Tantalize Part 12

Ignoring him, Brad led me around the less perilous side of the desk. "I'll ask a server to clean up in here."

"I, I'm stupid and clumsy."

"Compared to you, Garbo herself was an ox. With the party hours away, it's only natural for you to be nervous. I I am, and it's not my mom's legacy on the line." am, and it's not my mom's legacy on the line."

It was a relief having someone who understood.

"And that boy?" the chef asked. "Is he still upsetting you?"

"I guess."

Brad adopted a movie vampire accent. "Don't vorry. You can count count on me." on me."

"I feel like an idiot," I said. Maybe it was because I was wearing fishnet stockings, black leather hot pants, and a black leather bustier. Maybe it was the makeup - black lip and eyeliner, alabaster base and powder that covered my freckles. As for the four-inch heels? G.o.d, I could barely walk. feel like an idiot," I said. Maybe it was because I was wearing fishnet stockings, black leather hot pants, and a black leather bustier. Maybe it was the makeup - black lip and eyeliner, alabaster base and powder that covered my freckles. As for the four-inch heels? G.o.d, I could barely walk.

I didn't have a moral objection to dressing provocatively. It just wasn't my style. But for Sanguini's sake, I could try it. I was open-minded. Sort of. And as a little kid, I'd always loved Halloween. Tonight, I'd refused any jewelry, though, skipped nail polish, and rejected dye, pulling my hair into a face-lift bun. "I'm sure I look like an idiot, too."

Ruby, even more appallingly appareled and drenched in musk, pushed to sit, slim legs crossed, on the office desk. She's the one who'd needled me into trying on the bustier in the first place. "You look better than you ever have before."

I wished I could check myself out in a mirror, but the restaurant didn't have any, not even in the restrooms. If something got stuck in someone's teeth, it was supposed to be considered thematic. Maybe it was good, though, that I couldn't see myself. I might go full-barrel chicken if I did.

"It's the four-inch heels," I said. Don't get me wrong. We were selling s.e.x, at least metaphorically, along with the ambiance, food, and liquor. I was even grudgingly grateful to Ruby for her help. But I couldn't function up so high, and the soles were so slick that I'd be sure to wipe out by close. I kicked off the shoes and tugged on my new red cowboy boots instead.

Yanking up my bustier, I sighed. "Let's focus on the restaurant."

"Your precious family restaurant, your uncle's precious family restaurant," Ruby chanted. "You'd think it was Tara. 'As G.o.d is my witness, I'll never' blah, blah, blah."

I wasn't certain if she and my uncle had had a spat or if she was looking long-term to cash in on the place as community property. Now that I thought about it, though, the misconception that Uncle Davidson owned Sanguini's could go a long way to explaining how he'd managed to land her in the first place. I mean, paunchy, thirtyish guy, going nowhere, with barely twentysomething, budding dominatrix, likewise going nowhere. So, I clarified. "My grandma and grandpa Crimi's restaurant, my mother's, mine. My uncle is just managing it for me until I hit twenty-one."

Not that I wasn't planning on Uncle D staying as long as he wanted. Not that he'd ever bail on a family obligation. Not that it was any of her business anyway. But I was weary of Ruby trying to make me doubt myself. She was such a drain.

Uncle D popped his head into the office, still sporting his aloha s.h.i.+rt with Levis and Birkenstocks. "Chop, chop, ladies. It's almost sunset. Quincie, honey, double-check the waitress station."

"The one behind the hostess stand or the one behind the bar?"

"Both!" he replied as I ducked out. "Ruby, double-check the kitchen for hairnets."

"Ball caps okay?" I heard her ask.

Was she on the payroll now?

A couple of the servers, Simone and Mercedes, both leggy G.o.ddess brunettes, looked up when I pa.s.sed the break room. They were folding crimson napkins into bats. Their mascara-laden eyes blinked at my appearance - not drastically distinct from theirs, but before tonight my idea of a fas.h.i.+on risk had been wearing a jewel-tone instead of a black or white T-s.h.i.+rt.

"Quincie!" Simone exclaimed. "You look -"

"Wicked!" Mercedes finished.

I laughed, blus.h.i.+ng. "Gotta run."

It'd meant a lot to me and Uncle D, how many of the old timers had returned, quitting the jobs they'd taken while we were shut down for renovations, saving him tons of little-to-spare angst and training time. Acts of faith. The handful of newbies on the wait staff had each been a.s.signed a vet to follow, and they'd rotate that way for the next couple of weeks. Everything would be fine, I told myself. It had to be.

Sergio, the expeditor, caught me to avoid a full-on collision. "Easy," he said. "Remember, no matter how much you're in the weeds -"

"Never show it," I finished. "Walk the same pace. Remain calm."

Sergio's job was to hurry the food on the line and run it to the tables. Another veteran returned to the fold. "You're holding up like a champ," he told me.

"Holding up?"

"It's hard on all of us, getting through tonight without Vaggio, but the show must go on, right?"

"Uh, right." I needed another drink.

"Your mama would've been so proud of you, lamb chop."

I kissed his cheek. "Thanks."

At the end of the hall, I parted the crimson velvet curtains, revealing the dining room. The mood lighting had been turned on. Subtle, shadowy. Jazz played through hidden speakers. Tables and booths had been preset as had a small dance floor.

Tick, tock, I thought. Almost time. I thought. Almost time.

That's when I heard the chef's voice. "You look good enough to eat."

In the center of the dance floor waited Bradley Sanguini, vampire. His suit was a dark gray, accentuating his height and slender build. I could see only one dress watch gleaming beneath the cuff, but I'd bet the twin above it was just as fancy. No makeup or other affectations, at least not beyond his trademark fangs and red contacts. Maybe a touch of base. Wait, yep, and eyeliner and lip liner, both smudged to blend. It worked for him. As did the hint of blue blush to accentuate the cheek bones, make the face seem more defined. Even his widow's peak juxtaposed against the twentysomething face hinted at a vampire's cla.s.sic immortality while evoking history, experience. He looked confident, at ease, standing in the middle of the dance floor as if he owned it, every inch the latter-day undead Fred Astaire.

"Nice suit," I said.

His smile showed tooth, and we had a Count Sanguini after all. One so striking, so awe-inspiring I couldn't think of what my uncle had sent me in to check.

"Sunset," Bradley whispered, slipping on a skullcap. "I can feel it." He breathed the words like he could almost see the ash violet, candy cotton clouds against a pale blue and apricot sky. But the truth was, with its windows bricked, Sanguini's seemed to exist totally separate from the natural world. He couldn't see jack.

"A little more Jedi than Lugosi," I replied. "But color me enthralled."

Bradley smiled. "I should change to cook," he said, strolling past.

He smelled like olive oil and paradise.

"Incoming victims," Yanira called from the hostess stand.

This was it. I grabbed a fresh gla.s.s of the house Cab from Sebastian. Carpe noctem! Carpe noctem! I thought. Seize the night! I thought. Seize the night!

Sanguini's sparked, then sparkled, moving as if in a waltz. Guests, many dressed for the occasion, were greeted by Yani and escorted to their two- or four-tops, where a server asked each if they considered themselves "predator" or "prey" and then presented them appropriate menus. One guy walked in with a spiderweb tattoo covering his entire face, a woman with porcupine quills threaded through her nostrils. A tall, very tall, and solid-looking red-haired man, neatly trimmed beard, dressed to the nines circa 1912, introduced himself in a p.r.o.nounced Irish accent, "Mr. Stoker, party of one." We had no fewer than four Mr. Stokers that night, one of which was a leather-jacket-sporting miniature Pomeranian, carried in a matching purse, whose owner acted heartbroken that we weren't "Pom-friendly." And they weren't the most extreme or the most innovative. I'd never seen so much leather and feathers and fishnet and lace.

As Uncle D and Ruby worked the room, I tried to blend, which wasn't so difficult. Shadows abounded, and partygoers became absorbed in the experience. They grimaced and giggled and gloried at the descriptions of predator dishes, yet both hunters and hunted devoured every bite. The dance floor - center stage for seduction.

Not that I could just watch. I restocked wait stations, supplied an extra corkscrew, refolded napkins, wasted a minute on a custom order for some skinny woman b.i.t.c.hing about carbs, removed a dining chair to make room for a guest in a wheelchair, politely explained there was no freaking way any of the servers would be merrily crooning "Happy Birthday to You" in either Italian or English, and chatted with one of Vaggio's exes, Celeste, who was at table five with her daughter. I was fetching a stray spoon from the floor when Sergio tapped my shoulder.

"Sorry, lamb chop," he said, holding a tray topped by a bowl of tomato and wild mushroom stew and a plate of pig's feet. "But I've gotta keep running food, and there's a woman with a problem in the hall. Something about the restrooms."

I tossed the spoon in a catchall at the wait station. "On it."

In the dim hallway, I saw her before she saw me. Plump, grandmotherly, sporting fang marks on her neck - a temporary tattoo. A lady who'd never let on to her bridge set how much she enjoyed erotic horror novels, but then again, wasn't worried about running into any of them tonight.

What now? I wondered. No toilet paper? I'd checked the supply half an hour earlier. The condom machines? This might be a place for role-playing lovers, but you had to give reality its due. I prayed prayed she hadn't slipped, thrown up, or had some kind of bowel eruption. The last thing we needed was food poisoning rumors, a trumped-up lawsuit, or heaven forbid, a c.o.c.kroach. "May I help you, ma'am?" she hadn't slipped, thrown up, or had some kind of bowel eruption. The last thing we needed was food poisoning rumors, a trumped-up lawsuit, or heaven forbid, a c.o.c.kroach. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Oh!" She straightened, clasping hands. "Yes, dear, it's about the peeing."

"The peeing?"

In reply, the lady gestured to the two restroom doors, which earlier today had been marked "M" and "W," but now "Predator" and "Prey." The "Prey" door had a cross on it. The "Predator" door didn't. Unis.e.xy. n.o.body had warned me.

"I don't mean to be a prude. The food is fantastic, and I, well . . ." She lowered her voice. "I have certain fantasies, you know."

Falling under the category of too much information.

Waving her hands, she continued, "But I just can't go with men -"

"I'll guard the door." As emergencies went, I'd seen worse.

An hour later, I dropped off a tray of dirty dishes, and the kitchen was chaos.

"Where's Travis?" Uncle D yelled in the crowd. "Clyde, where's Travis?"

"Didn't show," Clyde replied, water spraying dishes. "But no sweat. I'm cool."

My uncle threw his hands into the air and stormed out of the room, muttering.

"Quincie," Bradley called from the stove. "A homeless guy stopped by the back door a while ago, asking for a handout. Said his name was Mitch and to tell you howdy."

"Did you feed him?"

Bradley nodded, stirring. "He looked hungry and harmless. I'd given him some leftovers a few weeks back, too. Was that bad?"

"No," I said, relieved. "Not bad at all."

Big picture, things were going as planned, though Uncle D - in head-to-toe black mesh and ma.s.sive amounts of hair gel (I nearly died laughing) - did have to step in when the intoxicated date of a city council member made a grab for a waiter's a.s.s, thus causing said waiter to dump a plate of sauteed porcini and veal kidneys on the mayor's lap. And at the hostess stand Yanira did suggest Uncle D install a sign in the foyer to read:

I refilled water and wine gla.s.ses, helped the busers clear tables, and conferred in the hall with the lead singer from Luminous Placenta about placing a ruby-and-diamond engagement ring on her girlfriend Amber's blood cakes. refilled water and wine gla.s.ses, helped the busers clear tables, and conferred in the hall with the lead singer from Luminous Placenta about placing a ruby-and-diamond engagement ring on her girlfriend Amber's blood cakes.

A number of guests, in tones both hushed and boisterous, were discussing the two bodies found at the hike-and-bike trail, one last night and another the previous Friday. I overheard a few rumors. One gruesome, one hysterical, one that made me cringe.

I tried not to listen whenever someone mentioned Vaggio.

Once I realized the servers were clearing dinner plates, I ducked into Uncle D's office to check the digital clock. Two minutes until midnight. Bradley was to make his grand entry during the dessert service. It wasn't like he needed me for the midnight toast, but I wanted to be there. As I turned to leave, a shadow flexed on the wall. "Kieren?"

"I was looking for -"

"I've been in the dining room or kitchen all night. It's been crazy, but, hey, thanks for coming." I'd never considered myself a babbler, but I was so euphoric the words just tumbled out of my mouth. "Did you sneak out? Oh, we've got to get back. Wait until -"

"Quince, stop, stop. stop. I'm here to -" I'm here to -"

"Later," I said, slightly tipsy.

"Now." In the shadows, Kieren's eyes reflected like mirrors. "Listen, I think it's Ruby. I think she's the vampire. I think she killed Vaggio, or at least, she was in on it. Quince, I think she's using the restaurant as a beacon to her kind, a hunting ground. I'm not quite sure what. Maybe Vaggio saw something. Maybe . . ."

Giddy mood fading, I couldn't believe he'd used the phrase "beacon to her kind."

Kieren, not being a mind reader, kept talking. "She's been seeing your uncle since about the time the whole vampire remodel came up. She's never at your house. She's hardly ever let me within a hundred feet of her, up or downwind. Coincidence?"

I thought back to what Uncle D had said about Ruby wanting to turn vampire for real but then remembered. The night of Vaggio's murder, she'd been swimming au naturel with Uncle D at Hippie Hollow. "Ruby has an alibi. She -"

Kieren growled at me, and I shrank back. He'd never growled at me before.

One moment he was haunting the shadows, I realized, the next he was in my face.

Detective Sanchez had said the killer had been someone, a s.h.i.+fter that Vaggio had probably known. Kieren had known Vaggio. Kieren was half Wolf. Kieren had discovered Vaggio's body. Kieren had been covered in blood. Kieren also had been acting weird, really weird, and I wasn't an idiot. I knew the wereworld wasn't all puppy-dog eyes and man's best friend. I couldn't stay in denial forever. Even the police suspected him.

I inched backward till my hand hit the bra.s.s doork.n.o.b.

"Maybe I was wrong about Ruby," he admitted, "but my instincts are screaming. Something about you seems wrong, smells wrong."

And now I was insulted, too.

"Quince, you're . . . When's the last time you showed at school? Did you know that five students are missing? Eight or nine people in the neighborhood?"

I'd heard the waitstaff talking, but they'd always hushed when I walked into a room. I hadn't realized how high the number had climbed. "The cops -"

"Don't understand what they're up against."

"They know Vaggio's murderer is out there."

"Out there," he repeated. "Do you realize he could be in here, in this very building at this very moment."

That did it. "I have to leave."