We were soon in the same wide-open living room.
She motioned for me take a seat on the couch, with my back to the hallway. She asked if I wanted a drink and I said no. She said she wanted some hot tea and I said fine. I recalled it had been 98 degrees outside and suspected I might have been hoodwinked.
When she left the room, I immediately switched positions to an overstuffed chair-and-a-half that gave me a good view of anything approaching from the hallway. I also felt more comfortable with my back against a wall.
Vampires, I suspected, were sneaky.
My heart rate increased considerably while I waited. I adjusted my grip on the crossbow, which now rested in my lap, partially hidden by the chair's overstuffed pillow. From my position in the living room, I couldn't see the upstairs landing.
Mrs. Perkins returned five minutes later, carrying a steaming cup of tea.
"Now," she said, as she sat on the couch across from me. "How can I help you, Mr. Spinoza?" She didn't seem to notice that I had switched spots. If anything, she seemed very distracted.
I heard movement upstairs. Something heavy fell. I looked up at the sound, but Mrs. Perkins ignored it completely. Her demeanor was different this time around. Gone was the sour old lady, replaced now by something overly friendly.
And that's when I noticed the white cloth wrapped around her neck; in particular, what appeared to be a splotch of blood.
"What happened to your neck, Mrs. Perkins?" I asked.
The question seemed to shock her. She jerked a little and sat up straighter. She reached for her neck but never quite touched it. "Oh, that?" Her strange, pleasant demeanor never wavered. "Oh, that was just a minor...thing I had removed at the doctor's the other day."
I motioned to her arms, both of which were wrapped up in a similar white cloth. "And you had other...things removed from your arms as well?"
She smiled serenely. "It's horrible getting old, Mr. Spinoza."
"I'll remember that."
I found myself scanning the room...in particular, the two exits. One seemed to head off into what appeared to be a library, and the other went down the hallway. I suspected there were a few offshoots from the hallway, an opening to the kitchen, no doubt, and the stairway leading up to the second floor.
"Who's upstairs, Mrs. Perkins?" I asked.
Her slender form tensed a little; her fingers clawed the arm of the couch. "What do you mean, dear?"
"I mean, who's that I hear walking around upstairs?"
"Oh, I have a guest."
"Who?"
"Isn't that a personal question, Mr. Spinoza?"
"Perhaps you could tell the police then."
"Oh, I'm sure the police would have no interest in - "
"And you can also show them the wounds on your neck and arms - "
"Please, Mr. Spinoza, there's no need for that."
And that's when a woman's voice resonated from somewhere down the hallway. "I would suggest," and the voice, growing louder as the speaker drew closer, "that you leave my mother alone."
And as the last words were spoken, a very lovely, pale-faced woman stepped into the living room.
It was, of course, Evelyn Drake.