Dead and Dateless

by Kimberly Raye

  No way would someone want to frame me. It simply wasn’t possible.

  At the same time, Keith and his new blue shirt were dead and I was wearing oversize sweat pants and a Hanes T-shirt.

  “That’s the only explanation,” Ty went on. “The pieces fit together too well for this to be just a circumstantial thing. You were there, you get your picture taken minutes before the murder and just so happen to leave fingerprints everywhere, including on the murder weapon, and a few samples of your own blood.”

  “A blood sample?”

  “I told you they had DNA evidence.”

  “I know, but I was thinking saliva or something.”

  “Did you salivate at the victim’s apartment?”

  “No, but…” I shook my head. “There’s no way they could have my blood.”

  “I would agree with you, but this thing’s been too carefully orchestrated to bet on the off chance that the murderer messed up on this one detail that solidifies the case against you. I think we have to assume it’s yours and work under the assumption that some one is out to nail you for this.”

  “But who would do such a thing?”

  He eyed me for a long moment. “You tell me.” When I just shook my head, he added, “Literally. I want you to make a list of any and everyone you can think of who might want to frame you for murder.”

  I sank down to the sofa as the reality of the situation hit. There really was someone out there who hated me. So much that they wanted to have me arrested and locked up for the next hundred or so years.

  Surely they couldn’t give me longer than that? But what if I got a life sentence? I could be locked up for eternity.

  “You’re not going to start crying again, are you?” Ty’s deep voice slid into my ears and I glanced over at him.

  His image swam and I blinked frantically.

  Before I could respond, he said, “Don’t. If there’s one thing you need to do right now, it’s keep your head on straight. You have to think.” He pushed to his feet and retrieved some paper and a pen from one of the kitchen drawers. “Think hard and write. That’ll give us a place to start looking.”

  I blinked furiously and (big high five for me) man aged to hold back the moisture that stung my eyes. He was right. I needed to hold it together if I wanted to get out of this. Write, I told myself as I stared at the paper.

  “I don’t know anyone who hates me,” I said fifteen minutes later. A sniffle punctuated the sentence.

  “They don’t have to hate you. They just need a motive. Think of someone you might have pissed off recently. Maybe a dissatisfied client. A disgruntled neighbor.”

  “So they don’t have to hate me.” I wasn’t sure why this new information made me feel less icky, but it did. I sat up straighter and managed to swallow de spite the tightness in my throat. “You just want some one with a motive. Maybe someone I’ve wronged, however inadvertently.”

  He nodded. “It doesn’t take much to motivate a psychopath.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m afraid it might be a little short,” I warned him.

  What can I say? I was voted Most Popular at my four hundred and eighty–year class reunion. Granted, it was just me, The Ninas, and my old tutor Jacques doing the voting (we’re talking four hundred and eighty years), but it was the principle that counted.

  Namely, I’m all that and a chocolate martini. I mean, really. Who would want to hurt me?

  “Can I have more paper?” I asked Ty a good half hour later.

  “Did you mess that one up?”

  “No, I filled it up.”

  So much for a short list.

  “The entire sheet?”

  “You said to write down anyone I could think of. That’s what I did.”

  “But an entire sheet?”

  “Thanks for sounding shocked. So much for telling myself I’m not a total loser.” His lips twitched and I knew he wanted to grin.

  He motioned to me. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

  He scanned the list I gave him, which started with my neighbors, the Griffiths, who lived on the first ?oor of my building. While they didn’t have children, they had meddling mothers and a cat. A big, fat Siamese who absolutely detested vampires. The Griffiths themselves always waved whenever we passed near the mailboxes, but Sasha always hissed.

  While I didn’t think Mac and Eileen were kooky enough to let a cat dictate their friends, what did I really know about them (except that Mac’s mother drove Eileen crazy and her mother kept him this close to a straitjacket)? Maybe they were psychotic killers who went after anyone, no matter how fantastically dressed, who didn’t make the grade with Sasha.

  Hey, it could happen.

  “I doubt a cat is framing you for murder.”

  “The owners of the cat. The cat is just part of the selective process.”

  He shook his head and kept reading. A few seconds ticked by before he arched an eyebrow at me. “Maybelline Magenta at L. C.? Is that someone’s name?”

  “Lip color.” Some people remembered names. Others faces. I rocked when it came to shades of lip gloss. “She was this lady I ran into at Liz Claiborne last week.” When he didn’t look any more enlightened. “During their last designer closeout.” Still no lightbulbs. To think I actually lusted after this guy.

  “They do them every so often—all the designers do—usually with just a last-minute notice to the public,” I prodded. “This one was done after hours as a special perk for repeat customers. While I don’t do Liz as often as I’d like, I’m still on a first-name basis with most of the sales staff. Particularly Kiki who handles the closeouts.”

  Kiki was a doll with great taste in clothes, a pixie haircut (I know: so yesterday, but on her it kicked butt and looked totally retro), and flawless makeup (Kiwiberry from Sephora).

  Kiki also knew my size and wasn’t shy about stuffing any and everything I might like under the counter until I zoomed in. What can I say? She was bisexual and totally susceptible to my vamp charms.

  “Anyhow,” I went on, “Kiki called and invited me. I got there as soon as I could—I obviously had to wait for sunset—but the place was already packed. That’s when I ran into Maybelline Magenta. We had a difference of opinion. She thought she should be in front of me, and I thought she shouldn’t. Kiki was too busy trying to help this other woman stuff her size fourteen ass into a pair of size ten jeans to referee.”

  “And?”

  “And I elbowed her. The woman, not Kiki.”

  His eyebrow kicked up a notch. “Hard enough to make her go to the trouble to kill someone and frame you for the murder?”

  “I might have kicked her, too.”

  “Might have?”

  “Okay, so I kicked her.” I shrugged. “But I didn’t mean to. I was trying to trip her. See, the elbow in her ribs made her double over, but she kept on running. She was as heterosexual as they come, so vamping was out of the question. I had to do something. She was headed for the last pair of black linen gauchos.”

  “I’m assuming the L’Oreal Wild Cranberry and the Clinique Slick Sunburst are part of the same incident.”

  I gave a nod. “I needed a white button-up and a scarf to go with the gauchos.”

  “I doubt any of these women would kill over an outfit.”

  “It was a really cute outfit.”

  Ty folded the list and stuffed it into his pocket. “If the extra paper was for more of the same, just keep it to yourself. I’ll check out everyone you’ve already written down and see if anything turns up. We’ll work it from there. In the meantime…” He handed me back my foam finger. “No more Knicks games.”

  “No problem.” I’d already maxed out my alpha possibilities at the stadium. I was headed for Home Depot next.

  He frowned. “You’re not going to a Home Depot, or anywhere else, for that matter.” His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and my heart pitter-pattered. “I mean it. This is a lot more serious than some stupid misunderstanding. We’re talking fucking DNA. You hav
e to stay off the radar until we can give the police enough evidence and a motive that points to someone besides you.” When I started to open my mouth, he added, “They’ve upped the reward.”

  “How much?”

  “One hundred thousand.”

  I smiled. That was more like it. Then I frowned. “Which means even more people will be gunning for me.”

  He nodded and my stomach bottomed out. “Humans and vamps, and neither play nice when that much money is involved.” He let his words sink in for a few seconds before he added, “You’ll be safe here, provided you do what I say.”

  “And stay put.”

  “Exactly.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.” He pushed to his feet. “I have to go out again for a little while—I’ve got to meet someone—but I’ll be back in an hour.” He pulled a slim silver cell phone from his pocket and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?” Dumb question since I already knew (see description above). What I didn’t know was what it meant.

  It means you can talk for longer than thirty seconds, provided you don’t call a number that’s being tapped.

  I gave him my most chilling stare. “I really hate it when you do that.”

  He grinned. “I picked it up this evening. It’s registered to a safe user and can’t be traced back to you. Meaning, your name won’t show up on anyone’s call list. I’ve also blocked the number from caller ID. You can call anyone except Dead End Dating. The cops are tapping the phone line there and tracing all incoming calls. While they wouldn’t be able to trace this particular phone to you, they’re bound to have voice recognition capability, which means they’ll figure it out. So no calling the office.”

  “But I can call Evie at home, right? And The Ninas?”

  He nodded. “The judge issued a warrant to monitor DED’s line only in addition to your personal cell phone. The cops pushed to get a tap on your parents, too, but Judge Ellis refused.” At my surprised expression, he added, “While he can’t ignore the evidence, he isn’t ready to give up one of his own by being overly cooperative.”

  “He’s a vampire?”

  Ty nodded. “Lucky for you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to call your folks.”

  Lucky for me.

  I ignored the depressing thought and focused on the positive. I was reconnected to the world!

  Sort of.

  “You can also check your voice mail. Just don’t delete anything or tamper with pre-existing messages in case the police are keeping tabs on them, as well.” He eyed me. “You should really connect with your parents ASAP. I’m sure they’re pretty freaked with everything going on.”

  “I don’t know if freaked is the right word to use for my folks.” Freak-y maybe.

  “They can’t be that bad.”

  I frowned. “Could you not do that?”

  “What?”

  “Read my mind.”

  “I’m not reading it. You’re broadcasting thoughts. If you don’t want me to hear, you need to learn to keep them to yourself.”

  “That’s a great theory and everything, but it doesn’t clue me in on how to do it.”

  “Put up a shield.”

  “Much better. You know, you should really give a few seminars on the topic. You’re a natural born teacher.”

  “Later.” He winked and my heart jumped. “Have fun.”

  The “fun” that rushed through my mind as the door closed behind him had nothing to do with the phone and everything to do with Ty and his wink.

  And a few, er, certain body parts.

  That lasted all of two minutes—not Ty, but the thoughts—before I managed to kill the fantasy and focus on the pressing matter at hand: reconnecting with the outside world. There were a dozen calls I needed to make, starting with the most pressing person on the list. The one who was surely killing herself with worry over my whereabouts and my well-being. The woman whose livelihood and contribution to the species depended solely on moi.

  I punched in Viola Hamilton’s number.

  “Viola Hamilton, please,” I murmured when a woman’s voice murmured “Hello?”

  “Just a sec.” I heard a lot of crackling—or maybe that was growling. After all, it was still a few hours until sunup. Viola and the NUNS were most likely enjoying the clear, moonlit night.

  More growling and lots of panting and…

  “Was that a scream?” I asked when Viola picked up the phone.

  “Practice,” Viola clarified. “Marnie Jackson is here with this guy she met at the shooting range—he’s a cop—and they’re making a practice run before the full moon.”

  Several things registered in the next few moments. Namely (a) they were having their “practice” run in front of everyone, and (b) Marnie was one of the twenty-seven I needed to hook up, which meant that knocked the total down to twenty-six, and (c) they were having their “practice” run in front of everyone.

  Of course, I focused on the point that had me the most freaked out. “Does that mean that you only need twenty-six alpha males?”

  “Actually, the practice run isn’t going as well as anticipated—he’s the one who screamed—so Marnie’s still on the list. And I need to add Emily. She and her live-in just had a terrible breakup. Of course, we’ll be happy to pay the necessary late fees that might apply.”

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  “So how’s the search going?” she went on.

  “Great. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. To touch base with you and reassure you that I’m on top of things and that there’s nothing to worry about. Not that you’re worried since you have nothing whatsoever to worry about. But just in case you might be inclined to worry, don’t. I’m searching as we speak.”

  “I was talking about the search for you, dear. That was a nasty little episode at your office. No blood, unfortunately, but still nasty. Have you ever seen so much polyester in your life?”

  If I were a vicious werewolf in desperate need to hump during the next full moon, I would have fallen head over Manolo heels for Viola.

  “It was a lot of polyester, wasn’t it?”

  “Positively ghastly. If you’re out cruising for men, I’m assuming everything is straightened out.”

  “I’m still wanted for murder. Temporarily. The police will soon realize they’ve made a mistake and turn their attention to the real killer. In the meantime, it’s business as usual.”

  “So you’re back at work in the office.”

  “I’m back at work, but I’m doing things from a different location. Not that it matters where I work from. It’s really the legwork that counts the most in the matchmaking business, and I’m doing plenty of that. I’m functioning at full capacity and raking in the alpha males.”

  “Have you found any matches?”

  “Well, no. Not yet. But I have found several prospective matches, and you can be certain that I’ll have twenty-eight tall, dark, and dangerous alpha males ready to go in time for the full moon.”

  “About the dark part…Emily’s a little quirky. She likes redheads. She’s got a thing for Ron Howard.”

  “Who?”

  “Ron Howard. He’s a director and producer now—A Beautiful Mind and all that—but he used to act. He played Richie Cunningham in Happy Days. It’s this old series that featured this really clean-cut kid and the perfect 1950s family. But he had a wild side. He played in a band on the show and that’s when Emily fell in love with him. Needless to say, she can’t shake the infatuation and it’s colored every relationship she’s had since. Which is why she doesn’t have a suitable partner now.”

  In my opinion, Emily needed a therapist more than a matchmaker.

  “I know it’s short notice, but I’ll be glad to write you a check for adding her on at the last minute and catering to her particular fetish.”

  I smiled. “I can do Ron Howard.”

  “Ron Howard with an attitude. While she likes the look, she still needs the guy to ooze testosterone t
o get her biologically worked up.”

  “So what does this Ron guy actually look like?” I so needed to watch more television. “Other than the red hair?” I crossed my fingers. “Is he rugged like the Marlboro Man?”

  “Harmless. Like Howdy Doody.”

  “Howdy who?”

  “You know. Howdy Doody and Clarabelle? The kids’ show.”

  I’d never seen Howdy Doody, but the phrase kid’s show was enough to tell me this was way over my head.

  “Howdy’s this puppet. He has pasty white skin and lots of freckles and he wears a plaid shirt. And a neckerchief.”

  O-kay.

  “And he parts his hair on the side.”

  Just say no. You can’t produce an alpha Howdy Doody. No one in the Free World could come up with one. Ever. Much less in a week and a half.

  “One alpha Howdy coming right up.”

  Hey, we’re talking late fees.

  “Wonderful. Oh, and tell your father that he can spray as much weed killer as he likes on my bushes, but it won’t work. The girls and I have been peeing on them for at least a month. They’re so healthy, they’re immune to any and everything short of nuclear fallout.”

  I had a quick mental of Viola and the NUNS “fertilizing” the length of hedges that separated her property from my folks.

  “I’ll be sure to pass on the information.” Just as soon as Morse code became vogue again and put Sprint out of business. “I’ll contact you in a few days. And remember, there’s no need to worry. I can do this.”

  “I can’t do this,” I told Evie a few minutes later when she picked up the phone. “Not by myself. I need your help.”

  “Lil?” A yawn punctuated the question. “I mean, Mrs. Vandergartenpitt?”

  “It’s flunkinpitt, and you can lose the alias. The police aren’t tapping your line.”

  Another yawn. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve got connections.”

  “The bounty hunter.” Sheets rustled and mattress springs creaked. Her voice took on an air of excitement. “You’re with the bounty hunter, aren’t you? I knew it. I went over all of the possibilities in my head, and it could only be the bounty hunter. He’s the only one who could actually help you get out of this mess. I mean, he’s got connections and he knows how to track down killers. It only makes sense that you would go to him for help.”