Tombs of Endearments (8 page)

He settled me and made sure he gave me a thousand-watt smile before he bent to retrieve the notebook that had tumbled to the floor. “You’re not going to faint or anything, are you?” he asked. “I
mean, girls sometimes do that when they meet me, but you don’t look the type who…”

Vinnie’s comment faded. That was because when he picked it up, my notebook opened to the page where I’d written my replies to Damon.

“Hey! You write poetry.” He grinned. “And son of a bitch! It looks like it’s about me.”

Out loud, he read the comments I’d made to Damon. “
I’m going to try and talk to him after class
.

“
I’m going to start by telling him I think he’s the most fabulous singer in the whole world
.

“
A little flattery may get me a long way.

“
He deserves it. He’s a star.

“
I have to tell him I’m a fan. It’s the only way.

“
I have to talk to him. Alone.

“
I have to show him—
”

The smoldering look in Vinnie’s eyes intensified. He shuffled a little closer and lowered his voice. “Hey there, sugar baby, you didn’t finish. You didn’t say what you’re going to show me when we’re alone.”

It wasn’t easy, but I giggled like the star-struck fan I was supposed be. “We’re going to have to be alone before you know that,” I said.

That pretty much sealed the deal; we agreed to go for drinks.

Vinnie said he’d have his driver (he indicated the bodyguard, who apparently did double duty) take us over to Synergy, a popular Warehouse District bar, but I wasn’t ready for that much up-close-and-personal. I made up an excuse about getting my car out of the lot where it was parked before ten
when the lot closed and promised I’d meet him in thirty minutes. I was already out of the classroom and on my way to the bar when the enormity of what had just happened hit me.

For the second time in a week, I had a date with a rock star.

Only this one wasn’t dead.

Because it was a weeknight, Synergy wasn’t nearly as crowded as I’d seen it on Fridays and Saturdays. Still, the music was loud and the folks who were there—well-dressed young professionals, for the most part—needed to shout at one another to be heard. When Vinnie came back from the bar with our drinks, he slid into the booth next to me.

The charitable Pepper liked to believe he was being considerate, that he knew we’d have to sit close to hear each other. The practical Pepper knew it was no accident when his thigh rubbed up against mine.

I scooted a little closer to the wall on my right.

Vinnie didn’t take it personally. But then, something told me he was biding his time. He knew better than anyone that rock stars didn’t have to beg. Not for anything.

He took a drink, and when he was done, he stared at the scotch—straight up—in his glass. “If my doctor saw me with this,” he said, sliding an arm across the back of the booth, “she’d have my head.”

It was one thing pretending to be a fan, but I was willing to sacrifice only so much. I managed a sympathetic smile and slid a bit farther away. “Something tells me you’re not the type who worries about what doctors say.”

Vinnie took a long gulp. “Used to be true. These days, doctors and attorneys, they’re the ones I spend most of my time with.”

“Not an attorney named Simone, I hope.”

I was going for funny, but of course, Vinnie didn’t know that. He swallowed down the rest of his drink, and when the bartender looked our way, he signaled for another. When he was done and turned back to me, his smile inched up a notch. “But then, a gorgeous girl like you, you don’t want to hear about things like doctors and lawyers, do you?” He leaned nearer. I leaned back. “You want to know all about me.”

I hoped he wasn’t talking
know
in the biblical sense, but hey, who was I kidding? I deflected the thought with a little fan rah-rah. “I’ve got tickets for the big concert,” I told him. Yes, it was a lie, but Vinnie didn’t know it, and I didn’t want him to think I was angling for a trade, a couple of his backstage passes in exchange for—

I gulped back my disgust at the picture that popped into my head and told him, “I know so much about the band! I’m thrilled you’re all going to be in town.”

“Not going to be.” The waitress who brought his drink over was years older than the bartender. She recognized Vinnie right off the bat, and her eyes went wide. Vinnie grinned and gave her a wink. “We’re already here,” he told me. “All of us. Since we’re scattered all over the universe these days, it seemed easier to meet up here before the concert. You know, so we could do some promotions. We’re recording a new CD, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I can get you a copy before it hits
the shelves. And it won’t cost you hardly anything at all.” He slid a look to my green sweater. “And what you’ll get in return…baby, I can promise you a time to remember!”

If I sat there doing nothing, I was going to barf, so I grabbed my sour apple martini and took a sip. A very small sip. The vodka helped lubricate my smile. “A copy of the new CD, wow. Maybe I can pick it up at class next week.”

“Maybe you could come back to the place I’m staying. Bernie’s waiting out in the car, and it’s got a big mother of a backseat. He won’t watch us in the rearview mirror. At least not too much.” By now, I had no room left for retreat, so when Vinnie lowered his voice and leaned even closer, I was trapped like the proverbial dirty rat. “It’s a short drive to Winton Place,” he said. “You know, over on the Gold Coast. Once we’re done in the car, we’ll do it again up in the penthouse.”

“That would be terrific.” Was that my voice? I wondered if Vinnie recognized the difference between breathy/bowled over and breathy/disgusted. I’d have to keep him guessing for a little while longer if I hoped to accomplish anything. “If not tonight, maybe I can stop by sometime and—”

“Any time, baby. Day or night.” He gave me a wink. “I’ll leave word with the doorman to let you up.”

I took another drink and skimmed a finger over the table in a lazy, figure-eight pattern designed to attract his attention so Vinnie would stop staring at my chest. “Before we do that, though, I’d like to talk about something. Something important.”

“You talk, I’ll listen. Right after I’m done kissing you.”

I braced myself, but before Vinnie had a chance to make good on the threat, I was saved thanks to the arrival of the waitress who’d brought over Vinnie’s drink earlier. This time she came with one of the cooks and a couple of other patrons who were apparently old (or drunk) enough to be convinced they were in the presence of rock and roll greatness.

Believe me, I didn’t mind one bit when all those blubbering fans made Vinnie forget all about me. In fact, I sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

While I wondered how to get Vinnie back on track and talking about Damon, I watched the circus. The waitress kissed Vinnie. The cook slapped him on the back. Both the other patrons asked him to autograph their cocktail napkins, and one of them had a digital camera and insisted on sitting next to Vinnie for a picture. Glory and hallelujah! I saw my way out.

“You don’t want me in the picture!” I chirped and made a move to slide out of the booth. I should have known Vinnie wasn’t going to make it easy. Instead of moving, he just grinned and patted his lap. My only way out was over him.

I won’t elaborate on the experience; let’s just say that I was grateful to fight my way through the crowd. I managed not to shudder until I was over near the bar, where I grabbed the nearest empty stool and decided to get going while the getting was good.

Was I giving up on my investigation?

No way, but something told me Vinnie would be too busy with his fans for a while to talk about Damon, and besides, I thought it best to catch him another day. Like when he wasn’t drinking. Or when he wasn’t all set to toss me in the sack.

I had just reached into my purse for my car keys when I caught a movement just on the other side of the big window that looked out onto the street. On a weekend, I never would have noticed, but like I said, it was pretty quiet around there, and it was the first I’d seen anyone walk by. When I swiveled to get a better look, my breath caught in my throat.

“Holy shit!” By that time, the man I’d seen had already walked by. No matter, I’d recognize that face anywhere. It was Dan Callahan. Yes, the same Dan Callahan who had me believing he was conducting brain research at a local hospital—until I found out no one there knew him and the space I thought was his office was really a broom closet. He was the guy who had bushwhacked me at a costume gala and shown me that photograph of me talking to two ghosts.

I hadn’t seen Dan since the fateful event, but of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been around. If I’d learned nothing else in the last months, it was that people were always following me. Some, because they liked me. Some, because they wanted something from me. Some of the others wanted to kill me. At this point, I wasn’t sure which category Dan fell into, and I wasn’t willing to take any chances. I slid off the barstool and headed toward the ladies’ room.

But I didn’t go inside.

Just as I hoped, there was a back door nearby. My fingers crossed that opening it wouldn’t set off some kind of alarm, I slipped outside and down an alley that led to the street. My timing was perfect. I stepped onto the sidewalk just as Dan got there.

Was he surprised? It was kind of hard to tell. The light of a nearby street lamp winked against the lenses of Dan’s wire-rimmed glasses and made it impossible for me to see his eyes.

“Hello, Pepper.” Dan and I are just about the same height, but in my towering stilettos, I had the advantage. He backed up a step to get a better look at me. “You look terrific. Imagine running into you here.”

“Yeah, imagine. I don’t know why you’d be surprised since you’ve been following me around.”

“Have I?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

One of the things I haven’t mentioned about Dan is that he’s as cute as they come. He’s also a mighty good kisser. These were things I tried not to think about as I took a gander at him in his tight jeans and black leather jacket. I had enough on my mind without adding lust into the mix. I told myself not to forget it, and in an effort to look intimidating, I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you up to?” I asked him.

When he shrugged, his jacket made a crinkly sound. “Out for a walk.” He slipped his arm through mine. “You want to go for coffee?”

“No.” I untangled myself and stepped back and out of his reach. “What I want is answers. What do you want?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“Something. You’re the one who showed up at that party and showed me a picture of me talking to two ghosts.”

There was no mistaking the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Did I ever say they were ghosts?”

Dan was right, and I could have kicked myself. I clambered to hide the faux pas beneath a little righteous indignation. “You implied it,” I told him.

He grinned. “Never happened.”

“You meant to imply it.”

“Never did.”

“Then why did you bother to show me that photo in the first place? And how the hell did you even take a picture like that? Nobody has the equipment to take pictures of gh—” He wasn’t going to catch me in my own words again. I backed up and started again. “Nobody has the equipment to take pictures that good through windows. And you did take it through a window, didn’t you? When I was in the library at the Bowman house. You were spying on me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Like when I first met him at the hospital when I went to the ER after I clunked my head on Gus Scarpetti’s mausoleum, Dan’s hair was past needing to be cut. It was shaggy, and when he shook his head, it fell in his eyes. He brushed it back with one hand. “I’m not spying on you, and I’m not following you.”

“Which is how you got that picture. By not spying on me and not following me.”

“I had to take the picture, Pepper. You wouldn’t have listened to me otherwise.”

“I’m not listening to you now.”

“But you should be. You’re messing with things you shouldn’t be. You’re dealing with—”

“Powers I can’t possibly understand. Yeah, yeah. Whatever. That sounds like a line from a really bad horror movie. So instead of wasting your time and mine, why not just cut to the chase. You think I know something about ghosts, and you wouldn’t think I know something about ghosts if you didn’t know something about ghosts yourself. Is that why you’re following me? To find out what I know? Or are you just planning to show up now and again to mumble cockamamie warnings, then disappear into the night?”

“My warnings aren’t cockamamie. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Really?” My voice was suddenly thoughtful, and that was no surprise. An idea had just occurred to me. Maybe running into Dan was a good thing, after all. “Do you know anything about black magic?”

It was Dan’s turn to be surprised. He took a minute to think about my question. “You’re not messing with—”

“I’m not messing with anything. I’m looking for information. If you know so much about the Other Side—”

“Which I never said I did.”

“And you never said you didn’t.”

Dan groaned. Like he had a headache, he tipped his head back and rolled it from side to side. “We need to talk,” he said. Once again, he wrapped his arm through mine.

And once again, I so wasn’t in the mood to be treated like I had to be led around. I batted his hand away.

As confrontations went, it wasn’t much, but at that moment, a black-and-white police patrol car just happened to cruise by. The cop riding shotgun rolled down his window. “You all right?” he asked me.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, and I knew I would be, too, because even before the cops left, Dan was back-stepping his way into the alley.

“Magic isn’t a game,” he said. “You’ve got to be careful, Pepper. Very careful. Or somebody’s going to get hurt.”

And with that cockamamie warning, he disappeared into the night.