La Vida Vampire (17 page)

“I don’t extend my real fangs,” I said, narrow-eyed. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with campy fake ones.”

When neither of them fired another tag-team question, I leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, and eyed Detective March.

“I’ve played nice—without my attorney, I might add—now it’s your turn. Does Stony really have an alibi?”

March’s gaze held steady. “It’s Victor Gorman, and yes, his alibi checks out. He was in Key West from Wednesday morning until this morning.”

I blinked. “He’s not the one who trashed my truck?”

“Correct.”

I tried wrapping my head around the idea that Stony could be innocent. “I know Key West is like ten hours from here, but it’s not completely impossible for him to come back.”

“Except,” March said, “he was with family members deep sea fishing by day and apparently drinking by night.”

He said the last so wryly, I figured the drinking made some impression on the town. Which is hard to do in Key West. That place is wild, or so I hear.

Fishing. Fishing rang a tiny bell, but I couldn’t place it.

I felt like the falsely accused heroine in a cozy novel, except that the hot seat wasn’t remotely cozy.

“So,” I said slowly, “I’m getting the third degree again because my alibi went kaflooey when my tracker did, and the Fourniers happened to be renting a house in the same neighborhood I was in on Wednesday night. Am I right so far?”

March nodded.

“Then again,” I continued, “if you’re holding this guy, it’s been over six hours. Which means you probably found something at his house for you to keep him this long.”

“Mr. Gorman is accusing you of setting him up,” March said.

“Well, of course he—” I stopped short. To set someone up you need—The light dawned, and I snapped my fingers.

“Evidence. You can’t set up someone for a crime without it.”

Saber remained expressionless, but March cocked his head at me. “What makes you think that?”

“Detective, it’s a classic mystery plot element.”

He allowed himself a small smile. “We did find a few things—in his house and in the Dumpster of a restaurant nearby.”

I spread my hands. “So what am I supposed to have planted?” Then it hit me. “Wait. Fake fangs and a gun. That’s why you asked me about them. You found them at Stony’s.”

“Victor Gorman,” March said.

“Whatever. Am I right?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Did you get the cast of my fangs from the state yet?”

“We did, and they don’t match the bite mark, but,” March said sternly, “that only clears you of biting the victim. Not of shooting her or breaking her neck.”

“You honestly think I shot Yolette—a relative stranger—when I don’t know squat about guns,
then
broke her neck,
then
bit her with fake fangs, and finally dumped her body in the ocean all to set up a man who made a threat?”

March shot Saber a glance, then looked back at me. “You have that backward,” March said.

“I have what backward?” I snapped.

“The victim didn’t die from the gunshot. She died from the broken neck.”

I felt my eyes widen.

“The Daytona victim’s neck was broken, too,” Saber added.

“Bu-but it’s hard to break a neck, isn’t it?”

“How would you know?” Saber asked.

“Mostly TV.”

“
CSI
?” March scoffed.

“
Bones
,” I answered, remembering a specific episode of the series. “You have to be a ninja or a special forces guy—or drop someone on their head or something.”

“Or have vampire strength?” Saber taunted.

“For your information,” I snarled, “I don’t use my vampire strength, and the only thing I ever purposely broke was a cooking bowl of my mother’s. I was three.”

“Uh-huh,” Saber drawled. “Let’s get back to Gorman. You told us yesterday afternoon that you would file an assault complaint if you knew his name.”

His snide tone fired my temper. “No, I said I
could
have, as in having grounds to do it. Besides, since when is filing an assault complaint equal to setting a guy up for murder?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I know. It’s not.”

“We also found paint cans in the Dumpster,” March said, watching me closely.

I sat straighter. “The kind of paint on my truck?”

“That hasn’t been ascertained yet.”

“I did not vandalize my own truck,” I said through gritted teeth. “I just had her repainted and detailed, and it wasn’t cheap. And you,” I added, pointing at Saber, “told me last night you didn’t believe I’d done it. Why would you change your mind?”

Saber gave me a long look. “You have plenty of money. A small fortune, judging by the balance in your bank accounts. You could get that truck fixed ten times over and not feel the pinch.”

“Except that I happen to have even more sense than I do money. I take care of my things. I save for the long afterlife I plan to enjoy.”

I didn’t know what fixing my SSR would cost but consoled myself thinking that it could ’ve been worse. It could’ve been bombed and set to go off with me in it. Or with people going in and out of the bank parking lot. Yep, it could’ve been much worse.

“Who knows what kind a vehicle you drive?” March asked.

I answered slowly, thinking. “Let’s see, Maggie, Neil, the paint and body shop guys. The bridge club ladies.”

“Janie? Mick?” Saber prompted.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure they know.”

“What about Holland?” March asked.

“Not unless he saw me driving it.” I looked at Saber. “You haven’t located him yet?”

“The only Holland Peters we’ve found,” March answered, “died five years ago in Tulsa.”

My jaw dropped again. “Why would he give me a false name?”

“I don’t know,” March said, “but we need a description.”

I gave as accurate a description of Gomer (
so
not Holland Peters) as I could—right down to a small mole on the left side of his jaw. I hadn’t remembered that until I pictured him in detail.

I also remembered why fishing had rung a faint bell. While Gomer had hung at the back of Tuesday ’s tour with Stony, I’d eavesdropped every little while. Not that you could call it a conversation, but I overheard Stony say something about trips to deepsea fish. Specific times or places I didn’t hear, but Gomer would’ve. Who else could have heard the exchange? And, big, huge, this-one’s-for-all-the-money question, who would kill Yolette, implicate me, and frame Stony?

“Ms. Marinelli,” March said, rather loudly since he was right next to me.

“Yes, what?”

“I understand your roommate and her boyfriend left for the weekend.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’ve not rented a car?”

“What, are you offering a loaner?”

He rolled his eyes, the first true flash of humor I’d seen from him today.

“I’m offering a deal. I can’t hold Mr. Gorman. No matter what else he has or hasn’t done, we don’t believe his threats against you are idle. In fact, he admitted hearing about the murder and coming back early specifically to hunt you down. For your safety, I’ve requested that Special Investigator Saber stay with you for the time being.”

“Oh, but I’m calling a girlfriend to stay with me.”

“Janie Freeman?”

I nodded.

March shook his head. “It won’t do. Ms. Freeman is a witness, and she won’t be any help protecting you if the need arises.”

He turned off the tape recorder and closed the file with my name on it. “You need to be guarded.”

“What you mean is, I’m still a suspect.”

He inclined his head. “Take it as you like. Either Saber stays with you or you can be a guest of the county.”

I didn’t know if he could make that threat stick, but I do know when not to push my luck.

Afterlife is full of challenges. I was stuck with Saber, but I’d deal with his surly attitude. I’d hunker down in my room and have as little as possible to do with him.

No chance for my libido to go haywire.

Much.

In the parking lot on the way to his SUV, Saber told me he’d already checked out of his hotel and would take me straight to the penthouse. As we settled into his Vue, I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Seven o ’clock. Good. Traffic might have thinned by now, which meant less time stuck only touching distance away from the man. And, if he’d cooperate, I’d still make dance class. I’d like to be in control of
some
thing again.

“I don’t suppose,” he said as we cut off U.S. 1 to take the downtown route, “you have food in the fridge.”

“Probably not. Maggie eats out and makes sandwiches a lot.” I stole a glance at his profile. “You could go eat while I’m taking my salsa class.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“No problem. The class is taught in a restaurant. You like Spanish food?”

We stopped at the light where A1A cut over to Vilano Beach, like the twentieth car in line. So much for traffic thinning. Saber edged his aviator shades down his nose and looked over the rims at me. “You’re not even going to try to make this assignment easy, are you?”

I shrugged. “Where’s the hardship in eating out?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re the one who agreed to play jailer.”

“Bodyguard.”

“Whatever. You could’ve pulled rank on March and refused.”

“I figured,” he said as the light turned and the cars in front of us accelerated, “you’d rather have me around over going to jail or being with a complete stranger.”

“I’ve got news for you, Saber. You’re strange enough.”

“There’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

I crossed my arms over the seat belt strap. “I’m not the least bit strange. I’m just trying to have a normal afterlife.”

“You’re a vampire. There’s nothing normal about it. Vampires don’t take dance lessons. They don’t play bridge. They don’t, for God’s sake, surf.”

Everybody’s a critic.
I ground my teeth as he braked again. Now we were tenth in line. “What’s your point, Saber?”

“You’re not mortal, Francesca,” he said, his eyes again hidden behind the aviator shades. “Stop trying to blend.”

His use of my given name slowed my tongue for one second before I lit into him.

“I am
not
trying to blend. I’ve never hidden what I am. Hell, I have to be registered like a stinking sex offender,” I fumed.

“As for dancing, playing bridge, and surfing, maybe I’m ahead of my time. Maybe I want something more out of life than hanging out in nightclubs and being all woo-woo vampiric.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of being what you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been out in the world since when?”

“Last August. So what?”

“How many times have you intentionally used your vampire speed?”

“Once.”

“And your vampire strength?”

“Twice on stuck jar lids.”

“And what other powers do you use?”

“None.”

“Wrong. You walk in the sun.”

I snorted. “That’s not a power. It’s just a—”

“Do all the other vampires walk in the sun?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I haven’t known any in centuries.”

“Day-walking is a power. Your vampire senses are a power, and you have at least a half-dozen others you haven’t tapped. You’re a vampire. Be who you are.”

I balled up a fist to smack him, but checked the impulse as the line of cars moved again. I
was
being me, and I didn’t care what Saber thought. He was less than nothing to me. A man I wouldn ’t have met if it hadn’t been for Yolette’s murder. Sure he was wrong, but why argue with a mule?

Well fine. Saber didn’t get me, and I didn’t get him. That would just make it easier to ignore him altogether. Ignore the way his tanned hands gripped the steering wheel. Ignore the way his thigh muscles bunched when he hit the brake. Ignore the virility that rolled off him, and remember that he was just a temporary annoyance.

Finally we arrived home, Saber taking Maggie’s parking space. I hopped out before he turned off the engine and headed around the corner to the building entrance.

“Don’t even think of locking me out,” he called as he pulled the strap of a black nylon duffel bag over his shoulder and strode after me.

“Then hurry it up. I need to change for class.”

“Funny,” he said as we both stepped through the door, “I don’t remember saying I’d take you to this class.”

I stopped and turned on him. “Saber, you keep pointing out that I am a vampire, a fact I’m well aware of, thank you. How hard would it be for me to throw you into next year?”

He stepped close enough to be almost toe-to-toe. “You might be able to pull that off, but I
am
armed. With silver ammo.”

I snorted. “Apparently my speed can trump your silver bullets, so let’s get something straight. Barring danger to others or myself, I’ll do what I want when I want. You don’t want to drive me to class? I’ll get there on my own.”

“And if I tell you there is danger at any time?”

“If I don’t think you’re lying, I’ll defer to you. We clear?”

He shrugged, but I took that as a yes and marched off toward the elevators. I punched in the code, not bothering to hide it from him, and we rode up in silence. Once in the penthouse, I told him to drop his stuff in the living room. No way was I letting him step a foot in Maggie’s room without asking her first. Yikes! She was going to have a cow when I told her Saber was staying after all.

I checked messages, and sure enough Maggie had called. I snagged the extension and dialed the number on the way to my room. No answer, but voice mail clicked on, and I left a brief, highly edited message saying Saber was with me, I was going to dance class, and I’d call her when I returned.

I chucked my clothes and stepped in the shower for ten minutes. The steaming water eased my stress less than I hoped because it triggered memories of that erotic dream. Damn the timing. I gave myself a stern lecture that my libido and Saber didn ’t mix as I dried off and donned the red bra and panties I’d broken down and bought myself for Valentine’s Day. I applied a little more makeup, rearranged my ponytail, and slipped into one of the few dressy outfits I own: a filmy red, pink, and green hibiscus-patterned skirt and a red scoop-neck blouse with short sleeves. Red was a power color, right? Well, I was going all out tonight. I dug my red pumps with the two-inch heels out of the closet and was ready. Back in the living room, Saber sat parked in front of the TV watching ESPN. Did his eyes flick to me as I came in? Who cared? I was ignoring him, right? I crossed to the table where I’d tossed my purse, pulled out a credit card, a twenty dollar bill, and my key.