Drop Dead Gorgeous Read online

  Batiste nodded to one of the medics against the wall. “You can have something after you show us your ID and explain why you are here.”

  The man fumbled in his back pocket, pulled out a black wallet, and it fell from his hand. The wallet bounced in front of Batiste. He bent to pick it up.

  Batiste opened the wallet and stared into it. From my seat, I could see something shiny inside the wallet. Some kind of badge?

  Batiste stared at it for a long moment, then returned his gaze to the killer. He studied the man for a moment. “You’re a vampire hunter? Is this supposed to be real?”

  The man nodded. “Yes. My badge. And my membership card . . . ohhhh . . .”

  Batiste squinted at the open wallet again. “International Vampire Hunters? This card looks homemade.”

  “No. It’s what I do. I . . .” In obvious pain, he pressed a hand to his forehead.

  I jumped to my feet. “He’s crazy. Don’t listen to that. He killed my mother!”

  Batiste motioned for me to sit down. Mrs. Hart took my arm and eased me back into the chair.

  “My name . . . it’s Cal . . . Calvin Imhoff,” the man said. “I . . . I started the IVH.”

  “I—I don’t believe this,” Batiste said, frowning at the wallet.

  “I’ve been trying to protect these kids,” Imhoff said. He rubbed his head again. “I’ve been watching them, trying to warn them. Trying . . . trying to keep them safe.”

  “Safe?” Batiste said, standing over Imhoff. “Safe from what? From you? From a killer?”

  Imhoff shut his eyes. When he opened them, he locked his gaze on Detective Batiste. “Let me tell you the bad news,” he said. “You don’t have a human killer. You have a vampire on your hands.”

  42

  DEAR DIARY,

  Wine gets better as it ages. That’s what I’ve heard.

  Ever since I was cheated and only got half of Winks’s delicious nectar, I’ve had this gnawing hunger. It’s as if drinking Winks’s sweet blood only stirred my hunger instead of satisfying it.

  Seeing Liam and Zane and my new girlfriends makes my mind spin, and it’s all I can do to keep my truth from them. I have to work so hard not to let them inside.

  I have to feed, Diary. The urge grows more powerful, more overwhelming every day. So tempting . . . So tempting . . . But I don’t want to cause any more pain to my friends.

  I feel so bad for Liam. He is crushed by the horror of how he lost his mother. All of his personality seems to have been drained. What he saw when he found her on the kitchen floor lingers in his mind. He says the picture is there every time he closes his eyes, as if it’s printed on his eyelids.

  The funeral was unbearable. Liam and Jim, his father, sat and wept, sobbing loudly, so loud they nearly drowned out the minister. I felt so bad for them both.

  And at the same time, my hunger made my whole body ache. I had to leave the funeral parlor before the service was over.

  I can feed on a stranger, I decided. Maybe someone as old as Liam’s mother. Someone not related to anyone, who wouldn’t frighten my friends or bring them more sadness.

  But blood isn’t like wine. It doesn’t grow sweeter and tastier as it ages. Blood goes sour and thin.

  So unsatisfying.

  Is there any greater disappointment than being unhappy with your meal?

  But I couldn’t help myself. One feed leads to another. One unsatisfying meal makes you desperate for the next one to be good.

  I waited till the funeral ended. I watched from behind some shrubs across the street as people came out, all of them grim-faced, some faces tear-stained. People with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Some shaking their heads, standing in small groups, talking quietly.

  A picture of total grief. I felt so bad.

  I watched the solemn pallbearers carry Mrs. Franklin’s coffin from the chapel and slide it into the back of a long, black hearse.

  I waited . . . waited for everyone to drive away. Waited for the chapel doors to close. Then I crossed the street and entered the building. I found the dark-suited funeral director arranging the chairs in the now-silent chapel.

  He was short and overweight, his belly pushing against his white shirt. A red-faced man with a fringe of short, black hair circling his round head.

  Lots of blood. I could see it pulsing in veins at both temples.

  Old blood but I knew I couldn’t be choosy.

  He stood upright, surprise on his face, as I approached. “Yes, miss? Can I help you?”

  I nodded and spoke in a meek, little voice. “Did I miss the cars to the cemetery?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid you did.”

  I lowered my head. “Guess I’m too late.”

  “So sorry,” he said. “They left about five minutes ago.”

  He bent down to pick some wadded-up Kleenex from the floor, and I jumped onto his back.

  He uttered a grunt of surprise. I heard the air shoot out of his open mouth.

  Riding his back, I forced him to the floor on his stomach. He hardly struggled. I think he went into instant shock.

  I straddled him, keeping him down. Then I leaned forward, lowered my face to him, and punctured the back of his neck. The skin was taut, and it took a few bites to open him up.

  Then I drank. The warm nectar flowed into my mouth, splashed over my face, and I drank sloppily. The blood wasn’t sweet. Old blood. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but getting my fill.

  I squeezed his neck with both hands, making the blood pump out faster. He was like a water fountain now. I sucked and slurped and practically bathed in it.

  Sorry, sir, but at least you won’t have to travel far for your funeral.

  I always have strange thoughts when I’m feeding. I wonder if everyone does.

  Ha. That’s kind of a joke, isn’t it, Diary?

  Always leave them laughing. That’s what I always say. Especially when I’m full.

  43

  Liam Narrates

  After the funeral, Dad didn’t invite any family members to come over. People understood he wanted to be alone.

  I found him in his bedroom, the bedroom he shared with Mom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head down and his hands clasped in his lap.

  I stopped at the doorway. I could see he was lost in thought. I didn’t know if I should interrupt him or not.

  It was like everything was awkward. Everything had changed. And I knew nothing would ever be the same.

  There I was, standing in the doorway, unsure if I should speak to my own father. He suddenly looked so small, perched on the edge of the big queen-sized bed.

  He raised his head and saw me. “Liam, hi. I was just . . .” His voice trailed off. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were red and watery.

  “I didn’t know . . . ,” I started. “I didn’t know if you wanted to . . . uh . . . hang out . . . or if you’d rather . . .”

  “I just need to collect myself,” he said. “There’s a lot to be done now.” He sighed. “Liam, maybe you should go work on your drone for a while. You know. Keep your hands busy. Maybe if you do something, it’ll help take your mind off . . . off Mom.”

  I could feel myself choking up. “It . . . it’s going to take a long time, Dad,” I said. I spun away before I started to cry.

  I made my way to the garage. It was a sunny afternoon. The air was still and dry. It felt more like summer than spring. I left the garage door open.

  I could see Mom’s petunia bed across the driveway. She had a thing about petunias, and kept that small flower garden in perfect shape. Dad always joked that her petunia obsession was one of the weirdest things about her.

  I lowered the drone onto my worktable. I was still figuring out how to attach the video camera mount. It looked so clear and simple on the instruction sheet.

  I wish Winks were here.

  The thought flashed through my mind and made my chest tighten.

  Winks would help cheer me up. He could always
get anyone to laugh. Winks would help me get through this incredible sadness.

  My best friend is dead. And my mother is dead.

  I gripped the edge of the worktable. That was the first time it had occurred to me. The murders were of the people closest to me. They were the two people I cared about most.

  What did this mean?

  Was someone out to get me, to ruin my life? Were the murders actually about me?

  Were the rest of my friends in danger? My father, too?

  Was someone planning to murder me?

  I gripped the table, these insane thoughts buzzing through my mind.

  My best friend . . . My mother . . .

  Imhoff, the vampire-hunter dude—the guy I put in the hospital . . . He said we have a vampire problem. I don’t think anyone believed him. I know I didn’t. If there was a vampire, it was him. I mean, what was he doing in the kitchen? And why did he try to run when he saw me step in?

  After the funeral, someone told me Imhoff was in the hospital. They thought maybe I cracked his skull when I swung the big skillet at him. Or maybe he just had a very bad concussion.

  I didn’t want to think about him now. I hoped Batiste and the other cops would get the truth out of him.

  I heard a noise from the driveway. I turned and saw Morgan walking up to the garage. Her red hair tossed behind her in the afternoon breeze. She didn’t smile. I saw a square, white box in her hands.

  “Hi, Liam.” She stepped into the garage. “I brought you this. I . . . uh . . . well . . . I didn’t know if you wanted visitors or not.”

  I took the box from her. “Sure. I guess,” I said. “I . . . don’t know what I want. I feel kind of numb, you know?”

  She nodded. Her bright green eyes locked on mine. “So sorry.”

  I set the box on the worktable and started to lift the top.

  “Some cupcakes,” Morgan said. She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to bring. I mean . . . what can you bring when someone’s mother died?”

  My throat tightened. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. Even though she’d seen me cry and sob at the funeral.

  “Are you working on your drone?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  Her eyes appeared to glow. I couldn’t stop gazing back at them. She didn’t blink. I imagined an electrical current shooting from her eyes to mine.

  The whole garage shimmered out of focus. I could see only her beautiful face and the glowing, electric eyes.

  Was she hypnotizing me? Putting me in some kind of trance?

  Crazy idea.

  I picked up the long screwdriver I was using to attach the video camera mount. Was she saying something to me? I saw her lips move, but her voice seemed to come from far away.

  I heard a billowing sound in my ears, like strong wind rustling inside my head. And still the eyes . . . those green eyes burned into my brain.

  “Hey—!” The screwdriver slipped from my hand. I cried out as the sharp tip scraped my wrist. The screwdriver bounced soundlessly to the concrete floor.

  All I could hear was the roar in my head.

  I glanced down. I saw a trickle of red blood seep from a line in my wrist. It spread quickly over my skin.

  Morgan grabbed my hand. She raised it close to her face. “Oh, Liam. You cut yourself.” Her voice broke through the roaring wind in my ears.

  “It’s okay,” I murmured.

  I watched her lower her face to my wrist. And I felt her tongue on my skin as she licked at the trickle of blood.

  Her hair fell over her head, hiding her face from me. She licked again. “Tastes like your mother.”

  That’s what I thought she said.

  But that was impossible.

  “What did you say?” I pulled my arm away, trying to break the spell, trying to stop the whirlwind in my head. “I didn’t hear right, Morgan. What did you just say?”

  “I said we need to get you a Band-Aid.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I see.” The garage came back into focus. Her eyes caught the light from the lowering sun outside the garage and appeared to twinkle.

  She wiped the blood off my wrist with one finger. Then she dipped the finger into her mouth.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Is she crazy? Why did she do that?

  44

  Liam Continues

  The rest of the day passed slowly. Dad and I ate a silent dinner. I don’t even remember what we had. Our cousins had sent over a big casserole, some kind of noodle thing. Dad served it without even warming it up.

  The whole time, I stared at Mom’s empty chair and fought back the urge to cry. My cut wrist was bandaged, and it throbbed a little. Dad asked if I thought it needed stitches. But I told him it wasn’t a deep cut at all.

  “How could you cut yourself with a screwdriver?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”

  What happened in the garage that afternoon wasn’t clear to me. As if a fog had settled over everything.

  But I remembered how strange Morgan had acted when my wrist started to bleed. It kept troubling my mind, and I had a growing urge to tell someone.

  Zane wasn’t home. After dinner, I drove over to Julie’s house. I found her in the dining room. She and Amber and Delia were seated around the dining room table, a pile of cards and envelopes between them.

  As I walked in, they raised their eyes, and their faces twisted in concern. Julie stood up, walked over, and hugged me. “How are you doing, Liam?”

  “Are you okay?” Amber asked.

  “Did you have dinner? We have some pizza left over,” Julie said, motioning to the kitchen.

  “We didn’t expect to see you,” Delia said. “I mean, so soon after . . .”

  “I’m trying to deal with everything,” I told them. “It’s been a tough day.”

  I glanced at the envelopes stacked on the table. “What are you doing?”

  “Sending out invitations to the alumni carnival,” Julie said. “Want to help us?” She walked back to her chair.

  “Not really,” I said. “I . . . want to tell you guys something.”

  “Have you heard from the police?” Delia asked, setting down the card she was working on.

  “It’s not about that,” I said. “It’s about Morgan.”

  That got their attention. All eyes were on me now.

  “I saw Morgan at your mom’s funeral,” Amber said. “She sat in the back and kept her head down the whole time.”

  “I saw her, too,” Delia said. “When it was over, I went over to talk to her, but she hurried away. I don’t know if she saw me or not.”

  Amber pushed her glasses up on her nose. “She looked as pale as milk,” she said. “Like she was sick. Poor Morgan. She was so totally devastated after Winks was murdered. And now to have a second murder . . .” She gasped. “Oh. Sorry, Liam.”

  I dropped down on the edge of the chair next to hers. “Are you going to let me tell you my story, or not?”

  All three grew silent and turned their gaze on me.

  “Morgan came to my house,” I said. “After the funeral. She said she was feeling weird, out of sorts.”

  Julie narrowed her eyes at me. “So she just dropped by your house?”

  I nodded. “She was being nice. She brought me some cupcakes.”

  “What flavor?” Amber asked.

  “Shut up, Amber,” Julie snapped. “That’s not funny.”

  “Just asking,” Amber replied.

  “So what happened?” Delia asked.

  “I was in the garage. Dad thought it might help me get through the day if I worked on building my drone. But I couldn’t really concentrate on it. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Like I had clouds in my brain.”

  “And Morgan showed up?” Julie said.

  “Yes. But here’s what I wanted to tell you.” I leaned over the table and lowered my voice. “I dropped a screwdriver. It slipped out of my hand, and the tip scraped my wrist.”

  I held up my bandag
ed wrist.

  “Was it a bad cut?” Julie asked.

  “No,” I said. “But it started to bleed. Just a little. And Morgan took my hand. I thought she wanted to inspect the cut. But no. She raised my hand to her mouth and started to lick off the blood.”

  Delia gasped. Amber and Julie just stared.

  “You think Morgan is a vampire?” Delia said.

  “I’m just saying—” I started.

  “No. No, no, no, that doesn’t make sense,” Julie insisted.

  “Morgan held my hand to her mouth and licked it up. And—”

  “Morgan is a total flirt,” Amber said. “She’s not a vampire.”

  “She was coming on to you, Liam,” Julie said.

  “If Morgan is a vampire, I am, too,” Delia said.

  “They caught the killer, Liam,” Julie said. “That weird guy who thinks he’s a vampire hunter. We can relax now. They’ve got him.”

  “Okay, okay.” I raised my hands to signal an end to the discussion. “I’m only telling you what happened. I—”

  A sound behind me made me turn around.

  Morgan came hurrying in, her hair fluttering behind her. “Sorry I’m late. Are all the envelopes addressed?”

  “No. Plenty more to do,” Julie said. “Where were you?”

  Morgan flung her jacket onto an empty chair. “I was at the blood bank. Did you know they have takeout?”

  45

  Morgan Narrates

  Oh, wow. The looks on their faces—priceless!

  Amber’s eyes bulged behind those thick glasses. I thought Delia was going to fall off her chair. Julie only blinked. She’s the smartest one in the room.

  I laughed. “I was in your front room,” I said. “I heard everything Liam said.”

  His face was as red as fire, and he made a choking sound. Poor guy. I’ve never seen anyone look that embarrassed. He jumped to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He gave me a pleading look.

  I walked over and gave his chest a playful, two-handed push. “Liam, do you really think I’m a vampire?” I snapped my teeth at his neck a couple of times.

  The girls laughed. Liam backed away, his face even darker.