‘Almost. I’ll get them.’ I pointed. ‘Why don’t you go into the living room and have a seat. Just give me few minutes.’
I returned to my bedroom, peeled off my comfortable pink robe, put on fresh underwear, and stood in front of the closet, trying to decide what would be appropriate dress for a police interview. I rifled through my professional clothes and debated whether a skirt or trousers would be better. Then I stopped and shook my head. Who was I trying to impress? The cops had seen me covered in blood and gore and smelling like an outhouse. I pulled one of my new sweat-suits off the hanger and slipped it on.
It occurred to me to run a brush through my hair, but it had already dried in long curls and sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone, otherwise all the curl would turn into frizz.
I listened for a few seconds and couldn’t hear the shower running in the bathroom so I approached the door and knocked lightly. ‘Alan?’
‘Yeah. Come on in.’
He sat naked on the edge of the bathtub, in the pose of that famous statue The Thinker.
Something about the incongruity of the situation made me laugh out loud.
He snorted. ‘I’m glad someone thinks anything about this day is funny.’
I walked over, knelt down in front of him, and took his face in my hands. ‘I’m sorry we got interrupted before. It was wonderful. You were wonderful. I’m upset you had to finish without me.’
He grinned. ‘You might not have been in the bathroom with me, but – trust me – you were there.’
I shifted forwards and kissed his warm lips. ‘Can I have a rain check?’
‘You have a standing invitation.’ He pulled me in for another kiss. ‘I hate to change such a titillating subject but I assume the locals have come to collect your clothes. Before I got back into the shower I went through the pockets, retrieved everything and tucked your filthy duds into that yellow bag there.’ He pointed and shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I should’ve been more careful when I was enthusiastically tearing off my clothes to join you in the tub, because my brand new Fruit of the Looms wound up getting tossed on top of a really nasty chunk of something on your jeans and they’re trashed. There’s probably nothing on my clothes that the lab won’t get from yours, and I’d really prefer to keep the locals out of our personal business – it would only raise questions neither of us wants to answer. When the officers leave I’ll use your washing machine, if you don’t mind. Otherwise I won’t have any clothes to put on.’
A tantalising visual formed in my brain. ‘Wow. That raises all sorts of interesting possibilities. A stranded naked man in my house, at my mercy. Who said dreams don’t come true?’ I laughed. ‘My appliances are at your disposal. It’s the least I can do.’ I waggled my eyebrows at him.
‘It might be the least you can do, but it isn’t all you can do . . .’
I grinned at him. ‘We’ll have to talk about that later. I’d better get back downstairs.’ I kissed him again, retrieved the sack and closed the door.
The detectives stood when I entered the room and I handed over the yellow bag. It resembled one of those biohazard containers from a disaster movie – an eye-searing slap of colour. All it needed was a skull and crossbones.
‘Why don’t I make us some coffee? Come on into the kitchen while I grind the beans.’
They accepted my offer and followed me into the kitchen. A few minutes later, a woman from the forensics team joined us and we all drank while the detectives asked me the same questions they’d asked earlier. I had little to add to my original statement and in less than a half-hour I was showing them out.
I walked them to the door and paused with my hand on the knob. ‘Thank you for being so kind to me today and for coming over here to pick up the clothing.’
‘Just doing our job. Your Mr Devereux can be very persuasive.’
Huh?
‘My Mr Devereux?’
The detectives stole a quick glance at each other. ‘Yes. It was at his request that the chief bent the rules for you. They seem to have an . . . unusual relationship. Mr Devereux is a very influential man. By the way, you’ve got quite a bit of company out there. You might want to—’
I opened the door and was immediately overwhelmed by voices screaming questions, bright lights shining in my eyes and cameras thrust in my face. Even knowing I’d be the focus of attention, however briefly, hadn’t prepared me for the reality of finding my front lawn filled with aggressive strangers who were competing to record my moment of infamy.
The street in front of my townhouse was lined with police cars as well as television news vans. Neighbours I hadn’t had the chance to meet yet filled the perimeter.
And I really can’t believe I left my door unlocked and forgot the media would be arriving. Something is definitely wrong with my brain.
The detectives took charge of the situation and strode down the path, reminding all the reporters that they were trespassing on private property.
I closed the door and pressed my weight against it. I’d learned my lesson. This time I made sure all the locks were securely engaged and the alarm was on. I didn’t want any more private experiences thwarted by unexpected company.
After giving the detectives a couple of minutes to disperse the crowd, I peeked through the slightly raised slat of a blind and saw several uniformed police officers herding the reporters back towards the street. I hoped the media would lose interest in me before Monday because I had a full client schedule and I wasn’t willing for my life to get any more out of control. Besides, what was I supposed to tell them? I had no idea what happened to me and I couldn’t break confidentiality.
I cringed as I thought about Nancy’s reaction to my situation. If she thought my writing a book about vampires was bad, I could only imagine how she was dealing with this insanity. I’d call her as soon as possible.
And what was that about Devereux? A relationship with the police chief? The thought of him reminded me of the violent scene I’d witnessed in the basement of The Crypt. It also reminded me of my overwhelming desire to crawl into his lap. Both those memories felt like they’d happened in another life. I didn’t know whether to be disgusted with myself for letting my raging hormones get me into so much trouble, or be grateful that my long dry spell with men might be over.
But he’s a vampire.
I decided all that was too much to deal with and I’d think about it later. Yeah. Me and Scarlett O’Hara. I might get tossed out of the Psychologists’ Club for saying this, but a little denial never hurt anyone.
When in shock, keep busy.
‘Hey,’ I stood at the bottom of the stairs, ‘they’re gone. You can come down now. There’s coffee.’
I returned to the kitchen to forage for snacks to serve with the coffee and then picked up the phone to check messages. I had no personal messages on my home phone, but when I dialled my business voicemail, a synthetic voice from the phone company notified me that my message queue was full and I’d need to delete some before I could receive any more.
The first few messages played and I saved them if they were from clients or potential clients. I deleted the ones from media outlets, and then heard the sweetly sensual voice of Vaughan the chiropractor saying something about our dinner date tonight.
‘Kismet? This is Vaughan. About our date tonight. I heard your story on the news this morning – I hope you’re okay. It sounded like a miserable experience. What a terrible thing. Anyway, I’m sure you want time to yourself, so we can postpone our dinner. Would you mind giving me a call later when you can, just so I can be sure you’re safe and well? I’ll talk to you soon.’