Dead End Dating - Sucker for Love Part 20

While I knew I looked trendy cool, I still couldn't remember the last time I'd just pulled it all back, to h.e.l.l with hair products or a flatiron. But forty-five minutes on hair seemed so unimportant compared to everything that was happening in my afterlife.

That, or I was suffering from some serious sleep deprivation.

After a few seconds of consideration, I latched onto number two. I already had two strikes against me when it came to unbecoming vamp character (working cla.s.s and a romantic). No need to add a third (compa.s.sionate).

My ma would disown me for sure.

Locking the hotel door behind me, I headed for the back alley. I dodged a few suspicious piles (the animals were gone, but the evidence remained) and found a small secluded spot where I could concentrate.

I tuned out the steady buzz of crickets and the voices from Elmer's TV and tuned into the steady thump of my own heart, from the sound echoing in my ears to the pulse in my chest.

My body began to tingle. The sensation started in my toes, sweeping upward until I felt as if it were vibrating in time to the steady ba-bom ba-bom. My arms and legs grew weightless and my vision sharpened. I added a mental All aboard! so I didn't forget anything (namely the flats, which had cost me two retainers) and then I hopped on the Batgirl Express.

A few seconds later, I flapped my way over the top of The Grande and headed for Austin.

"T hat's Tara Hanover over there," said the old man who'd met me at the front door of Golden Acres.

Bernie MacDougal. An ancient little man with snow white hair and a hunched back that would have made Quasimodo envious.

He wore his pants too short and his gla.s.ses too thick. He was this close to breaking the Golden Acres' chess record of 863 straight wins. If he won this next game about to take place in five minutes and fifty-three seconds-just as soon as the Bridge Club finished and vacated his lucky table-he was going to win a year's supply of Metamucil. With the way the cafeteria served up mac and cheese every other night, he needed all the help he could get. "She's the one on the right."

My gaze s.h.i.+fted to a large woman wearing an orange muumuu and a pair of black cat's-eye gla.s.ses. "The redhead?"

"Your other right," Bernie told me.

My gaze bounced to the other side of the table. Same muumuu, different color. This one was pink and wrapped around a chubby woman with pasty white skin and dyed black hair. She wore a ton of foundation, most of which had settled into her wrinkles, making her look even older than her seventy-eight years. Bright red lipstick rimmed her thin lips and bled slightly at the corners. Red rouge splotched her cheeks and blue shadow hovered over her eyes. Crimson-painted nails gripped a handful of cards. She looked deep in thought.

That, or asleep.

I noted the steady rise and fall of her chest. A faint grrrrrrr crossed the distance and slid into my ear.

"Are we gonna finish this or what?" Orange muumuu demanded, and Tara jumped.

"Don't get your girdle twisted, Laverne," she growled. "I'm just concentrating."

Yeah. Sure.

I moved to step forward, but Bernie caught my arm. "No sirree, bub. She gets cranky if anyone bothers her during Bridge.

They'll finish up soon enough." He eyed the clock. "It's almost time. I need to run back to my room and get my lucky rabbit's foot.

Just have a seat over there." He pointed to a group of chairs. "That, or there's refreshments out in the lobby. You can talk to her when she's done."

"Thanks." I sank onto a nearby folding chair. Pulling out my iPhone, I was about to check the two new voice mails I'd received when Katy started singing.

Every head at the Bridge table swiveled in my direction. A dozen pairs of eyes drilled into me and their owners' thoughts rolled through my brain.

What the h.e.l.l is her problem?

We don't allow phones in here.

Shut that b.i.t.c.h up, will ya?

And a few more that I really didn't want to think about. Who knew old people could be so violent?

I gave them an apologetic smile and sent a mental You are not mad. You love me and you love Katy Perry and you don't mind the interruption. Unfortunately, the men were well past their s.e.xual prime and so my seductive vamp influence was totally wasted. They scowled and one of them gave me the universal peace symbol. I pushed to my feet and headed for the lobby before someone lit a torch and yelled Death to the Vampire!

"I need to ask you something," Rob's voice echoed over the line once I hit TALK. My heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Asking meant he suspected and suspected meant he practically knew. Which meant I wouldn't be telling him. No, I would merely be answering-truthfully-whatever question he might pose.

"Okay. Shoot."

"Where's the cat food?"

"Yes, she does love-Excuse me?"

"I can't find any more cans in the cabinet."

"Well, let's think about this. Maybe you can't find any more cans because I'm out. If you want cat food, you'll have to go to the store."

"But there's a rerun of the Dolphins playing Pittsburgh."

"Pause it."

"I can't do that. Pittsburgh is about to score."

"Then make Killer suffer until the touchdown."

"Okay."

"I was being sarcastic. Get off your a.s.s and go get cat food. And while you're at it, pick up some more bottles of blood to replace all the ones you've drank. And a new coffee table. And a pair of lamps. And a Swarovski crystal hair clip."

"What?"

You can't blame a vamp for trying.

"Did I say hair clip? I meant commitment ring."

He went suspiciously silent. "Why would I buy a commitment ring?" he finally asked.

"Not for Nina, that's for sure. Really. I mean, you guys are over, right?"

"Right."

"Which means you should be ready in case, you know, you find someone else and want to pledge your devotion. You never know when you might fall in love or have a baby vamp or both. In no particular order."

"Are you feeding?"

"I'm fine."

"Because you sound light-headed."

"It's called being a good sister. I'm just concerned for you. I want you to have it all. The old ball and chain. The 8.3 kids (vamp statistics). The au pair and the Lexus mini-van." "I'd rather have a hot stake driven into my heart."

Little did he know, but that was definitely a possibility. Especially when Nina 's father found out she was pregnant and my brother had no intention of making an honest vampire out of her.

"So what exactly happened at my apartment?" I rushed on, eager to change the subject before I gave in to the crying romantic in me and told him what was up.

Not that I would. It was Nina's place to tell him and I had no business b.u.t.ting in. Besides, what if she was right? What if Rob totally flipped out? What if instead of being happy and ready to bleed into the commitment vial, he went AWOL and denied Nina and the baby?

I knew that wasn't the most likely scenario, because family was everything to a born vamp. Still. My brother had never been the most compa.s.sionate BV. I'd fallen on a pitchfork in our barn one time and instead of going for help, he 'd hopped on a horse and headed for the nearest tavern.

His explanation when my father had cornered him? It's not like she won't heal, Dad. She's a vampire.

"Ty said you had a party," I added.

"It was just Max and Jack and a couple of the guys from work. We ordered Chinese, sucked them dry, watched wrestling and then demonstrated a few moves and, well, that was one ugly end table anyway. "

I rest my case.

His words registered and my brain snagged on the last part. "I thought you messed up the coffee table."

"That was pretty ugly, too."

"And the lamps?"

"You really ought to get a professional decorator in here, sis."

"As soon as I get home, your a.s.s is out of there."

"What'd I do?"

"Out," I barked, and stabbed the OFF key.

Maybe Nina was better off without Rob. Women had babies alone all the time. Sure, they were human women. But vampires could be in de pen dent, too. We didn't have to settle for a jerk just because society dictated that procreation was the most important thing. That was archaic. Stupid. Ridiculous. And it was high time a brave female stood up and said so.

I thought of my own mother's reaction and sent up a silent Thank you that said female was not moi.

I was just about to stuff my cell back into my bag when I heard the voice.

"Outta my way, Paris Hilton." A huge woman barreled past me, and if I hadn't had fast reflexes (you gotta love being a vamp) she would have run me over and left me for roadkill.

I glanced up in time to see the dyed black hair and pink tentlike dress swish past me.

"Miss Hanover?" I was right on her heels. "Once upon a time," she called over her shoulder. "Ain't n.o.body called me that since 1960."

"My name is Lil Marchette. I'm a matchmaker from Manhattan, here on special a.s.signment." I tried to hand her a DED card, but she waved it away. "I'd really like to ask you some questions."

"I only got two words to spare right now-crab dip. Now, I don't expect a skinny thing like you to understand, but a full - figured woman like myself who likes to indulge has to pay a certain price if she overdoes it."

"Come again?"

"You deaf, Slim? I said I need to make a deposit." She pushed through a door marked Heffers and I followed.

I realized all too late that we were in the restroom. She disappeared into the first stall while I backtracked toward the swinging door.

"I'll just wait outside-"

"Go on and ask your questions."

"Excuse me?"

"I might be awhile and there ain't a blasted thing to read in here. You might as well keep me company."

"But-"

"It's now or never, 'cause I got people waiting on me. I ain't got time to play Twenty Questions with some Nicole Richie clone."

I stalled just shy of the door. "I thought you said I looked like Paris Hilton?"

"Paris Hilton. Nicole Richie. Kelly Ripa. Leonardo DiCaprio. Don't think I didn't read that article on celebrity eating disorders in last week's National Tattler. Why, one great big breeze and you're liable to blow away."

"Trust me, I do not have an eating disorder." Unless you counted an all-liquid diet.

"Girlie, you're nothing but bones. I could snap you like a chicken."

Such charm and charisma. I could totally see why this woman had been voted Lonely Fork Homecoming Queen.

"So what do you want, Bones? I ain't got all frig-gin' night."

I gave her the spiel about looking for the son of the high school sweetheart. "I heard you were acquainted with his father.

Mordred Lucius?"

"Mordred?" She let loose a low whistle, followed by a few grunts. "Now, there was a hot-looking man."

"So you went out with him?"

"I don't know if I'd call it going out. But we sure as shootin' hooked up a time or two." She chuckled. "Or three."

"What can you tell me about him? What did he like to do? Where did he like to go?"

"All the way." The comment came from the doorway behind me. I turned just as the door swung open and another woman pushed inside. Same pink muumuu. Same black hair. Ditto on the caked-on makeup.

Wait just a friggin' second. I did a double take. My gaze locked with the woman's and I knew in an instant that she was the real Tara Hanover.

Now Tara Mackenzie. She'd been widowed for twenty years and living in Golden Acres for the past five. She had one daughter and seven grandchildren, and she rarely saw any of them because they were busy with their own lives. Which was why she'd moved in here. Between shopping and Bridge and arguing with her sister, she didn't have time to miss her family.