Blood Trail

at the theater and blanched. "Where is everyone?" he asked instead.

    "Tag and Sky ..."

    Stuart and Nadine, Henry translated.

    "... are out hunting, in spite of protests from your Ms. Nelson. You saw the exit of the terrible trio. Colin is at work, and my other two are ..."

    The descant rose above the tenor solo, wrapping the notes almost sideways to each other.

    "... in the living room with their heads between the speakers. They got a couple of old recordings from the doctor today, obscure companies that aren't out yet on CD." He scratched at the mat of red hair on his chest and frowned. "Personally, I think the tenor is a little sharp."

    "Why the doctor? Was someone hurt?"

    "Everyone is fine." Vicki's voice came from behind him, from the door leading to the bathroom, and her tone added, so far. Henry turned as she continued. "I needed to talk to him to make sure he wasn't the killer."

    "And are you sure."

    "Quite. It's not him, it's not Colin's partner, and it's not the game warden. Unfortunately, at least another thirty-seven people regularly go wandering through the woods with high-powered binoculars and it could be any one of them. Not to mention an unknown number of nature photographers whose names I don't have yet."

    Henry raised a brow and smiled. "Sounds like you've had a productive day."

    Vicki snorted. "I've had a day," she amended, shoving her glasses back up her nose. "I'm not really any closer to finding out who did do it. And Stuart and Nadine have gone for a little nocturnal hike." Her opinion of that dripped off her voice.

    "They're hunters, they. ..."

    "They can hunt at the local supermarket until this is over," she snapped. "Like the rest of us."

    "They aren't like the rest of us," Henry reminded her. "You can't judge them by. ..."

    "Leave it! I've had just about as much of that observation as I can take." She sighed at his expression and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little frustrated by illogical behavior. Can we go somewhere and talk?"

    "Outside?"

    She scowled. "It's dark, I won't be able to see, and besides, outside is crawling with bugs.
    What about my room?"

    "What about mine?" While it wasn't large, his was the only room in the house with a door that could be bolted from the inside. If they began in his room, they wouldn't have to move later when it came time to feed. He felt her blood calling him and the plate he still held snapped between his hands. "Oh, hell. Donald, I'm sorry."

    Donald only shrugged, a suspiciously knowing smile lurking around the edges of his mouth.
    "Don't worry about it. We're kinda hard on dishes around here anyway."

    Giving thanks that his nature no longer allowed him to blush - his fair Tudor coloring had been the curse of his short life - Henry dropped both halves of the plate in the garbage and turned once again to Vicki. For a change, he found her expression unreadable. "Shall we?" he asked, taking refuge in formality.

    Scalloped glass light fixtures illuminated the stairs and the upper hall in the original section of the house but the wer, who could see almost as well in the dark, hadn't bothered extending them down the hall of the addition.

    Vicki swore and stopped dead at the edge of the twilight. "Maybe my room is better after all. ..."

    Henry tucked her arm in his and pulled her gently forward. "It isn't far," he said soothingly.

    "Don't patronize me," she snapped. "I'm going blind, not senile."

    But her fingers tightened against the bend of his elbow and Henry could feel the tension in her step.

    The bare forty watt bulb hanging from the center of Henry's closet - it was gross exaggeration to call it a room - threw enough light for Vicki to see Henry's face but the piled junk held shadows layered upon shadows. Dragging his pillow up behind her back, she leaned against the far wall and watched him bolt the door.

    He could scent the beginning of her desire.

    Slowly, he turned, hunger rising.

    "So." She kicked off her sandals and scratched at a mosquito bite. Nothing like taking care of one itch to distract you from another. "Sit down and I'll tell you about my day."

    He sat. There wasn't much else he could do.

    "... and that's the suspect list as it stands right now."

    "You really believe it could be one of these birdwatchers?"

    "Or the photographers. Hell, I'd rather it was Carl Biehn or his slimy nephew than some lone hiker we'll never track down."

    "You don't think it was Mr. Biehn."

    "Get real. He's a nice guy."