Chapter 14
Arthur didn’t often sleep through the night.
He was a vampire, though he ran a business frequented by the living, who generally kept to daylight hours.
This dichotomy resulted in a rather strange sleep schedule consisting of several naps during the day, most of which he’d missed on account of the whole murder fandango.
He was bone-tired, but still he couldn’t manage to rest. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could do was think about the case.
Lola and Wilhelmina. Two women, one dead, the other missing.
He sorted through the evidence, constructing a mental corkboard inside his brain and trying to connect the dots.
Hours later, he was no closer to solving either case, and he’d not slept a wink.
Arthur’s mind continued to whirl with possibilities while he prepared breakfast. He was so distracted, however, that he burned the first batch of eggs and overmixed the biscuit dough.
He didn’t even have it in him to give a disapproving frown to Other Arthur Miller when he sat down to breakfast.
“For the last time, no one noticed,” Sal said in a placating tone from the window seat of the lobby. It was the exact spot where Rumble usually napped in the afternoon, because of the sunbeam that fell there.
“You don’t know that,” Arthur grumbled. “They’re probably all gossiping among themselves about how the waffles didn’t pass muster.”
Arthur hadn’t eaten a bite of breakfast himself.
He’d had a few sips of blood (safely out of view of their guests) but couldn’t bring himself to participate in the daily morning feast. Vampires didn’t need to eat food, of course, but he and Sal had decided long ago that dying was no reason to stop enjoying the finer things in life.
It did have the unfortunate side effect of gumming up their digestion a bit, but what were a few more trips to the restroom and a little lethargy if it meant they could have their favorites (tiramisu for Sal, while Arthur was partial to a buttered bagel).
“The waffles were delectable, my dear. Now, why don’t you put that rag down? You’re procrasti-cleaning.”
“I’m doing no such thing,” Arthur lied as he dusted the windowsill. Again.
“You can’t fool me.” Sal sat up and adjusted his flamboyant ensemble, which perhaps he’d chosen to counterbalance last evening’s somber attire.
It was a billowy lemon-yellow shirt beneath a doublet that had been, for some reason, embroidered with fireworks in a rainbow of colors, with tight rainbow breeches to match.
Somehow, despite all odds, his alligator boots pulled the whole look together.
“I practically invented the subtle art of procrastination.”
Arthur sighed and set down the rag, if only because he couldn’t abide Sal using the word subtle to describe himself. “You caught me. I suppose we should get a move on.”
“Goodness! I didn’t mean to imply that.” Sal leaned his head against the wall, letting his eyes flutter closed.
“Think of all we could do with an empty inn. We could take a luxurious nap, we could take a bubble bath, we could rifle through our guests’ things and make wild assumptions about them, we could—”
“We have to go see Brody,” Arthur said quickly before Salvatore could get any more scandalous with his suggested activities.
After last night’s confrontation with the boy, Arthur didn’t exactly relish another interaction so soon.
Still, it would be good to update him on the new information they’d uncovered.
Perhaps Brody would be able to connect the dots and they’d have a new lead.
Sal acquiesced, though not without complaints.
On an average day, Arthur would’ve had to entreat Salvatore to text Brody to set up a meeting, but with the festival in full swing, Arthur knew exactly where he’d be.
Theo had told them Brody would be on shift at the Big Bad Brew’s brick-and-mortar location every morning that week.
They pedaled into town beneath a sun so hot and bright Arthur’s ice-cream-cone-patterned umbrella hardly seemed enough protection, despite its boast of being UPF 50.
Summer was on full blast and it was only June.
Oregon did not typically have blistering summers, with only a few days out of the year in the triple Fahrenheit digits.
It was part of why he’d picked the state for their relocation originally.
Climate change had well and truly done a number on his intended temperate retirement.
Arthur shuddered to think what the rest of the season would have in store for them.
Trident Falls’ only coffee shop was packed, mostly full of patrons getting iced drinks to go, by the look of it.
A sign outside advertised today’s special and invited guests in for a cooling treat.
The art style was clearly Brody’s, and the words seemed effective; as Arthur watched, a couple glanced at it, then changed direction to head for the front doors of the Big Bad Brew.
Arthur shouldered past a group of festivalgoers, pregaming with neon slushies in various shades of red, blue, and purple that clashed horribly with their brightly colored ensembles. They chatted about how unexpectedly fantastic the drinks were, already making plans to return for more later.
“I must get myself one of those!” Sal trilled delightedly, pointing to a sign that advertised it as the Monster Mash, an energy drink packed with flavor.
“It will only rot your teeth,” Arthur replied halfheartedly.
“Even better!” Sal joined the queue, treating Arthur to a constant stream of consciousness as he debated which flavor to get. “I’ll have a Scary Berry Monster Mash, please!”
Brody glared at them both in turn from behind the counter.
“What?” Sal pressed a hand to his chest, pointing to the embroidery on his doublet. “It’ll match the fireworks!”
“Good morning, Brody,” Arthur said, speaking over Sal. They were there for more than drinks.
“What are you doing here?” The dawning of a new day hadn’t dulled Brody’s anger, it seemed.
“I hoped to speak to you about—” The whir of a blender drowned out Arthur’s next words. When it subsided, he tried to continue. “About your mother’s—” Brody ran the blender again. “About your mother’s disappearance,” Arthur finally finished.
“I’m busy,” Brody snapped, gesturing to the long line of customers behind them. “Lots of coffee to make.”
Arthur took in the busy shop. It was noisy with chatter, and almost every table was full despite the fact that most people were leaving after getting their orders.
“Perhaps we can speak on your next break. It’ll only take a moment,” Arthur suggested.
“Break’s not for a couple hours.” Brody aggressively dusted a drink with cinnamon. “And I don’t wanna waste any of it talking to you.”
“But the case—”
“Wow, no wonder you couldn’t find her. You can’t take a hint, so of course you can’t follow clues.”
Arthur blinked, trying not to feel the sting of those words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I thought I made it pretty clear last night.” Brody slammed a lid onto an iced coffee so hard some of it sloshed out the side. He set the cup on the counter and stared right at Arthur as he spoke the next words. “You’re fired.”
“Everything is terrible, and will be forever.”
“Come now, there’s no need to lie on the floor about it. At least not face down. The rug is making it difficult to hear you.”
Arthur, with great effort, rolled over into a supine position. He’d seen Sal through many a melodramatic fit, which often included antics such as flopping face down into the carpet, but he’d never expected to try it himself. It was every bit as cathartic as Sal claimed, much to his chagrin.
Fired. He’d only ever had two actual clients as a VAMP PI, and both had fired him within twelve hours of each other. He was an embarrassment to private investigators everywhere.
“I should give it up,” Arthur said softly, staring at the cobwebs on the ceiling beams. They’d left them there on purpose for the ambience, but now he wondered if they weren’t another sign of his ineptitude.
The smell of burned eggs still lingered in the air from that morning.
“I’m not meant to help anyone. I can barely keep this bed-and-breakfast together. ”
“Nonsense!” Sal patted him on the shoulder. “The business is thriving. We’re booked for weeks!”
“I still haven’t sorted out the bills. We need to do more than thrive for a season if we’re going to stay on top of the mortgage.”
Sal, not to be deterred from hyping Arthur up, continued. “And people have had nothing but nice things to say, both online and on those cute little comment cards with the bats on them.”
“The bats were your idea,” Arthur reminded him. “The whole rebrand, too. Without you, this place would still be a ghost town.”
“Vampire town?” Sal suggested.
“The point is, I’m a failure. I can’t find Wilhelmina, I can’t solve Lola’s case, and I can’t even find Rumble! What sort of detective am I?”
“How dare you slander my husband like this!” Sal stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Up you get. We’ve things to do!”
“Like what?” Arthur asked. He couldn’t think of a single thing worth doing at the moment.
“We need to deliver those potions to Lore, for starters. Perhaps it will reveal a juicy clue!”
“What’s the point?” Arthur didn’t budge.
Sal let out a sigh, then stalked off. Probably fed up with him, like everyone else. Arthur could feel his self-pity reaching outrageous levels, but he couldn’t stop himself. Perhaps this was how Salvatore felt after eating garlic bread or when he couldn’t hit the high notes in “Defying Gravity.”