Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
MARIS
“That new doctor likes you,” Mary tells me for the fifteenth time.
“He’s just a friend,” I tell her and look at the photos she just brought in.
“When did you have time to get these?” The photos aren’t high quality.
They’re grainy, almost like they’ve been shot from a cell phone.
I squint at one and shake it at her. “If we need a new camera, just let me know. We have more than enough in the endowment.”
It’s true, we do. There’s enough money to run the paper for the rest of my life and then some with twice the size of the staff we have now.
Money isn’t the issue with the Vesper Point Call.
The issue is me. We’re the only paper in town because no one else in town has the money to set up another publication, and Vesper Point isn’t big enough to draw in someone with the cash to do it.
Even with a captive audience, the paper struggles because it has an albatross tied to its neck.
Me.
“I don’t want you using broken equipment if-”
“Camera’s fine,” Mary interrupts, coming to my side to look down at the photos on my desk, “I didn’t take those. An anonymous tipster got them for us.”
I tilt my head and look at Mary. “By anonymous tipster do you mean you bribed someone?”
“I’m not, not saying that.”
I sigh and look heavenward. “Mary…”
“Listen, drastic times call for drastic measures. How else do you think I’m going to get the scoop for us?
We need this story, Maris.” I open my mouth to tell her absolutely no more bribing, but Mary plows ahead.
“Look, Maris, I can break this story, we can break this story. We’re all good enough to do something real, and this is the first real thing we’ve had across our desk since,” Mary falls quiet.
She stops herself from finishing her sentence but I know what she doesn’t say.
I say it for her. “Since Mike Sheep.”
It’s true.
The night I killed Mike Sheep is the last time this town had any real news.
I was so checked out from life at that point that I wasn’t here.
Not really. Mary, Josie, Greg, and Lyle, they ran the Vesper Point Call.
They kept the ship afloat when I was drowning.
It’s one of the reasons they’ll always have a job with me, so long as they want it, I’m stuck with them.
“Yeah, since him,” Mary gives me a tight smile. “Fucking loser.”
I smile back at her. “He was a loser, and you’re right, you are good enough to break this story. I respect the willingness to do whatever it takes. Just don’t get caught.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Mary and I go over the photos. The wound on Father Paretti’s neck is peculiar. I stare at the one photo that’s crystal clear until I feel cross-eyed. Two fucking puncture wounds. I turn the photo one way and then the other with a sigh.
“This can’t be right. You’re positive he was drained?”
“Like a box of wine at mommy brunch,” Mary replies.
Josie knocks on the doorway, Lyle is with her. “We’re going to go grab lunch at the diner before the Sheriff gives his statement. You want anything?” she asks Mary and I.
I almost say no but my stomach growls. Right. I never ate my wrap. I forgot all about it and by the time I opened the bag I found a deconstructed interpretation of a breakfast wrap inside.
“I’ll take a burger.”
“Me too, but I need bacon or I’m going to lose it,” Mary says.
I hold the photo up and stop Josie and Lyle. “Tell me what you see here. Be honest.”
Josie takes the photo and looks down at it. She lifts it up to the window so the sun hits it and takes a long minute to study it. “That’s a fucking bite mark. Don’t you think?” she asks, holding the photo out to Lyle
Lyle barely looks at it before he answers. “That’s a vamp bite if I ever saw one.”
“Why are you all so willing to believe in vampires suddenly?” I ask, hands on my hips. “What if it’s a serial killer with a weird suction fetish? It could be-I don’t know, some kind of cabal ritual.”
“So you think a serial killer with a suction blood fetish or a cult is more plausible than saying a vampire ate Father Paretti?” Josie asks.
“Yes. Absolutely. Any sane person would choose a ritualistic death cult than accept the fact that a vampire,” I pause to make air quotes, “‘ate Father Paretti.’”
Mary makes a face and pats her stomach. “You know what? No bacon. This is making me queasy. We’ve been staring at these photos for way too long.
I’m going to come with you and get a salad.
” She joins the others and they pass me back the photo with promises to be back before Sheriff Dayton’s statement.
I settle back at my desk and glare at the photo.
It’s just one of half a dozen photos all saying the exact same thing.
Vampire. Vampire. Vampire.
“It’s not a vampire,” I insist again and shove the photos into a folder that I drop into my top drawer.
I slam the drawer shut and turn to look out the window.
The sun is still shining bright. Vesper Point goes on like nothing is wrong, like we didn’t find Father Paretti dead in the confessional booth, like my staff isn’t convinced a horror movie monster is to blame for it.
“It’s not a fucking vampire,” I whisper. There’s no answer. Of course there’s not. I’m alone, like always.