” Nora perked up. “That’s what I came to tell you. I spoke with Lore, who spoke to the doctor, and it looks like Brody is showing signs of waking up. If he does, and he saw his attacker, he can clear your name.”
“That’s wonderful,” Arthur said, but it didn’t feel wonderful.
It didn’t feel like anything. Brody might wake up, or he might not.
Plenty of other things could go wrong, too.
He could refuse to talk or have no memory of who hurt him.
And there was still the huge issue of Brody’s own guilt in the murder of George Roth.
Even worse was the prospect that Brody himself might wake up less alive than he’d been before.
Would the FPI believe the word of another vampire, a freshly made one at that?
Arthur worried a loose thread on the hem of his jacket, staring at the floor. “Is he showing any signs of turning?”
“Not that the doctors have noticed. He’s stable, and still very much alive. So don’t give up hope, okay?” Nora rapped her knuckles on the bars to get his attention. “And you’re not a bad detective. This whole thing has been a mess.”
Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Nora hesitated. “I have to go back to city hall. More work to be done.”
“But it’s Sunday.” Which meant tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow would bring the FPI and Arthur would likely be transferred to their custody. Part of him didn’t want anyone to see him—not even Nora, who’d been nothing but kind. He didn’t need witnesses to his lowest moment. “You deserve a night off.”
“Maybe next Sunday. You and Salvatore can cook a big elaborate dinner and I can catch up on old seasons of Love Is Dead.”
“Sounds perfect.” Arthur held her gaze for a moment, smiling sadly and hoping that could come to pass. Maybe if not next Sunday, then someday.