Fearless in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  In the absence of an obvious medicine cabinet, I started opening drawers, looking for anything that could be a vial of date-rape drugs. I found a shocking amount of hair products, several toothbrushes, including one very sophisticated electric one, and a healthy supply of whitening strips.

  But no murder weapon.

  I moved on to the cupboards beneath, coming up with the usual assortment of cleaning supplies. Nothing out of the ordinary or, honestly, very different than what was in my own bathroom cabinets. (Not that I could get into them anymore.)

  “Any luck?” I heard Dana call from the other room.

  I ducked my head back out. “No. You guys?”

  “Nothing,” Dana informed me. “We checked the closets, drawers, under the bed. There are no drugs anywhere.”

  I pursed my lips together. This was starting to look like another fruitless investigation.

  “This house is huge,” Marco said. “Maybe he hid it in another room?”

  I shrugged. “It’s definitely worth looking.”

  We quietly slipped from Sebastian’s room, back out into the hallway. I’m sure guilt was etched on each of our faces as a couple came up the stairs, the woman giggling and laughing at something the guy in another long, black wig said, but they seemed too engrossed in each other to notice us.

  As soon as they passed us, Marco hissed, “Where to now?”

  I looked down the hallway. Six closed doors stared back at me, three on either side.

  “I say we split up,” I decided. “It’s the fastest way to search everything before someone finds us here.”

  Marco bit his lip. He stuck his hand in his bag again, fingering his rosary beads. He took a deep breath and adjusted his turtleneck. “Okay. I can do this.”

  We split off, each of us taking a separate door. Mine turned out to be a library of sorts, books lining the walls all the way to the ceiling on one side. Two large, leather chairs took up the center of the room, while a giant globe sat in the corner against the windows. It had an oddly old-world feel that contrasted with the modern look in the rest of the house.

  Luckily, though, it was rather sparsely furnished, making my job easier.

  I quickly looked through the few built-in cabinets beside the globe and shuffled a few books looking for any sort of secret hiding places, before ascertaining that the room was clean.

  I was beginning to worry that maybe Sebastian had disposed of the evidence this time after all.

  I crossed back to the door and put my ear to the wooden panel, listening for voices. Nothing. The hallway was clear. I quickly opened it, slipped outside, and casually walked to the room next door.

  This one was dark, the lights shut off. But in the shadows I could make out a double bed and a small dresser. A guest room, if I had to guess. While light would have made searching a whole lot easier, the windows of this room faced directly onto the circular front drive. Anyone down below would have seen it go on. So instead I blinked, adjusting my eyes to the darkness as I felt in front of me toward the dresser.

  I quickly went through the drawers, coming up with only spare linens, then began running my hands under the pillow and sheets for anything that felt cold, metal, or lethal.

  I was just about to give up, having ascertained that the mattress did not have any secrets stashed under it, when I heard the door open.

  I froze, ducking down behind the bed.

  “Maddie?” a voice whispered, though it was so low I couldn’t tell whether it was Dana or Marco.

  “Over here,” I said, relief flooding through me as I stood up.

  Though I soon realized that the relief was premature.

  And that the voice had belonged to neither Marco nor Dana. Because I knew for a fact that neither one of them would have raised their arm above their body as I watched the shadowy figure do, clutching something dark and heavy in one hand, then bring it down on the side of my head with such force that I fell to the ground.

  I got a great view of the dust bunnies living under Sebastian’s guest bed for a half a second before I felt my eyelids fall forward, plunging me into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I had found out I was pregnant, the first thing I did (after having a mild panic attack) was google what sort of delicious things I could now not consume. I knew alcohol was definitely out, but I was surprised to find that soft cheese, raw eggs, and certain fish were also on the list. Along with my biggest indulgence – coffee. I’m pretty sure people all the way in Riverside County heard my sobs when I realized it was nine months of no Starbucks for me. And the first day I had gone zero caffeine, cold turkey down from my usual three-lattes-a-day habit, I’d had a caffeine deprivation headache so horrible I’d thought that my head might actually explode. My temples throbbed, my eyes burned, and my head felt twice its usual size.

  But that, I realized as I slowly blinked one eye open, was nothing compared to how my head felt now.

  I heard myself moan as I slowly managed to get both eyes open, blinking in the darkness. I wasn’t sure where I was, but it was cold and moist, the air was damp in a way that instantly made me have to pee. And it was pitch black. Not a sliver of light shone anywhere. I continued blinking, fighting through the throbbing pain with each miniscule movement of my eyelids, as I tried to get my eyes to adjust to the absence of light. I gingerly moved my fingers, hands, legs. All seemed to be in working order, though I could feel stiffness settling in my limbs. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious. Or, for that matter, who’d made me that way.

  “Hello?” I called out in a voice that could have belonged to a scared two year old.

  I thought I heard a faint rustling sound to my right in response.

  I moved toward it. “Hello? Is anyone there?” I asked, not sure if I wanted someone to be or not. The last person I’d seen had hit me on the head. Not exactly ideal company.

  I heard more rustling, this time accompanied by a moan much like the one I’d just made.

  “Maddie?” a small, female voice called out.

  “Dana! Is that you?” I asked, reaching my hands out in front of me as I slowly moved toward the sound.

  “My head is killing me,” Dana whined, her voice growing closer as I carefully crawled along the floor toward her.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. One minute I was searching through a bathroom cabinet, the next I’m here.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded in the dark. “Yeah. Ditto the headache, but I’m alright,” I said, feeling my hands come up against the fabric of her satin dress. She quickly grabbed my hand, squeezing it in hers as if she expected the Boogieman to jump out at us any second.

  Which, honestly, was a possibility at this point.

  “Where’s Marco?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. He took the next door down from me.”

  “Marco?” I called out in the darkness.

  But only silence echoed back at me.

  I felt Dana squeeze my hand just that much tighter.

  “I’m sure he’s okay,” I said, more to myself than her. “I’m sure he’s fine, he’s looking for us, maybe even going for help right now.”

  I felt Dana nod beside me. “Uh huh,” she agreed. Though her voice was about as unconvincing as mine. “Any clue where we are?” Dana asked

  I shook my head. (Which, by the way was a very bad idea, prompting more throbbing, burning, and general pain in my temples.) “None,” I answered, truthfully. I squinted through the blackness, my eyes having adjusted just enough to make out some basic shapes. We were in a corridor of some kind, only a few feet wide but long enough that I couldn’t see the end of it. The walls were concrete, the same cold, damp consistency as the floor. I could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter, telling me the head-basher hadn’t dragged us too far from Sebastian’s party. I swiveled around and could just make out the shape of a doorway behind me.

  “Look over there,” I said, pointing it out.


  I slowly stood up, realizing my left foot was asleep, and waddled toward it. I felt Dana right behind me, her hands on my back as she felt her way along the damp walls. Unfortunately, as we got closer, I realized that, while it was a door alright, there was no handle on our side of it.

  I ran my fingers along the edges, looking for any sort of spot to get a finger-hold, but came up empty.

  Dana hit the door with her palm. “Hey!” she shouted. She did some more pounding. “Help! Can anyone hear us?”

  Only silence greeted us on the other side.

  If we were still hidden away somewhere at Sebastian’s place, the party music was too loud for anyone to hear us.

  I spun around, instead scanning the corridor for anything we might be able to use to pry the door open. Sadly, I could only see about a foot in front of myself. I squatted down, slowing crawling along the floor, hands out in front of me, hoping they contacted with something useful before they contacted with something yucky. Dust, a cobweb (definitely yucky!), and more damp floor. I was about to give up when my hands hit something soft and leathery. I grabbed on, exploring the surface and coming up against fringe before I realized it was my Santana bag!

  “Dana, my purse is in here,” I shouted, feeling her come up behind me. I dug my hands inside, feeling the vinyl arms of Baby-So-Lifelike, the cold metal of a lipstick tube, a couple of tampons long forgotten in the bottom, some receipts, and a few pieces I couldn’t identify by touch. The one thing noticeably absent was my cell.

  I felt my spirits sinking faster than the Titanic. “He took my phone.”

  “Same here,” I heard Dana say, rustling to my right. “He left a nail file, though. Think that might help?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  We held hands, feeling our way in the dark back toward the knob-less door, and stuck the metal file into the crack between the door and the jamb. Dana wiggled it, twisted it, moved it up and down.

  But the door stayed shut.

  I’m not sure how long we stood there jiggling, but my right foot was just starting to join my left in dreamland when I heard a sound on the other side of the door.

  I froze.

  I felt Dana go still beside me. She’d heard it too.

  We both jumped back, and I bit my lip, uncertain if I should try to hide or call for help.

  “Help!” Dana yelled, apparently not having the same dilemma. “Someone help! We’re stuck in here!” she yelled.

  A second later the door swung open, the sudden light blinding me. Instinctively I ducked my head, shielding my eyes from the onslaught of brightness.

  “Marco!” I heard Dana yell beside me.

  I blinked against the light, making out two forms silhouetted in the doorway. One was slumped forward, limp as a ragdoll, and wearing skintight pants. The other was tall, holding form number one up, and holding a gun in the other hand.

  I did an involuntary yip that echoed in the corridor as the form with the gun unceremoniously dumped Marco at our feet.

  “Marco, can you hear me?” Dana asked, quickly crawling toward him.

  “Don’t move,” the figure holding the gun informed her.

  Dana froze.

  “Either of you,” he said, swinging the weapon my way.

  I wisely froze, too.

  The figure reached behind himself and shut the door again, closing off any means of escape, then switched on a flashlight, bathing the room in soft light.

  I looked up at our attacker, expecting to see icy blue eyes and a pair of fangs gleaming at me.

  Instead, I saw a thick head of hair, thick glasses, and a thick dimpled neck.

  Bill Blaise.

  I blinked, feeling a frown form between my eyebrows as I took in his black slacks, black jacket, and costume-store fangs. “I don’t understand,” I mused out loud. “What are you doing here?”

  He turned the gun my way. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here, is the question,” he countered. “What are you doing nosing around where you don’t belong. Stirring up trouble where there was none. Digging into people’s personal lives that should be left alone.”

  Honestly? I did have a habit of doing that. But I didn’t think now was the time to admit it.

  “Against the wall,” he said, motioning Dana and I to the far side of the corridor.

  We scuttled backward, crab-walking until I felt the concrete of the wall hit my back.

  “You killed Alexa?” I asked, puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.

  He spun on me. “Brilliant, Sherlock,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  “But why?”

  “Why? Because the bitch was blackmailing me, that’s why,” he spit out, just this side of foaming at the mouth.

  “So this never did have anything to do with vampires,” Dana mused.

  Blaise shot her a look. “Of course it did. What do you think she was blackmailing me over?”

  “Wait,” said, my little mental hamster jumping on her wheel as I took in his outfit again. “You mean, you are a vampire?”

  “Oh, don’t be so Moonlight. Of course I’m not. There is no such thing as a real vampire. But, once a month I played vampire at one of Sebastian’s parties. Goldstein turned me on to them one night while I was in town signing some documents. He said they were a great way to unwind.”

  “And when Alexa started working here, she saw you at one,” I finished.

  He nodded. “Yes. Yes, she did.”

  “And she threatened to tell your wife about your dress-up fetish?”

  Again he shot me a look like I was denser than a fruit cake. “No. She threatened to tell my wife that I slept with Becca after the party.”

  Mental forehead smack.

  “So these are hook-up parties?” Dana asked.

  Blaise nodded. “Nothing happens here, but if you want the fantasy to continue after hours, the girls are usually wiling to accommodate.” He paused. “And I couldn’t have Phoebe knowing that. She’s a very sensitive woman. It would have killed her.”

  “So Alexa saw you here, watched you leave with her friend, then used that information to blackmail you,” I said.

  Blaise nodded. “Stupid whore thought I would actually pay her. Do you know how much money I’ve given her over the last three years?”

  I shook my head. Not that I cared. But I realized that the longer we kept him talking the longer he wasn’t shooting at us. I knew from many hours of CSI watching, that the bad guys never confessed unless they planned to get rid of the witnesses. The fact that he was spilling all didn’t bode well for our future.

  But it could buy us some time.

  “Thousands,” Blaise spit out, answering his own question. “Every month she came to us with her hand out, expecting me to empty my bank account. And then she had the nerve to ask for more to keep her mouth shut? Ha!” he laughed, though there was zero trace of humor in it. “No way.” He paused, his demeanor changing. “My poor wife,” he said, his voice low. “She is such a generous creature, and that Alexa just ran right over her. Exploited their relationship for everything she could. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let Alexa ruin us that way. I had to protect my wife.”

  “So you killed Alexa,” I said, trying to keep him talking. I heard Marco moan at my feet, coming to. He shifted, and I noticed that Blaise hadn’t had time to disarm him of his vampire hunting kit yet. Which might have come in handy if Blaise were a real vampire. As it was, gun trumped barbeque skewer any day.

  Blaise nodded. “It was too easy, really. I followed her to Crush, then slipped a little something into her drink and waited. As soon as I saw her start to stumble, I jumped in, ‘helping’ her to the ladies’ room,” he said, doing an air quote with his free hand.

  “Then you staged it to look like a vampire had killed her?” Dana asked, her eyes going to Marco and his bag. She noticed the same thing I did. She looked back up at me, and raised one eyebrow in a silent question.

  Sadly, I couldn’t think of any way to disarm a kil
ler with Evian. I slowly shook my head in answer.

  “I knew the vampire bite would keep the authorities guessing,” Blaise continued, oblivious to our silent exchange. “There are enough shady things going on here, enough people with secrets, that the police could be chasing their tails for weeks trying to figure out which one of Sebastian’s guests did it.”

  “And that’s all you needed,” I said, a light bulb going off as I remembered our last conversation with him. “Just some time. You were stalling until after the funeral, when you were going away with your wife.” I paused. “You’re not coming back are you?”

  Blaise grinned, his face a spooky jack-o-lantern imitation in the pale flashlight beam. “No. I believe an extended vacation in the Bahamas is just what my wife and I need to reconnect.”

  “But what about Becca?” Dana asked. “Why kill her?”

  “Because she had the nerve to pick up where Alexa left off,” he spat out. “She said she knew I’d killed Alexa. That she’d seen me take her into the restroom at Crush, and she would tell the authorities if I didn’t pay her off.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “I told her to meet me at the next party. That I’d have her cash for her then. She did, I got her a drink, and then I told her I wasn’t paying up. That she could go to the police if she wanted, but she had no proof, and I’d just tell them that she did it.”

  “But you knew she wasn’t going to the police,” I pointed out. “Because you spiked her drink.”

  He grinned. “I did. Two hours and she’d be showing her mortality.”

  “And you’d get away with everything.”

  “Right.” He paused. “As long as no one else came nosing after the truth before I had a chance to get out of town.”

  I gulped. “Like us?”

  “Exactly.” He took a step toward us, his eyes narrowing. “Goldstein called me after you left his office yesterday. Asking all kinds of probing questions. I can’t have people asking questions, Maddie,” he said, pointing the gun at me. “Least of all, you.”