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hands,” Joaquin said in the most reasonable of voices.
    “We haven’t got a speck of blood on us, Sheriff,” Taffy said, holding out her arms to invite inspection. “When Don gave Bernie his etiquette lesson, he didn’t break the skin. My husband knows that the smell of blood is tough on vampire sensibilities.”
    “Would the killer be blood-spattered?” Joaquin asked Dahlia. “You saw the wound.”
    “I’ll defer to Katamori,” Dahlia said. “It’s well-known that Taffy and I are friends.”
    “A vampire moving at top speed, a vampire who had performed this kill many times, might be able to avoid the blood,” Katamori said. “Anyone else would have had to change clothes.” He walked over to the couple and examined them with minute care. “I see and scent no blood on Taffy and Don.”
    Dahlia’s shoulders might have relaxed a fraction.
    Gerhard said quickly, “I’ll smell like blood because I took some from a donor this evening.” It was Dahlia’s turn to work, and she looked Gerhard over from stern to stern. She straightened to tell Joaquin, “He does have a trace of blood scent, and one pinpoint of blood on his collar, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
    Cedric said, “You may examine me, Katamori,” though no one had suggested this. Katamori glanced at Joaquin, got no signal either way, and moved over to Cedric. He’d give Cedric a thorough examination, Dahlia knew. Katamori had never been fond of Cedric.
    “I can’t find any on Cedric’s clothes,” Katamori said. “Though he does smell slightly of blood.”
    Cedric shrugged. “I partook of the donors,” he said.
    There was a pounding on the mansion’s front door.
    Dahlia looked at the clock on the wall, just as a precaution. It was now eleven fifteen. Arthur Allthorp had been dead around an hour. The front doorkeeper for the evening, a young vampire named Melvin, came into the reception room so quickly that he skidded on the parquet floor. “The police are here, Sheriff,” he said to Joaquin. “They say they’ve had a report of a body on the premises.”
    “How long can you delay them?” Joaquin snapped.
    “Ten minutes,” said Melvin.
    “We’ll need it,” Joaquin said. “Go.”
    Melvin began walking slowly through the archway on his way back to the front door. He was looking at his watch.
    “Katamori and I will dispose of the body,” Dahlia said, and she and Katamori took off at top speed. As they passed Rachel, still on guard at the swinging door, Dahlia said, “Cleanup crew, right now!” Rachel moved so fast you could hardly see her go, and Dahlia could hear her call a few names in the reception room.
    It wasn’t the first time a body had had to be disposed of quickly in the mansion.
    While Katamori unlocked the mudroom door, Dahlia pulled an ancient tablecloth from the linen closet. Together, the two vampires wrapped the body in the yellowing linen to prevent drippage. Dahlia took the feet and Katamori lifted the shoulders. They were carrying the body out while the cleaning crew swarmed through the swinging door. Conveniently, all the cleanup material was kept in the kitchen, and as Katamori and Dahlia took their burden through the mudroom and out the final door, she glimpsed the vampires on duty opening cabinets to pull out the bleach and turning the faucets in the sinks while others fetched the mops.
    The dead man had been tall and heavy. Since Katamori and Dahlia were not too far apart in height they could bear the weight equally, and they were both immensely strong, so Arthur Allthorp’s weight wasn’t an issue. His bulk was. They carried the body through the landscaped garden to the huge, formal fountain, which splashed in the middle of a knee-deep pool. The statue in the middle of the fountain was a woman in flowing drapery. She was holding a tilted jug, out of which the running water splashed into the pool. At the side of the fountain farthest from the house, they laid down the body. Dahlia leaped up on the