A Honeymoon Story by Davidson MaryJanice

Author:Davidson, MaryJanice [Davidson, MaryJanice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Vampires, Fantasy, Paranormal, Humour
Goodreads: 22752856
Publisher: Berkley Publishing Group
Published: 2008-10-10T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

"You've got an alibi," Nick grumped at dinner the next night. It was early — about seven thirty — which was good, because I had places to be, and couldn't suck down my drinks fast enough.

"Besides our word?" Sinclair asked mildly. He'd given up any semblance of politeness and had brought the paper to dinner, which he was carefully reading. Although we'd been talking for ten minutes, this was the first time Sinclair had spoken up.

"Yeah. Coroner placed the kid's time of death between ten and eleven that night —"

"While the four of us were having dinner," I finished.

"Well, duh, Nick," Jessica said kindly. "You must have known it was a fresh crime scene. Betsy and Sinclair didn't have time to ditch us, kill a child, and return to the table to argue over dessert."

"Mmmff," Nick grunted.

"Yes, an intelligent, unbiased professional would have known that," Sinclair said to the paper.

Astonishingly, Nick didn't rise to the bait. A crisis of conscience, maybe?

"Do you think it was someone here at the hotel?" I asked, almost whispering.

Nick sent me a look of sizzling scorn; I almost wanted to duck. "Of course."

"I doubt it," Sinclair replied absently.

"Come on! If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck and looks like a duck, it's a fucking duck."

"I have no idea what ducks have to do with your crime scene."

Nick leaned forward, his blonde hair flopping into his eyes. He pushed it back impatiently and said, "I mean, right around the corner from a hotel run by vampires, with vampire guests, a kid gets killed — by a vampire — and you're saying it's got nothing to do with this place?"

"I would be surprised. As Betsy said, vampires don't shit where they eat."

"The smart ones, anyway."

"I'd actually agree with her" — he nearly gagged as he said it — "but what if it's a message?"

"You mean like a note? Except left on the body of a kid?" I felt my gorge rise.

"Yeah.A message for the king and queen. They knew you were coming, right?"

"Of course," Sinclair said carefully. He'd actually laid the paper down.

"So, maybe someone in here is trying to impress you. Pay tribute. Whatever."

"They pay tribute with blood oranges, not ritual sacrifice."

"And they oughta know killing a kid is the last thing that will impress us," I snapped.

"Will they?" Nick asked quietly. "Your predecessors were pretty bloodthirsty, right? And aren't you having some trouble being taken seriously by the teeming hordes of the undead?"

"I wish you wouldn't put it like that," I grumbled, downing my Cosmo (hey, we were in New York) in a hurry.

"All they know is that there's a new sheriff in town. My bet is that they're trying to impress you or freak you out. Either way, he — or she — or they — killed that kid to get to you two."

"So what do you suggest we do, Detective Berry?"

He ticked our options off on his fingers. "One: leave town. Now. Tonight. Two: interview every vampire in this building.

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