Chapter 4
“Have you brought my harmonica?” Sal asked when Arthur walked through the door to the Trident Falls police department holding area. He was lying on the floor, draped across the concrete like a delicate damsel in distress.
“Seems you won’t be needing it after all, my love.” Arthur couldn’t help his smug expression.
Sal, if it was possible, melted even further into the concrete as he wailed incoherently like a sad trombone.
“Because we’re getting you out of here, Sal.”
“Oh.” Sal sat up, eyes finding Arthur’s immediately. “That was awfully quick, my dear.” Sal glanced at a scowling McMartin who stood beside Arthur. “You solved it already?”
“Wasn’t much to solve,” Arthur said. “I’ll explain everything once you’re out of here.”
McMartin led a tearful Stephanie up to the door to the holding cell. He pulled out the keys, glaring like they’d insulted his entire family line, then unlocked the door and swung it open. “Salvatore Conte, you’re free to go,” he said through a clenched jaw.
“I killed her,” Stephanie whispered, horrified disbelief in her voice. She didn’t seem aware of her surroundings at all, gaze hollow.
Sal gave her a bow before swapping places with her, doing a little flourish at the end as though they were square dancers doing a jaunty do-si-do. When the switch was done, he gave her a salute.
“Pro tip: the floor is terribly uncomfortable and the coffee tastes like cyanide.” Sal patted the side of the cell fondly, like he was bidding an old haunt goodbye. “Be good to her.”
“She killed someone, Sal,” Arthur said reproachfully, though whether or not it was an accident was still a matter of debate.
“I was talking about Cell-y! She’s been a good little jail cell. Not her fault she was made for incarceration.” Sal heaved a sigh. “I think I’ll miss her most of all. Oh, Cellvatore. How will I go on without you?”
“You’ll live,” McMartin grunted, despite obvious evidence to the contrary.
Sal unspooled into Arthur’s arms, a dead weight in more than one way. Arthur didn’t mind. It was just good to have his husband back.
“Take it outside, would you? I have a murder case to close.” McMartin shooed them toward the door.
Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if the sheriff had a little homophobia mixed in with all his other bigotry. He wasn’t terribly inclined to aid McMartin, but as he glanced at Stephanie, who had curled into a ball in the corner of the cell, he couldn’t help but pause in the entryway.
“For what it’s worth, I do believe it was an accident.”
“She’s confessed, Miller. Couldn’t be more open-and-shut.” As if to illustrate his point, McMartin snapped his notebook closed.
“That doesn’t make it murder. Manslaughter, maybe.”
At that, Stephanie began to sob quietly, her shoulders heaving. Arthur had seen his fair share of fake guilt, thanks to Salvatore’s many dramatic reactions over the years, so he felt confident saying Stephanie’s was genuine.
“Oh, I love it when you talk like that. Say manslaughter again.” Salvatore ran a hand down Arthur’s chest in an overblown display, probably to make the sheriff uncomfortable.
Arthur stood straighter, catching McMartin’s eye over Sal’s head. “She died from an allergic reaction to cilantro—not exactly a traditional murder weapon, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Come to think of it, you knew about that allergy, didn’t you?” McMartin narrowed his eyes. “Maybe Salvatore had something to do with this.”
Arthur knew it was bait, but like a desperate fish he rose to it—hook, line, and sinker.
“Sal didn’t know about it.” He was quite over having his every move examined just because McMartin had a grudge.
“He wasn’t there when Stephanie mentioned that another vendor had a cilantro allergy.
I only put two and two together when Lore said it was anaphylaxis. ”
“A likely story.”
“It’s the truth.” Arthur shrugged, jostling Sal, who was now nuzzling him not unlike a cat. “Whether you like it or not, Sheriff, the finer details of this case are important.”
“Whatever. Just…get out of here.”
Arthur didn’t need telling a third time.
He and Sal were in the clear, and he couldn’t spend more time worrying after Stephanie.
She was her own person with her own friends who would undoubtedly rally around her to help.
Arthur gently guided Sal toward the exit, a sinking feeling in his stomach and a creeping suspicion around his shoulders that this case wasn’t over. Not yet.
McMartin seemed to think better of his abrupt dismissal, chasing after them as they turned onto the street to shout, “Don’t go leaving town or anything. I’m not done with you two.”
And there it was. Even with a confession in hand, McMartin still preferred to suspect the vampire element.
Would they never be free of such prejudice?
Perhaps not. But at least they had plenty of pride to go around.
Arthur took Sal’s hand in his and stepped out into the evening summer air, letting the warm rays of sun play across their faces for a few extra seconds before popping open the umbrella.
Trident Falls wasn’t the sort of town that hurried.
Urgency simply wasn’t in the air. It had taken Arthur the better part of the past eight months to get used to it, but at long last he’d finally stopped checking his wristwatch quite so diligently.
Places opened when they opened, and people got there when they got there.
Still, Arthur felt a surge of guilt as they headed back toward the Dead & Breakfast. He’d managed to check in only the one guest before Sal’s arrest, and there were two more bookings beginning that day.
He’d put up a sign—written in glitter, unfortunately—on the front desk along with some extra scones so anyone arriving while they were away could at least wait in relative comfort, but he couldn’t help but feel like a bad host.
“Look up, my love,” Sal said.
“Yes, yes, I know—things are not so bad.”
“Well, that, too.” Sal nudged him and pointed toward the bike rack up ahead.
Brody Young waited beside their teal tandem bicycle, fiddling with a sticker on the bottom of his skateboard. His expression was downcast and he had a gloomy slant to his shoulders.
“Hey,” he said, still looking at the ground.
“Brody—lovely to see you again.” It had not, in fact, been lovely to see the boy earlier that day, but he didn’t want to let on. Arthur remembered the scowl Brody had given him, though he couldn’t quite account for why.
“Sure.” Brody scuffed the sidewalk with his shoe, neglecting to make eye contact as so many his age did. “Do you have any updates about my mom?”
“I’m afraid not.” Arthur didn’t like to admit his own failure, but he also wasn’t one to lie about such things.
“As you know, things have been quite busy at the Dead & Breakfast, so I haven’t had time to search for new leads.
Her online trail is completely cold, but I have alerts set up to notify me if her name appears in any new publication.
” Sal had helped him with that, as well as the social media research.
Arthur hesitated, then continued, “Besides which, we had quite the drama today with the murder at the festival.”
Brody’s eyes flashed with something at the mention of murder. Perhaps just a trauma response from the events with his father. “Right. Are you helping the cops?”
“Helping the cops!” Sal burst out laughing, slapping his thigh and throwing his head back in an exaggerated howl. “We would never stoop so low as to help those trying to frame us!”
“I work independently,” Arthur explained. “But regardless, it does seem that case is wrapping up.”
“So you’ll be able to focus on Mom now, right?” Brody finally looked up, eyes pleading. “My aunt can’t keep me past summer. Please, you have to find her before they send me somewhere else.”
“I’ll do my best,” Arthur said, and he meant it. Wilhelmina Young—if that was even still her name—was an elusive mark, but it was clear Brody truly missed her. He placed a hand on Brody’s shoulder in a manner he hoped was comforting.
“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”
With that, Brody skateboarded away.
“Look at you, helping people.” Sal pinched Arthur’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you!”
Arthur swatted Sal’s hand away. “I’m not sure you should be.”
“Why not?” Sal looked aghast, like Arthur had insulted his favorite cravat. “Oh no, are you experiencing a dip in self-confidence? Do you need a hype session? Just say the word and I shall shower you in praise—and kisses!”
“It’s not that.”
Sal looked utterly put out.
“It’s just that I’m not certain I’ll be able to help Brody.
His mother hasn’t been the easiest person to track.
She vanished off the Internet and from any records I can find when she left Trident Falls.
The letters she sent him all have a PO box for a return address.
I tried sending her a letter, but I never heard back. ”
“Well, at least that gives you some kind of region to work with, yes?”
Arthur shook his head. “It isn’t so simple. The PO box is in New Mexico, but that doesn’t mean Wilhelmina is. She could have her mail forwarded from there. Short of camping out at the post office for however long it takes her to fetch her mail, I don’t see how we could find out more about her.”
“You’ll figure out something,” Sal said. “You always do.”
Arthur offered his husband a tight smile. He appreciated Sal’s unwavering belief in him, even if he didn’t share it.
“For Brody’s sake, I hope you’re right.”
“He has been through a lot, hasn’t he. Can’t have been easy with a father who’s a—no, it’s too horrible to say.”
“Murderer,” Arthur supplied.
Sal shuddered. “Dentist.”
Even if they couldn’t agree on the reason, at least they were united in their conclusion that Trip Young was unfit to raise anyone.
Sal beckoned Arthur toward the bike with a come-hither motion. “Let us away! The Dead & Breakfast awaits!” he exclaimed, gesturing in the absolute wrong direction.
Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle, moving Sal’s arm to point toward the inn.