Charlaine Harris: Many Bloody Returns

An hour later, they got around to watching the video. Norcomb had put together a greatest hits tape, with snippets from various camera views that showed Jane. The film quality was mediocre, but they got the general idea.

Jane arrived dressed in urban Goth glory—black cargo pants, a black T-shirt ripped at the neckline, scuffed black boots. Her hair was, of course, black with the flat look of a cheap dye job. It was short, but Mark couldn’t tell if it had been styled to look asymmetrical or just hadn’t been brushed recently. She must have used half a tube of mascara to ring her eyes so thoroughly, and she was wearing a fine selection of heavy-looking Goth adornments: a skull ring, a bat wing necklace, and other less visible chains and rings.

“She doesn’t exactly blend in, does she?” Mark said.

“But she doesn’t seem to mind being stared at,” Stella commented.

Even though nearly everybody who saw her did a double-take, Jane strode through the store confidently, not seeming to notice them. She headed out of range of that camera, and the view switched to the juniors department. Jane went through the racks to pick out a pair of jeans and a light blue pullover sweater. After a trip to the dressing room, which was not documented, she went to the shoe department to try on sneakers in blinding white. She got socks, too—the ones she was wearing had holes in both big toes. Next she got panties and a bra.

“Granny panties,” Stella said thoughtfully.

“Beg pardon,” Mark said.

“The female equivalent of tighty whities. Waist-high briefs, instead of a bikini or a thong.”

The next scene was of her standing next to a rack of hats, and she settled on a light blue sun hat, the kind of modified ball cap Mark saw girls wearing in the summer.

She went to the register with her gleanings, still ignoring the curious looks she was getting, and once it was all paid for, headed toward the bathroom. There was a break in the film, and it started up again with her coming out again. Now Jane was dressed in her new outfit, and with her face scrubbed clean, her hair hidden under the hat, and the jewelry gone, she looked like a new person. The people walking past her didn’t give her a second glance, except a high school boy who flashed a grin.

Jane walked toward the front of the store, carrying the Wal-Mart bag that presumably carried her old things. But just before she stepped out, she looked at the bag, then stuffed it into a trash can by the door. She walked out the door, and after ten seconds more, the tape ended.

“Kudos to your cousin for spotting her,” Mark said. “I wouldn’t have known it was the same girl.”

“I don’t know that I would have, either,” Stella said. “Not by sight anyway. So how did her killer recognize her?”

“He must have known her well.”

“What about the other bodies?”

“Norcomb thinks drugs were involved,” Mark said, “and drug dealers make lots of enemies. Though I have to say that Allenville doesn’t seem like the place for that kind of activity, even with the big city nearby.”

Stella rewound to the part where Jane emerged from the bathroom. “She looks a lot younger like that. Even her body language changed. Before she was so sure of herself—now she looks almost timid.”

“Part of the disguise?”

“Maybe.” Stella watched to the end again, shut it off, and announced, “I’m getting hungry.”

They decided not to risk returning to the lakeside park from the previous night and instead went to the North Carolina State Fair, which was in full swing. After Mark won a stuffed version of Seasame Street’s Count from the milk bottle throw, they started looking for a likely target.

“There,” Stella said, nudging Mark in the side. A group of women who looked like college students was discussing what ride to go on next, and when they decided on the Ferris wheel, one of them begged off, saying she wanted to get something to drink. The others kidded her for being afraid of heights and joined the long line for the ride.

“Perfect,” Mark said. They followed the acrophobic girl for a few minutes, then flanked her, and Stella made eye contact to bespell her instantly. It took only a few minutes to find a secluded spot between trailers, and Stella fed while Mark kept watch. Then they escorted the girl back, Mark bought her a Coke, and Stella implanted the idea that a very attractive man had flirted with her.

They were halfway back to the hotel when Stella said, “That’s it!”

“That’s what?”

“Why did we pick that girl to feed on?”

“Because she was temporarily alone.”

“Because she was vulnerable. Now think about how Jane looked. Before she changed clothes, she looked tough and streetwise. People stared at her but nobody messed with her. Afterward, she looked vulnerable.”

“Okay.”

“Norcomb thought she changed clothes as a disguise, and that may be it, but maybe that’s not why she was killed. What if she was killed because she was vulnerable? What if somebody saw that and marked her as his prey?”

“Another vampire?”

“No—the autopsy report had nothing about her being drained. But we’re not the only predators around.”

“Meaning what?” Mark said, thinking uncomfortably of those other things Stella had referred to before. “Werewolves? Zombies? Ghouls?”

“I’d have smelled any of them at the graves we found,” Stella said matter-of-factly, and Mark didn’t know if she was kidding or not. “I’m talking about a human monster.”

“A serial killer,” Mark said, momentarily relieved, “with a penchant for young girls.”

Stella nodded. “We know Jane was at Benny’s before she went to Wal-Mart, but we don’t know where she went next. If she was passing through, wouldn’t she go back to the truck stop to look for a ride? And if you lived in Allenville and wanted a steady supply of victims, wouldn’t you hang around Benny’s to find them?”

“May I point out that Benny’s isn’t far from where Jane’s body was found and from where the other bodies still are.”

“Right you are, Ned.”

“Ned?”

“Ned Nickerson. Nancy Drew’s boyfriend.”

“So what would Nancy and Ned do in a case like this?”

“Set a trap for the killer.”

“A trap requires bait.”

“Who do we know who looks younger and more vulnerable than she really is?” Stella said, batting her eyelashes.

Despite his teasing before, Stella really did look older than the eighteen she’d been before making the Choice. Mark didn’t understand how—something about the way she moved, or her clothes and makeup—but she looked like a woman, not a girl. At least, she always had until retreating into the bathroom with the bag of stuff she’d bought at Target on the way back to the hotel.

Mark was watching CNN when he heard, “Excuse me?” in a timid voice.

He looked up to see a girl in khaki crop pants with a peacock blue cami that did nothing to hide the pink bra strap beneath or her generous bosom. Her soft brown hair was held off from her face with a glittery headband, and her makeup was frosted pastels. Her necklace said “Princess,” with a heart dotting the i.

“Stella?” he said wonderingly.

“How do I look?” She spun around.

“Like jailbait. If you were my daughter, I would order barbed wire for the fence and a chastity belt for you.”

She dimpled—he hadn’t known she could dimple—and said, “Do you think you could, you know, let me use your car?”

“Dear Lord, you even speak young! I’ll drive—you don’t look old enough to have a license.”

Damned if she didn’t dimple again.

Mark was still a bit unnerved when, halfway to Allenville, Stella reached over and stroked his thigh. “Do you want to, like, park somewhere before we go in?”