Dead is the New Black by Marianne Stillings

Nothing. I checked
his wrist. No matter what I did, I could not find a heartbeat.
    He was dead.
    Placing my open hand on his chest, I could
feel he was still warm, so he couldn’t have been dead for long. Was
that noise I’d heard his last gasp before dying? If I’d found him
even minutes earlier, might I have saved his life?
    My head felt light, as if my brains had grown
wings and fluttered away leaving me with an empty skull. My muscles
deserted me, too, weakening me so my butt plopped down on the floor
next to the dead man. I rested my back against the bookcase for
fear I’d faint and keel over.
    As I worked hard to normalize my breathing, I
let my gaze evaluate the victim.
    Dead guy was around thirty or so. Good
looking, a male model type. Except for the dent in the side of his
head and the blood on the carpet, he might just as well have been
sleeping.
    “Stephanie?”
    I just about jumped out of my skin, jerking
my attention to the end of the row where Dr. Van Graf stood glaring
down at me.
    When had he come into the study?
    Had he been here all along?
    Had he killed this man while I’d waited in
front of the fire?
    Dr. Van Graf’s expression was unreadable as
he stepped forward, taking my arm and helping me to my feet. I was
in shock, or I probably wouldn’t have let him anywhere near me, but
his touch was gentle, his hand strong. Standing so near him, I
could feel the heat from his body and wanted to curl into it for
shelter and reassurance.
    But he could be a murderer. If so, would he
kill me now?
    I started to pull away from him, but he
tightened his grip on my arm. He didn’t hurt me, but it was clear
he was not going to let me go.
    “Are you okay, Stephanie?” Dr. Van Graf’s
blue eyes narrowed as he studied me, surely looking for signs of
impending hysteria.
    Not only am I not a screamer, I’m not given
to hysterics, either, so I slowly nodded, assuring him without
words that I was all right. But to be fair, I’d never before
discovered the body of a murder victim, so when I did try to speak,
my throat was so dry, all I could get out was a high-pitched,
“He-he-he-he-he.” I sounded like a hyena on helium. Swallowing, I
tried again and managed to choke, “He’s dead.”
    Thank you, Mrs.
Obvious.
    Releasing my arm, Van Graf knelt and put his
fingers to the guy’s neck. His jaw clenched, he bit out,
“Dammit.”
    I stammered, “Who-who-who?”
    Thank you, woodsy
owl.
    Van Graf rose and turned to face me. “His
name’s Percy Usher. He’s an actor. I’m sorry you had to be the one
to find him, Stephanie.” His brows lowered. “This must be quite a
shock. Are you sure you’re all right?”
    It was then I noticed something was not quite
right about the doctor’s sweater. At first, I thought the bulky
knit might have picked up a bit of lint, but on closer scrutiny, I
could see it wasn’t lint at all.
    The specks were red. Blood red.
    Without thinking, I raised my hand, touched
one of them. It smeared. Holding my hand in front of my face, I
studied it, unwilling to accept what it was.
    A small spray of blood had splattered on Van
Graf’s shoulder.
    Fresh blood.
    I lowered my hand and took a step back, away
from my employer.
    His eyes focused on my finger. Slowly, he
lifted his gaze to meet mine.
    “Dr. Van Graf?”
    He said nothing.
    “You have s-something on your sweater.”
    He remained silent, just staring at my
hand.
    On a teensy, tiny breath, I squeaked, “You
didn’t kill this guy, did you?”
    I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.
Van Graf was bigger than I, faster, stronger. If I’d spotted him at
a party or some kind of social function, all those attributes would
have made him really hot, but as things were, he was a vampire with
spots of blood on his sweater and a dead man sprawled on the floor
of his study.
    “Stephanie?”
    I took another step away from the doctor, but
had to stop when my be hind met the
bookshelf be hind me.
    “Stephanie,” he repeated. “Please