Read Online Verse of the Vampyre by Diana Killian - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Killian
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herself after a moment or two, she went to reexamine the much-thumbed current issue of The Clarion .
As she read over the account of the security guard’s death it seemed to her that there was something noncommittal in the official police comments. Had the guard been in on the burglary? Was his death not an accident?
Grace was frowning over this when a young woman reading British Vogue suddenly leaned across to her, and said softly, “What they’re afraid to tell you is his body was drained of blood.”
The hair on the nape of Grace’s neck stood on end. “I beg your pardon?”
The young woman swept her heavily frosted hair off her face, glanced over her shoulder as though the king’s spies were everywhere, and whispered again, “His body was drained of blood! They’re afraid to put it in the paper, but it’s true.”
“What do you mean, ‘drained of blood’? How do you know that?”
“Everyone knows it.”
Across the way an elderly gentleman glared at them and made a shushing sound.
The woman gave her a meaningful look, then returned to her keen perusal of armor-plated cocktail dresses.
Grace hesitated, glanced at the elderly gentleman who had resumed scowling over The Economist, then leaned toward the British Vogue reader. “But how do you know it’s true?”
“My boyfriend works for The Clarion . The police won’t let them print it. They don’t want to start a panic.”
Rehearsal that evening broke up early, with both Derek and Theresa excusing themselves for urgent appointments. They departed in much-emphasized opposite directions, which only served to focus suspicion on them.
Catriona laughed off her husband’s dark expression, teasing, “Oh, to be young and in love with someone you’re not married to.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” Ruthven retorted.
This served only to entertain Catriona further.
As the Innisdale Players cast and crew packed it in for another night, there was a general invitation to head over to the pub for a pint. To Grace’s disappointment, Catriona declined. Having had her suspicion that Catriona was the woman Peter had expected to meet in the graveyard confirmed, Grace was increasingly curious about her.
Of course Catriona was married, but who knew what that might mean in this day and age. It meant something to Grace, and she hoped it meant something to Peter.
She had managed to convince herself that the change in Peter coincided with the first robbery. But Grace couldn’t help wondering if she was trying to deflect the blame for her troubled relationship by coming up with some wild theory of a connection between Peter and Catriona—the connection being these burglaries? How much easier on her pride to blame Peter’s waning interest on his criminal past rather than on her own inadequacies.
It was almost certainly coincidence that the arrival of the Ruthvens had shortly followed the first robbery.
I don’t believe in coincidence . Wasn’t that what Peter had said? And not so long ago.
Grace had to be satisfied with the knowledge that the equally inscrutable Lord Ruthven had said he would stop by later for a pint, and she joined the others at the Cock’s Crow.
The pub had a low open-beamed ceiling and sixteenth-century dark paneling. The old-fashioned fixtures gleamed in the mellow light. There were candle sconces on the wall and vintage signs from the 1940s.
“Where is everybody?” Grace asked, glancing around. Almost none of the cast or crew was present. One of the stagehands glanced over his shoulder.
“It’s this talk of vampires.”
Grace laughed, then realized the man was serious.
“You’ve heard about Bill Jones?” The stagehand was an ordinary-looking man, middle-aged and clean-cut. His expression was perfectly sincere.
Grace shook her head. “Who?”
“The Crosbys’ security man. His body was drained of every drop of blood. And there were strange marks on his neck. Marks—” The other man nudged him, and the
As she read over the account of the security guard’s death it seemed to her that there was something noncommittal in the official police comments. Had the guard been in on the burglary? Was his death not an accident?
Grace was frowning over this when a young woman reading British Vogue suddenly leaned across to her, and said softly, “What they’re afraid to tell you is his body was drained of blood.”
The hair on the nape of Grace’s neck stood on end. “I beg your pardon?”
The young woman swept her heavily frosted hair off her face, glanced over her shoulder as though the king’s spies were everywhere, and whispered again, “His body was drained of blood! They’re afraid to put it in the paper, but it’s true.”
“What do you mean, ‘drained of blood’? How do you know that?”
“Everyone knows it.”
Across the way an elderly gentleman glared at them and made a shushing sound.
The woman gave her a meaningful look, then returned to her keen perusal of armor-plated cocktail dresses.
Grace hesitated, glanced at the elderly gentleman who had resumed scowling over The Economist, then leaned toward the British Vogue reader. “But how do you know it’s true?”
“My boyfriend works for The Clarion . The police won’t let them print it. They don’t want to start a panic.”
Rehearsal that evening broke up early, with both Derek and Theresa excusing themselves for urgent appointments. They departed in much-emphasized opposite directions, which only served to focus suspicion on them.
Catriona laughed off her husband’s dark expression, teasing, “Oh, to be young and in love with someone you’re not married to.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” Ruthven retorted.
This served only to entertain Catriona further.
As the Innisdale Players cast and crew packed it in for another night, there was a general invitation to head over to the pub for a pint. To Grace’s disappointment, Catriona declined. Having had her suspicion that Catriona was the woman Peter had expected to meet in the graveyard confirmed, Grace was increasingly curious about her.
Of course Catriona was married, but who knew what that might mean in this day and age. It meant something to Grace, and she hoped it meant something to Peter.
She had managed to convince herself that the change in Peter coincided with the first robbery. But Grace couldn’t help wondering if she was trying to deflect the blame for her troubled relationship by coming up with some wild theory of a connection between Peter and Catriona—the connection being these burglaries? How much easier on her pride to blame Peter’s waning interest on his criminal past rather than on her own inadequacies.
It was almost certainly coincidence that the arrival of the Ruthvens had shortly followed the first robbery.
I don’t believe in coincidence . Wasn’t that what Peter had said? And not so long ago.
Grace had to be satisfied with the knowledge that the equally inscrutable Lord Ruthven had said he would stop by later for a pint, and she joined the others at the Cock’s Crow.
The pub had a low open-beamed ceiling and sixteenth-century dark paneling. The old-fashioned fixtures gleamed in the mellow light. There were candle sconces on the wall and vintage signs from the 1940s.
“Where is everybody?” Grace asked, glancing around. Almost none of the cast or crew was present. One of the stagehands glanced over his shoulder.
“It’s this talk of vampires.”
Grace laughed, then realized the man was serious.
“You’ve heard about Bill Jones?” The stagehand was an ordinary-looking man, middle-aged and clean-cut. His expression was perfectly sincere.
Grace shook her head. “Who?”
“The Crosbys’ security man. His body was drained of every drop of blood. And there were strange marks on his neck. Marks—” The other man nudged him, and the
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