La Vida Vampire

I ran to the bathroom to slap on face powder, whip on mascara, and pop my hair in a ponytail. I jammed my feet into my shoes but didn’t change from my blue jeans and emerald sweater. They were only the tiniest bit wrinkled from sleeping in them and, besides, who was I trying to impress?

I wrenched open the SUV passenger door six minutes later and ducked into the seat. Saber looked different, and it took only a second to see why. He didn’t wear a jacket to hide the holster on his hip. He caught me staring and gave me a quick once-over before he wheeled into traffic. “Sleep in your clothes?”

I ground my teeth at the crack, but stayed focused. “Why do I need to ID Stony? Is he denying being on my tours?”

“We just need to know if he’s the same man who threatened you and the Fournier woman.”

“What’s his real name?”

“Can’t tell you.”

Huh? My blood pressure spiked again, this time in pure irritation. “What happened? Did he put up a fight? Did you find anything incriminating?”

“I can’t say.”

I watched his profile as he wove through the narrow streets, saw a muscle jump in his jaw, and figured he must be clenching his teeth. Was he tense or ticked? Whatever it was, my stomach knotted with nerves. I tried another question. “You’ve held him all day waiting for me to wake up?”

“No comment.”

“That’s bogus.”

He cursed, I thought at me, but it was aimed at a driver who cut in front of us. “The narrative you gave me this morning. I need it.”

“Then take me back. It’s on the table.”

“Damn!”

“Look, you commanded me to be at your car in five minutes. You caught Stony. I didn’t think you needed the darn thing.”

Saber raised a brow. “Get up on the wrong side of the crypt?”

“Just drive. Let’s get this over with.”

At the sheriff’s office, Saber pulled on his jacket as we entered through the main building. We wound through the corridors and straight to the desk where Detective March sat.

“Ms. Marinelli,” March said as he rose and indicated a chair beside his desk. I sat and faced him catty-corner, while Saber leaned against the partition behind March.

“You know Etienne Fournier came in this morning with a tip, ” he said rather ponderously, straightening his tie over his rumpled white shirtfront.

I nodded.

“We want you to tell us if the man we located is the same one you call Stony, then we want to talk with you again. Would you like your attorney present?”

My stomach full-on cramped this time. Gut instinct was telling me something, but what did I have to fear?

I considered a moment then said, “I can call her office, but she’s probably gone for the day.”

He pushed the phone toward me and leaned back in his swivel chair, hands clasped on his belly. I took Sandy’s card from my wallet and punched in the number. As expected, she’d left, and so had everyone else. There was an emergency number, and I jotted it on her card, but I didn’t see the point of dragging her or her associate in on a Friday afternoon. How bad could this be?

“I got the answering system, Detective March. Tell you what. To move things along, I waive my right to have my lawyer here for now but reserve the right to change my mind.”

He smiled politely and gave me a single nod. “Fair enough. Let’s do it.”

My pulse thudded, albeit slowly. Unlike books and movies, this was a real, live lineup and a moment of truth. I started to rise until March opened a folder and placed six photos on the desk.

“Ms. Marinelli,” he said, “please look carefully and point out the man who threatened you and the victim.”

“This is the lineup?” I asked.

He didn’t smile. “We’re doing a printed lineup. Do you recognize any of these men as the one you call Stony?”

I spotted Stony immediately. The snarly lips, the scar, the weirdly light eyes. I tapped the photo. “That’s him.”

“You’re absolutely sure that’s the guy?” March asked.

I glanced up at Saber, then back at March. “Unless Stony has a down-to-the-scar identical twin, I’m sure.”

March sighed. “Then we have a problem, Ms. Marinelli. The man you identified has an ironclad alibi.”





ELEVEN


How could I be innocent, but suddenly feel guilty?

No alibi, that’s how.