“You want to see the footage or not?” There was laughter in his breathy comeback and I shook my head, smothering my retort. I mean, yeah. I wanted to see the footage, but not by impersonating a cop, which was illegal. A lot of cops in this town didn’t like me much. Go figure.
I pasted a smile on my face that attempted to look trustworthy and surely didn’t succeed, but the manager, a small, lithe man wearing black, natch, and an ear wire, walked through the restaurant and, without introducing himself, motioned us to the side and up a narrow stairway. He must have wanted to get the big, bad, dangerous-looking people out of his lobby, pronto.
The stairs were not standard height—not even matching, nonstandard heights, each an inch or two off from the ones above and below, and I stumbled twice as we switch-backed up constricted landings to the second floor. The manager’s office was small but tidy, with an old PC and flat-screen, some closed, leather-bound books, a small adding machine, pencils and pens in a green glass cup, a sturdy, scuffed-up desk that looked as if it had been there since World War Two, and had probably been put in place then, by a crane, through the window, since the stairs were so narrow. For sure they’d never move it any other way.
He sat in the desk chair and motioned us to the guest chairs, all three with low arms and narrow seats that made my knees stick up in the air. The chairs had been made for short, thin people, not tall, long-legged people. “I’m Scott Scaggins, general manager of Guilbeau’s, and I had no idea anyone had gone missing. Give me the times you’re interested in, and about ten minutes, and I can have the digital footage up, copied for you, and a list of employees who were on last night.” He pulled a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket, perched them on his nose, and punched keys on the keyboard. “We’re in. Time?”
“We appreciate your assistance in this, uh, delicate matter. We’d like to see from two twenty through two thirty a.m.,” Eli said, leaning back in his chair as if he owned the joint. “We’ve been told it was a private party. We only need to talk to employees who served for the party.”
Scott didn’t look from his fingers as he typed. “Which party?”
Which left me stymied, but Eli didn’t even hesitate. “The governor’s daughter and her friend didn’t say, but from her recent interest in vampires, we’d assume the one hosted by the local vamps.”
The manager snorted, again without looking up, which was a good thing because my eyes were bugging out of my head. The governor’s daughter? Did he just imply that we are looking for the governor’s daughter? I looked at Eli, thinking, Are you insane? He just smiled, if you can call that little twitch of lips a smile.
“I would hate to be raising a girl in this vampire climate,” Scott said. “Everyone thinks the vamps are all sparkly and pretty, and forget that they drink blood. Human blood. The vamps throw a party and every teenager within miles is all over the place. We have to hire security to keep them out.”
“Who did you hire last night?” I asked.
“Lewis Aycock’s company. He’s a Vietnam War vet. The owner likes to give vets jobs anytime he can. A boost back up, you know, and all Lewis’ personnel are vets.” He looked up under his eyebrows and back to his screen. “The client knew of him and was agreeable.”
I didn’t know him, and so let it pass. “And the client?” I asked.
“Not saying that without a court order,” Scott said. “Bring me a piece of paper signed by a judge and I’ll tell you everything—names, dates, alcohol consumed, hors d’ oeuvres served, numbers of guests, cost totals, tips, and credit cards used. Not until then. And the waiters don’t know who the host was, so don’t bother asking.”
“The governor prefers to keep this under wraps for now,” Eli lied smoothly. “If it becomes a criminal matter, you’ll get a warrant.” I just shook my head.
“And it’s up,” Scott said. He flipped the flat-screen around and we watched for ten minutes as humans, blood-servants, and vamps left the restaurant, getting into cabs and limos, and a few walking. No one entered the restaurant during the ten minutes, not after two in the morning.