How to Party with a Killer Vampire (5 page)

I returned to my MINI and drove the short distance to the parking lot at Building One, also known as the Administration Building, where I shared an office for my Killer Party business with Delicia. The Art Deco architecture of the C-shaped, two-story building and oversized human figures that lounged at the entrance greeted me silently, a reminder of their heyday at the 1939 Golden Gate Exposition.

Building One was among only a handful of remnants that survived the fair. The rest of the “Magic City” was demolished when the navy took over in 1941 and turned TI into an active military station. When the navy departed, the four-hundred-acre, man-made island was left with a pier and a harbor, nearly a thousand housing units, almost a dozen barracks-style facilities, a public elementary school, and a clinic. But the “treasure” was gone—the name came from the gold-laden fill dirt that was barged down the Sacramento River Delta from the Gold Country—replaced by toxins left over from the military. And now, with the threat of an earthquake that could lead to liquefaction, the island needed a hundred million dollars for redevelopment and shoring up.

I sighed as I headed for my office. All this meant that someday soon I’d have to move away from my quiet—and inexpensive—little island in the middle of the San Francisco Bay, with its hundred-million-dollar views. For now, though, Cruz’s wrap party would give me a big chunk of money to cover my mother’s care at her downtown facility, and my condo and office rent for a few months.

If nothing else went wrong.

 

My office door was open when I arrived. I assumed Delicia had beaten me to work—not usually her style—but it wasn’t Delicia inside. Duncan Grant sat twirling in my office chair, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes not moving from the spreadsheet I’d devised for tonight’s party. He wore the same clothes he’d had on last night, including the shirt with the parkour reference. His wild red hair was uncombed, and he obviously hadn’t showered. I could tell something was very, very wrong.

“Duncan?” I said, stepping in cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

He looked up and I saw his red-rimmed eyes. Had he been crying?

“Did you hear . . . ?” he said, nasally.

I blinked, not sure what he was talking about. “You mean that young guy who was killed last night at the cemetery?”

He looked down at his bitten nails and nodded. “Spidey.”

“I forgot—you knew him, didn’t you?” I dropped into Delicia’s desk chair opposite him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. He was a good friend of mine from Balboa High. We hung out.”

I leaned in. “Are you okay?”

He ignored my question. “I hooked him up—and a couple of other friends—for some walk-ons in Cruz’s vampire movie. It was epic—they loved it.”

I remembered he’d mentioned that last night.

“He was teaching me parkour,” Duncan continued. “I was supposed to hook up with him at the cemetery last night, after I finished setting up the sound system. He was going to show me some cool moves.” He paused to sniff, then continued. “But I was too wiped out and flaked. Now he’s . . .”

Duncan couldn’t finish the sentence. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, pushing back tears.

I reached across the desk and touched his arm. “I’m so sorry, Duncan. I’m sure it was a tragic accident.” Not knowing what to say, I did what I always do—I rambled. “There was nothing you could have done. He must have fallen doing that parkour thing—”

“He couldn’t have fallen!” Duncan’s outburst was swift and loud. “He was the best! He could practically walk on air. He was going to show everyone tomorrow night. . . .”

Duncan looked up at me and shut his mouth.

“What are you talking about, Duncan?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He looked down at his freckled hands. His voice quieted.

Delicia appeared in the open doorway. “Are you okay, Pres?” She glanced at Duncan. “I heard someone yelling. . . .”

“We’re fine, Dee. Thanks,” I said. “Will you give us a moment?”

She silently backed out and disappeared.

I got up and moved around to Duncan, who was wiping his damp cheeks. I rested a hand on his bony shoulder. “Was Spidey planning to crash the party tonight?”

He sniffed and nodded. “When they found out they hadn’t been invited, they decided to come anyway, show off their skills. They were part of the movie and they should have been included.”

“But Lucas was inviting only the stars and a few others. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt their feelings—”

“Lucas Cruz is a jerk. If it weren’t for him, Spidey would still be alive.”

“What do you mean, Duncan?”

“Listen, I gotta split,” he said, interrupting me. He stood up and headed for the doorway. “I only stopped by to tell you, I don’t think I can help you tonight.”

“Duncan, wait! Where are you going?”

“To clear my head. I need to be by myself.”

He stood at the doorway for a moment, rubbing his curly red hair, then strode through the expansive lobby and out the building’s double glass doors. I wondered where he was going. And what I could do to help him when he returned.

Delicia poked her head around the doorway. “Safe to come in?”

I stood back to let her in. “Poor guy. A young man was killed last night at the cemetery, and he was a friend of Duncan’s.”

“You mean Spidey?”

My jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “You knew him?”

“I met him a couple of times. And those other two—Trace and whatshername . . . Lake?”

“Lark,” I said. “How come I’ve never met any of them? Or even seen them before last night?”

She shrugged. “We’ve gone to a couple of raves together. The one called Trace? He’s hot, but he’s with Lark. Spidey’s pretty cute too, but kinda strange.”

Wow. The younger set had a whole secret party life I knew nothing about. I felt a little jealous that they hadn’t invited me, even though I was seven or eight years older than all of them.

Dee read my mind. “We’d invite you, but you’re always busy working . . . or with Brad.”

I supposed that was true. I’d become somewhat of a workaholic since taking on this event-planning business. But I knew it was the only way to make a success of it. And I preferred spending what little downtime I had with Brad than going to something like a rave. The last thing I wanted to do after hosting a party was party.

“Well, I wish I could make Duncan feel better,” I said. Even with my background in abnormal psychology, I still felt awkward expressing condolences.

“He’ll be okay,” Dee said, plopping into her chair and switching on her laptop. “He just needs time. His friends will help. They’re a pretty tight group.”

“Did you know he was interested in some sport called parkour?” I was suddenly amazed and embarrassed at how little I knew about my coworkers.

“Is that when they climb and jump and flip over stuff? Yeah. I saw Spidey and them do it one time at a mall. Even the girl. It’s pretty awesome. Except for the bruises and scars and stitches and stuff. Wouldn’t catch me trying it.”

“Duncan said he was learning how.”

Dee laughed. “Trying, maybe, but he’s hardly the type. I mean, I know he loves extreme sports and all, but he doesn’t have the body for it. You need muscles and grace. Duncan’s too bony and clumsy. I doubt if he’ll stick with it. He’s better with his electronic gizmos than the physical stuff.”

Deep down I hoped Duncan wouldn’t stick with it. I knew he was something of a daredevil—always trying the latest thing, whether it was a computer game, a new high-tech toy, or an extreme sport. The kid had no fear, just like his friend Spidey.

I only prayed Duncan didn’t end up like him.

 

My cell phone rang. I recognized my mother’s ring tone since I’d personalized it for her—“It’s My Party” by Lesley Gore. She used to sing it all the time while prepping for her own events.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Presley, darling, how’s the Vampire Party coming? Need any help? I once hosted a Halloween party where everyone had to come dressed as a character from an old horror movie—Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolfman. It was a hoot. And a hit.”

Mother had told me this every day for the past couple of weeks. With early Alzheimer’s, she still had good long-term memory, but she was quickly losing her short-term recall. She remembered her Halloween party in vivid detail, but not that she’d already told me.

“That was a great party, Mom. You let me help you decorate the old Crocker mansion. Then I had nightmares for a week afterward.”

“We did do it up, didn’t we?”

I could almost hear her memories through the phone.

I interrupted them. “I’m about to go over to the cemetery now and finish setting up everything. Still lots to do, as you probably know. I’ll be by to pick you up late this afternoon for the party, so be ready.”

“I will, dear,” she said. “I have the perfect costume.” Then she hung up the phone without a good-bye.

Although I missed teaching abnormal psychology at San Francisco State, if it hadn’t been for my mother, I wouldn’t be in this event-planning business, and I wouldn’t be able to afford her care facility. For that I was grateful, and I realized that, as the former Party Queen of the City, Mother lived somewhat vicariously through me. I tried to include her in either preparations for the parties I knew she’d enjoy, or simply by inviting her to attend. But she was unpredictable—she’d once posed naked at the MoMA to protest the lack of nude older women in art—and I often prayed she wouldn’t make a party foul at one of my important events.

I grabbed my purse and a box full of vampire teeth I’d ordered from Oriental Trading Company. It was amazing how many available party decorations tied into a vampire theme—fake fangs (plastic or gummy); fake blood (liquid candy); fake garlic necklaces (scratch ‘n’ sniff); and tiny coffins (filled with tiny candy bones), just to name a few. I had to admit, this was one of the most bizarre parties I’d ever hosted. It was also one of the most fun.

Now if there just weren’t any mishaps . . .

Right. What was I thinking? When did I ever host a party where something didn’t go wrong?

I arrived at the cemetery in the late morning, but still before the rest of my crew—except for Brad, who’d been called for the cleanup. His SUV was parked along one of the narrow inroads, so I knew he hadn’t left yet. Recalling the news of Spidey’s awful fall and accidental death, I shuddered to think what Brad had had to “clean up.” I couldn’t imagine doing his job.

Especially if I’d met the victim that previous evening.

The October air was cool, a welcome reminder that fall had arrived. I headed over to the party area to check how things had survived overnight. Thanks to the security guards, including Raj, the decorations, gadgets, and electronics we’d set up were still in place. I sent the tired-looking men home and told them when to return.

The rental tables would be arriving soon. Once they were in place, I could add more decorations—red tablecloths that looked as if they dripped blood; black ceramic plates with antique, unpolished silverware; and plastic pewter-colored goblets that featured gargoyles and bony fingers. Meanwhile I had plenty of other details to see to—fake cobwebs, tarnished candelabra, rubber bats, and hooting owls to add to the atmosphere.

As if partying in a real cemetery weren’t enough.

The event would be held on a patio the size of a baseball diamond. Bordering it on three sides was an open-air, six-foot-high cement and marble structure filled with personalized niches from top to bottom. A small shallow fountain in the center of the patio had long dried up after years of disuse, but Lucas Cruz had his set designers clean it up and rig a hose inside the old spout. The pool was now filled with shimmering blue water and decorated with fake moss.

I was in awe of how much illusion a movie studio could create. Need a fountain? Here you go. Talking gravestones? No problem. A flying vampire who vanishes in the night? You got it.

While I studied the lay of the land—the party area, that is—someone tapped me on the back.

Startled, I nearly stepped into the pond—and would have if a strong arm hadn’t caught me.

“Jeez! You gotta quit sneaking up on me like that!” I hissed at Brad. He looked like the Marshmallow Man, standing there in his white Crime Scene Cleaners jumpsuit.

“I know,” he said, trying to stifle a laugh. “You’re cute when you’re scared. Your eyes flare.”

I ran my fingers self-consciously through my bobbed brown hair. “You’re not going to love it when I pee my pants. Stop creeping up on me like that.”