Polanski Brothers Page 4

  Andrew shrugged his thick shoulders and pulled at the strings on his black hoodie. “I guess it wasn’t that important to them until that guy Larkin somebody suggested it should be.”

  Ahh, the ever-vigilant detective, of course. Perfect. “Mrs. Perkins told him last night she didn’t believe he’d killed himself, but I saw his wrists, Andrew. Signs of suicide seemed pretty evident to me.”

  “What are you, CSI?” Andrew grinned as he teased her. He thought she cared too much about the people who came to her table—asked too many questions—fretted more than was necessary.

  Spencer crumpled up a wad of paper and threw it at him and his mocking reference to one of her favorite forensic shows. “Smart ass. Look, I’m just saying it looked pretty clear to me. The guy whacked himself and maybe it’s just too hard for Mrs. Perkins to fathom. No one wants to believe their child took their own life.”

  Andrew shrugged again and ran his hands over his thighs. “Well, the cops think he didn’t now and so does that Larkin guy you were hanging around with last night. So they’re going to take possession of his body again.”

  A spiky thread of anger scurried along her spine, much of it directed at Larkin McBride. “And hack him all up all over because they’re too Small-ville to get it right the first time.” It wasn’t only a disservice to her work as an embalmer, but to Alan who couldn’t rest in peace if his body kept playing rounds of the game Operation. “When are they coming to pick him up?”

  “Three o’clock.”

  Spencer glanced at the clock on her cell phone. Good. That gave her an hour or so to poke around. “Well, I’ve got another body on the table to deal with and if I don’t get moving he won’t be ready in time for the wake tomorrow.”

  Andrew’s eyes searched hers from across her desk. “You look tired, Spencer.”

  Spencer rolled her head on her neck. “Yeah, I’m tired. Last night was grueling and it bothers me that Mrs. Perkins’ suffering is only just beginning because of those freaks at the coroner’s office.”

  “Did you feed?”

  Spencer waved Andrew off as she got up and began gathering her newest patient’s stats from her desk. “Yes, I fed, cousin. I may be younger than you, but I’m almost five hundred years old and plenty able to feed myself. So go dig a grave and leave me alone. I have a date with a man who awaits me on my table.”

  “Far be it for me to make you late for that. It’s probably the only date you’ve had in over a century.” Andrew chuckled maniacally at his own joke, his taunt echoing in her ears as she popped open the door of her office.

  Spencer rolled her eyes at her cousin’s wisecrack because it wasn’t entirely a lie.

  Yes. The only dates she’d had in the last century were with dead men. Cold, glassy-eyed, stiff, dead men.

  But they beat the alternative. Like waiting around for this life mate her mother and the women of her clan talked about. Who, by the way, had been playing a pretty serious game of hide and seek with her.

  She didn’t need a damn date. She had friends, and her family, and a job to pay the bills.

  What she did need was to know what happened to Alan Perkins, and maybe if she snooped around with her limited forensic knowledge, she could figure it out.

  Then maybe Detective Larkin McBride would take his nosy ass elsewhere.

  Because if he didn’t, all hell was likely to break loose.

  Chapter 3

  Spencer stood at Alan Perkins’ casket and raised his arm, now stiff and unyielding and shook her head. He did so kill himself. He’d bled out. The evidence was right there. A thin jagged line that she’d had a helluva time covering with makeup.

  Spencer placed Alan’s arm back over his abdomen carefully and patted it.

  Jack-ass coroners.

  She leaned over his casket with sad eyes, assessing Alan’s still form. “Damn, Alan. I’m sorry. If I had any say in the matter, I wouldn’t let them take you back. But according to those bumbling coroners, you’re not quite ready for your eternal slumber party just yet.”

  Spencer slipped her hand under his head and straightened the satin pillow it rested on. Most people would be disgusted by such a hands-on approach, but Spencer didn’t feel that way at all.

  This was her contribution to death with dignity. As she pulled her hand out from beneath him her fingers grazed his neck and she felt a slight bump on his skin she hadn’t noticed when she was preparing his body.

  She frowned. Huh.

  Leaning in closer, Spencer moved his thick hair away from his neck and let out a short yelp of surprise.

  Alan Perkins had what clearly looked like two incisor bites on his neck that she’d covered with makeup without even realizing. She looked again to be sure she wasn’t seeing things, panic sweeping over her.

  Those were definitely incisor marks. She’d know them anywhere.

  Cathy’s husband, Joel, had them after she’d turned him. Alan’s weren’t as grossly distorted as Joel’s had been for weeks after her cousin bit her life mate. But that was because Joel’s were given during a bout of passion and done in love—rather like a vampire hickey.

  But Alan’s were almost unnoticeable to someone who knew nothing about a vamp bite, but to someone like Spencer this held meaning.

  Oh, sweet fancy Moses, this could only mean…

  No. It couldn’t be.

  It couldn’t be a vampire bite. Spencer’s breed of vamp didn’t kill anyone—ever. Her clan didn’t believe in it. They were peace-loving vamps. Power to the people and all that hippy-schmippy nonsense her father was so fond of spouting because the seventies was his favorite era.

  Yet, there weren’t any other breeds of vampires in Cedar Glen but Polanskis, and there definitely weren’t any in Easton. Still, she’d know a vamp bite anywhere.

  But then, if this truly was a vampire bite, how could Alan be dead?

  If he was bitten by a vamp wouldn’t Alan be undead like the rest of them?

  Not if he was killed first, then sucked dry…but he hadn’t damn well been dry. She’d emptied his body of blood herself and though there wasn’t much of it, he had bled out.

  Maybe it was some weird hoax? Or some crazy sexual vampire fetish Alan was into?

  Oh, Jesus. She had to tell someone. Then she shook her head. No, no she couldn’t do that.

  She could just imagine the nice coroner’s face if she called him up. “Hey, it’s Spencer Polanski here, down at Polanski Brothers. You know, the place where our motto is you fuck up the autopsy and we watch as you ruin a perfectly good embalming? Look here. I got a guy who was bitten by a vampire. Yep, that’s what I said, a vampire. The real McCoy. Are you freaked out yet? Anyway, you better get some garlic and holy water at the ready. Just in case this guy is the first in a long line of victims for a Dracula wannabe.”

  Oh, God what was she going to do? No one in her clan bit people.

  Not one.

  Would the coroner’s office even think the bite was something meaningful? Would they see it the second time around if they’d missed it the first? Weren’t they looking for blunt trauma or some such official reason to investigate further? Because Alan’s internal organs were gone.

  Spencer clung to the edge of the casket and let the wave of panic take hold, followed by a little mental meditation to help them subside.

  “Spencer?” Her father’s voice made her jump. “Are you okay, honey?”

  Yeah. Good, great even. See this here dead guy? He’s been bitten by a vampire. Have you been snackin’, Dad? Oh, God. Spencer bit her lip and stood up to turn and face her father. “I’m fine, Dad, just tired. Last night was a long one, huh?”

  Spencer’s father smiled ruefully, his handsome face unmarred by his centuries-old age. “It makes me glad we’re not human, kiddo. I couldn’t bear to lose any of you.”

  Walking toward him she tucked her arm under his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Did you need me for something?”

  Edgar kissed the top of her head. “The picture of
Brian Reynolds just arrived.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Your next client. He’s waiting for you, and his family will be here tonight before the viewing tomorrow, so I thought I’d better let you know.”

  Spencer glanced at the clock on the barren wall. “Damn, I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll get right on it.”

  Edgar gave her a squeeze before he let her go. “It’s okay. You have plenty of time. Sad thing about Alan, don’t you agree?”

  Spencer nodded. He had no idea how sad. “Yeah, I feel awful for Mrs. Perkins. The coroner’s office is going to pick up the body soon and hack him back up. I just felt like I needed to apologize to Alan for that. Silly, huh?”

  Spencer’s father tweaked her cheek as he had for many centuries when he wanted to cheer her up. “It’s not silly, kiddo. Sensitive is more like it. You’re a good-hearted vamp, Spencer. I just wish you’d get out more. See your girlfriends more than once every couple of months. I have a feeling, somewhere in that social life, lies your life mate.”

  Spencer winkled her nose at him playfully. “I know, Dad, but I have to hope he finds me because I can’t find him with a bum sniffer, now can I?”

  Edgar chuckled and pinched her defective nose lightly. “You have other qualities that make up for your lack of smell. I feel as sure as the day is long that you’ll find that special vampire soon and settle down.”

  “Yep. I’m right there with you. Count Dracula is just around the corner, waiting on me. But until then, I’d better see to Brian Reynolds.” She smiled at him and gave him a pat on the arm before exiting the viewing room where Alan waited to be picked up.

  Something was very wrong here. She felt it in her gut, deep in her bones, and she was going to find out what it was if it was the last thing she did.

  * * * *

  Spencer pulled on her scrubs and pushed her way through the door to the embalming room. Preparing a body gave her purpose. It helped her to focus on making it easier for the family who had to say goodbye. For now, it took her mind off the freaky/hunky detective and Alan Perkins’ bite marks.

  At least Brian Reynolds’ body wasn’t a mess like Alan’s had been. He wasn’t pretty, for sure, but he hadn’t decomposed quite like Alan had. Spencer skimmed his chart. Car accident—found right off of I-36 again.

  Downright dangerous to hang out there lately, wasn’t it? He was whacked up pretty badly. The coroner’s office had ruled it severe brain trauma. Spencer ran her hand over his bruised face and forehead and grimaced. Yeah, he’d hit the windshield pretty hard. Damn, she hated trying to cover bruises of this severity.

  And he was so young too, just a year younger than Alan Perkins.

  Well, shit. Cases like this, when the patient had so many years ahead of them yet, made Spencer think too much about their lives. In the same way she’d fretted over the possibility that Alan might have had a wife and children—she now focused her energy on Brian.

  “Oh, Brian. I’m so sorry,” she sympathized. “You had more miles to go, didn’t you? God, that really sucks. But I’ll fix you up just right. Promise.”

  Spencer eyed the picture of Brian in life. Taken not long ago, if the time stamp was right. He was smiling on a beach somewhere, the sand spilling over his toes, the glimmering blue ocean at his back.

  Brian needed a trim if what his picture revealed was how his family would expect to see him. As Spencer ran her hands through his thick tresses, pulling it up and away from his neck, her hand froze.

  Fucking hell.

  She covered her mouth with her forearm to keep from gagging on a dry-heave.

  Another bite? For fuck’s sake, what the hell was going on in Easton?

  Spencer fought revulsion as she forced herself to examine Brian Reynolds’ neck. Running a gloved fingertip over his skin she felt the same small incisor bites on Brian as she had on Alan.

  Oh, Christ and a sidecar. Who was doing this? Why?

  And now what?

  She had to do something, because whoever was biting the victims obviously wasn’t draining them. Once more she reminded herself, she’d drained Alan’s body of blood just before embalming him. He certainly didn’t have a lot of blood left, but he wasn’t drained. So what was the purpose of biting these men if not for sustenance?

  Spencer let go of Brian’s hair and paced the floor frantically trying to figure out who would do such a thing and if the coroner’s office had missed this twice, had there been others just like them? Would someone else become another victim?

  How long would it be before the coroner finally caught on? Because certainly more bodies would show up. Spencer felt the realization claw at her throat until she gagged again. More bodies would show up. She knew it as sure as she knew something horrible was happening in Easton.

  “Whose body is going to show up?”

  Spencer’s head snapped up and met the gaze of Larkin McBride’s intense glare. Fabulous—Inspector Clouseau was here. Yay.

  Larkin shook his finger at her in a tsk-tsk manner. “Aha. Just so happens, I do know who Inspector Clouseau is. French guy, right?”

  Crap. She moved away from the embalming table and Brian’s body, planting her hands on her hips. “Channel surfing again, Detective? What happened? Did you give up on late night vampire flicks?”

  Larkin moved toward her, large and overwhelming, his tight jeans clinging to his bulky thighs with every step. “Whose body were you thinking about showing up?”

  Spencer rolled her tongue in her mouth, pushing at the insides of her cheeks in impatience. Think vapid, Spencer. “I deal with bodies all day long, Detective,” she replied coolly. “It’s really no great mystery that I’d be thinking about another one showing up.”

  Larkin shook his head, his lips thinning. “No, what you thought was, and I quote, ‘more bodies would show up’.”

  “Well that’s kind of a duh, Detective. I work in a funeral home. Yes, more bodies will show up.”

  As Larkin came to stand next to her, or over her might be the proper assessment, he grinned that fucking stupid smile that made her phantom innards jiggle and her knees clack.

  “How do you do this all day? It stinks in here.” It was as if he’d just noticed the unpleasantness that Spencer often heard about, yet couldn’t identify with because she couldn’t smell it. Larkin covered his nose with his hand, his eyes beginning to water. “Mind if we step outside into the hall?” he asked then hacked a cough before pushing his way out the door and into the corridor.

  Pantywaist.

  When he turned around to face her, he grinned a grin so perfect it was surely a gift from above. “Pantywaist? Okay, fine. I’ll give you that. But c’mon, be fair. The smell in there is pretty ripe.”

  Spencer stifled her urge to giggle while fighting the magnetic force of his body when he backed her up against the wall. “I have no sense of smell, so it doesn’t bother me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow upward. “I remember you thinking you had a bum nose. Didn’t know what that meant.”

  She clasped her fingers behind her and looked up into his eyes. “So what do you want today, Detective? Are you here to hassle me about your newfound mind reading abilities, or do you want some more vampire tips? How to fry a vampire in one sunrise or less? Or what about one hundred and one crock pot recipes for O positive lovers?”

  Larkin winked at her and her legs jiggled again, pissing her off. “Nope. Today I’m focused on Alan and his supposed suicide, but you never know when a good recipe for O positive might come in handy.”

  Her panic returned in full force. “So you’re here in an official capacity?”

  Larkin leaned into her, bracketing her head by placing his palms against the wall above it. Her body responded in kind by radiating lava-like heat and a with hormone alert squealing a warning that rang in her ears. “Nope. I’m here because I was Alan’s friend and Adelaide is onto something.”

  Spencer shivered as his breath grazed her face. “Onto something?”

  “Yeah. Alan had a l
ot going for him. Great job, sweet bank account, all the stuff a guy lives for—and he just up and offs himself? Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

  She clucked her tongue. “You know what they say about money. It can’t buy you love or happiness.”

  Larkin scoffed, his features turning hard again. “I know all about the inner peace bullshit, but Alan had more going for him than not. It doesn’t add up, and I want answers.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to feign indifference. “Maybe you’re just looking for something that isn’t there. Sort of like your vampire fetish and the voices in your head. You move from obsession to obsession with the grace of an elephant.”

  He did something then, something she’d relive over and over later on. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, making her spine arch toward him unwillingly. “You weren’t thinking I was such an elephant just a minute ago.”

  “Why, no, I wasn’t, was I? I was thinking you were an overgrown baby for not being able to take the smell of a little embalming fluid.”

  “That’s not all you were thinking at all, Spencer,” he murmured low and husky.

  Spencer’s nipples tightened painfully, pressing against her sweater while a vampire’s version of goose bumps broke out on her arms. “I have a body to prepare for a viewing, Detective. So unless you want to stick around for the slice and dice, and I doubt you could handle it, I’d highly recommend you spend the afternoon off chasing after shadows somewhere else.”

  Larkin stared down at her, his eyes hard chips of ice again. The lighthearted moment he’d experienced gone. “I’ll do that, Spencer, though I’ll be back. Not a chance in hell Alan took his own life. I might not have any proof other than what my gut says, but I know I’m right. So I’ll be seeing you, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  As Larkin’s solid bulk moved away from hers, she felt cold for the first time in her life. It must be cold because her fingers were numb.