Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun (6 page)

Oooh. I'm such a bad widdle girl.

CHAPTER FOUR

I could detect the I'd-like-to-strangle-you vibes wafting my way as soon as I entered the backseat of Joe's gold Buick. It emitted from the dark figure beside me and permeated the air like the delightful scent of Gay-Ben--I mean Ben-Gay--that collected in the living room after my grandmother completed her morning exercise routine with the
Sunrise Stretches with Sally Show
on PBS.

"Isn't this nice?" my grandmother chirped as she settled into the front seat alongside her date. "The four of us out on the town together!"

Something that sounded an awful lot like the snarl my dogs make when Gram's cat, Hermione, strolls by, pierced the darkness to my left. I cast a quick look in that direction, but decided it was best not to further antagonize the shadowy silhouette I knew was already staring daggers at me. Besides, I never like to antagonize on an empty stomach. All right--so I don't like to do much of anything on an empty stomach, except maybe try on swimsuits. Or ride the bull at the Wild Side, a favorite boot-stompin' country-western bar and grill in the capital city.

"What's on the agenda, Joe?" I asked the driver, scooting up on my seat to get a better look at his weird hat, which resembled a Dick Tracy castoff. "The all-you-can-eat buffet at Calhoun's Steakhouse? The China Buffet? Or do we feel like going a little south of the border this evening? Whatever you and Gram have in mind is fine by me," I assured him.

This was no put on. Frankly, there isn't a menu in print that doesn't include something that appeals to my rather culturally diverse palate. The snort from the silent yet seething man to my left was impossible to miss, but I decided to ignore it.

"I'm sure glad to hear that, girlie," Joe Townsend said, craning his neck around to get a look at me, " 'cause we've got a real special night planned. The senior center is having their annual joint Halloween get-together with the New Holland seniors, so we'll be dropping by there. We always hold it a couple weeks before Halloween. Weather, you know. As unpredictable as the length of the Sunday sermon."

If possible, the negative aura next to me intensified to a level where safety warnings probably ought to be issued for everyone in the immediate area.

"Halloween get-together?" I repeated.

"Of course, I don't plan to do any of that lame pumpkin-seed spitting or bobbing for apples they insist on peddling off on the older set. It's like they think that just because we're getting on in age, we've reverted back to our childhoods. But I sure as heck won't mind cutting the rug with a sexy vampire, I can tell you."

"Vampire?" For the first time, I noticed that my grandmother appeared to have grown a significant amount of black hair in the past thirty minutes.

"Dat's right, dahlinga," my gramma responded in a way bad accent that had more Midwestern nasal twang than Transylvanian tongue. "I vant to drink your blud," she said, holding up one of her blue-black-nail-painted hands and stroking Joe's right shoulder.

"For the love of..." I heard muttered under someone's breath, but I wasn't sure if it was mine, Townsend Junior's, or, God forbid, Townsend Senior's.

"And let me guess. You're supposed to be Count Dracula, right, Joe?" I asked, thinking that getting the goods on Elizabeth Courtney Howard was not going to be as easy as I'd hoped.

Joe snorted. "You gotta be kiddin', girlie." He flipped on the interior light. "Do I look like Dracula?"

I gave the old guy a once-over. Pale skin. Sunken cheekbones. Red-rimmed eyes. Yeah. He could pass for an anemic bloodsucker. Or Skeletor.

"No? Yes?" I answered.

"Think, gal. Think. See the hat? See the long dark cloak?" He pulled out a silver cross. "This help at all?"

I made a face as if concentrating, but frankly I had no idea who the old guy was dressed up as. I made a note about the cross, though. It might come in handy down the road.

"I give," I finally said. "Who are you?"

"Van Helsing, of course!" he said. "Only the most bitchin' vampire hunter in history. And pretty darn sexy, too," he added with a look at my grandmother.

I silently apologized to Hugh Jackman. After this evening, I'd never look at him quite the same way.

"So you chase down vampires for a living and my grandmother is a vampire," I said, getting a not-so-pretty preview of coming attractions. "You don't plan on, like, chasing my grandmother all night, do you, Joe?" I asked.

He chuckled. "That all depends," he said, casting another quick look back at me.

"On what?" I asked.

"On whether I run," my grandmother said and Joe growled.

I scooted back into my seat and silently cursed with powerful--but unprintable--words the price one had to pay for fame. I'd better get some useful info about Elizabeth Courtney Howard.

"At least you didn't ask if he'd brought along silver bullets," the other backseat occupant observed, a heaping dose of resignation in his voice.

I winced. Knowing Joe, he not only had the silver bullets but was also packin' the means to use 'em.

"You know, Tressa," Ranger Rick said, shifting his length perceptibly in my direction, "if you'd wanted a date with me so badly, you didn't need to use Van Helsing up there to fix us up. You could've just picked up the phone and called. I've never known you to be shy."

I felt Townsend's body heat reach out and wrap itself around me like a warmed towel after a shower. His arm found its way along the top of the backseat.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Moose? This isn't a real date," I hissed. "It's more like work!"

A tug on my hair told me Townsend was winding a strand around his finger. "Oh, so going out on a date with me is work, huh?" he said. "Nice."

"That's not what I meant," I said, thinking that this guy was the only person I knew who could get my juices going. And not just in a sexual way. "I meant that I'm, uh, mixing business with pleasure tonight."

I knew Townsend's eyebrow had done one of those skyward movements. I just knew it.

"What kind of pleasure did you expect?" he asked, moving a fraction closer.

"Why, the pleasure of giving you a hard time," I said, thinking that was a pretty nifty comeback.

Townsend gave another little tug on my hair. "I'm disappointed, T," he said. "I thought you were going to say the pleasure of my company."

"Isn't it the same thing?" I asked.

"When my pain gives you pleasure? I think there's a not-so-nice name for that," he said. "It involves black leather and some interesting little accessories, if I'm not mistaken," he added.

I looked over at him. "Trust you to know about such things," I said. "And keep your voice down, would you? We don't want the characters from
Creepshow
up there to get any ideas. But I'll admit there are times when you're cool to hang with."

"Let me write that one down," Townsend said. "We might have a story here. Let's see. 'Ranger Rick can be cool to hang with.' How about some supporting details for my article, Ms. Turner?" he asked. "Some examples that support the premise that there are actually times you enjoy the pleasure of my company. I want to record this moment for posterity."

The palms of my hands grew moist with dangerous-territory-ahead perspiration. Conversations about feelings and emotions always made me a little anxious. Maybe because I wasn't good at expressing them. Or maybe because I wasn't good at reading them accurately in other people.

You know, I've often wished people had tails. You can tell right away when a dog is happy or sad by his tail. Wag, wag, wag. Happy dog. No big mystery there. But people? People are much harder to figure out. Especially those of the male persuasion. And especially the male to my left breathing down the side of my neck like a blast furnace.

"What was the question again?" I asked with a slight breathlessness to my voice.

"I asked for some examples of how my company provides you pleasure--apart from being your dart-board, that is."

Dang. Apparently I didn't have the same effect on Townsend that he had on me: Sometimes when I'm around him, my brain turns to wet lo mein noodles.

"Oh, the usual ways," I said, hoping he didn't notice the sweat beads popping out above my upper lip.

"As in?"

"What do you want? A list of your esteemed attributes from A to Z?" I asked, suddenly so hot that I felt like I was standing over a grill at the Dairee Freeze, wearing a Gore-Tex winter parka.

"I doubt we have that much time," Townsend said, a grin evident in his voice. "But you could start with A, and we can see how far we get." His right hand came to rest on my right shoulder. "Or maybe we should skip right to F," he said.

I gave him a surprised look. "What the...?"

"F, for fantastic kisser," he elaborated with a low laugh. "What did you think I was gonna say, T? You naughty, naughty girl," he added. "Disappointed?"

"Why, you... you A-is-for-asinine ass!" I responded by taking his hand off my shoulder and tossing it back at him.

"It's true, you know," he said. "Even if you won't admit it."

I looked at him. "That I'm disappointed? Not hardly, pilgrim."

"That I'm a fantastic kisser," he corrected with a shake of his head. "Surely you haven't forgotten those heated kisses we shared at the fair earlier this summer."

"Uh, like the place was on fire," I said. "Literally!"

He chuckled. "Keep telling yourself that, Cleo," he said, and I shrugged. Queen of Denial or not, I was gonna make darned sure that I knew right where the good ranger stood before we went and shared this bowl of alphabet soup--or anything else, for that matter.

"Hey, you two! Keep a lid on it back there, would you?" Joe Townsend called from the front seat. "You're steamin' up the windows so much my defroster can't keep up! I feel like I'm in that movie
The Fog
. Don't mind tellin' you I'm getting a bit claustrophobic!"

I shook my head. Townsend men would be the death of me yet.

Surreal seemed a pretty apt way to describe the transformed senior citizen center as we entered the facility, a bona fide collection of assorted freaks. Outside, once I got a look at my grandma's getup, I tried to do an abrupt about-face and skedaddle, but Townsend grabbed my elbow with an "Oh no you don't!" and kept me snared firmly by his side. When his grandfather came around the car in full vampire-hunter regalia--and carrying a nasty-looking hook in one hand and what looked like a dead bird in another--I was forced to return the favor, grabbing hold of Townsend's waistband to keep him from running off.

"What the hell are those?" Townsend asked, gesturing at the hook and bird in his grandfather's hands.

"It's a Halloween costume," Joe said.

Townsend raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "For who?"

"Well, for you, of course," Joe said, moving towards Townsend and clamping the bird down on one brawny shoulder. "You can't attend a costume party without a costume. "I wore this costume three years ago. 'Course, I went all out with the mascara and colorful clothes. Even wore a wig with two little braids and jewelry."

"You went as Pocahontas?" I asked, puzzled.

Joe gave me a dirty look. "I went as Captain Jack Sparrow! You know, from
Pirates of the Caribbean
. I even grew a little goatee to add to the effect. Hannah, grab that wig for me, would you?"

"Are you sure that wasn't
The Pirates of Penzance?
" I asked, starting to giggle when I saw the look of horror on Townsend's face.

"Wig? Wig? I am not going to wear a braided wig," he said, putting out a hand and backing up.

"We can take the braids out," Joe said. "Right, Hannah?"

My grandmother, the undead and undeterred, stepped forward. "Well, yes, but, you know, I rather like the braids," she said, putting the wig up to Townsend's face and dangling a braid alongside his ear. "They make a certain statement."

"Yeah, like, 'Can Rickie come out and play dress-up with us?'" I said, laughing so hard that tears came to my eyes.

"No way," Townsend said. "Nobody said anything about a Halloween party or costumes when I agreed to this little date."

I looked up at him. "You agreed to a date?" I asked, suddenly feeling very not-amused--and slightly nauseated.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he said. "And someone had to keep an eye on Gomez and Morticia there. But no way in hell am I donning a braided wig and a molting bird and going out in a public place where I can be seen. I have a reputation to think about."

"So you'd do it in private?" I asked, trying to get my footing back after the ranger's rather surprising revelation.

Townsend looked over at me and grinned. "For the right price," he said with a wink.

"You're probably out of my range," I said with a sigh. Most delicious things, including studly rangers in rough pirate garb, generally were.

"You might be pleasantly surprised," Townsend said, and I broke eye contact first.

"We'll lose the wig," Joe told him, tying a bright red kerchief around Ranger Rick's forehead and plopping a dark gray tricorn hat on his head. "Here, pull up your sleeve and take this." He handed his grandson the plastic hook. "Grab hold of this and then lower your sleeve over it. Looks authentic, doesn't it? But I warn you. Be careful. You can almost forget you're wearing it. I had a near miss in the john last time I had it on."

I smiled at the sudden wince of pain on Rick's face.

"You'll need a bit of eyeliner," my grandmother said, stepping forward with her smoky gray makeup. "On the eye that doesn't have the patch, that is. Which eye are you planning to cover, dear?"

"Both," Townsend said.

"Let's put the patch on the left eye. The left eye is always weaker, you know. Now, just a touch--"

Townsend grabbed her hand in midair. "Uh, I think we'll let your granddaughter do the honors," he said, taking the pencil from my gramma's hand and holding it out to me. "T? If you would be so kind?"

I gave him an uncertain look. My feet felt heavy as I moved toward Townsend. The idea of doing something so... so intimate for the ranger made my spit disappear faster than my gramma when the minister made a surprise home visit. My hand shook as I took the eyeliner.