Playing With Vampires - An Izzy Cooper Novel (6 page)

Christensen was trying too hard to get out of the hot seat, but I wasn’t about to let our good mayor off so easy.

“I have a question,” I blurted out, as I was getting to my feet.

“Miss Cooper has a question.” He was smiling, but it was a cold smile.

“I am just curious as to why Mystique County would decide to sell the property, after they wouldn’t even grant a search warrant during the time my sister was missing?”

It was true. I was puzzled by the abrupt sale of the property, especially after it had been closed off for a hundred years. The county literally blocked all entrance to the place as soon as it came under their ownership.

The buzz I heard coming from the crowd told me that I wasn’t the only one curious about the sudden change in attitude.

“From what I understand, the new owners offered a substantial amount of money for the property … and with our community still trying to recover from the recession, the county thought this would be as good a time as any to get out from beneath the old relic.”

It was bullshit and I knew it, and the mayor knew that I knew.

“It just seems strange to me … considering there might be a connection between the Marsh estate and the homicides that occurred over the summer … and now Polly Nielson’s murder just last night. I’m sure there is a connection between the estate and Polly … and blood,” I added, maliciously, just to see what kind of reaction I would get.

It wasn’t long in coming. There was an immediate buzz of conversation from the crowd, but this time it was mostly in whispered voices.

The mayor’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. At that moment, I’d have been cut to shreds if his eyes were knives.

“I’m sorry Miss Cooper, but I wasn’t aware of any connection between those unfortunate deaths, and the old estate.”

“Maybe you should pay closer attention to what’s happening in the city you represent,” I said. It didn’t bother me one bit that I was putting him on the spot.

“Well if there are no further questions, I’ll turn this over to Mister Olsen.”

Christensen handed the mic over to the other man so quickly, even if I’d had another question, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to ask it.

Mister Olsen was strange, to say the least. Like most corporate types, he was wearing a business suit, but his skin was as pale as a sheet, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes.

Sighing, I sat down. As soon as I did, Marty poked me in my ribs.

When I looked over, he was nodding toward the stage.

So Mister Olsen was a vampire!

That was interesting. If Marty could be trusted not to be pointing a finger just to thwart suspicion from himself, then it was a good bet that we would find our killer at the Marsh place.

As if he could read my mind, Mister Olsen looked right at me as he spoke to the crowd. “I can assure the good people of this community … there are no killers lurking about our new resort … which by the way will be called, Misty Haven Resort. Not only do we intend to refurbish the old place, but the entire property will be turned into a premier destination. There is a golf course in the works, along with tennis courts, swimming
pools, a dance club, plus much more. We plan on turning our little piece of the island into a prime, west coast destination. This will bring numerous jobs to the island, along with a massive increase in tax revenue. With this in mind, I’m sure everyone here can see the logic behind the county’s decision to sell and rezone the property for commercial use.”

The next person to stand up was Charlie, from Pies and Stuff. “When do you plan to have the place ready to open?”

“Good question,” Mister Olsen sang out. “We have a large crew working on the property. They’re working seven days a week, so the project is coming along nicely. We have a tentative date of October 28
th
. We plan a three-day carnival, as well as a Halloween Ball. The entire town is invited.”

His words left me with images of evil vampire clowns, and a massacre of the townspeople. A carnival on the Marsh estate couldn’t be a good thing. Everything bad that had happened over the last few months, seemed to have some kind of connection to that place, even if indirectly.

We still hadn’t discovered who had been behind those deaths over the summer. Sure, Aggie had been the tool used to kill those people, but she hadn’t done it alone or
voluntarily. There was someone or something else at work, and I was sure it was connected to that old estate.

There was also that incident when I was a kid. For as long as I lived, which may not be too long if the devil had his way, I’d never forget that thing that attacked me during my high school trespassing excursion. Even after all these years, the memory gave me goose bumps.

No matter how much new paint they slapped on that place, or how many flowers they planted, it was still going to be too creepy for my liking. I couldn’t see myself dropping by the Marsh estate for a game of tennis. It was just too weird.

“Perhaps you would give some of us old timers a little sneak peak at your progress.”

The voice belonged to my grandmother.

When I twisted around in my seat, I saw Granny Stella leaning against the back wall.

When Granny Stella started asking questions, she expected answers. This time would be no different. Leave it to my grandmother to put voice to what everyone else was thinking.

“And I’m sure I speak for everyone here, when I say that we’d love to meet Mister Dupree. He is the owner of Dupree Enterprises, right?”

“Yes.” Mister Olsen nodded, “but he isn’t always on the property. Mister Dupree is a very busy man. That’s why I’ve
come in his place
tonight. He wanted me to express his gratitude for the fine welcome we’ve received from the people of Mystique Island.”

“Well I’m sure he’ll be around sooner or later. Maybe I could get a group of town representatives together and we could make an appointment with him,” Granny Stella suggested, adding one of her grandmotherly smiles to the mix.

If her offer were refused, it would make Olsen appear to be hiding something, which is exactly what Granny intended.

“That sounds great. I tell you what … why don’t you leave your number with Mayor Christensen, and I’ll let you know when Mister Dupree will be available. Thank you all for coming,” he said, letting the crowd know he was done with questions for the moment.

“I just bet he’ll contact the mayor,” I muttered beneath my breath.

Now I was even more curious about Mister Dupree. From what I could tell, it seemed we had one or two more people to add to our suspect list.

Turning to Elias, I asked, “What do you think about these resort plans?”

Elias drew his brows together, which resulted in a few creases on his forehead. “Before you know it, this island is going to be crawling with vampires.”

Marty cleared his throat. “That’s not necessarily true.”

“Elias, this is Marty Morrison. He’s the paranormal investigator who helped us out in the past … and he’s a vampire,” I added with a whisper.

Elias gave him a curt nod. “No disrespect intended.”

“So am I still a suspect, or can I go now?” Marty asked, obviously perturbed with Elias’s attitude.

“You’re still a person of interest, but you can go. Just stay in the area,” I advised.

Nodding, Marty stood up and slid by us, but before he left, he turned back. ‘If I were you … I’d stay completely away from the Misty Haven Resort.”

“Why?” I asked, no longer so sure I should listen to what he had to say.

“If Mister Olsen is a vampire, you can be pretty damn sure this Dupree character is too. Vampires are very secretive. It seems odd to me that they would open up a resort and invite thousands of people to come and visit.”

“Maybe he’s just a shrewd business man?” I shrugged.

Although I agreed with Marty’s assessment, I didn’t necessarily want him to know that, at least not yet.

“Maybe, but I doubt that’s all there is too it. Vampires like money as much as they like blood, but they’d just as soon accumulate it in far less direct ways.”

“Like what ways?”

“Like compelling wealthy victims to will everything to them, and then making sure that victim meets with a fatal accident or illness.”

What he said made sense, but it was pretty dark.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him.

“You know how to contact me if you need anything.” Without another word, he joined the throng of people pushing through the church’s exit.

“He’s right you know. You should stay completely away from that place. This whole thing stinks,” Elias said.

“I know, but I may have to go there to question these people. You heard about Polly Nielson?”

“I did. I also take it that you think it was a vampire who killed her.”

I nodded. “The body was mutilated, but it was definitely a vampire killing.”

“Excuse me … excuse me,” Granny said, pushing her way through the group of elderly folks that had come over on a bus from the Sunnyside Retirement Community.

When she’d finally made it through the wave of seniors headed toward the recreation room for punch and cookies, Granny made a beeline for where I was sitting with Elias.

“Are the two of you going to stick around for some refreshments?” she asked.

“Elias turned to me, apparently deciding that he’d let me take the lead.

“I don’t know Granny. I’m tired and have an early day tomorrow.”

“Oh don’t be a silly Millie. Of course you’ll come and join us for something to eat. I even made
watercress chicken salad
. You know how much you like that,” she prodded.

“Do you mind?” I asked Elias.

His full lips spread into a wicked grin, revealing rows of sparkling white teeth. “Not at all. I’ve been dying to try one of Granny Stella’s famous dishes.

“Okay Granny, “ I sighed. “If I don’t, I probably won’t eat tonight.”

“Good. I’ll make the two of you a plate,” she beamed.

“You could have helped me get out of it, instead of make it worse,” I grumbled.

Elias wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t be a silly Millie. Like you said, you would end up not eating. Besides, we haven’t had a chance to talk in a long time … or anything else,” he added. There was an earthy seductive note to his voice that gave me goose bumps.

Why couldn’t I just forget about him and find someone else to put out the flames?”

“Elias,” I said, shaking my head.

“I know,” he cut me off. “You’re not interested in a, friends with benefits, kind of relationship, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Actually I could, but I wasn’t going to push it at the moment. I was flat out tired, plus I had too many other things to worry about.

I could handle having a sandwich and punch with Elias, though it might mean sentencing myself to a cold shower when I did finally make it home.

A fog bank was making its way off the Pacific to cover the island in mist as thick as clam chowder.

Navigating Lady Luck through a wall of fog was hard enough, but when I couldn’t concentrate, it was downright dangerous.

My forehead still burned where Elias kissed me goodbye. Being near him did a number on my hormones, and the feeling lingered, resisting all attempts to banish it

I took the Island Loop Highway at a crawl, hoping no hotshot would come speeding up behind me. With visibility at near zero, they’d plow into me for sure.

After what seemed forever, I could finally see the glow of the lighthouse on Shipwreck Point. It wasn’t the historic lighthouse that housed our office, as well as the gift shop and Uncle Aaron’s radio station. This was the new lighthouse, located only a few hundred yards from the original. It was the lighthouse that was actually used to help guide boats away from the reefs.

I toyed with the idea of stopping to check up on my uncle, and maybe see what the fog bank looked like from up top.

Stepping on the brake, I slowed even more as I approached the parking lot of the old lighthouse. There was only one car in the lot, but it was too foggy to make out any details until I pulled into the stall next to it. It was definitely Uncle Aaron’s blue VW Bug.

If it weren’t for the glow of the working lighthouse, the parking lot would have been completely dark. As it was, I had to put my hands in front of me to keep from running into something.

Relying exclusively on instinct, I found my way to the front entrance and let myself in with the key I’d jacked from Aaron months ago. That was just in case I needed to get in touch with him and he refused to answer my calls, which he did every now an again. Uncle Aaron thought I was a spawn of hell. He was right, in a way, but it was still rude.

The door at the front of the lighthouse opened right into the gift shop.

The first thing that struck me when I stepped inside was the silence. It was eerily quiet, and dark. If not for the two nightlights, it would have been completely black.

It was a nice shop, nautical theme and all. Like most shops you’d find up and down the coast, it was full of books dealing with local history, stuffed sea animals, seashells, and novelties, but there was one major difference. This lighthouse gift shop was haunted.

“Muriel!” I called out in a soft voice.

I got nothing, not even a soft moan. It was so quiet that I could actually hear myself breathing. That’s when it dawned on me that there should be some music coming from the top of the stairs, which is where Uncle Aaron’s radio station was located.

“Are you here Muriel? What’s going on?” I asked in a hushed voice, though I had no idea why I was trying to be quiet.

Still, there was no answer.

She really must be angry. It wasn’t too often Muriel failed to make at least one appearance.

“Sorry I got upset with you Muriel. I’ve just been dealing with a lot,” I tried to apologize, though I had no idea if she could hear me. To tell the truth, I hadn’t a clue what ghosts did when they weren’t doing their haunting thing.

Sighing, I started in the direction of the hall, which would take me to the spiral staircase.

The hall was just as dark as the gift shop, but there was a nightlight at the bottom of the stairs. I knew there would be one at the top too. It was just the middle I had to worry about. One wrong step and I’d be taking a quick trip to the bottom. Knowing my luck, it would probably be headfirst.

A few steps from the top of the stairs I finally heard the music. It sounded totally different from the music Aaron usually played. Instead of the screaming guitars of heavy metal, it sounded more like a piano. In fact, the music sounded almost classical.

Classical music just wasn’t Aaron Osborn’s style. In fact, I imagined Uncle Aaron would probably cringe at the mere mention of classical music. After all, he was known as Aaron the Rock Baron.

I knocked lightly, hoping he had his mic muted. “Uncle Aaron.”

There was no answer.

Now I was really starting to get worried. Normally when you knocked on the door, he’d come at me like a mad bear, and then lecture me on the importance of keeping noise pollution from screwing up his broadcasts.

This time there was nothing.

An uneasy feeling settled over me. Something wasn’t right.

As usual, I didn’t have my gun with me, but in my own defense, I wasn’t officially on duty.

Turning the knob, I pushed the door open a crack and peered into the studio. If he were in there, I couldn’t see him.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open the rest of the way. “Aaron!”

He was nowhere to be seen.

Part of me wondered if he’d gotten whacked out on some drug and wandered off, but I didn’t really believe it. There was no doubt about it. Uncle Aaron had been a burnout in his youth, but he’d overcome his drug habit years ago.

Suddenly the music was louder, and seemed to be coming at me from all directions. That’s when it dawned on me that I’d heard the song before.

It was back when I was a teenager.

For weeks after my encounter with whatever the dark entity was that resided on the Marsh estate, this song haunted my dreams, almost nightly.

Now here it was again.

I had no idea what tune it was, but I was certain it was the same music I’d heard in my dreams.

Stepping to the computer screen, I stared at the digital readout of the title.

Nocturne by Chopin.

The only time I’d ever heard it was in my dreams, until now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Aaron’s voice boomed from behind me.

Nearly jumping out of my skin, I spun around. “Uncle Aaron! Where were you?”

With his long black hair, and all that eyeliner, he kind of resembled a grotesque ghost, but it was just Uncle Aaron.

The look of horror on his face was almost comical. “What have you done?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I just come up here looking for you.”

“What is that you are playing?”

Now I was on the defense. “Oh no way bucko! This stuff was already playing when I got here.”

“Impossible!” he thundered. “I had an hour block of the best Seattle punk to ever grace the airwaves.”

Lifting my shoulders, I said, “Well I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you made a mistake.”

“No way!” he shook his head, as he was almost running for the broadcast console.

He quickly hit some buttons and the music stopped. “How did you all like that set?” he spoke into the microphone. “That was just to see if you were on your toes. Now here’s the real music.”

Again he hit some buttons and the room filled with the sound of drums and guitars. A second later, he muted the speakers.

“Now do you mind telling me what that was all about?” he asked.

“I told you. It was already on when I got here.”

Frowning, Aaron looked around the room, as if he might find the culprit hiding out somewhere.

“It was probably just a mistake,” I offered.

He shook his head. “I don’t see how it could have been a mistake. I don’t even have any Chopin, Beethoven, or anything else like it.”

I had to agree with him. If he didn’t even have that kind of music, he sure the heck couldn’t have put it on by accident. Someone else had to have done it.

“Where were you?”

“I saw someone messing around down by the new lighthouse, so I went to check it out,” he explained.

That’s when I noticed the flashlight he’d set on the edge of the console. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with his answer.

“But you never leave the studio when you’re broadcasting. Why didn’t you just call the police?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think it was that big a deal. Just figured I’d go down there and check it out myself.”

“Well obviously someone noticed you were gone and took the opportunity to mess with you. How could you see anything with all this fog anyway?”

“Whoever it was … they had a lantern or a flashlight with them,” he informed me.

Stepping over to one of the several glass windows that surrounded the lantern room, I stared at the pulsating light in the distance. Its glow barely penetrated the fog. I still wasn’t sure he could have seen anyone at that distance, even if they had been carrying some kind of light with them.

“So what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. Leaning back in his chair, he propped his legs on the side of the console.

As careless as he was, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d had to have his radio equipment repaired.

“I wanted to take a look at the fog bank, but judging by what I’m looking at, there’s no way to see the end of it from here.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “In fact, according to the weather station, we may have fog like this for a few days.”

“Seriously?”

Aaron nodded. “Weird as hell. To the west of us, it seems to go on forever, but to the east, it mostly dissipates before making it to the mainland.”

That was weird. Actually, it was downright spooky.

“Have you seen Muriel around?” I asked.

“Oh … you mean your ghost friend?”

I nodded.

“Never seen her and probably never will. I’m not so sure she isn’t one of your imaginary friends,” he snorted.

Some warlock he was. Most witches didn’t question the idea of ghosts, but Uncle Aaron was far from being like most witches.

I was in no mood to argue with him, so I just asked, “What about strange stuff? You know … lights flickering, stuff like that?”

“Well there was that horrible music,” he pointed out.

“I seriously doubt she’d do something like change your music,” I came to Muriel’s defense, though truthfully, I couldn’t be sure.

“Well that’s all I’ve noticed … other than that prowler out by the new lighthouse.”

There was a possibility that had been Muriel, but I had my doubts. I knew she liked to mess with Uncle Aaron by hiding his stuff and slamming doors, but nothing too serious. Muriel could be mischievous, but she wasn’t malicious.

“Do you have anything I can put in my news report tonight … like maybe an arrest in that murder case, or even a person of interest?” he asked, hopefully.

“We don’t have anything yet,” I replied, turning from the window.

There was no sense in saying anything about Marty, unless we found something that might actually implicate him. As far as the connection to the Marsh estate, I thought it was probably a good idea to keep that information under wraps for the time being. I didn’t want to tip them off.

“Did you get a look at the person you saw by the lighthouse?” I asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I did get close enough to see a silhouette, but then he disappeared.”

“So it was a man?”

He nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Was he big … small? Is there anything else you can tell me?” I wasn’t sure exactly why this alleged prowler was important, but I had a feeling he was.

“I don’t know. He was kind of tall … and he seemed to be dressed weird.”

I let my eyes scan up from Uncle Aaron’s torn blue jeans to his tie-dyed shirt and couldn’t help but wonder what he might consider weird. Not that I was exactly fashion perfect, but I usually didn’t wear torn up old pants to work.

I decided I’d better ask.

“Like what do you mean, weird?”

Aaron shrugged. “Like in really old fashioned clothes.”

Now I wasn’t so sure it meant anything. To Aaron, anything in fashion before the 80s was old fashioned, and anything newer was plain crazy.

“Anything specific?” I asked.

Sighing, he asked, “Is this really necessary? It was probably just some lost tourist or a boater who beached his boat close by because he got stuck in the fog.”

“Humor me,” I pushed.

“Like turn of the century clothes. Maybe early 1900s.”

“Hmm … well do me a favor and call me if you see him again.”

“Okay.” he said with a nod.

There was no more room for questions. The music set was up, and it was time for him to go on air.