Halloween is Murder(10)

“Mr. Fitzgerald—Barry—I’m sorry for losing my temper earlier. I realize how bizarre this…this situation must seem to you.”

“Lady, you have no idea.”

“I promise you that it’s not a-a gag, as you called it. I’m truly in desperate, desperate trouble. My poor brother has only a few hours to live unless you can help me. There simply isn’t anyone else I can call on. If you’ll only agree to come back to work, I’ll double your fee.”

A floorboard squeaked and Mike’s long shadow fell across the moonlit floorboards. His eyes were a gleam in the darkness. The back of Barry’s scalp got that prickly feeling again.

He reached over and pulled the chain on the green banker’s lamp. Warm, well-worn light illumined the familiar battered furniture and the framed photos of race horses on the wall. Mike leaned against the door frame, hat pulled down low. His pale green eyes watched Barry without blinking.

Margaret Mary was still making her plea.

Barry had had plenty of time to think on the drive back to his office. He interrupted her, saying, “All right. I’ll do what I can, but you’ve got to answer a couple of questions for me, and you’ve got to answer honestly.”

“Yes. Of course. Anything.”

Our client, Barry mouthed silently to Mike. Of course, Mike would have already figured that out, but Barry wanted to make contact, any kind of contact, with him. It worried him that Mike was hanging back in the doorway, like he might change his mind at any moment and leave again.

To his relief, Mike nodded curtly, and crossed over to the battered sofa in the corner. He’d slept on that sofa for the first few months after Barry had pulled him off Suicide Bridge. Slept there until he’d finally earned enough to rent a room not far from the office.

Mike hunched forward on the sofa, turning his brown fedora in his big hands, listening to Barry’s side of the phone conversation.

“First thing,” Barry said. “Does this Abercrombie guy have any real grounds for believing you would marry him? Did you date? Did you encourage him? This is the twentieth century. Arranged marriages went out with the bustle.”

Mike muttered, “Abhartach.”

Barry raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Margaret Mary was filling his ear. “No. Well, not really. Yes, we went out a few times, but that was years ago. It wasn’t anything serious. I only did it to make my father happy. He was very old-fashioned. My father. Well, and Darragh too, frankly.”

Barry sighed. He had a sister. He knew about these things. “So, you led him on.”

“No!”

“Was this before or after your other fiancés started disappearing?”

Margaret Mary gave a little squeal. “What? Why would you say such a thing? There’s no connection—”

“Before or after?”

“Be-before.”

Barry nodded grimly at his own thoughts. “Next question. Why was your father so anxious for you and Aber…Aberration to get together?”

“Ancient family history.”

“Yeah? I still want to know.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “No, I mean that’s the answer. I don’t know the full story, but our families have been feuding since the fifth century. Since my father and Darragh ended up in the same line of work, I suppose dad thought it would be a good idea to try and mend some fences.”

She was a terrible liar. Stiff in tone, stilted in words.

“Same line of work?” Barry repeated. “Was your father a vampire too?”

Mike raised his head and studied Barry with interest.

Margaret Mary gave a squeal of alarm. “No! Of course not. I meant the antique trade. My father was—is—not one of the undead.”

Barry was not impressed. “Final question. Was your brother aware of the terms of your father’s will before your father’s death?”

There was a small, shocked pause before she said quickly, “Of course! We both were. We always knew.”

Yep, a really terrible liar.

“Okay,” Barry said. “That’s what I needed to know. We don’t have a lot of time. Where can I find this blood-sucking suitor of yours?”

Margaret Mary recited an address on Mulholland Drive. Barry replaced the handset in the cradle, tore the page with the address off his notepad, and gazed across at Mike.

“I don’t know exactly what we’re walking into, but we’ve got ninety minutes before this Darragh Avartaugh turns Patrick O’Flaherty into something worse than he already is.”

“A revenant. A creature of the night,” Mike said gravely.

“He’s already a creature of the night as far as I’m concerned, but if revenant means vampire, yeah. That’s my guess.” Barry opened his desk drawer and pulled out his Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum. “Too bad I don’t have any silver bullets.”

“Silver bullets will only slow a vampire, not kill it. You’d have better luck with that letter opener I got you last Christmas.”

“Oh yeah? Are we planning to go through Avartaugh’s mail?”

“It’s made of yew.” Mike rose. “We should talk on the way.”

“We should,” Barry agreed. “Because, brother, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

*