CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After enjoying a lovely brunch of fire-hot eggplant and vegetables, I text Lula and inquire how things are going. She informs me that she is at the library with Miriam.
Me: So soon? Shouldn’t she be resting?
Lula: She got the super V8 juice. <wink emoji> I still can’t believe UR making me babysit UR <doggy emoji> <gag emoji>.
Me: Good things come to those who do not anger me. What did you tell her about this morning’s snafu?
Lula: That you’re a chauvinistic <pig emoji>. True. And that I pushed U into the arms of another woman because I banged five guys last weekend. Also true.
I frown. What the devil?
Me: So nice to hear you are getting your sexercise. So Miriam is not upset? I need that job.
Lula: I told ya, got u covered, Mikeypoo! Who’s UR badass bitch? Huh? Huh?
I shake my head.
Lula: BTW, you missed story time. Disappointed tiny faces and lots of tears over here. What did you do to the children?
“I tried to scare the living hell out of them,” I mutter to myself.
Me: Off to see the man who’s been threatening Miriam.
I am about to tell Lula that it’s the same house where Clive was killed, but I think better of it. The news will only worry Lula given the strange coincidence—Miriam’s bully is linked to Clive’s death—and I must try to remember that Lula is not me. I cannot assume she will handle everything the same way. Me? I am entirely intrigued. All right, and confused, outraged, and concerned. But remember when I mentioned that a vampire’s life is boring and that any bit of mystery is irresistible? This qualifies as heroin.
I start my blue coffin and head to Bob Kline’s residence, preparing myself for anything.
“What in carnations?” I mutter as I stand in the middle of Kline’s living room, immediately noticing there are three things wrong with the situation, aside from the fact his home is a twenty-million-dollar, Bill-Gates-worthy mansion in the most expensive part of town.
Number one: Bob Kline’s home is in complete ruins. I do not mean that someone has entered and trashed the place. I mean that someone threw a rager and forgot to clean up. Plastic cups are strewn about and hors d’oeuvres sit uneaten on trays. The house reeks of sex and blood, and the home, very literally, looks like a scene from that show I so adore, The Leftovers, where everyone vanishes into thin air.
Number two: I smell hundreds of scents, but Clive’s is not among them. For the record, I would know if Clive had been here because everyone leaves a trace, no matter how faint. Clive has never been here. At least, not inside. Outside? Possibly. Sunshine quickly dissipates vampire odors.
Number three: more than one vampire has most certainly been here. If I had to guess, I would say forty. Perhaps fifty.
I scratch my head, trying to make sense of it all. A party. Everyone leaves suddenly. Vampires in attendance. Clive supposedly died here, but no trace of him inside.
“Excuse me. What are you doing here?” says a middle-aged woman wearing an apron, standing in the doorway and holding a vacuum cleaner.
I opt for the old standby, which is acting like I belong and she is the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the cleaning lady.”
“Well, I’m the…” Think, think… “A detective with the police department. Someone phoned in an anonymous welfare check for a Mr. Kline.” I step forward. “Have you seen or heard from him?”
I have no idea why I said any of that. I look far too young to be a police detective. Luckily, she seems distracted by my vampire magnetism. Her face flushes and her eyes are batting.
“No. I haven’t.” The woman sets down her vacuum.
“Can you tell me how long you’ve been cleaning for Mr. Kline?” I wonder what she might be able to tell me about him.
“About a year. Though, he only calls for service after these parties.”
Oh. “So this isn’t the first time his home has looked like this?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “He has these parties all the time. Takes us two days to clean—I did the upstairs yesterday.”
This is very interesting, and I won’t lie. My inner vampire child is jumping up and down screaming with glee. Mystery! Mystery! Mystery!
She freezes as if thinking something over. “You know what? I think I saw him on the schedule for next week.” She slides her phone from her pocket and taps the screen a few times. “Yes, next Monday.”
“So he’s having another party this weekend?” I ask.
“I guess.”
I will definitely be attending. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” I ask for her contact information and let her get to work while I inspect the rest of the home, and it dawns on me. I saw Viviana addressing party invitations for Friday night, which is tomorrow. It didn’t occur to me to look at the address, but could the party be here?
Standing in the living room, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking the scents. There’s perfume, bite-size bacon quiche, and blood—a lot of blood, though I haven’t seen a drop anywhere in the home. Wait. What is this?
It is faint. Very faint. But I am fairly certain I smell the scent of one vampire in particular. Mr. Aspen.
I sample the air one more time to be sure, inhaling slowly through my nose. Yes. Aspen is not in Chicago. He was here. And something strange is most definitely going on.
Whatever happened to Clive wasn’t random. It was related to this party, and Aspen was involved.