Page 55 of Top Secret Vampire

“What are you looking for?” I asked, wishing I could snap the tension in the air.

“I’ll know if I see it.”

Anxiety knotted in my stomach as he looked under each piece of furniture and opened all the side table drawers and even the game closet, riffling through my things as if I was a common thief. I followed him, hovering nearby, unable to shake the sense that something wasn't right. Wolf kept close, his hand gripping mine, squeezing it in reassurance I couldn’t grab onto.

“I’d like to look in the kitchen next,” Detective Carter said, and we trailed behind him down the hall and into the room where he turned on all the lights. He opened the fridge. The light flickered on, illuminating the jars of mustard and pickles.A bottle of ketchup. Leftovers from my meal last night. I barely resisted an irrational urge to slam the door shut.

“Find anything?” I croaked.

“Just condiments,” he said dryly, moving on to the cabinets, inspecting each one with a careful eye. My heart raced as he shifted aside packaged pasta and canned beans, peering behind them.

Next, he moved on to the dining room where my old wooden table stood, a vase of freshly picked flowers from the garden in the center—a splash of cheer in this grim situation.

Time passed as he searched the room.

Detective Carter finally cleared his throat. “Do you have a first-floor bathroom?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Show me.”

“Sure.” The word felt like lead in my mouth. I didn’t know how I could refuse.

He checked the half-bathroom, even examining under the sink. Each scrape of his shoes on the floor jarred through me. The world felt heavy, like a storm was brewing, and I lay exposed on the beach.

He went through my office, saying nothing, even dropping to his knees to peer under my desk and opening the fireplace damper to squint up the chimney, his penlight flashing. The walls still held the scent of fresh paint, and the familiar sight of my disorganized stacks of papers was anything but comforting. He shifted the piles. I reminded myself that he was just doing his job, but it felt invasive.

He gestured to the bookcase where I proudly kept one copy of each book I'd published. “You must write a lot.”

“I do. You know how it is.” I forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

He closed the drawer, nodding thoughtfully. He went to the foyer, us trailing behind him. “May I check the basement next?”

“Yes, of course.” Had I known him better, I’d have joked that I’d cleaned it out, and he'd find nothing but a furnace and the oil tank, plus a couple empty boxes on the wooden shelves. The heavy knot in my throat stifled my humor.

He wasn't gone long and rejoined us on the first level. “Nothing down there.”

I could've told him that.

We took the stairs to the second floor, and he meticulously went through each bedroom, closet, and bathroom. The walls seemed to shrink in as I waited for him to find whatever he was looking for.

“Does this house have an attic?” he asked as we left the last bedroom.

“Yes. Why?”

“Let’s take a look.” His tone came out deliberate, making my spine quiver with fear.

Following him up the narrow staircase to the attic, my heart pounded in my throat. The flickering bulb lit the space above, wavering shadows on the walls.

As we left the stairwell, something caught my eye under the stark light.

A statue about one foot tall, carved from pale gray stone, its features obscured, stood in the center of the empty room.

“What the hell?” I gasped, dread pooling in my stomach. “I didn’t—” Panic surged through me. “That wasn’t here before. I don’t know how it got here.”

“Yes, I'm sure you didn't.” From the detective’s tone, I could tell he didn't believe me.

Wolf's expression shifted from curiosity to concern.

---