The Vampire and the Prince of Roses (Dreadful Vampire Mysteries Book 2) Page 6

  Peter Vincent gasped. “The squawkers?”

  I nodded. “Someone murdered that poor girl. I have an idea about who it might be but I need eyes on everyone else in case I’m wrong.”

  The little bat saluted. “I’m on it.” He jumped into the air, spread his wings, and headed for the library.

  “Food first.”

  “Of course,” Peter Vincent said, changing course towards the back door. “My bad.”

  I watched as he disappeared outside. I didn’t know where he was hiding the food but since it was food, I had no doubt that it was someplace safe and secure. When it came to food, especially fruit, nobody held it in higher esteem than Peter Vincent.

  The kitchen door flew open as Pita ran in, almost colliding with me. “She’s doing it again,” she gasped.

  “Who’s doing what?”

  “Christina,” Pita said. “Regina says she’s doing that weird confessing to herself thing again.”

  Alright. Time to catch a murderer. I glanced around to make sure nobody else had entered the kitchen behind Pita, concentrated, and felt a tingly sensation sweep over my entire body as I vanished.

  Chapter 9

  So in addition to cool things like talking to animals or seeing the future, most vampires can also shapeshift. Pita can turn into a vampire bat, capable of aeronautic maneuvers that put even Peter Vincent to shame. Paige can turn into a wicked bad-ass wolf. Me? I can turn into mist. Yep, my super power is basically turning into a wimpy version of fog. Not the handiest ability to have, unless you want to move from Point A to Point B without being noticed, and then spy on someone while still remaining unnoticed. Let’s see a big bat or monstrous wolf do that. Ha!

  I drifted out into the library, letting myself rise towards the second floor, looking down to see if one face in particular was in the crowd. As expected, she wasn’t.

  As my mist form floated towards the second floor hallway, Granny Mags rounded the corner from the stairs that led to the third floor, which was basically her floor. She glanced up at me as she headed towards the stairs. “That bat better have put my grapes back where they belong.” I couldn’t respond in my shifted form so I just floated over her head, intent on my mission.

  I knew where everyone was staying so didn’t hesitate to slide over the door into a particular guest’s room. Christina sat on the bed, staring at a framed picture she held in her hands. The young girl in the photo looked vaguely familiar.

  “Why?” Christina whispered harshly. “Why did it have to be you?” She held the picture close and sobbed. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. Just this once, I wanted to do something nice. I didn’t mean to kill you.”

  With a thought, I was solid again, standing in front of her, my fingers curled into fists. “You killed Regina? Why”

  Christina jumped, startled by my sudden appearance. The picture frame fell from her fingers. With lightning-quick vampire reflexes, I snatched it out of the air before it could hit the floor, glancing at the girl in the photo. I gasped as recognition hit. “It’s Regina,” I said, surprised.

  Christina snatched the photo from me. “That’s mine.” She glared at me with eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and anger. “Get out of my room.”

  “Not until you tell me why you have a picture of Regina as a kid.”

  Christina swore softly, staring at the picture. “I don’t guess it matters now. Everyone will know once the reporters start digging.” She chuckled. “And they will dig. Reporters love a juicy scandal.” She looked up at me. “Regina is… was… my daughter.”

  As soon as she said it, I saw it. Christina’s hair had more brown than red and frequent trips to tanning salons made her complexion darker than her daughter’s pale skin, but they had the same lips, the same nose, the same green eyes.

  “The sheriff needs to know that, Christina. It could have something to do with the case.”

  The reality show hostess stood up, smoothing her outfit. She walked over to the dresser, pulled a tissue from the box, and began dabbing around her eyes. Before my eyes, the distraught mother transformed into the calm, cool, and collected hostess of Prince of Roses, any sign of emotion disappearing from her face. “I doubt it. Nobody knew she was my daughter. She didn’t even know.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  Christina shrugged. “I gave her up for adoption. I was careless, stupid, but I had big plans for Hollywood. Plans that did not include being an unwed mother.”

  “And she just happened to win a spot on the show you hosted?”

  Christina looked into the dresser mirror, staring at my reflection. “I was curious about the girl I gave up. I found her when she was two, kept track of her to see how she was doing.” She shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “Of course she’d be a fan of the show. I see all the letters that come in. Thousands of young girls looking for true love… or a shot at being on Princess of Roses. When I saw her letter, I knew I couldn’t guarantee her true love… but I could let her be a princess. If only for a season, she’d be treated like royalty.”

  “The show is rigged?”

  Christina chuckled. “The final three are never left to chance. If that’s what you mean by rigged, then the show is always rigged. I told Jet I wanted Regina to make it to the final three. I’d handle everything after that.”

  I was stunned. “And Jet was okay with that?”

  The chuckle turned into a full laugh. “Jet’s an overbearing conceited ass. He became the prince of roses because he agreed to it.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he won the spot with his charming personality.”

  Well, I couldn’t argue with that, but I was still confused. “Why did you say you killed her if you didn’t?”

  “Because I did,” Christina said. “Indirectly. If I hadn’t gotten her on the show, she’d still be home in her little Podunk town. Alive.”

  Christina’s phone chirped. She glanced at the screen and groaned. “I have to go. One of the girls is whining about some of the others being mean to her and she wants to go home. She can’t go home. We’re already one girl short.”

  “That right there,” I said. “You were just crying about her. How can you be so callous sometimes about what happened?”

  Christina walked over to the dresser and picked up a shiny golden statue that wasn’t part of the Dreadful Inn’s decor. It looked like an angel holding a giant globe over its head.

  “I got this Emmy for the fourth season of Prince of Roses,” Christina said. “I got it for being an outstanding host for a reality competition program. I got it because I made sacrifices.” She shrugged. “There’s a time and place for everything, including emotion. The show must go on.”

  She headed for the door.

  “One last thing.”

  She sighed, looking at me impatiently.

  “Why am I still on the show?” I asked. “I thought for sure I was done.”

  Christina smiled. The first real smile I’d seen on her since we met. “I heard about your little incident with Jet. It’s good to have someone around that can keep the little jerk in line.”

  I shook my head as Christina left the room. I thought not holding back and threatening him would guarantee that I’d get kicked off the show. Instead, it guaranteed that I’d stay. Just my luck.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed before the sun came up, pulled a robe on so I wouldn’t have to kill any unsuspecting camera operator who accidentally filmed me in my gym shorts and Night of the Living Dead t-shirt, and staggered to the kitchen, an undying thirst burning through me. It was the start of a new day and I needed to satisfy my craving before having to deal with any of the girls on the show. Because the girls on the show got on my last good nerve. It was imperative – a true matter of life or death – that I get the life-giving liquid I craved into my body as soon as possible.

  I entered the kitchen and almost fainted as the smell I was seeking assaulted my nose. “Oh god,” I groaned. “S
o good.” I inhaled deeply. “So thirsty.”

  Pita shoved a mug of coffee into my hands. “Stop being such a drama queen. It’s not like you’ll die without it.”

  “Someone might,” I said, before greedily taking a healthy sip of the life-giving nectar. There were plenty of myths talking about a vampire’s need for blood. None of those stories talked about our need for coffee. Or maybe that was just me and my sisters.

  Pita sat down across from Paige at the little circular breakfast table. Pita was wearing cute little navy blue pajamas with tiny pictures of a cartoon werewolf howling in front of a cartoon full moon. Paige was wearing a plain gray shirt and gray shorts.

  I leaned against the counter, my hands clasped tight around the coffee cup, as if someone were around who might be foolish enough to try and take it.

  “Anything major happening today?” Pita asked.

  I shrugged. “Heck if I know. I never watched the show.” We both looked at Paige.

  “Oh now is where it starts to get good,” Paige said. “The prince of roses will send out invitations for a group date… but only a few girls will get invited.” She smiled cruelly. “Both groups will start maneuvering for the best dating advantage. There will be catfights, back-stabbing, lies.” She shivered with barely-restrained excitement. “It will be awesome.”

  The kitchen door swung open. “What will be awesome?” Broomhilda asked as she headed for the fridge, wearing a green housecoat that fell a little below her thighs, a light green t-shirt, dark green pajama pants, and green socks. The witch was working a serious fetish for the color green.

  “Anthony’s sex life, apparently,” I said. “Did you stay the night?”

  Broomhilda rolled her eyes as she pulled fruit from the fridge and a juicer from a cabinet over the counter. “Yes, Mom.” She glanced at the three of us, growing suddenly serious, as if it just occurred to her that she was one lone witch surrounded by a trio of vampires. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

  Pita giggled. “Of course not.”

  “We’re just thrilled the two of you finally got together,” I said.

  “Remember the sappy tone Anthony used to get whenever he’d say her name?” Paige asked.

  “Or how Broomhilda would make a special trip up here because she couldn’t remember if she gave us a receipt when he had stopped by her shop earlier in the day?” Pita added.

  The little witch’s cheeks grew bright red as she put the assorted fruit into the juicer, looking anywhere but at us. I went up to her and gave her a hug. “We pick on you because we like you. You’re part of the family.”

  She smiled. “I know. I just…” She swiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters growing up. You’re like the family I never had.”

  Pita stood up and joined the group hug. We both looked at Paige. She stared back “I don’t do hugs.”

  “Don’t be a prude, Paige,” I said. “Show the love.”

  “Or I’ll call you Prude Paige for at least a week,” Pita said.

  Paige groaned, slowly stood up, slowly walked over, and joined in the hug for about one and half seconds. For Paige, it was practically an emotional breakthrough.

  Once free of us, Broomhilda poured her juice in a glass and looked in the juicer. “There’s still some left. Anyone want it?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “We just welcomed you to the family. Don’t make us have to kill you.”

  Broomhilda giggled. “Anthony said the three of you are a bunch of coffee whores.”

  “Guilty,” all three of us said, taking a sip from our cups.

  A light tapping on the kitchen door broke up the bonding session as one of the Bimbettes peeked inside. “Sorry to interrupt but that yummy sheriff is at the front door.”

  “Yummy?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

  The girl grinned. “Super-yummy with chocolate and a cherry on top.”

  My coffee mug shattered in my hands as the girl ducked out of the kitchen. Paige, Pita, and Broomhilda laughed as I went to the sink and washed the coffee off my hands. “It’s not funny,” I said. “I liked that mug.”

  “Yeah,” Pita said. “It’s the mug that’s on your mind.”

  “Try not to kill her,” Paige said as I headed for the door.

  I ignored her, trying to keep my fangs from extending. “Yummy, my ass,” I muttered to myself.

  “And do let us know what the sheriff thinks of your early morning ensemble,” Pita added, holding back a barely restrained laugh.

  My hand froze, inches from the kitchen door, as I ran through a mental checklist. Shorts. T-Shirt. Hair that hadn’t yet been introduced to a brush today. And no make-up. Oh, and no teeth brushing either.

  “Fan-fanging-tastic,” I muttered. I blasted through the door at top vampire speed. The handful of girls in the room glanced around curiously at the sudden draft that blew through the room.

  The little Bimbette who told us about our early morning visitor had fortunately – for her – gotten distracted by some other girls gossiping, forgetting all about the yummy sheriff.

  And speaking of yummy, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handcuff-Me-And-Make-Me-Do-Bad-Things was standing in the foyer, waiting patiently. I had to resist the urge to steal a kiss as I ran by, too fast for the human eye to see.

  I charged upstairs, changed into jeans and a red pull-over sweater showing just a hint of cleavage, raked a brush through my hair until it was somewhat tame, and brushed my teeth.

  Five minutes after being informed about our guest, I was headed down the stairs, trying not to feel nervous as Alec glanced up the stairs and saw me coming down. The slow easy smile that appeared on his face made me feel like a million bucks. And then a Bimbette had to ruin the moment.

  Chapter 11

  “Can I help you with anything, officer,” one of the Bimbettes asked, arching her back and throwing her shoulders back to focus attention on her boobs.

  “Actually,” I said, inserting myself between the two of them, “it’s Sheriff; not officer.”

  I smiled at Alec while nudging the girl back even further with a subtle – or not so subtle – elbow to the ribs. She quickly got the hint and found something else to be interested in.

  Alec smiled, his blue eyes making me tingle in the most delicious way as his gaze raked over my body. “No more Bride of Dracula look?”

  I rolled my eyes and groaned. “Ugh! I hate that movie.”

  He chuckled. “Seriously? It’s a horror classic.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Oh no! You’re a Hammer fan?”

  He shrugged, grinning. “Guilty. Why do you think I accepted a job in a place called Transylvaniatown?”

  I stared at him. “I obviously need to sit you down in front of a TV and Blu-ray player and introduce you to some good horror.”

  “I’d like that,” he said, his ocean-blue eyes staring into mine.

  For a moment, I lost myself in those eyes, unable to think. I stepped towards him, my eyes dropping to his lips. I could imagine those lips on mine, our bodies pressing together as our tongues danced and teased. A quick glance back up into those eyes revealed that same hunger – that same desire – crashing through him.

  I licked my lips, desiring only one thing. If the world ended in the next five minutes, I’d die happy as long as I had enjoyed the feel of his mouth on mine before that fateful moment. I leaned towards him. He leaned towards me.

  And then a smattering of giggles from the Bimbettes behind us reached our ears.

  We both straightened back up, taking a short hasty step back from each other.

  “Aw! Isn’t that cute? They’re shy,” one girl said.

  “Get it, girl,” another said.

  “If she doesn’t, I just might,” a third added.

  That was enough.

  I looked back over my shoulder, let my eyes go pure crimson, bared my fangs, and hissed. The girls all screamed and fled further into the library. I quickly looked back at Alex with sparkling
brown eyes and what I hoped was a sexy smile.

  “Did you just hiss at those girls?” Alec asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s a girl thing.”

  He looked doubtful. “I don’t think I’ve known any girls who hiss.”

  “Your loss.” I winked at him. “We’ll have to fix that.”

  He chuckled, clearly enjoying the idea, but then – as I knew he would inevitably have to – he switched to Serious Sheriff mode. “While I’m enjoying making plans to watch horror movies with you and discussing the merits of women who hiss, I did come up here on official business.”

  I nodded, waiting.

  “Dr. Daver finished his autopsy,” Alec said. “There was a tiny pinprick – an injection site – on the back of Regina’s neck, just under her hairline.”

  “An injection site? She was poisoned?”

  He sighed. “Don’t know. Toxicology results were negative but Daver said he wanted to try something… and there’s more.”

  I waited patiently, already suspecting what he had discovered.

  “We did a background search on her and… well, we won’t be 100% sure without medical records or DNA testing, but it looks like Christina Harrison was her mother.”

  I pretended to be surprised. It wasn’t like I could say that I learned the truth because I snuck into her room as mist. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “As sure as we can be without medical evidence. There’s photographic proof of Ms. Harrison spying on Ms. Robertson that goes back several years. There’s even some photos online of Ms. Harrison attending a junior high musical that Regina starred in.” He shrugged. “These days you can hide from the law but you can’t hide from Facebook.”

  I felt my throat tighten up, my eyes stinging. The show must go. That’s what she had said, but Christina obviously made some effort – an admittedly small effort – to be in her child’s life.

  “Do you know where she is?” Alec asked.