The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  He presented such an inexplicable mixture of badass, crossed with male nurse, that it almost made Giselle chuckle. With him ministering so tenderly to her, she wondered how she could ever have imagined him to be a meanie.

  Ry paused and glanced up at her. “You’re a kind of Typhoid Mary, aren’t you? You bring chaos wherever you go.”

  Now she could imagine him a meanie. She could also imagine kicking him in the shins. That was a cheerful thought.

  Turning back to his work, Ry swiped the scrape with an antiseptic-soaked cotton swab. It stung and her knee jerked reflexively.

  “Hey, that hurts.”

  “It could have been worse,” he muttered as he continued to treat the scrape. “I haven’t known you for very long, but it doesn’t seem like you’re the type of person someone would want to kill. I mean, I’m sure that everyone who has ever met you has been aggravated enough to want to strangle you at one time or another, but there can’t be anyone with hatred sustainable enough to want you dead.”

  “Thanks…I think.”

  “Did you see the license plate?”

  “No, and I couldn’t describe the car. All I saw was a big, fast-moving blur. The car might have been light blue.”

  Ry rose out of his crouch and sat opposite her across the kitchen table. “Maybe it wasn’t someone who wants to kill you. Maybe it was just one of Savannah’s notoriously bad drivers. Savannah is the city of the to-go cup, you know—liquor on the go.”

  “I’d like to think that.” She bit her lip. “But I received a death threat at my hotel earlier. I thought at the time it must be a joke.”

  “What did it say?”

  “‘Leave Savannah or else.’”

  “That’s a death threat all right.”

  “I’m glad to have a professional opinion.” Heavy sarcasm dripped from her tone. Giselle took a Band-Aid off the kitchen table, opened its wrapper and applied it to her knee.

  “Has anyone gotten violent while you’ve been here?” Ry stood. He took the remnants of the wrapper and the bloody swabs and tossed them into the trashcan in the corner of the room.

  “The closest was you throwing me out of your office, but I think we can rule you out as a suspect since you were standing in front of the restaurant at the time of the near miss.”

  “Good deductive reasoning there. Is there anyone else who has thrown you out of their premises except me?” he asked with a half a chuckle as he leaned against the refrigerator.

  Giselle’s cheeks reddened and she sat in an embarrassed silence.

  “There was? Who?”

  Wincing as she looked up, Giselle almost whispered her answer. “Madam Divinity.”

  His eyes widened. “Who did you say?”

  “Madam Divinity, the psychic reader.”

  Barking laughter erupted from Ry. “Oh, my Lord, that’s rich.” His eyes watered and he choked on the last chuckle. “What did you do to her?”

  “It’s a long story. Do you know her?”

  “I have a passing acquaintance with the lady,” Ry said, his eyes still dancing. “We can put her on the list of possibles, but I don’t think she’s a likely suspect.”

  “What do you mean ‘we’? Are you going to help me?”

  Ry went to the cupboard near the stove. “I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

  “I’d like tea actually, but don’t change the subject. What are you saying?”

  “I’ll help you with your investigation.”

  Giselle jumped up at his words and he held out his hand in caution.

  “But I want it well understood that I am not a psychic and I think all that paranormal stuff is mumbo-jumbo. Nevertheless, it’s clear to me that you might be in danger and you need protection.”

  “Thank you,” Giselle said with quiet sincerity.

  “Besides, the sooner you finish that article and get out of Savannah, the sooner I can get back to my peaceful existence,” he mocked.

  “Thanks ever so much,” she retorted with equal mock. He could really aggravate her. “I know why you’re really going to help me.”

  His expression was blank.

  “You just want the chance to kiss me again,” she said.

  He flushed and started a sputtering response.

  Giselle cut him off. “But I can tell you right now that it’s not going to work. This arrangement is strictly professional. No more forcing me to kiss you,” Giselle finished with a smug smile.

  “As I recall, there was more than kissing going on in that closet.”

  “I…I…don’t recall that.” Now it was Giselle’s turn to sputter. “But anyway…professional from now on.”

  “Professional is perfect for me too,” he said. “And with me on the job, the city of Savannah can sleep more safely tonight. Left to your own devices, you’d probably accost innocent people all over town. If not for me, I shudder to think of the fate of the poor Civil War re-enactors who’ll be in the park this weekend.”

  Giselle pouted. “That’s so unfair. I think I would be able to tell the difference between someone playing dress up and a ghost.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Ry grumbled.

  Giselle decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Better not argue with him. Just let him win the war of words. He had agreed to help her and that had to be enough. Just let him have the last word. She could do that. She was an adult. She wasn’t three. Oh, heck. “I could so.”

  Ry turned away, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. Better not to know what he’d said.

  While Ry puttered around in the kitchen making her tea, Giselle wandered into the dining room and through to the sitting room at the front of the house. Instead of the antique parlor furnishings she might have expected, Giselle instead found a comfortable modern living room décor. And the room had been decked out with the latest in toys.

  A brown leather sofa and love seat with a teak wood coffee table had been placed to face a large screen, plasma television with state-of-the-art theater sound equipment. A high quality stereo system and the latest computer gaming technology completed the entertainment system that spanned one entire wall of the room. A typical guy set up.

  Giselle smiled when she saw the computer with high-speed modem on a desk in the “office” corner of the room.

  “Do you mind if I check my email?” Giselle called through to the kitchen.

  “Help yourself.” A shout came back.

  Giselle logged on to the magazine’s website and found she had twenty-eight new messages. A message from Willie marked urgent stood out. Maybe she’d open that one last. Yeah, that one could wait.

  Oh, dammit, she’d better open it first. It was hell being a responsible person.

  Giselle! What have you done? What are these charges? Psychic reading and damages. Destruction of medium’s apparatus, pain and suffering? Turn on your cell phone now!!! I can’t believe—

  Giselle clicked out without reading the remainder.

  Glancing through the list of other messages, she saw one from an unexpected source with today’s date. Another click of the mouse brought the message up.

  Giselle, my sweet. I have heard through the grapevine that you are in Savannah doing an article for your magazine. What a coincidence. I too am here. I recently moved from that dirty hellhole which is New Orleans. I have an excellent story I believe you will wish to use in your article. Can you meet with me this evening, after dark, perhaps for supper? I of course will not be dining on you, do not worry (ha, ha). I will take a chance on your agreement and be waiting for you at an outdoor table at the restaurant near the corner of Jefferson and Congress (the City Market area) at 8:00 p.m. Yours, the Vampire Lester.

  Fabulous. Perhaps Lester would have a lead on a ghost. Believing himself to be a vampire would surely give him contacts in the paranormal community, wouldn’t it? Giselle checked her watch. 7:23 p.m. Plenty of time to meet Lester. Ry would be thrilled. In fact, she couldn’t wait to tell h
im.

  “Hey, Ry, guess who’s coming to dinner?”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, the two of them had departed Ry’s house and were walking down the front stairs to the sidewalk along the brick-paved street. The evening was warm and sticky. The live oaks made a dark canopy over the street. The sound of the insects and city traffic mixed. The night’s symphony had begun.

  Ry took no notice of what could have been a romantic atmosphere. He did place himself between Giselle and the street, which made her melt inside at his protectiveness. Realistically, he was probably just going with that Southern gentleman upbringing and it had nothing to do with feelings for her.

  “I can’t believe you talked me into meeting with this phony vampire,” he grumbled.

  “None of that phony stuff when we see Lester. This guy takes the vampire thing very seriously,” Giselle said, her high heels clicking against the bricks of the sidewalk. “Besides, you don’t know that he isn’t a vampire. For all you know he could be real. He could be an undead, blood-sucking fiend who will rip out our throats on sight.”

  “We can only hope so, for the sake of your article,” Ry said dryly.

  They soon found themselves passing a familiar place.

  “Oh look, honey, it’s the café where we met for the first time.” Giselle grabbed his arm in mock flirtation.

  “How could I forget? But in my memory, it’s the spot where you tried to knock me senseless for the first time,” Ry responded in kind.

  “Giselle. I see you!” A familiar voice with a French accent interrupted what would have been a very erudite reply on her part.

  “Omigod,” Giselle muttered to Ry. “It’s that annoying Vector guy. Let’s get out of here before—”

  “Too late,” Ry said. “Here he comes.”

  The skunk ran across the street toward them from the café.

  “You do not call me,” he said, ignoring Ry. A frown of consternation twisted his French skunk face.

  “No. I do not call you.” Giselle stated the obvious.

  “Pour quoi?”

  “What?” Giselle asked.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “What?”

  “Stop it. I’m getting confused,” Giselle said. “What do you want?”

  “Why you do not call me? All day I am thinking, Vector, why she does not call you? And then I think, Vector, she does not call because you do not protect her from the bugger. And then I say to myself, ‘No, Vector, she will know you cannot injure the hands of a great artiste.’ This would be catastrophe, no?”

  “No.”

  “But then I see you. It is how-you-say fate,” he gushed. “Now we have the dinner. We must pay Dutch of course. But we have nice food and then we go to the hotel for the sex. Yes?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? You have the sex?”

  “No. Stop it. You are incredible.” Giselle shook her head.

  The little skunk puffed with pride. “Merci.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  “What is this word comp…compli…?”

  Giselle turned to Ry. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not a thing.”

  “This bugger, he is molesting you?” The skunk gestured toward Ry.

  I wish. “No,” Giselle said. “I cannot believe this. I want nothing to do with you. Get lost. Do you understand?”

  “Ahhhh. I know.” Vector tapped his forehead. “You play the hard-to-get act.” He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “Your rejection, it excite me. I want you more than ever before. What hotel do you stay? I send you the flowers. I woo.”

  Giselle yanked her hand away from his clutching fingers. “I’m not telling you the name of my hotel. Get away from me. Don’t speak to me again.”

  As Giselle stomped away, the skunk followed, close on her heels. Ry brought up the rear of the conga line, having some difficulty in walking and laughing at the same time.

  “Ooooh, you are magnifique. I burn with the lust for you.”

  Giselle stopped and turned a burning glare on Vector.

  Ry pulled the skunk back by his tail-like hair and out of striking distance. “I think she’s reached her limit. You’d better get out of here. She could squash you like a bug,” Ry said.

  “You would fight me for her?” the skunk asked, puffing out his chest and bringing up his tiny fists.

  “Yes,” Ry said with a smirk.

  The skunk shrank back. “I do not have time to fight the duel tonight. Besides we need the boxing gloves. I must protect the hands.” The skunk made a move to embrace Giselle, who slapped him away. “I must depart, ma cheri. Au revoir.” And with that, the skunk scuttled off.

  Ry appeared to a have a comment ready to burst out.

  “Not a word out of you,” Giselle growled.

  “Didn’t I see him in a cartoon somewhere?” Ry chortled.

  “Shush it!”

  “What does that make you? Zee cat?”

  “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

  * * *

  The skunk incident nearly caused them to be late for the appointment with the Vampire Lester. Fortunately, her anger spurred Giselle to a fast-paced stride and they were right on time.

  The restaurant Lester had chosen for the meeting specialized in both seafood and Italian cuisine. The modest restaurant had most of its seating located outside. Musicians played on the mall area of City Market and their music carried to Ry and Giselle as they approached.

  Giselle spotted Lester right away. Seated as promised at an outdoor table, a nearby streetlight illuminated his pale and emaciated handsomeness. Straight black hair, arranged loosely, touched the top of his shoulders. The vampire’s dark eyes stood out, pathetically large in his heart-shaped, porcelain face. He sat cross-legged in black velvet trousers accompanied by a crisp white shirt. The shirt had flounces at the open neck and at the cuffs. Apparently vampires didn’t feel the effect of hot, humid weather. The ensemble, while gothly stylish, couldn't be called cool by any stretch of the imagination.

  Giselle saw that the vampire was not alone. A woman sat with her chair pulled around the table so that it was beside Lester’s. Although seated, she was probably tall—much taller than Lester. Like him, her pale complexion shown almost translucent under the streetlights. She had long black hair, dark eyes and matching emaciation. She wore a long black dress. Her hand, with pointed blood-red nails, gripped Lester’s arm tightly. Good thing he didn’t have any circulation to cut off.

  When he caught sight of Giselle, Lester leapt to his feet with swanlike grace. He kissed her on first one cheek and then the other in the style of Europeans. His companion also rose. She hung back, looking sullen and morose.

  The woman spoke with a deep tone and an accent of undetermined origin. “He says he is overcome with joy at seeing you once again. He also says that your beauty is greater than when he last saw you.” The woman didn’t appear at all happy to be conveying this message.

  Lester appeared no happier. He merely continued to gaze at Giselle with those dark, saucer-like, sad eyes as he held out a chair for her to take a seat. Maybe this was as much emotion as vampires could show.

  Giselle sat down and Ry plopped into a chair opposite her. Lester glided back into his own place.

  “Has Lester lost his voice?” Giselle didn’t remember him being mute on their date. In fact, he had talked quite extensively about his litigation and the curses that would befall the plagiarizing author. “Does he have laryngitis?”

  “No,” the woman answered. “But he has not spoken a word since—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The tragedy.”

  “Tragedy?”

  “The lawsuit was dismissed.” She put a finger to her lips and whispered again. “We do not speak of it.”

  “Well, I suppose he couldn’t go on a hunger strike,” Giselle mumbled. “For
give me. But who are you?”

  “I am Marissa La Bianca. I am Lester’s lover.” She said the word lover with heavy emphasis on the V. As if the word were a dagger.

  “Congratulations,” Giselle replied.

  Marissa frowned in seeming confusion at Giselle reaction.

  A waitress appeared and deposited ice waters and menus for all before rushing away.

  Giselle turned to Ry. “As long as we are making introductions, this is Ry Leland. He’s a detective who’s assisting me with my article.”

  Marissa’s eyes widened. “You are police?”

  “No, Ry is a psychic detective,” Giselle said.

  “How do you do,” Ry said. “I’m not a psychic anything. I am just a private investigator reluctantly roped into this phony farce.”

  “Ixnay on the onyfay.” Giselle whispered furiously to Ry behind her hand.

  Ry whispered back behind his hand. “It is phony.”

  Giselle kicked him in the shins, which he endured with hardly a wince, and she turned back to the morose twosome.

  “Oh, Ry, don’t be so modest. For example, I bet you can read my mind right now.” Giselle smiled and winked.

  Lester and Marissa stared back in silence. No sense of humor detected there. Oh, well.

  “I was very pleased to hear from you, Lester. How long have you been in Savannah?” Giselle inserted to break the silence that had settled over the table.

  Marissa answered. “We moved from New Orleans two months ago.” Marissa was sitting so close to Lester, she looked like she was on his lap. With her answering questions directed to him, the scene resembled a bizarre ventriloquist show.

  “Why move from New Orleans?” Giselle asked.

  Lester scribbled on a paper napkin on the table in front of him and then handed it to Marissa who read it aloud. “‘There were too many vampire poseurs there. It was disgusting.’”

  Ry choked on the glass of ice water he’d been drinking.

  “When the tragedy occurred, there was just no reason to stay there,” Marissa continued. “Especially when our crypt was washed away by a hurricane. Nobody cared. We did not even get help from FEMA, no compensation whatsoever.”