As LA neighborhoods go, West Hollywood is fairly benign after dark. Molly’s house is the unchanging oasis in an area that has developed around it for decades, crowding her in with restaurants and bars that have gone through various stages of hipness. At this point, there are only four other residences on Molly’s street, and the neighborhood is mostly frequented by a middle-aged, upper-middle-class crowd that goes to bed before eleven.
I went through the teeny backyard in about six steps and closed the decorative gate behind me (vampires don’t worry too much about security), breathing in the cool, congested LA air. It smelled pleasantly of concrete and hamburgers and car exhaust. Molly’s property has a single-spot carport next to the back door where she parks her Prius. I have to pay a small fortune to keep my van in the big parking garage down the street. The garage was mostly empty by the time I got there, and I kept my head down and walked quickly and purposefully down the wide, empty pavement to my van on the lower level. When I glanced up, though, I realized that someone was leaning against my hood. My hand went toward the pocket with the Taser. As I got closer, though, he pushed himself off and turned to face me, hands tense and ready at his sides. I recognized the handsome cop from the clearing.
I paused, standing twenty feet away. I briefly entertained the thought of Tasing him and running. Then I shrugged to myself and kept going. If he had the van, he knew who I was. Where was I gonna go?
“You’re under arrest,” he said briskly, as I walked up.
I snorted. “Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not here to arrest me. You came alone, you waited for me to come to you, and you haven’t even identified yourself. Besides, you know damn well that I didn’t kill those people.”
“How do I know that?”
I sighed. “Is this, like, a cop test? Because it was done by someone a lot stronger than me. Because I had no weapon, and I wasn’t covered in blood. That much carnage, there’s no way the killer could stay clean.”
“There’s still plenty I could arrest you for. Obstruction of justice, accessory after the fact, tampering with a body...”
“Ha. You found me how? Prints? I was in the park earlier that day, and I forgot a garbage bag. The worst thing you’ve got on me is littering. Besides, I have at least three people who’ll swear I was somewhere else.” That wasn’t completely true, but if push came to shove Dashiell could probably arrange something.
He stepped closer now, into my personal bubble. He smelled like Giorgio Armani cologne and oranges, and his caramel skin was reddening.
“At any rate,” I continued, “that’s not why you’re here.”
He loomed over me, trying to intimidate, but I didn’t take a step, didn’t even lean back. I was on my way to see the cardinal vampire of Los Angeles, who was very angry with me. The B-team cop didn’t exactly have me shaking in my boots.
“So why am I here?”
“You’re here,” I said right back, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, “to ask me if you really saw a werewolf last night.”
He broke first, turning away. Probably he was a little embarrassed. “Look,” he said, leaning back against the van again and holding out empty hands, “can we start over? My name is Jesse Cruz. I’m a police officer with the Southwest Homicide Division of the LAPD. And you are?”
“You already know who I am.” He made a little head motion at me, indicating that I should play the game, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m Scarlett Bernard. I’m a freelance housecleaner.”
He reached out his hand, and I reluctantly shook it.
“I’m guessing that you don’t actually clean any houses,” he said.
I just shrugged.
“Look, can we go somewhere and talk? Obviously I have a lot of questions.”
“There’s somewhere I have to be right now.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll ride along.”
“That’s not happening,” I said shortly.
“You know, I may not be about to arrest you, but I can certainly make your life harder. Like following you to your next engagement.”
Oh. Crap. For a moment, I considered trying to lose him, like in the movies, but he was trained in evasive driving and I wasn’t. I checked my watch. “I need to make a call first.”
“Fine.”
I pulled out my cell and gave him a pointed look, but he just shook his head. Not going anywhere. Rolling my eyes again, I tossed him my keys and climbed into the van before he could object. He frowned at me through the window, but didn’t open the door.
I dialed Dashiell, who picked up on the second ring. “It’s Scarlett. I’m going to be a little late.” In a low voice, I explained about the cop.
Dashiell hissed into the phone. “What does he know for sure?” he demanded.
I thought about it, watching as Cruz paced a short route back and forth in front of the van. “At this point, it would probably be difficult to convince him that there’s no such thing as werewolves.”
“That’s it? Nothing about vampires?”
“No. Although, one often follows the other, at least according to the movies. Can you press his mind?”
There was silence on the line for a moment. “No. Too much time has passed. That technique exists to erase a few minutes or a simple memory of a person. He has been walking around with this knowledge for nearly twenty-four hours. I can’t take it away without causing telltale damage.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I was trying to be helpful, so as not to remind him that this was technically all my fault.
“I will get someone to take care of him.”