Christmas in Transylvania Read Free Page B

ostracized by their order. Alex was friends with them and bought lots of fresh produce there.
    Karl had been feeling jumpy all day. The skin-­crawling sensation he often got before a mission. Which was odd because there was no particular mission on the agenda as far as he knew. He’d quit smoking last month. That was probably what was affecting him so. Or maybe he needed a cup of coffee. Caffeine had the opposite effect on him as some folks. It tended to calm him down.
    He pulled into the almost empty parking lot of Drac’s Diner off Route 322. There was something . . . rather, someone . . . he needed to check on here.
    The bell on the door tinkled when he entered. The only other customers were a ­couple in a back booth and a truck driver sitting at the far end of the counter having an early dinner. Other than the name of the diner, this place didn’t do much to push the vampire theme, except during the high season, when the staff might don fake fangs. Their menu hadn’t changed in years.
    â€œHey, stranger,” the manager and co-­owner, Jeanette Morgan, called out. “Coffee and a piece of apple pie?”
    â€œJust coffee today, thanks.”
    He sat down at the counter, near the register, and straddled the stool. “Where’s Faith today?”
    Faith was a young waitress that worked here. A tiny bird of a woman who always looked frightened. She reminded him a little of his deceased wife Sally, except Faith was way thinner, and her blonde hair was always lank, and her blue eyes dull.
    Jeanette rolled her eyes and leaned over the counter toward him. “She called in sick again today. I’m worried about her.”
    That prickly sensation on his skin turned pricklier. “Why?”
    â€œShe’s being abused by that no-­good bastard she lives with. Leroy Brown, named after that junkyard-­dog song, no doubt. Can’t hold a job or his temper. Never has two pennies to rub together but plenty for that souped-­up Harley of his and for the booze. Meanwhile, she drives a twenty-­year-­old, rusted-­out Volkswagen with bald tires. The jerk lives off Faith’s piddly tips when he’s unemployed, which is most of the time. Fashions himself some kind of heavy metal musician in local dives. Pfff! Heavy metal jackass, if you ask me!”
    The fine hairs on the back of Karl’s neck stood out with alarm. “What do you mean by abuse? Yelling, verbal insults, that kind of thing?”
    â€œI wish! Not that making her feel like crap isn’t his M.O., but he hits her, too. Last year, he broke her wrist. One time, when he was really plastered, he carved his initials on her thigh.”
    Karl saw red, literally, for a moment. “Why does she stay with him if . . . never mind. I know about the abused-­wife syndrome. Every TV shrink in the world talks about it.”
    â€œShe’s not his wife, thank God. But same as, I guess. Problem is that business slows down for us here during the winter, and her tips have been smaller. I suspect that Leroy the Loser thinks she’s holding out on him. He usually hides any marks he puts on her, but last week I noticed finger marks on her neck. He’s escalating. Poor Faith! She doesn’t deserve this.”
    That was it! Karl stood abruptly, causing his coffee to splash over into the saucer. “Where does she live? I’ll go check on her.”
    â€œWould you?” Jeanette asked hopefully. “I thought about calling the police, but a trooper who was in here yesterday told me they have to have cause for even knocking on a door, not just suspicions. And she has never filed a complaint, I don’t think. These days, the law protects the perps as much as the victims. The trooper’s words, not mine.”
    â€œWhat’s the address?”
    â€œI’m not sure. She lives in a small trailer park off the road between Reedsville and Belleville. Called Floral Heaven,