Regardless of how much hard detective work I invest in a case, now and then a major lead miraculously falls into place—as if the cases really do solve themselves. That’s terrific when it happens, but sometimes the timing sucks.
We were heading out the door to go after Harvey Jekyll when the phone rang: Fletcher Knowles from Basilisk—and his voice sounded uncertain. “Hello, Mr. Chambeaux? I found something … something you should be aware of.”
“I’m busy right now, Fletcher. We’re just about to close a very large—”
He interrupted me. “I had to call you now, before she wakes up. I think I found the gun that was used to murder you.”
That stopped me in my tracks, just like the original bullet did.
He continued, “A big antique revolver—Smith and Wesson. That’s what the ballistics report said, right?”
My voice was a low growl. “Damn right.”
“I found the gun in Ivory’s dressing room. She’s been hiding it in one of her vanity drawers. But you need to get over here right away. It’s sunset, and she’ll be rising soon—you don’t have much time.”
I swallowed hard, thought about McGoo and the big arrest at JLPN, but I knew the choice I had to make. “I’ll be right there, Fletcher.” I hung up and turned to Sheyenne. “The gun that shot me is at Basilisk. Ivory’s been hiding it.”
“That bitch! If I wasn’t a ghost, I’d rip her fangs out, then move on to other body parts. I was going be a surgeon, you know. Hmmm, maybe if I used pliers …”
I looked at Robin and McGoo. “You guys have to take care of Jekyll. I need to do this—it could wrap up my own murder case, and Sheyenne’s.”
“We’ve got it, Shamble,” McGoo said. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll be there in spirit,” I said.
“I’ll be there in spirit,” Sheyenne said. “I’m going with you, Beaux. That vamp poisoned me and probably shot you to keep you from snooping around.”
“Happy to have you along.” I wasn’t going to prevent her from joining me anyway.
We all left in a rush. I don’t know which of us was in the greatest hurry.
* * *
Basilisk was closed for business until well after full dark; the neon sign was switched off. Dusk thickened into downright gloom as Sheyenne and I arrived, and Fletcher opened the door to hurry us into the dim nightclub. “I wasn’t sure what else to do, Mr. Chambeaux.” Nervous, he locked the door behind us. I gave my .38 a reassuring pat.
Fletcher spoke in a hushed voice as he led us toward Ivory’s dressing room in the back, a place to which I’d been invited many times, though I had studiously avoided it. “Ivory’s my biggest star, the best vamp singer I’ve ever heard, and it’s going to ruin business if we have to get rid of her. But if she did kill you …” He shook his head. His face looked as pale as his bleached goatee.
“Why would you help us?” Sheyenne asked.
He shrugged. “It’s one way to get you to come back and sing.”
Her translucent face clouded with anger. “Fletcher, if you help put away the vampire bitch that killed both of us, then I’ll come back and sing every Saturday night for free.”
“I hoped you would say something like that.” The manager led us down the hall behind the stage. “And you did me a good turn, too, Mr. Chambeaux, even though you didn’t mean to.”
“How’s that?”
“Remember Harry Talbot, the blood-bar owner who hired you to shut down my under-the-table blood sales? He’s actually a cool guy. Likes progressive-rock music, same as me. He turned me on to some excellent obscure bands.”
“So you’re not trying to drive each other out of business anymore?” I asked. Talbot had paid his fee to Chambeaux & Deyer and closed the case; I’d never heard anything more from him.
“Just the opposite! We’re in business together, my nightclub, his blood bar. We’re opening up another place or two. There’s certainly a market for it.”
We fell into a hush as we reached the closed door to Ivory’s dressing room. Fletcher turned the knob and the three of us entered. The vamp singer had a small makeup table and a chair, a ring of bright makeup lights, but no mirror (which wouldn’t have done her any good). The table was covered with small jars, brushes, facial primer, foundation, powder, pencils, a rainbow of eye shadows and blushes, and her signature glossy red lipstick. A vase held a dozen long-stemmed red roses. The walls were covered with photographs of Ivory nuzzling famous people.
Her double-wide mahogany coffin rested on a riser on the other side of the room. Ivory had spared no expense: This was the best coffin offered in any funeral parlor catalog, about ten times more expensive than the one Robin had bought for me.
Though the sun had gone down a full hour ago, the big vamp remained in her coffin. Nothing stirred in the dressing room.
Fletcher said in a whisper, “She likes to sleep late. I usually come in here just before dark to help her put on her face. Since she can’t use a mirror, it’s my job to prepare Ivory for her public. It sometimes takes an hour, and I have to tell her a dozen times how beautiful she looks, since she can’t see her reflection.”
“Where’s the gun?” I asked.
Fletcher slid open one of the vanity drawers to reveal a Smith & Wesson revolver, a big gleaming thing that could have been in a vampire’s collection since the Civil War. Ballistics would prove whether or not this was the gun that had shot me, but it was too much of a coincidence to swallow.
Sheyenne nudged the makeup jars and bottles. “And if I find a vial of toadstool poison, that would be the cherry on top of the sundae.”
Hearing the unmistakable sound of a creaking coffin lid, the three of us turned like startled rabbits facing the same rattlesnake. The big-breasted vampire extended her hands into the air, stretching, then sat up, yawning and rubbing the fuzz of sleep from her eyes.
When she saw us standing there, she recoiled as if she were the rabbit and we the rattlesnakes. “What are you all doing here? This is my private dressing room. Get out!” She quickly covered her face. “You can’t see me like this!”
Ivory did look a lot different without her makeup. She turned her gaze on the manager. Vampires are able to manipulate people with a seductive hypnotic glamour, but what she gave Fletcher was exactly the opposite. He shivered under the glare.
“We found the gun, Ivory.” I took a step forward to intervene. “What did I ever do to you? What made you upset enough to kill me?”
The vamp looked baffled. “Kill you, sugar? What are you talking about?”
Sheyenne pulled the Smith & Wesson from the drawer. “I’ve always known you poisoned me, and this is the gun that shot Dan, right here in your dressing room. Did you kill him because he was investigating my murder? Were you worried he’d catch you?”
I pulled my own .38 from the shoulder holster. The silver-jacketed slugs would do the trick.
More annoyed than afraid, the vampire diva climbed out, indignant but embarrassed by her fresh-out-of-the-coffin appearance. “I didn’t even have that gun when Dan was murdered, sugar. I just bought it two weeks ago.”
“What do you need a gun for?” I asked.
“For protection! In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the star here, and I’ve got my share of obsessive fans … though not as many as I’d like. Sometimes they don’t take no for an answer, so I decided to get a gun for peace of mind.” She turned her sultry gaze on me. “Although you never learned how to take yes for an answer, sugar.”
I tried to stay on point. “Then where did you get the gun?”
“I wanted something big, sturdy, reliable. It was a private sale. Cash. Very anonymous.”
“Ivory, if that’s the gun that murdered me, I deserve to know who owned it.”
The vamp considered that and agreed. “All right, but don’t tell him I told you. He might cut off my supplies, and I can’t have that.”
“Who?” Sheyenne demanded.
“Brondon Morris. He sold me the gun.”