Disclaimer: The Southern Vampire Mysteries are copyrighted to Ms. Charlaine Harris. All rights to characters and locations in the Sookie Stackhouse books belong to Ms. Harris. Copyrights to original characters belong to me. This work of fiction is not intended infringe upon rights held by others than myself, and I make no profit from this work.
CAETERA DESUNT (The Rest is Wanting)
Part 8: Boar's Head Carol
"The boar's head in hand bear I, bedeck'd with bay and rosemary. I pray you, my masters, merry be; Quot estis in convivio."—Traditional, found in "Wynkyn de Worde," 1521
The following two nights passed in relative peace, save for the discovery of another murdered woman on Christmas eve. Ellen Hatcher, a twenty-five year old mother of two, was found in a dumpster behind Sears at Mall St. Vincent. Like the other women, she was nude, "bitten" and devoid of blood. Allan Taylor, a stock clerk, found her body just after closing. He also told police about two "bums" he saw hanging around the dumpster earlier that evening. Taylor ran them off thinking they were hunting for a place to sleep out of the cold. Unfortunately, the clerk didn't get a good look at their faces, and police found no evidence of them at the scene.
Though Mall St. Vincent was fairly close to Fangtasia, Northman didn't seem overly concerned. There was another consultation with Menéndez, but Chase wasn't invited. The bar was closed Christmas Eve, the only night of the year it wasn't open. The following night, the 26th, Chase dropped by Fangtasia on his way to pick up Helga Gerhardt. Dressed in a classic tuxedo, Chase caused quite a stir amongst the female population of the bar.
Pam whistled, looking him up and down. "I hope whoever you're trying to impress is worth it." Her own leather clad body left little to the imagination, much to the appreciation of several "fang-bois" literally drooling at her heels.
Brandon smirked, deliberately refusing to rise to her bait. He had a brief word with Greg, then left. Matthew drove to Helga's house. The German vampire was dressed in a lovely lavender gown, elegant in its simplicity. Brandon complimented her on her appearance, escorting her to the car. It was a pleasant drive to Silver Lake Ballroom, with Chase and Helga deliberately avoiding talk of the murders. Mostly Brandon encouraged Gerhardt to tell him more about Meredith Ward.
Which she did. Helga was a wealth of information, particularly regarding the contestation of Lurleen Dillman-Fairchild's will. "Ah, the woman is Deidre Varnell nee Dillman. She claims to be the granddaughter of Robert Simon Dillman, Lurleen's younger brother." It was a convoluted story—as they often are in Southern families. Chase made a mental note to have Murrell check into the validity of this "other niece's" claim.
"Poor Meredith, living in that old house. The HPS is trying to get it on the register of historical homes, but it is not easy, and much restoration must be done first. It is a pity."
By then they had arrived at the Ballroom, a beautiful art deco building constructed in 1931 as the Hunter Oil & Investment Company. It had housed a Dodge dealership on the ground floor and offices on the two stories above. For years it sat empty, until some enterprising person decided the building would make a great place to hold large events: weddings, meetings, parties. The interior was refurbished, leaving as much of the original decor as possible. With the proper decoration, Silver Lake Ballroom was the perfect venue for the madrigal dinner.
Brandon was impressed from the moment he walked through the double doors. The ballroom had been transformed into an excellent likeness of a medieval banquet hall. Interior red brick walls were draped in dark grey fabric the color of stone. Colorful banners hung from the ceiling and shields decorated the walls. He recognized many coats of arms from his own time period, while others seemed to be heraldic puns: "Two cats rampant purpure," which translated to a pair of purple cats standing on their hind feet facing one another. The pun came from the heraldic name for purple, pronounced "purr-purr." True, only those with knowledge of heraldry would catch the joke, but it was amusing.
A huge fireplace—oddly enough part of the original design—nearly filled one wall. Inside it burned a yule log, the faint aroma of smoke giving the ballroom an authentic ambiance. The black and white parquet floor was polished to a high gloss, reflecting light from electric "torches" on the walls. Long tables were arranged in a "U" shape, with a head table sitting atop a six-inch raised dais. Easily seating two hundred, the arrangement allowed servers to move easily along the inside of the tables. Entertainment took place in the open space created by the table arrangement, giving everyone a clear view.
Guests wore formal evening clothes: men in tuxedos, women in gowns. Entertainers, however, dressed in authentic appearing costumes. There was a king, queen and important dignitaries at the head table: the Mayor, two state Senators, President of Centenary College, and their wives. Candles lighted each table. Plates and bowls were pewter. Modern wine glasses were substituted for period mugs, but most 21st Century people likely preferred glass to metal. Lute and crumhorn played tunes Chase easily recognized as being composed in the 16th Century, the soft melodies providing a suitable background for the dining experience.
All things considered, Brandon found himself enjoying the Medieval atmosphere, even if it was pretend. The Ballroom was infinitely cleaner than the great halls throughout England. There were no musty reeds scattered over the floors, no hounds fighting for scraps, no servers with dubious bathing habits. The odor of food and wood smoke was much nicer than unwashed bodies and heavy perfumes. Nicest of all, everyone got the same food; in Henry's court, food was served by rank. Those of higher rank ate the best bread and meat, while those of lower rank were served lesser quality food.
Have to admit, there are some things to be said about modern day equality.
Nor could Chase find fault with the entertainers. Dancers, jugglers, jongleurs, troubadours—all were talented masters at their craft. Hard to believe they were mostly college students. From the time he and Helga sat down, they were treated to a myriad of Medieval amusements. Two "knights" fought with sword and shield for the honor of the Queen's token. A troupe of gypsies performed feats of daring: knife throwing, magic tricks, fortune telling. Another troupe of courtiers performed authentic dances which actually made Chase's feet itch to join them.
Then came the main course, announced by the court Herald. Silence fell over the room as a sweet voice began to sing. He would've known it was Meredith even if she hadn't told him she'd be singing the traditional Boar's Head Carol. Four strapping young gentlemen carried the boar's head on a huge platter sitting atop a flat platform on poles resting on their shoulders. They marched in through an archway, with an appropriately garbed Meredith preceding them. She slowly led the procession around the inside of the tables, allowing each diner to view the delicacy. Other servers bearing platters of vegetables, breads and sauces followed. The aroma was heavenly, and for a brief moment, Brandon regretted his restricted diet.
There were at least three other vampires in attendance, only two of whom Chase knew: Bill Compton and Helga Gerhardt. The third was visiting from New York, the guest of a local businessman. With the vampire was a lovely young human who reminded Chase of Elizabeth Tudor in some ways. All the vampires were discreetly served True Blood in wine glasses. Helga was actually charming in her own way. Much like Anne of Cleves, she wasn't a beauty, but she was conversant on a variety of subjects. By the time dinner ended, Chase had an ally in his obsessive quest for Meredith Ward.
After the dessert course—a twelve layered raspberry torte—the collegiate chorus performed a finale. Once again, Chase heard the incredibly lovely strains of Ave Maria. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was in Hampton Court chapel instead of Shreveport. He wondered what it would be like to awaken each night to Meredith's beautiful voice, and having her sing him to sleep each dawn. Others would call his pondering obsession, but Chase wasn't ready to admit it to himself.
Helga invited a few of the student performers back to her home. Most of them had their own transportation, but not Meredith and Anne, a friend of hers. Brandon graciously offered the two girls a ride in his Lincoln Town Car, having no problem riding in the front with Matthew. Helga, Anne and Meredith sat in the back, the two girls exhilarated after the show. Their laughter over mistakes and missed cues was delightful, and made the trip go even faster. It wasn't long before they pulled up in front of Helga's Victorian house.
Six students, including Meredith and Anne, made themselves at home. At Gerhardt's behest, the young folks helped themselves to refreshments, showing a familiarity with their professor's house which made Brandon uneasy. Paranoia was second nature to most vampires, protection of their havens paramount to their survival. Yet, Helga apparently gave these students free access to her home without a thought for her own safety.
Everyone settled in the downstairs parlor-cum-library. Conversation was lively and enjoyable, with those who participated in the dinner chatting amiably about their performances. Chase actually found himself relaxing around the young people, listening with amusement to their stories. After an hour or so, two bid farewell. Two others lingered a little longer, then also said good night. That left Anne and Meredith.
Anne broached the subject of the vampires' lives before they were changed. Helga had no trouble answering, telling the girl she was a mistake. Her maker had meant to kill her, but somehow during the struggle, Helga ingested some of his blood. She awoke three days later, a vampire with no sire to teach her how to survive. The girl listened raptly as Helga explained how she took to the alleys, basements and sewers of Berlin, scavenging blood from rats and the occasional drunk. Finally, the Sheriff caught her, and she was slated for final death. However, the king took pity on her, allowing her to be taught proper behavior. She never did know her sire.
"When Hitler and his thugs came to power, I fled to America with my human companion, Franz Lipzwieg. We settled near Cambridge where Franz's brother taught music. Ach, but I loved the academic wolrd. My father was a professor of History at Berlin University, so I followed in his footsteps after the Great Reveal."
Anne listened, sipping tea and asking more questions. Meredith was attentive, but asked no questions of her own. Chase was less forthcoming about his background, but offered enough to satisfy Anne's curiosity. He wished Helga hadn't spoken up about the Tudor Era antiquities in his home. He saw amazement in Meredith's expression.
"Real Tudor artifacts?" Meredith queried, eyes wide. She sat on a divan, mug of tea held in both hands. "They must be incredible."
"Indeed, yes. Mr. Brandon has a collection of illuminated manuscripts and paintings that rivals Britain's National Archives. You should ask him to show you."
Brandon saw Anne practically drool. "Oh, please? I just love all those old things!" The other girl seemed inordinately impressed. She turned pleading eyes on Chase, but before he could speak, her cell phone rang. "Excuse me. I need to take this," she said, getting up from her chair. "I'll head out, too, since I need to get back before two." She bid farewell, waving over her shoulder.
Chase was curious how Anne was to get home, since she'd ridden back with them. Helga told him Anne lived in a dorm on campus, easily within walking distance. "Such a nice girl, though I do not feel the passion for history in her as I do in you, liebling." Helga's tone was affectionate toward Meredith. "Your new advisor is a most lucky man."
Two hours or so after Anne left, Meredith indicated it was time she headed home as well, explaining she had church the next morning. Brandon immediately offered to drive her home, but Meredith declined.
"It's not that far, and I don't want to take you out of your way. Besides, I have to get my costume back to the theater," she told Chase. "Campus security expects us to drop them off tonight."
"The college may be close, but you live too far from here to walk. I assure you, it's no trouble."
"Fine, you can drive me home, but I can walk to campus," Meredith insisted. "You're welcome to come with me, but there's no need to pollute the planet any more than necessary."
Brandon agreed, picking up the garment bag containing her costume. It was a lovely night. A full moon cast patterns of light and shadows over the street, and the temperature was just cold enough to bring out the color on Meredith's cheeks. Chase insisted on putting his jacket around her shoulders, since her coat was threadbare. She protested, naturally, but eventually accepted. After a few minutes of silence, Meredith asked Chase if he'd enjoyed the madrigal dinner.
"Very much," Brandon answered. "Of course, your performance was the highlight."
"That's sweet of you, but I think everyone was great. Didn't Anne make a great Queen?"
"She bore a striking resemblance to Mary Tudor."
"Really?" Meredith pursed her lips. "I'm not sure she'd consider that a compliment. Judging from her portraits, Bloody Mary wasn't all that attractive."
"She was quite handsome as a young girl. Mary inherited her father's red-gold hair and Catherine's delicate build. She had a charming personality." Chase paused, remembering Henry's oldest daughter before she was so ill-treated by her father and Anne Boleyn. "She grew old and bitter before her time."
Meredith nodded. "Is it any wonder, considering what she went through? She had a horrible life after Henry divorced Catherine." She looked up at Brandon. "You knew them. You were that Charles Brandon." It was a statement, not a question.
"I am that Charles Brandon, yes." No use denying it. Meredith remained silent as they turned onto the sidewalk running behind the Marjorie Lyon Theater. "Does it bother you?"
"I don't know—" She stopped, looking at the ground. "That's Anne's shoe." Meredith pointed to the hedge lining the sidewalk. She stepped over and picked up the high-heel from beneath one of the trees. "Why on earth is it here?"
"Could she have lost it out of her bag?"
"No, she was wearing these shoes." Meredith looked thoughtful. "Don't know how she could walk wearing only one, but I guess I'll give her a call tomorrow about it."
With that settled, they continued to the theater, noting a campus security car parked outside. The officer was sound asleep, and didn't look happy to be awakened. He gave them a disgruntled glare, sullenly getting out of the car to let Meredith in the back door.
"I won't be long," Meredith promised. "Just need to hang this up." She indicated her costume bag Chase handed to her.
The guard returned to his car as soon as Meredith disappeared inside, driving away. Brandon was alone at the back door. Glancing around, Chase noticed two men walking toward a large building not far away. They disappeared around the building, so Chase figured them for students. Tree-lined Wilkerson Ave. ran behind the theater, and to one side was a large parking area. A smaller building bore a sign reading "LANDSCAPING," which Brandon took to mean it housed grounds keeping equipment. Two large dumpsters sat adjacent to a driveway wide enough to accommodate service vehicles and delivery trucks. A neatly trimmed lawn between the buildings was shaded by pine and oak trees, with shrubs and benches beneath.
The night was quiet, the air permeated by the lingering aroma of wood smoke and fuel oil from houses across the street. Definitely an upper middle class neighborhood, judging by vehicles parked in the driveways. Most trees had lost their leaves, except for pines and evergreens. Their delicate scent wafted on the cold air. No traffic in the immediate vicinity, save for a dark van turning onto Washington St. The engine sounded rough, like it hadn't been tuned up in years. It seemed at odds with such an upscale neighborhood. Chase thought it likely belonged to a student.
Lifting his face, Brandon closed his eyes and let his preternatural senses inhale this shadowy world. He relaxed—until he suddenly detected a scent which overpowered everything else.
Blood.
Frowning, Chase tried to focus on the exact location from whence the odor emanated. Drawn by curiosity, Brandon followed his nose toward the equipment shed. In specific, the dumpsters. He stood in front of them, unsure of his next step. Propriety demanded he think of Meredith first, but practicality dictated he should investigate. Perhaps he should contact campus security, albeit he wasn't overly impressed with the one officer he'd met.
Calling the police had it's hazards. If what he thought was inside one of those dumpsters, the cops might do something stupid—like stake first and ask questions later. It might be best to call one specific policeman. Chase might not like or trust Menéndez, but the Spaniard was a detective, though not assigned to the "Vampire Killer" case (as the media dubbed the murders).
"Chase?" Brandon heard Meredith call him. "Chase, where are you?"
She sounded concerned. Brandon was a blur of movement; in bare heartbeats, he was at her side. "What's wrong?" Taken aback by his sudden appearance, Meredith shrank away from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's all right." She took a steadying breath, then said, "I called Anne, and her roommate said she hadn't come in yet."
Brandon didn't know what to say. "Maybe she met someone? A lover, perhaps?"
Meredith shook her head. "Her boyfriend's in Nashville, and I've never known of her to cheat on him." Her eyes were huge and dark, filled with worry. "I think something happened to her."
Not knowing what else to do, Brandon pulled out his cell phone. Matthew was told where to meet them. Chase hung up, a moment later dialing another number. "Menéndez. Brandon. Meet me behind Marjorie Lyons Theater, Centenary College campus. Lot D, off Wilkerson Ave."
"What's going on?" Meredith sounded more worried than ever.
"I called someone who might be able to help," Chase replied. "Matthew will drive you home."
There was silence, then, "No. If anything happened to Anne, I want to know. She's my best friend." Meredith folded her arms over her chest.
Brandon's first instinct was use glamour, but he recognized determination in the stubborn jut of her chin. It reminded him of someone he missed a great deal. He knew what it was like to worry over a friend.
"Very well, but it could get ugly."
"I live around ugly."
Chase nodded, leading her to the parking area, zeroing in on the dumpster closest to Wilkerson Ave. as Matthew drove up. His manservant got out of the Town Car, and Chase looked at Meredith. "I'm asking you one last time: let Matthew take you home."
"No."
"At least wait in the car where it's warm." A pause. "Please."
This time Brandon used glamour. Friends shouldn't let friends see their best friend dead inside a dumpster the day after Christmas.
AUTHOR NOTES: I just want to say I've glossed over a lot of police procedure because I'm not at all knowledgeable about that subject. I know just enough to get by, and I've researched it online—however, that in no way makes up for a lack of true knowledge. Please forgive any mistakes I make. Thanks!