Tantalize (10 page)

“Thing about Ruby,” I said, “she seems to think being cryptic is some kind of substitute for having a decent personality.”

“The living vampirism,” he began, “how —”

“Don’t let her get to you,” I said. “Sanguini’s is liable to get a lot worse waltzing through the front door.” Better the front door than the back, I thought, wondering if this time Uncle D had remembered to lock behind them.

“I’m not worried,” Brad assured me.

But I was. It had been only ten days since Vaggio’s murder. No arrests.

I took a deep, cleansing breath, finished my glass.

“However,” Brad went on, “I’ve had a pair of brothers, both hard-boiled sorts, working on my house — refinishing the floors, replacing broken windows, and so forth. They mentioned needing extra cash. Do you think I’d be overstepping bounds if I suggested them to your uncle for the bouncer jobs?”

“No!” I took a breath. “I mean, no, I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

“Done. I should get to the kitchen to finish your conchiglie salad,” Brad added, rising from the booth, taking my bowl with him. “That is if you’re still hungry?”

I paused, realizing he’d caught me licking my soupspoon.

“More giggle water?” he asked, lifting the bottle of wine.

T
he following morning I knocked on Uncle D’s bedroom door until he got up.

“I’ll just have coffee,” he said, yawning in cutoff sweatpants and a sleeveless T.

While he fetched himself a cup, I heated a breakfast taco in the microwave, poured myself a glass of orange juice, and then joined Uncle D at the table. “Why did you tell the vice principal I would do homeschool?”

I hadn’t wanted to bring it up at the restaurant with Ruby and Brad around, but it had freaked me out that he’d agree to such a thing without our even talking about it first.

“Good morning to you, too,” he replied, adding sugar to his “World’s Greatest Uncle” mug. “Honey, you know how much I need you at work, and it’s not like you have a lot of friends at school, compared to at the restaurant. Oh, speaking of which, Sergio’s coming back, did I tell you? He was thrilled to quit that job at —”

“I have Kieren,” I said, taking a bite of my taco.

Looking unimpressed, Uncle D shifted gears on me. “What do you think of our chef? Not bad, eh? And he can cook, too.”

Before he could stray further off base, I said, “No homeschool, okay? I’m happy with going mornings, and anyway, Brad told me he hadn’t gotten to work before noon or so these past couple of days.” I couldn’t imagine Uncle D cared that much, but if need be, I was willing to take a stand. I wanted to help out at Sanguini’s, and I would, but lusting after Kieren in English class was the highlight of my day.

“Excuse me for being considerate.” Uncle D lifted his coffee to sip, set it down quickly, and smacked his lips. “Hot, hot, hot. But as I was saying, about ‘Brad,’ as you two have decided to call him . . . I like that, by the way. What do you think?”

“He’s got potential,” I said. “By the time I’m done with him —”

“Good,” Uncle D informed me. “When I interviewed him, I told him how special you were, how much Sanguini’s is in your blood. I don’t know if he totally believed me then, but now —”

The phone rang, and I jumped for it.

Kieren opened with, “Why didn’t you call me back last night?”

“You called?” I’d been stressed, thinking he hadn’t. We usually talked a few times a day, but he was so moody lately.

“I left a message with your uncle.”

Huh. “Sorry, I didn’t get it.”

“You could’ve called when you got home,” Kieren said. “Or e-mailed.” He’d had his cell permanently confiscated months ago when his mama caught us talking after midnight. Harsh, but it hadn’t been the first time — that had been during the first week of finals, and he’d been warned more than once.

I took a breath. “It was late and I was tired and —”

“I was worried. I stayed up all night wondering —”

“I’m sorry, but I was working and —”

“With the new chef?” he wanted to know.

I wasn’t loving Kieren’s tone of voice. “I don’t think you understand how important it is that —”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” I replied.

We hung up, and I sat down at the table with my uncle, who was staring at his coffee like it held the secrets to the universe. “I’m sorry that I forgot to tell you the boy called. I thought I wrote it down somewhere. I don’t know where my brain is.”

I did. Between raising me, managing the restaurant relaunch, losing Vaggio, falling in lust with Ruby . . . I sipped my juice. “Kieren’s just a little edgy these days.”

“Do you think that’s something I should mention to the police?”

The question caught me by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“The detective said to call back if anything seemed unusual.”

Even though he hadn’t been at the scene, Uncle D was questioned the day after the murder. I thought about it. Had Daddy ever confided to Uncle D about Kieren’s Wolf heritage? That possibility, coupled with the circumstances of Vaggio’s murder, made me wonder. What might Uncle D have told the police?

After school, I was back on the job. Dragged Brad out of the Sanguini’s kitchen and down the sidewalk to All the World’s a Stage. The clerk helped us pull various male vampire costumes, and we sorted through them to find the most promising.

“I’ve already got the eyes and fangs,” Brad said. “Do I need a whole outfit?”

I held up a full-length blue suede western jacket, shook my head, and hung it on a spare rack. “People are going to be coming in from all over hell and half of Texas,” I said. “We need to give them a show.”

Brad held a silky white shirt up to himself. “White washes me out, I think.”

I smirked. “Go look at it in a mirror.”

“If we find something worth trying on,” he said, “I’ll look.”

Brad had sounded about as hopeful as I felt.

“You’re really tall,” I said. “Slender, too.” More attractive than I’d thought at first glance. It was the kind of face that grew on you. Not so obviously handsome like Kieren’s, so obviously masculine. But sophisticated, like his affection for wine.

Our best candidate: a black-and-crimson suit, unlined, shirt sewn into the pants, buttons made of plastic. A black-and-red plastic medallion hung from a frayed black ribbon. Brad claimed to already have black dress shoes, but . . .

“Too chintzy,” he said.

“Too chintzy,” I agreed. “And too short in the arms and legs.”

T
wo days later, Brad’s never-ending quest for a menacing menu, well, never ended. While my fellow seniors, the ones with a parent or three, busied themselves with Back to School Night, I broke the news: “The most gothic thing about your eggplant parmesan is the fact that a purple vegetable exists in nature.”

“I need a vegetarian selection,” he replied, rinsing a long, wooden spoon.

Travis, who was doing dishes, stayed out of it. My uncle had scheduled him and Clyde on alternate days until the debut party. Travis was sweeter, easy to work with. The more Brad and I bantered, the more Travis seemed to want to take cover inside the sink.

Brad, on the other hand, rejoiced in it. He loved to cook, loved to talk cooking. Like Kieren loved his werestudies. Like Vaggio had loved good women. Like Uncle D loved bad women. Like Daddy had loved ancient cultures and Mama had loved Fat Lorenzo’s. Brad gobbled it up. He was starting to seem almost as committed to Sanguini’s as I was.

“It’s after midnight,” I said, as he poured more Chianti into the wine glass I’d left on the butcher’s block.

I kept waiting for Uncle D to say something about Brad drinking on the job, about Brad drinking on the job with me. Not with his taste in recreational substances that he had much room to talk. But
nada.
It was as though Uncle D had woken up one morning and saw me in a new, more grown-up light. I liked it.

“How about a ride home?” Brad asked.

“I’m taking The Banana.”

“About that . . .” Brad peered over Travis’s shoulder to check progress. “Ruby and Davidson picked up the car a few hours ago, while you were rearranging the sample wait station for the thousandth time. I meant to mention it.”

“I guess he’s feeling better,” I muttered. That morning Uncle D had said he was too sick to come in. Excusing myself to duck into the break room, I used my dying cell phone to call him — no answer.

I could’ve tried Kieren, but it was late, a school night. I’d just wake up everybody. Meghan was in bed by eight or so. Meara and Roberto after the late news.

Besides, since our blowup on the phone, things had been even more strained between me and Kieren. At school, we’d both pretended like nothing had happened, just like we pretended he wasn’t leaving and we pretended he didn’t blame Sanguini’s for Vaggio’s death. It was becoming harder and harder to talk at all.

“Well?” Brad asked when I returned to the kitchen. We’d mostly cleaned up, but he was still wiping down the stovetop.

“My uncle’s not answering,” I said, frustrated. It would be better once the restaurant opened and he got back on a regular schedule, working days and nights.

“I’d be honored to escort you home, Miss Morris.” Brad checked his two wristwatches, offered an inviting smile. “No trouble.”

What was happening here? I wondered. It was like Brad and I were developing some kind of vibe. Not that anything would come of it. I already had Kieren, or at least, I hadn’t given up yet on wanting to have Kieren, and besides, the way Brad kept tasting the food and spitting it out in the trash — kind of a turnoff.

Now, Kieren knew how to devour . . . I shoved the thought away.

Brad was who mattered at the moment. Sanguini’s success depended on its chef. I wasn’t sure how else I’d get home, but I didn’t want to lead him on either.

“Now, then,” Brad added, tossing his paper towel in the trash. “I know you’re invested in being an obsessive-compulsive over-the-top risk taker. Which, I must say, makes you a contradictory personality type. And a fascinating one at that. But think before you turn me down.”

Mildly O-C maybe, but . . . “I am not an over-the-top risk —”

“In addition to that hirsute boy your uncle doesn’t approve of,” Brad argued, “and your being in the restaurant business, I’m thinking that walking home alone is foolhardy. You can’t control what happens in the night, Miss Morris.”

It was annoying that he and Uncle D had been talking about my personal life. I patted Brad’s shoulder, a nonflirtatious pat. “Save it for the clientele. I’m wiped, and Travis isn’t done. Besides, I’ve walked home from work tons of times.” Not at night, though. Not really. I took a gulp of Chianti. “Odds are —”

“Odds don’t matter when a predator beats them,” Brad replied. “That’s the game some beasts live for, beasts that should’ve been hunted to extinction long, long ago.”

I bristled. “If you’re talking about werepeople —”

“Translating to ‘man-people’ — of all the PC nonsense.” Brad’s voice gentled. “I know you’ve been avoiding the media, but in the past month, Bear tracks were found outside the window of a missing toddler in Salt Lake City. A Cat shredded a stripper in New Jersey to ribbons. Russian authorities identified a terror cell of werehyenas —”

“I get it.” Enough already, I thought. No way was he taking me home now.

“They aren’t people,” Brad added. “They are not and have never been human beings. It’s that form, Miss Morris, the familiar form, that’s the disguise. The scam. They’re monsters in masquerade. Pretending to be people — neighbors, friends, lovers even. Using their humanlike skins to deceive.”

“And you’re the expert?” I asked, trying not to overreact. Most humans had issues with shifters. I’d seen a poll on TV not long ago that said something like 80 percent of humans thought of werepeople as dangerous and more than half considered them somehow demonic. Even Uncle D had been known to make the occasional remark. But that didn’t make it any less racist or species-ist or something-ist.

“Think of your friend Vaggio,” Brad said. “What one of them did to him.”

“I’m out of here,” I replied. “Kill the lights, will you?”

Brad smiled in apparent surrender. “I will.”

“Deadbolt the front door behind me?” I’d been avoiding the parking lot after dark.