“What?”
“What about tall, dark and sexy?”
“What about him?”
Becky blew out a long-suffering sigh. “No wonder you’re always home alone on Friday nights.”
“Light,” I said, pointing at the traffic signal.
She slowed to a stop. “I don’t get it. Why in the world aren’t you dating him? I mean right this second. He’s movie-star gorgeous and he’s obviously interested in you. I mean he sat through a high school drama production for you. If that doesn’t say ‘ready to go the mile’, I don’t know what does.”
Becky’s sharp black gaze dug into me.
“You’re shy, aren’t you?” Dawning surprise tinged her voice. “That’s okay. We can overcome that. Here’s the plan. I’ll call him for you and we’ll—”
“No! He’s um…” For the life of me, I couldn’t think of an excuse to give her.
“Please don’t tell me he’s gay.”
Will was so patently heterosexual that I didn’t bother to answer.
“Oh God, I’m right aren’t I?”
I started to correct the misunderstanding but caught myself in time.
Her chest heaved in a sigh of disappointment. “I knew he was too good to be true.”
She was right about that. My stomach rumbled. “I’m starving. Where are we going for dinner?”
“Marty’s providing dinner for us. We’re having a pre-haunted house memorial for Tom.”
“Really? That’s nice.” I was surprised at the expenditure. Everything I’d seen about Marty Milverne pointed to cheap.
“At least I assume he’s providing food. Dan only told me about their trip to Costco for alcohol. Apparently it’s going to be an Irish wake.”
“Tom was Irish?”
She grinned. “He is tonight.”
After the day I’d had, working the haunted house drunk was sounding pretty good. “Glad I’m not driving.”
“Hah! Why do you think I offered to carpool? You can drive home.”
She parked and we collected our costumes from the backseat and circled up the path to the front entrance of the theater. The heavy double doors were closed tight.
“That’s odd,” Becky said.
“They’re probably all back in the rehearsal room.”
“Mmm, yeah. You’re probably right. You know how Marty is about that threadbare old carpet in the lobby.”
We headed back the way we had come and wound around to the rear of the theater. Hearing the faint sounds of music, we pounded on the door. Golden-haired Angelina opened it.
“Oh.” Her smile of welcome was frankly unconvincing.
“Hey, the brain trust’s here!” Dan called from across the room.
Angelina’s gaze flicked from Dan to Becky and the wattage of her smile faded from dim to barely on.
Dan made it to Becky’s side with the speed of a lovesick swain. He was wearing his Dr. Frankenstein costume—lab coat and fright wig—and his face was blanched and aged with makeup. He handed us each a class of punch that, from the fumes, had more than a splash of alcohol.
“Here. You can catch up while you’re getting into costume.” He raised his glass. “To Tom!”
We clinked plastic and headed into the makeshift girls dressing room off one side of the rehearsal stage. I speed-changed, eager to get to the tiny cold cut tray I’d spied before all the roast beef was gone.
“Hold on.” Becky grabbed hold of my cape as I was about to dart out. “What about your vampire makeup?”
“I’ll get vampire teeth from Marty later. Trust me, he has a whole drawer of them in the lobby.”
“No, I mean the rest of it.” Pushing me down onto a folding chair, she pulled out of her bag a fresh makeup sponge and a large compact with divots of white, green and black makeup. “I use this for my Frankenstein’s monster look, but it should work for vampires as well. One color palette fits all when you come back to life after being dead.”
“I don’t want it.” I pushed the makeup away.
“Too bad.” She dabbed the sponge in the face whitener and blended in a little green.
Regarding me critically, she frowned, squinted, and leaned toward my face for a closer look. “You’re skin’s positively glowing! It’s like you’ve been sprinkled with fairy dust. Did you buy some new base or something?” She rubbed a finger across my cheek and sat back in astonishment when it didn’t come away covered with makeup.
“My…um, mother brought me some sort of experimental face stuff from Europe.”
“Shit, next time, have her get some for me.”
“Are you going to vamp me up or not?”
It didn’t take her long. She set the makeup with a thin layer of a translucent powder, which she applied with a huge fluffy brush.
“Ta da!”
She passed me her compact so I could admire her expertise in the mirror. The transformation was startling. The heavy makeup had crisped my reflection even more than the holy water, and for the first time in over a year, I saw my face almost clearly in the mirror. Or, rather, I saw a face. The milky coating of greenish-white base made me even more pale than usual. My hazel-green eyes looked huge under a thick coating of eyeliner and mascara and my lips were blood red.
I looked like a B-movie vampire. All I lacked was the requisite fangs. I snapped the compact shut and handed it back. “Ready?”
“God no. I still need to do all my scars. You go ahead. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“Like you’re going to kill someone if you don’t eat soon.”
I stared at her in horrified silence.
She frowned. “Kidding. Geez. What is with you lately.” She shoved me toward the party. “Go. I’ll catch up.”
Kicking myself for my overreaction, I made my way to the food table for some serious comfort eating. What I wanted was a big plate of the roast beef, but I made myself a proper sandwich with lettuce and tomatoes and even added a couple of carrot sticks to the side of my plate. I was going to eat like a regular person if it killed me.
Despite my good intentions, I went a little overboard on the roast beef. I could barely open my mouth wide enough to get a corner in my mouth. But I managed somehow and was maneuvering in for a second mouthful when Marty burst through the connecting door from the main theater and swore aloud.
Conversation stopped. Marty wasn’t a public swearer.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean—” He was sweating as if he’d been running laps in a sauna. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. It only added to the oddness of the moment. I didn’t know about anyone else, but I hadn’t seen someone use a real handkerchief since my grandfather Gartner had last whipped one out. And even he had given them up a good ten years ago in favor of disposable tissues.
Visibly pulling himself together, Marty announced, “I regret to tell you all that the haunted house has been shut down.”
“The health inspector finally realized those rat-sized cockroaches aren’t stage props?” someone quipped, to a chorus of tipsy giggles and guffaws. Apparently the drinking part of Tom’s wake was well underway.
A man I’d never seen before came to stand behind Marty in the doorway. He had on the same plain-clothed cop “uniform” of slacks, button-down, and tie that Gavin always wore. His watchful eyes scanned the room like lasers. Detective, I thought, clutching my sandwich hard. I put the sandwich down before the roast beef dropped down my front.
“No,” Marty said. There was a quality in his voice that made the room go silent. “The Long Beach Police Department has shut us down because Tom didn’t die of a heart attack last night. He was murdered.”
Chapter Six
“Sir, I’ll thank you to leave the explanations to us.” The detective stepped past Marty into the rehearsal room. A soft paunch pressed at the belt of his gray slacks, suggesting too many fast-food meals behind a desk. The pear-like shape, together with his sallow complexion and thick unibrow, made him look a little like Bert from Sesame Street.
Which made his solemnity all the more chilling.
“The Milverne Theater will be locked until further notice. We’d like to ask your patience while we ask each of you a few questions.” He was immediately barraged with questions, protests, and the occasional whining complaint.
A second detective followed in through the door but remained in the background, silently watching us.
“Why would anyone kill Tom?” Becky asked me in a low voice, under the noise.
“Hate, unrequited love, money, fame…”
Her eyebrows rose with each word I uttered. “Have you met Tom?” She winced. “That didn’t come out quite right. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, it’s just that…”
“I know.” Tom was the kind of guy you cast as the hero’s younger brother Chip, who had to stay behind. He didn’t exactly inspire strong emotions. Unless you happened to be the one whose dessert he’d swiped.
Our whispered conversation came to a halt as the detectives quieted the room and gave out general instructions that basically amounted to “hurry up and wait, and don’t even think of talking to one another”. Becky and I exchanged surreptitious looks but dutifully moved apart and headed to the side of the room as directed.
Wishing I hadn’t left my sandwich on the table, yet sure I couldn’t have eaten a bite, I leaned back against the wall and pulled my cape around me, grateful for its warmth. Marty might have opened his wallet for the liquor portion of Tom’s wake, but he wasn’t wasting precious dimes turning on the heat. I closed my eyes and tried to make myself comfortable. If my experience with police investigations last winter was any indication, we would be here for a while.
To my surprise, I was questioned briefly and hustled out the door in about half an hour. As Marty himself hadn’t let me leave my post anytime close to the moment of Tom’s death, I was a person of little interest. I would have cheered my good luck, except that now I was banned to the even colder parking lot. Not sure what else to do, I went and stood by Becky’s car.
Becky was still inside, waiting for her turn. At least I assumed she was. If she was hiding in a dark corner making out with Dan Sterling, I was going to kill her. The last thing I needed to be doing was hanging around a deserted parking lot at night, wearing something from Elvira’s closet.
If I’d had on better shoes—and a bra—I would have jogged the three miles home. I was digging in my bag for my cell phone to call a cab when I heard someone coming around the side of the building.
It was a man. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did.
“Okay,” I told myself, scrabbling in earnest for my cell. “No need to panic. It’s probably just the next person who’s been questioned and released.”
Except, if it was, they’d be exiting through the back of the theater, not coming around the side.
I couldn’t find my phone. I was about to dodge behind the sole minivan in the parking lot when the footsteps stopped.
A voice came from the shadows. “Jo? What the hell are you doing out here?”
Gavin separated from the darkness and strode toward me. My breath rushed out in a combination of relief and irritation.
“You scared me!”
“Go home.”
“I’m working on it.” I jerked my head toward the theater. “They’ve got my ride in there for questioning.”
“I can take you.” He pulled car keys from a pocket in his slacks.
“Thanks.”
I didn’t bother to pretend I wasn’t thrilled to get out of there. I scribbled a note for Becky, snapped it under her front wiper, and followed Gavin to his Jetta.
“How come you’re able to leave? Aren’t you in charge of the case? First detective on the scene or something?”
“This isn’t my particular area of expertise.”
“No vampires,” I said, relieved.
Gavin beeped open his car and circled around to the driver’s side. He studied me over the roof of the Jetta. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
It was like he’d punched me in the stomach. I realized when he looked at me, he didn’t see me. He saw a woman who was turning into a vampire.
“Why are you standing there?” Gavin said irritably. “Get in.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to compromise your integrity. Or endanger you. Halloween’s around the corner and the moon’s almost full. I could turn on you at any time.”
“Jesus. I don’t have time for— Get in the damn car, Jo.”
I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not when he thought of me as…some sort of monster.
With a snarl of exasperation, Gavin came around to my side of the car. “What the hell is wrong with you? Standing there like that when it’s dark out?” Yanking open the passenger door, he unceremoniously shoved me into the seat, got in his side, and told me to put on my seatbelt. We drove off in silence.
My stomach rumbled.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Yes.” Two bites of roast beef sandwich.
“I haven’t.” Gavin pulled into a drive-through and ordered himself a number six and an orange juice without consulting the menu. “Sure you don’t want anything? Raw meat on a bun? Steak tartare milkshake?”
That was low. It had been a moment of weakness that I’d never repeated. I wanted to tell him what he could do with his steak tartare shake, but my stomach growled again. I leaned across the console to call my order out to the microphone. Gavin pressed back into the leather of the driver’s seat and tightened his hands where they rested on his thighs, as if I had cooties.
“I’ll have your thickest burger. That restaurant one, plain, very rare. I like it raw in the middle.”
Gavin’s mouth grew tighter at the last, but all he said was, “Wrong chain.”
I flopped back in my seat. “Please. They all have some giant burger now.”
“You shouldn’t order like that. You’ll get E. coli.”
“Like that’s my biggest worry.”
Gavin drove to the next window and, ignoring the ten I waved in his direction, paid and dumped the bag in my lap. I had it open before we left the parking lot, intending to snitch a few of Gavin’s fries.
There weren’t any.
I crumpled the bag shut and twisted in my seat to face him. “What is it with you and fries, Gavin? The first person who orders always gets them. Supersizes them. The whole point of coming here is for the fries.”
“I thought it was to get something to eat.”
I rolled my eyes and kicked the bag under the dashboard. “You’d better get with the program or your girlfriend isn’t going to stick around for long.”
He braked for a red light and turned to face me. “Who?”
“What do you mean who? How many girlfriends do you have? The woman you were with last Saturday night.”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawned. “You mean Sara.”
“Try to have a little enthusiasm for the woman you like, Gavin.”
He stared at me for a beat. The air in the car seemed to disappear. “I have plenty of enthusiasm.”
The light turned green and we drove the rest of the way home in silence. It was not companionable.
Gavin followed me up and in to my apartment without asking. I threw my shoulder bag in the direction of the table by the door, but it got tangled in my cape and landed instead on the floor by my feet. I stepped over it and headed for my bedroom. “I’m getting out of this stupid costume. Don’t eat my dinner.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Hold on, who is this?”
He pointed down at Fluffy, who was rubbing a cheek on his ankle. Not once had she done that to me.
“You are such a little turd,” I told the cat. “That,” I informed Gavin, as I headed down the short hall to my bedroom, “is Fluffy. I’m babysitting her for my Aunt Bertha.”
A few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a thick yellow Pooh sweatshirt, I joined Gavin at my kitchen table. He was halfway through his grilled chicken sandwich. Fluffy was splayed bonelessly on his lap,
purring like a steam engine.
Ignoring them both, I dug into my burger with relish. They’d done a nice job of barely cooking it. Most places were too concerned about health code regulations to leave it really rare. It must have been a new guy at the grill. I made a mental note to go back and find out his shift schedule.
When I was done, I wiped my hands clean on a stack of napkins. Fluffy had fallen asleep and Gavin had moved on to wordlessly making his way through a side salad. The silence was grating on my nerves. I was tempted to lick the juice off my burger wrapper just to annoy Gavin, but I was afraid I might enjoy it too much. Besides, I wanted him to stay so I could ask him some questions about what was going on. I gathered up my trash and threw it in the bin under the sink.
Gavin might eat annoyingly healthfully but he never said no to homemade cookies. I put enough gingersnaps on a plate for both of us and brought it back to the table with me.
He stared at the plate as if it contained coiled cobras. And then he stared at me.
“You made gingersnaps?” His voice was oddly strangled.
“As you see.” I jiggled the plate.
“You always make chocolate chip.”
“There are other cookies, Gavin. Do you want some or not?”
He leaned back in the kitchen chair, crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at me.
“That depends. Do these have cyanide in them?”
“What?” The plate tilted and the cookies began to slide.
Gavin caught the plate and put it on the table. He did not take a cookie.
“Is that what killed Tom?” My voice seemed to have shrunk by half. “I thought he had a heart attack. Marty said—”
“Marty Milverne would say anything to keep that theater open. We might have believed it was a heart attack, except Tom cut his arm at some point and his blood was the wrong color when it came out. Too red. They fast-tracked him at the coroner’s office. Found cookies in his stomach and some in his pocket with what appeared to be traces of cyanide powder. They’ll need the tests back to be certain, but…” His shrug told me they were pretty darn sure what the tests would say.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“Should I?”
Liz Jasper - Underdead 02 Page 9
