“Are you ever going to tell us what’s in this?” Josephine asked him after we both took a long sip of the fuchsia-colored brew. “Because it’s bloody good.”
Walter nudged Josephine and pulled his Dracula cape up to his face with a flourish.
“Bloody good? No pun intended, eh, Jo?”
All three of us, Walter included, groaned, and I pretended to whack him with my tennis racquet. Then Jo and I went in search of Serena and he went back to ladling out his secret concoction for the couple who walked in behind us dressed as Rey and Finn from Star Wars: The Force Awakens.
On a normal day, Serena and Walter’s townhouse had a spalike quality: soothing colors, furniture that was both contemporary and comfortable, and an elegant, inviting atmosphere. On the main floor, the natural-toned bamboo floors complemented the color scheme of warm grays and milky whites. Floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining room brought in light, and visible through those windows was a spacious deck overlooking the riparian woodlands of Barton Creek Greenbelt. Throughout the entire open floor plan, decorative pieces were well chosen and surprisingly few.
But on Halloween, all that changed.
The warm gray walls became moody and dark with dimmed lighting. Every piece of their furniture, with its straight, clean lines, looked hard and forbidding when covered in black stretch-leather slipcovers. Invisible speakers piped in hits from various decades interspersed with Halloween-themed songs like “Monster Mash,” and the decor went from minimal to maxed out.
Flickering candles graced every flat surface. Faux cobwebs were draped over silvery mercury-glass pumpkins. On the coffee table, a black vase was filled to overflowing with pale-orange roses that looked to be crawling with dozens of tiny black spiders, and on the sideboard, colorful Mexican sugar skulls became ghoulishly charming when filling tall glass candy jars. From the branches of a dormant potted tree, inky ravens with eerie glass eyes seemed to be watching us, while a flock of bats appeared to be winging their way toward the dining room. Twisted, dried vines curved over the mantel and climbed up the walls. With small spotlights aimed upward onto the vines, it created a spooky-forest effect and shadows that played with one’s eyes.
I told Josephine, “This is how I always imagined the Munsters’ house looking if Martha Stewart were allowed to move in.”
“It’s brilliant and I’m jealous of her talent, as always.”
Mateo was at the bar across the living room, in full pirate regalia, talking to a girl—his new girlfriend, maybe?—who was dressed as a bumblebee. This year he’d put his fake parrot on his right shoulder.
“You owe me five bucks,” I said to Jo. She’d bet me he’d go for the left shoulder.
“Double or nothing Serena is dressed as a really marvelous bat to go along with Dracula,” she said, nodding toward Walter.
I shook Jo’s hand, setting her bangles jangling. “Done.”
We finally spotted Serena in the kitchen, plating hors d’oeuvres onto pewter platters. She most definitely was not dressed as a bat.
Josephine turned to me. “Would you like cash or would you take your payment in Flaco’s?”
“Ay, chiflada, Josefina. Need you even ask?” I said.
Serena saw us and gave a royal wave. In return, Josephine and I curtsied to our hostess, who was dressed as Queen Elizabeth I. Fluffy ginger wig, pale English complexion, brown contacts, pearl-and-ruby–laden jewels and all.
Within minutes, Josephine had a cute guy flirting with her and I went to help Serena rearrange the buffet goodies on her dining room table. We shuffled to accommodate a fresh platter of Crispy Caspers, which were filled wontons formed into yummy little ghosts and baked until crisp before having two eyes and a mouth painted onto their heads with a thickened soy-sauce glaze.
I took a Casper as Serena hooked her arm through mine. “Let’s go outside. I wanted you to meet this guy who works at Walter’s firm. His name is Garrett and I think he’s a doll.”
“Yeah, but he’s not dressed up like a doll, right?” I asked, crunching on the wonton.
“Your cynicism is bouncing right off me,” Serena replied, pulling me through the partiers. Due to her full, embroidered, queenly skirts, we cut ourselves a wide swath. “He’s dressed as Willie Nelson. During the Red Headed Stranger, red-bandana-and-long-braids era, naturally, not the scruffy-homeless-man look from recent years.”
“Naturally,” I replied. Because braids on a man were so much better.
Serena ignored me and we made our way out the French doors to the deck and its gorgeous views of the Greenbelt. Well, gorgeous views during the daylight hours, at least. Now the outlines of treetops and rolling hills just added to the slightly spooky ambience.
The deck, lit only by a few hanging lanterns, was packed with people in costumes ranging from simple like mine to elaborate getups like Serena’s. Everybody was talking, drinking, and eating, all enjoying the still-warm evening and the supernatural ambiance.
Apparently, one couple was finding it romantic as well. Off in the far corner by two tall, spiraling juniper topiaries lit with twinkle lights, the Red Headed Stranger was locking lips with Cleopatra. Both of them had an orange plastic cup in one hand.
“Oops. Looks like Walter’s Wicked Wassail has claimed its first victims of the evening,” I said, twirling my tennis racquet in amusement.
“You don’t have to sound so cheery about it,” Serena replied, putting her hands on her corseted waist in dismay. Garrett’s Willie Nelson wig was starting to come off since Cleopatra kept trying to rake her free hand through his hair.
I gave my friend’s arm a squeeze. “Hey, you know I appreciate the effort,” I said, “but it’s for the best. I’m getting there, but I’m not up for a new romance yet.”
“All right, understood,” Serena said on a dramatic sigh before finally grinning back at me as I took another drink of Walter’s concoction. “Then how about we go back inside and work the buffet? Walter’s Wassail goes surprisingly well with my new Bat Guano Dip.”
I nearly did a spit-take. “Serena, ewwww.”
“What?” she asked, patting her ginger Virgin Queen wig with the utmost innocence. “It’s just black olive tapenade, which you love.”
Hand over my mouth, I was trying to rid myself of the thought that I might forever view black olive tapenade as bat guano when a girl in a gold flapper dress touched Serena on the arm.
“Dayna!” Serena said with delight, hugging the pretty girl with dark hair pinned up into a stylized bob. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She then gestured to me. “Let me introduce you to my best friend and officemate, Lucy Lancaster. Lucy, this is my friend Dayna Nelms.”
I smiled, holding out my hand as Serena explained, “Dayna and I worked together in PR before she moved to Houston to be a pharmaceutical rep and I went out on my own. She called me a couple of weeks ago to say she’d be in town visiting her boyfriend and I told her she must come to the party and bring him.”
Serena’s friend turned sideways to reveal a guy doing a nice job of looking like he’d stepped out of the 1920s. He wore a period-correct light gray suit with cuffed trousers, vest, blue shirt, wide tie, and wingtip shoes. He’d also parted his hair on the side and slicked it back with pomade, setting off his facial features nicely.
Even I had to admit that fact, though his face was not one I wanted to see tonight.
“Serena, Lucy, this is my boyfriend, Ben,” said Dayna. She reached for his hand, and my old buddy Agent Turner took a step forward into our little circle. In the way his eyes briefly held mine, I could tell that he hadn’t imagined our worlds would collide again so soon. Still, he turned on his charming grin and showed me how fast he could recover.
“Ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” he said. He even gave Serena a little bow as he shook her hand, saying, “Your majesty,” which made my friend giggle.
It was a good thing I hadn’t taken another sip of Walter’s Wassail or I might have really done a spit-take this time.
Serena couldn’t hold back her sartorial ecstasy at that point and started gushing over Ben’s outfit.
“Lucy, don’t you think he looks like Leo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. Dayna didn’t seem to hear the sarcasm in my voice, but Serena’s brow furrowed as she glanced my way. While she and Josephine had heard of my run-ins with an FBI agent, the finer details—such as his first name—had been overshadowed by Winnie’s tragedy and Gus’s arrest. Serena didn’t know that Dayna’s boyfriend and my frustrating Fed were one in the same.
“So, Ben,” I said. “What is it that you do for a living?”
I could see him fighting to keep up his laid-back facade, which made my lips twitch upward.
“He’s a history professor at UT,” Dayna said, gazing up at her boyfriend and wrapping her arms around his waist. I caught her giving him the merest of conspiratorial winks, so it was clear she knew of his primary job as well.
“That so?” I said with a bright grin. “How exciting.”
“Yes, he really loves it,” Dayna was saying as Serena began fiddling with one of her pearl earrings, giving her earlobe one good tug in a clear signal to me that she was finally cluing in. “Especially when he gets to lecture on Texas history. Right, honey?”
Agent Turner’s jaw was getting tighter as he gave his girlfriend a nod and a smile.
“I’ll bet.” I felt like dancing a jig. Putting my hand to my heart, I said, “I can’t tell you what a wonderful coincidence this is for me. You see, Dayna, I happen to be a genealogist and I’ve been researching a couple of families with historical Texas ties. I’ve been meaning to go up to campus to see if one of the professors could help me, but this is too good of an opportunity to pass up. Would you mind if I picked your boyfriend’s brain about it for a few minutes?”
“Oh, please do. He’d be happy to. He can talk history for days.” She tapped his arm. “In fact, Ben, why don’t you answer Lucy’s questions, and Serena and I will go refresh our drinks and do some catching up.”
I practically swiveled Serena back toward the door. “Yes, a few minutes are all I need and then I’ll send him along back to y’all. I’m sure he’ll love trying some of your Bat Guano Dip, Serena.”
Serena, playing her part with queenly aplomb, linked arms with Dayna to head back inside. I heard her go into gushing mode over Dayna’s flapper dress and the two were quickly out of hearing range.
I turned around and Agent Turner had gone full-on Fed again. He’d crossed his arms over his chest. The glare was back, too.
I just smiled and spun my tennis racquet on its head, then casually leaned one hand on it. Agent Turner was not going to fluster me this time, no way. This time he was playing on my court.
SIXTEEN
Naturally, though, he got in the first good serve.
“I’m not having this discussion with you, Ms. Lancaster. Especially when I expressly told you to let it go.”
“You expressly told me? Really, Ben?” I replied. “What part of our interactions in recent days gave you the idea I would ever allow you to order me around? Much less that I would obey you, or any other man?”
“I’d have thought your intelligence would prevail over your stubbornness,” he said. “Likewise over your immaturity, but I see it’s hardly the case.”
For better or worse, I was pretty proud of my stubbornness, but the immature crack really stung me. There was no way I was going to let him see that, though.
Still, before I could volley, he leaned in toward me. “You’re attempting to interfere in a federal investigation, Ms. Lancaster,” he said in my ear. “Not only is what you’re trying to do illegal, but it’s also unsafe. What can I do to make you see that?”
I planted two fingers in his chest and pushed him back upright. I’d detected a whiff of good-smelling aftershave and his nearness was bringing back the memory of our kiss, so getting him out of my personal space was not solely because he was irritating me to no end.
Looking around at the various costumed partygoers that could be within earshot, I chose my words carefully, matching Agent Turner’s slightly formal tone.
“I’m doing nothing of the sort. The only thing I’m doing is looking into an … incident. An incident that happened over a hundred and sixty years ago. The current situation is your territory, yes, and I have absolutely no desire to interfere in such matters. But what happened back then is not only interesting to me, but also took place so long ago that it’s no longer an active matter for individuals such as yourself.” I batted my eyes. “Therefore, nothing I’m doing is illegal.”
Through the flickering candlelight coming from a nearby lantern, I saw the merest tightening of his eyes. He knew I was right, and he didn’t like it.
“So, if you would stop being insufferable for two minutes and help me clear up a few historical roadblocks, I might be able to help the families involved better understand what happened between their ancestors.”
“I think you’re being naïve on that point, Ms. Lancaster,” he said. “Now I think it’s time I got back inside.”
He started to walk off and I called after him. “Hey, Ben. I can find out this information with or without you, but if you help me, then you’ll know what I know. What have you got to lose?”
He glanced back at me before disappearing inside, but that was all I got.
As he’d pointed out, I was a stubborn person, so I decided the score was deuce and it was time to call the match on account of having an annoying opponent.
Just as I was taking a sip of Walter’s Wicked Wassail, a jingling belly dancer in amethyst jumped in front of me, nearly making me spill the pink drink on my white dress. Josephine busted out some impressive salsa moves with added shimmying and hip lifts.
“Come on, then,” she said. “They’re playing eighties music downstairs. You and I are going to get footloose.”
“Well, you know I gotta cut loose,” I deadpanned. I held up my racquet. “But first I need to put this baby somewhere safe and we need to stop by the buffet table for some sustenance.”
Jo agreed and we headed inside, where a guy dressed in black cargo pants, boots, mirrored sunglasses, and a black cap and T-shirt with SWAT in big white letters held the door open for us.
“Thanks,” I said, giving him a big smile. I was a bit of a sucker for rugged jawlines and broad shoulders, so I couldn’t help myself.
He pulled at the brim of his hat to acknowledge me as he turned away. Josephine left me admiring his retreating shoulders as she stashed the racquet in the nearby utility room.
“SWAT guy was pretty cute,” she said all casual-like as we started through the buffet. We each grabbed two skewers that Serena had labeled “Entrails on a Stick.” They were, in fact, thin strips of marinated chicken that had been placed on the wooden skewers in an intestinelike undulating pattern, and then grilled into total deliciousness.
I looked at my watch. “Wow. A whole twenty seconds. I think you actually have Serena beat tonight on throwing the nearest cute guy at me.”
“It’s time to get back up on the horse, love,” she replied with a guilt-free shrug as she eyed the buffet’s offerings. “In both figurative ways, I might add.” Then her kohl-lined eyes went wide. “Ooooh, Fried Rats’ Eyeballs! I was hoping Serena would do them again.” She held out a paper cone filled with little fried olives, the pimientos making them look like the eyes of a white rat. “Want some?”
I took the cone and popped an olive in my mouth. “Are you implying that I could benefit from a round of proverbial shagging?”
Jo draped her free arm around my neck. “Nothing proverbial about it. Straight-up shagging is what you need.”
A partygoer passed us and Jo’s voice dropped to conspiratorial level. “In fact, if I had to pair you with anyone tonight, it’d be Jay Gatsby who just walked by. He’s positively yummy.”
My eyes followed hers, hoping like hell there was another Jay Gatsby running around the party tonight
.
Yeah, talk about getting screwed. Agent Turner’s cool blue eyes briefly met mine as he came to stand in a group that included his girlfriend, Dayna. He handed her a fresh cocktail and took a drink of his own to hide the grin that played on his lips.
“Oh, bollocks,” Josephine said with altogether too little shame. “I think he heard me.”
Deciding I’d explain later with whom she’d encouraged me to have a roll in the hay, I sighed and nudged her toward the stairs that led down to the basement. “Come on, let’s go boogie.”
Several songs from the 1980s later, Josephine and I made our way back upstairs, laughing so hard we were in tears after seeing Walter, who’d obviously had a little too much of his own Wicked Wassail, dancing to and singing Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” at the top of his lungs.
“Oh, that was funny,” she said, leading the way back to the dining room and the dessert table.
“Walter is going to have one doozy of a hangover. I should tell Serena to take him to Flaco’s tomorrow for some menudo,” I said as we each picked up a whoopie pie from the tray labeled “Vampire Blood Pies.”
Above every other Halloween-themed food that Serena made, they were my favorite. In between the two ends of soft, dark chocolate cake was homemade marshmallow crème filling that she tinted bright red with food coloring before dusting the edges with red sanding sugar to make them sparkle. Beyond looking fabulous, they tasted amazing, and I had a hard time eating just one.
As the two of us bit into our pies, Josephine began to moan in ecstasy while I closed my eyes and spun around in chocolate-and-marshmallow bliss. They flew open again when two hands caught my shoulders.
“Watch it,” Agent Turner said, and released me from his straight-arm hold when I was steady. He then took two whoopie pies, nodded to Josephine, and walked off without another word.
“Enfufferable,” I said through my mouthful.
“Who’s insufferable? Jay Gatsby, whose gorgeous suit and vest you nearly ruined?” Jo asked, jerking her thumb at Agent Turner’s retreating back.
Murder Once Removed Page 15
