Page 11 of How to Stake a Vampire (Diary of a Reluctant Werewolf #2)

A GRAVE SITUATION

Samuel was waiting for us in the foyer of the building.

One look at his expression told me we were in for more unwelcome news.

“Lord Chudwell was found dead at his estate this morning,” he said without preamble. “Gregory called. The coroner just informed him.”

Didi gasped. Gavin squeaked. Bo’s ears flattened.

Barney froze. “Giles is dead? That’s impossible!”

“Who’s Lord Chudwell?” I asked nervously.

“He’s from one of the purest bloodlines in New England,” the vampire replied. His voice carried a note I hadn’t heard before. “His family tree goes back to the original vampire settlers.”

My wolf stirred uneasily. Our case had just taken a dark undertone none of us had been expecting.

“Was it another attack?” I asked in the fraught hush.

“It appears so.” Samuel’s jaw tightened, his emotions making my wolf fidget as they filtered through the mate bond. “Though this one went considerably worse for the victim.”

“He was probably targeted because of his bloodline, right?” Didi said quietly.

Though he wasn’t showing it, it was clear the news had upset Barney.

Samuel rubbed the back of his neck. “The coroner suspects his death was an accident. She’s still at the scene. I want you to get over there before the Vampire Council descends and turns this whole thing into a political circus.”

I stared. “There’s a Vampire Council?”

This was news to me. Then again, I’d only been a werewolf for one hot second.

“There are many councils in Amberford,” my alpha admitted reluctantly.

“Think of them as the equivalent of a homeowners association,” Didi said with distaste. “Lots of rules, endless meetings, and an unhealthy obsession with property values.”

Winter clouds had darkened the heavens by the time we got to Temple Heights. The Chudwell estate loomed under the overcast sky at the end of a long tree-lined driveway.

The place had the signature Amberford look, ergo it looked like it had been designed by someone from the Middle Ages who had severe commitment issues.

The main house was an architectural fever dream of towers and turrets that reminded me faintly of Chateau Montmartre.

Except for the gargoyles. Those guys were perched on every available surface and wore expressions of perpetual indigestion.

“Someone had money to burn,” I observed tactfully as we pulled up a circular drive.

“And highly questionable taste.” Didi stared at a particularly hideous gargoyle that appeared to be picking its nose.

Bo pressed his face to the car window and wagged his tail. “Do you think any of them come alive at night?”

Samuel rolled his eyes at the Husky’s gruesomely hopeful tone as he parked the Bentley. We exited the car.

The fact that the Hawthorne alpha had decided to accompany us had come as a surprise. It felt weird having my boyfriend along on a case.

It was also making my insides flutter in all kinds of ways. I found myself studying his perfectly formed behind with focused concentration as we approached the mansion.

“Abby?” my alpha said awkwardly.

“Yes, Samuel?”

“How about you dial down those thoughts?”

I flushed a little under the others’ leaden stares. “Sorry.”

Bo studied me warily. “Pearl was right about you.”

“Why, what did Pearl say?”

“That you have a one-track mind. And that Samuel’s headstone will probably say ‘Died while bravely performing his conjugal duties.’”

Samuel missed a step and almost stumbled. Didi curled a lip.

Seeing as I couldn’t exactly deny Pearl’s claim, I decided not to rise to the secondhand insult.

A trio of figures was waiting for us on the porch. Two of them looked familiar.

Officer Brigham paled a little at the sight of me.

“Hello,” the werewolf said nervously.

The last time I’d seen him, he’d been squatting on his superior officer, both the unfortunate victims of my actions at the Holts’ ball.

Detective Johnson—said superior officer in question—stood beside Officer Brigham. He scrutinized my hands.

“I am relieved to see you are missing your crystal skull tonight, Miss West,” the werewolf grunted.

I was never going to hear the end of that story.

A woman in a practical gray suit stared at me curiously. She had short purple hair and the kind of no-nonsense expression that suggested she’d seen it all and wasn’t impressed by any of it.

“Samuel,” she greeted with a curt nod.

“Rita.” Samuel made the introductions. “Abby, this is Rita Frank, the supernatural coroner for this district.”

We shook hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the new Hawthorne luna.” There was a slight echo to the coroner’s voice.

“Are you a—?” I paused awkwardly.

“A banshee?” Rita said with a dry smile. “Yes, retired. Turns out a career in wailing prepared me well for dealing with the recently deceased and their grieving relatives.”

“I like her attitude,” Bo huffed.

Officer Brigham and Detective Johnson observed the Husky warily.

Rita gave my dog a steady look. “I see he’s as entertaining as the rumors say he is.”

Bo’s ears perked up.

“There are rumors about me?” he enthused, tail swinging like crazy.

Rita politely declined to answer and led us into the mansion’s grand foyer, Officer Brigham staying put at the entrance to keep watch. The entrance hall was crowded with oil paintings of stern-faced vampires who looked like they’d spent their immortal lives complaining about taxes.

“The victim was found at the bottom of the main staircase.” The banshee indicated the impressive marble structure sweeping upward in dramatic curves from the middle of the entrance hall.

“He died of a broken neck, followed by an accidental decapitation. A surprising way for a vampire to go, if I say so myself.” She shot a contrite glance at Barney.

“Accidental decapitation?” I asked nervously.

Rita pointed at a suit of armor with a bloodied sword standing guard next to the staircase. “He bounced and sliced his head right off that.”

“How, er, unfortunate,” I murmured glassily.

“But way cool,” Bo enthused with macabre enthusiasm.

Barney frowned. “I still can’t believe Giles is dead. Are you certain?”

“He’s been as cold as ice for going on eight hours, so yes.” Rita sighed at Barney’s look. “Look, I understand your skepticism. A decapitation should have been a walk in the park for a vampire to recover from, but there is no denying that he’s as dead as a doorknob.”

Barney’s face grew shuttered.

Samuel frowned at the staircase. “He fell the whole way?”

“All forty-three steps,” Detective Johnson confirmed.

Rita led us to where yellow tape cordoned off the base of the stairs. A chalk outline marked where Lord Chudwell’s body had been found.

The angle of the limbs made my stomach twist and Gavin heave a little. A grim circle a few feet away marked where the head had landed.

“Gregory told me what happened to the vampires in Springhill General,” Rita said, matter-of-fact. “The attacker used the same MO. I found injection marks on Lord Chudwell’s neck and evidence of significant blood loss. Unlike the others though, he appears to have fought back.”

Barney stirred. “How can you tell?”

“Torn fabric caught on the banister, defensive wounds on his hands, and”—Rita paused and pursed her lips like she was about to reveal a dirty secret—“he was found clutching this.” She reached inside a metal case filled with forensic tools and produced an evidence bag containing what appeared to be a very old and very worn teddy bear with its belly ripped open and stuffing spilling out.

“It seems he used this to try and protect himself.”

It was the saddest thing I had ever seen.

“That’s Mr. Snuggles,” Barney said stiffly. “Giles has had him since he was human.”

“Shall we continue?” Detective Johnson grunted.

Rita nodded briskly. “The attack appears to have taken place in the victim’s private study. Let me show you.”

She led us up a side staircase to avoid the crime scene.

The study was on the second floor, with views over the extensive gardens at the rear of the property.

There were heavy curtains at the windows, multiple locks on the cabinets lining the walls, and enough security cameras to make a casino jealous. The place was also a mess.

I took in the paperwork and overturned objects strewn across the floor.

“What did Lord Chudwell do for a living?”

“Nothing that would warrant this level of security,” Rita said.

“He lived off the interest of his investment portfolio and the properties and land he owned here and abroad,” Barney murmured glumly.

Detective Johnson furrowed his brow. “The strange thing is, none of the security equipment was disabled. It all just stopped working when the attacker arrived.”

That sounded uncomfortably familiar.

“All of it?” Didi asked insistently.

“Every single device,” Rita confirmed. “Almost like something interfered with the electronics.”

Samuel’s expression darkened. “Were there any witnesses?”

“Two,” Detective Johnson replied. “The housekeeper and the butler. They’re waiting in the servants’ quarters.”

Rita guided us there and introduced the housekeeper first.

Mrs. Betsy Clark was exactly what you might expect from a ghoul who’d spent decades working for vampire aristocracy.

Her gray skin was impeccably maintained, her uniform spotless, and her demeanor suggested she could organize a dinner party for fifty while simultaneously disposing of inconvenient bodies.

“Lord Chudwell was such a refined gentleman.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and blew her nose noisily. “Always said please and thank you when he asked me to make him a Bloody Mary. Very considerate.”

“Does she mean a Bloody Mary or a bloody Mary?” Bo whispered.

Didi and I hushed him. Detective Johnson looked like he was having second thoughts about taking on this case.

“About this morning,” Samuel prompted gently while Betsy sniffed. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“I was in the kitchen preparing Lord Chudwell’s breakfast when I heard music and my master shouting from the front of the house.”

“Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony,” Didi said grimly.

Betsy nodded tearfully.

“Did you see the attacker?” I asked.

“I only caught a glimpse of him when I ran into the entrance hall. He was a tall gentleman in a vintage coat. Moved like a dancer.” She furrowed her brow a little, her tone turning stringent. “Much better posture than these modern vampires with their scruffy outfits and their slouching.”

An image of Virgil rose immediately to my mind.

Barney’s expression had grown increasingly troubled while the ghoul spoke.

Quincy the butler was a different story entirely. Whereas Mrs. Clark was moderately chatty, the vampire still seemed shell-shocked by his master’s passing and kept wringing his hands.

“The master had received letters,” he quavered, his pale eyes swinging nervously between us. “Threats. I pressed him to inform the authorities, but he refused and burned them all.”

My shoulders knotted. None of the other victims had reported receiving sinister correspondence.

“What did the letters say?” Barney asked tensely.

Quincy gulped at the vampire’s grim expression.

“They were from someone claiming to be an old friend.” The butler faltered. “He said he wanted to meet Master Chudwell to talk about the old ways. That—that Master had to help him change things for the vampire community.”

I recalled the words from the blood purity manifesto the Tremaines had received with a degree of dread.

“Did the letters have a return address?” Samuel asked.

“No, sir.”

Didi was furiously scribbling notes. “And Lord Chudwell never mentioned this man’s name?”

“No, miss.”

I frowned. This sounded more and more like our suspect had been playing a long game.

“Is there anything else we should know?” I asked.

Quincy’s pale gaze met mine. “I told Detective Johnson that the cats saw everything. You should talk to them.”

I stared, nonplussed. “What cats?”

Detective Johnson made a face. “Yeah, about that.”