A Girl's Guide to Vampires do-1

by Кейти Макалистер

  She nodded. "You're a woman. He's a man. Women don't mind asking for help with a problem, while men take it as a slight to their character if they can't deal with everything themselves. Besides, you both kind of jumped into this relationship quickly. Sometimes trust takes a bit of time to build. I'm sure he'll change his mind about not telling you whatever it is he's hiding if you're patient with him and don't do anything rash."

  "Rash like telling him I didn't want to see him again?"

  She stared at me, jam dripping off the spoon she was applying to her roll. "You didn't!"

  I nodded.

  "Oh, geez." She slathered the piece of roll and popped it in her mouth. "Well, we'll deal with that in good time. We'll take the most important things first."

  "Raphael is the most important thing to me," I objected.

  "I know that," she said indistinctly around a mouthful of roll. "I meant important things as in stuff we must accomplish in order for you to be able to get Raphael where you want him—by the short and curlies."

  I pushed my cup of coffee away untasted. "Roxy, I don't understand a thing you're saying. What things are you talking about?"

  She wiped her jammy hands on a napkin before ticking the items off on her fingers. "One, we find out what Raphael's secret is."

  I stared at her. "Have you heard anything I said? He wouldn't tell me."

  "We won't ask him." She smiled complacently. "Two, we determine who killed Tanya."

  I rubbed my forehead. The headache I had been nursing ever since I got up was building. "Christian killed Tanya," I said very slowly, enunciating clearly just in case she couldn't hear and chew at the same time.

  She waved her roll—her third roll—at me. "I don't buy that. Christian doesn't seem to me to be the type to kill someone."

  I stared at her. "Roxy, he drinks people's blood to survive. He can kill people without touching them. He's lived for more than nine hundred years, and he's been turned down repeatedly by the one woman who he thinks can save him. Of course he's the type to kill! You're just letting the fact that he's Dante sway your judgment."

  "Geez, you really don't have faith in anyone, do you?"

  That stopped me dead.

  "You don't trust Raphael when he asks you to, you believe a man who's only showed you kindness and given you information that could be used against him is a murdering bastard, and you don't give me credit for seeing a few things you're too blind to notice."

  "I'm sorry, Rox, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't seeing things clearly. I just—it's just that Christian didn't share his visions with you. They weren't nice, Roxy. He's a very, very powerful man, tormented and in constant battle with himself. It's because of the blackness I've seen within him that I know he is capable of killing."

  "Has he been anything but gentle with you?"

  "No, but he thinks I'm his Beloved."

  "Exactly. So why would he take the chance of angering or sickening you by ruthlessly killing someone, knowing full well that you'd guess he was responsible for it?"

  I stared at her in surprise. I hadn't thought of that. Surely Christian must realize I'd know if he killed Tanya.

  Roxy nodded as the understanding dawned in my eyes. "If you're right and he can feed on anyone he wants, it only makes sense that he'd do so away from here, somewhere you wouldn't hear about it. Killing Tanya just doesn't make sense."

  I rubbed my forehead again. "All right, if that's the case, then who did kill her? And don't tell me it's Raphael, because I won't believe it."

  "Well, he did have both the opportunity and the motive."

  "What motive?" I asked, bristling against my will at the slur on his character.

  "His secret, whatever it is. Which brings us back to the list. Once we find out what his secret is and clear him of murdering Tanya, we will know what to do about Dominic."

  "Dominic?" I tried to follow her convoluted reasoning. "You mean about him blackmailing Raphael?"

  Something occurred to me as I spoke the words. Dominic had a fight with Tanya the day before she died—he might fill the role of murderer. "Or about Tanya's murder? Or both?"

  "Hmm. Dominic as murderer—I suppose it's possible." She shrugged and reached for my pot of coffee, pouring herself a cup and adding an unhealthy dollop of cream. "Doesn't matter; either way, we get Dominic off Raphael's back. If he's the murderer, he goes to jail. If he's not and we figure out Raphael's secret, we apply a little judicious blackmail pressure of our own."

  "What sort of blackmail pressure?" I asked suspiciously.

  "Who knows? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. You want that last roll?"

  I stared at it, not seeing it. Raphael's face loomed large in my mind. "OK. I guess. I'm game."

  "Either he's worth fighting for, or he's not the one for you," Roxy said sagely, buttering the roll.

  I met her gaze as her words clicked into place. "He's worth fighting for."

  "I thought you'd see it that way. Let's get a little breffy under our belts, then we'll tackle item one."

  "You've already eaten enough rolls for two people," I pointed out.

  "A girl needs her strength when she's saving her best friend's romance, not to mention uncovering mysterious secrets and solving a murder."

  "You sound like an overgrown Nancy Drew," I smiled.

  "I always liked Nancy. You can be my George."

  "Oh, hell," I said, looking over her shoulder.

  "What? You want to be Bess instead? That's OK with me, but I always thought Bess was a bit of a wet blanket."

  "No, it's not that."

  "Don't tell me you want to be Hannah Gruen? Wasn't she elderly? Well, OK, you can be her, but don't be saying things like 'Lawks a-mercy, Miss Nancy' to me."

  I nodded to the man in the doorway and rose from my chair. "Will you stop? Inspector Bartos and that flunky of his are here. Eat up, Nancy. I think we're about to be grilled by the coppers."

  The bar was closed at this time of the morning, which evidently made it a good place for the local cops to interview people. There were four tables set up at opposite corners of the room, each occupied by a policeman. People from the fair staggered in through the outer door, lining the hall, their eyes blurred and red from being short-shifted in the sleep department.

  A policewoman with a little black moustache held up a hand to stop us as she consulted a list. She said something and waved me forward, but stopped Roxy before she could enter the bar.

  "Looks like you're on your own, George," she called out to me as I entered the bar. "Don't be so stubborn that you don't call Ned Nickerson for help if you need it. I'm sure he'd help if he knew you needed it."

  Calling Ned, AKA Bob the Pigheaded, was not going to be a problem, I reflected as I stepped into the bar. He was standing near one of the tables with Inspector Bartos, arguing in a low but vehement voice. Whatever he was saying did not go down well with Bartos, because the latter was shaking his head and looking like he was wishing he could shut Raphael up. I wondered whether Raphael had volunteered to speak to them or if they'd had to drag him in, then lectured myself for having so little faith in the man with whom, even if he did drive me up the wall with his refusal to dish with the truth, I was madly in love.

  Inspector Bartos spotted me and managed to get a word in to Raphael. I decided the best defense was a strong offense and, raising my chin, marched over to where they both watched me. "Inspector Bartos, Raphael. You wanted to see me?" I asked Bartos. "I told you everything you could possibly want to know last night, several times, in fact. What do you want now?"

  Not even Nancy Drew's brash best friend George would address a police inspector in such an arrogant tone, but I was just about at my limit, and it wasn't even lunchtime. Inspector Bartos didn't seem to be offended, however. His voice was mild as he said, "Mr. St. John was just giving me the benefit of his advice, Miss Randall. If you would wait at that table, I will be available in a very short time."

  "Mr. St. John is very good at giving ad
vice," I told him, ignoring Raphael looming over me. "It's taking it that sticks in his craw."

  "Joy," Raphael growled at me in warning, taking my hand.

  I took it back. "Unless you have something to confide in me, I don't believe we have anything to say to each other."

  His eyes turned molten. "We damned well do." He grabbed my head and laid his lips on me so quickly, so hard and fast and full of unspoken demand, that I just stood there and let him kiss me. "Don't give up on me," he said in a low voice, his eyes burning me as his thumb brushed a line along my jaw. He looked over my head to Inspector Bartos. "You're making a mistake, Bartos. I can prove what I've said. If you'll just contact the Heidelberg police—"

  "It is my mistake to make, you agree? Contacting the German police won't be necessary," Bartos told him. "You will remain available for interview."

  Raphael's jaw tightened, but he nodded, then looked back at me. His thumb teased my lower lip. "Remember what I said," he warned me, then dropped his hand from my face and left the bar.

  I stood brainless, bemused, so madly in love that I could just lie down on the floor kicking my heels and having a hissy fit over the way things had turned out, but we Randalls are made of sterner stuff. Raphael gave me much to think about, but unfortunately—"I am ready for you now, Miss Randall," Bartos said behind me.

  I watched through the window as Raphael strode across the parking lot, heading back to the meadow. He looked so tired and frustrated, I wanted to cradle his head against my breasts and make everything all better.

  "Miss Randall?"

  Two policemen passed Raphael on their way in to the hotel. He literally stood head and shoulders above them, the very embodiment of masculinity. I sighed. He certainly was perfect, if you were willing to overlook the fact that he was pigheaded and stubborn, had difficulty trusting people, and didn't want to need anyone.

  "Miss Randall, the morning is passing. If it would not be too troublesome, I would like to conduct your interview now."

  Raphael disappeared from view. I turned to look at Bartos, not really seeing him. The conversation Raphael had with Bartos was very interesting. Had he volunteered advice? About the murder in Heidelberg? Perhaps he had decided to come clean with the police regarding his past… then again, the way Bartos demanded he remain available for interview was not a sign the police viewed him as innocent.

  "The chair is very comfortable, I assure you. And the table is a fine example of local craftsmanship. If you would just seat yourself, I believe you will agree."

  What did Raphael mean about not giving up on him? What kind of a demand was that for him to make of me? He'd given up on me even before we had a chance, hadn't he? And just what did give up mean? Ha! I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to fawn all over him, telling him how marvelous he was no matter how terribly he treated me. How dare he expect me to stay devoted to him, consumed by thoughts of him, thinking of him to the exclusion of all else?

  "Miss Randall, my wife is expecting me home for dinner this evening. Shall I tell her otherwise?"

  Well, I wouldn't do it! I just wouldn't! If he wanted a devoted slave, a groupie, he could just look elsewhere. I had too much self-respect to turn myself into a doormat just so his manly ego could stomp all over it. Give up on him, ha!

  Inspector Bartos sighed, his moustache ruffling with the force of it. I blinked and realized I had been staring at him. "What? Did you just ask me to dinner?"

  His lips compressed to a hard line. "Have you returned to us?"

  "Returned? What are you talking about? I've been standing here waiting for you. Are you ready now?"

  He looked like he wanted to sigh again, but shook his head instead. "Yes, I am ready for you. If you will please sit?"

  The interview didn't cover any new ground. I didn't understand why they wanted me to go over my actions the night before again and again, but figured maybe they were waiting for me to suddenly crack and admit I killed Tanya, or make some glaring mistake retelling my story that would indicate I was lying through my teeth. I did neither.

  Until he started asking the hard questions.

  "Is it true that two days ago Tanya Renauld said to you"—he flipped a couple of pages in his notebook—"that she would only be happy when you were dead?"

  My stomach wadded up into a tiny ball and rattled around my body. I wondered who had snitched on me—Roxy? Christian? It had to be Roxy; I doubted the inspector had found Christian before he disappeared for the day. I frowned at that thought, wondering why Christian had remained silent through the night if he was innocent. Could he have been wounded somehow? Restrained by some means? In light of his innocence, his silence took on a new, more worrisome meaning.

  "Um… maybe."

  Inspector Bartos looked up from his notebook. "Maybe? Could you be more specific? Did she threaten you or not?"

  My palms started sweating. "Well… yes, she did. But she was very angry—"

  "Immediately upon threatening your life, did she throw a bucket of water on you?"

  There was no use denying it; too many people had seen us. I gnawed on my lower lip and nodded.

  "Was it your impression that she was serious in her threats to you?"

  I hesitated. I didn't want to lie, but I couldn't see what good telling him that she was in deadly earnest would do anyone. "Although I didn't really know her, it was fairly obvious that Tanya was a very volatile person. She was also extremely irate over the fact that her boyfriend was using me to make her jealous—without my permission, as I've told you a couple of times. Given all that, I would say that at the moment she threw the water on me, she wouldn't have broken out into sobs if I had dropped down dead on the spot."

  His moustache ruffled a little at that. I watched it, fascinated. It was as if the thing had a life of its own. He flipped through a few more pages. "Miss Renauld made statements that could be interpreted as threatening to you at other times, did she not?"

  "She was pretty much angry nonstop with me, so it's no surprise she said nasty things." I leaned forward. "Look, Inspector, I don't know what you're driving at with all these questions about Tanya threatening me. She was killed, not me. She held a grudge against me, not vice versa. I was more than happy to go my own way and not have anything to do with her, and I certainly didn't bear her any ill will other than disliking being used as a pawn by her and Dominic."

  "A woman has been murdered, Miss Randall," Bartos said neutrally, reminding me of Christian at his peacemaking best. "It is my duty to uncover all the unpleasantness surrounding her death whether or not you believe it has a bearing on the situation."

  My spirits dropped to hang around my knees with the wadded-up ball of my stomach.

  "If you would go over the events of the evening one more time, beginning with your conference with Miss Arielle Renauld here in this bar…"

  I slumped in my chair. The day stretched before me in a perpetual loop of retelling the same thing over and over and over again.

  An hour later I stumbled out of the bar, the inspector's rebuffs echoing in my ears.

  "You are under a misimpression, Miss Randall. My role in this investigation is to gather information, not give it," he said in response to my question of whether or not Raphael was a suspect. Our interview was at an end, but I had figured there was no better opportunity to try and worm a few facts out about Raphael.

  "I'm not asking you to tell me what he said to you, just whether or not he's on your list of suspects. I can't help but be worried, what with his history with the police…" I purposely let my sentence trail off in hopes he'd take the bait, but evidently he'd been hooked before.

  "Mr. St. John did not inform me that you were acquainted with his past history with the police," he said, faint disapproval tingeing his voice.

  I tried not to squirm under his gimlet eyes. "Raphael and I are very close, as I have told you. And we have discussed the situation, and the issue of his past." Truth—it was all the truth. Misleading, yes, intended to give a false impress
ion that I knew everything, true, but still a form of the truth. "I'm sure it just escaped his mind to tell you that."

  "I see. And what do you expect me to tell you?"

  "That you don't consider him a likely suspect for killing Tanya."

  Inspector Bartos just looked at me out of half-closed eyes.

  "Oh, come on," I said in response to his silence. "Just because Raphael has a history involving… well, involving the police doesn't mean that you can pin this on him. He's no more likely to have killed Tanya than I am! If I'm not a suspect, there's no way you can rationally include Raphael on your list of supposed perpetrators."

  He gave me one of his martyred looks. "Ah, but Miss Randall, when have I given the impression that you are not on that list?"

  I stared at him open-mouthed, stunned that he could consider me capable of murder. He took advantage of my speechless state to escort me to the door of the bar, wishing me a good day.

  I headed straight for the bench out front where I could sit and breath fresh air and enjoy not being questioned. Roxy, who had been interviewed and released before me, was chatting with a group of people getting ready to go on a bike ride.

  I plopped down beside her with a, "Well! How do you like that! The good inspector thinks I murdered Tanya!"

  Roxy shrugged and called out a goodbye as the bike riders pedaled off.

  "What do mean by that shrug?" I demanded. "Do you mean you're not surprised that your best friend in the whole wide world is a murder suspect, or do you mean that it's all too silly for words, and thus you won't even try to express your contempt for a man who could say such patently false things?"

  "We need to get you some Valium or something. You're going postal."

  "I am not going postal, I've just been third degreed. Bartos all but brought out the rubber hose. I'm surprised he didn't flick a few lit matches on me, just to see if I'd sing."

  Roxy chuckled and got to her feet, pulling me up after her. "You've got your sense of humor back. I'm glad to see you're not depressed over Tattoo Boy any longer. Come on, we have investigating to do. While you were in there having bamboo shoved under your fingernails, I've been busy working."