How to Party with a Killer Vampire (14 page)

 

Suspects.
Hmm
. Well, certainly all the guests at the party. But if I had to single out a few who might have had a motive . . .

 

But I knew Lucas Cruz, and he just didn’t seem the type to kill anyone. He channeled his anger by yelling at his staff and staging violent scenes in his movies.

 

I liked him better as a witness than as a suspect, albeit an unreliable witness.

So who else? If I wanted any kind of comprehensive and viable list, I had to start brainstorming all possibilities. Such as:

 

I set down my pen and pad and finished my wine. It was nearly five forty-five—definitely time for a break and nearly time for the evening news. I poured another glass and one for Brad, expecting him to arrive any minute with dinner. We’d eat while we watched
Gossip Guy
’s interview with Lucas—and hopefully a nice mention of Killer Parties.

A knock at the door. Perfect timing. I paused when memories of answering a door too quickly rushed in, and called, “Who’s there?”

“Big Bad Wolf,” Brad said, trying to sound gruff. It gave me a tingle.

I let in the Big Bad Wolf. He held two foil bags of fragrant food. “What are we having? Pork?” I asked, thinking of the Three Little Pigs.

“Close. Ribs,” he announced, and handed me a bag. “Too big a clue,
huh
?”

“They smell wonderful. And I’m as hungry as a wolf.” I carried one bag to the table while Brad brought the other. I had already set our places, along with the glasses of wine, mine half-gone already.

“Where’d you get the ribs?” I asked as we sat down and ripped open the bags. Before me was a feast fit for half a dozen hungry wolves. Not only ribs, but coleslaw, baked beans, corn bread, and honey. I almost visibly drooled.

“Everett and Jones.”

“You went to Berkeley to get these?” I nearly shrieked.

“Wouldn’t go anywhere else.”

The place was a hole-in-the-wall in the East Bay city, mostly takeout, but it was also a gold mine, and when you ordered, you got a choice of three temperatures—mild, medium, and Watch Out! Hot! I’m a chicken when it comes to hot sauce, so I always stick with mild. But Brad had brought all three, and he generously spread the WOH on his own ribs. After his first messy bite, I thought I saw his eyes watering. Tough guy.

We didn’t talk for the first five or ten minutes. Instead we made
Mmm
and
Ohhh
noises. I worried the neighbors would think we were having sex, but I frankly didn’t care. In fact, I was halfway through the meal when I remembered Cruz was being interviewed on TV. I wiped my hands with a paper towel, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume on the news channel.

“I hope we didn’t miss it,” I said, turning my chair toward the TV screen.

“I had my eye on it. Nothing yet.”

While I waited for the
Gossip Guy
theme song to start up, I resumed my love affair with the food. By the time we finished everything, there was still no sign of Lucas Cruz or mention of my Killer Party event. We washed up during a commercial and snuggled on the couch with our wine.

While the news announcer did a story on the gentrification of the Tenderloin area of the City, I turned down the volume and asked Brad, “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”

He took the pad from me and glanced at it. “These are your suspects?”

“So far. Did I forget anyone?”

He shook his head, grinning at my attempt to solve the case on paper. “I’m surprised you didn’t write down ‘double-suicide’ or ‘an act of God.’ ”

“Very funny,” I said, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m trying to figure this out for Duncan.”

I picked up my pen and went to work on the next item on the list.

 

I noted the two locations, one among the gravestones where Spidey was found, and the other in a freshly dug grave near the pet cemetery where we’d discovered Bodie. Brad had taught me early on to study the crime scene because it had a story to tell, but I couldn’t make sense of either spot. One seemed random; the other deliberate. Meanwhile, Brad was no help, busy watching the sports news segment on TV. I moved on to the next item and filled it in with what I knew.

 

That was all I had at the moment. I needed more physical evidence. Moving on.

 

So, what did they have in common—besides both deaths having occurred in the cemetery? No idea—yet.

 

Brad nudged me, and the tip of my pen shot off the side of the pad.

“What?” I said, irritated at the interruption. If he wouldn’t help me, he could at least not bother me while I tried to figure it out for myself.

“The segment,” he said in a hushed tone. “It’s coming up.”

I sat up, excited about seeing bits of my party on TV. I wondered if the segment was national. That would really give Killer Parties the publicity I’d dreamed of.

The newscaster waited until the brief lead-in finished, then began her spiel. At the same time, a picture of Bodie Chase filled the screen.

I flashed a quick grin at Brad.

I felt my face flush with anger at the mayor’s words. “He should talk—the hypocrite! Has he forgotten his ‘surprise’ wedding on Alcatraz, with a ball and chain theme, of all things. Doesn’t he know that other cultures have regular parties at grave sites?”

“Calm down,” Brad said. “I want to hear the rest.”

The reporter continued.
“We’ll have an in-depth interview with CeeGee producer, Lucas Cruz, up next, so stay tuned for
Gossip Guy
.”

I leaped up from the couch, furious at the way the event had been portrayed and the fact that Killer Parties had been mentioned in such a negative light. My three cats scattered, frightened at their mistress’s sudden temper. “What a crock! This is horrible!”

“Hey, they say bad publicity is better than no publicity,” Brad said.

I glared at him, livid. “No, it isn’t. Bad publicity is bad publicity! That newscaster practically implied that Killer Parties was responsible for two murders!”

“You’re overreacting. She didn’t imply anything—except maybe bad taste. Which wasn’t your fault. Other than that, she was just reporting the facts.”

“The facts according to the mayor, which aren’t, in fact, facts. They’re part of some political agenda. Jeez! I could kill him!”

“Better watch what you say. Words like that could get you into trouble.”

I chugged the rest of my wine, refilled the glass, paced the room for a few minutes, ran out of steam, and sat down again.

Brad turned off the TV.

I turned to him in shock. “What did you do that for?”

“
Uh
, it seemed to be upsetting you.”

“Please turn it back on. I want to hear the
Gossip Guy
segment.” I knew he was trying to help, but I had to hear the rest.

He shrugged and switched it back on.

I sighed and said, “Bring it on, Gossip Guy,” to the TV. My expectations had been too high, hoping Killer Parties got some free publicity, and the actual report crushed me. But I needed to hear the rest. Brad put an arm around me, and I took a deep breath as the
Gossip Guy
theme music played against a background of Hollywood-style flashing lights.

The glitz faded and the face of the man I’d met last night, Ryan Fitzpatrick, appeared. Wearing a suit and tie, he was sitting at a desk and grinning as if he’d been found not guilty of a heinous crime.

After a brief introduction, the camera pulled back, revealing Lucas Cruz at the desk next to Ryan. He looked like he always did—jeans and a CeeGee T-shirt—but he’d thrown a corduroy blazer over his shirt and combed his thinning hair. Under the harsh lights, he looked older, and his eyes darted around, as if he were nervous, sitting in front of the camera for a change. It was painful to watch him fidget with his thumbnail as he listened to Ryan’s practiced speech.

“Welcome, Lucas Cruz. Thanks for joining us on
Gossip Guy
tonight. Let’s get right to it. You hosted a party last night that didn’t quite go the way you expected, correct?”

“Actually,” Lucas said, looking down at his thumbnail and avoiding Ryan’s eyes, “Presley Parker from Killer Parties planned the event. I hired her to help me celebrate the wrap of my new film,
Revenge of the Killer Vampires
, starring those two hot young stars, Jonas Jones and Angelica Brayden. . . .”

“Could he be any more commercial?” I said to Brad. He shushed me.

“But yes,” Cruz continued, “we did have a mishap occur after the event was over. Nothing to do with the party, of course.”

“A mishap, you call it?” Ryan said, smirking. “The police are calling it a murder—”

“Oh! Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Lucas said quickly. “As I said, that happened after the party was over—”

“The body was discovered then,” Ryan said, interrupting Lucas’s interruption, “but it
could
have happened during the party, don’t you agree? And in fact, he was
murdered
only a few feet away from where everyone had been enjoying themselves at your event, correct? And, furthermore, you
knew
the victim, isn’t that right?” Ryan punched his words with verbal italics.

The color drained from Cruz’s face when he realized he was being ambushed, not interviewed. He squirmed in his chair and looked off the set, as if searching for someone to rescue him.

“I—I didn’t really know the guy. He was a paparazzo—”

“He was a
reporter
for TMI,” came another interruption. “Isn’t that correct?”