Annoyed at my lack of attention, Rusty cleared his throat. “And you found the body?”
“Yes. I told the dispatcher that when I called nine-one-one.”
“And you performed CPR?”
“I did, but I think he’d been gone for a while at that point.”
“I thought vampires couldn’t breathe,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I don’t have to, but it doesn’t mean I can’t,” I told him. “Do I need to call a council representative? I’m allowed to under the Undead Civil Rights Act of 2002.”
“We’ll let you know,” Rusty said. “For right now, let’s just say that you’ll probably be hearing from us again.”
Rusty cleared out of the shop as if his polyester pants were on fire. The ambulance crew drove away with the body—I couldn’t think of it as Mr. Wainwright. I was alone. And it was suddenly so quiet. Numb, I sank into a chair behind the counter and stared at a ledger next to the register. I could make out Mr. Wainwright’s chicken scratch, a reminder for me to reorder a book called Life on Loch Ness. I ran my fingers over his indented scrawl, leaned my head against the counter, and cried.
I’m not sure how long I sat there. The next thing I remembered was Gabriel striding through the shop door, calling for me. I couldn’t seem to look up, to put together the words to respond. The smallest movement took too much effort.
“I’ve been calling you all evening,” he said, coming behind the counter to check me over for obvious contusions and stab wounds. “Normally, there’s a reason for your ignoring me. What’s going on?”
“Mr. Wainwright’s dead,” I said, tongue slow and heavy. I held myself together for a total of two seconds before bursting into hysterical tears again. Gabriel wrapped his long arms around me, and I suddenly didn’t care where he’d been or what he’d done. The important thing was that he was there, at that moment, when I needed him.
“Was it one of us?” he asked.
“Oh, no, completely natural. It was a heart attack,” I said, my eyes welling up again. “He was an old man. He said he lived a good life …”
Gabriel pressed me to his chest and let me sob there, until the front of his shirt was soaked. “Better?” he asked.
“No,” I said, wiping at my nose. “I must look a mess, which is really the least of my concerns right now. I’m not one of those women who are beautiful when they cry.”
“No, you’re not,” Gabriel agreed.
“So rude.” I smacked him.
“See, you feel better now that you’ve hit something.”
“I don’t know why I’m crying so much.” I sniffled. “It’s not as if I lost him. I mean, he’s happy as a clam, staring through his hands. He’s thrilled that he’s dead. Why do I feel this way?”
“If I suggest a theory, will you get angry?”
“Well, you’ve pretty much guaranteed that I will now.” I blew my nose.
“So much about your life has been unstable. You lost your aunt Jettie, your job, your life as you knew it. Mr. Wainwright and his shop became a touchstone of normalcy. It was somewhere you could go and know what to expect when you walked through the door. Now you can’t hold on to even the smallest shred of your former life or the shaky sense of security you’ve developed.”
I stared at him. Having someone inside your head is offputting.
“No, that’s not it,” I said. “Not it at all. I hereby revoke your license to play armchair psychologist.”
“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asked. I shrugged. “Happy Naked Fun Time?”
I laughed, a rusty sound that made my throat hurt. “You know, sometimes I forget that at the heart of things, you’re still a guy.”
“Well, let me remind you.”
“We need to call Dick.”
“I think we should leave Dick out of this.”
“Because—oh, God, it hardly matters now. Dick is Mr. Wainwright’s great-grandfather.”