She harrumphed.
“How’s Papa?” I asked her, to change the subject.
“She asked how you are,” my mother said loudly, without moving the phone.
“Good, good,” he said. “Tell my Itzpa I love her.”
His voice lifted my frown. He’d always said I reminded him of the Aztec warrior goddess Itzpapalotl, hence my nickname. Maybe he was right, although I didn’t look much like a knife-winged butterfly.
“He says he loves you, and he’s good,” she repeated.
“Tell him I love him, too. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m meeting some friends,” I lied.
We hung up after our goodbyes. The light turned green, and I drove the last block to my hotel. It was a chain, but a nice one near Baylor. Its large surface parking lots were nearly full, though, and there was no valet. I settled for a narrow spot on the last row of the lot farthest from the hotel, breathing in the earthy scent of the river nearby.
As I closed my car door, a male voice from my right said, “Michele?”
I whirled, startled. There was no one there. Then a figure emerged from behind a dark-colored Suburban.
“Oh.” My hand flew up, palm over breastbone, my heart thumping wildly under it. It was a man I’d seen when I first got to the theater that evening, but I couldn’t remember his name. “You’re Katie’s friend.”
“Yes.”
At my side, I slipped my keys between my fingers with the pointed end extended. Gouge the attacker’s eyes out, from Self-defense 101. I started walking briskly toward the hotel, aiming for the pools of light under streetlamps along the way. The convention center was nearer and brighter than the hotel, but it appeared deserted.
The man caught up with me in three quick steps. He wasn’t tall, but taller than me. I knew that I was no match for him in speed or power. His sudden appearance, the strange, violent evening, and now his close proximity sent adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“So, you’re staying here,” he said, not making it a question, his face and head briefly illuminated by a streetlight.
In my peripheral vision, I saw a butcher knife in his hand. It morphed into a chainsaw, and I shook my head hard to clear the image. Stop it, I told myself. Not now.
“Uh-huh.” I heard the tremor in my voice, and I sped up to cross Franklin Street.
He matched my short stride easily. After long uncomfortable moments, he said, “I guess most everyone is, because of the reunion.”
“Uh-huh.” Only ten more yards and I’d reach the greenery, portico, and floodlights in front of the hotel.
“What about Katie?”
Without facing him, I said, “I didn’t ask. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I literally ran the last few steps, past a musty-scented water fountain and onto red brick pavers. I stretched my arm out for the door. Inside, a bellhop in a round-topped hat faced away from me, chatting with a teenage girl in a tight purple dress. Beyond her, more young people in formal wear milled about the lobby. No one was paying any attention to what was happening just a few feet away on the other side of the glass. My accoster’s hand arrested me, squeezing my arm, pulling me backward, out of sight of the shiny, happy people inside. I tried to rip my arm away, but his fingers dug in tighter. Behind him, sheet lightning crackled across the entire horizon for long seconds.
“No need to be rude.” He bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile.
His canines lengthened until I realized I was imagining a rabid dog Papa had put down when I was a girl. Close to screaming, I looked around frantically for humans outside. There wasn’t even a parked car. Too early for the prom-goers to head home, too late for most people checking in.
“Let go of me.”
He slowly released me, his eyes locked on mine and his expression never changing. I watched the flesh fall away from the bones on his face. In its place was a skull with blazing red eyes. Enough, Michele. My skin burned where his fingers had dug into my arm. I glanced at it, and there were angry nail indentations at the end of four red marks. I backed away from him, toward the hotel entrance.
He darted in front of me and put his hand on the door.
“What do you want?” This time I couldn’t hide the unsteadiness in my voice.
“I just want you to be a decent human being and not such a goddamn bitch.”
His words turned my blood to ice. I tried to swallow, couldn’t, and tried again, this time successfully. My mind raced. Had I done something to this guy? How could I get him to back off?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be. It’s just that I have”—I touched my head—“a wicked headache, and I left my drugs in my room.”
He shrugged. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Footsteps approached along with the sound of laughter. Evan, the lover we’d rejected for Katie, walked up to the door, heels clicking behind him. I braced myself, but the woman who came into view wasn’t Katie. She was familiar-looking, though, with a burlesque mask, teased dark hair, a miniskirt, layered tank tops sans bra, and cowboy boots. Not a lawyer from the theater, though. Where had I seen her?
Evan’s eyes fell on me. He nodded curtly. “Michele.”
My accoster took a step back, his face down. “Great seeing you, Michele. I hope I run into you again this weekend.”
I didn’t answer him. Evan opened the door for his companion, and I slipped in behind her.
“Thank you,” I said to Evan.
No matter what a slut Evan was, I thanked God for sending him. Who knew what that freak from the parking lot might’ve done to me? I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. For a moment, I considered reporting him to hotel security. I looked around for a guard, but didn’t see one in the crush of partygoers. I decided to get to my room before the freak came back. I’d call security from there.
Evan and his new friend were at the elevators, and she had her hand up the back of his suit coat, in front of God and everyone. He turned to her, returning the favor and jamming his tongue down her throat and squashing the feather on the side of her mask. I swallowed my disgust and made my way toward the elevators and them, eyes averted. The lights above the elevator showed it to be on the third floor, stopped. To my left was an EXIT sign. Stairs. I had an image of Evan grinding on his lady friend against the mirror in the elevator. Not happening, I thought. I slipped through the door and out of my shoes and started running up the stairs, one hand on the railing.
Then a chilling thought hit me. The psycho had asked about Katie. If he was still lurking outside the hotel, he might intercept her and Emily. I got my phone out and pressed Katie’s number.
It went straight to voicemail.
Katie
“Into the bathtub,” Emily said. “Now.”
She pushed my shoulders back firmly, herding me toward the water like I was a sea cow or manatee or whatever you call those things.
I waved a hand at her, closing my eyes. “All right, all right. I’m going.” I turned. The tub had a showerhead at one end and frosted sliding glass doors opened to reveal its back end. I stepped in and sat so fast I splashed water out. “Ouch!” I yelled, and jumped from the tub. Not because I’d sat too hard, but because the water was so hot it was boiling the flesh off my bones. First up on tonight’s menu, boiled sea cow followed by steamed lawyer.
“Too hot?”
I clutched Emily’s arm. “About ten times.” I knew my tone was Grade A bitchy, but with good reason. I lifted my leg to show her the red marks ending in angry lines against my normally white skin. I lost my balance and put my foot back down.
She turned on the cold, swished it around with her hands. She reminded me of my mother. Mom was the closest thing to an angel I knew. I smiled, closing my eyes again.
“Hello, are you getting back in?” Emily asked.
Not like my mom.
I didn’t bother answering her, just tried again, more slowly this time. Better. I slipped down into the water until I was fully immersed. Snatches of lyrics played in my head, dis
jointed, random. Umbrella. Glamorous. Wasted. The evening played back against that soundtrack in a series of vivid flashes, and I sat up, gasping. “The actress.” It came out as “Thuh actrusssss.” Emily was mad at me for drinking too much, so I tried to sound like her and continued. “She’s really dead.” I pushed my hair back. My face felt sort of numb. I pressed my fingertips into my cheeks. Emily didn’t answer. I dropped my hands. “Did you hear me?”
I could see her rummaging in her suitcase, ignoring me. I leaned my head back against the wall, resting my neck on the lip of the tub. Be still, I said to the room at large, but only in my head. More memories surfaced. I’d given an interview to the cops, I remembered, but the details were fuzzy—except that the officer was really cute.
“I didn’t say anything stupid to the police?” I said, making it into a question.
This time I got a reply. Emily didn’t stop what she was doing or look at me—God forbid. “Well, they didn’t arrest you.”
I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me. “What’d you tell them?” It’s not like Emily’d never been drunk before. I’d seen it with my own eyes. I couldn’t help that I was such a lightweight. And I really should’ve eaten more before the show. But I didn’t. I vaguely remembered dry chicken in a to-go box landing on the floorboard as we drove back to the hotel. Whoopsie.
“I told them about that thing on the chair beside me. The tablecloth or sheet or whatever it was. And the woman’s boyfriend at our table.”
It was like she was speaking Greek. “Oh yeah.” I squeezed water out of the ends of my hair. “The sheet and the boyfriend.”
Emily sighed long and loud.
This wasn’t going to go well unless I sucked up. And I was already feeling nauseous. “Thanks for being there for me. I guess I had a little too much tonight.”
“You had a lot too much.” Emily came to the doorway of the bathroom, her hip against the doorframe, one foot in modified tree pose.
Did Emily even do yoga? I thought all she did was ride my ass. Or horses. Sometimes both. Not at the same time.
“You’ve had a lot too much a lot lately. Is something the matter?”
I lathered up the tiny bar of hotel soap. “Oh, goodness, no.” I sniffed. Yuck. The soap reeked of fake roses. It squirted out of my hands and landed in the water with a plink. I probed for it, then stopped. No loss. Its smell made me even sicker than sucking up did. Or maybe it was what Emily had just said? Nah, definitely the soap. “If I’ve been a problem, you should’ve said.”
Emily sighed again. “I’m saying something now.”
There was something the matter with me, but not something I could talk to her about. It was an investigator the firm had brought in on one of my cases. My cheeks felt hot. I turned the cold on and splashed some of it over my face and neck. Nick turned me inside out. I couldn’t help but think he was feeling the same way about me, but, well, there was a long list of buts. He was married. He wasn’t an attorney. He was working with me on a case. And he hadn’t actually tried to do any mattress dancing with me. Truthfully? None of the buts would’ve mattered if he had.
I’d just have to get over it. Forget him. Which was really all I’d been trying to do earlier tonight. Who are you kidding? a little voice in me said.
Emily said, “All right.” After a long silence, she continued. “What did you tell the police?”
“You know . . . same as you.”
She raised her eyebrows like she was calling BS. “One thing they asked got me thinking. They wanted to know whether I’d seen anyone earlier that didn’t belong. Before the show.” She put her foot down and shifted her weight to the other side of the doorframe, this time crossing one ankle in front of the other.
Was she showing off? I knew she was younger, more limber, more in shape, and, honestly, had herself far more together than I did. A sadness lapped inside me, and I fought off sudden tears. Focus on the conversation, Katie. Only I couldn’t remember what she’d said. “Um, what?”
“They didn’t ask you?”
I dunked a rag in the water and wiped soap off my arms, not meeting Emily’s eyes. “Maybe?”
“I think they’re looking for people that didn’t seem to fit in. Like that weird guy from the lobby.” Emily bit her bottom lip. “I know he’s a classmate of yours, but they said it could be anybody. Even a lawyer.”
I ducked my head underwater again, pretending to rinse even though I hadn’t shampooed my hair. Could the killer be someone I knew? I shivered before I came up for air.
There was a knock on the door. Emily left the bathroom, and I stayed above the waterline where I could hear. A few seconds later she called, “It’s Michele.” The latch released and the door creaked open.
I heard Michele’s voice. “I just came to check on you guys. I’ve been calling and texting Katie. No answer.”
“Sorry. I think my phone’s dead.” I stood up and wrapped a towel around myself. I put a hand on the wall. Steady. “What a weird night.”
Michele poked her head into the bathroom. “Hey, Katie.” She looked at me like she was doing intake for the funny farm.
I lifted my free hand in greeting, then caught a glimpse of myself through the fog in the lighted mirror. Partially lighted. The antiqued sconces with lasso-trimmed miniature lampshades weren’t doing much of a job. Whoa, who is that hag with mascaradown to her cheekbones? I licked my lips. They were cracked, and my mouth tasted like something had died in it. I lurched to the sink and grabbed the countertop. When I felt steadyish, I squirted some toothpaste and used my finger as a toothbrush. I gagged and spit, then rinsed as fast as I could.
Michele sat down on the bed nearest the bathroom and scooched herself to the large leather-covered headboard. Emily moved her suitcase to the floor and perched cross-legged on the mattress beside her. A longhorn skull decorated with silver conchos loomed over them. I’d never understood bones as decorations, and it felt like that darn thing was looking at me.
Michele started telling us about running into a freaky guy in the parking lot while I ducked the gaze of the dead bull. “I didn’t call the cops. But I was trying to get ahold of you to warn you about him, since he was looking for you, Katie.”
“Was it someone from the theater?” Emily asked.
“Yeah, but I can’t remember his name.”
I concentrated on putting my feet one in front of the other, and I walked to join them. The short Berber felt scratchy to my wet feet, like a nail file, and boy could I use a pedicure. A pounding started in my head in rhythm with my steps. I perched myself on the edge of a chair. The room lurched, and I pressed my hand into the rough-textured armrest beside me. What is this covered with, burlap? I should have sat at the desk, I thought, and my eyes flitted to it. It was brown wood with a lamp matching the lights in the bathroom. It looked solid, stable, and smooth, but the walk over to it was daunting. Maybe I really shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine. I clutched my towel to keep it closed.
I’d lost track of the conversation, but it had lulled. “Do you think the killer could be someone we know?”
“Maybe.” Michele’s voice echoed in my head. “Or somebody off the street. Somebody that knew her or someone that worked there. Somebody in the cast.”
That reminded me of the woman in the lobby who’d plowed into me. I gave myself a mental high five. Nothing wrong with my memories from before the show. “Emily and I bumped into someone weird. A woman in the lobby. She was bitchy. In a hurry. Didn’t look us in the eye.” I readjusted on the chair and brushed against the faux suede drapes. They were long and soft.
“Did you tell the cops about her?”
Emily snorted.
I blew a strand of hair that had fallen forward into my face. “I forgot about her. I’ll have to call them.”
Emily said, “Don’t bother, I already told them.”
Our conversation about the murder dwindled down, and the room got quiet. Michele bit a fingernail. I wasn’t too tipsy to notic
e she didn’t have her wedding ring on, but I played it low-key, because I’m cool like that.
“How come Robert didn’t come?” I asked her.
She looked down and started playing with her phone. Her eyes were roving back and forth like she was reading, but the movement was overexaggerated. If there was one thing I knew, it was faking it, and she was, big time.
“Michele?”
She said, “Oh yeah, um, he had to work.” She jumped to her feet. “That’s him texting me now. Gotta run. See you at eight in the lobby tomorrow.”
She was out the door without another word. Emily turned to me, a question on her smugly sober face that I couldn’t answer, even if I’d wanted to.
Laura
Thunder rattled the windows, and Laura’s eyes flew open. She was already awake. The sun rose at five a.m. in the summers at her family’s ranch, and she’d never broken the habit of early rising. She had to get moving. She and Mickey were due in Grand Prairie to meet with the difficult owner of her ride tomorrow, a three-year-old gelding named Globe Trotter. The warm, hard body beside her made it very tempting to stay in bed, though.
She turned and snuggled her face into Mickey’s broad back then wiggled the rest of her body into the small spoon behind his big one. She inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of her man in the morning. Yesterday’s cologne and Old Spice soap had worn away, leaving just his skin and his uniquely him musky scent—sunshine in a hug with a chocolate chip cookie.
“What time is it?” Mickey grunted.
“Don’t know.” She trailed kisses over his shoulder blade. “Not too late, but getting close.”
He rolled over, wrapping his muscular arms around her. He made her feel like the tiny ballerina on top of a music box. They were both naked from the night before, and she slipped her arms around his neck and rolled herself onto him slowly, enjoying her skin moving like silk over leather. She nipped him on the neck and he reacted swiftly, grabbing her by the derriere and pulling her in.
Act One (What Doesn't Kill You Prequel): An Ensemble Mystery Novella Page 4
