Sherbet stared at me openly, even forgetting to close his mouth as he chewed. Still, seeing the half-masticated cruller did not kill my brief donut craving. He asked, "And what happens if you don't get your blood?"
I shrugged. "I turn into a raving, blood-sucking maniac who prowls the streets looking for victims. Prostitutes mostly, but sometimes hipsters at Starbucks, or those young guys who dance around street corners holding signs pointing to furniture stores going out of business."
"Are you quite done, Sam?"
"Quite."
He reached inside his light jacket and removed some folded papers. "Here are my notes on the latest victim. Read through them, see what you can find."
"Will do, Detective."
Months ago, when the case had turned from weird to weirder, Sherbet had hired me to be an official consultant on the case. His fellow detectives didn't like it; after all, why hire a private dick? Well, what they didn't know wouldn't kill them.
Sherbet eased his bulk off the couch and stood, knuckling his lower back. "You're one freaky chick, you know."
"Words every chick wants to hear."
He quit knuckling and looked at me with so much compassion that tears nearly came to my eyes. He reached out and pulled me in for the mother of all bear hugs. He said, "I'm sorry all this happened to you, Sam."
I hugged him back. "I know."
"You're going to be okay, kid."
"Thank you."
He stepped away. "Now, let's catch the son of a bitch who's doing this to these people."
"We will, Detective."
He seemed about to do something, then nodded and left, gripping his bag of donuts like a lifeline.
Chapter Three
At 3:30 p.m. on an overcast Tuesday afternoon, lathered in Aveeno SPF 100 sunscreen, I dashed out my door and sprinted across my front yard as if my life depended on it.
And I'm pretty sure it did.
Despite the gray skies, the thick jacket, and the layer of greasy sunscreen, my skin still felt like it was on fire. My garage is not attached. Back in the day, my ex-husband didn't think we needed an attached garage. Houses with unattached garages were cheaper.
Thanks, asshole.
Of course, little did he know that one day the sun would be my enemy and I would have to endure daily torturous mid-afternoon sprints.
Anyway, at the garage, I fumbled with the Masterlock until I got the key in and opened the sucker. I noticed my hands were already shaking and reddening. Any longer and they would begin blistering.
I'm such a freak.
I yanked open the garage door far harder than I probably should have. The thing nearly tore off its rusty tracks. Once open, I dashed inside and breathed a small sigh of relief, even though there was never really any relief for me. Not during the day, at least. Not when I should be sleeping in a dark room with the blinds pulled shut and dead to the world.
I started the van, cranked up the AC, and let it cool my burning flesh. Finally, I backed out of the garage and headed for my kids' school.
Just another day in the neighborhood.
* * *
After picking up the kids and spending the evening helping them with their homework, I called up a new sitter I'd been using lately, a very responsible sixteen-year-old girl. Luckily, she was available, and when she arrived, I hugged my kids and kissed them and told them to be good. Mercifully, neither shuddered at my cold touch. Cold lips, cold fingers and cold hugs were the norm in our family. Still, Anthony promptly wiped his kiss off.
"Gross, Mom," he said, never taking his eyes off his video game, giving it far more concentration than he ever did his homework. As an added precaution, he absently raised his shoulder, using it to wipe his cheek clean.