His Vampyrrhic Bride Read Free

watch. ‘Still there,’ he murmured in surprise.
    Quickly, he stood up to yell into the forest. ‘You muggers are crap! In fact, you’ve got to be the crappiest muggers ever! You forgot to take this!’ He pointed at the diver’s watch on his wrist. ‘You are absolutely crapping useless!’
    Even as images blazed inside his head of a gang of thugs comically blaming one another for not stealing the expensive watch, another explanation of last night’s events occurred to him. A more rational one.
    The jar of green spirit he’d smashed in the basement? He’d been working in those pungent fumes for more than an hour. When he’d finally cleaned up the glass, and the pool of green stuff that reeked so powerfully, it felt as if his tonsils had caught fire; he’d gone upstairs to grab some fresh air at the window. That’s when he’d seen the beautiful barefoot stranger.
    Or thought he’d seen her.
    By the time Tom Westonby headed home along the woodland path, he found himself grinning.
I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t been attacked. There never were any muggers. No . . . I was high on fumes. I was like a glue-junkie after a monster sniffing-binge.
    As he pushed open the back gate that lead to Mull-Rigg Hall he realized what had really happened last night. He’d been intoxicated by the spirit vapour – high as a solvent-junkie. All this about seeing the woman in the pond had been a bizarre vision generated by inhaling the chemical. After that, he’d gone on a crazy rampage through the forest – all the time, hallucinating like mad.
    I must have fallen over one of the boulders down by the river
, he told himself, and the grin got even bigger
. Then I passed out. Just wait until Chris hears about this. He’ll be laughing for a week.
    As Tom headed towards the house a stern, male voice rang out: ‘Mr Westonby? I have reason to believe that you have just returned from the scene of a crime.’

THREE
    T om Westonby’s heart nearly exploded when he heard those words: ‘
. . . you have just returned from the scene of a crime.
’
    He spun round on the path to catch sight of a broad face grinning at him from over the fence.
    ‘Chester! Are you trying to blow a heart valve or something?’
    Chester jerked an oily thumb back over his shoulder. ‘I brought the lawnmower that my dad said you’re renting. The van’s parked on the drive. When I couldn’t get you to answer the door I was just about to give up, then . . .’ He gave a knowing smile. ‘I saw you sneaking back from the scene of the crime.’
    ‘What scene of the crime?’ Spasms of guilt clenched up his muscles. For one disturbing moment he wondered if he really had killed the woman in white. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Chester?’
    Chester vaulted over the fence; he couldn’t keep that big smile off his face. ‘You know what crime I’m talking about.’
    ‘Oh?’ Tom finally guessed what Chester was hinting.
    ‘Coming home at nine in the morning? Looking like you’ve been mauled by a she-tiger? You’ve had a night on the tiles, haven’t you?’
    Tom smiled. ‘Something like that.’
    ‘Who is she?’
    ‘’Ah . . . that’s just for me to know, Chester.’
    ‘Enough said, Tom. Your love secrets are safe with me.’
    Even though Chester’s talk about ‘scene of the crime’ was just a leg-pull, Tom still found himself changing the subject. ‘You say you brought the mower?’
    ‘Don’t worry, Tom. I won’t bug you about your girlfriend. But you could always bring her to the pub. Tomorrow’s quiz night.’
    ‘Cheers.’ Once more he changed the subject. ‘Did you bring the chainsaw as well?’
    Chester said that he had. They followed the path round the house to where Chester had parked the van.
    Tom had known Chester Kenyon for the past two months, ever since Tom had moved into Mull-Rigg Hall. Chester – or Cheery Chester as he was popularly known, on account of his happy nature – stood six foot six, had a mop of