No response.
“There’s a pregnant women out here about to burst,” I warned.
Again, nothing.
I moved to bang on the door with my fist, but the second my hand made contact, the door swung open.
And that’s when, for the first time in five months, peeing dropped to number two on my priority list.
Sitting inside the stall, slumped backward on the toilet seat was the dark-haired girl I’d had words with earlier. And while she wasn’t doing what one might think a person in a toilet stall would be doing, it was clear she was not going to be getting up any time soon. Her head lulled to one side, a trickle of blood dripped down the front of her dress, and her eyes stared at the ceiling, wide and unseeing. And totally dead.
Chapter Three
Had the music not been so loud, it’s possible I might have heard myself scream. As it was, the first sign I had that I was freaking out was a wave of nausea and a swaying of the room in front of my eyes. I blinked, took in a deep breath, willed my stomach contents to stay put as I grabbed onto the side of the stall, then took another deep breath.
Once I was pretty sure I remembered the mechanics of breathing again, I tried to force some logical thought into my brain.
Here’s the thing: I’m ashamed to admit this is not the first dead body that I’ve found. Through no fault of my own, I seem to be some kind of dead person magnet. In fact, that’s how I originally met my husband, the homicide detective. I’d like to think it’s just bad luck on my part, but the truth is my dead-body-finding luck is beyond bad. It’s downright disastrous.
I gingerly reached into the stall and put one finger to the side of Bitch Chick’s neck to feel for a pulse. Her skin was still warm but had a distinctly rubbery feel that gave me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. Not surprisingly, no blood pulsed there.
I pulled my hand back and instinctively wiped it on the seat of my pants to get rid of the dead person cooties. Yep, she was definitely gone. I mentally debated between calling the cops and grabbing the attention of one of the burly security guys Crush had roaming the floor. Considering calling the cops probably entailed lots of hanging out in the bathroom with a dead woman while on hold with 911 and waiting for police to arrive, I went with option two.
I shut the stall door, said a silent prayer that no one else stumbled in here in the next two minutes, and backed out of the restroom.
The strobe lights and lasers from the dance floor immediately assaulted my eyes as I scanned the crowd for one of the guys in a black t-shirts with “security” printed on the back. I finally found one near a grouping of tables to the right and shoved my way through the crowds toward him.
“Dead girl,” I panted as I reached his side, realizing I was out of breath.
The security guy squinted down at me. He was at least a foot taller than I was, at least a hundred pounds heavier (which was saying something, given my current condition), and his skin was two shades darker. He had intimidating bad-ass written all over him.
“What are you talking about, girl?” he asked.
I paused, took in a deep breath, willed my heart to slow down a couple of hundred beats per minute. “In the women’s restroom. There’s a dead body.”
“You high?” he asked, his eyes narrowing further as he checked my pupils.
I shook my head so hard my hair whipped my cheeks. “No. I swear. Go look. She’s really dead,” I managed in a choppy breath.
He stared at me for another beat, still not convinced I was for real. Then finally said, “Show me.”
While going back in there was the last thing I wanted to do, I was left with little choice. So I did, leading him toward the restroom. There was still a crush of girls primping at the mirrors, though thankfully Pumps and Loafers had finished their business, leaving one stall empty. I pointed with a noticeably shaky hand at the other one.
“In there,” I said, hating how high and squeaky my voice was.
Security Guy knocked on the stall door. But, just as it had for me, it swung open before anyone could respond. Not that anyone in there could respond. I gulped back a wave of nausea again, looking away.
Security Guy was silent for a moment, his face unreadable as he stared into the stall. Then he finally said, “Oh yeah. She’s definitely dead.”
* * *
Forty minutes later I had finally relieved myself (in the men’s room), the strobe lights were off, the lasers gone, the DJ’s station silent, and the crowd assembled in hushed groups of three and four as uniformed officers questioned potential witnesses. Including yours truly. Dana, Marco, the silent Gunnar and I were all slumped in a booth near the back, awaiting round two of questions as officers huddled near the door to the ladies’ room, whispering, pointing, calling in higher ranking detectives to do the dirty work.
One of whom I unfortunately recognized immediately.
“Uh oh,” Dana said her eyes honing in one him as she voiced my thoughts exactly. “Isn’t that…”
“Yep.” I gulped down a ball of dread.
“You know what?” Marco said, spotting him too. “I think I’m just gonna go use the little boys room…” he trailed off, sliding out of the booth, Dana and Gunnar a quick step behind him.
Traitors. Though, as I watched the reason for their quick getaway spot me, scowl, then make purposeful strides toward my booth, I kinda didn’t blame them. I’d flee if I could, too.
He was tall and built like a boxer – all tight muscle and tough attitude. A faint scar ran through his left eyebrow, a black panther tattoo snaked down his left bicep, and his eyes were a deep, dark brown, so intense they were almost black as they bore down on me.
I cleared my throat and did a little one finger wave his direction. “Hi, honey.”
My husband did not wave back. No smile, no hint of amusement whatsoever. In his defense, I guess finding your wife at your crime scene wasn’t every detective’s dream. But, in my defense, you’d think he’d be used to it by now.
I cleared my throat again and shifted nervously in my seat.
Ramirez crossed his arms over his chest. He looked from me to the yellow tape being stretched across the ladies’ room door. Back to me. Then he slowly shook his head.
“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do. Again.”
I gulped. No kidding.
“Look, it wasn’t my fault,” I protested. “I just had to pee.”
“You always have to pee. You don’t always find dead bodies.”
“I’d like you to remember that statement in the future.”
He shot me a dark look. “Just tell me what happened, Springer.”
Ouch. Last name. He was serious. I shifted again, then spilled it in the best so-not-my-fault way I could, telling him how I’d encountered Skinny Bitch Chick in the ladies’ room.
When I was done he gave me a long hard stare. “What on earth possessed you to take our unborn baby to a club in the first place?” he finally said.
I blinked at him. “Excuse me, last time I checked this was still my body.”
“Carrying our baby.”
“Well for another four months she goes where I go, and if I want to go to a club, I’m going. Besides, it’s a club not a shooting range. What danger could she possibly be in?”
“Besides his mother getting in an altercation with a murdered woman?”
I bit my lip. “Oh. You heard about that, huh?”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. I heard. Apparently witnesses said you threatened to kill her? To suffocate her to death?”
“She called me fat!” I protested.
Ramirez closed his eyes. He did a silent two count, and I could see him employing a couple of those deep Lamaze breaths I’d been learning.
“Let’s get back to the body,” he finally said, opening his eyes again. “You said you found her in the restroom, correct?”
I nodded. “She was in a stall.”
“Who else was in the restroom at the time?” he asked.
I scrun
ched my nose up, trying to remember specifics. “There were some girls in front of the mirror, but they were just hanging out there. And there was a couple getting busy in the stall next door.”
The corner of Ramirez’s lip quirked up. “’Getting busy’?”
I felt myself blush. “Doing… you know. Anyway, no, I didn’t see anyone fleeing the scene with a knife in hand.” I paused. “Or a gun?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t exactly sure how Bitch Chick had met her demise. Admittedly, I hadn’t done a thorough examination of the body in the stall.
Ramirez shook his head. “No evidence of a gunshot so far.”
“How did she die then?” I asked.
Ramirez looked past me to the crime scene. “We’ll have to wait for the ME’s report to be sure. But it looks like exsanguination.”
“She bled to death?” I clarified.
Ramirez nodded.
I felt a frown pull between my brows. “But there didn’t seem to be that much blood,” I pointed out, remembering the thin trickle I’d seen earlier. “I mean, I saw a little on her shirt, but not much.”
He nodded. “I know. It’s possible she was killed elsewhere then dumped here.”
I felt my frown deepen. Sure, that might have been possible… but only half an hour earlier she’d been at the bar insulting me. That didn’t leave a lot of time for the killer to rush her somewhere else, bleed her to death, then rush her body back.
“What makes you think she bled to death?” I asked, wondering if maybe their theory had some holes in it.
Ramirez pursed his lips. “There were lacerations on her neck.”
“Lacerations?” I asked. “Like, cuts? Stab wounds?”
He frowned. “Sort of. More like puncture wounds.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Puncture wounds. On her neck. How many?”
Ramirez cleared his throat. “Two of them.”
“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “Are you telling me that she has bite marks on her neck?”
Ramirez’s mouth took on a pinched look. “Puncture wounds.”
“Holy shazbah, she was killed by a vampire bite?”
Ramirez shot me a look. “That’s it. No more Moonlight for you, Springer.”
“But you just said she was drained of blood.”
“She bled out. I didn’t say she was drained.”
“And she had bite marks.”
“Puncture wounds. And beyond that, I’m waiting for the ME’s report before speculating further on how or why the marks are on her neck. And,” he added giving me a stern look, “I suggest you not speculate either.”
Right. Only, how could I not? Pale skin, long black hair, bite marks, and death by blood sucking. It all added up to one thing as far as I was concerned.
Death by vampire.
* * *
“No way! Skinny Bitch Chick was a vampire?” Marco gaped at me across my kitchen table the next morning, almost spilling his mug of coffee.
I shifted in my seat. “I’m not sure we should continue calling her that now that she’s dead. And, no, she wasn’t a vampire, she was bitten by a vampire.”
“Lord have mercy, this is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me,” Marco said. “Real life Moonlight hotties walking among us.” He practically drooled at the thought.
Dana scoffed. “Come on. You don’t really believe the vampire thing, do you?”
Marco shrugged. “A boy can dream,” he answered.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t really believe there are vampires roaming among us.” At least not 100%... “But here’s the thing: even if there is no such thing as a vampire, someone clearly tried to make it look like she was bitten by a vampire. Bite marks, blood drained. Someone either thinks they are a vampire or wants us to think they are.”
“What do we know about Bit-” Marco paused, catching himself just in time. “About the victim?” he amended.
“Her name is Alexa Weston,” I supplied, rattling off the stats I’d dragged out of Ramirez last night. “She’s twenty-four, lives in Burbank, no record.”
“You just described half the women in this town,” Marco pointed out, sipping at his cup. Then he made a face, scrunching his nose and pursing his lips. “Honey, what is this stuff?” he asked me.
“Um, coffee?” I answered.
“You call this coffee? Mads, my baby bottle had stronger stuff than this in it.”
“Sorry. I’m not supposed to have caffeine because of…” I gestured down to The Bump.
“So the rest of us have to suffer, too?” Marco whined, pushing his cup away.
“Well I just hope,” Dana jumped in, “that Ramirez finds the killer - immortal or otherwise,” she said shooting a look Marco’s way, “quickly, and this can all just go away. Do you know what this has done to Crush?”
I shook my head.
“Ricky told me that they’re closed until further notice. A club closes down for a week in this town, and no one will remember it again.”
Marco waved her off. “Sure they will. Someone was killed there.”
“Great. I can only imagine what that will do to sales.”
“It’s Hollywood, honey. Every vampire wanna-be in town is going to be flocking to it hoping to get the bite,” he argued.
Dana shot him a look. “Or it will go under because no investors will have anything to do with it, and there goes Ricky’s slowing down. He’ll be out of town filming more Moonlight movies.” She grimaced. “With Ava.”
“Come on. She can’t be that bad,” I jumped in.
“She posed nude for Playboy last week.”
“I stand corrected.”
Dana pouted again.
“Well, then we just need to make sure this case gets solved quickly and with a minimum of publicity,” Marco decided, patting Dana sympathetically on the arm.
“I’m sure Ramirez is on it,” I said. In fact, he’d been so on it that he’d come home only to change clothes and slip back out into the night again. A fact that had left me mildly disappointed, as I’d kinda hoped we could do a little under-the-covers making up after the not-so-fabulous encounter at Crush. Unfortunately, as I well knew when Ramirez had a case, he had a one track mind. Sleep, food, and wife fell out of the equation faster than you could say “homicide.”
But Marco shook his head. “Sure, he’s all over the fingerprints and DNA and witnesses. But what about the vampire angle? Is Ramirez really investigating that?”
I bit my lip. Not likely. In fact, he seemed pretty defiant that there was no angle. “I’m not sure he’s really convinced about the vampire thing…”
“Right,” Marco said. “But you said so yourself that someone went through some trouble to make it look like a vampire death. I’d say that makes it a pretty relevant angle.”
I had to admit, I agreed.
“And who better,” Marco went on, “to track down a vampire killer than us? I mean, how many times have you seen Moonlight?”
“Seven,” I admitted. “This week.”
He turned to Dana. “You?”
“Way too many,” she answered rolling her eyes.
“I rest my case,” Marco said. “We are totally vampire experts.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions…” I hedged.
Famous last words.
Marco squealed and clapped his hands. “Ohmigod, I’ve got the perfect pink trench coat for vampire slaying. I’ve always wanted to go Buffy all over some evil vampire!”
I rolled my eyes. I hoped for all our sakes that Ramirez was making more headway.
FEARLESS IN HIGH HEELS
Order now for Amazon Kindle!
z-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 127