The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(117)

“Surely you can alter the records,” Grace said. “As for Bennett and myself, hopefully it will be years before we have to cross that bridge. Now, let’s see if he has some boxes somewhere. Maryellen, you and Mrs. Greene shower in the guest room. Use dark towels and leave them in the tub. Tell me you at least brought changes of clothes?”

“In the car,” Maryellen said.

“Kitty,” Grace said, “bring her car here. I’ll look for boxes. You two clean yourselves up. We can only count on forty or so minutes before that street is full of people, so let’s be purposeful.”

Kitty brought the car around and helped Grace pack the squirming, plastic-wrapped body parts into boxes, and lugged them down to the front door. Mrs. Greene and Maryellen didn’t clean themselves perfectly, but at least they didn’t look like they worked in a slaughterhouse anymore.

“How much longer is left in the game?” Grace asked as they dropped the final cardboard box onto the stack by the front door.

Kitty turned on the TV.

“…and Clemson has called a time-out hoping to run out the clock…” an announcer brayed.

“Less than five minutes,” Kitty said.

“Then let’s load the car while the streets are still clear,” Grace said.

They almost ran, shambling up and down the dark front stairs, tossing the boxes into Maryellen’s minivan. They could feel James Harris moving inside, like they were carrying boxes full of rats.

When they were finished, they stood in the front hall and realized that they had failed. The plan had been to wipe James Harris off the face of the earth, leaving his house pristine, as if he’d simply disappeared into thin air, or packed his things and walked out the door. But blood had pooled by the front door where they’d stacked the boxes, the white carpeted stairs were a mess of streaked gore, there were blood smears up and down the walls, bloody fingerprints were drying on the banister, and even from downstairs they could see that the mess covered the upstairs hall. And then there was the master bath.

A huge roar rose up from the surrounding houses. Someone activated an airhorn. The game was over.

“We can’t do this,” Maryellen said. “Someone will come looking for him and they’ll know he was killed the second they open that door.”

“Stop whining,” Grace snapped. “You’re looking for columbariums C-24 and C-25, Maryellen. I’m sure you can find those. You and Kitty are the least messy, so you’re driving to Stuhr’s.”

“What are you going to do?” Maryellen asked. “Burn this place down?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Grace said. “Mrs. Greene and I will stay behind. We’ve been cleaning up after men our entire lives. This is no different.”

Headlights snapped on up and down the street as drunk football fans stumbled to their cars, hollering and calling to one another in the dark. A ground mist lay low on the road.

“But—” Maryellen began.

“If ifs and buts were candy and nuts it would be Christmas every day,” Grace said. “Now scoot.”

Kitty and Maryellen limped for the minivan. Grace closed the door behind them and turned to Mrs. Greene.

“It’s a lot of work,” Mrs. Greene said.

“Between us we’ve been cleaning houses for eighty years,” Grace said. “I believe we’re up to the challenge. Now, we’ll need baking soda, ammonia, white vinegar, and dishwashing detergent. We’ll need to get the sheets and towels in the washer, and spray the carpets first so they can soak while we work.”

“We should wash the towels and that duvet in the shower,” Mrs. Greene said. “Get it real hot and take a hard bristle brush to them with some salt paste. Then put it in the dryer with plenty of fabric softener.”

“Let’s see if we can find some hydrogen peroxide for these bloodstains in the carpet,” Grace said.

“I prefer ammonia,” Mrs. Greene said.

“Hot water?” Grace asked.

“No, cold.”

“Interesting,” Grace said.



* * *



—

Around midnight, Maryellen called them from a gas station pay phone.

“We’re done,” Maryellen said. “C-24 and C-25. They’re sealed tight and I’ll clean up the database in the morning.”

“Mrs. Cavanaugh is just ironing the sheets,” Mrs. Greene said. “Then we have to shampoo the carpets, put things away, and we’re done.”

“How does it look?” Maryellen asked.

“Like no one ever lived here,” Mrs. Greene said.

“How’s Patricia?”

“Sleeping,” Mrs. Greene said. “She hasn’t made a sound.”

“Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“Go home,” Mrs. Greene said. “We don’t want people to think this is a public parking lot. I’ll get a ride.”

“Well,” Maryellen said. “Good luck.”

Mrs. Greene hung up the phone.

She and Grace finished ironing the sheets, put the duvet back on the bed, and inspected the house for any bloodstains they’d missed. Then Grace walked home and got her car while Mrs. Greene hauled Patricia downstairs, switched off the radio, turned off the lights, and used James Harris’s keys to lock the front door behind her.