Free The Origin of Dracula by Irving Belateche Page A

the man’s face and the strangely satisfied expression it bore, he was barking up the wrong tree. When it came to covering up the murder—now that it might cost the life of my son—that creepy, otherworldly vibe from that night didn’t matter. Lee had killed a man, and someone was getting revenge for that sin.
    “I didn’t see anything else,” I declared without disguising my anger.
    “You know what? It doesn’t really matter,” Lee said. “We’re both after the same guy, no matter who the hell you think it is.”
    There was no question about that. We had to make the connection between that night and the murder of our wives if we were going to find Dantès.
    Lee reached for the letter. “Let me take a look at that again.”
    I handed it to him, and as he scanned it, he said, “Why didn’t Dantès send me the letter?”
    Lee was clever to probe in this direction. He was analyzing our dilemma with precision, getting to know our enemy. If I had thought to ask him more questions—and if I had believed at least some of his answers—he might have opened up right then about what he knew, rather than later. There was more going on than what the letter implied, and he knew it. But he also knew that I wouldn’t buy it. Not yet.
    “Is there a connection between your wife’s death and Cold Falls—anything from our camping trip?” Lee said. “I’ll tell you this, it’d be tough to make a connection to what happened to Grace.”
    “Nothing jumps out at me. Not anything from the police report. But I think I know where we should start.” My suggestion came straight from the letter. “‘The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even the past.’ Cold Falls.”
    “You want to head to Cold Falls?” Lee wasn’t bothering to disguise his doubt.
    “You have a better idea?”
    He looked down at the letter, scanned it for a minute or so, then conceded. “No. But there’s one person we should talk to first.”
    “Quincy,” I said.
    “Did you track him down already?”
    “Just his address and phone number.”
    “You want me to call him, or do you want to?”
    “You call him while I talk to Nate.” I gave him Quincy’s phone number.
    “Are you going to send Nate to his grandmother’s?” Lee said, and I thought I heard concern in his voice.
    “I can’t. You’re right. Dantès knows too much about us.”
    “Take it for what it’s worth, which isn’t much. Don’t send him to any relative. The guy behind all this is gonna track him down. Send him to someone who’s not too connected to you.” This time the concern in his voice was evident, and I liked him for it.
    I nodded, acknowledging his good advice, and immediately thought of Jenna Corcoran. A few years ago, Lucy had helped Jenna. She’d taken on Jenna’s case, pro bono, and saved her from doing time for a minor drug offense. Afterward, Jenna had turned her life around, gone back to school, and earned a nursing degree. She had been eternally grateful for Lucy’s help.
    Nate would be safe with Jenna. At least, that was my thinking then.
    But it wouldn’t take me more than a day to realize that Nate wasn’t safe with anyone.
    Lee ducked into another room to call Quincy while I called Jenna on my cell. I lied to her, telling her I’d been asked to go to a conference at the last minute as a replacement for a sick colleague, so I needed someone to take care of Nate. She was more than happy to help out. Within minutes, it was all arranged. I’d drop Nate off at her place and he’d spend the weekend with her.
    In the kitchen, Nate had finished his sandwich and chips and had the TV on. He was watching another Nickelodeon animated show.
    “Do you remember Jenna?” I said.
    He smiled, which made me feel good about my decision. “Yeah. Mom was proud of her.”
    “That’s right.” I was surprised he’d understood that. Jenna had come over for dinner a few times, and Lucy had praised her dedication. Jenna had gotten her nursing degree in record time,