“Regina said that?” A dark laugh lives and dies in his chest but nary a smile crests his sexy lips. “Ignore her.” His brows pinch as he scours the room, presumably for the devil in question. “In fact, I should probably have a little talk with her.” He starts to take off, and I pull him in by the shoulders.
“No, no, no. Trust me, I know how to handle girls like Regina. Besides, once you set her straight, there’s no telling what she’ll do. She’s a loose cannon. And I still have another loose cannon to deal with. I have to convince my sister to head back to Hastings. The last thing I need is all of New Jersey showing up on my doorstep, not to mention a certain federal agency—and perhaps the mob as well. But on the bright side, if the mob does show up, you could have an up close and personal tutorial to their inner workings. If I die a grisly death, try not to put that into one of your stories.”
His lips flicker with devilish delight. “Duly noted. Besides, I’m already knee-deep in outlining a new book. I’m thinking of featuring a renegade mob princess on the run. Lots of late-night research will be necessary.” His lids drop a notch. “Know of anyone who could help me work a few kinks out of the plotline?”
“I’ve got a kinky suspicion I can tell you everything you need to know about that plot. But you’ll have to find a creative way to drag it out of me, Detective.”
A moan works its way up his throat. “I have an interrogation method or two I can employ.”
The music grows moodier and the room erupts in howls of approval. As much as I’d love nothing more than to flirt my way into a compromising position with the homicide detective at hand, I’m terrified I might actually have a homicide afoot somewhere on the manor grounds.
“Shep, there’s something I have to tell you.” I step in closer, and about ten different women give me the evil eye for attempting to hog the sexiest man in the room. I can’t blame them. “I have a feeling about tonight, a bad feeling. I’m not sure exactly what, but I think something terrible is going to happen. I think we’d better comb the grounds for signs of trouble. You know, see if we could fend it off.”
He blinks back. “Bowie, what are you talking about?” he says it curt, his glowing eyes narrowed over mine. I’ll admit, there is something alarmingly sexy about him when he gets that serious look on his face. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything you know?”
My mouth opens and closes. The very thing that makes Shep an outstanding detective is the fact he’s intuitive to a fault.
“Fine,” I whisper. “I have a little more than a feeling, but that’s all I can say. Just promise me you’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”
His lips twist at the thought. “How about you and I stick together? That way I’ll know you’re staying out of trouble.”
“Are you saying I’m trouble?”
“Are you saying you’re not?”
A commotion by the bar catches my eye, and there are a tigress and a witch going at it. Carrie and Hazel. A crowd drifts between us for a moment, and by the time they part, the two women have evaporated as quick as a couple of apparitions.
“Never mind.” Shep leans in and catches my gaze. “There’s a fortune-teller outside. Word on the street is, if you give her twenty bucks, she’ll say something nice. How about we head that way? I might even win you a stuffed bear. We can have that talk.” His voice is dangerously low and seductive and darn difficult to resist.
“But Regina—”
“I don’t care about Regina,” he insists.
“Unfortunately I do—or at least about her wrath. It’s not something I want to initiate, at least not tonight. And by the way, I don’t believe in fortune-tellers.”
“I don’t believe in fortune-tellers or psychics either, and I also don’t believe in fearing Regina Valentine.”
“Wait a minute.” I squint his way. “You don’t believe in psychics?”
“What’s wrong with that? You just said you don’t believe in them either.”
“I don’t,” I say. “I mean, most psychics are charlatans and the word psychic itself is sort of a misnomer. People who get glimpses of the future are typically lumped with carnival workers looking to turn a buck. I’m betting the real deals would never even want to associate themselves with psychics, let alone label themselves as such. In fact, I bet the men and women who really do have that gift are actually just a little more in tune to the spiritual side of life and they prefer to be called s—seers. You know, it’s as if God Himself is sharing a preview of what’s about to happen. It wasn’t a one-off in biblical times, so I don’t know why it’s considered such an oddball occurrence today. And it’s certainly not anything from the devil. At least not with the people who truly have the talent of prophecy.” At least not with me. “And that fortune-teller outside? I’d bet good money they’re in bed with Regina Valentine.”
“You just said the devil and Regina Valentine in the same breath.” He looks almost amused.
“I’m guessing there’s more than a loose connection.”
“I tend to agree.” He frowns my way. “All right, Bowie. I can tell this entire monster takeover is stressing you out. I’ll play nice with Regina tonight, but, come morning, I’m setting her straight.”
“Perfect. Now, why don’t you head out back and keep an eye out for trouble? I’ll head to the library, then upstairs to see if I can spot anything freaky.”
“Bowie, it’s a Halloween party. Everything is freaky.” His chest expands a notch. “What happened between us last week—is that what this strange behavior is about?”
“What? No! Look. Meet me right back here in twenty minutes and we’ll have that little discussion that never really got off the ground. And if you’re a good boy, we might even have a play-by-play of the main event that’s sponsoring the conversation.” I give a cheeky wink. “Please, just be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Trust me on this, Shep.” I give a quick glance around. “Something wicked this way comes. I can feel it.”
Shep and I part ways, and I get right back to scouring this place. I do a quick once-over in the halls, the freaky foyer, and glance into the café even though it’s closed. The café sits at the very front of the Mortimer Manor.
This old, dusty mansion is more than big enough to be an active and thriving B&B, but Opal is too stingy to part with all the bedrooms she’s hogging upstairs. It’s where she stores all the couture gowns she made off with once her marriage bit the big one. As for the haunted house we have up there now, she’s only afforded us six rooms to work with. She might be raking in the cash, hand over fist, but she draws the line when the profits might cost her a diminutive living situation. I’ve yet to see Opal’s lair, but rumor has it, it’s a gilded sight to behold.
Something rattles in the foyer, catching my attention as one of the doors to the manor swings in the breeze. I had set out a couple of bricks to hold open each of the enormous front doors earlier in an effort to keep the flow of traffic moving smoothly, and I can see the left door has become dislodged. I quickly prop it back open and spot Flo and Thea at the edge of the porch, selling tickets to the masses lined up to enter. Flo is basically a Goth princess with harshly dyed black hair, black lipstick, nail polish and eyeshadow to match, all of which are routine for her in and out of this spooky season. Thea is her fresh-scrubbed, freckle-faced, far too friendly counterpart, and they both happen to wait tables for me at the café.