I make it back to the Dauphine without screaming at another driver, as I did half a dozen times in the previous hour or so. Locking the car behind me, I walk up to the house. The place is quiet until I’m halfway up the stairs.
“Good evening, Mrs. Smythe,” Cole, the concierge, says behind me. “How was your day at the spa?”
Using my last reserve of energy, I turn around and smile down at him. “Wonderful, thank you.”
“Excellent. Can I get you anything? Would you like to place your dinner order now?”
“I’ll do it later.” This time I run up the stairs before I have to field obnoxious questions. I make it to my room, locking up behind myself.
Oliver’s still … whatever, so I rip off my clothes, grab some sweats from the suitcase, and start the bath. I don’t even wait for it to fill up. The lukewarm water envelops me, and the guilt and tension ease out of my pores. I breathe in and out until the knot in my left shoulder disappears. About an hour in here and the right one should clear too.
Whenever a thought, good or bad, starts creeping in, I push it away. I even ignore the knock on the bedroom door outside. Oliver’s dinner. Some distant part of my brain tells me he’ll be waking up soon, but I shut it up. I need oblivion for a while. Which is what I get when I fall asleep a minute later.
_____
Knocking. Who’s knocking?
I jerk awake on the third knock, sending water splashing everywhere. Crud, I fell asleep. I hate when that happens. I’ll drown one of these nights, and then Will or Oliver will see my naked body floating in a tub of cold, no-longer-sudsy water. And water makes everything look bigger—I don’t need any help in that department. The water’s still warm, so I can’t have been asleep that long. There’s another knock.
“Did you fall asleep in there, my dear?” Oliver asks on the other side. “Do you need me to come in and check on you?”
I’m totally awake now. “Try it, and I’ll pull your brain out through your nose.”
“How vivid.”
“Give me five minutes.”
I shave, scrub, and rinse in record time. After toweling, I toss on my pink sweats that hide everything. Oliver’s lounging on the bed watching the news in his boxers, sipping dinner out of a wine glass. Would it kill him to put on a shirt? I’m too exhausted to feel the usual lust, let alone engage in a verbal sparring match, so I keep my mouth shut. “Your cellular phone was ringing,” he says not taking his eyes off the screen.
“Thanks,” I say, toweling my hair. I get the phone out of my purse, and dial voicemail. “Hey, Beatrice. This is Joe West.” A huge smile crosses my face. “I guess this is definitely your telephone number. No maybe about it. I hope you’re still in town. I’ll bet you are, and I’ll bet you’re hungry right about now. I know this great steakhouse, very Urban Cowboy. I thought we could have dinner there. Together. Tonight. So if you’re not ankle deep in vamps, call me. 555-3427. Maybe I’ll see you later. Bye.” I flip the phone closed with a silly smile on my face.
“Was that the canary you killed on the phone?” Oliver asks.
“Close. A new friend.”
“Of the male persuasion?”
“Well, if you must know, Mr. Nosey, that was Joe West. Anna West’s son. She said hello by the way.”
“You saw Anna West today?”
“Yeah. She gave me some potions. I made a lot of progress today. You should read my notes.” I dig the notebook out, tossing it at him.
His eyes don’t leave me even when he catches it. “And her son asked you out on a date?”
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
“We met briefly when he was a child.”
“He’s not one anymore,” I say with another smile.
“Will you accept his invitation?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what we’re doing tonight. Do I have time for dinner with a cute Texan?” I know I’m just blatantly antagonizing him now. Give me a break. After the day I’ve had, I can use a bit of fun. “It’d give you time for some more ‘catching up’ with Marianna.”
Grin Number Two, partial fang. “Are you trying to make me jealous as punishment for last night, my dear?”
“You wish. It has nothing to do with you. I happen to like Joe. So can I call him back and make plans?”
“Far be it for me to create a roadblock between you and true love, but alas, we have plans tonight. Killers to catch and all that.”
“Well, if you’d read my notes there, you’d see that I may have located them, or at least where they’re staying.”
He opens the notebook, scanning it while I peruse the room service menu. I know the chances of me actually going on a date with Joe are slim to none, and I’m hungry. I settle on a hamburger with red potatoes.
“Did you contact George with this information yet?” Oliver asks.
“Of course. They’re looking into it right now. What do you think we should do? We could drive there and take a look around ourselves.”
“At night? Two against ten? I think not. Let the local law enforcement do the busy work. No, we proceed as planned.” Oliver jumps off the bed, then retrieves his suitcase. “We go to the club the Costarellos were last seen at, which means I’m afraid Mr. West will have to wait.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
Oliver pulls out a pair of black jeans and black silk shirt. I love that outfit on him. The jeans leave nothing to the imagination, and the shirt brings out his eyes and almost red lips. He’s doing this to torture me, I know it. He starts dressing right in front of me. I look away toward the menu again. “You should rest until it is time to depart. I do not want you to swoon on the dance floor.”
“What will you do?”
He buttons the shirt up, darn it. “Marianna invited me to a reading at her bookstore. I believe I shall attend.”
“Wait. You’re allowed to go on a date and I’m not?”
“This is not a date.”
“Right,” I say in a huff. “I’m sorry, but aren’t we supposed to be married? What kind of woman allows her husband to go out with another hot woman?”
“My dear, it is not a date. And people do not stand Marianna up.”
“Beatrice Smythe’s husband does,” I say sweetly.
He looks at me, eyes wild with amusement. Grin Number One forms. “There will be consequences.”
“That’s nice.”
“If you are adamant …” He starts unbuttoning his shirt, not taking his eyes off me.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable for a night in with my wife,” he says with the final button.
“Cute.” I stand up, rolling my eyes. “Put your clothes back on. We’ll go to Venus, then the club. I don’t want to spend another minute in this place.”
“It will do no good.”
“It can’t hurt.” I grab some slut clothes from my suitcase and go into the bathroom, slamming the door. Half an hour later, Beatrice and Oliver Smythe descend the staircase of the Dauphine dressed to kill. Oliver smolders in his black outfit and leather coat, hair slicked back into a ponytail. I’ve gone more sensible tonight with a knee-length black velvet skirt, matching hip-length jacket, knife bustier, two-inch Mary Janes, and spider-web black stockings. No fashion tips tonight.
I think we can make a clean getaway, as no nudists or incestuous vamps jump out while we’re in the hallway—until we take that final step off the stairs.
“There you are,” Marianna calls from the study. All my positive self-image feelings fade away as she walks toward us. Her long, supple limbs go for miles in tight black pants ending at ballet slippers. Underneath her satin jacket about ninety percent of her boobs hang out of her matching jeweled tank top. Even without a stitch of makeup, she’s flawless. And boy is she not happy to see me. Her eyes give me the once over and her lips purse. “Oh, hello.”
“I am sorry, Marianna,” Oliver says. “I will not be able to escort you out tonight. Something has come up
.”
“What?” she asks sweet as pie, though her eyes narrow.
“My dear wife has managed to acquire a pair of Bruce Springsteen tickets and wishes us to attend. I am sorry but perhaps we can go another night. All three of us.”
All pretense of niceness fades. “You disappoint me, Oliver.”
“It was never my intention. Please do not be cross with me.”
The sweet mask returns. Smiles ensue. “As if anyone could ever stay angry at you. Enjoy your night with your … wife.” She all but chokes that last word out.
“We will,” I say with a smile. I start walking again without a second glance. For once I welcome the blast-furnace air of the night. “How much trouble are we in now?” I ask as we walk toward the car.
“Do you remember Cleveland?”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
_____
We spend the next three hours driving aimlessly around Venus, Texas, and its neighboring towns. Well, I do the driving and Oliver does the looking. I can’t see much past the dotted yellow line on the road, not that I think there’s much to see. The few homes we’ve ventured toward haven’t been that much to look at. Dirt, rundown farm homes, the occasional cow. Real exciting stuff. And Oliver hasn’t exactly been Mr. Chatty Cathy. He’s said the occasional, “Turn here,” or “This is a good song.” Finally, around nine o’clock, he demands I return him to civilization. I’m bored out of my skull, so I oblige.
We’re half an hour outside Dallas when the twenty minutes of complete silence finally gets to me. “Me and my bright ideas,” I mutter.
Oliver changes the radio station and Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight” begins. He doesn’t say anything.
“Not going to agree with me?” I ask.
“No. I do not wish to anger you any further after a bad day.”
“But you’re thinking it.” I pause. “Well, I’m sorry I ruined your date with Marianna.”
“Now you are intentionally attempting to start a fight.”
“I am not! But you have to admit it was a pretty lousy thing to do to your supposed wife. Going on a date with another woman.”
“My dear, I know this may come as a shock, but as much as I love living in a basement in Kansas, constantly at war with a werewolf, I do sometimes miss the companionship of my own kind. Talking to them and—”
“Sleeping with them,” I finish.
He looks at me, expressionless. “I did not bed her.”
For some reason I feel like I’ve grown three pounds lighter. “You were gone all night. And you had plans tonight.”
“We reminisced. We drank. We flirted. Not so much as a kiss was exchanged. She tried and I evaded.”
“And why did you do that?” I ask nastily.
“I believe you know the reason.” My head snaps to the right to see his expression. “It would ruin our cover.” Oh. He looks out the window. “Just as you attending dinner with Joe West would.”
I’m quiet for a moment, then sigh. “I wasn’t really going to dinner with him.”
“Why not? You are young. Unattached.”
“It wouldn’t work out. He lives here, I live in Kansas. Besides, I don’t think I could handle a relationship right now. My life’s difficult enough as it is, right?”
“I suppose. Though with all the agony and torment we deal with, there should be some joy to life, yes?”
“Not if it complicates things even more.”
“But the complications make life interesting.”
“Wow. Are we having a real conversation for once? People wouldn’t recognize us.”
“I could make another pass at you if we have stepped outside your comfort zone, if you wish.”
“No, thank you,” I chuckle. “I’m good. And I’m sorry I was such a jerk before. I’m just frustrated. If you had interviewed those girls today … I don’t know. I just want to find these guys and … you know.”
“I know. And we will find them, of that I am sure. We just have to let the local police do their jobs. There cannot be that many blue BMWs in this area. And tomorrow, if you feel you must, you may join them in their search. The best thing to do now is to continue asking questions. The motley crew you describe had to have been noticed. We will find them.
“And then you may chop their heads off.”
_____
Who knew there would be so many yuppies in Purgatory? I should have guessed though.
The dance club is split into four levels: Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, and Upper Heaven. We’ve cased all levels and decided that Hell has the scariest group. Purgatory with its peach, yellow, and blue lounging area clashed with my black velvet. Though, if I get bored, I can sit at the martini bar and watch boxing. Fun. That level was wall to wall twenty-somethings either wearing next to nothing or pastel polo shirts with popped collars. Pink on men is somehow disconcerting. No self-respecting vamp was found in Purgatory or the two heavens for that matter.
Oliver and I stood out in Heaven. It was all white. White chairs, white bars, white tables, white tile dance floor. Heck, even the waitresses were dressed as sexy angels, which is wrong any way you look at it. More popped collars and emaciated girls gyrating to horrible remixes of Madonna and Common. There were one or two vamps up there, younglings who can blend in, according to Oliver. We didn’t, so we banished ourselves to Hell.
Hell is as uncomfortable as it should be, with concrete bar tops and dance floor. The seats my companion and I occupy are of the aluminum variety, and our drinks sit on a stainless-steel stool. The room is almost totally dark except for the orange and red swirls on the dance floor above, and the glow from the neon light under the bar. Hip hop (not my cup of tea) blasts from the DJ booth. Either they’ve turned down the music on this level, or I’ve gone deaf. Thank God either way.
Some vamp whose name I think is Colin chats with Oliver while I sit and watch the people and vamps dance. Judging from the lack of tans and seriously outdated clothes—Members Only jacket? Please—I’d put the vamp to human ratio at thirty to seventy and growing. Some dance, others attempt conversation with other vamps or their prey. I’ve delegated myself the task of keeping an eye out for the bad guys. Oliver has taken the role of talking to everyone but me. From the few words I’ve been able to hear, the conversations have nothing to do with the case, unless our cabal is on Jersey Shore or frequented Studio 54. I’ll have to ask him about that last one. All in all, I was happier driving around. At least then I could hear myself think.
Oliver says something, and Colin laughs. This is the fifth vamp who has sat down in the last two hours, and each one has laughed. It’s so unfair. I always get the boring job. I sigh and take a sip of my water. Ten bucks for a water, highway robbery. And now I have to pee. I tap Oliver on the shoulder and mouth “bathroom.” He nods then returns to his conversation with his new best friend.
The bathroom is relatively empty, meaning I only have to wait in line for five minutes. After I’m done with Mother Nature’s call, halfway back to my seat, I spot a young, petite blonde at the bar who wasn’t there before. I can only see her in profile, but she matches the description. Right age, pale, talking to a girl about her same age. She’s like half the girls in here, though a lot less tan. Instead of going back to the table, I cut across the dance floor. The girl vamp doesn’t register my presence, she’s too busy talking to a teenager in short shorts and pink halter. The girl vamp chuckles. She’s dressed in a black and red bondage miniskirt with matching red sweater. Her dark blonde hair hangs down to her butt, with square bangs framing her elfin face. She reminds me of Alice in Wonderland, especially with a smattering of freckles across her button nose. Trying not to be obvious, I order a screwdriver. Over the music I can’t hear what they’re talking about. I sit and drink.
This continues for a few minutes where I glean nothing while being eyed by a few drunken frat boys. Okay, drastic measures. I “accidentally” sweep my arm, spilling screwdriver all over my quarry.
“What the fuck?” the possible Julie shouts, jumping off her stool.
“Oh, my God!” I say. She winces at that last word just as I hoped she would. Vamp. “I am so sorry!” The bartender hands me a towel, and I start dabbing her sweater. She looks at me with disgust, snatching the towel away. “Um, are you okay?”
“Fine,” she spits back.
“Why don’t we go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up. It might stain.”
“Just leave me alone,” she says. Okay, this is as far as my plan went. I have no idea what to say or do now.
Then, as if he can read my mind, Oliver saunters over, God bless him. The girl, sensing him, looks up. Her fear is immediate. I wonder how young she is.
“Is everything well here?” Oliver asks, touching the girl’s arm lightly. Her body tenses.
“I spilled my drink on her,” I say.
He smiles. “Your clumsiness will be the end of you someday, my darling.”
“You two are together?” the girl asks.
“This is my consort, Beatrice.” He takes this opportunity to slip his arm around my waist.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Two men saunter up to us from the dance floor, and I force a poker face to hide my excitement. One is wiry but muscled in dark blue jeans with tight, dark green shirt. He has cheekbones that can cut rocks, full lips, and ink black hair. The other is tall and looks my age, with an average build, but with a gorgeous face and sandy brown gelled-up hair. It’s them. No question. Oliver tightens his grip on my waist, no doubt afraid I’ll attack them on sight. If I had my machete Bette, darn straight I would. For now, I’ll play it cool.
“What’s going on?” Rick asks.
“Nothing,” the girl who I have no doubt in my mind is Julie says.
The two size us up. I smile nervously, but Oliver’s face remains concrete. JR looks Oliver in the eyes but glances away a moment later.
“I spilled my drink on her,” I say. I turn to Julie. “I really think we should wash that out before it stains.”
To Catch a Vampire Page 14