The disembodied voice returns with the message, “I’m sorry, Ms. Deveraux is not at home. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No. I’ll try again later.”
Turnbull looks relieved. He instructs the driver to turn around. Once we’re back on the road, I tell the driver to pull over.
“Why are you telling him to stop?” Turnbull asks, voice tense with irritation.
I ignore him and instruct the driver. “Find the access road that runs behind the property.”
Turnbull raises a hand. “Wait a minute. What makes you think there’s an access road?”
“There’s a stable in back. I didn’t see anyway to get to it from the driveway so there ’s bound to be another way in. A delivery entrance.”
The driver looks to Turnbull, unsure how to proceed.
Frustration burns through me. “Look, one way or the other, I’m getting into that house. I’ll get out right here and walk if I have to.”
He glares at me a minute before waving the driver on.
“What the hell is it with you? I thought you were supposed to help me.”
Turnbull’s jaw is set, his shoulders bunched. “I have lived here since the beginning of the nineteenth century. I have roots that go deep in this community. I don’t need trouble. I wasn’t happy when Williams called, but I owed him a favor. I’m telling you now, I won’t be a party to killing.”
So Williams told him the purpose of my “visit.” I understand Turnbull’s reluctance to get involved. This is his home turf and we ’re dragging him into a fight that could easily turn nasty.
“Look, I’ll try to keep you out of it. You’ve gotten me this far. If you want to drop me off and leave, I’m sure I can find my way back to the airport.”
His shoulders relax a little, but not his apprehension. I can taste it in the air. “We’re here now,” he says. “Let’s get it over with.”
Not a ringing endorsement of cooperation, but better than nothing. “This Sophie Deveraux, do you know anything about her?”
He shakes his head. “Not much. She’s the last living relative of Jonathan Deveraux—a cousin five generations removed. Sole heir to his fortune, so the story goes. Deveraux was a vampire. A nasty bastard according to the stories. He was killed at his one hundred fiftieth birthday party. By his wife. She disappeared not long after. Rumor has it this Sophie had something to do with it, but there was never any proof. I think it’s safe to assume she’s dangerous.”
“Is she a vampire?”
“Not that I know. There’s been some talk that she may be a witch. One of her cousins was.”
“A cousin?” My fingers touch the charm. “What was her name?”
“Sophie Burke. Best damned caterer in Denver. She died not too long ago.”
Shit. If Sophie Burke is dead, what connection does Belinda have to Sophie Deveraux? There must be some reason she kept that telephone number.
Turnbull is rambling on, “Sophie’s said to be a strange bird. Keeps to herself. Doesn ’t get involved in the human or supernatural community. For inheriting such vast wealth, she’s kept a remarkably low profile.” His eyes hold mine, then slide away. “Gives you and Sophie something in common.”
The usual rush to deny claiming any part of Avery’s fortune is tempered by the reality that I just arrived in Avery’s private jet. I focus on the scenery.
We’re winding through tree-lined streets, past properties that must cost tens of millions of dollars. The silence in the car is oppressive.
Makes me think of how much I have to lose if this turns out to be another wild-goose chase. I turn to Turnbull. Even small talk is better than what I’m thinking.
“What about you? Williams said you’ve lived in Denver for over a hundred years. How have you managed it?”
He looks surprised by the question, but then he smiles and shrugs. “I ‘kill’ myself off in various ways every forty or fifty years and introduce a new heir. A few makeup tricks, a change in hair color and styles, colored contacts. ” He pats his chest. “Padding to change body shape. It’s not so hard really.”
“And no one notices?”
“I have an entire gallery of ‘family portraits’ showing the remarkable Turnbull family resemblance.”
“And do you also keep a low profile?”
“I’m a philanthropist. Made my fortune in mining. I manage a foundation, attend a few charity functions, but mostly I keep to myself. I have a ranch outside of Durango. My house here in Denver is closed most of the year.”
“Sounds like you’ve made a good life for yourself.”
My voice must have a wistful ring to it, because Turnbull raises an eyebrow. No reason why you can’t do the same thing. A laugh bubbles up. Or not. Williams seems to think you have a death wish. Is that true? You really choose to live as a human?
“I think this is it, Mr. Turnbull.”
The driver’s voice saves me from either confirming or denying Williams’ charge. Death wish? Seems to me I’ve had to defend my life more since becoming vampire than I ever did as a human.
The driver has pulled to a stop at the junction to an unpaved road that skirts the back of several of the larger properties. Sophie Deveraux’s is one of them. I get out to take a look around.
The Deveraux property sits on about ten acres of rolling pastureland. I can just see the back of the stable from our vantage point. The same iron fence that surrounds the front of the house extends back this way.
Turnbull has gotten out, too, and comes to stand beside me.
“I’m going in,” I tell him. “Give me fifteen minutes. If I’m not back, call Williams and tell him there was trouble.”
Turnbull’s expression darkens. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
No. I’m not. If this Sophie turns out to be another dead end, I’ve squandered more than time. I’ve squandered the remaining hours of Culebra’s life.
“Fifteen minutes,” I repeat. “Then call Williams.”
If I don’t come back by then, I’m most likely dead. Culebra and Frey are, too, if Williams can ’t find a way to prevent it. The only consolation is that Ortiz’ death has given Williams a personal stake in finding Burke. If I can’t save them, I know he’ll try.
It’s a small comfort.
“We’ll be right here,” Turnbull adds, reading my thoughts but not commenting on them. “Be careful.” His voice suddenly has an edge, an urgency, as if he understands.
I wonder if he now questions why I choose to live as a human.
CHAPTER 41
IT TAKES LITTLE EFFORT TO JUMP THE FENCE. I RUN past a half dozen horses grazing in the pasture. They shy away from me, ears back, eyes wild. I can’t tell if it’s the human Anna or the vampire that’s spooking them.
When I get close to the stables, I keep out of sight of the open barn door. I can’t hear or sense anyone inside, but I don’t want to take a chance. A hundred yards from the stables is a patio area. There’s a pool, a cabana and what looks like a guesthouse.
Nice digs.
I crouch behind a hedge and scan the roofline. I don ’t see a security camera back here. Curious, although I suppose if the house belonged to a vampire, he may not have felt he needed one.
The ground floor of the house is a long rambling affair. The only entrance seems to be a pair of French doors opening from the house onto the patio. There are two huge ceramic pots, one on each side of the doors, planted with five -foot-tall evergreens. Perfect cover to check out the inside.
At first glance, all I see is furniture. It ’s a living room, formal, with two oversized couches and a heavy, dark wood coffee table occupying the middle of the room. To the right is a fireplace. To the left, a credenza. Sunlight flashes off a silver tea set displayed on a lower shelf.