Werewolf Art Thou?: A paranormal mystery adventure by Ward Parker

Author:Ward Parker [Parker, Ward]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mad Mangrove Media
Published: 2024-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Ackney Treatment

Transitioning from working nights caring for vampires to working normal daytime hours had been difficult for me. I still saw some vampire patients, like my visit to Mrs. Sneiderman last night, so I didn’t get to bed until 1:30 a.m.

I was sound asleep when Matt’s call awakened me at 6:30 a.m. When I saw it was his number, I silenced the phone and went back to sleep. I knew he’d forgive me.

The phone buzzed from a text message. I tossed it onto a chair on the other side of the room. Where it buzzed again ten minutes later.

By now, both cats realized their human’s sleeping time was over. Bubba sat on the nightstand, staring at me and meowing. Brenda lay on my chest and occasionally batted my chin.

“Okay, okay,” I mumbled as I resigned myself to another day of feeling sleep deprived.

After feeding the cats, I found my phone and read Matt’s texts. Apparently, he’d finally located Dunott’s personal assistant and had convinced him to meet us for coffee.

In forty-five minutes from now.

I texted Matt that I would be there, a little late, and jumped in the shower, rushing to get ready. There’s nothing like a little panic to help you wake up.

The coffee shop was a block south of Jellyfish Beach Boulevard, in what used to be a home built in the 1890s. Matt and our interviewee were already at a table, sipping coffee from tall mugs.

They stood when I approached, and Matt introduced me to Greg Ackney, a hulking giant with a shaved head. He looked more like a bodyguard than an assistant. He wore a black blazer over a black T-shirt that strained to cover his massive pecs.

“Mr. Ackney was Mr. Dunott’s aide in his legal work, as well as in his duties on the commission,” Matt explained.

I hadn’t realized the part-time commissioners needed aides. In any event, I was eager to hear if Ackney had any valuable information.

“This place is where Mr. Dunott and I spent our days,” Ackney said in a deep Southern accent. “It was like our office.”

“There you are, Greg!” A woman in her forties, who had come from the kitchen area, gave Ackney a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you since the tragedy. How are you holding up, love?”

“I’m okay, Judy. Thanks for asking. How are you holding up? You and Mr. Dunott went back quite a ways.”

“I’m missing him hard,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I hope you will keep coming here every day. Sorry for interrupting,” she said to Matt and me before squeezing Ackney’s shoulder and returning to the kitchen.

“Judy’s the owner. She was a big supporter and great friend of Mr. Dunott’s,” Ackney said to us.

Matt gave me a knowing look, meaning the owner wasn’t a victim of the shakedowns.

“Mr. Dunott didn’t have an actual office?” I asked.

Ackney shook his head. “When he wasn’t here, he worked out of his home.”

“Did he meet with people at his home, as well as here?”

“Yeah, but only people he knew well.

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