There wasn’t any point in arguing and Kristi, too, needed to leave.

As Father Mathias ushered her out, including opening the door for her, Georgia Clovis followed, her coat billowing around her as she headed toward a sleek black Mercedes.

Kristi had thought about mentioning Marnie Gage’s name but had decided to keep it to herself for the time being. Maybe she could talk to Marnie. Not interrogate her, but cozy up to her, befriend her, although so far the plan of permeating what appeared to be the inner circle of the vampire “cult” hadn’t worked. Not only Ariel, but now Lucretia, was avoiding her like the plague.

The chapel bells chimed, breaking into her thoughts, as the priest hurried down the steps to unlock the gate and hold it open. “Be careful,” he said under his breath, so low she almost didn’t hear the words. “God be with you.”

She turned, but he was already hurrying toward the church and she didn’t have any time to chase after him. Strapping on her helmet, Kristi swung onto her bike, picking up speed and clicking through the gears as the cold rain began to fall more steadily, bouncing on the pavement and running beneath the collar of her jacket. Father Mathias’s warning echoed in her mind as she headed for the diner. Her tires hummed across the cement and brick walkways, cutting through puddles beginning to form. She skirted the library, then sped across a parking lot before catching a main street and riding the six blocks to the back lot of the restaurant.

What was the priest trying to tell her? Obviously to back off. But there was more, she knew, secrets he wasn’t about to share.

Her heart was beating like crazy as she swung off the bike and locked it against a post. Tearing off her helmet and wiping the rain from her face, she headed inside—and straight into the heart of chaos. The Bard’s Board was filled with the brunch crowd, people standing and waiting for tables, the line cooks working like mad, the wait staff searching for orders and hurrying through tables, the bus people clearing tables as soon as they were vacated.

One of the ovens had given up the ghost the night before and one of the fry cooks, who considered himself a handyman, was trying to fix it. He was on his knees, head inside, his big size-thirteen feet sticking in the small galley so that everyone had to step over him.

Kristi whipped on her apron, washed her hands, and grabbed her notepad. She didn’t have time to think about what had happened at Wagner House.

“Thank God you’re here!” Ezma breezed by with a tray of water glasses. “The new people can’t keep up.”

“I thought I was one of the new people.”