Murder In Vein: Madison Rose Vampire Mystery, #1

CHAPTER 1

Madison had been in Los Angeles just over two years when she found herself face down on the ground in a wooded area. Her clothes were in tatters. Duct tape held her hands. A filthy rag muffled her screams. Fear coursed through her battered body, scraping and tearing with jagged edges as she fought to maintain control of her slippery mind. It was the only weapon she had left.

When she turned her head slowly to the side, pine needles and gravel ground into the cuts and bruises on her face, the pain bringing clarity to her mind for a fleeting moment. Bobby Piper had smacked Madison around pretty good while dragging her from the car. After roughing her up and ripping at her clothes, he’d stopped, then moved away, seeming to have second thoughts. He certainly hadn’t had any second thoughts an hour ago when he grabbed her in the parking lot outside the diner where she worked.

The moonlight penetrating the canopy of overhead branches allowed her to see Bobby as he sat with his back against a nearby tree. He was guzzling from a can of generic beer torn from the six pack resting at his side. He glanced at the cheap watch strapped to his wrist. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone.

There had been several news reports over the past year about missing women. Three had been found dead and mutilated. The others were never found. And even though the police claimed to have the killer in custody, panic and terror gathered anew as Madison worried about being the guest of honor at something evil and terrifying. She wiggled, but the tape around her hands and feet stayed put. Bobby noticed and glanced her way, causing her to freeze.

Getting only to his knees, Bobby scooted over and knelt next to Madison. Steady now, he warned. He bent close and tongued her ear as he spoke. When she squirmed in disgust, he laughed. Don’t go making things worse for yourself.

Worse? Madison thought. Worse than this? Her fear splintered, invading every cell of her body.

Bobby glanced again at his watch, then looked off in the direction of Madison’s car, which he’d driven with her stuffed in the trunk. Damn it. Where is he? he said to the empty night.

Those were the last words he ever uttered.

Something had come out of the dark. Something large and silent. It had struck Bobby hard and fast, sending him into the tree where he’d been leaning just a moment before. Beer, malty and lukewarm, rained on Madison’s face. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her attacker splayed against the thick trunk of the tree, busted and askew, a rag doll in a disturbing pose. He moaned.

Whatever it was that had attacked Bobby, now hovered over his broken body, totally ignoring her. It tore at Bobby’s shirt, the fabric rasping loud and foreign against the natural sounds of the night. It looked to Madison like a man, dark and looming in appearance. When it raised its head and looked up at the moon, she saw that it was a man – an older man, his face strong but weathered, his jaw line slack with age. Then he looked back down at Bobby. Bobby screamed. It was a short scream, winding quickly down into a whimper, until Madison could hear it no more.

The man raised his head again toward the moon. Even with the rag in her mouth, Madison’s breath caught in her throat. He heard it, and turned toward her, leaning down until she could smell his metallic breath. He grimaced, displaying fangs dark and thick with fresh blood – Bobby’s blood.

Madison passed out.

When she regained consciousness, Madison found Bobby Piper trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. He was as white as raw poultry and just as dead.

My name is Madison Rose, Madison reminded herself in silence while she studied Bobby’s body. She hoped that remembering the small details of her life would keep her focused and not allow her mind to drift back into unconsciousness. What she’d seen – the man with the fangs – couldn’t have been real. Bobby’s killer was just another psychopath like himself. She tried desperately to convince herself that her mind was playing tricks on her.

Madison heard footsteps. The sound brought her focus back to the problem at hand. It sounded like there was more than one set. They moved with stealth over the dead leaves until they were nearby. She didn’t close her eyes, but neither did she turn her head to look.

What should we do with her? she heard a woman ask in a soft cultured voice.

She saw me, a man answered. We’ll have to kill her. His voice was low, rounded out in unexpected civility and almost apologetic.

Madison. Rose. She repeated it to herself like a mantra. It was her first and last name. She had no middle name like regular people. Just a last name for her first name and a first name for her last. People had always screwed it up. No matter how clearly she explained it, there was always some jackass who insisted on filing her under the M’s instead of the R’s. On more than one occasion, she’d thought about changing her name to Rose Madison, just to make things easier for everyone. But she’d never been known for making things easy on the people around her. Or on herself. After being raised in a string of foster homes, Madison Rose wasn’t used to things being easy on any level.

Remembering the details of her short life didn’t change the fact that she was still on the ground, still bound and gagged – a sitting duck for whatever hell would come next. Looking again at Bobby’s body, she had only one regret – that she hadn’t killed him herself.

It also crossed her mind that moving to LA had been a bad call.

CHAPTER 2

Madison’s eyes opened slowly until they caught on a vertical strip of diffused light. It signaled to Madison in the darkness. The last thing she remembered was waiting to die.

Was this death? she asked herself. Was this the light everyone talked about? She squinted and concentrated on it, thinking the light of passing should be big and bright, not dim and slim as a reed. She felt disappointed. Let down even in death.

She wiggled her fingers, then realized her hands were unfettered, and her mouth no longer gagged. She lay on her back, on what felt like a very large soft bed. Again, she wondered if she’d died and gone to Heaven. After a few minutes, she decided if Heaven was all about lounging in a big bed, cocooned in expensive linens edged in lace and smelling faintly of lavender, then it was okay by her.

Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth in a wide yawn. A sharp pain stabbed the middle of her lower lip. She touched her tongue to the spot, tasting blood and feeling a small split. Her cheek throbbed. Lifting a hand to her face, she felt a gauze bandage on her right cheek. Gently, she moved fingers over her face in a Braille examination and felt a small bandage across the bridge of her nose. She felt like she’d been hit by a train. If she were dead, she wouldn’t be bleeding. Or in pain. She also had to pee, and reminded herself that she couldn’t recall ever hearing of the dead needing to use the bathroom.

With caution, she eased a foot out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed. The room was cool, almost cold. Someone had removed her clothes and dressed her in a long sleeveless night gown. Stroking a hand down the front of her chest, she felt pintucking and ribbon trim. Her feet found an area rug, then traveled onto a bare, but glossy wood floor. She moved slowly in the near blackness, aiming for the shaft of light.

She’d only taken a few steps when she heard a knock. Then a door opened a few feet to the left of the shaft of light. More light entered the room, silhouetting a shape in the doorway.

I see you’re up, a cheerful female voice said.

Before Madison could answer, a small lamp on the far side of the room came on, filling the space with a soft light. She turned her face away, giving her eyes time to become accustomed to the brightness, then turned her head back to see who was speaking. At the door was an older woman. Not elderly, but definitely old enough to qualify for the senior menu at the diner.

How are you feeling, Madison? the woman asked.

Madison studied her, digging through her cottony brain for recognition. She was pretty sure she didn’t know the woman, but she didn’t seem totally unfamiliar either.

How do you know my name?

The woman smiled and stepped deeper into the room. It was on your driver’s license, the woman explained. I hope you don’t mind, but we had to go through your purse for your ID. The woman pointed toward a dresser. Your bag is over there.

Turning her head, Madison saw her beat up shoulder bag on top of the dresser.

The woman moved toward her, her trim body moving gracefully across the wood floor on pink velvet slippers. When she reached Madison, she held out a hand with long tapered fingers to feel the girl’s forehead. Instinctively, Madison backed away.

Don’t worry, the woman assured her. I’m a retired nurse. I need to make sure you’re not running a fever.

She moved closer. She was almost Madison’s height, about five foot six. This time Madison didn’t half bolt when the woman laid a cold hand on her face. After a few seconds, the woman smiled, satisfied with her patient’s status.

Are you the one who fixed me up? Madison asked.

The woman nodded and moved toward the bed, where she fussed with the covers, pulling them back and smoothing the sheets underneath. Yes, she answered. She folded one edge of the sheets and blanket back in a tidy triangle, as fancy as in a luxury hotel, readying the bed for Madison’s return. Then she started fluffing the pillows. You were quite a mess, Madison. But I’m happy to say your nose was not broken. With one final fluff to a pillow, she was done. I don’t even think you’ll have any scars. But you’ll be feeling the bruises on your body for several days.

With her bladder complaining, Madison had to decide which was more urgent: going to the bathroom or finding out who in the hell this woman was. As if reading her mind, the woman said, Why don’t you freshen up? She pointed to a door next to the one she’d entered. The bath is right that way. She started back toward the other door, then stopped. Take your time, she told Madison with a warm smile. I’ll go find something for you to eat. You must be starving.

Before leaving, the woman asked, Are you allergic to anything? Or a vegetarian? Anything like that?

No, Madison croaked out. I’ll eat anything.

The woman gave off a low, almost private chuckle. In this house, that could be dangerous.

Upon entering the bathroom, Madison discovered the sliver of light was cast from a small night light positioned just inside the door. The light was in the shape of a purple flower.

Lavender linens, beribboned nightgowns, flower shaped night lights, and room service. She had gone from near death on decaying foliage to a fairytale. Or had she? Madison Rose knew better than to make assumptions based on first impressions. She’d learned early in life that even good things had a way of biting you on the ass when you took a closer look.

The bathroom was spotless. There were no chips in the tile. No water-stains on the floor. No birthmarks of mildew in the corners. The room was decorated similar to the bedroom, abundant with lace and floral prints, just on the edge of being Victorian. After using the toilet, she stood in front of the vanity where fresh soaps in the shape of roses sat in a delicate white dish next to a matching drinking glass. Carefully picking up a fancy soap, she wet it as if she were washing a piece of antique china. Next to the soap dish was a new toothbrush still in its package and a fresh tube of toothpaste. She wondered if they’d been put there for her use. Again, she was unsure. Somewhere, a part of her still wondered if she might be dead.

As she washed, Madison hesitated looking into the mirror over the sink, but knew she couldn’t avoid it forever. After drying her hands on a towel, she jerked her head up fast, letting her appearance hit her like a baseball bat, which was appropriate, since her face looked like it had done some time with a bat.

She had a black eye, and her nose was scraped. The gauze bandage she’d felt earlier covered her right cheek from the edge of her eye almost to her mouth. Her long dark brown hair was loose, with the odd leaf clinging to a few strands. She pushed strands of hair out of the way and saw another scrape across her forehead. Her wrists were also bruised, the outline of the duct tape still visible.

She opened the toothbrush and started brushing the fetid film from her mouth, careful of her split lip. The toothpaste was a national brand, cool and minty. She wanted to scrub her whole body with it.

As she brushed, Madison opened the door wider, letting the light from the bathroom splash across the bedroom. The woman hadn’t returned. The bedroom was beautiful and inviting. The sort of room she’d only seen before in magazines. She rinsed and spit, then studied her bruised reflection in the mirror again, trying to piece together the lost time.

The last thing Madison remembered was a man and a woman standing over her deciding her fate. She closed her eyes and concentrated. The man had been inclined to kill her. The woman had not. Then something was placed over her face. She’d had dreams while she slept. Dreams of being carried through the woods. Dreams of fangs and blood and Bobby’s final cries. The man had killed Bobby. Hadn’t he?

Looking at the shower with longing, Madison decided against it. Until she had some answers, she didn’t want to be naked and standing under running water. She’d seen the movie Psycho. Instead, she took up the fancy soap again and wet a face cloth. Gently, she washed her face, traveling carefully around the bandages, then over and around her neck. It made her feel better and helped clear the cobwebs.

The woman.

Madison stopped washing and stared out the door into the bedroom. The woman hadn’t returned yet. Then it hit Madison. It was the woman’s voice that was familiar, not her face. The older woman was the woman in the woods. She was sure of it.

If the woman, the retired nurse, was the same woman in the woods, then who was the man? She shut the door, locking it. The man had wanted to kill her. To finish what Bobby had started. He – the man – had fangs. The sight of the blood covered fangs exploded from her deep memory like a ball through a plate glass window. The man had bitten Bobby, torn into him like a barbequed rib on the Fourth of July.

She looked around for a window. Nightgown or not, Madison was ready to squeeze through a bathroom window and hit the ground running. But the bathroom was windowless. The only way out was through the bedroom. She started to unlock the door, but stopped, still unsure of what she had seen.

There’s no such thing as vampires, she scolded herself in a barely audible whisper. She paced the small room, repeating the phrase several times. The man had killed Bobby, true, but he’d also saved her life. The biting, the fangs, must have been a product of her overactive and stressed imagination.

She lowered the toilet lid and dropped down onto it, still trying to convince herself. She must have heard wrong that he’d wanted to kill her, too. She was alive, wasn’t she? And why would they bring her here if they meant to kill her? Then again, why hadn’t they taken her to a hospital? Or to a police station? Her last question hit home. If she’d been nearly murdered, where were the police? Her mind reeled with contradictions.

A knock on the bathroom door sent Madison into near cardiac arrest. Madison, are you alright? It was the older woman. Madison, the woman called, knocking again. Do you need help, dear?

I’ll ... I’ll be right out. Madison got up and went to study herself in the mirror again. She couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Her cell phone was in her bag on the dresser, but what good would it do? She had no idea where she was.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, Madison peeked out. The bedroom was empty. As soon as she stepped into it, her nostrils filled with the aroma of something hot and inviting. She followed the fragrant trail to a small desk on which sat a tray holding a large bowl of soup, toast, and a tiny pot of hot tea with its own matching tea cup. The soup looked homemade. Her mouth watered. Sitting down in the desk chair, Madison picked up the soup spoon and stirred it through a broth thick with chicken, potatoes and chunks of an orange vegetable that looked like yams. With the spoon, she plucked a chunk of potato from the bowl and tenuously put it in her mouth. It was delicious. She’d downed several more big spoonfuls when the woman returned.

Good? she asked Madison.

With her mouth full, Madison could only nod.

That’s Pauline’s special chicken soup. People love it. It has pumpkin chunks, as well as yams and regular potatoes.

Pumpkin. That was the orange vegetable Madison couldn’t identify that looked like the yams in the bowl.

In the woman’s arms were some folded clothes. It’s a Jamaican recipe. Pauline is our housekeeper. Her family is originally from Kingston.

It’s awesome, Madison said between gulps.

Here are some fresh clothes for when you’re ready to get dressed. The woman placed them on the dresser. You’re about my height, but slimmer. Still, these should do for now. And no rush getting dressed. You’ve been through quite a lot. Feel free to climb back into bed if you like.

Noticing for the first time a white linen napkin next to the soup bowl, Madison picked it up and wiped her mouth. Thanks, she said bluntly. She wondered if she should offer more words of gratitude, but instead blurted, Who are you and where in the hell am I?

The woman sat on the edge of the bed nearest the desk. My name is Dorothy Dedham. But everyone calls me Dodie. My husband is Douglas. You are in our home.

Madison ran her eyes over Dodie’s lined face. She appeared to be in her late sixties, attractive with porcelain skin and light auburn hair, which she wore pulled back in a clip. Her eyes were blue and crinkled when she smiled. She was dressed in sharply pressed khaki slacks and a blue v-neck sweater pulled over a white tee shirt. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up to her elbows. The pink slippers were still on her feet.

The memory of being carried crept forward from the back of Madison’s mind. She blinked and stared at the older woman. Did you carry me through the woods? she asked, hesitating. I know, it seems crazy? She shook her head at the thought. I’m not very heavy, but you’re ... old.

Dodie laughed. Old doesn’t mean decrepit, dear. And I had help. Doug helped me carry you to your car, then he drove it here to the house.

It sounded feasible, but didn’t jive with the picture in Madison’s head. Her memory was of being carried through the woods, cradled like a child, in the arms of the woman seated in front of her.

Madison looked around the room until her eyes settled on a clock near the bed. She hadn’t noticed it before. It read ten minutes after six. Standing, she went to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. From the second story window, she could clearly see that nightfall was coming to the October evening and that the house was surrounded by thick stands of trees.

How long have I been asleep? she asked, still looking out the window.

About fourteen hours.

Madison turned sharply on Dodie. Fourteen hours? Now it was clear why her head had been so heavy and thick when she woke. You drugged me? Her tone was accusatory.

When we carried you to the car, you passed out. Once we got you here and started dressing your injuries, it was obvious you were in a lot of pain, so I gave you a sedative to help you rest. Dodie’s words were matter-of-fact, not defensive.

Before Madison could say anything more, Dodie rose and approached Madison, her face calm and comforting. I called Detective Notchey to let him know you’re awake. He wants to drop by tonight to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to it, or would you rather sleep some more?

Madison hesitated before answering. She wasn’t fond of the police, but this was an unusual situation. No, I’ll see him.

Good. Dodie smiled at her. Why don’t you finish your dinner and get dressed? She headed for the door. Feel free to take a shower. Just be careful of the bandages if you wash your hair. There’s a hair dryer and clean brush in one of the vanity drawers.

In spite of Madison’s concerns, the pieces were falling into place with reasonable explanations. She sat back down to finish her soup. Digging an orange chunk from the bowl, she carefully tasted it. Was it a yam or a piece of pumpkin? Yam, she decided.

Maybe some things were exactly as they seemed.

Freshly showered and dressed in the warm leggings, tunic sweater, and socks provided by Dodie, Madison picked up her dinner tray and headed downstairs. Like the upstairs, the main floor was a harmonious blend of gleaming hard wood floors and antique furnishings, mixed with expensive fabrics and area rugs. Once on the first floor, she heard voices coming from the back of the house. In front of her was the front door. For a fleeting instant, Madison thought about running out the front door, but her purse was upstairs, and who knew if her car keys were with it. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and headed toward the voices.

In the spacious modern kitchen, Dodie was at the counter by the sink fussing with a blender. The older man from the woods sat at the table teasing her. There was a distinguished and knowledgeable air about him. Madison hung back, staying out of sight, not wanting to disturb their intimate banter.

Dodie placed a glass in front of the man. It held a thick liquid the color of red velvet cake. He tasted it, swishing it around in his mouth as if tasting a fine wine. New recipe? he asked.

Dodie turned to him and wiped her hands on the cotton apron that protected her sweater and slacks. Why? Don’t you like it?

He took another sip. It’s fine. A little on the gamey side, but in a good way.

She took a drink from her own glass. I mixed equal parts domestic and wild. I thought it would be nice after last night’s smoky, boozy aftertaste.

Ah, yes, the man said, lifting the glass again to his mouth. Last night’s dinner wasn’t very pleasant, but it was fresh.

Dodie shook her head. "When are people