Blood Bath & Beyond

by Michelle Rowen

  “You help me and I’ll help you.”

  Sadly, I knew I needed help today. A lot of it. And whatever bizarre form it came in, I wasn’t crazy enough to say no.

  I fixed a serious and hopefully maternal look on my face. “What has my little Vicky done now?”

  “Your little Vicky stole a necklace.” The guard glared at both of us. “A sapphire necklace. The salesgirl thought your daughter was so adorable that it would be fun to let her try it on for a second. And then she just took off. I’ve been chasing her for five minutes. Where were you? Don’t you keep an eye on your child? What kind of a mother are you?”

  A lousy one, apparently.

  When I was younger, I’d been an aspiring actress. While it hadn’t worked out so well, apart from a local maxi-pad commercial and a fleeting chance at a soap opera job via the casting couch—which I’d strongly declined—I still liked to think I had enough skill left to weave a bit of dramatic magic from time to time.

  “I’ll have you know,” I said sternly, “that I’ve been looking all over for Vicky. I’ve been worried sick about her. I turn my back for one moment—and she’s gone! Do you know what that does to a mother? Thank you for returning her safely to me, sir. You’re a true hero.”

  The guard faltered just a little. “I’m sorry you were so upset, but that doesn’t change anything here.”

  “You’re right.” I put my hands on my hips and looked down at the tiny blond vampire, who fixed me with an innocent look. “Where is it, Vicky?”

  “Where’s what?”

  “You know what. That necklace you took. You can’t do that, honey. Stealing is wrong.” I shook my head and glanced again at the guard. “I swear, she’s like a magpie. You know how they’re attracted to shiny things? My little Vicky is just the same. She sees something glitter”—I cringed at the reminder of the cockroach motel—“and she can’t resist.”

  “I’m sorry, Mommy.” She didn’t sound all that sorry. In fact, she sounded annoyed. She didn’t want to give back the necklace. I could see it in her little beady blue eyes.

  “Ever since her father died tragically in that deep-sea fishing accident”—I sniffed dramatically—“and left us with nothing, she’s had this idea in her head that she should help me out with the bills. But this isn’t the way, baby. Now give this nice man back the pretty necklace and I’m sure he’ll forgive you. Won’t you, sir?”

  The guard’s expression tensed, as if he was fighting his better judgment as he listened to my sob story. I never said I was a great actress, but I hoped I was good enough.

  Finally, he nodded. “I’ll forgive you, Vicky. Promise. Now, hand it over.”

  It took a minute. I waited there tensely until Victoria begrudgingly pulled the necklace out of her pocket and thrust it at the security guard.

  “Fine,” she said sullenly. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” Only a small tug-of-war ensued before she finally let it go. He glanced at me. “Keep a close eye on her from now on, you hear? She’s a troublemaker.”

  “No kidding.”

  When he finally left, Victoria looked mad enough to spit.

  “Yeah, thanks so much for the help just now,” she grumbled.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m fluent in that dialect. You know you can’t steal things like that, right?”

  “Says the woman whose sourpuss fiancé is up for first-degree murder.”

  I flinched. “He’s innocent.”

  She grinned maliciously. “Uh-huh. If you say so.”

  I gave her a withering look. “I do.”

  “Not something you’ll be saying if you don’t clear his name, is it? Dead master vampires don’t recite their wedding vows so well.”

  “I really don’t like you.” If there was one thing this pip-squeak was doing, it was helping to raise my level of anger to match my anxiety.

  “Feeling’s mutual, puppy. But you know who I did like?”

  “Who?”

  “Bernard DuShaw.” She wasn’t smiling anymore.

  That took me a second to process. “You knew him?”

  “Long time ago. Remember I said I got in trouble with the Ring once upon a time? Bernard was the consultant assigned to my case. He helped me when no one else did. I owe him for that.”

  I had no idea they’d met before. “Why wouldn’t he handle your case this time, then? If you had history with Bernard, then why would Thierry be the one told to contact you?”

  She shrugged a tiny shoulder. “The Ring does what it wants even if it doesn’t make any sense. Bernard trashed some of my files last time to protect me, so our contact might have been swept under the proverbial rug. I’m not saying I was his biggest fan or anything, but he did me a favor once. The least I can do is lend a hand to help find out who hit his delete key.”

  “You’re handling this all very matter-of-factly. Do you get emotional over anything?”

  “Emotions are for chumps, puppy. I only cry onstage if it’s going to get me more votes.”

  “Charming.”

  “So you don’t think sourpuss hired the hunter.”

  My glare returned. “His name is Thierry, not ‘sourpuss.’ Just like my name is Sarah, not ‘puppy.’ And, no, he didn’t do it.”

  “I think you’re right. But I think I know who did.”

  Derogatory nicknames forgotten, my glare turned into a gape. “You do?”

  “Sure. It’s not too difficult to figure out.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Not when you’ve been around as long as I have. I’ve seen it before. It’s so common that cops will always pinpoint a certain suspect in almost any murder.”

  “Who?”

  “The spouse, of course. Duh.”

  I frowned. “Laura? But she adores him. She says their marriage is like something out of a fairy tale. She would never want to hurt him.”

  “Bingo. Isn’t that the best fake-out ever? I saw her a couple of times at the hotel over the last few days. She’s even shinier than you, puppy. It can’t be real—it’s just an act. She’s a black widow spider underneath it all.”

  I considered this possibility. Wives did kill their husbands. Crime of passion, crime of wanting to get her hands on his money. You name it. Laura DuShaw—someone who’d reminded me so much of myself, a fledgling involved with a master vampire—could have hired Duncan Keller to kill the man she’d told me she was madly in love with.

  And she also could have neatly pinned it on Thierry.

  My anger immediately flared, but then reduced to a sick-feeling and uncertain simmer. “I don’t know about this. I really thought she was genuine, but if she isn’t…how would I even begin to prove she had anything to do with it?”

  “You get her to admit it. For starters.”

  Victoria was right about one thing—as his wife, Laura was definitely a suspect. But, still, I needed to find out much more before I’d totally believe she was guilty.

  This little vampire, annoying as she was, might turn out to be the help I needed to prove Thierry’s innocence.

  In fact, I was putting all my chips on it and rolling the dice.

  Chapter 8

  I’d been outside long enough that I was really starting to notice how blazingly bright it was today. Sunlight tended to exhaust me easily when I was out in it for too long—I’d recently turned into an indoor girl whenever possible. I pushed my dark sunglasses higher up on the bridge of my nose and tried to ignore it.

  Something occurred to me as I followed Victoria down the busy sidewalk headed toward the Bellagio.

  “Where’s Charles?” I asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder at me. “He’s around. Sometimes he disappears to take care of personal business.”

  “Shouldn’t he stay with you? For, you know, supervision?”

  “I don’t need supervision.”

  That was debatable, given what just happened. Could they send child
ren to jail? “Then the illusion of supervision. Whatever. Call me crazy, but most people would think it’s weird to see a six-year-old wandering around Las Vegas all by her lonesome.”

  “Well, now I’m with my mommy, aren’t I? And everything’s just fine with the world.”

  A swell of sympathy for her filled me. It must have shown on my face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It must be horrible—having a child’s body all this time.”

  She looked at me curiously. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “You think I’m a hundred-and-two-year-old woman trapped inside a little kid.”

  I frowned. “Well…yeah. Aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way. I’m six. I’m six with experience and an expanded vocabulary, but I’m still six. I see the world like a six-year-old would, if a bit jaded. I like puppies and kittens and waterslides and picture books. And Jell-O. I love Jell-O. Lime’s my favorite. And if sleeping with a pink teddy bear named Gummi-Boo every night is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

  My frown deepened. “So you’re…just a kid. Permanently.”

  “Exactly. If you’re a cute kid when you’re turned, you’ll always be a cute kid. If you’re a surly, angsty teenager, you’ll always be a surly, angsty teen. If you’re whatever age you are—”

  “Twenty-eight,” I offered.

  “—you’ll always be twenty-eight. Just with a few modifications and world experience. Frozen in time, like a snapshot.”

  I had a hard time grasping that, but I think I got the gist of it. It made me feel a bit better, actually. Better, but still confused. “Then…why do you smoke and drink?”

  “Mostly because I like seeing the look on other people’s faces when I do it. It freaks them out. It’s hilarious.” She blinked. “Also, smoking is relaxing and it won’t ever give me lung cancer. One of the perks.”

  “But what about—?”

  “Hush, puppy.” Then she giggled. “Hush puppy! But seriously, shut up and let me figure out how we’re going to get you back in that hotel without the enforcer seeing you. I don’t think he’ll believe you’re my mommy. He’ll probably kill us both on sight just to make a point.”

  I shuddered at the thought.

  I was allowing the derogatory nickname only because I needed her help. For now. If this didn’t work out, I wouldn’t spend too much more time humoring the eternal six-year-old. We’d arrived outside the hotel and I could now see the front entrance.

  I grabbed Victoria’s arm to bring her to a stop. “Wait…. There she is.”

  Laura DuShaw had just exited the hotel. Today she wore all white—stylish and elegant white shirt and white linen pants. Considering her husband had died horribly only last night, she didn’t exactly look the part of a grieving widow.

  An attendant hailed a taxi and held the back door open for her. She got in and just before the cab drove past us, I jumped behind a cart piled with suitcases to hide.

  “I guess we’ll have to talk to her later,” Victoria said.

  “No, this can’t wait. We need to follow her. Now.” I waved my arms and another taxi pulled up next to us. I climbed in the backseat, half-surprised that Victoria joined me without further argument. I pointed toward the windshield. “Uh…follow that taxi!”

  Just like in the movies or reality-TV races, the cabdriver did just that without asking any questions. Cool.

  I tensely kept my attention on Laura’s car, not letting it out of my sight. I wanted to look up at the hotel, to the floor and window where I knew Thierry would be, but I couldn’t risk it.

  Hang on, Thierry, I thought. Just a little while longer.

  Telepathy would be a really nice perk right about now. I’d send him that very message.

  And he’d probably reply with: What are you still doing in Las Vegas, getting yourself in more trouble than you were to begin with?

  And then I’d say: Trying to save your butt, mister.

  My butt doesn’t need saving.

  You could have fooled me, what with you being stuck up in that hotel room.

  I’m exactly where I need to be right now. I’m biding my time.

  Well, you can bide your time while I figure out who set you up.

  And how do you intend to do that?

  Any way I can.

  And he’d just sigh in that way he did when I was being particularly stubborn.

  But no telepathy. Too bad.

  I wondered what he’d think about Laura being a suspect. It troubled me deeply to think she could be the mastermind behind this horrible crime. It would mean she’d been completely lying to me about how madly in love with Bernard she was. But maybe, now that he was retiring and would be around more, she couldn’t handle it.

  But if it turned out to be true…if she’d hired that hunter to turn her “beloved” husband into a stain on the expensive marble floor—and made sure she wasn’t there when it happened—then that was cold as ice. It would prove that there was way more to Laura DuShaw than the polished, manicured fashionista than met the eye.

  Laura’s cab let her off at a smaller hotel/casino in Old Las Vegas. She moved quickly, but so did I. Victoria’s little legs worked hard to keep up.

  Frankly, I was surprised Laura hadn’t noticed us yet. We weren’t being all that subtle. I caught a glimpse of her face as she moved down a long hall and then went through a black door with a silver handle. She looked worried.

  “Why are you worried, Laura?” I said under my breath, my throat tight. “Feeling guilty about something?”

  “Ooh!” Victoria said, halting in front of a glassed-in room. “That looks like fun! Can I play?”

  My attention snapped to Victoria, who was ogling the day care the hotel had set up for its guests’ children: the “Funtime Zone.” Inside were about a dozen kids, supervised by three gray-haired women. There were storybooks, toys, and a winding slide that dropped into a container full of red foam balls.

  I blinked. “I thought you were going to help me question Laura.”

  “I was, but…” She looked up at me beseechingly. “Please? Please, can I? Pleeeeaase?”

  She wasn’t kidding. Well, she had said that despite the snark and the nicotine she was only six years old. I’d have to deal with Laura by myself and I didn’t have time to debate this with Victoria if I wanted to catch up to her. “Fine. Go and, uh, play. I’ll be back as soon as I can—well, unless Laura kills me.”

  “Okay, bye!” She smiled brightly and ducked inside the room. Without a moment’s hesitation, she leaped into the vat of foam balls.

  Kids.

  Immediately, I hurried toward that black door behind which Laura had disappeared. My hand was shaking as I twisted the handle. It was unlocked and it led into a narrow hallway. I followed it, pressing on despite my reservations. Of course I had so many reservations by now that I was practically a restaurant waiting list.

  Despite my nagging doubts about her guilt, I was about to boldly confront a potential murderess about her crimes.

  This could go very, very badly indeed.

  Maybe it was a good idea not to have Victoria along for the rest of this ride. This could get even more turbulent than the plane had been.

  The hall led past a couple more closed doors and then, suddenly, it opened into a darkened theater. Smaller than the one in which the toddler pageant had taken place, but still large and cavernous. This was a dinner theater, with tables strewn around the floor on two levels.

  About a hundred feet in front of me, a few women were onstage in leotards, stretching and practicing dance steps. The only lights in the theater shone up there and the rest of the area was in shadows. I didn’t care about the dancers and they paid no attention to anything that wasn’t onstage. I only cared about the brunette twenty feet to my left talking to a big man with a shaved head and broad shoulders, his back to me. She didn’t look in my direction and seemed oblivious to anything except
for the man.

  Laura’s face was strained and she had her hand on his muscled arm. “Please, Joe. For old times’ sake.”

  “Laura, you’re the last person I ever thought I’d see again—let alone come here to ask me for a favor.”

  “I know, but I’m desperate. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “But last time—”

  “That was a long time ago. A lot’s changed since then. You picked up and left me for that other guy—broke my heart. You think I can just forgive and forget?”

  Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. “I’ll beg for that forgiveness if I have to.”

  “Don’t demean yourself.” There was a harsh tone to his voice that told me even if she continued to beg, it would only harden his resolve.

  Laura’s tears only became more sloppy and messy, smearing her perfectly applied makeup. “Joe, please!”

  “I’m done with this, Laura. I have enough problems to deal with on my own. Don’t come back here if you know what’s good for you.” He yanked his arm away from her and walked across the dark dinner theater up to the bright stage without a backward glance.

  She was about to take a step toward the stage, maybe to keep begging—which I was finding all kinds of pathetic—when I finally caught her eye.

  Her face paled. “Sarah…”

  “Laura,” I replied. My heart pounded hard. “I want to talk to you.”

  She took a step back and seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do. Then she turned and bolted away from me like—and I don’t use this cliché lightly—a bat out of hell.

  I didn’t have time to be surprised that she was fleeing the scene, because I was too busy racing after her. It was the second time in two days I’d had to chase somebody down and it wasn’t something I enjoyed. But I’d do it if I had to. And at the moment, it looked as if I had to.

  On the far side of the theater was a hallway parallel to the one I’d used to enter the place and another black door at the end of it. But there was a big difference, and one that worked in my favor. This one was locked.