"Morning, Claire," Hess said, and pulled up a chair. Lowe did the same. They weren't all that similar in body types -- Hess was tall and kind of wiry, with a long face; Lowe was chubby and balding. But the expressions in their eyes were identical -- careful, hidden, wary. "How have you been?"
"Fine," she said, and resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to touch her bracelet, fiddle with it. She looked from one to the other, feeling less secure all the time. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"
"Yeah," Lowe said. "You could say that. Look, Claire, there's -- I'm sorry to tell you this, but there was a dead girl out back of your house. She was found this morning by the trash collectors."
A dead girl? Claire swallowed hard. "Who is she?"
"Amy Callum," Hess said. "She's a local girl. Family lives just a few blocks from you. Her people are pretty broken up about it." He shifted his gaze toward the coffee bar. "She worked here."
Amy? Coffee Bar Amy? Oh no ... "I knew her," Claire said faintly. "She worked with Eve. She was supposed to be here today. Eve was saying -- " Eve. Claire looked over and saw that Eve was still chattering away brightly, filling orders, taking cash. They hadn't told her yet. "You're sure it was our house?"
"Claire -- " The two detectives exchanged a look, not a good one. "Her body was stuffed inside of your trash can. We're sure."
Claire felt faint. That close ... she'd put out trash just two days ago, right? Dumped garbage bags into the can. Amy had been alive then. And now ...
"Did you see anything last night?" Hess continued.
"No, I was -- it was dark when I got home. And then I studied all night."
"Hear anything, maybe some racket out by the garbage cans?"
"No sir. I had headphones on. I'm sorry."
Shane had been looking out the window, she remembered. Maybe he'd seen someone. But he'd have said, right? He wouldn't hide something like that.
An awful thought struck her, and she looked up into Joe Hess's calm, impartial eyes. "Was it -- " Too many people around. She mimed fangs in the neck. He shook his head.
"It's the same as the last one we found," Lowe said. "Can't rule out our toothy friends, but it doesn't fit their style. You know whose style it fits, though?"
"Jason's," Claire said numbly. "Eve's brother. He's still out?"
"Haven't caught him doing anything illegal yet. But we will. He's too crazy to live sane." Lowe studied her. "Haven't seen him, have you?"
"No."
"Good." Like there'd been some signal between them, Hess and Lowe got up from their chairs. "We'd better go tell Eve. Look, you think of anything, you call, all right? And don't go out alone. Protection doesn't cover this." Lowe cast a significant look at her wrist, and she felt herself blush, like he'd guessed what color panties she had on. "You need to go out, you go with one of your friends, all right? Same goes for Eve. We'll try to keep an eye on you, but caution is your best defense."
Claire watched as the cops walked away. They exchanged nods with a tallish young man who was coming her direction. For a second she thought it was Michael -- he had the same walk, the same basic shape -- but then his hair caught the light. Red hair, not blond like Michael's.
Sam. Sam Glass, Michael's grandfather. Amelie had told her that Sam would escort her to see Myrnin; she'd just forgotten about it. Well, that was okay. Claire liked Sam. He was quiet and kind and didn't seem much like a vampire at all, except for the pale skin and the slight weird shine to his eyes. Exactly like Michael, now that she thought of it. But then, they were the two youngest, and -- weirdly -- related. Maybe the older the vampires got, the farther they moved from normal.
"Hey, Claire," Sam said, as if they'd just talked five minutes before, although she hadn't seen him for nearly a week, at least. She supposed that time was different for vampires. "What'd they want?" He was wearing a TPU t-shirt and jeans, and it made him look kind of hot. Hot for a redheaded vampire, anyway. And he had a nice, if absent, smile. She wasn't his type. As far as Claire knew, Sam was still totally in love with Amelie, a concept she found harder to wrap her brain around than curved surface string theory.
He was still waiting for an answer. She scrambled to put one together. "There's a dead girl, she was found in our garbage cans. Amy. Amy Callum?"
Sam's mobile, earnest face took on a grim look. "Dammit. I know the family, they're good folks. I'll stop by and see them." He sat down and leaned closer, dropping his volume. "She wasn't a vampire kill, I know that much. I'd have heard by now if someone had stepped out of line."
"No," Claire agreed. "It sounded like she was killed by one of us." She realized, with a rush of horror, that he wasn't "us," exactly, and blushed. "I mean -- one of the -- humans."
Sam smiled at her, but his eyes were a little sad. "That's all right, Claire, I'm used to it by now. It's an us-and-them town." He looked down at his hands, loose and relaxed on the table top. "I'm supposed to take you to your appointment."
"Yeah." She hastily closed up her books and began loading her backpack. "Sorry, I didn't realize what time it was -- "
"No rush," he said. Still not looking at her. Very softly, he continued, "Claire. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"What?"
His hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist -- the one with the bracelet hidden under the long sleeve. It dug painfully into her skin. "You know what."