Charlaine Harris: Many Bloody Returns

On the way back to Raleigh, Mark speculated about how Stella would react. He honestly had no idea—Stella’s unpredictability had been part of what had attracted him to her in the first place, even before she confessed her undead status. Some days she seemed as young as she’d been at death, while others she demonstrated every day she’d lived. Most of the time he was happy to go along, so even though he didn’t understand why she’d wanted to make a birthday pilgrimage to her grave, he hadn’t argued.

Now there was one thing he was sure of. Stella wanted her grave back.

Mark was in bed with Stella when she came back to life, and she responded immediately, if not in the way he’d hoped.

“You reek!” she said with a grimace.

“Damn it,” he said, sliding out from under the covers. “All I had was a cheeseburger! No onions or mustard, and I brushed my teeth and used mouthwash. Twice!”

“It’s not the food,” she said, sniffing.

“I ate next door to a chicken farm,” Mark said.

She shuddered. “Maybe that’s it. After living near one all those years, I was ready to switch to blood just to make sure I never had to eat chicken again.”

“Ready to hear about the body in your grave?”

“Not yet—I’m hungry.” As long as he got regular food, Mark could go two or three days without blood feeding, but Stella could not. “Did you scout out a place for us to hunt? What should I wear?”

“Workout clothes. The desk clerk recommended a nearby jogging path. It’s around a lake and includes numerous twists and turns.”

“I’ll hit the shower and get ready to go.”

“I better shower again, too, to get that nasty smell off of me. And in the interest of conserving water…”

“By all means, let’s conserve.”

Oddly, taking a shower together took longer than two separate showers would have.

If it had been his grave, Mark would have been frothing at the mouth to find out more about the body buried there, but older vampires were annoyingly patient. Stella wanted to wait until after dinner.

Admittedly, it didn’t take her long to pick out a healthy-looking man and bespell him into following her to a darkened patch of trees. She quickly sated herself, and then Mark took his turn. After that, Stella kept the man bespelled long enough for their saliva to heal the wounds, and fuzzed his memory before sending him on his way again. All he’d remember was that the run had taken more out of him than usual.

Mark could have tried to bespell his own donor, of course, but it would have taken longer, and he’d have had to spring for a nice dinner and a movie. Stella’s methods were much more efficient.

Afterward, they headed back for the Caddy, and since he didn’t have Stella’s patience, Mark was about to explode with his news by the time she asked, “What did you find out?”

He told her everything Norcomb had told him but wasn’t so distracted that he didn’t notice that Stella was driving back toward the Spivey family plot. He finished as they arrived, and when she parked the car, he followed her to the grave.

She just looked at it. Though it was a much darker night, he had no doubt that she could read each letter of the tombstone’s inscription.

“We could have her moved to a public cemetery,” he said.

“How would we explain it to that cop?”

“We’ll tell him Aunt Estelle doesn’t like a stranger in here, that she wants this space. Hell, we’ve got enough lawyers and money that we don’t have to explain anything. Or you can bespell him—that would be cheaper.”

“I don’t want to do that to her.”

“It’s not like she’d know. She’s dead—really dead, I mean. It wouldn’t hurt her feelings.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“A year ago, you’d have said that there’s no such thing as vampires. A year from now, there’s no telling what you’ll be saying.”

A chill ran down Mark’s spine, but that was a conversation he wasn’t ready for. “Well, if she is watching, she’ll understand why you want your grave back.”

But Stella shook her head. “I don’t want to just dump her somewhere. At least here, she’s got Norcomb looking after her. She won’t be forgotten.”

“Then we’ll move her to another spot here in the Spivey plot.”

“No. Why should I care if there’s somebody buried here anyway? It’s not like I’m planning to use the grave. And who knows? Maybe someday Norcomb will figure out who she is, and her people will take her home.”

“Maybe,” Mark said doubtfully, knowing that the majority of cold cases were never solved. What had Norcomb said? That there wasn’t enough time or money to pursue an investigation forever. Mark considered it. Time wasn’t a problem for him, thanks to the eternal life clause of vampirism, and neither was money. Stella was loaded and, as was customary, had settled a big chunk of change onto him when she brought him over.

“Stella, did you ever read the Nancy Drew books?”

“Why?” Before he could answer, she said, “Are you seriously suggesting we go snooping around like Nancy Drew to find out what happened to Jane?”

“Why not? We’ve got no plans for the next few days.”

“And you believe you can solve a murder in a few days when the police haven’t been able to in two years?”

“I don’t think it’s any more ridiculous than believing in vampires.”

She gave him a look.

“Okay, maybe it is,” he conceded. “But how about this? We snoop around for a few days, and if nothing comes of it, we’ll hire a private investigator. How does that sound?”

“Ridiculous.” Then she smiled. “Let’s do it.”

Mark still didn’t believe Jane Doe’s spirit was watching, but he sketched a salute toward her tombstone as they left, just in case.

“What first?” he said once they were in the car.

“Are you admitting that even though this was your idea, you have no plans about what we should do first?”

“I’m a big-picture guy. I leave the details to you.”

“I see,” Stella said dryly. “In that case, I think I’d like to meet my third-cousin once removed, or whatever relation Officer Norcomb is to me.”

They decided making another call to the police station to track him down might provoke unwelcome attention, so rather than drive back to get to Mark’s laptop in Raleigh, Stella called Ramon in Boston and asked him to find Norcomb’s address and directions to his house.

After hanging up, she said, “By the way, Ramon said—”

“I know, he said to remind me to put dirt in my bed. Smug bastard! I’ll come up with a way to get him back one of these days.”

“Would it help if I mentioned that Ramon is afraid of snakes?”

“Is he?” Mark said with just the kind of fiendish grin a vampire was supposed to sport. He was happily plotting revenge when they passed by Norcomb’s house. A squad car was parked in the driveway, making it a good bet that Stella’s cousin was at home.

Stella drove a few blocks farther and parked outside a dark house. “Does he live alone?”

“No wedding band, so he’s not married, and he mentioned calling his mother, so he doesn’t live with her,” Mark said.

“Good. I don’t want to risk anybody seeing the car, so you take it and keep circling the area. I’ll call you on the cell when I need you.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Don’t get lost!” She scooted out and was gone in a blink, while Mark moved to the driver’s seat to randomly drive up and down the streets of the housing development, hoping nobody would notice him. An hour and a half later, his cell rang.

“Stella?”

“No, it’s dear old Aunt Estelle. Do you remember that big red house right after we turned onto Norcomb’s street?”