The Real Werewives of Vampire County (Guardians of Eternity #9)

The Real Werewives of Vampire County (Guardians of Eternity #9) Page 48

“That long ago? That’s terrible.”

“I’d met with Michelle the week before she ... you know. She had a few events coming up, and she wanted me to come by. In fact, we had an appointment for that very day. But I didn’t get the chance. I was ... well, detained.” Her face turned red. “Parking tickets. I was in jail.”

“Oh.” I patted her shoulder. “Sorry for dredging up unhappy memories. Hopefully you’ll pick up some new clients soon. I’d better move on to the other guests.” Feeling a little guilty for pretty much dumping her after that confession, I explained, “I’m new in town. Would hate for anyone to feel slighted. Say, maybe you can come back another day, and I’ll take you down to my studio, let you get a firsthand glimpse of my collection.”

Her eyes actually sparkled. “I would love that.”

After making the rounds, filling punch glasses, I was the first to return to our predetermined meeting spot. The other ladies soon joined me. “I’m pretty sure we can cross Rachel off the list,” I said. “Her business has tanked since Michelle died. She has no motivation to kill her best client. She was anticipating more business from her in the upcoming weeks. So if her motivation was money, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Plus, she has an alibi that should be pretty easy to verify.” I glanced at the other ladies. “Anybody get something good?”

“Got nothing from Kelly,” Lindsay said, “other than she was very sad to learn about Michelle. Evidently, she called her often to talk about her troubles with her husband.”

“Heather seems to be a dead end, too,” Samantha said, frowning. “That big so-called fight was just about Joshua borrowing a pair of her son’s gym shoes. The shoes were ruined, and there’d been conflicting stories about who was responsible. I don’t know. Even if they were Alexander McQueens, a pair of shoes is hardly worth killing over.”

All of us shared a heavy sigh.

“But wait. All’s not lost,” Erica said. “I had Theresa, Dr. Orenstein’s nurse. I’m thinking we need to follow up on the doctor. Evidently, he had a secret thing for Michelle.”

“Thing?” I echoed.

“Obsession,” Erica clarified.

“A secret obsession,” Lindsay repeated. “That could be a motivation for murder.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

Erica continued, leaning in, “Evidently, Jon’s story about her going to a fertility specialist was partially true. Michelle did ask for a referral. But Dr. O insisted she didn’t need one and persisted in treating her himself. It’s possible Michelle didn’t tell Jon the truth, letting him think she was going to someone else. Jon wasn’t fond of Dr. O and had told her to change doctors.”

Lindsay’s eyes widened. “Now, that is interesting—”

“You bitch!” someone shouted from the living room.

I jerked around, catching Heather tossing a glass of punch into Rachel’s face.

“How dare ...” Eyelashes dripping, mouth agape, Rachel grabbed the first thing she touched—a potted plant—and threw it. Heather ducked. The pot hit the wall and shattered. Dirt flew everywhere. The plant landed on Kelly’s head.

“What the hell?” Kelly screeched, untangling philodendron leaves from her hair. “I just paid two hundred dollars to get my hair done.”

“Uh-oh,” I mumbled, watching Kelly lurch to her feet. “This is getting ugly. Fast.”

“Ladies,” Erica shouted over the mounting wave of expletives filling the room. She waved her arms. The cuss words just kept flowing.

“If you paid that, you were robbed,” Rachel sneered. “I’ve seen better dye jobs walking out of Fantasic Sams.”

Kelly charged at Rachel like a bull, nostrils flaring, fury burning in her eyes. She tackled Rachel to the ground, and a catfight ensued. There was hair flying, clothes tearing, fingernails clawing. A couple of the other guests jumped into the fray before we could get it broken up, and before we knew it, we were ducked behind the kitchen island while things crashed and shattered all around us.

“Samantha, what the hell did you put in that punch?” Erica snapped.

Crack.

Samantha shrugged.

“Just alcohol,” I said. “Right, Samantha? You only put alcohol, like you said.”

“Well ...”

Crash.

“Dammit, I think that was the plasma TV.” Erica poked her head up. “Yes, that was the plasma.” She glared at Samantha.

“You’ll pay for that, whore!” Kelly screeched.

“What did you put in the punch?” I repeated.

“No drugs.” Samantha raised her hands. “I swear.”

“Then what is in that punch?” I eyeballed the bowl, not sure whether I should empty it to keep them all from drinking more or just put it away, in case someone had a bad reaction. “It can’t be just fruit juice and ginger ale.”

“No, it’s not.” Samantha sighed. “I got a truth potion from someone I know. She promised it was safe, made from all organic ingredients. I’ve used her potions before. Never had a problem.”

“A potion?” I echoed.

Ka-blam.

Erica sank to the floor. “Samantha, do you have a Valium on you?”

“Sure.” Samantha produced a bottle from her skirt pocket, dumped a handful out, and handed them to Erica. “Take a few.”

“Thanks.” Erica dry-swallowed half of them. “I can’t believe this.”

Smash.

“Hey,” Samantha said, sounding a touch defensive. “If it wasn’t for the punch, do you think we’d have what we do on Dr. O?”

Erica shrugged. And sighed. “Point taken.”

“Thank you.”

Crack.

Lindsay giggled.

We all looked at her. She was batting her eyelashes at her new friend, Nicole.

“Do you really think she’s turning lesbian?” I whispered to Erica.

“She’s no more a lesbian than I am. But I’m not going to tell her that. She’ll figure it out. But I will say one thing—she has great taste in women. Nicole’s very attractive.” That statement had me second-guessing both their sexual orientations. To Samantha, Erica said, “Okay, that’s enough. My living room is destroyed. My dining room table is covered with broken glass. I’d like to preserve at least some of my furniture. How about making it stop?”

“Very well.” After straightening her hair, Samantha stood up. “Excuse me, but ... dinner is served.”

Silence.

It was a freaking miracle.

CHAPTER 9

An hour later, Lindsay, Erica, Samantha, Nicole, and I were sitting in the middle of a war zone. The police had just left, toting away Rachel for assaulting Kelly with a fireplace poker. We hadn’t known it, but she had a record for felony assault. If not for her alibi, she would have moved to the top of our Persons of Interest list.

As it was now, we had only one name on that list—Dr. O, the OB. And at this point, we didn’t have any substantial proof he belonged there.

“What now?” Lindsay asked, glancing at her watch, then at Nicole. “It’s almost eight. I need to get home and relieve the sitter soon.”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I think we’ve accomplished all we can tonight. I’ll take what we found out to the police tomorrow. Maybe they can do something with it.”

Erica and Samantha agreed that was a good idea.

Lindsay looked unsure as she stood. “All right. I’ll go. Do we want to meet tomorrow sometime?”

Erica shook her head. “Tomorrow’s bad for me. I have meetings all day. What about Saturday?”

Everyone checked their calendars. Saturday it was. Lunch at Samantha’s.

Nicole gave us all a handshake. “This was the most interesting dinner party I’ve ever attended.” She left with Lindsay.

Erica headed into the great room to look at her smashed television. I joined her.

“That is a sad, sad sight,” I said.

Erica shrugged. “I was thinking about getting something bigger. I work my ass off. What the hell?” She circled around the far end and stooped down to pick it up. I took the other end, and together we hauled the broken TV out to the garage. When we went back inside, Samantha was hard at work, cleaning up the kitchen. Erica found some trash bags, handed me one, and together we picked our way through the great room, broken glass crunching under our feet. A little while later, Erica went back to the kitchen, her bag full.

She dunked a glass into the punch bowl.

I waved my hands. “Um, Erica ...”

Too late. She’d downed the punch faster than a thirsty sailor. Smiling, she smacked her lips. “That punch is good.”

“It’s lethal,” I reminded her.

“It is not. It’s just punch. And a few organically grown herbs.” That was yet to be proven. “I’m not going to get violent, and I have nothing to hide.” She refilled her glass and emptied it. “Samantha, this is some damned good punch.”