Campari Crimson

by Traci Andrighetti

  A chilly wind whipped dirt and debris into a frenzy.

  Sullivan took off his sunglasses. “Cold front’s coming in.”

  Let’s hope. Based on the setting, I wouldn’t have ruled out a poltergeist warning us to leave.

  Under the watchful eyes of concrete angels, gargoyles, and human likenesses, we walked through the crypts. Many of them were multi-chambered and bore the names of bygone organizations and old fraternal orders, like the New Orleans Home for Incurables and The Independent Order of Odd Fellows. Others were individual tombs representing the ethnic diversity of the city’s early settlers.

  All the graves had begun the process of returning to the earth from whence they came, like their departed inhabitants. And I willed those inhabitants to stay where they were instead of coming out to pay us a visit.

  “Here’s the Society for the Relief of Destitute Orphan Boys.” Sullivan patted a structure with four slots.

  I was surprised Phil hadn’t mentioned the tomb. “That’s not it. We need the one for girls.”

  Sullivan scanned the area and gestured to a broken glass candle at the entrance to a crypt. “A voodoo working. Lafayette’s popular with that crowd.”

  I shivered and wished I had a coat or a blanket, but I wasn’t cold. I just wanted to pull it around me, so I could hide.

  “Don’t be scared, Francesca.” He slid his arms around my waist as easily as my given name had slipped from his lips. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  A Bateson’s Belfry rang in my brain. Bradley and I had split only hours before, so I wasn’t exactly on the market for another man, especially not the one who’d broken us up. And even if I were looking for a new guy, I’d be damned if I would do it in a cemetery. “What are you doing right now?”

  “Making time for the important things.” He reeled me in.

  My tachycardia went atrial fibrillation. “We’re looking for a body, remember?”

  “And I found one.” He pressed hard against me, leaving no doubt whose body he meant.

  “I was talking about Raven?” I pushed against his chest and broke free.

  Hurrying out of range of his arms, I went toward a corner of the cemetery. I passed a crumbling mausoleum with weeds protruding from the brick seals—and something that was either a root or a finger.

  I stopped and looked casually over my shoulder, trying not to seem desperate for Sullivan to catch up.

  He pointed past me. “That’s it up ahead.”

  A crypt marked Poydras Orphans’ Rest loomed before us. It consisted of three walk-in tombs in a cruciform shape. Books and movies had trained me to think that vampires shrunk away from crucifixes, but I had no idea if the same was true of real vampires, and particularly vampire serial killers.

  Sullivan ran his hand over a door. “It’s been stuccoed recently.”

  My heart resumed its arrhythmia. “As in, last night or today?”

  “No, not the seals. I meant the whole tomb. Let’s check the other doors.” He worked his way around the cross, and I followed behind.

  But not too close.

  “I don’t see any signs of tampering.” He slammed his hand on the side of the tomb. “Damn it. Where could she be?”

  I glanced at the ground.

  Something red lay nestled among the leaves. Probably a plastic flower from a nearby grave. I kicked the pile and gasped.

  “What is it?”

  “A red satin rosette.”

  Sullivan must have seen Raven’s dress at the cotillion because he began kicking leaves around the tomb.

  I worked the opposite side. Within less than a minute, I’d uncovered a metal handle that I knew would lead to an underground vault.

  “Wesley.” His given name was the logical choice. The discovery of a murder victim’s grave was an intimate moment.

  He rushed to the site. Our eyes met in grim acceptance, and he bent over and threw open the door.

  The hole was as black as I’d envisioned the entrance to the netherworld.

  He switched on his cell phone light and looked inside. “There’s a ladder.” He pulled a pistol from the back of his waistband. “Wait here.”

  I swallowed and watched him descend. My stomach sunk further with his every step. He disappeared, and I heard a splash, presumably his feet on the floor since the vault was below the water table.

  Silence.

  He swore.

  My stomach splashed down. “Is she there?”

  Nothing.

  My stomach rose until I thought it would surface and spring from my throat. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” His tone was anything but. “Don’t come down.”

  I exhaled.

  Then I turned on my phone light and stepped onto the ladder.

  And descended into hell.

  Before reaching the bottom rung, I held on with one hand and shined my light on the ground. Water pooled around rotting coffin planks, old bones, and clumps of something that I wanted to believe was dirt and dead weeds, not decomposing flesh and hair.

  My stomach had steadied, but bile threatened to escape.

  Slowly, I raised the light to dangling bare feet, a black French pannier dress with red satin rosettes, and a face the same ghostly hue as the pouf wig.

  I moved the light upward along a cable that had been tied from the back of the French dress to a ceiling beam.

  Then I lowered the light again.

  Raven’s canines were bared, but in fear not fight. And her dark eyes bulged as though she’d seen the devil. The thick tree roots around her head were so gnarled and twisted that, had it not been for the wig, she would have resembled Medusa more than Marie Antoinette.

  Around her neck was the choker of four strands of pearls that had been covered in fake blood for the cotillion. And yet, apart from the red that rimmed the slits at her ankles, there was no blood anywhere else.

  Not even in her body.

  I lowered the light to search for her shoes. They were in a corner above the water next to a semi-rounded piece of rubber a few inches in length.

  Sullivan slipped an arm around my waist, but I didn’t push him away. I let go of the ladder and clung to him.

  With all the life I had left.

  17

  Thunder cracked, and lightning flashed outside Private Chicks. The effect was not unlike a glinting guillotine blade crashing down and lopping off heads.

  I huddled in a corner of the lobby couch, grateful that I was in the office and that it was morning.

  Veronica took a seat across from me with a mug and her laptop. Her face was as gray as Raven’s. “I’ll never look at a picture of Marie Antoinette again without thinking of that poor woman. I just can’t imagine the crime scene.”

  My latte tasted bitter despite a half cup of frothed Baileys Amaretto creamer. I could imagine the crime scene. In fact, I’d spent the entire night trying to unimagine it. And it had been impossible with the Bride of Dracula and the Creature of the Night staying at my house.

  “And I’m amazed that crypt keeper knew exactly where to look for Raven,” Veronica said. “Are you sure he isn’t the killer?”

  “I asked Sullivan the same thing. But there must be some other psycho cemetery buff out there because Phil has alibis for Gregg’s and Raven’s murders.”

  “Where was he?”

  “At a Do-It-Yourself taxidermy workshop and a Renaissance Fair.” I shuddered. “That alone should get him arrested.”

  “The taxidermy?”

  I gave her a you-should-know-me-better-than-that look. I’d always been clear that I didn’t do renaissance or medieval. “Obviously, the Ren Fair. He’s the king, which warrants a beheading.”

  She smirked and opened her computer on the coffee table between us. “By the way, I took those drink samples from the cotillion to the lab. It’s going to take a couple of weeks to get the results.”

  That was too long, but the samples no longer seemed relevant. “Now that we know Raven wasn’t the killer, I don’t
expect the lab to find any blood in them. It’s time to focus on Thomas. I’d give anything to know if he was at the cotillion Saturday night.”

  “Wouldn’t you have seen him?”

  “Not if he was wearing a full face mask like Raven’s.” I sat up and put my feet on the floor. “Wait. I didn’t see hers in the burial vault.”

  Veronica sipped her coffee. “It’s probably in her apartment. She wouldn’t grab her mask when she was being abducted.”

  “Unless the killer made her bring it with her for some twisted reason. I’ll ask Sullivan if they found it in the water.” I sat my mug on the coffee table and shot him a text.

  Her brow arched until it almost formed a question mark. “You two have been working pretty closely.”

  “What? No.” My defensively dismissive tone belied the lie.

  “You were rivals on the Amaretto Amber case. Now you’re texting like old friends, or…”

  I resented the unstated implication. “We had to team up, Veronica. A vampire serial killer is hunting victims, and my brother and I are potentially among them.”

  Thunder boomed, and we both started.

  Unnerved, I pulled my feet up and clutched a couch cushion to my chest.

  She set down her mug. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to back out of your contract with Josh and let the police take it from here.”

  The case had gotten under my skin. But it was also in my blood. “I’m too close to solving it. And even if I did back out, I’d still be on that maniac’s kill list.”

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs.

  Our eyes met.

  The lobby buzzer went off, and David entered.

  Nevertheless, I jumped.

  “Uh, sorry to scare you.” He tossed a soaked umbrella by the door. “It’s like a hurricane out there.”

  And in my head. “What’s the word on Delta Upsilon Delta?”

  He dropped his backpack at his desk, and the thud reminded me of the guillotine.

  “Pretty much what you’d expect.” He flopped onto the couch next to Veronica. “Parties, kegs, and girls.”

  That was predictable. “Any news on Craig?”

  “Uh-uh. But Andrew said some of the guys asked Domenic about him the other night, and he totally shut them down.”

  Veronica shot me a side-eye. “Sounds like Domenic knows something.”

  I tossed the cushion aside. “I think Sullivan does too. Any time I bring up Craig, he changes the subject.”

  David leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Maybe he’s trying to keep your mind off him. Because if he’s the killer…”

  I was glad he hadn’t completed the thought.

  Veronica opened a file on her laptop. “Well, that’s why I had you come in before class, David. Carnie was able to book a six p.m. tour of Belleville House tonight, so maybe we’ll get some answers about Thomas’s involvement in the murders.”

  “And whether Craig and Raven were in on them,” I added.

  David’s leg began to bounce. “Do you think that Thomas dude is a real vampire?”

  “He’s pale enough to be one.” Thomas’s peanut butter and potato dinner reared its unappetizing head in my brain. “And his diet is certainly suspect.”

  “Uh, did you need me and the vassal to help?”

  Veronica glanced at his leg and smiled. “Only with testing the mic. Franki and I will be listening to Carnie and her grandmother from my car outside.”

  I bolted upright. “You got Carnie’s grandmother?”

  “Relax. It’s not her real grandmother.”

  With Carnie in the mix, I was going to stay on edge. “Well, who is she, then?”

  Red marks appeared on Veronica’s face like multiple scarlet letters, and I knew I wasn’t going to like whomever she’d hired.

  “Before you get mad, Franki, she approached me.”

  My mental Rolodex spun into action. Glenda was older than Carnie, but she’d sooner play a nun than someone’s grandmother. The Rolodex spun to the next card. Blank. We didn’t know anyone else who was old enough for the assignment.

  Except…

  I Mount Vesuviused from the couch. “My nonna?”

  Horror flickered across David’s face, and he fled to his desk.

  Veronica stood and held out her hands. “She refused to let me say no.”

  Too angry to pace, I stalked instead. “The woman could wear down a Mafia boss, Veronica. You have to work around her. You know that.”

  “I do. And I understand your concern, but—”

  “Concern doesn’t describe it.” I stopped right in front of her. “You know how Italians use the English word for privacy because they don’t have a word for it?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s my nonna with subtle. The word is not part of her culture. So she’ll blow into Belleville and go all organized crime on Thomas. And then what happens?”

  Veronica licked her lips. “She’s not going to do that because you’re her granddaughter, and she knows what’s at stake.”

  “At stake? Is that supposed to be a vampire pun?”

  “Of course not. I’m taking this very seriously.”

  “Then prove it by hiring professionals.”

  She touched her face as though I’d slapped her.

  Thunder rumbled.

  I scowled at the ceiling. I felt terrible about the hiring comment. I didn’t need nature to rub it in. “I’m sorry I said that. But—”

  The vassal burst in, glasses askew and his checked shirt untucked on one side.

  “Bro!” David rushed to his side. “What happened?”

  Thinking he’d been attacked, I tabled the nonna tantrum. “Is someone chasing you?”

  His usual mouth breathing had escalated to mouth wheezing. “I saw Josh Santo being arrested.”

  A cell door slammed shut in my mind. “Where?”

  He removed his glasses. “Boutique du Vampyre.”

  My gut slammed shut too. The location wasn’t good news.

  “Sullivan’s in with the chief.” The blonde officer gestured to an office down a hallway. Then she grimaced. “And if I were you, I’d leave him there.”

  She walked away, leaving me confused. That was an odd thing to say to someone she didn’t know. But then again, my reputation preceded me around the police station. Either way, she obviously had issues with the detective, and I could relate. He probably hadn’t shown his colleagues his new softer side.

  I took a seat outside the chief’s office and hoped I didn’t have to wait long. I had to convince Sullivan that arresting Josh had been a mistake. Otherwise, the consequences would be grave. Literally.

  “This is a huge win for the department, Wesley,” a male voice boomed. “New Orleans can rest easy again, and you’ll be a local hero after the press conference.”

  Until the vampire serial killer resumes the blood drainings.

  “I appreciate that, Chief. And I am relieved, not for myself but for the citizens of this great city.”

  My gaze darted to the door. I’d never heard Sullivan be smarmy.

  “Admirable sentiment, Detective. Now how’re you gonna celebrate?”

  “I’ve got me a date.”

  I felt the tiniest pin prick in my belly, and my hand flew to my abdomen. What was that about? Was I jealous?

  Of Sullivan?

  “You always were a lady killer.” The chief laughed, enjoying his murder pun. “Is she anyone I know?”

  “Franki Amato.”

  My head recoiled. He was awfully confident considering he hadn’t even asked me out.

  “Isn’t she that PI?”

  “The one and only.”

  The chief laughed and pounded the desk.

  Offended, I rose from the chair. I didn’t see what was so funny about going out with me, even though the detective definitely wasn’t.

  “I still wish I’d been at Madame Moiselle’s to see that crabwalk she did onstage.” The chief stopped to guffaw. “Your reenactment at th
at meeting will go down in police history.”

  The prick turned into a pierce. Right in my gut.

  Sullivan chuckled. “Yeah, I can’t vouch for her dance moves. But I do like those curves.”

  “Didn’t you say she had a boyfriend?”

  “You used the word ‘history,’ and that’s what he is.”

  I moved toward the office tempted to burst in. How was Sullivan so sure about Bradley and me? Unless he’d talked to him…

  The pierce became a stab.

  No, he wouldn’t have.

  Would he?

  The door opened, and the detective strutted out. He took one look at me, and his conquering-hero smile faltered.

  “Can I speak to you privately?” My words formed a question, but my tone left no room for a no.

  What remained of his smile fled the battlefield. He ushered me into his office and held out a chair. “Please. Have a seat.”

  “Drop the gentleman routine. We both know it’s an act.”

  Sullivan pursed his lips and ambled behind his desk. Slowly, he sunk into his seat. “Surely you can’t begrudge a man a little locker room talk after a big victory?”

  I found myself thinking of that hangman from the cotillion. “It’s interesting that you would use a sports analogy. Because it didn’t seem like I was a trophy as much as a soccer ball you were kicking around.”

  “I’m sorry you took it that way. Sometimes we men get carried away, but I want you to know I respect you.”

  “Is that why you reenacted my striptease? Because you respect me so much?”

  “Come on, Amato. Where’s your sense of humor? You and I both know that was funny.”

  “This is my business, Sullivan. I can’t have you making me the butt of your meeting jokes. It’s unprofessional, not to mention damaging to my reputation.”

  “Message received.” His fingers formed a steeple in front of his chest. “Now what did you come to talk to me about?”

  “Josh Santo. He didn’t kill Raven.”

  The concern left Sullivan’s eyes, and competition replaced it. “Then what was he doing at Boutique du Vampyre?”

  “It’s a hub for the local vampire community, so he was probably looking for information about the killer.”

  Sullivan leaned back in his chair and moved his hands behind his head. “If you believe that, then I have some swampland to sell you.”