How to Party with a Killer Vampire (23 page)

“A bridge, just like when you teleconference. Plus it comes with a GPS tracker, so you know where the target is.”

“Okay, but since it’s illegal to use it, what are you going to do with it?”

He didn’t respond.

“Duncan?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m just playing around with it.”

Duncan loved electronic gadgets and was always on the cutting edge of the latest technology. He’d helped me host a Geocaching Party, using GPS devices to discover clues and hidden caches. But I had a feeling he planned to use this new gadget to help himself find out what happened to Spidey.

And that could only get him into a heap of trouble.

“Duncan, promise me you won’t do anything illegal. At the very least, you could be arrested for wiretapping or something. At worst, your so-called target could find out and . . .”

“And what? Kill me? I don’t think so.”

“Okay, Double-oh-seven. But be careful.”

“Sure, Moneypenny,” he said, implying that I was mothering him again.

Well, he was no Bond, I thought. He was more like Inspector Gadget. And if he tried to use that thing, he might get himself killed—just like his friend Spidey.

Anxious to hear what Brad had learned from Detective Melvin, I knocked again on his door on my way back to my office, hoping he might have sneaked in while I was talking with Duncan and Berkeley. No such luck.

I headed for my desk and sat down in my chair, my eyes glazing over as I surveyed the many party forms I’d already filled out for upcoming events. My phone light was blinking, no doubt signaling even more requests for parties, and I took the next ten or fifteen minutes to listen to them all. While I was happy to have the work, I felt a little overwhelmed.

One call got me especially excited—a request for a Wine Tasting Party in the nearby Wine Country, hosted by a friend of my caterer, Rocco Ghirenghelli, who owned a small winery in Napa. I called him back immediately and booked a time to chat with him about the details.

After I’d caught up on paperwork, I made another call to Brad Matthews. It was afternoon and I still hadn’t heard from him. He must be as buried in work as I was, I thought. When he didn’t answer, I left another message, asking him to call me. I hung up, thinking it odd that he hadn’t at least checked in since last night.

To distract myself from worrying—and avoid work—I decided I needed to talk to Otto the grave digger, now that he’d been released from jail, and Angelica’s mysterious husband. I had a hunch Otto knew more than he was letting on—after all, he was at the cemetery nearly all the time. As for Angelica’s husband, there was something about that guy that didn’t seem husbandlike. He was someone to check out. Of course, if I didn’t answer the rest of these party requests, I’d soon be out of a job. But there would be time for that. Right now, solving the murders—and keeping Duncan out of danger—took priority.

Neither Otto nor Angelica’s husband would be easy to find. I flipped a mental coin and decided to talk with Otto first, since he had “portended” the deaths. While I felt relatively safe going to the cemetery in the daytime, I wasn’t stupid and didn’t plan to go alone to a place where two men had been murdered. I’d hoped Brad could meet me there, but since I couldn’t reach him, I went for plan B.

I turned in my chair. “Hey, Delicia, you busy?”

Dee, earbuds in place, was listening to music and mouthing the lyrics. She didn’t respond.

I waved in front of her face. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to memorize this song,” she said, popping out the buds.

“Are you auditioning for a musical?” I asked.

“Understudy for the role of Young Ethnic Female Performer in
Beach Blanket Babylon
.” She framed her face and gave an exaggerated smile.

“How cool!”

“Yeah,
if
I get the job. They’re looking for someone who can sing, dance, and act, as well as imitate cultural icons, like Beyonce and Condoleezza Rice. The benefits package is awesome.”

“You’re perfect for it!”

“I hope so. Sixty actors tried out, and I was one of nine who got a callback. Very nerve-racking, performing in front of Jo Schuman Silver and a bunch of other producers and directors. And I’m up against some pretty talented girls.”

“So are you! You really have a shot at this. I’m so excited for you.”

“Well, if I get the part, I’ll be psyched. And if I don’t, it was still fun to see Val Diamond rehearse. She’s ridonculous!” Dee’s face was flushed with excitement. I mentally crossed my fingers for her. “So, Pres, what did you want?”

“Oh, nothing. I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to the cemetery to interview the crazy guy, Otto. But it’s not important. You keep rehearsing. I know you’re going to get this part.”

“Thanks, Pres. You sure you don’t need me?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” I picked up my purse and headed for the door. “And if you see Brad, will you tell him to call me?”

She nodded as she replaced her earbuds, but I could see her mind was already back on her song. I closed the door to our office to prevent further interruptions.

I debated whether to go to the cemetery alone or not, now that plan B had failed. Only stupid women go into dangerous situations alone. Like dark basements. Carrying faulty flashlights. Wearing only their underwear. On Halloween night. But I wasn’t
that
stupid. And it wasn’t Halloween night. I knew Otto was a loose cannon. He obviously had some kind of mental problem, probably due to alcohol. While I didn’t think he killed those two guys—he had no motive other than to protect what he considered his property—he was still unpredictable and scary. And I was no match for his size and strength.

I got into my MINI and drove home. There was no way I was going to drag Duncan back to the cemetery, and I was nearly out of options. I was about to give up on the idea of talking to Otto alone, when I had an idea. I pulled into my carport, hopped out of the car, and entered my condo. All three cats tried to trip me as I hurried down the hall. Either they really, really missed me, or they knew who buttered their cat food. I quickly fed them, gave each one a brief massage, and gathered a few party items from the closet before leaving and relocking the door behind me.

There was no way I was going into the metaphorically dark basement without protection.

Lawndale Cemetery looked deserted when I arrived at nearly four in the afternoon. There were no visitors or tourists that I could see. Being fall, it would be getting dark soon, and I didn’t plan to stay beyond sunset. After parking on the narrow lane near the party site, I got out of the car, collected my party supplies, and locked the door.

“Otto?” I called out, stepping around several graves on my way up the slight incline to the pet cemetery. I remembered the trailer parked up there and wondered if the old man lived inside.

Every few steps I called out his name, not wanting to startle him. By the time I reached the ancient-looking trailer, I’d still seen no sign of Otto Gunther. I was about to knock on the rusting door, thinking he might be sleeping, or passed out drunk, or worse, when I heard a voice booming from behind me.

“Stop yer yelling!”

Talk about being startled—I nearly peed my pants. Tightening the grip on the two party props, I turned slowly, trying not to show him my fear.

“Otto! I was looking for you.” He was standing inside a walk-in toolshed, holding a hand fork gardening tool. I smiled, hoping a flash of white teeth would let him know I meant no harm.

“What fer?” he said, baring his own crooked yellow teeth. “I already talked to the po-lice.” He turned back to the toolshed and hung up the hand fork on a hook, in its black outlined spot.

“I’m Presley Parker. Do you remember me, from the party we were setting up the other night?”

He walked out of the shed, closed the door, and locked the padlock. Squinting, he took a step toward me and shoved a hand into the pocket of his filthy overalls.

Uh-oh
. Was that a gun in his pocket or . . .

“I—I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about what you saw last night.”

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he barked. I watched as his hand gripped the object in his pocket.

I took a step backward and bumped into the trailer. Starting to panic, I raised the plastic pitchfork I had used for decoration at an Angels and Demons Party and held it like a spear. The three red prongs looked menacing—if you didn’t look too closely.

Otto blinked.

I lifted my other hand with the canister and aimed at him. “Don’t try anything, Otto. I have a weapon and mace.”

Only I didn’t have mace. I had a can of Spray Fake Blood. I’d bought a case on the Internet for the Vampire Party, then decided not to use it, since Cruz had his own art department and could whip up fake blood easily. I kept it because I figured it would come in handy one day for another party theme. The directions on the can promised “three different effects—bullet hole, dripping blood line, or blood spatter. Great for Shark Victim or Lizzie Borden costume.” For now, all I cared about was the warning label: KEEP AWAY FROM SKIN AND EYES. MAY CAUSE IRRITATION.

Perfect.

“What the hell are you doing?” Otto said, eyeing my weapons.

“Protecting myself,” I said, ready for any sudden attack.

Otto shook his head as if I were the crazy one, pulled a pack of chewing tobacco from his pocket, and walked around me to the trailer door.

I stepped back, ready to jab or spray.

He opened the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked, lowering the trident and fake blood. “Wait! I just want to talk to you.”

He stopped on the top step, holding the door open, and turned to me. “With a pitchfork and mace?”

“I was just being cautious.” Suddenly I felt ridiculous. Yes, I was alone in this cemetery with a giant of a man who had owned the bloody shovel that killed two people. But at the moment he didn’t seem as crazy as he had the other day.

He started to go inside the trailer.

I stepped closer. “Can I ask you a couple of questions, Otto? Please?”

He paused. “Like what?”

Maybe Brad’s hunch was right. “You saw something the night that Spidey got killed, didn’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “The owl portends—” he began.

“Cut the crap,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with you a bath and a cup of coffee wouldn’t cure. Tell me, what did you see?”

He smiled, a real smile, not a grimace. He knew the jig was up.

I smiled back.

“You want a beer?” he asked, still holding the door open.

“
Uh
, sure.”

“I’ll go git ’em. Find a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Thank God he didn’t invite me into his lair. Of course, the alternative was sitting on a cold headstone that belonged to Fluffy or Cujo. I sat my bony butt on the largest headstone I could find—MAX. FAITHFUL COMPANION—and scanned the area for a quick getaway if needed. While Otto might be smarter than I originally thought, hopefully I hadn’t gotten any stupider. “Always plan your exit strategy,” my mother used to say. Of course, she was referring to escaping dull parties, but still, it was a life lesson I’d never forgotten.

Otto returned with two Budweisers and handed me one before taking up residence on a nearby dead-cat marker. I took a sip, he took a chug, and I gave the beer a few seconds to relax my tense muscles. “Thanks,” I said.

“No problem,” he replied. “Found them the other night after chasing off them grave-hoppers. They got scared and left them behind.”

I wondered if that was how Otto got most of his liquor.

“You enjoy scaring people, don’t you?”

He grinned again and took another swallow. This old guy was enjoying himself. “It’s kinda expected of me, what with my living in a trailer here and looking the way I do.”

“The city of Colma really lets you stay here?”

“Yeah. I do light maintenance for them, keep away vandals, stuff like that. It’s quiet. My wife is here.”

I was puzzled for a second. “Here?”

“Over there. Space four twenty-two. She was one of the last to be buried here. I like being close-by.”

I nodded. It made sense in a way. “Have you been here for a long time?”

“A few years. I used to be a professor at Stanford. German literature. But I like the peace and quiet, the slower pace.”

“Well, you had me fooled.” I sipped my beer. “So, what did you see that night, Otto?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but I don’t want to get involved with the police again. I just want to live my life quietly up here, you understand?”