Blood Drive

Immense sorrow emanates from her. And something else. An emotion that snaps my vampire senses to full alert.

Fear?Or duplicity? They smell very much alike.

It puts me on my guard.

My mother guides her in with a hand on her arm. Carolyn has placed her own hand over it, in a gesture that suggests that if my mother moves away, she might bolt.

I take a hesitant step toward them. “Carolyn? I don’t know if you remember me. I’m A

Her eyes shift from my mother’s face to mine. “Yes. I remember you.” But that’s all she says as she eases the tote bag to the floor and turns toward my father. “And you’re Steve’s dad. James, isn’t it?”

He replies with a brief nod and takes her other arm, motioning her toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit down? Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Something stronger?”

She shakes her head. “No. Thank you.” She sinks into the couch, letting her head rest a moment against the cushions.

“Are you all right?” Mom’s voice is gentle.

Carolyn fixes her gaze on Steve’s picture against the far wall. “No.” She passes a hand over her face, shielding herself from our scrutiny, as if sorry now that she made the decision to come.

The three of us find ourselves standing over her in confused wariness.

The drama is begi

Finally my mother, ever the facilitator, sits down beside Carolyn. Her lips curve in an amiable smile of concern. She takes Carolyn’s hands and holds them in her own, rubbing gently as if to warm them. “Carolyn Delaney. You know, it’s an amazing coincidence, but we have a parent at our school with the same name. I think of you often because of it.”

Carolyn drops her eyes. “It isn’t a coincidence, Mrs. Strong.”

Mom gives a little start. “It isn’t? You’re related to Trish Delaney?”

The way my mother asks the question tells me she knows the girl, and her impression is not at all favorable.

Carolyn’s face flushes with color. “She’s been in some trouble, I know.”

My father’s eyes register the shock and surprise on Mom’s face. “Anita?” he asks. “You know this girl?”

Mom’s eyes narrow. “Yes, I know Trish. She’s missed quite a bit of school this year. We suspect a drug problem. Both the school nurse and her counselor tell me they’ve tried to contact you, Carolyn, many times. You never return the calls.”

Carolyn’s shoulders sag. “I was afraid to. Afraid if I came to school, if you recognized me-” She bites off the words, shakes her head, and continues, “But I did try to get Trish help on my own. I made appointments for her with a counselor at the hospital where I work. But I couldn’t force her to attend the sessions.” Her eyes shift to me. “That’s why I’m here. She’s run away. I want you to find her.”

A runaway?

My parents and I exchange looks-we don’t have to speak the words aloud to know what each is thinking. The fact that she’s come to us, virtual strangers, with a problem that is better addressed by the authorities can only mean one thing. There’s more. There has to be.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You should call me at the office tomorrow. Or better yet, go to the police. They are the ones-”

“I can’t go to the police.You have to help her.”

“What do you expect me to do?” I ask, my voice sounding brittle in my ears. “I’m not a drug counselor.”

A glimmer of hope sparks in Carolyn’s eyes. “You are a bounty hunter. You track people. You can find Trish before the police and we can work out a deal for her.”

I frown at her, afraid my suspicion is about to be confirmed. “What did Trish do that she’d need a deal from the police?”

Carolyn’s voice is barely a whisper. “She’s in trouble. More than the drugs.”

It’s not an answer, but I don’t care. I see how this is affecting my parents and I want Carolyn gone. “I’m sorry, Carolyn. I understand how upset you must be that your daughter is in trouble. But you need a private detective, not a bounty hunter. I have my hands full chasing people who present a real danger to society, not an out of control teenager.”

“That’s what you think she is? An out of control teenager?”

“Well, isn’t she?” Resentment is begi

“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” she says quietly. “I think Trish may have killed someone.”

The answer comes quickly, but it’s the last one we’re prepared to hear. Mom and Dad stare at her. I’m trying to decide if I heard her correctly.

“You suspect Trish has killed someone?”

“It’s not her fault,” Carolyn says. “Not really. It’s one of her teachers.”

“Teacher?” Mom’s sharp voice cuts in like a razor.

Carolyn’s voice loses its tenuous waiver, becomes heated. “His name is Daniel Frey. He teaches English. He mentors students, uses his ‘sensitive nature’ to help them get in touch with their i

Mom presses both hands over her eyes as if they burn with weariness. “You have proof of this?”

The question startles me into shifting my gaze from Carolyn to my mother. “You don’t sound surprised.”

She lets her hands drop and turns away from me to face Carolyn. “I’ve heard those rumors,” she says. “They have never been substantiated. Daniel Frey is a tenured teacher with a good record. His students love him. Without proof of wrongdoing, there has never been anything I could do.”

Carolyn’s eyes bore into my mother’s. “Hear me out,” she says. “Help me find Trish. I’ll give you all the proof you need.”

“Wait a minute.” I’m still reeling over the turn this conversation has taken. “Mom, Carolyn should be telling this to the police. She has no right to involve you. If she thinks it’s because she and Steve were friends-”

“We were more than friends.”

She says it quietly.

“Okay. You were more than friends. That doesn’t give you the right-”

My mother draws a quick breath and raises a hand to stop me. “A

I don’t understand the implication of Mom’s words and I’m not ready to relinquish the resentment I feel toward Carolyn. Her presence here brings back a rush of bad memories. “So what?”

Carolyn turns away from me to face my mother. “You know?”

I blow out an impatient puff of air. “Know what?”

Mom’s voice has the hollow ring of shock. “Trish is Steve’s daughter. Isn’t she, Carolyn?”

Chapter Four

“What did you say?” I barely recognize my own voice.

“It’s true,” Carolyn says. “Trish is your niece, your parent’s grandchild.”

But although she’d guessed it, my mother pales at Carolyn’s words. She recovers quickly, moving past the shock and regaining control. I see it in the set of her shoulders. Her mouth forms a thin, hard line. “Why should we believe that this child is Steve’s?”

Carolyn holds up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I didn’t expect that you would.” The reply is direct and without rancor. “I brought Trish’s hairbrush from home. We can use the hair for a DNA test. If you don’t have anything of Steve’s, we can use a sample of your blood. It won’t be as accurate of course, but-”

For the first time my father speaks. His voice is cold. “Why are you telling us this now? Because she’s in trouble? What do you think we can do to help?”

Outrage reverberates in his tone. He takes a step toward her. “Why should we believe you?”

Carolyn doesn’t move away. Instead, she takes one of his hands, holding on though he stiffens and pulls back. “I’m sorry that I’ve upset you. I never intended to tell you about Trish. Not ever. I just pla