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“The Doc?” Rita’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Any idea why?”
“No.”
“Did you know the Doc was selling marijuana, too?”
“Well, it isn’t illegal here.”
“He was selling to minors.”
Rita sighed. “Oh. That I didn’t know.”
Barbara wondered if she was being honest. It struck her that there wasn’t much Rita didn’t know about in this town. Which reminded her…
“Rita, have you ever heard of a place called the Bone House?”
Rita frowned. “Well, that is a blast from the past.”
“So, you do know it?”
“I know of it,” she said cautiously. “But that place was razed to the ground years ago.”
“What was it?”
“A brothel. For the men who worked in the mine. It was out by the cemetery, hence the name.”
“And that’s it?”
“Not exactly.” A longer pause. “It was a vampyr brothel.”
A vampyr brothel.
They were mostly a thing of the past, like freak shows. But occasionally the department would bust a new set-up. They were strictly illegal, not least because of the type of clientele they attracted. Vampyrs healed quickly. They could be abused in as many sick ways that you could think of and still recover. And then there were the men who wanted children who weren’t really children.
Barbara swallowed down the sour taste in her mouth. “And I’m guessing the vampyrs in the brothel weren’t there by choice.”
“It’s not something that the town is proud of,” Rita said quickly. “You won’t find it in any official history books. But like I said, it was a long time ago. Why are you asking about it, anyway?”
“It came up in conversation.”
Rita nodded, her face serious for once. “A word to the wise, Barbara: there is such a thing as too much information.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow.
“What I mean is,” Rita continued, “you’re here to do a job. To determine whether Marcus was killed by a vampyr and if you should authorize a cull. Don’t get distracted.”
Barbara cleared her throat. “Well, I certainly won’t drag anything up that isn’t necessary to the investigation.”
Rita nodded. “I knew you’d understand.”
Did you? Barbara thought.
Rita stood up. “I should skedaddle. No rest for the wicked.” And then she paused. “You know, you should come round for dinner tomorrow. Can’t have you eating alone all the time.”
“That would be great,” Barbara said.
“I’m not the world’s best cook, but I make a pretty mean reindeer pie.”
