How to Party with a Killer Vampire (13 page)

I heard him call to his assistant, Susan, to open the door. “See you in a few,” he said, and hung up.

Moments later, the metal door opened and we were greeted by Susan, who wore jeans, a long-sleeved “Vampires Do It Forever” T-shirt, and her perpetual look of anguish. I wondered what it was like working for this creative genius.

Then again, I didn’t really want to know.

“He’s in his office,” Susan said, letting us in. She pointed, but I knew the way. Sniffing the air, I turned to Brad and said, “Pizza!” Then I led him over, under, and through pieces of stage equipment—ladders, cameras, dollies, golf carts, cords the size of pythons. I felt as if I were on an obstacle course.

When we reached the catering table just outside Lucas’s office, I stopped, waved my hands as if I’d just magically produced the bounty, and said, “Ta-da!” Two beefy guys in jeans and T-shirts were helping themselves to slices of meat-laden pizza, completely ignoring the huge bowl of Caesar salad and platter of cut-up veggies. I had a feeling nothing green ever touched those plates. I recognized the caterer’s logo—Pizza Hacker. They were famous for their gourmet pizzas and door-to-door service.

“Help yourself,” I said, nodding toward the paper plates. “I want to talk to Cruz a few minutes, but I’ll join you when I’m finished. Save me a slice of the Margherita. But be sure to try the Crowd Pleaser. The figand-caramelized onions are to die for.”

Brad just shook his head in disbelief. “This is our lunch date?”

“Sure. As promised—good food, all you can eat, and free.”

“So, you come here often?”

“Only on pizza day. Raj lets me know when Pizza Hacker is catering; then he lets me sneak in.”

I left Brad—speechless, but hopefully hungry—standing at the buffet table, and headed over to Cruz’s office. I knocked.

“Enter!” came the voice on the other side.

Cruz was at his desk, talking on his cell phone and gesturing dramatically as he spoke. He was a talk-with-his-hands kind of guy, and wouldn’t be able to stop himself even if locked in irons. I wondered if most film directors were like that.

I glanced around the familiar office as I waited for him to end his heated conversation, shamelessly eavesdropping on his side—“I don’t know how he found out about it! . . . I had nothing to do with that! . . . I’m sorry too, but he had no business being at the party!”

It wasn’t hard to figure out that he was talking about the renegade paparazzo killed last night. News like that can spread faster than an Internet virus on this tiny island.

I pretended not to listen and studied the walls of Lucas’s office, scanning posters of his films, including
Return to Alcatraz
(with Seth Green),
The Haunting of the Painted Ladies
(Robin Williams in a cameo role), and
Earthquake in the Hood
(starring a bunch of rappers who become heroes after an earthquake takes down the City).

Dozens of awards lined the top of a wooden bookshelf crammed with books about Ray Harryhausen, Manga, and “steampunk,” which Cruz explained was a subgenre of science fiction where technology of the future is mixed with technology of the past.

Zing
, I’d gestured, shooting my hand over my head.

“Think of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne as cyberpunks,” he’d added, which helped a little.

When Cruz finally hung up the phone, he seemed to have forgotten about me. He stared down at his desk, as if looking for the answer to an unasked question.

“Lucas?” I said, bringing him back to the moment.

“Sorry, Presley. This whole dead paparazzo thing is cluttering my mind. Where were we? Oh yes. You want to be paid.”

He pressed a button on his desk phone and said, “Kay? Do you have Presley’s check ready?”

“Yes,” the voice on the speakerphone squawked in response.

“Would you bring it to my office? She’s here now.” He clicked off.

“Thanks, Lucas. I hope you were . . . satisfied with the event.”

“Aside from bookend deaths, it was great. Actually, the publicity can’t hurt either, as long as that Gossip Guy does a decent job reporting about the film. The local news is supposed to show video from the wrap party tonight, then interview me on the set afterward. Which reminds me, I gotta get some film clips ready.”

There was a knock at the door. Cruz called out, “Come in!” An older, heavyset woman entered, holding an envelope. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to her boss. She smiled at me and backed out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Cruz passed the envelope to me without checking it. “Thanks again, Presley.” He stood up to leave.

I followed suit, then added, “Lucas, do you have any idea who might have killed that paparazzo?”

His usually animated face went blank, like an actor on cue.

“No idea,” he said, meeting my eyes and forcing a smile. “As I said, I’m not sorry he’s dead. He was a scumbag and a leech, digging into other people’s business for a buck. If he fell into an open grave on my watch, I wouldn’t pull him out, that’s for sure.”

“What about Duncan’s friend, Spidey? Any idea what might have happened to him?”

Lucas blinked several times, a very different reaction than the one to my previous question. What was behind those blinks?

“He fell, didn’t he? That was what I heard.”

I didn’t want to give away too much information, so I said, “Possibly. Although it’s also possible he was hit on the head first and fell.”

He stood quietly for a moment. “Murder?”

I shrugged, watching his body language as he dropped back into his seat. It was almost as if his legs had given out from under him.

“Are you all right, Lucas?” I said, genuinely concerned.

“He . . . that kid . . . he threatened me,” Lucas mumbled, “when he found out he and his friends weren’t invited to the wrap party.”

Whoa, I thought. “What did he say?”

“He said he’d tell the tabloids something . . . something that would ruin the film.”

“Like what? Did he know something?”

“No! Nothing! I told him to go—Well, I told him to get lost. There was nothing that little punk could do to hurt my movie.”

Thinking aloud, I said, “So you’d been threatened by Spidey . . . and Bodie . . . before the party . . . and now they’re both dead.”

Lucas looked at me, the color draining from his face. “Oh God, Presley. The police are going to think I killed those two guys.”

 

“Did you get me some pizza?” I asked Brad as we left the building.

He opened a grease-stained paper sack and showed me my lunch. As we walked back to Building One, I filled him in on my visit with Cruz between cheesy bites—that both Spidey and Bodie had threatened him.

“Any news from Melvin?” I asked, then took another bite of pizza.

“As a matter of fact, he called while you were with Cruz.”

My mouth was full, so I let my raised eyebrows ask,
What’s up?

“Otto’s been released.”

I swallowed, nearly choking. “Really?”

“Not enough evidence to hold him yet. All circumstantial at this point.”

“Wow. Even though his fingerprints were on the shovel?”

“It was his shovel. There are apt to be a bunch of his prints on it.”

I sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and confusion. “Do you think he’s innocent?”

“Let’s just say I don’t think he murdered those two guys. But with his being in the cemetery all the time, I think he saw something. I’m just not sure we’ll get it out of him, with his rattled brain.”

I nodded. “Any evidence of defense wounds? Anything on the DNA test?”

“No defensive wounds on his arms. And Luke’s pushing the DNA test. Said they should have the results later today or tomorrow. They used outside testers—and have, ever since the lab was involved in that drug scandal last year.”

“What scandal?”

“One of the technicians skimmed the cocaine evidence.”

“Jeez. You can’t even trust your own staff in your own police department.”

“SFPD is a corporation just like any other business. Mostly good guys, with the occasional bad apple.” We headed up the steps of Building One. “The DNA lab wasn’t involved, but it was so backlogged, they started using outside labs. They usually get faster results—three to five days rather than weeks. Forty-eight hours if it’s pushed. And believe it or not, it’s cheaper.”

“Let me know as soon as you find out, okay?” I said as we approached my office. The place seemed deserted, and I heard the footfalls of my Mary Janes echo through the cavernous lobby. “I’d like to let Duncan know we’re working on this as fast as possible, so he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.”

When we reached the door to my office, Brad pulled me close and gave me a pizza-flavored kiss. I pushed him back and glanced around. The place was empty, aside from the security guard at the front desk, who was reading a magazine.

“What?” he said. “What’s wrong with a little affection between two people?”

I felt myself blush. “Not here,” I whispered.

“Why not?” He pulled me in again and held me around the waist.

“Because. It’s not professional. And everyone will know.”

“You think they don’t know already?” He grinned. “And so what if they do?”

I let him kiss me again, then twisted out of his grip and unlocked my office door.

“See you tonight?” he said as I entered.

“Can we eat in, at my place?” I asked. “Lucas is going to be on the local news tonight. And I’m hoping Killer Parties might be mentioned.”

“Sounds good. I’ll bring dinner. Not pizza. Maybe popcorn for dessert.”

I reached for his arm as he started to back away toward his office. I pulled him inside, closed my office door, and kissed the surprise off his face.

I went home early to avoid the distractions of work and found myself amid the distractions of murder. My background in abnormal psychology had made me hyperaware of people’s quirky traits and how close so many “normal” characteristics bordered on abnormal.

While most people are temporarily distracted by a police siren or a call from a child, few completely forget what they’re doing. Likewise, most people tend to line up plates in the dishwasher or make the beds just so, but only a handful require the therapy needed to stop obsessive-compulsive excessive hand-washing. And while there are many people who believe that cute guy or girl over there is giving them the eye, most don’t become paranoid and think they’re being stalked.

It was a fine line we walked along that continuum between normalcy and mental illness. My ADHD is just this side of profound, so with a little help I can function well in society. In fact, sometimes ADHD gives me an edge. I can multitask, accomplish things quickly and efficiently, and I pick up subtleties that others miss. I don’t have a mental illness; I have a disorder.

When I had taught my abnormal psychology class about an illness or disorder, I had listed the patient’s characteristics to show my students the overall picture. Then I had tackled each trait individually. I did much the same thing for a party—listing all the details in order to create a plan, then addressing each point. Just like the diagnostic tools used in psychology, the
Killer Party-Planning Guide
I’d created for upcoming events worked well in other applications as well—like solving a crime. So, after feeding my cats and changing into shredded jeans and the “How to Survive a Vampire Party” T-shirt Cruz had given me, I whipped out my party-planning pad and sat down on the couch with a glass of merlot.

Starting at the top, I worked my way down through the checklist, first filling in information about the party, then adding what I knew about the two murders.

 

Theme: Vampire Wrap Party

Location: Lawndale Cemetery

Host: Lucas Cruz, producer, CeeGee Studios

Date/Time: October 22, seven p.m. to midnight

 

Under the Guest List category, I put down the names Lucas Cruz had given me, including the major actors on the film, Angelica Brayden and Jonas Jones, some of the crew, a few people in the film industry, and Ryan Fitzpatrick from
Gossip Guy
. Below the guest list, I inserted two subcategories, Victims and Suspects.

 

Under those two entries I added the following: