Rock 'n' Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason (29 page)

While in my magic trance, I could have sworn I saw the interior of a car for a brief moment. Maybe the book was in my car? No, I’d never taken it out of my apartment. Again, my magical energy wasn’t strong enough, and I was fairly confident it never would be. The only image that appeared in my head was the freaking interior of a car? Why was I not surprised?

All the mirror did was allow me to have a glimpse at my face. Disappointment, stress and worry written all over it. It was the same disappointment I saw on my parents’ face every time they asked if my magic had improved.

I picked up the tube of lipstick that had appeared next to me. Another Shell Pink, I’d gotten a lot of them lately. I set the tube on the dresser, then trudged to the bathroom and placed the mirror in its original location under the sink. If I had time later, I’d try another spell with my herbs and incense. Like I said, I’d always been determined—and maybe a little unwilling to accept the truth. A protection spell—something strong—would do me good. If I cast enough of them, one would stick eventually, right?

One thing was certain about my current state of affairs, I needed answers. Who had followed me in the strange car? Who’d broken into my apartment? How were these things connected to the recent vampire killings? And the big question: who was the killer? If I didn’t want to end up toe up in the morgue, I’d have to figure out who had it in for me on my own. I couldn’t rely on help from the police, or the FBVI. And where was the IPCI, anyway? Any other time, they’d be all over something like this.

Chapter 52

Before the show, I needed a long, hot bath. I poured my favorite coconut scented bubble bath under the streaming water, and then lit candles all around. I slipped into the water, took a deep breath, and exhaled. The scent filled the room and I tried to daydream of a tropical paradise—Buzz may or may not have been in attendance. But as I let the suds soak my aching muscles, the good daydreams vanished and were replaced with apprehension. My mind churned over all of the facts I’d accumulated so far. First of all: the car following me. Anyone could be behind the wheel. But it was odd, to say the least, that the first vampire victim had owned the car. I needed to talk with someone who knew the first victim; someone who could tell me who bought his car. Kitty had mentioned she thought she’d seen the car before. But with the rockabilly scene, we saw a lot of old cars. It was hard to be sure.

And someone had definitely slipped around the building and had been watching me. I saw the creep with my own eyes. Why would they stalk me unless they wanted to kill me? And last, but definitely not least, Buzz. Was he into criminal activity? Whom had he been hiding from?

I toweled off, then slipped on pink sweatpants and my Veronica and the Voodoo Zombies t-shirt. Heat hovered in the room, so I flipped the switch on the air conditioner and listened to the ancient thing sputter to life. I plopped down on the bed. I felt I could tolerate the car following me for now as long as that’s all they did, but my top priority was to find the killer. My life may depend on it.

I pulled a pad of paper and a pen from my nightstand. At the top, I wrote Clues, then underlined it. My official mystery solving list; I loved lists. If I wrote down everything I knew so far, maybe I could piece together more information that way. Time ticked by quickly for me to find some answers. I sensed it.

With paper in hand, I scribbled down all the clues swimming around in my head regarding Johnny’s murder.

Number one: A gray car in need of a paint job with a creepy skull on the dashboard followed me. As if out of nowhere, too. Tattoo Red said the first vampire killed had owned it.

Number two: Johnny’s bass was left at my apartment. The killer wanted me to know they’d been in my place. Therefore, they knew I’d discovered the body. Had they seen it on the news? Hell, the killer probably didn’t watch the news.

Number three: The flyer with my picture marked out. That meant one thing: they wanted me dead.

Number four: The psychic warned me about the music man. And I’d somehow warned myself when the words popped in my head. But in my business, that could be anyone.

I needed to find out who drove the hot rod. There had to be a connection. I’d call around and see who knew the car. Cars like that don’t go unnoticed and the rockabilly scene around here was a tight-knit little circle. Someone would have the info.

But before doing anything else, it was time to prepare for my big evening. Craig and Frank called, I suppose anxious at what the night might produce. My black cotton dress had a full circle swing skirt with a gathered halter bodice and a beautiful red tie in the back. Red cherries dotted the fabric. The bodice pushed up my cleavage—I needed all the help I could get. The dress was comfortable, yet sexy enough to wear on stage. In order to save my feet from agony later in the night, I slipped on red wedge heels; the platforms were cork. Granted they still had four and a half inch heels, but at least it was evenly distributed.

My necklace had a skull with roses, mimicking the tattoo on my arm. My hair had finished drying, so I needed to decide which style I was going to go with. I’d narrowed it down between two. Every rockabilly female wears their hair in roll curls, so that was a given. I took out the big rollers and grabbed my comb. In order to get the volume I needed, I had to tease a lot. An occasional headache from trying to add height wasn’t unheard of. After teasing until my arm felt as if it would fall off, I rolled my bangs into a tube with the round hairbrush.

I grabbed a few bobby pins, stuck them between my lips, and carefully stuck them one by one into the roll, securing it to my head. Once safe, I placed the big red rose to the side of my hair and gave my head a generous misting with hairspray. Makeup on—with red lipstick, of course—a dash of perfume and I was as ready as I’d ever be.

I wasn’t normally nervous until I hit the stage. I loved performing in front of an audience and once I got started, I rarely got the butterflies, but tonight was different. A lot was at stake, I’d worked hard for this opportunity. And something like this only came around once—twice at most. The faster I got to the club, the better off I’d be. At least at the bar, I’d find things to keep my mind occupied.

I hurried down the stairs. Mrs. Stevens stood at her front door, as if waiting for me. She must have had my schedule taped to her refrigerator; she knew my every move. I didn’t have time to talk; I knew she just wanted to chit-chat and guilt would eat away at me that I didn’t have time. Maybe I needed to have tea with her someday. Her children didn’t come around often.

“You look just like my sister when she was your age, especially with the clothes and hair. I didn’t think they wore clothes like that anymore.”

I glanced over her shoulder into her apartment. The entire space was filled with so much bric-a-brac it was hard to pay attention to a word she said. The blood red walls made it hard to focus on anything other than the color. Creepy dolls lined the shelf on the wall behind her. Their eyes seemed to watch my every move.

I smiled. “Well, most people don’t, Mrs. Stevens, but they don’t have good taste, now do they?”

“You got that right. Where are you headed to this evening? A date?” Her eyes widened.

Sorry I had to burst her gossip bubble. “Afraid not, I’m singing over at The Lipstick Lounge.”

“What do you sing again, dear?”

“Rockabilly.”

“Oh, yes, the swing dancing.”

I laughed. “Yes, the swing dancing. I’d love to stay and chat, Mrs. Stevens, but they’re waiting on me. We’ll have a chat sometime soon.

“Lovely, dear, that would be lovely.” She waved as I closed the door. I locked it behind me and hurried across the path to the Bel-Air. When I reached the car, I noticed a white piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper, kind of like the one I’d left on Monty’s truck earlier in the day. He never had called, but the note may have blown away. I looked up at the trees. No leaves seemed to be blowing.

I adjusted the purse strap on my shoulder and pulled the paper from the glass. I opened my car door and slipped behind the wheel, laying my purse down on the seat beside me, but keeping the note in my other hand. Before turning on the ignition, I unfolded the paper. It was written in black marker. Someone had taken their time preparing the message for me because the paper was folded with methodical precision.

The message read: You’ve made a mistake and you’ll be sorry. A chill ran down my spine. Someone had been near my car, just as they’d been in my apartment. I felt violated. Emotions overwhelmed me. What did it mean? I looked over my shoulder. Was someone watching me? The warning was creepy as hell.

A couple of women walked side by side in the park. Other than that, no one was around. I felt guilty for putting Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Stevens in this situation. I was putting their lives at risk, too.

Why was someone doing this? What had I ever done to anyone? I didn't know what to do first, so I turned on the car and didn’t waste any time pulling out onto the street. There was no time to waste looking for the author of the note; I had to make it to The Lipstick Lounge. Frank would call soon wondering where the hell I was. And that’s just the way he’d phrase it, too.

My thoughts whirled. I needed time to cool off and think about my game plan—plot my next move. Did I have a next move? If not, I needed to think of one, like yesterday. Of course when I felt pressure was when I was least likely to come up with any solutions. I’d never been that great with problem solving. In stressful times, I liked to curl up with a book and eat chocolate. Sometimes, I’d go for a long walk in the park. I sure needed one of those right now.

Apprehension made my stomach feel as if a ton of rocks had been dumped into it. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a shovel to get rid of them. As I zipped around a curve and out onto the main street, I grabbed my cell phone from my purse. The paper on the seat was an ugly reminder that someone was very unhappy with me. I crammed it into my purse; I didn’t want to look at it. They want me dead like Johnny, Janey, and the other vampire. Did Buzz have anything to do with this?

I dialed Kitty’s number. I was about to hang up when she picked up. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

She let out a deep breath. “I was going to call you.”

“Why did you change your plans? Are you on your way?” I asked. My voice trembled and I wondered if she noticed.

“That’s what I was calling about. I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

“What? Kitty, what’s going on? Have you hit your head?”

“I’m sorry, Veronica. But it’s for the best. Danny really needs me and our friendship just gets in the way. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe this. He made you do this, didn’t he?” I hesitated. “Of course, I understand. Do what you have to do.”

“I wish you luck tonight, okay?”

“Yeah. Listen, I’d better go, I’m hitting a bit of traffic. I shouldn’t drive while talking.”

“Okay,” she paused. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“Break a leg.”

“Thanks.” I hung up.

I’d called to tell her about the note, but when she laid that bomb on me, well, I didn’t bother. What was the point? She’d feel worse about letting that jerk boss her around, and that’s exactly what was going on. Right now, she needed to sort out what type of relationship she wanted with Danny. If he was the type to keep her from her friends, I suspected Kitty would realize that was a bad thing for her sooner or later. But she had to make those decisions on her own. She wouldn’t listen to me. Losing my best friend was the last thing I needed tonight. But what could I do? I hoped she’d change her mind.

I knew I had to tell someone about the note, though. This someone probably thought my middle name was trouble. While at a red light, I dialed Detective Walker’s number. He answered on the first ring. Was he sitting on top of that thing?

“Detective Walker.”

“Hi, Detective Walker, it's Veronica Mason.”

“I’m beginning to think you like me.”

I definitely wouldn’t say that. I didn’t comment on his statement. “I have something you may want.”

“Is that right? What’s that?”

“A note. Someone left it on my windshield.”

“When did this happen?”

“When did they leave it? I don’t know. But I just walked out to my car and found it under the wiper.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m on my way to The Lipstick Lounge.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay.”

I was really freaking out. The fact that he was willing to rush over made me nervous. I wished he’d said it was no big deal, probably just someone playing a prank, but he hadn’t.

“I’ll be there about the same time, unless I get caught in traffic.”

“If I get there before you do, I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” I choked out again.

He hung up and I tossed the phone back into my purse. My knuckles were white from clutching the steering wheel.

When I pulled into The Lipstick Lounge, there were a lot more cars than there had been earlier in the day. The strange thing was that Monty’s truck was still in the same spot. But even stranger, so was Buzz’s motorcycle.

Chapter 53

Had he not been back all day? I joked before about the Bermuda Triangle, but this was freaky. Frank and Craig’s vehicles were parked to the side. I shoved the car in park and climbed out. When I approached Monty’s truck, the note was missing. Either he’d gotten it and not called, or someone else had picked it up. Without wind, my theory of it blowing away was defunct. As I walked away from the truck, Detective Walker kept his word and showed up in record time. He pulled his unmarked cruiser into the first available spot and climbed out.

To my delight, the scowl normally on his face was lessened.

“Hi,” I said.

“You look nice. Very retro. I guess you’re ready for tonight.”

“Yeah. And thank you.” Wow, he was being polite. A compliment even. Maybe body snatchers had taken over his body. What had happened? He certainly wasn’t acting himself. I was still nervous from the thought of performing and now I had added stress with the note. At least he wasn’t adding to my level of tension right now.