Circus of the Damned - Laurell K. Hamilton [44]
She’d help me. We’d find something. It sounded sort of ominous. Pre-date jitters. Who, me?
13
AT 5:15 THAT AFTERNOON I was on the phone to Richard Zeeman. “Hi, Richard, this is Anita Blake.”
“Nice to hear your voice.” His voice was smiling over the phone; I could almost feel it.
“I forgot that I’ve got a Halloween party to go to Saturday afternoon. They started the party during daylight so I could make an appearance. I can’t not show up.”
“I understand,” he said. His voice was very carefully neutral—neutral cheerful.
“Would you like to be my date for the party? I have to work Halloween night, of course, but the day could be ours.”
“And the caving?”
“A rain check,” I said.
“Two dates; this could be serious.”
“You’re laughing at me,” I said.
“Never.”
“Shit, do you want to go or not?”
“If you promise to go caving a week from Saturday.”
“My solemn word,” I said.
“It’s a deal.” He was quiet on the phone for a minute. “I don’t have to wear a costume for this party, do I?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said.
He sighed.
“Backing out?”
“No, but you owe me two dates for humiliating myself in front of strangers.”
I grinned and was glad he couldn’t see it. I was entirely too pleased. “Deal.”
“What costume are you wearing?” he asked.
“I haven’t got one yet. I told you I forgot the party; I meant it.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I think picking out costumes should tell a lot about a person, don’t you?”
“This close to Halloween we’ll be lucky to find anything in our size.”
He laughed. “I might have an ace up my sleeve.”
“What?”
He laughed again. “Don’t sound so damn suspicious. I’ve got a friend who’s a Civil War buff. He and his wife do re-creations.”
“You mean like dress up?”
“Yes.”
“Will they have the right sizes?”
“What size dress do you wear?”
That was a personal question for someone who’d never even kissed me. “Seven,” I said.
“I would have guessed smaller.”
“I’m too chesty for a six, and they don’t make six and a halfs.”
“Chesty, woo, woo.”
“Stop it.”
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said.
My beeper went off. “Damn.”
“What’s that sound?”
“My beeper,” I said. I pressed the button and it flashed the number—the police. “I have to take it. Can I call you back in a few minutes, Richard?”
“I’ll wait with bated breath.”
“I’m frowning at the phone, I hope you know that.”
“Thanks for sharing that. I’ll wait here by the phone. Call me when you’re done with (sob) work.”
“Cut it out, Richard.”
“What’d I do?”
“Bye, Richard, talk to you soon.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said.
“Bye, Richard.” I hung up before he could make any more “pitiful me” jokes. The really sad part was I thought it was cute. Gag me with a spoon.
I called Dolph’s number. “Anita?”
“Yeah.”
“We got another vampire victim. Looks the same as the first one, except it’s a woman.”
“Damn,” I said softly.
“Yeah, we’re over here at DeSoto.”
“That’s farther south than Arnold,” I said.
“So?” he said.
“Nothing, just give me the directions.”
He did.
“It’ll take me at least an hour to get there,” I said.
“The stiff’s not going anywhere, and neither are we.” He sounded discouraged.
“Cheer up, Dolph, I may have found a clue.”
“Talk.”
“Veronica Sims recognized the name Cal Rupert. Description matches.”
“What are you doing talking to a private detective?” He sounded suspicious.
“She’s my workout partner, and since she just gave us our first clue, I’d sound a little more grateful, if I were you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hurrah for the private sector. Now talk.”
“A Cal Rupert was a member of HAV about two months ago. The description matches.”
“Revenge killings?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Half of me hopes it’s a pattern. At least we’d have some place to start looking.” He made a sound between a laugh and a snort. “I’ll tell Zerbrowski you found a clue. He’ll like that.”
“All us Dick Tracy Crimebusters speak police lingo,” I said.
“Police lingo?” I could feel the grin over the phone. “You find any more clues, you let us know.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant.”
“Can the sarcasm,” he said.
“Please, I always use fresh sarcasm, never canned.”
He groaned.