Adventures of a Vegan Vamp: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (13 page)

“Sure. Okay.”

And he did. For thirty minutes, he went over everything he could 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.

The figurine in my fingers felt cool and fragile. I glanced at it, hesitating to turn the corner toward Shelley’s office.

Why was it more difficult to face the one coworker who was actually a decent person?

I cringed when I realized it might have something to do with my own behavior.

Loosening my grip on the delicate ceramic piece between my fingers, I lifted it and said, “Shelley.”

Alex gave me a sympathetic look, but he didn’t say anything. Sometimes, he was a decent guy.

I
knocked
on Shelley’s open door and poked my head in.

“Hi.” She looked more than a little surprised to see me.

“I think this is yours?” I placed the tiny dancing woman on her desk.

She frowned, confused. “Where…?”

Alex stepped into the office to hand me the two other stolen items, and then said, “I’ll just head over to your office and box up your personal things.”

I smiled my thanks and turned back to Shelley…who was leaning in her chair to watch Alex walk away.

“Yeah, he’s kinda cute, isn’t he?”

Shelley raised her eyebrows. “More like smoking hot.” Her face flushed. “I’m sorry—is he your boyfriend?”

“No. No, definitely not. He’s…ah, he’s a friend.” And he was. One of the few I had at the moment. Dragon-stingy with his little golden eggs of information, but he was my friend.

“Hmm.”

I sat down in the only other chair in the office. “And no, I will not give him your number. My worlds have collided enough for one day.”

Shelley laughed. “Sorry. Pickings are a little slim at the office. With the exception of Martin, everyone on this floor is married. And Martin…” She shuddered.

And then I realized—I’d had no clue he was married, and he didn’t wear a ring. “You know he’s married?”

“No.” Shock permeated her voice. “Wow. The levels that guy will sink.”

“Yeah, speaking of that—can you return these? Martin also has some debt issues, which has resulted in sticky fingers.” I reached across the desk and handed her the credit card and the Mont Blanc pen.

Her gaze traveled to the figurine, and her eyes briefly closed. “It was a gift from my nana. I really should bring it home. But who would have thought…” She accepted the items then lifted the pen and said, “Dave Tanaka’s. He was groaning about it going missing a few days ago. I’ll return them tomorrow.”

“And Martin?”

“I’m not sure.” Worry lines appeared on her forehead and her lips thinned. “I have to work with him.”

Maybe I hadn’t been the guy’s only target. Ugh. Disgusting. Shelley was
nice
. “If you go to HR and lodge a complaint, I have a log of the few things he’s done that I can actually prove.”

Shelley wrinkled her nose. “Not the sex addict thing, though.”

I laughed. Because in retrospect, it was funny. I mean, not addiction, and not alienating my clients…but that he’d tag me as the addict, when all along he had the gambling problem. And to make me a sex addict… I snorted and then let out a massive belly laugh.

Shelley’s face squished up for a second and then she let loose, too.

She wiped her eyes and grinned at me. “You’ve changed. Quitting was good for you.”

That sobered me. “Yes, it was definitely the right choice.” Unfortunately, I’d needed a nasty little virus to help me do it.

“I hate to comment—but have you lost a lot of weight since I saw you, um, a week or so ago?”

I sighed. “Long story, but how about we stick with: it was the flu.”

“Sure thing.” She didn’t seem too bothered by the explanation—or was too polite to say more.

I looked at her, and I tried to see her—not the person I’d thought her to be when I was so consumed by work, so worried about paying bills that I had more than enough money to pay. I’d thought she was okay before, but she was a really nice woman. “I’m sorry, Shelley. For being…” I closed my eyes. Being what? Being myself? When I opened them, she gave me a grim look.

“No. I am. We all knew how terrible Martin was, how much this job means—meant—to you.” She shrugged. “It was hard to see past the rough edges, but we should have tried.
I
should have tried.”

And that’s when I kicked my baggage over the edge where it had been teetering since my transformation. “Thank you. I’m working on embracing my happy—and it’s having a positive effect, I think. I highly recommend it.”

She grinned again. “Embrace my happy. I’ll try.”

She hadn’t been on the interrogation list, but thinking about it now, I wasn’t sure why. Shelley was a much more reliable source than Martin.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? About the Tuesday night we went out for drinks?”

She looked a little taken aback. “Sure, no problem.” Then a strange look came over her face. “That was the last time we saw you, before you got the flu.”

“That’s right.” My gaze darted away from her. I really had to work on my poker face. “Did anything weird happen after I left? Or did you notice anything odd before I left?”

“Nothing unusual. Some guy hit on Liz and got a little rowdy when she wasn’t interested. That was right after you left. But his friend calmed him down, and they left.”

“Any chance either of them had a beard?”

“The friend did. Why? What’s going on? Liz wasn’t at work today...has something happened?”

I took a breath but no words emerged. They two women had clearly been close. I’d had no idea. And I certainly hadn’t planned to give Shelly news of her good friend’s death. A death I wasn’t supposed to even know about. Nuts.

Shelly gave me a sympathetic look. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Is that why you haven’t been at work?” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No, no it’s fine.” She’d given the perfect excuse, lord love her. “Someone attacked me, and I’m trying to find out who it was.”

Shelley leaned forward, her forearms pressed against the edge of her desk. “That’s terrible. What are the police doing?”

“I’m trying really hard to learn more, but I haven’t involved the police. I just can’t.”

Shelley looked like she might cry. For me.

My eyes started to burn. I had to stop that train wreck. “I’m fine. Really. I’m just so angry. I mean, really angry. Angry enough to spit.”

“I’m so sorry. Anything I can do…you just have to say.”

“Well, about Liz, I think maybe it’s someone that has something to do with her.” And I could have smacked myself. How would I explain that?

“Ah, okay…” Shelley gave me a quizzical look. But she didn’t ask. Because she was a nice person, and I’d just admitted to being attacked.

Ugh. I felt terrible now. In for a penny, and all that. “I know Liz can have, um, maybe not the best…uh—”

“Exceptionally bad taste in men. Yes.” Shelley sighed and then said, “There is a lot more to her than her bad taste in men. But if there’s some connection to that,” she paused briefly to see if I’d elaborate. When I didn’t , she said, “She was seeing a married man up until about two weeks ago. He said he was leaving his wife, then he suddenly remembers he has kids and realizes he doesn’t hate his wife—you know the story.”

I didn’t; not really. But I just asked, “Do you know his name?”

“Allen. No idea on the last name.”

“Any chance he has a beard?”

“I never actually met him. Never saw any pictures. I don’t really see how her ex could have anything to do with what happened to you. And there wasn’t anyone new since Allen. I would have known. She glowed when she met someone new.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “She may make bad choices, but I guarantee she didn’t make any trouble for him. She’s not like that. She wouldn’t call the house, or threaten to tell his wife. Nothing that would create any tension after the breakup.”

Shelley had known a much more complex person in Liz than I had. People were flawed, but they were more than their flaws. Maybe I hadn’t always bothered to see that.

I was about to wrap up the conversation, when she said, “I do remember that he works at a car dealership. She met him when she bought her car. Does that help?”

“Absolutely. Thank you.” I turned to leave, but she stopped me.

She looked uncertain again. “Maybe you should consider getting in touch with the police? I think they might be able to help you.” Her eyes turned bright and shiny with tears again. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

I hadn’t been the recipient of much sympathy over my situation—primarily because I could only talk to people inside the Society—but even so, the sympathy had been pretty slim. And she sounded genuinely upset on my behalf. “He didn’t...” I stopped and cleared my throat. “I wasn’t raped.”

My face warmed with a shame I couldn’t understand when I said the word out loud.

Shelley got up, walked around her desk and hugged me. Even though I knew it was coming, the feel of her arms around me was still surprising.

“I’m sorry someone hurt you, whatever happened.” She gave me a last squeeze and let go.

Her reassurance made me angry all over again at my progenitor. I was going to kick him in his dangly bits, when I caught him.

Shelley caught my gaze, and her lips twitched. “I know that look. My money is on you.”

“Thank you—for everything.” I didn’t know what else to say.

And as I walked out of her office, I realized I’d misjudged not one, but two people. I was glad that I might be able to help find Liz’s killer—to do something for the dead woman I’d so underestimated.

But putting things right would involve some vigilante justice, old-school style, and I could only hope that Shelley wouldn’t mention me to the police.

I
found
Alex in my office, but he wasn’t packing. Someone—likely my former assistant—had packed all of my personal items in a box and labeled it with my name.

Alex was sitting at my desk, tapping away on his phone. Not really sure how he could sit in that chair with a sword on his back. Magic? I’d have to ask. But then the box on the desk caught my eye for the second time.

I looked at the box and couldn’t believe that was it. It made me sad that, after thirteen years, all of my things fit into one box.

“You’re not going to cry, are you? Because I wasn’t kidding when I said vamps don’t cry.”

“Big myth. We do, but the tears burn like fire.”

Alex gave me a curious look then said, “Did you make nice with your ex-coworker?”

“Better than that. I have a name for you: Allen. Liz’s most recent lover, former by two weeks. As amicable a split as those things can be, it sounds like—but he was and still is married.”

“Any other information about Allen—a last name or where we might find him?”

I smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do believe we can track him down. I know where he works.” Only because Liz had been lazy about removing the license plate frame on her new Mini, but I’d take what I could get.

“Bearded?”

“No idea, but how about we find out?” I checked the time on my phone. They’d be open for another few hours, but I had to get some food first.

Alex grabbed the box from my desk—my old desk—and said, “Let’s get out of here and get you some food. We can hit Allen tomorrow. If it truly was an amicable split, then he’s not a high-priority candidate.”

“And if it wasn’t?” I hadn’t even known Liz and Shelley were friendly enough to share personal information, so I could hardly gauge whether Liz would have revealed her deepest, darkest secrets to Shelley.

“He can still wait. We need to hit the bar next door, and a little food wouldn’t hurt.” He exited the office. “Besides, if you know where he works, I can probably pull a history on him. See if he’s on the membership rolls, has any crossover with the other victims, that type of thing. But mostly you need to tank up on some juice.”

Maybe he didn’t want to see me cranky. Since I could only agree that me hungry was a bad thing, I could hardly complain.

“Food is good.” My stomach twisted around in a hungry knot. I’d been ignoring it pretty successfully up until now. “Actually, food is a brilliant idea.”

We made our way down the elevator and out the door without encountering any curious coworkers or questioning security guards. Almost a shame, as I would have likely given in to impulse and reported Martin. But I’d let Shelley make that ultimate decision. I hadn’t exaggerated about my log, though, or my willingness to step up and provide evidence of his inappropriate behavior.

After stowing my box in the Jeep, we made our way to the bar on foot. It wasn’t far from the office, hence its popularity with my former coworkers.

I flagged a bartender down and asked what type of ice cream drink she recommended.

“Hold that thought.” Alex smiled at the bartender and said, “We need just a moment.”

“Do you want bleeding eyes?” I fluttered my lashes at him. “You like how I picked up the lingo?”

“Good job.” He looked as if he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Have you actually had milk?”

Ah. That was an excellent question. Great-Auntie Lula had gone all vegan in her final years. Something about how consuming the flesh and excretions of animals made her stomach churn. And on the sly, she told me it gave her horrible gas. Great-Auntie Lula liked to overshare as she got older.

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Great-Auntie Lula’s drinks are vegan.”

“Exactly. No milk. How about your coffee? When you went on that binge the other night…”

“I drink it black, sometimes with sugar. Oh, I did have just a tiny little taste of milk in my tea earlier today. Bradley and I were celebrating Mrs. Arbuthnot, so we thought we’d drink our tea like her.”

“How much?”

“Well, I cheated a bit. I don’t actually like milk in tea, but it seemed the right thing—”

“How much?”

I grumbled and finally said, “A lot less than an ice cream drink.” I flagged the waitress down. “A double virgin bloody Mary.”

She looked confused for a second, then asked, “So is that two virgin Marys?”

I pointed a finger at her. “You got it.”

The waitress, a cute early-twenty-something with blonde hair and great big brown eyes, turned to Alex and leaned over the counter. Definitely displaying cleavage. “What can I get
you
?”

“Club soda,” he replied without any inflection. She’d have to be pretty brave to try again after that reception.

She scooted away to retrieve our drinks.

“What’s the look for?”

“You, not flirting with Ms. Cleavage there.”

He frowned at her. “No reason to. Besides, we’re here on business.”

The bouncy blonde came back with three drinks, but only one of the coasters had her number on it. What was it about Alex that women found so fascinating? He wasn’t that good-looking. Passable…more than passable. In the right light, quite attractive. All right, maybe hot, but not so drop-dead gorgeous as to attract the female attention that he did.

Alex paid her and included a hefty tip. “My girlfriend lost her keys on Tuesday a week ago. Any chance you’ve found a set?”

“No, sorry.” She didn’t look the least deflated when she heard about his supposed girlfriend. Either I wasn’t selling it, or she had a lot of confidence.

“Do you know who was working then? Maybe we can ask if they saw anything.”

The bouncy blonde tipped her head as she considered the question. “Stacy, Joe, and Bart. I’ll run and ask Joe real quick. He’s in the back checking stock.”

Alex lifted a hand, delaying her departure. “I’m sorry—which one is Joe? Is he the one with the beard?”

“Oh, no. That’s Bart.”

“Right, of course.” Alex flashed her a charming smile. “Thanks.”

Once she was gone, I couldn’t help pointing out the problem. “One bartender with a beard, but that still leaves how many bearded patrons? Some of whom actually spoke with me or Liz, apparently.”

The task was looking more and more impossible. I sucked on my virgin Mary. I’d forgotten to tell her to tone down the spice a little, but I liked the tang. And it didn’t make my eyes water—thank goodness—or my nose run like spicy foods normally did.

“Bart isn’t that common of a name. I can at least check the Society’s rolls for a Bart or a Bartholomew.”

“And now?”

“Now, I run you by your house to pack a bag and then drop you off with Wembley for the night. You need to stuff your face, because I can tell you’ve lost weight today. And I have a late dinner date I don’t want to miss.”

Aha—I knew it. “We can’t just give up.”

“We’re not giving up. We’re taking a break. And keeping you out of the rampaging killer’s sights. I’ll check on any possible Barts on the Society’s rolls, and we’ll reconvene in the morning when we’re both rested.”

I slurped up the last of the first bloody Mary and started to chug the second. It was
really
good. “K.”

The bartender came back to tell us Joe didn’t remember seeing any keys, and said that Bart and Stacy weren’t scheduled that evening, but she’d ask them tomorrow.

“No worries. I’m sure they’ll turn up. Thanks for asking, though.” Alex had barely touched his club soda, and he looked like he was leaving.

Yep. Definitely leaving.

“Wait just a second.” I gave up on the straw and gulped down the last of the second drink. I wasn’t leaving any of that tangy goodness behind.

Alex shook his head, then pulled out his phone and made a call. As I practically licked the glass clean and considered flagging the waitress down for another, Alex spoke in low tones on the phone.

I must have had a hungry-desperate look, because the waitress came back. “Another?”

Alex shook his head and then said to me, “Wembley’s expecting you.”

I swallowed a groan as the waitress disappeared. “Do I really need a babysitter?” Then I remembered: Mrs. A. The memory of her death came and went. I’d forget— No, not forget—it wouldn’t be at the front of my brain. Then it would be there—the reality that she was gone. “Never mind. Thanks.” I hurried to catch up as Alex headed to the exit.

“Wembley’s glad for the company.” He opened the front door for me. “His business partner, who was also his roommate, just left Austin for Chicago. He won’t say, but he hates living alone.”

“I don’t suppose he lives in the suburbs?” I got into the passenger seat of my car and buckled up.

Wembley did in fact live in the suburbs, as I discovered when I plugged the address Alex gave me into the map on my phone. He lived in a small neighborhood not far from the Society’s headquarters, if my GPS wasn’t lying.

After a rather silly discussion that lasted much of the drive to my condo, wherein I argued my ability to drive from point A (my townhome) to point B (Wembley’s home) and pointed out that in doing so, Alex could reclaim his own car and therefore be more likely to make his date on time, finally, Alex agreed to let me venture off alone. But it had taken most of the drive for me to talk him around to the practicality of that option.

He’d still insisted on accompanying me upstairs, and stood in my condo and waited for me to pack toiletries—that I suspected I did not need—and my meager supply of correctly sized clothes. He then escorted me to my car and even closed the driver’s door for me. I felt like a sixteen-year-old off on her first overnight trip. All that was missing was seeing him wave in my rearview mirror as I drove away.

But when I looked back, he was in his car, talking on his phone. Likely with his hot date.

Good thing I wasn’t sixteen and in love, or my feelings might have been hurt.

It took me about twenty minutes to get to Wembley’s neighborhood. After that, it was all over. I became that Sunday driver that everyone hates. The one who drives five miles an hour and stops to look at every passing butterfly. And my butterflies were “For Sale” signs.

House, for sale, in Austin. The kind of house that had a sign out front actually advertising the house for sale. Not the kind where the realtor puts the sign out saying the listing will be coming soon…and then the house is snapped up before you can blink.

I thought I might be in heaven.

A heaven with intermittently overgrown lawns, lots of street-parked cars, and a great number of visible trash cans. But it spoke to me. I wasn’t sure if it was saying “buy a house” or if it was saying “rent”—but it was speaking.

As I pulled into Wembley’s drive, I got a text from Alex:
Where are you?

I replied:
Wembley’s. Why? Where are you?

I could imagine the exasperated look on his face as I read his response:
Did you walk?

Have fun with your girlfriend.
Bye-bye.
I pressed send with a smirk.

I grabbed my tiny overnight bag and marched up to the door. It was an unpleasant brown orange, and peeling. Wembley needed to have a look at it.

Wembley opened the door before I could knock. “Thank goodness. I thought Alex was going to cancel his plans and drive out here if you were any longer.” He opened the door wide and stepped to the side. “Welcome to Casa Wembley.”

A ladder rested against the wall, and I had to sidestep to squeeze by it. Half the popcorn had been removed from the hallway ceiling, and tarps were spread on the ground to catch most of the mess.

“Alex didn’t tell me you were redecorating. I’m so sorry to put you out.”

“No, not at all. I’m always redecorating. I flip houses for grins—and free housing, but mostly for grins.” He lifted the drink in his hand. “Margarita?”

This neighborhood, this house, seemed like the perfect answer to my current housing dilemma.

“I would absolutely love a margarita. But I’d also like to know a little more about this house.”

Wembley pulled a pitcher from the fridge. “No need to hide your eyes every time I pop the fridge open. I have some fully human contractors, so no blood in the kitchen. The good stuff is in the garage.” He pulled out a key on a chain from under his shirt. “Inconvenient—but such is the life of a house flipper.”

“Ahhh…” Blood. Refrigerating in the garage. Under lock and key. “Uhhh…”

“Close your mouth. You may have your hang-ups with the sweet human juice that gives me life—but you have to get over that if you want to have any vamp friends.” His expressive eyebrows squinched together, as if they had a mind of their own and were considering the very nature of life. “Not that most vamps are worth the trouble, but the concept is sound.”

“Sorry.” I gave him my shamefaced look, but only got a quirked eyebrow in response.

“On the bright side, I do have a grocery delivery coming by this evening, so you won’t starve. I thought we’d experiment a little with your diet—maybe expand it.”

I took the plastic cup he handed me. “So I’m your science experiment, huh?”

“Absolutely. But also, your little sunken cheeks make me want to fatten you up.”

“That sounds a little too Hansel and Gretel to be comforting.”

“Whoa, nelly. You know vamps can’t feed off each other, right? Not quite poisonous, but upsets the digestion.” He patted his paunchy stomach.

“I did not know that, but it’s an interesting factoid.”

He invited me to sit in one of the folding lawn chairs he had set up around a card table in the kitchen.

I plopped down into what was probably the most comfortable lawn chair I had ever occupied.

“Nice, right? My friend makes them; I can hook you up. But about the house—what do you want to know?”

“When’s it up for sale, how much, all the dirt…everything.”

“Alex told me you were looking to move. Are you asking for yourself?” I nodded, and he said, “You don’t want this one. I have another one that I just finished up. It’s going on the market as soon as I get done packing up. I’ve been living there until the renovations on this one were far enough along for me to move in—and since they just finished up the master bath, here I am.”