Adventures of a Vegan Vamp: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery

by Cate Lawley

  “He’s just nasty. He has this slick exterior that a lot of the guys at the office buy into, but he’s vicious. Undermines other people’s projects, takes credit for work that’s not his, practically abuses his assistant—and he screwed with my career when that was still really important to me.”

  “None of that makes him a vampire, though he does seem to share similarities with many I’ve met.”

  “You mentioned before that vamps aren’t particularly well liked, but the only one I’ve met seems pretty cool. Wait, Cornelius isn’t—”

  “No. Assassin. And Wembley’s different—like you.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about being different. Not until I met some of these notoriously unlikeable vamps. But that was a task for a different day, since none seemed to be lurking on the sidelines. “I think it’s time I collected my personal items from the office.”

  Alex grinned. “Excellent plan. Would you like an escort?”

  15

  RATODILE

  I climbed into the passenger seat without even thinking. Hard to believe I’d only driven my own car once since I bought it.

  “If we hurry, I can pick up my separation packet from HR before they’re gone for the day. Martin will be around for ages, but HR is deserted by five after five.”

  Alex grinned. “I can hurry.”

  “Should I be worried?” I clicked my seatbelt and then double-checked it. He looked a little too confident for my comfort.

  “Wizards have exceptional dexterity—didn’t I mention?”

  “Pretty sure that’s a no, since you hoard information like a Cold War spy.”

  Although that would explain why he always wanted to drive. I’d be uncomfortable riding in a car with someone who had significantly diminished reaction times—say, like drunk people.

  “Ugh. I’m the drunk person.” With Alex’s bewilderment evident, I could hardly not explain. I sighed. “With you and me in the car together, I’m the drunk person; you’re the designated driver.”

  “Right. Or you could just be the person who doesn’t drive as well as me.”

  “You’re so unimaginative, Alex.” My fingers clutched at my purse in my lap. “And speedy.”

  “Don’t tell a guy with enhanced vision, dexterity, strength, and speed that you’re in a hurry”—he passed a van like it was standing still—“unless you want a fast ride. Besides, I’ve driven your car before. It’s in decent shape. What’s the deal with your separation packet? Does that make you officially unemployed?”

  Controlled breathing seemed like a handy plan. Or praying. I compromised with a mantra. I will arrive in one piece. I will arrive… “Not quite. I have six weeks of accumulated vacation. So I have to decide if I’m taking that vacation or a payout for it; that will determine my termination date. My separation packet is primarily about all of the extra goodies. My retirement package, insurance—the various details involved in divorcing myself from a company that’s employed me for thirteen years.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, you have health insurance through the Society.”

  “Really? Oh, wait. I don’t actually need medical care, do I?”

  “Not in the traditional sense. There are a few blood-borne pathogens that can have a negative impact on vamps, but screening and some basic training to recognize telltale markers in the blood eliminates most of the risk. Not an issue for you, of course.”

  “Cancer, high blood pressure, heart attack?”

  “No, not an issue. Hanging, decapitation, starvation—”

  “Stop. I don’t even know in what world I have to worry about being decapitated. Let’s just save that story for later. Unless there’s an immediate concern?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “You’re messing with my happy again, Alex.”

  He pulled into the parking lot of my soon-to-be-ex-employer. “But I got you here with fifteen minutes to spare.”

  “Thank you.” I unclenched my fingers from my purse so I could undo my seatbelt. Mental note: don’t mention speed, being in a hurry, or deadlines when riding with Alex.

  Fifteen minutes before five meant that I caught a few stragglers in the HR department. Not to say they didn’t work as hard as everyone else. I assumed they did, but they kept different hours from the mainstream of the employees. I rarely had arrived at work before nine, for example.

  A nice lady named Linda gave me the packet and told me I could drop it in the mail when I was done with the forms. She gave Alex a curious look.

  “I was planning to pop down and collect my personal items,” I said, and tucked the packet under my arm.

  “I’m her muscle.” Alex waved from the doorway where he’d been lurking and gave her a friendly smile.

  And that was all it took to put Linda at ease—surprise, surprise.

  Once we’d parted ways with Linda and were headed to the elevator, I whispered, “That was downright normal of you.”

  “Please.” Alex smirked. “We don’t need her calling security.”

  “So you can pretend at normal, but don’t enjoy it. How do you date so much?”

  “Who says I do?” He held the elevator open for me and waited for me to step through.

  I pushed the button for my floor. “Martin has a private office, so we can corner him in there and grill him.”

  “I just need to meet him.”

  “You can tell if someone is a vamp on sight?” I asked.

  How had such a nugget eluded me? And, more importantly, could I learn the skill?

  The elevator stopped two floors short of mine, and a woman joined us.

  As we rode the elevator in stilted silence, I realized we might be minutes away from finding the rat. Or the reptile. I’d never really considered what kind of reptile Martin was.

  “Don’t crocodiles drown their prey?”

  The woman’s lips pinched in disapproval, so I flashed her the broadest, friendliest smile I could muster. It seemed the most perverse response—and I didn’t work here anymore.

  “I believe they do,” Alex said.

  Yeah, Martin was a crocodile. He snapped when you least expected it and just hung on, smothering you with his vile comments until you drowned.

  The elevator dinged, announcing our arrival.

  “He can’t be a croc and a rat at the same time, though, can he?”

  “We’re about to find out.” Alex pushed the “door open” button and waited for me to exit then followed behind. After the elevator doors whooshed closed, he said, “But just in case he is our rat, I brought along an old friend.”

  I turned to ask who, but there was no need. He had a massive sword strapped to his back.

  Leaning close, I whispered, “Can everyone see that thing? It’s huge.”

  “You’ll be able to see it now, because you know it’s there—but no one else should.”

  “And if you can hide something that big, why not something smaller…and better, like a gun?” I mouthed the last word, because the last thing I wanted was a workplace incident before we even had a chance to confront Martin. The building definitely had armed security on site, usually a few off-duty cops.

  “We’re not getting into guns versus magical swords right now.”

  “Shush with the G-word. The walls have big ears. And the security guards are armed.” We’d come to the hall where all of my old division’s offices were located. Including Martin’s. And Liz’s. My feet wouldn’t move.

  As soon as I stopped, the sound of my own heartbeat filled my ears. Normally, I’d be sweating about now, but I wasn’t.

  My heart thudded faster. My chest felt tight. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Pull it together. Your eyes are bleeding red.”

  My hands flew to my face.

  “Not literally. Bleeding red eyes…it’s just a turn of phrase.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath, and he was worried about the stupid eye thing.

  “You can’t hyperventilate, and your blood pressure shouldn’t dr
op low enough to cause lightheadedness.” Alex leaned close to my face. “So get it together.”

  I never would have thought you could pressure or intimidate fear. It seemed counterintuitive—until I experienced it in action.

  The tightness in my chest eased. And once the band around my ribcage loosened, I could breathe again. “Whew—thanks.” I stood up straight, tucked my hair behind my ears, and asked, “How are my eyes?”

  “Your eyes are fine. So is your hair. And your outfit.”

  “That is not what I meant.” I turned on my heel and marched down the hallway, past my old office, past Liz’s, and straight up to Martin’s. The door was closed, per usual. I considered knocking, then decided that the man—rat, crocodile, whatever he was—hadn’t earned the privilege. I threw the door open.

  To find Martin picking his nose.

  Ew. Really. Super ew.

  “What are you doing here? I thought we’d seen the last of you.” He grabbed a tissue from his desk and blew his nose.

  Alex was at my shoulder. He whispered in my ear, “Not our guy.”

  A little bubble inside me popped. “Martin, you are a snotty crocodile. That’s all you are.”

  He huffed out a derisive snort. “Your opinion means less than nothing to me. You don’t even work here anymore. I heard you’d gone off the deep end.” His eyes narrowed, and he gave me a look that made my skin crawl. “But they didn’t say anything about you graduating from fat camp.”

  I tried to think happy thoughts. Distracting, not red-eyed thoughts. Because the place I’d been living since my transformation seemed to be fading and the insecurities of my past were bubbling up: what people thought of me, whether I was good enough—at my job, at life.

  Alex gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Mr. Shade, we have a few questions for you.”

  “Seriously, why do I care?” Turning to me, Martin asked, “Who is this guy?” He rolled his chair away from the desk and crossed his hands over his stomach.

  Had he always been this obtuse? Self-interested, yes. But stupid? Before, he’d seemed…not clever exactly, but savvy. He’d been able to fool several of our coworkers into believing he was a hardworking go-getter, and that took some skill, given he was neither hardworking nor good at his job.

  But now I wondered. Hindsight was so much clearer. It made me wonder how distorted the lens I viewed him through had been. Maybe others had seen him as he was…and I simply hadn’t noticed.

  Which explained why I’d been his frequent target. Why he’d sabotaged my client relationships. The reptile had started a rumor that I was a sex addict. Our clientele tended to be somewhat conservative—so that had been problematic, not to mention embarrassing.

  I could feel myself getting angry…and then I wasn’t. Why did I care about this man? I certainly no longer cared about the career he’d tried to damage. Oh, and he’d failed at that anyway. He was an insignificant toad. I choked back a snort. So much better than a crocodile.

  Once I’d gotten a handle on my newfound toad-inspired amusement, I said, “Answer a few questions, and we’ll leave. Simple as that.” Giving him the evil eye, I added, “For Liz, if nothing else.”

  But his face had a stubborn cast. I suspected he was calculating the worth of his knowledge and exactly what he could squeeze out of this situation.

  “Mr. Shade, Martin, if you don’t answer our questions, I’m sure security will be more than pleased to search your desk for certain missing items.” Alex’s gaze darted briefly to the ceiling. “A Mrs. Margery Holt’s credit card, a Mont Blanc pen, and a rather pricey ballerina figurine.”

  Martin had gone pale under his beard. “What… How… Uh, I have no idea what you mean. I don’t really have time for this, so if you want me to answer your questions, you better hurry it up.” By the time he’d muddled through his response, he’d regained his composure.

  But I didn’t doubt Alex had very accurate insider knowledge. There were spirits involved in this magic trick, I’d wager.

  “Tuesday,” Alex said. “Tell me what you did.”

  “Went to work, had lunch with a buddy, drinks after work, watched a movie, went to bed.” He got a little twitchy when he mentioned the movie.

  My guess: it was porn.

  But Alex homed in on it. “What movie?”

  “I don’t know.” Sweat gathered at his temple.

  Alex didn’t do anything—he just stood there. Maybe he exuded a menacing air, or maybe Martin’s own guilt was enough to loosen his tongue, but he finally said, “I gambled. Most of the night. No movie, just online gambling.”

  I didn’t understand what the big secret was. “Why lie—”

  “He’s an addict, that’s why.” Alex gave Martin a hard look. “Right?”

  Martin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m on a trial separation with my wife. One of the conditions to us getting back together is that I don’t gamble.”

  Aw. Martin actually cared about someone besides himself.

  “I cannot afford a divorce. She can’t find out I’ve been gambling.” Martin ran his hand through his hair again, and it stuck up at odd angles.

  And then again, maybe not. How had I ever seen this miserable toad as a threat?

  I sighed. “What about the stealing? You think she’d be okay with that?”

  Martin’s eyes had a wild look. “Why are you guys asking me these questions? And what does this have to do with Liz?”

  “She’s—” I shut up when Alex nudged my leg. That was better than kicking my shin, and it was always a good idea to reward good behavior. So I bit my tongue.

  “Tell us about getting drinks after work.” As he spoke, Alex moved around to the other side of Martin’s desk, crowding him.

  Martin rolled his chair further away “What are you…”

  “Drinks?” Alex pulled out the items he’d listed earlier. I even recognized the little ballerina. It belonged to Shelley; she’d kept it on her desk.

  Martin swallowed. “We went for drinks. Mallory was always good for one or two rounds.”

  “And?” Alex moved toward the door, giving Martin a little more room.

  But it didn’t make him any more comfortable. His eyes kept darting from me to his stolen stash, now in Alex’s hands. “And we drank. That’s what people do when they go for drinks.”

  “Who was there?” Alex asked.

  Now he was starting to look worried, but in a different way. His attention moved from the stolen stash to me. “Me, Mallory, Shelley, Penelope, and Liz. Same as always.”

  “Did anything unusual happen?”

  “You are seriously freaking me out. What’s going on?”

  Alex glanced at me, and I took my cue. “I was attacked on Tuesday. And Liz—” My throat started to close up. I swallowed and tried to stave off the tears. I could not have an acid-tear incident in Martin’s office.

  “Liz is dead,” Alex said, giving me a funny look.

  “Dead? No, she was here…Friday, she was here at work.” The little snot didn’t even blink at me being attacked—but the gorgeous Liz…

  Oh, wow. I was a truly terrible person. She had died. I’d been about a half-second away from crying acid tears over her loss. I was still here, and I’d gotten a second chance. An opportunity to shed some baggage. I thought the baggage was gone—but clearly this little scene in Martin’s office had disproved that assumption. Baggage still remaining—but perhaps packed up tidily and ready to be disposed of? I just need to give it a tiny little push…

  “She’s dead now,” I said. “And my neighbor, a lovely old lady with lots of friends, she’s dead, too. And that’s why you’re going to act like a human being for a change and answer our questions. You’re going to tell us everything about Tuesday. About the last time you saw Liz. About anything unusual that’s happened in the last few days. Okay?” I ended my tirade with a very satisfying finger jab in his direction.

  “Sure. Okay.”

  And he did. For thirty minutes, he went over everything he co
uld think of. Unfortunately, it wasn’t worth squat.

  Martin tended to pay attention to things that affected Martin. That limited his observational data pool. On top of that, not much interesting appeared to have happened. Life had been as usual. On Tuesday, the group had stayed for one more round and then gone home. No drama ensued, no interesting tidbits of gossip were shared, no particularly outstanding events transpired.

  “What about the bartender?” Alex asked.

  “What about him?” Martin looked confused.

  “It’s possible Mallory was drugged. Did you notice anything about the bartender or the people standing next to Mallory?”

  “Like what?”

  “Did any of them have a beard?” I asked. You’d think I’d know, but Rohypnol…

  “A lot of guys had beards—the hip kind. It was that kind of crowd.” Alex gave Martin another hard look. “Okay—maybe a guy on your left who ordered for himself and his buddy. Definitely one of the bartenders, but no clue which one served us.”

  “Anything else?” Alex asked.

  “No. Can I have my, ah, that stuff back?” Martin’s beady little eyes held that vicious light I’d seen so many times.

  But now, knowing what I did, I’d wager it was panic. He’d been running around, stealing from coworkers, hiding a gambling problem from everyone at work and his wife—the guy had to be living in a constant state of fear.

  I was a nincompoop. An unobservant ninny.

  “Bye, Martin,” I said. “With any luck at all, we’ll never see each other again. Oh, and we will be turning these items into the security desk downstairs on our way out. Good luck with that.”

  He grabbed his computer bag and left—hair sticking up in odd angles and sweat stains visible on his shirt. How had I ever seen that guy as a crocodile?

  “Bye-bye.” I waved at him as he left. Once he was far enough along the hall that he couldn’t hear, I said, “I’ll just return these to the appropriate offices.”

  “He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I know.”

  By the time we were finished with Martin, just about everyone on the floor had left. Except Shelley. I’d bet cash she was still in the office, because she usually kept late hours.