Page 28 of Dead Beat

Alex ceased tapping. “All the way to exotic Rhode Island?”

“Farther than Belbalm ever got. Farther than Reiter.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not a vampire,” said Dawes.

“Or maybe he’s a cool vampire,” said Tripp. “Like me.”

“That remains to be seen,” Darlington replied, casting him a stern look in the rearview.

Tripp’s lip jutted out. “Why are you and Turner always giving me such a hard time?”

“Because you’re a demon who wants to eat us.”

“But I don’t actually eat you! That should count for something, right?”

“It does,” Dawes said soothingly. She handed him a juice box.

Alex gagged. “Jesus, is that blood?”

“He needs to stay hydrated. If he gets too hungry … I think it would be best if he didn’t.”

“The Rock eats cod eight times a day,” said Tripp between slurps. “He needs the protein.”

Alex looked over her shoulder. “Dawes, tell me it’s not your blood.”

Darlington hadn’t even considered that. “If it is, I’m kicking you both out of the car.”

“It’s my car!” Dawes protested. “And no, it is not my blood. I’m not an idiot. It’s pig blood from the butcher and you can all calm down.”

Darlington did feel calm, calmer than he had when they set out. It felt good to be foolish, to talk about nothing, to worry about Tripp instead of the monster they might be about to face. Whether human or vampire, if Kittscher was still alive, he might be in touch with the other pilgrims or know what had become of his companions. But that could also mean he was in communication with Reiter and that he would be ready for them.

The house at the address Turner had provided was a cozy Cape Cod covered in wooden shingles and white trim, seated just above the sandy beach. There were tidy homes on both sides of the gently curving street. Darlington drove past, then circled around and parked a block away where they still had a good view of the pebbled path to the front door.

“It’s not like Reiter’s place,” Alex said. “Not isolated.”

“The house was purchased through a trust not long after Kittscher graduated,” Dawes said. “Thomas Neumann had a law practice in Provincetown for years. He did well for himself.”

That was a bit of an understatement. Darlington didn’t know if magic was involved or bribes, but Neumann simply hadn’t lost cases. Ever.

“He retired in the 1970s,” Darlington added. “Never married. No kids.”

Dawes bristled. “Those aren’t crimes.”

“No, but they’re anomalies for men of his time.”

“So he has to be a vampire, right?” asked Tripp. “We live a long time.”

“He could be a son or a grandson,” Alex shot back. “Or have nothing to do with Rudolph Kittscher at all.”

Darlington cast her a brief glance. Her arms were folded and her jaw was set. She was terrified and there was no cure for it. There wouldn’t be until the door to hell was shut and locked forever.

They waited, trying to get a feel for the place before they made a move. Darlington wasn’t sorry to sit for a moment, to wait together. The scenery was bleak, but he liked coastal towns better in the winter, when the wind and cold cleared the crowds of sunseekers from the beaches and the sea could stop pleasing and simply return to itself. His eyes tracked the gray slice of sand with its patches of pale grass bending to the wild weather, the dark slate waves roiling with whitecaps. It was as if the tide had come in and washed all color away.

“It’s so empty,” Tripp said at last.

“Midday in the middle of the week,” Alex replied.

The door to Neumann’s house opened and a young man bundled into a parka emerged with trash bags in his hands. He shouted a hello to his neighbor at her mailbox and she waved back.