Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,84

ground one under his heel. “Now, what’s all that about?”

Remembering the special incantation that Mavis Wannovich had cast, I realized that her threat had been literal, not just a scare tactic. “Sheldon Fennerman was shielded by a protection spell: Anyone who harmed him or his apartment would get a stomach full of living cockroaches.”

“Some protection spell,” McGoo said.

“Well, it worked.” I nudged one of the writhing, dying insects with the toe of my shoe. “It just wasn’t strong enough to stop this brute.”

At the other end of the alley, the morgue truck rolled up and the three ghouls bounded out again, ready for a new customer, but I didn’t let them near Sheldon. Once the crime scene techs took all the photos and gathered the evidence they needed, they set about removing Sheldon’s body with all the finesse of baggage handlers testing the durability of various brands of luggage. I shooed them away. Sometimes, you just have to do what’s right. I wrapped my hands around the shaft that pinned the vampire to the wall. “McGoo, help me get him down.”

We had to wiggle the pole up and down until it broke free from the bricks. As gently as possible, we eased Sheldon down to the ground and worked the stake out of his chest.

I bent down next to him. His face had a startled look, more fear and surprise than pain. He probably hadn’t known what was happening when he bumped into the monster in the alley.

It couldn’t have been a random attack. Why would the brute have carried a long wooden pole with him? He must have been coming for the vampire.

“I’m so sorry, Sheldon,” I whispered, and closed his eyes. My heart felt more leaden than usual. I swore that one way or another I was going to get that hulking bastard—not just for Sheldon, but for myself as well.

CHAPTER 37

At Chambeaux & Deyer, we encounter many impossible things, not to mention clients. Even so, it strained credulity that we received the chemical results in a day. Full analysis of the Mr. Galworthy goo and the Zom-Be-Fresh sample found in his coat pocket.

I shook my head in amazement at Sheyenne. “Even the police department can’t manage an emergency turnaround like that! How the hell did you get an analysis so fast?”

Sheyenne gave me a coy smile. “You have to know somebody. And I know somebody.” I saw on the envelope a handwritten “For Anne,” with a little heart drawn next to it. “He was a fellow med student—Andy,” she explained. “And he had a crush on me. Very sweet. Now he works in the analysis lab, so I asked a favor. He’d do anything for me—even now.”

Anne and Andy? I tried my damndest to pretend I didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy.

“Andy found out about my death too late. I should have thought to call him when I was dying in the hospital. He did come to my funeral, though. Spiky brown hair, heavy-rimmed glasses, tends to blush at the drop of a hat.”

I remembered somebody like that at her funeral. Not many had attended, so he stood out. I’d never known who he was until now.

“And no, he’s not a suspect,” Sheyenne said, glancing at my expression. “Just a friend.”

She spread the chem reports on her desk, and we studied the analysis. There had to be some connection, some smoking gun in all of the numbers in the columns. Andy had already typed his conclusions at the bottom.

“Dear Anne, This analysis found nothing on the list of harmful chemicals. A full roster of trace elements and proprietary substances, but I compared them with known toxins, caustic agents, acids. I can’t identify anything that could have caused the cellular breakdown of the victims.”

Andy had gone the extra step—bless him, he must have had one hell of a crush on her (and who could blame the guy?)—of comparing all of these detailed results with the earlier sample of Zom-Be-Fresh she had given him, the one that caused her severe skin reaction. The substance found in the packet of the Galworthy goo was a pre-release sample from JLPN’s new Fresh Loam line. There were slight differences in the list of chemical additives from the earlier sample, as would be expected with a new formulation and fragrance, but nothing that should cause the undead to disintegrate.

“I don’t buy any of this.” I was sure Jekyll Lifestyle Products and Necroceuticals had something to do with it. I’d seen Brondon Morris with