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“Fine.”
“Except for the voices, right? You didn’t mention those to the Doc?”
Beau brushed at his ear like he was batting at a troublesome insect. The Doc was preoccupied taking some papers out of his briefcase. He settled them on his lap and smiled again.
“I got your results back from the MRI and the other tests.”
“Okay.”
Beau straightened a little in his chair.
“I know you’ve been worried about going down the same path as Patricia. Like I told you, I couldn’t see any real indicators. Being a bit forgetful and misplacing things is just something that happens as we get older. And headaches and dizziness can have lots of causes.”
“You told me all this,” Beau snapped.
“Okay. Well, the tests don’t show any indicators for dementia or Alzheimer’s.”
Beau felt the relief course through him. “Thank God.”
“Yes.” Dalton nodded. “That’s the good news.”
“The good news?” Beau felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like the look on the Doc’s face. “Is there bad news?”
Dalton sighed. “I’m afraid the MRI picked up something else.”
14
“So, where to next?” Nicholls asked as they climbed back into the truck.
“Well,” Barbara said, just as her stomach rumbled, long and loud.
Nicholls gave her a look. “How ’bout we grab a bite to eat?” He checked his watch. “It’s after three thirty.”
And almost totally dark, Barbara thought, staring out of the window. “Sounds like a plan,” she said.
They trundled down the bumpy track back toward town, past the Church of the Holy Cross and Deadhart School. It had started to snow, and the wipers squeaked as they mushed the large flakes across the screen. Nicholls pulled up outside the police department.
“Harty Snacks serves decent burgers and sandwiches,” he said.
“Carbs are always good by me.”
They strolled across the road. Fairy lights adorned the windows of the café. A bright sign shaped like a heart hung above the door. As they drew closer, Barbara could see the heart was pierced by a stake. She sighed.
“You don’t get to be the judge of what’s right around here.”
Despite the darkness and bitter chill, a couple of tables and chairs had been arranged, somewhat optimistically, under heaters outside.
“People sit out in these temperatures?” Barbara asked, her breath fogging in front of her face.
“Only tourists,” Nicholls replied, pushing open the door.
A cheery bell rang as they entered. Inside, it was warm and cozy. Half a dozen mismatched tables and chairs jostled for space. A serving counter ran along one side with a display case full of bagels and muffins. The café smelt (confusingly) of fried bread, fish and some unidentifiable cooked meat.
A few other patrons sat sipping hot drinks and munching on baked goods. A middle-aged man wearing glasses. Two older, gray-haired women, and a mother with a young daughter. All heads surreptitiously swiveled as Barbara and Nicholls walked in. Nicholls nodded pleasantly. Barbara smiled. Only the small child grinned back. Then she turned to her mother and said loudly: “Is that the vampyr supersizer, Mommy.”
“Shhhh,” the woman hushed. And then added: “It’s sympathizer, sweetheart.”
Great. Barbara turned to the counter. A young woman with blonde hair in a messy bun stood behind it. She offered Barbara a pleasant smile but addressed herself to Nicholls:
