Adduné - the Vampire's Game (57 page)

“
Why didn’t you press me? You know, to find out what was wrong”

She washed down the small mouthful with Tiffany’s strong coffee. Nobody made better coffee than Tiffy.

“
Because I’m your friend and know you don’t like to be pressed. I also know you like to handle things yourself and sometimes you forget you have friends like me around. Hell, you’re so independent, you even forget you have family. That’s why I thought I would remind you. When you’re ready to talk – if you’re ready to talk – I’ll listen and help the best way I know how.”

Miranda looked down at her food and nodded her head. She was thinking about Reggie and the flurry of calls he made. She really shouldn’t be sitting here finishing her breakfast – she should be finding out what he wanted. The truth was that she didn’t feel like it. She’d had enough of what life was suddenly doling out. She just wanted to sit, finish her food, and enjoy the company.

There was a gentle wind this morning that dried out whatever dampness remained from her morning shampoo. The sun wasn’t direct yet – the day was perfect. The sky overhead was blue and there were only a few clouds dotting the landscape. As Tiffany talked about sales and shoes, Miranda looked out over the Big Apple rejoicing in being where and who she was. While there was pressure that came with being her, it wasn’t all bad being Miranda Perry. She needed to stop and remind herself of that fact the same way that Tiffany had reminded her she had a true, genuine friend. They were so rare and far between and Miranda was grateful that she had managed to collect one in her short life.

They sat on the patio having their second cup of coffee of the day. Miranda scrunched her hair in the sunlight to encourage the curl and give herself a piecy look. The girls strategized and devised a shopping plan to cover as many sales as they could in one afternoon. It was well past noon when their chatfest was interrupted by the arrival of Tiffany’s housekeeper, Rina. Rina had worked for Tiffany for five years and loved taking care of the young girl. Rina had four boys and had always wanted a daughter. She treated Tiffany like the daughter she never had and Tiffany never complained about the attention.

“
Good afternoon, Ms. Rodriguez.”

“
Hi, Rina,” Tiffany responded.

“
Good afternoon, Rina. It’s me, Miranda,” Miranda called out.

Rina appeared holding a brown envelope in her hand.

“
Ah, Ms. Perry, you are here. I have something for you. Came this morning,” she said as she handed the package to her. Miranda saw it was from Reginald’s office. It must be the appraisal.

“
Thank you so much, Rina,” she said tearing the end open.

“
Not a problem,” she answered.

Miranda watched as she started picking up the mess in the living room.

“
What’s that, chickie?”

“
The something that’s bothering me.”

“
Oh, well, then I’ll leave you alone. Me, I’m going to start getting ready,” she stood in the sun that had reached the balcony. She stretched out to full height and then sashayed away.

Miranda gave the appraisal the onceover. She took it with her into the living room. Rina was already in full gear, clearing off dishes and vacuuming carpets danced on by strange men picked up in hot new clubs. The room was already being returned to its former pristine state of Zen-like beauty. Miranda grabbed her cell phone before it was sucked up the metal handle of Rina’s high-powered canister vacuum. She’d hate to have it stuck in the belly of that hungry beast.

She walked into the kitchen and spread out the appraisal on the table. She punched up the pictures of the mark and compared it to the photos that had been taken. They were different. The mark in the appraisal photos were clearly that of a forgery whereas the photos she took were of an authentic Fabergé. She had no doubt. The egg was real so what on earth was this discrepancy all about? And why had her father taken it as gospel when he had a better eye for details than she had? Nothing got by him. It’s why he most likely bought – or borrowed – the egg in the first place. Miranda tucked the appraisal safely in her purse so she wouldn’t forget to bring it with her to dinner. She knew full well that the shopping expedition would last the entire afternoon.

Tiffany let Miranda raid her closet for an outfit. They were just keeping up the tradition. It wasn’t hard since both were generous with their possessions. Miranda picked out a stylish grey pantsuit. A silver metallic mesh tank went underneath it. Tiffany put on an orange baby doll dress that set-off her olive skin like a sunset that was a sailor’s delight. They were ready to leave when Tiffany began going through her purse. They stopped in the hallway right before the front door.

“
Damn!” exclaimed Tiffany still rummaging around in the bottom of her bag. She handed her handbag to a surprised Miranda, “Here, hold this. I gotta look in my other purse.”

“
Why?” shouted Miranda clutching the purse in her hands.

“
Because I lost one of my credit cards.”

“
Oh, bad luck,” cried Miranda after a fast retreating Tiffany.

Miranda started going through her messages – deleting most of them. There was nothing important – especially not the calls from Reginald. She telepathically sent him a message that yes, she’d received the appraisal and it was in her purse. It would have to suffice.

“
Nope, it’s gone!” yelled a mildly distraught Tiffany. “I checked the bag I had with me last night, in case it fell out, but it’s not in there.”

“
Are you sure you had it with you?”

“
Oh, yeah. That card I pay attention to. It’s the one with no limit.”

“
Call it in.”

No, not yet. I do remember it being MIA a few times before.”

“
A few? And …?”

“
And I’ve already called it in missing about ten times this month and I’m scared they’ll take it away.” Tiffany admitted – her face relaxing back into a sunny smile.

“
What am I going to do with you?”

“
Love me!” she said stretching out her arms for a hug. She planted a smooch on Miranda’s cheek. “You ready?”

“
As I’ll ever be!” laughed Miranda.

“
Bye, Rina! See you tomorrow!”

Tiffany pushed Miranda out into the hallway and shut the door.

“
First one to the elevator gets first pick!” Miranda challenged.

Both girls squealed and took off running down the hall.

CHAPTER 30

As Miranda predicted, she and Tiffany were still busily preoccupied with the serious business of shopping at 6:30 PM with no signs of slowing down. They were weighed down with purchases acquired at their last stop. The rest of the collateral damage was safe in Tiffany’s limo waiting outside the ritzy uptown shop. Miranda was particularly pleased with the half-price designer shoes she snatched up all because she made it to the elevator first.

“
Next time I’m running barefoot,” Tiffany had teased.

Both girls knew it wasn’t a legitimate excuse. Miranda’s heels had been just as high and strappy.

“
Here, give me everything. I’ll take them back with me. We’re going to The Paparazzi anyway, right?”

“
Absolutely!”

“
So I’ll see you later then.”

“
You sure you don’t mind?”

“
No, you run and have your dinner with that guy you met and won’t tell me anything about. Don’t worry about a thing, chickie. Mommy will take care of everything!”

Miranda kissed her friend, on both cheeks and hopped into the cab she flagged down.

“
La Quinto,” she told the driver and then waved out the back window.

She arrived at the restaurant renowned for its vibrant décor and three-star Michelin cuisine. In the middle of an explanation of who she was and why she was there, she saw Stroker seated at a table. The maitre d’ escorted her to the intimate table for two. Stroker stood when she neared.

“
Glad you could make it. Allow me,” Stroker greeted, politely pulling out the chair for Miranda. She acknowledged his actions and words with a nod of her head and toss of her hair. She placed her bag on the chair eagerly anticipating the conversation. She wanted to find out as much as she could about the coat-of-arms.

He resettled in his chair located directly across from her at the quiet spot he’d chosen. The corner alcove was perfect for chatting. Although the dining room was filled, they wouldn’t be disturbed nor have their conversation overheard. Quinto’s did privacy better than any restaurant in New York City. Miranda was glad that they’d be able to speak freely. It probably factored into Stroker’s selection.

“
Nothing could have kept me away. I was most anxious to hear what you had to say,“ she conceded, pausing a moment before continuing. “Is there a reason you didn’t give me your card on the plane? Or at least your number? I kept thinking the reason you didn’t trade information was because you weren’t going to call, and that would have been terrible.”

The maitre ‘d poured a rich helping of wine into Miranda’s glass. Stroker had ordered the house wine which Miranda found to be excellent. It had a warm and fruity note enhanced by a slight woody undertone. Sophisticated, but not so much that it excluded the common palate. Miranda hated wines that deliberately appealed only to connoisseurs. This wine had a universal appeal.

“
I suppose I should explain. I didn’t know quite how to open up the subject, but I am glad you did. Here,” he said digging into his trouser pocket and placing a business card on the table. Miranda picked it up and audibly gasped when she read it.

Stroker
Vampire Hunter

Miranda grabbed her bag hurriedly – starting to rise. She was ready to bolt. Stroker rose to his feet quickly and grabbed her around her wrist. His hold on her was solid – she wasn’t going anywhere until he relinquished it. The table was slightly rocked by the action. A soft clatter of plates and tinkle of glass arose from the disruption. Stroker didn’t seem to notice. His attention was fixed onto Miranda. His strong grip kept her captive and prevented her from leaving.

“
Please don’t be alarmed,” he assured, doing his best to placate and smooth over the widening fissure. The hand not clutching Miranda was clenching his napkin to keep it from falling to the ground.

Miranda had read what was on the card. She wasn’t going to listen to someone that had the words, “Vampire Hunter” as a job description. She had been a fool to think this man was anything but crazy. After all, if you consort with crazy people, you only end up crazy yourself.

“
You need psychological help. Now let go of my goddamn wrist,” she growled in a menacing tone purposely chosen to convey her anger and her intent to leave. She twisted her wrist fully expecting it to be freed, but his grip held fast.

“
Mademoiselle, it’s you that needs help. You’re in grave danger. Please let me help you.”

Miranda looked from side-to-side assuring herself that no one had heard or was even aware of the battle going on. Stroker seemed so calm and so sure. She remembered the legend he’d related to her on the plane. No wonder he knew about it. Considering his choice of professions, it was now completely understandable.

The diners busily chatted, unaware of anything but their own reasons for partaking of the restaurant’s ambience and cuisine. They hadn’t even bothered to look up. She wasn’t at all happy that the other patrons hadn’t noticed this large man strongarming her, but then they were all too intently focused on their food and own conversations to notice Miranda’s world crashing apart. She clutched her purse in front of her chest.

“
Is this some kind of joke?”

Stroker’s expression hadn’t changed. He remained dead serious and earnest. There was such normalcy written all over him. She didn’t wonder any longer why no one had noticed. Someone oozing this degree of credibility would be given a pass in almost all situations. Even if they appeared to be holding someone against their will, there would be a barrage of excuses made for the obvious. The apologists would turn the situation into a lover’s spat, or a hysterical woman needing to be restrained by a strong, silent man. She would have believed that herself except that she now knew he was as loony as a bed bug.

Stroker dismissed the hostility pouring from Miranda’s grim face.