Dead End Dating - Dead And Dateless Part 14

"Howdy who?"

"You know. Howdy Doody and Clara belle? The kids' show."

I'd never seen Howdy Doody, but the phrase kid's show was enough to tell me this was way over my head.

"Howdy's this puppet. He has pasty white skin and lots of freckles and he wears a plaid s.h.i.+rt. And a neckerchief."

O-kay.

"And he parts his hair on the side."

Just say no. You can't produce an alpha Howdy Doody. No one in the Free World could come up with one. Ever. Much less in a week and a half.

"One alpha Howdy coming right up."Hey, we're talking late fees.

"Wonderful. Oh, and tell your father that he can spray as much weed killer as he likes on my bushes, but it won't work. The girls and I have been peeing on them for at least a month. They're so healthy, they're immune to any and everything short of nuclear fallout."

I had a quick mental of Viola and the NUNS "fertilizing" the length of hedges that separated her property from my folks.

"I'll be sure to pa.s.s on the information." Just as soon as Morse code became vogue again and put Sprint out of business. "I'll contact you in a few days. And remember, there's no need to worry. I can do this."

"I can't do this," I told Evie a few minutes later when she picked up the phone. "Not by myself. I need your help."

"Lil?" A yawn punctuated the question. "I mean, Mrs. Vandergartenpitt?"

"It's flunkinpitt, and you can lose the alias. The police aren't tapping your line."

Another yawn. "How do you know?"

"I've got connections."

"The bounty hunter." Sheets rustled and mattress springs creaked. Her voice took on an air of excitement. "You're with the bounty hunter, aren't you? I knew it. I went over all of the possibilities in my head, and it could only be the bounty hunter. He's the only one who could actually help you get out of this mess. I mean, he's got connections and he knows how to track down killers. It only makes sense that you would go to him for help."

"I am so not with the bounty hunter."

"You are so lying."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Can we get back to the subject? We both have work to do."

"It's four in the morning. I'm not due into the office for another five hours. Tell me about Ty."

"Who?"

"Ty Bonner. The bounty hunter. You are with him."

I tried for a laugh, which came out sounding as nervous as I felt. "Says you. Listen, I really need your help."

"I already told the police that you would never chop anyone into little pieces."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but that's not what I'm talking about. You know our new client? Viola Hamilton?"

"The one who was in your office when the cops came?"

"That's the one. She wants me to make several matches, which is no problem except that one of them needs to be a redhead. A testosterone-oozing redhead."

"Like a young Kenneth Branagh?""More like Howdy Doody."

"You've got to be kidding."

"You know Howdy?"

"I don't just watch CSI. Listen, Lil. It's not possible. We're talking orange hair. You're not going to find a man with orange anything who oozes testosterone."

"Just keep your eyes open. If you see anyone on the street who fits the bill, slip him a card. Also, check out some of the online sites. Cruise profiles and see if you can spot someone-anyone-who might work. I'll be looking, too. Oh, and you know the new client-Rachel Sanchez?"

"She called yesterday."

"I'll work on her while I'm doing Viola." While I knew Evie could make a great match, herself, she wasn't privy to all Rachel's quirks-namely that she morphed into the Taco Bell spokespooch when the moon was full-and so I felt compelled to handle the were myself. Step one? Googling the mating habits of were-Chihuahuas.

"Oh, and Esther called again," Evie said. "She wants to know if you've found her anyone and I said no. You haven't, have you?"

"No." Esther, made vampire and old maid, was proving to be a much more difficult match than I'd originally expected. The problem? I didn't really know any male made vampires, except for Ty, and he totally was not her type. At first, I'd thought so, but after I'd gotten to know him (via Google-ya gotta love the Internet-a really hot and heavy kiss, and, oh yeah, drinking his blood), I'd ruled him out as a possibility.

"She sounds so... sad. What should I do?"

"You don't have any more uncles do you?" We had, on at least one occasion, paired up a client with one of Evie's relatives for a practice date until we could find the real thing. While it hadn't been a huge success (he'd been old and p.r.o.ne to falling asleep and she'd been a vivacious vampire who'd liked to dance), it hadn't been a total failure either (vivacious vamp had bought the practice date spiel and given us another chance). "Maybe one who isn't collecting social security?"

She seemed to think. "There's my uncle Darwin. He's on disability rather than social security because he lost a t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e during World War I."

In other words, the man was older than dirt.

On the other hand, Esther had been around during that war (she was over one hundred and she hadn't had a date in as many years) which meant they might actually have something in common.

"Set them up," I told Evie.

I called The Ninas next, but neither picked up, so I had to leave a message. I also called my brothers, and Francis and Melissa (my first vamp client and his live-in human girlfriend), and Ayala aka the pickiest born vamp in existence. The night was still young (if you were a vamp) and so the only one who actually answered was Melissa. I explained my predicament and gave her my new cell number in case she needed to contact me (not that she would since she and Francis were extremely happy despite their obvious differences). But the phone call pumped my ego enough that I actually started to think I could find a redhead who oozed testosterone. I'd matched up Francis, the geekiest vamp in the universe. Nothing could be harder than that. Right?

I left a message for Ayala, along with a "Born vamp coming right up!" and then I sat staring at the phone.

I really should call my folks. Then again, I was a businesswoman (not a chicken). I had priorities.Punching in the number, I spent the next minute navigating through my voice mailbox until I reached my messages.

"Hi, Lil. It's Ayala. You still haven't called me back and I'm wondering about this weekend. I think we should try something different. Maybe a blond again. But taller this time. With very little facial hair because I really don't like a lot of facial hair. And loyal. This last guy had the number for Marc's Speedy Supper programmed into his cell phone. I absolutely won't abide by an eternity mate who's constantly sinking his fangs into someone else. I want a bottle man." A beep signaled the end of the message.

While I wasn't much for blonds, the bottle part I could relate to.

"Message two," an automated female voice said. Followed by a familiar "Lil?"

It was Nina One. Blond, beautiful, and totally superficial. "I need to talk to you right away." Anxiety filled her voice. "It's an emergency. I can't decide between the Dolce and Gabbana snakeskin clutch or the new pink Louis Vuitton. The first will totally go with these divine shoes I just bought, but the pink Louis is absolutely the cutest thing you've ever seen. Call me." Beep.

"Message three... Lilliana, this is your mother. We're hunting tomorrow night rather than Sunday. Your father and I have a pressing commitment on our usual night which is why we have to reschedule for Sat.u.r.day. Make sure you're on time. Oh, and your father needs you to stop off at Golftown on West Thirty-second and pick up a box of Ben Hogans. Make sure you get the Tour Deep b.a.l.l.s and not the Hawk Twelve. Your father absolutely detests the Hawks. He says they shorten his putt. I'm inclined to think that it's his swing that shortens his putt, but you know your father." Beep.

"End of messages."

I hit the off b.u.t.ton and stared at the phone.

Golftown? Sure, it was a pretty cool store if you were into golf, but I wasn't. Even more, I was on the run from the cops.

Polyester-wearing cops. A place like Golftown would surely be crawling with police. With all those loud, obnoxious pants, it was like church.

My mother, of course, hadn't given one thought to the fact that she was sending me into the lion's den. No, she only cared about golf b.a.l.l.s. And being on time to the precious hunt.

I was a fugitive, for Damien's sake! On the run. Fighting to get my afterlife back. I didn't have time to go to Golftown, let alone the hunt. Sure, we'd been doing it for over three hundred years and in all that time, the only person who'd ever missed had been Max. But he'd gotten held over at Moe's doing inventory and so he'd been quickly forgiven by my parents. Otherwise, all children had been present (albeit grudgingly) and accounted for. End of story.

I wasn't counting highlighters and Liquid Paper, but I was doing something equally important-laying low. I wasn't going to risk getting caught by traipsing all the way out to Connecticut.

No way. No how. Nuh-uh.

That's what I told myself as I crawled into Ty's bed and closed my eyes just before daybreak.

Done deal. No hunt. Not this vampire.

Chapter Sixteen.

"I forgot Dad's b.a.l.l.s," I blurted when my mother opened the back door at a quarter past nine on Sat.u.r.day night.

Previous Top NextWhile I did have some backbone (I'd purposely bypa.s.sed Golftown on my way over), it went all soft and Jell-O-ey when faced with the prospect of breaking three hundred years of Marchette tradition.

"I meant to stop off and pick them up," I rushed on, "but I couldn't get away and-"

"It's about time," my mother declared.

Jacqueline Marchette wore a chocolate-colored silk wrap dress, a diamond Tiffany choker and matching bracelet, and a disapproving frown. Her long, dark brown hair had been slicked back into a chic ponytail that accented her high cheekbones and sculpted nose. Thick eyelashes fringed her rich brown eyes. Chanel's Chocolate Mousse slicked her full lips. She smelled of French perfume, cherries jubilee, and lots of money (what born vampire didn't?).

I'd been fortunate enough to snag my favorite Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress-black and white with cap sleeves-before fleeing from the cops and a fab pair of black leather Vivia's, so I didn't feel under-dressed.

"Your brothers have been here for over an hour," my mother informed me.

Geez, Mom, It's great to hear you're doing so well. Me? Well, I'm wanted for murder, which means every cop between here and Manhattan is looking for me. I've got an overprotective bounty hunter for a babysitter. And my hair-d.a.m.n its traitorous soul-refused to cooperate. In a nutsh.e.l.l, I'm peachy. Just peachy.

"Your father and I count on these nights, Lilliana," she went on, "and we fully expect our children to hold them in the same regard."

"I do." I smiled. It was that or bust into tears, and my mom isn't really the type you can cry in front of. (Plunder small villages?

Yes. Cry? No friggin' way.) "The next time I resist arrest and go on the lam, I'll be sure to ask for hunt nights off in advance."

"It's the very least you can do, dear."

I know she gave birth to me and we share the same bloodline and I should be eternally thankful and all. I wouldn't be here in all my vamp glory if it weren't for the sixteen hours of extremely painful labor valiantly endured by the woman standing in front of me. I know (namely because she reminded me on all major holidays and my birthday) and I appreciate it. Really. It's just that sometimes (i.e., now) I felt like smacking her.

"Don't just stand there." She motioned me inside. "Everyone is waiting."

While she was as uptight and pretentious as ever, I knew something was off when, instead of gliding toward the living room in her totally fab pair of strappy leather Jimmy Choos, she reached for a bottle of Scotch that sat on a nearby counter and downed a swig.

It wasn't the alcohol that clued me in, but the fact that she didn't bother pouring it into a gla.s.s. My mom was the walking poster girl for born vampire decorum. She dressed her best, minded her manners, and never played with her food (except that time she'd played a few sets with Martina Navratilova).

"Everyone." She took another swig and swiped the edge of her mouth with the back of one perfectly manicured hand. "Including Jack's human."

My brother had been bringing his human flavor of the week for as long as I could remember. While my folks didn't like it, they usually dismissed it with a "Male vampires will be male d.i.c.ks, er, that is vampires" mentality. But this was different. This was...

Realization hit and I perked up. "Dr. Mandy's here?"

My mother cut me a startled stare. "You know her?""Um, no. Not really." Sure, she'd loaded me into a morgue drawer, but that didn't mean we were friends for afterlife, right? "I know she's a doctor and her name is Mandy." When Mom arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, I added, "Jack told me."

"Since when do you and Jack talk?"

Since I've been on the run for murder and he loaned me an obscene amount of money that I fully intend to pay back just as soon as my life gets back to normal and the planets align.

She seemed to have forgotten that all-important tidbit-me being on the run-in her desperation for Scotch and I wasn't about to remind her. Besides, she looked upset. Shaken, even.

I know, right? My mother.

I couldn't help but respond to her desperate need for empathy (and my desperate need to stay off the chopping block) and lie.

"Did I say Jack? I meant Max."

I expected the usual long, thoughtful, suspicious look.

She waved a hand. "I can't believe he brought her tonight." She shook her head. "Your father and I agreed to meet her and those people tomorrow evening. Not that we fully expected to actually meet them. Your father and I felt certain we could reason with him after the hunt. Tonight. It's obvious he and this Mandy human are completely wrong for each other. But then he showed up with her. Now she's here and he's..." She shook her head again. "I simply cannot believe this. You should see him.

He's completely beside himself." She shook her head. "He's just so different."

"He's in love."

She looked at me as if I'd sprouted a halo before waving her hand again. "There's obviously some powerful magic at work. She has to be a witch. That's the only explanation for this drastic behavioral change. He's like a different vampire since he met her."

"That's actually a good thing." On account of Jack's usually a s.h.i.+t and all.