Hare Today, Dead Tomorrow (34 page)

By the following evening, I still hadn’t mentioned my unexpected driving partner to Nick. I’d decided that, like my mysterious e-mail pal, I was better off keeping Ethan’s disturbing little communiqués a secret. In addition to the fact that I was already inclined to keep the details of my efforts at investigating Cassandra’s murder to myself, the last thing I wanted was to creep Nick out. I needed him to be my date at tonight’s dungeon event, and I didn’t want him having a change of heart before I managed to push him out the door.

As he and I got dressed after dinner, I noticed he was taking an awfully long time. He’d also holed up in the bathroom, which was unusual for somebody like him, who wasn’t exactly the modest type.

When he finally shuffled out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but the pair of gently used black leather pants I’d been thrilled to pick up for ten bucks, he didn’t look happy.

“Hey, not bad!” I cried, trying to build up some enthusiasm.

“These pants are too loose,” Nick grumbled.

“Better than the alternative,” I pointed out.

“But they make my butt look big!”

“How do you think I feel?” I demanded, standing up straighter to show off my low-cut black leather halter top, fishnet stockings, and a black leather skirt that was so mini I knew I’d have to remain standing the entire evening.

“Actually, I kind of like it,” he said. “Although you might want to put a few tears in those stockings.”

“This is as far as I’m going,” I countered. “I already feel like I’m dressed up for a costume party. And frankly, I’m having a hard time believing that you and I aren’t going to be the only ones at this party who actually have the nerve to dress up like this.”

The fact that the house in which my friendly, local dungeon event was being held looked surprisingly ordinary from the outside didn’t help. Even though most of the other guests had parked along the street, I pulled into the driveway, figuring we wouldn’t be staying long enough to box anyone in. Besides, this way, we could make a quick getaway if we had to.

We sat in silence for a few moments, just staring at the house.

“It looks like any other house,” I finally commented.

“You sound disappointed,” Nick replied. “What were you expecting, whips and chains decorating the mailbox? A
Beware of the Dungeon Master
sign on the dog-house? Leather curtains hanging in the kitchen window, with—”

“Okay, okay,” I told him through clenched teeth. “I’m already nervous enough, thank you.”

“Just pretend it’s already Halloween,” he suggested, “and your Snow White costume is at the cleaners.”

“Ha-ha,” I returned unconvincingly.

“Besides, once you go inside and see how nice and friendly everyone is, you’ll be tossing around those whips like a pro.”

That wasn’t exactly what happened. In fact, the moment Nick and I walked through the front door, I sensed that he was just as stunned as I was. I stood frozen, scanning the masses of people crowded into the living room, dining room, kitchen, and even the den, which was outfitted with two desktop computers and a flat-screen TV. Some people stood in small groups, chatting as if they were at a corporate cocktail party. Others were dancing to the loud music blaring in the den, while others swarmed around the dining-room table, stuffing themselves with the usual chip-and-dip, cheese-and-cracker-type party snacks.

It would have looked like any other suburban party except for the fact that every single guest was dressed in an outfit composed entirely of black leather, scary-looking metal, and a great deal of flesh. I saw so many thongs, garter belts, face masks, and bustiers made of black leather that I wondered how I’d gotten this far in life without ever owning anything made of the stuff besides shoes. One man wore a headdress comprised of what looked like snakes, although even I could tell they were rubber. A few had tattoos covering most of their skin, and many had multiple body piercings, including several in places that made me cringe. And quite a few were only partially dressed, revealing body parts that wouldn’t even be shown in the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog.

I heard Nick gulp loudly. “I have a feeling nobody’s going to be paying much attention to my butt tonight.”

I had to agree. Just then, an attractive young woman with long black hair, thick black eye makeup, and a large ring in each nipple, linked together with a pair of handcuffs, walked by.

Nick’s eyes widened. “I had no idea this kind of thing really went on,” he whispered. “
Especially
on a school night!”

At the moment, however, I was unable to speak. I was too astonished by something in the den that had caught my eye.

I’d braced myself for the various accoutrements of the BDSM world. I was prepared to confront more leather than the last time I’d ventured into the Shoe Warehouse. I even expected to witness behaviors that a vanilla-sex person like me was bound to find shocking.

What I
hadn’t
expected was to run into someone I knew.

Chapter 14

“My kittens look at me like little angels—and always after doing something especially devilish.”

—Jamie Ann Hunt

Nick,” I whispered, “whatever you do, don’t look over there.” “Over where?” Nick’s head swiveled like an office chair.

“I told you not to look!”

His head swiveled right back. “Okay, then tell me what I’m not looking at.”

I, of course, was completely unable to keep my eyes off precisely what I’d told Nick not to gape at. The man standing less than ten feet away from me was Jean-Luc Le Bec. I was certain I recognized him, despite the fact that I’d only met Robert Reese’s short, plump, baby-faced pastry chef once, despite the fact that he and I had spent less than ten minutes together, dishing about Robert and Cassandra’s less-than-perfect relationship— and despite the leather.

Not a
lot
of leather. In fact, Jean-Luc was completely naked except for what could best be described as a G-string. Even though the straps that encircled hips and a butt both the color and texture of large-curd cottage cheese were narrow, the leather pouch in front was huge. In fact, it was oversize to the point of being ridiculous. The garment’s various pieces were held together with enough buckles and studs to send an airport metal detector into overdrive.

His only other attire was also constructed of black leather. It was a mask that covered his entire head, made of crisscrossing straps that made him look like he was peering out a window. Or a dungeon.

Still, I could see enough of his face to be ninety-nine percent certain it was the mousse master himself.

“Earth to Jessie,” Nick said impatiently.

“Sorry. Remember the pastry chef who gave me all those goodies I brought home?”

“Of course. He has a soft spot in my heart for eternity.”

“You might not find his confections quite as appetizing after you see him in this getup. Especially since it looks like he stuffed a few éclairs in his thong.”

This time, there was no way I could keep Nick from looking. As soon as I heard him gasp, I knew he’d zeroed in on the gentleman in question.

“That’s
him
?” he cried.

“Afraid so.”

“You’re right,” he muttered. “I’m swearing off sweets as of this second.”

Frankly, I was much less interested in how Jean-Luc spent his free moments while his soufflés were rising than in the fact that he clearly traveled in the same circles that Cassandra had once frequented. In fact, I was so fixated on his outfit—as well as his pathetic attempt at doing a dance that seemed to be a cross between the monkey and the hora—that I didn’t bother to look very far beyond.

At least, not until Nick said, “Check out his dancing partner, the guy with the two-tone hair.”

The term
two-tone hair
should have been enough to tip me off. But it wasn’t until I studied the herd of sweating, undulating bodies and finally figured out which one Jean-Luc was do-si-do’ing with that I let out a cry. And it wasn’t the black-leather garter belt, or even the neat rows of needles piercing the flesh of both arms, that was responsible.

“That’s Preston DeVane!” I exclaimed.

“Who?” Nick asked distractedly.

“The owner of—I’ll explain later. But you and I have to get out of here.” I grabbed his arm, figuring the worst thing I could do was let Jean-Luc and Preston spot me. Something was going on—between them, obviously, but also between Jean-Luc and me.

“But we just got here!” Nick protested.

I opened my mouth to explain that while he thought all he was seeing was two men who could have used a session with the fashionista from
Queer Eye for the
Straight Guy,
I was seeing proof that Jean-Luc had lied to me about his relationship with his boss’s number-one competitor. His insistence that he and the owner of G were archenemies was clearly a ruse. The question was, why was he trying so hard to fool me?

But I quickly snapped my mouth shut, realizing that trying to explain the relevance of what I was seeing with my own eyes was much too complicated.

Besides, I had an idea.

“You know, Nick, you’re right,” I said. “How about if—wait, let’s find a quiet corner somewhere.” A quiet
dark
corner, I thought, where it’s much less likely the two foodies will realize I’m on to them.

“Okay,” he agreed.

As we moved away, I heard Jean-Luc shriek, “Who’s ya daddy?” with one of the strongest New York accents I’d heard since the last time I’d watched a Martin Scorsese movie.

He’s not even French! I thought. And he accused
Preston
of being a fraud!

“Nick,” I said breathlessly once we’d moved away from the dance floor, “I need a favor.”

“Sure, anything.” He glanced around the room and frowned. “Wait a minute. Maybe you’d better tell me what it is before I agree.”

“I just want you to stay at this party a while longer, alone.”

“But—”

“I can’t let Jean-Luc see me!” I went on. “Now that I know he lied to me, I have to consider him a suspect. If he realizes I’m on to him, it might be dangerous. But he doesn’t know you. Could you just mingle a little and see if you can learn anything about him? He obviously feels comfortable with this crowd. Somebody here might be able to tell you something useful.”

“Jessie, if it was anyplace else—”

“We went to all this trouble, with the leather pants and all...and you really do look like you fit right in.”

As soon as I said those words, I regretted them. Fortunately, Nick is a good sport. Either that, or deep down he was as committed to doing whatever it took to get Suzanne off the hook as I was.

“Half an hour, okay? After that, I’m outta here.”

“Thanks, Nick! I owe you!”

The look he shot me told me he was perfectly aware of that—and that he wasn’t about to let me forget it.

No sooner had I moved away from him toward the door than a sweet young thing with a tattoo of a skull on her left bicep shot across the room like a heat-seeking missile. She would have looked like an extra in a horror movie if it weren’t for the fact that she was tall, slender, and ridiculously pretty, even with a small hypodermic needle stuck through one nostril. She also happened to be wearing nothing besides a peekaboo thong, cut out in a deep V-shape in front, the two sides held together by a silver chain, and a black bra with two revealing circles cut out.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” I heard her coo as she sidled up to Nick. “At least, I haven’t seen you before. I know I would have remembered.”

Maybe her outfit qualified her to be a pinup girl for the Hell’s Angels, but she sounded as sweet and flirty as a Southern belle. I bet that if she hadn’t had half a pound of eye makeup on, she’d have batted her lashes at him.

I gritted my teeth and headed out the door. “Nick had better find out something important,” I muttered to myself. “And I’m not talking about Needle-nose’s phone number either.”

I headed out to the car, slumping down in the front seat so no one would notice me. I also opened the window a couple of inches, hoping to overhear an incriminating piece of someone else’s conversation as they left the party. Something like, “The metal studs on Jean-Luc’s G-string were certainly shiny tonight, weren’t they? Considering that he just murdered Cassandra Thorndike and all.”

No such luck. In fact, there was very little activity out here. It was incredibly boring, sitting in a cold, dark car, checking my watch every two minutes. Even after that half hour we’d agreed upon passed, there was no sign of Nick. Thirty-five minutes passed. Then forty.

Don’t tell me he’s actually having fun in there, I thought. It did occur to me that he might be in some kind of trouble. But if he was, I had a feeling it wasn’t the kind I was in a position to help him with.

Finally, I couldn’t resist getting out of the car and creeping over to a window. It took me a minute or two to locate Nick. When everyone’s wearing pretty much the same color—black—it’s hard to pick out one particular person in the crowd.

When I did spot him, I almost wished I hadn’t. He was standing in a corner, although whether it was voluntary or he’d been cornered by the two women monopolizing him, I couldn’t tell. What I could tell was that they were both pretty attractive, if you looked past their clothing. The one wearing the thong and the medical equipment kept giggling like a nervous teenager on her first date. The other one, whose entire body was smeared with something dark brown, had the thick blond hair and innocent face of a Miss America contestant.

Even though I felt a twinge of something that seemed very much like jealousy, I had to admit that Nick was doing exactly what I’d asked him to do: mingle. I just wished he didn’t look like he was enjoying it so much.

I went back to my car—and waited. Another ten or fifteen minutes passed. When a shadow finally crossed the front seat and the door on the passenger side opened, I let out a loud sigh of relief.

“Finally!” I cried as Nick slid in. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen into the punch bowl! Or maybe even the snake pit.”