An Old Friend Of The Family (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 3) Fred Saberhagen (books to read in your 20s txt) 📖

of entering a store before she realized that she had with her no money and no credit cards. She couldn’t remember now whether or not she had been carrying a handbag when she went up to Craig’s. She must have been carrying money and cards for shopping. And so somehow they must have been left at Craig’s or in that strange little room.

   She wondered, without any real concern one way or the other, if Enoch might have taken them, and if Enoch had returned to the ugly little room by now. She wondered also, every now and then if she were dreaming, because this high of hers seemed to be just going on and on; there had to be something more than pot, or even pot and wine, involved in it. If she went back to her car, and it hadn’t been stolen or stripped or towed away, she might drive home…but first she wanted to do some shopping. With this in mind she walked into a store, and then remembered that she had no money…

   Around and around went the cycle, like a fever-dream. At one point it stuttered and broke, and she found herself in a phone booth, using small change discovered in her jacket pocket, punching numbers. Joe’s voice on the line, saying hello, came like a tonic shock, a shock that if it went on very long might threatened to wake her up, and in a moment she had hung up the receiver without speaking. He must never see her like this, he must never know…but now she had to find a gift for Joe. She had known him now for more than a year, and had never given him a thing that really mattered…

   The crowd of shoppers had thinned to a mere scattering of people, the stores on the verge of closing, before the cycle broke finally and she was free. Or was she? First, back to the room, of course. For some reason her life, her new life, centered there now. You’ll get to like it here. Think of it as home, maybe even.

   Kate did not feel physically tired, and walked back at a brisk pace. Approaching the dingy building, she looked for the Lancia, but the space by the hydrant was empty now. Still, she felt no alarm at the discovery.

   Walking up the gritty stairs she met no one, though now a radio was playing somewhere in the building, making it seem not entirely deserted. Now what? She had been through all her pockets several times, and was certain that she didn’t have a key. She pressed her body against the room’s door, though, and it quite smoothly let her in.

   Kate made sure that the door was locked behind her. Then, feeling a little dizzy though not exactly tired, she threw herself down on the bed. Her right arm fell back over her head. One of her shoes fell off.

* * * * * * *

   She did not sleep, or lose consciousness completely, but lapsed into a queer, semi-waking state, during which she was aware of the gradual brightening of the room into full daylight. Kate’s eyes, half open, ached in the sunlight reflected from one dingy wall. But she did not even blink, being afraid that if she tried to move she would find that she could not.

   There were feet on the stairs, several heavy people coming up. Voices outside the door, then in the room with her. Three or four men in the room, standing about, talking in low voices. A couple of them wore fur-collared blue Chicago police winter jackets, with badges on their fur-flapped caps. She could see details very plainly whenever they came into the center of her field of vision.

   They’ll take me home, Kate thought, they’ll snap me out of this. Not that she cared, yet, whether they did or not. But gathering in the back of her mind was the first inkling of concern, taking form like the knowledge that the dentist’s numbing shot is presently going to wear off.

   Starting to grow curious at last, she harkened to what the men were saying.

   “…so cold, it could be hard to tell.”

   “Yeah.”

   One took her arm to lift it. It clung to her side, amazingly stiff, resisting his pull without the least effort on her part.

   He said, “My own guess is two, three days since she died.”

CHAPTER FOUR

   Clarrisa was sitting in the breakfast room, the cup of coffee that Judy had insisted on pouring for her still untouched, when the sound of wheels on the drive announced the return of Andrew and Lenore from the Chicago morgue.

   Judy jumped up and hurried on ahead, and was almost in the front hall before the old woman could start moving. By the time Clarissa reached the entry, Lenore was inside the house, winter coat still on, sobbing in her younger daughter’s arms as if they were her mother’s. Andrew came in much more slowly, forgetting at first to shut the outer door behind him. His cheeks were for once unshaven, displaying sandy stubble, and loose flesh showed at his collar where it seemed that yesterday there had been none. His coat still on too, buttoned and forgotten, he leaned against the wall and muttered as if to himself.

   “They’re going to do an autopsy on Monday. I asked, why not tomorrow? They said some toxicologist is coming in Sunday night, it would be better if they wait for him.”

   The last word dissolved into a grating sob. Judy got an arm free from her mother, and pulled her father’s head down on her shoulder to give comfort.

* * * * * * *

   Sometime much later in that dazed day, Andrew became aware that Joe Keogh was in the house, wandering about, looking as bewildered and grief-stricken as anyone else. Poor Irish roughneck cop who had thought he was going