Your Coffin or Mine? (23 page)

He grimaced and stared at the underwear. “Oh, well. It’s still in the cooking phase. You want chic? Ultra chic?”

“Something simple.”

“Jeans?”

“That would be good. Maybe a silk shirt or something clingy to show off muscle definition.”

He growled and wiggled his eyebrows before reaching for a few suggestions. “These might work.”

I eyed the black button-up. “Too Tim McGraw-ish.”

He pulled out a red one and I shook my head. “Too Tom Jonesish.”

He pulled out a blue spotted shirt and I grimaced. “Too Blues Cluesish.”

“Why don’t I leave you alone and go get a glass of champagne?”

“I’d love a glass.”

“Not for you, darling. For me.” He shook his head and muttered “Female vampires,” as he walked away. “This is why I’d sooner castrate myself.”

Um, thanks a lot for
that
image.

I spent the next few minutes flipping through his latest collection until I’d found a few possibilities. I handed over my credit card and headed back home. I arrived to find Word wrapped in nothing but a table, plopped on my sofa, Killer curled up in his lap.

“You were supposed to keep him contained,” I told the cat.

For a few scratches behind the ear and an extra can of cat food, I’ll jump ship for anybody.

“You wouldn’t happen to have on underwear, would you?”

“Nope.”

I swallowed against the sick feeling in my stomach and tossed the clothes at him.

“What’s this?”

“There’s an outfit for you to wear tonight to sort of acclimate your body to decent fabric, and another for tomorrow night.” When he continued to stare, I added, “It’s your new look.”

“But I like my old look.”

“You’re the only one.” I pointed toward the bathroom. “Go.”

When Word started to grumble, I rolled my eyes heavenward and gave my loudest, most ear-splitting “Yessssssssssss!” followed by lots of panting and moaning and a long, shuddering sigh.

His ears turned red and I was pretty sure he’d decided to change. Just to emphasize my point, I grabbed the super deluxe water bottle.

Killer took one look, jumped to the floor, and scrambled for cover.

“You wouldn’t,” Word told me.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

He made a beeline for the bathroom to change while I disinfected the couch.

“What do you think?” he asked a few minutes later when he returned.

I swept a glance from his head to his toes and tried not to grimace (at the toes, not the in between). “You look hot.”

“Really?” Hope fueled the one tiny word and I actually went sort of soft. Sure, he was obsessed with sex. But he was young. Inexperienced. Deep down he really and truly did want to find that special someone and his insecurity was proof.

“Really.” I stepped forward and ran my fingers through his freshly washed hair. “You look good with the whole wet head look. I say we leave it as is.” My gaze dropped to his face. The peach fuzz that had covered his chin was now gone, his skin freshly shaven and slapped with aftershave. He smelled good, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m really proud of you.” I slid my arms around him and gave him a sisterly hug.

Which lasted all of five seconds before I heard his voice.

“Enough to have sex with me?”

“Don’t ruin the moment.” I finished my hug, stepped away, and left him to gather his dirty clothes from my bathroom while I answered my cellphone.

A quick glance at the caller ID and my heart kicked into overdrive.

“What is it?” I blurted the moment I hit TALK.

“We have a lead,” Ash told me.

“You’re kidding. Really?”

“One of Moe’s contacts ID’d Ty. He claims he saw him with a man a few weeks ago right around the time he would have disappeared. He’s giving us a sketch and we’re going to see if we can trace the man’s identity. Moe’s contact said he heard Ty call the guy something that sounded like Morgan. Or Borgan. Something like that. Does that ring a bell?”

My mind rushed back through the scene, but I couldn’t come up with anything solid. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Well, think about it and call me if you make any kind of a connection or remember anything else. And FYI, you can fire up your computer. You’ll be getting a new client soon.”

I perked up despite my anxiety. “You’re lonely and ready to settle down?”

“No, but Moe and Debbie had such great sex last night that she doesn’t want to settle for any more losers. She’s giving up the profession and going back to college full-time. And she’s going to let you match her up.”

“Great,” I said, but I didn’t actually feel it in my gut. In my mind, I was still rehashing the episode with Ty and the shadow. “I give a finder’s fee.”

“Sex?”

I snapped out of worried mode and frowned. “What is it with males and sex?”

“Sex makes the world go ’round, sweetheart.”

“So sayeth a man. A free profile and one potential match. And I’ll throw in a dozen doughnuts. Take it or leave it.”

“Debbie can have the free profile. She’ll need it. She’s on a budget.”

“How about the doughnuts?”

“A man can’t have too many Krispy Kremes.”

I couldn’t resist. “A man or a demon?”

He chuckled. “You still don’t know?”

“I’m betting demon.”

“Think,” he said. “And give me a call.”

“I have been and I’ve even Googled entities from hell. You’ve got all the characteristics—good looks, flaming eyes, sex appeal. That, or you’re taking some new pheromone that makes you irresistible to the opposite sex.”

“I meant think about Ty and the man who was with him.”

“Oh.” I pushed aside all the thoughts muddying my brain and pictured Ty’s face.

“See what you can come up with.”

“I will.” And I did for the rest of the night and all through most of the next day—until I started cleaning, that is.

I know, I know. Was I sliding into a pile of domestic muck so deep I might never climb out? Maybe, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I needed a distraction. That on top of the fact that I’d had Word in my bathroom and on my couch, and was a woman on a mission.

By the time the next night rolled around, my apartment was spotless and I was dead tired. No, really. To the point that I seriously considered calling the producers of
Manhattan’s Most Wanted
and telling them I’d been stricken with a dangerous bug and was now quarantined at a local hospital.

At the same time, I couldn’t
not
show without stirring real suspicion because of what had happened during the dinner cruise. I already had one reporter interested in me. I wasn’t going to shake things up even more. I mean, really. What normal, sane woman in her right mind would forfeit a chance to get to know Manhattan’s hottest weather guy? Nada. That’s why I had to go. Otherwise someone would suspect I wasn’t a normal, sane woman. Enter Vinnie and his brother, and I’d be paying through the nose with highlighters and reams of copy paper.

Which left me with one choice—show up, be obnoxious, and get Mr. Weather to cut me himself. I would then react in typical reality TV fashion—cry and act appropriately offended because, of course, after three pseudo dates I’d fallen madly in love with him. That, or I could cuss and spit in typical VH1 fashion. But that might lead to an
I Love Lil
series and I so wouldn’t be able to explain that to my folks. No, better to go for the waterworks and go sobbing into the night.

Bye, bye reality show.

Not that I would be able to breathe a sigh of relief or bask in the impressive number of clients I’d picked up thanks to the show. I still had to find Ty, make it through my mother’s dinner party, and fix Mandy’s wedding dress.

I forced aside the sudden icky feeling that crept over me. One problem at a time.

Twenty-six

“G
et. Out. Of.
Here.
” Esther’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the ornate white dress Mandy and I had come by to drop off at her place on Friday evening. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I know it seems overwhelming, but I have the utmost faith in you.” I patted her on the back. “You can do it.”

She stared at the dress, struck speechless for a long moment.

I totally knew the feeling.

“It’s just so…” she finally started, but her voice faded away as she swallowed a huge lump in her throat.

“I know, I know. It’s loud. And busy. And scary. But so was the entire DKNY collection last season, but then they hired Janie Strausberg and look at it now. Tasteful. A bit eclectic, but I’m down with that. And hip. She took a bad situation and turned it into a positive. And that’s what you’re going to do.”

She dabbed at her eyes and guilt rifled through me. “There, there. Please don’t cry. Because then I’ll want to cry and I so don’t need to be crying since I’m going to be in front of a handful of television cameras in less than two hours.” Which was why I’d cried on the way over with plenty of time to retouch.

Mandy and I both had.

“It’s just so…
beautiful.
”

“I know we’re asking a lot, but…What did you just say?”

She sniffled and wiped at her damp eyes. “I said it’s the most amazing dress I’ve ever seen.” She stared in awe. “I’ve always wanted a dress just like this.”

“Like
this
?”

She nodded several times. “Down to the tiny bows lining the hem. And dotting the skirt. And that great big one in back.”

“
These
bows?”

“And the beaded bodice.”

“
This
bodice?”

“And the six-foot train with the extra doodads.”

“
That
train?”

“Why, it’s straight out of my favorite fantasy. There isn’t a thing about it that I would change.” Her gaze collided with mine. “This can’t be the dress you were talking about.”

“Of course not,” I blurted.

Mandy nudged me and shot me a
tell her
look.

I stiffened. Enter ballsy, do anything, dare anyone, don’t-take-shit vampire extraordinaire. I opened my mouth, and prepared to give it to Esther straight.
It’s the worst dress in the Free World and if we weren’t so desperate, we would take it out, shoot it, and put it out of its misery.
“Maybe.”

Yeah, yeah, my aim was definitely skewed, but we’re talking Esther’s
dream
dress. I couldn’t very well tell her the thing had starred in the last
Nightmare on Elm Street
and that she really,
really
needed to get a life because she was obviously clueless when it came to fashion.

My gaze swept the small but tidy apartment, the old movie posters—everything from
Giant
to
The Lone Ranger
—lining the wall. Yep, she was a few accessories shy of a complete outfit when it came to decorating, as well.

My attention shifted to the pile of knitting that sat near the couch, the stack of crossword puzzles piled on the coffee table. And she
so
needed to spice up her extracurricular activities. Honestly, the made vampire was lonely and depraved enough. Who was I to pour salt on the wound by telling her her dreams sucked, as well?

“So where’s the real dress?” she asked. She motioned to the ancient sewing machine that sat in the corner. It looked like an old-fashioned wrought iron desk, with pedals rather than a footboard. “I’m armed and ready.”

Mandy nudged me and I cleared my throat. Just do it. “Look, Esther, it’s like this. Everyone has different tastes. Some people like cheesecake. Some prefer chocolate. Some people like Brad Pitt. Some women go ga-ga over Toby Keith. It’s all about personal preference.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That maybe,” I swallowed, “possibly,” another swallow, “this might be the dress.” There. All done. And I didn’t spontaneously combust or turn into a big cat turd.

“But that’s crazy. What could you possibly want to change about something that’s already perfect?”

Mandy and I exchanged glances. “Everything,” we said in unison.

“You’re kidding, right?” She glanced past us. “This isn’t some game show, is it? Am I being punked?”

“Don’t I wish.” Hey, we’re talking Ashton Kutcher. He didn’t rate a full ten on my Orgasm-O-Meter, but he came in a solid seven at least. I cleared my throat and focused on the white blob. “You don’t think it’s a tad on the busy side?” I asked Esther.

She shook her head. “Certainly not.”

“What about poofy? You have to agree that it’s a little poofy.”

“No.”

“What about full?”

“Not in the least.”

“What about distracting?”

“It’s a wedding dress. It’s supposed to draw everyone’s attention.”

I shrugged. “Good point,” I said and Mandy elbowed me. “Listen, Esther. Mandy here isn’t the big, distracting dress type. She likes things more simple.”

Esther nodded. “You mean plain.”

“Exactly. While you or I wouldn’t think twice about jumping into this baby, Mandy really doesn’t have the joi de vivre to pull it off.”

“Thanks a lot.”

I patted Mandy’s shoulder and gave her a pleading look that said, “Follow me, okay?” “Mandy isn’t an extravagant person. She’s more wholesome. Conservative. Blah.” Mandy stiffened and I kept patting. “You don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, do you?”