Fearless in High Heels Part 9

Marco opened his mouth to protest, but I hopped out of the car before he could, leaving the chicken-livered vamp in the backseat.

Honestly? I wasn't a whole lot of notches higher on the bravery scale. While I wasn't worried (much) about having my blood sucked, it was highly likely that we would encounter a murderer tonight. Not a comforting thought, no matter what kind of costumes we're talking.

I adjusted my fangs as we walked up to the ma.s.sive front door, hoping we could blend well enough.

In addition to the teeth, the Moonlight II costume department had been gracious enough to let us raid their stock of extras' outfits for loaners. After we'd totally geeked out at the array of choices, Dana had finally settled on a long, corseted, black dress with a slit up the side showing off her legs. It sat just off the shoulders, so we paired it with a spider-web inspired shawl and a pair of fishnets that mimicked the pattern down her legs, ending in spiky red heels. I'd dittoed her fishnets, but I'd obviously had to forgo the corset. Instead, I'd found an empire waisted black velvet dress that was just long enough to cover The b.u.mp, short enough to show off my lace-up boots, and wide enough that I could thankfully still fit my b.u.t.t into it. And, to cap off our looks, we'd both donned long, black wigs borrowed from the hair trailer. Overall, we were feeling total vampire-chic as we slipped inside the heavy, mahogany doors of Sebastian's house.

Which looked as if Victorian London had suddenly collided with Miami Beach. Men and women in dark, drapey clothing mingled to the sounds of J Lo telling them to get on the floor from speakers hidden in the antique moldings in the ceilings. Large, opaque goblets circulated among the guests on trays held by women in mini-skits, dark stockings, and tight tops.

And everywhere that people laughed, smiled, or talked, fangs peeked from behind their painted lips. Seriously, fangs all over the room. Most of the patrons had opted for Ricky's pale-face look, though some were in their natural flesh colored states. The women were, by and large, adorned with thick black eyeliner, and Dana and I would have stood out like sore thumbs in our blonde hair. Everyone was sporting Dracula-black wigs.

"See anything suspicious yet?" Dana asked, whispering in my ear. Her voice had a slight lisp to it due to the fangs.

"Define suspicious."

"Good point."

"Let's look for Becca," I said, eyeing a couple in the corner who were giving each other serious hickeys. At least, I hoped they were just hickeys.

I pulled my cell out and dialed Becca's number, on the off chance she might pick up. Or we might hear a tell-tale ring from someone's corset. Unfortunately, I got the voicemail routine again. Leaving us with only the low-tech route to finding our suspect.

We circled our way around the downstairs, pa.s.sing through groups of c.o.c.ktail-drinking partygoers (G.o.d, I hoped they were c.o.c.ktails!), snippets of conversation floating past us as we searched their faces for the girl we'd seen with Alexa at the Crush. While she'd been a redhead there, I didn't put it past her to don a wig like Dana and I had. Especially if she was in fugitive mode.

While most of the party-goers were in some sort of affected state of undead make-up, I was surprised to see the majority were middle aged, average looking, every-day people that one might encounter in line at Starbucks. Heck, take away the capes and white foundation and you had any other party in the Hollywood Hills.

All except for one person.

As we rounded the corner into the study, I spied Sebastian chatting with a woman in another long, black wig. He stood near an enormous, seven-foot-tall fireplace, a crackling fire filling its mouth despite the California heat. His long legs were encased in another pair of crisp slacks, his black b.u.t.ton down s.h.i.+rt opened at the collar. His spiked hair was messed into an effortless style, and I could see the glint off his fangs in the glow cast by the antique chandelier above his head.

As if he could feel me watching him, his gaze suddenly turned toward mine. His unnaturally blue eyes (which had to be just contacts, right?) held mine for a half-second. Just long enough to make me wonder if my disguise was all that disguising after all. Then he turned his attention back to his companion.

Despite the heat from the fire, I felt a chill run up my spine. I tried to tell myself it was just fear of getting caught and not fear of having my bodily fluids drained, but I grabbed Dana by the arm just the same.

"Let's get out of here," I lisped in Cindy Brady fas.h.i.+on into her ear. "We haven't checked for Becca upstairs yet."

Dana nodded, and we quickly backed out of the room, slipping into the hallway where a large staircase spiraled up to the next floor. The second I was out of Sebastian's presence, I felt a sigh of relief sweep over me. Supernatural or not, that guy had an unnerving effect that made me jealous of Marco sitting in the nice, safe car outside. The sooner we found Becca and got out of there, the better.

At the top of the stairs, the landing gave way to another series of rooms. Fewer people were mingling up here than in the lower part of the house, and Dana and I quickly made our way through the first three rooms with no sign of our MIA redhead, before pausing outside of what looked like a master bedroom.

"Should we go in?" Dana whispered, looking over her shoulder.

"I guess we should. I mean, no stone unturned."

"You wanna go first?"

"Nope."

Dana sighed. "Okay," she said with her hand on the doork.n.o.b, "but I swear to G.o.d, if I find a coffin in there..."

I elbowed her in the ribs. "You have been spending way too much time with Marco." Though, I'll admit I let out a small sigh of relief when we saw a king sized bed under a paisley-printed quilt stare back at us.

"See. He's just a guy who likes to wear fangs," I said, much more confidently than I felt.

"Uh huh," Dana said, moving toward the closet. "And apparently women's clothes?" She held up a tiny, black dress with a one-shoulder strap.

Which was an exact match for the one Becca had been wearing the night of the murder.

I felt my heart skip a beat, landing somewhere in my throat. "OhmiG.o.d, that's Becca's dress!"

I almost hated to look, but...

I leaned in close, squinting at the dark fabric for any sign of Alexa's blood.

Dana did the same. "I don't see anything on it," she finally concluded.

I nodded. "Me neither. Still, what's it doing in here?"

Dana shook her head. "I don't know. But it's pretty solid evidence that Sebastian knows more than he's telling us."

"Agreed. And it's time we found out what," I decided, taking the dress from Dana and making for the study with the enormous fireplace again.

Only we never quite made it.

We got as far as the bottom of the stairs when a woman in a long, flowing maxi-dress darted from the study, slamming squarely into both Dana and I.

"Uhn," I said, feeling the wind get knocked out of me. Which, honestly, didn't take much. The trip down the stairs had been enough to bring me to half-wind already.

"Hey, watch it. She's pregnant!" Dana shouted at the woman.

She turned around only briefly to acknowledge our presence before continuing her flight.

But it was enough for me to recognize her face and the distinct strands of red hair peeking out from a wig fallen askew in her haste.

Becca.

Chapter Eleven.

"Becca, wait!" I called, though her retreating back didn't slow down a bit. If anything, she picked up pace, hauling it through the crowd toward the back of the house at lightening speeds.

"I've got her," Dana said, darting after her, pus.h.i.+ng her way through the crowd.

I did my best to waddle after them, but the fact was a) I wasn't nearly the gym devotee that Dana as and b) carrying an extra fifteen pounds around kinda put a damper on my efforts. No way was I going to catch up.

I watched the two black wigs bob toward the back of the house, then out the back doors, where I lost them. I pushed my way through the party-goers, hitting the pair of French doors just in time to see two figures in heels and black dresses sprinting across an expanse of manicured lawn behind the house, before they disappeared into a grove of trees. c.r.a.p. The heels on these boots were so not made for tramping across a soggy lawn.

"What's going on out there?" a voice said, suddenly at my ear.

I jumped, letting out a little Chihuahua-style yip and spun around to find myself nose-to-nose with Sebastian.

I took one giant step backward.

"Uh, nothing. Just, um, getting a little fresh air."

He c.o.c.ked his head to the side, his icy eyes pinning me to the spot. "I thought I saw your friend jogging across my lawn just now."

I bit my lip. "Did you?" I squeaked out.

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Well, that's Dana. Any excuse for a little exercise." The second the words left my lips I mentally cringed at the lameness of my lying skills.

Luckily, Sebastian let it go.

Unluckily, he took a step forward, uncomfortably closing the gap between us again.

"You know, I don't remember inviting the two of you to this party," he slowly drawled.

I swallowed loudly, my throat suddenly bone dry. "I'll forgive the oversight."

"Hmmm." He narrowed his eyes at me, a.s.sessing.

I swallowed again, cleared my throat, and firmly told myself he was just some guy in contacts and a pair of plastic teeth.

"Exactly what are you doing here?" he asked.

"Looking for Becca," I found myself confessing under his steady gaze.

"And did you find her?"

I nodded. "Dana's with her right now," I said, hoping it was the truth. "And," I added, putting on my bravest face, "we found something that belongs to Becca, too."

He slowly raised one eyebrow. "Did you, now?"

"Yes. Her dress. The one she was wearing the night Alexa died."

"Interesting." If the information unnerved him, he didn't show it, his face as impa.s.sive as always.

"Want to know where we found it?" I asked, my confidence edging higher.

"I'm all ears."

"Your bedroom."

His jaw flinched, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as his shoulders tightened. It was an almost imperceptible physical s.h.i.+ft, but his entire demeanor suddenly went from mildly amused to somewhere between menacing and downright dangerous.

"Another place I don't believe you were invited to," he responded, his voice an evenly modulated growl.

I licked my lips. "What was the dress doing there?"

But instead of answering me, he wrapped a hand around my upper arm. "I think it's time for you to go," he said, steering me out the door.

"Did Becca come here after the club?" I persisted. "Did she tell you what happened? Did she tell you Alexa was dead? Did she need your help cleaning up the murder?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Miss Springer," he said, leading me around the side of the building, back toward the circular drive.

"You don't answer very many," I shot back.

"No. I don't."

"And it's Mrs., by the way," I corrected him.

I'm married."

"Lucky man," he mumbled, though I wasn't entirely sure whether or not I detected a note of sarcasm.

"Look, we're just trying to find out what happened to Alexa," I said as the rows of cars came back into view. I could vaguely make out Marco's form slouched in the pa.s.senger seat of Dana's Mustang. "If you're innocent, then you have nothing to hide," I reasoned.

Sebastian stopped walking abruptly, turning me around to face him. His eyes shone eerily in the moonlight, making me involuntarily lean back.

"We all have something to hide, Mrs. Springer," he said, his voice flat and low.

And with that, he turned and left me standing on the paved drive as he walked back through the mahogany front doors of his Castle of Creepiness.

Despite my disappointment at getting more questions than answers from him, I did a s.h.i.+ver of relief at being out of there, then quickly power-walked over to the car.

"Are you okay?" Marco hissed as soon as I had the doors open. "I saw you talking with the vampire. G.o.d, he was leaning so close to you that I was sure he was going to dig right into your neck."

"I'm fine," I answered. Even though a teeny tiny part of me might have shared his fear.

"Good. Here," he said, pa.s.sing me my tote bag again.

I took it, feeling a distinctly soggy spot at the bottom. "What happened to it?"

"I think your fake baby may have wet itself."