VII

I should've felt better about the case now that all the vampires were dust and I'd crossed a few suspects off the list, but I didn't. After taking Miss Summers back to Spellbound and advising her to keep her head down until we knew who was after her, I stopped by the precinct to talk to Officer Fordham. The desk sergeant said he was out on a beat, but wouldn't give me any information beyond that. The Finch case had kept me busy uptown for so long that my police contacts had eroded, and I wasn't looking forward to building those back up. I didn't want to stop for the night until I had something more solid, so I went back to my office and started working on another batch of sketches to show the Harris kid. I was just finishing up the drawing of Dirk when my phone rang. I checked the clock. Who would call at four in the morning?

I picked up the earpiece and pulled the receiver closer to my mouth. "Hello?"

"This Angelus?"

"Yeah."

"It's Danny Osbourne."

I sat up straighter in my chair. "Is Miss Chase alright?" I asked.

"She passed out not long after you and Miss Summers left. It's not the first time that's happened to someone at one of these parties, but it seemed like a weird coincidence that it would happen to her in particular. I went poking around the penthouse once the band was packing up to leave, and I found her sleeping in her room. I don't think anything happened."

I relaxed a little. "Thanks for letting me know."

"You're welcome."

I hung up the phone, trying not to feel disappointed. It was much easier to feel guilty. I probably shouldn't have dumped the news that her father had attempted to murder her boyfriend on her so bluntly. I finished up the last sketch and left to go find Harris. I caught him just as he was leaving the newspaper office with his morning haul of papers.

"Jeez, can you stop creeping up on me out of nowhere?" he said when I grabbed one of his handlebars to prevent him riding off.

"Miss Summers and I killed these five vampires a few hours ago. Who do you recognize?"

He took the sketches and thumbed through them in the light of the streetlamp. He handed back Dirk and the second pair we'd staked, but held onto the first pair. "These two are the only ones I didn't see."

"Any you did see that we haven't killed yet?"

"Not that I recall."

"Keep an eye out anyway. Whoever hired these guys is still out there. Anything you see or overhear could be the key to identifying him before he gets another shot at Miss Summers." I held out the twenty I'd won from betting on Wood.

He batted my hand away. "You don't have to pay me to help keep Miss Summers safe."

"When Mrs. Summers hired you, did it seem like she already had a reason to suspect her daughter might be in danger, or did she just want to spy on her?"

Harris frowned for a second. "Now that you mention it, she did seem worried. And she was wearing the sort of clothes a lady would wear if she didn't want anyone to pay attention to her."

"Big hat, cheap coat?" I suggested, remembering how she'd been dressed when she hired me.

"Yeah. The shoes and the jewelry still gave her away, though. She told me to call her as soon as I saw anything unusual. I didn't really think about it at the time—too distracted by the hundred dollar bill she slapped into my hand—but she seemed pretty sure there would be something for me to see."

"I think I'm going to need to have another word with Mrs. Summers," I said, and I turned to go.

"Hey!" he called after me. I paused. "Can you tell me how it goes?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "What? This is like living in an Agatha Christie. I gotta know how it ends!"

†

I waited until nine o'clock before picking up the phone and giving the operator the number Mrs. Summers had given me. It rang for a while before someone picked up once the call connected. "Hello?" said a slightly irritated female voice.

"Is this Mrs. Summers?" I asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Angelus. I was hoping we could meet to discuss your account."

"Why? I thought the way this worked was that you would do your job and then I'd pay you afterward."

Now that was interesting. Why would she assume the case wasn't already solved? My gut had been telling me all along that she knew more than she was saying; this seemed to confirm it. How I reacted would determine whether or not she shared any of that information with me.

"It is," I said.

"What?" she said. She sounded skeptical. "How can you be sure?"

"When can we meet?"

She exhaled loudly into the receiver. "I suppose I could make it over to your office this afternoon."

"Swell," I said. Feigning blissful ignorance of her mood was perhaps more entertaining than it should have been. "What time should I expect you?"

"I don't know exactly. Sometime between two and four."

"Very well, but if I'm with another client when you arrive, you might have to wait." I should be so lucky; my only other client at the moment was Doyle. But if Mrs. Summers thought I was busier than that and ready to move on from her case, it might help her feel anxious enough to drop more clues.

"Thank you for your time," she said acidly.

I had barely set the earpiece back in the cradle when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Mrs. Summers calling back to give me a piece of her mind, I picked it up without much enthusiasm. "Hello?"

"Mr. Carter!" said the eager voice on the other end. "You're still expecting my Cordelia for that audition at one o'clock, aren't you?"

"Of course, Mrs. Chase," I said. Apparently Miss Chase had decided to skip the part where she scheduled the audition with me first. Even though I wasn't expecting it, I had to admit that using her mother as unwitting corroboration would likely make it a much stronger alibi if her father asked questions. "She'll have to come alone. I have some costumes and set pieces with me for the film that I'm trying to keep under wraps."

I could almost hear Mrs. Chase's pout. "Well, if you insist. She's doing voice exercises right now. She's very excited to work with you. Do feel free to drop by whenever you'd like to discuss your business, even if she isn't available." Judging from her tone, what she was imagining wouldn't involve much discussion. I bade her as polite a farewell as I could muster. I wondered what she'd do if she knew the young producer she was trying to flirt with was actually older than anyone she'd ever met. Then again, judging by the age of her husband, it might only make her try even harder.

Miss Chase arrived a quarter of an hour before one. Doyle was thrilled to see her, but though she greeted him with a heartfelt kiss and fussed over his injuries for a few minutes, it quickly became apparent that she had a larger agenda than visiting her boyfriend. I was trying to discreetly head up to my office so they could have some privacy in my living room when she said, "Not so fast, Mister." I turned around. She was standing up next to the couch, hands on hips.

"Uh, Cordelia, I don't think Angelus really needs to hang around," said Doyle.

"Yes he does!" she said, swatting away the hand he was using to try and pull her back down to the couch.

"What can I help you with?" I asked.

"Oh, I'll tell you what you can help me with. I want to hire you to investigate Betty Summers, because I think she's trying to kill me!"

"What?" Doyle and I said in unison.

"Why would you think that?" I said.

"Because ten minutes after she handed me that wine glass, everything went all black! And there I was thinking she was being nice. I woke up this morning in my bed, still wearing my dress, which is completely crumpled, and I'll never be able to wear that feathered headband again."

"That must've been what Dirk was talking about," I said.

"Who's Dirk?" said Miss Chase.

"A dead vampire," said Doyle.

"He and his buddies tried to kidnap Miss Summers last night, and they were expecting her to be losing consciousness by the time they caught up to her. The drugged wine was meant for her, not you." And the person responsible definitely didn't know much about Slayers, or the dose would've been enough to do much worse to Miss Chase than merely knock her out.

"Well then why did she give it to me?" Miss Chase demanded.

"You were upset and she didn't know it was drugged."

She frowned, looking from me to Doyle, then back again, the anger melting off her face. "You're serious. Someone's really going after her?"

"Yeah."

"Then there's more going on than just Daddy trying to have Doyle killed?"

"I've been working Miss Summers' case since Tuesday."

She bit her lip, clutching Doyle's hand tightly. "In that case, could I hire you to see if anything's wrong with my friend Ginny? Virginia Bryce, I mean. We always go for lunch on Saturdays, but she didn't show up today, and she hasn't called. She's never missed it before."

I didn't want to tell her she probably had nothing to worry about—not when she'd just helped me realize something crucial about Miss Summers' case. So I didn't. "What can you tell me about her?"

†

Miss Chase was gone before Mrs. Summers arrived, much to Doyle's disappointment, but she hadn't left without making plans for additional auditions and acting contract meetings so that she could keep seeing him until I found out more about what her father was up to and had looked into Miss Bryce's situation.

Mrs. Summers sat down in the same chair in front of my desk as she had on Tuesday. She was as bad as usual at blending in, still with cheap outerwear against expensive pearls. "I'm here," she said, "now what makes you so sure you've solved the case?"

I spread the eight sketches on the desk in front of her. "These are the vampires Mr. Harris overheard plotting to attack Miss Summers. They're all dust."

She stared at the sketches, her gloved fingers twisting the straps of her handbag. I waited for her to speak. "How can you be sure that's the end of it? What if they're working for someone?"

"Like who?" I asked.

She resumed the twisting of the handbag straps. If she kept it up, she was going to need to buy a new one.

"Mrs. Summers, what can you tell me about this woman?" I pulled out a ninth sketch—one I'd done in the half-hour since Miss Chase's departure—and placed it directly in front of her on the desk.

She recoiled slightly and her expression filled with hatred. "What does Catherine Madison have to do with any of this?"

"Everything, potentially. You see, Miss Summers and I attended the Chases' soirée last night. Miss Chase passed out after drinking a glass of wine intended for your daughter. If I were to investigate the other guests to see if any of them had a reason to try drugging Miss Summers, I'd start with people who already have unpleasant history with her." I tapped the sketch. "Her father's mistress would be at the top of that list."

I watched Mrs. Summers carefully as I said this. She refused to meet my gaze, but stared resolutely at the sketch. "Mrs. Summers, is there a reason you won't tell me more? Is it more important than Miss Summers' life?"

At last, she looked at me, her expression strained. "I've told you everything I can," she said, clutching at her pearls.

I narrowed my eyes. "But not everything you know?"

She shook her head very slowly, staring at me with wide eyes. The amount of pressure she was putting on those pearls should have snapped the string they were on. I noticed that the skin where pearls lay was scarred, as though from recently healed burns.

She wasn't staying silent by choice. Someone was trying to keep her from talking, and she'd found a way to outsmart them just enough for a detective to do the rest.

I nodded once at her.

Relief flashed over her face. "Thank you."

†

I slept the last few daylight hours away and was woken up by Doyle at sunset. "Miss Summers called about an hour ago," he said. "Said she wants you to tell her anything you've found out since last night, and that she'll be patrolling Central Park up to 72nd Street if you're planning on working the case more."

I let out something between a groan and a chuckle. "That girl has more moxie than all the fighters in Spike's ring; of course she wasn't going to lie low." I dressed quickly. "I'll catch up with her after I find Ford and check on Virginia Bryce. If I'm right, then Miss Summers' case will closed before dawn."

"Then you're actually going to investigate Miss Bryce? I thought you were just trying to placate Cordelia. I didn't think it was a real priority."

"She's paying me to treat it like one. And even if nothing comes of it, it's still useful," I said, now tying my tie while looking for my shoes. "Mr. Bryce is friends with Mr. Chase and Mr. Summers, so it'll give me good reason to question both of them about the other two cases."

†

The same grumpy desk sergeant was on duty when I returned to the precinct. He gave me a baleful look over the top of his newspaper. "You here about Fordham again?"

"I am," I said. "He could be a key witness in my investigation."

"Well you won't find him here tonight."

"Any chance I could persuade you to share his beat route with me this time?"

"Even if there was, it wouldn't matter anymore. He was promoted to detective today."

Judging by the man's tone, he didn't approve of the promotion. "You don't seem that happy for him."

"Well, I won't be buying him a gift basket, that's for sure."

"Does he not deserve it?"

"He's missed one in every ten shifts and it was a miracle if he showed up to all of his checkpoints on a beat. You tell me if that sounds like he deserved a promotion."

"Can't say that it does."

"And now, less than twelve hours with his new badge, they've got him on a high profile missing persons case in the Upper East Side. I got a feeling 'Detective Fordham' won't be of much use to the people here in the Kitchen."

"Isn't the Upper East Side the 10th precinct? What's he doing solving a case there?"

"Hell if I know. I figure it's either he's angling for a transfer or the 10th are too lazy to solve their own cases."

"I'll let you know if I find out which it is."

"You do that," he said indifferently, his attention back on his newspaper.

I'm really fond of the grumpy desk sergeant. He's not based on any canon characters. And Joyce isn't just a bigoted elitist! Hooray!

Can I get some help bringing "moxie" back into common usage too?