The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,19

couldn’t follow a story about gardening in the Post and Courier.

Patricia’s pulse throbbed in her bandaged ear, sending her upstairs for Tylenol. She had just swallowed three when the phone rang, exactly on time: 9:02 a.m. No one would dream of calling the house before nine, but you also didn’t want to appear too anxious.

“Patricia?” Grace said. “Grace Cavanaugh. How are you feeling?”

For some reason, Grace always introduced herself at the beginning of each phone call.

“Sad,” Patricia said. “She bit off my earlobe and swallowed it.”

“Of course,” Grace said. “Sadness is one of the stages of grief.”

“She swallowed my earring, too,” Patricia said. “The new ones I had on last night.

“That is a pity,” Grace said.

“It turns out Carter got them for free from a patient,” Patricia said. “He didn’t even buy them.”

“Then you didn’t want them anyway,” Grace said. “I spoke with Ben this morning. He said Ann Savage has been admitted to MUSC and is in intensive care. I’ll call if I find out anything further.”

The phone rang all morning. The incident hadn’t appeared in the morning paper, but it didn’t matter. CNN, NPR, CBS—no newsgathering organization could compete with the women of the Old Village.

“There’s already a run on alarms,” Kitty said. “Horse said the people he called about getting one told him it would be three weeks before they could even make it out here to look at the house. I don’t know how I’m going to survive for three weeks. Horse says we’re safe with his guns, but trust me, I’ve been dove hunting with that man. He can barely hit the sky.”

Slick called next.

“I’ve been praying for you all morning,” she said.

“Thank you, Slick,” Patricia said.

“I heard that Mrs. Savage’s nephew moved down here from someplace up north,” Slick said. She didn’t need to be more specific than that. Everyone knew that any place up north was roughly the same: lawless, relatively savage, and while they might have nice museums and the Statue of Liberty, people cared so little for each other they’d let you die in the street. “Leland told me some real estate agents stopped by and tried to get him to put her house on the market, but he won’t sell. None of them saw Mrs. Savage when they were there. He told them she couldn’t get out of bed, she was so poorly. How’s your ear?”

“She swallowed part of it,” Patricia said.

“I’m so sorry,” Slick said. “Those really were nice earrings.”

Grace called again later that afternoon with breaking news.

“Patricia,” she said. “Grace Cavanaugh. I just heard from Ben: Mrs. Savage passed an hour ago.”

Patricia suddenly felt gray. The den looked dark and dingy. The yellow linoleum seemed worn, and she saw every grubby hand mark on the wall around the light switch.

“How?” she asked.

“It wasn’t rabies, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Grace said. “She had some kind of blood poisoning. She was suffering from malnutrition, she was dehydrated, and she was covered with infected cuts and sores. Ben said the doctors were surprised she lasted this long. He even said”—and here Grace lowered her voice—“that she had track marks on her inner thigh. She’d probably been injecting something for the pain. I’m sure the family doesn’t want anyone to know about that.”

“I feel just miserable about this,” Patricia said.

“Is this about those earrings again?” Grace asked. “Even if you got back the one she swallowed, could you ever really bring yourself to wear them? Knowing where they’d been?”

“I feel like I should take something by,” Patricia said.

“Take something by to the nephew?” Grace asked, and her voice climbed the register so that nephew was a high, clear note of disbelief.

“His aunt passed,” Patricia said. “I should do something.”

“Why?” Grace asked.

“Should I take him flowers, or something to eat?” Patricia asked.

There was a long pause on Grace’s end, and then she spoke firmly.

“I am not sure what the appropriate gesture is to make toward the family of