J.R. Rains Vampire for Hire World_Dead Ahead Read online

  DEAD AHEAD

  by

  EVE PAUDAN

  Crescent Moon Mystery #1

  Dead Ahead

  Published by Rain Press

  Copyright © 2018 by Rain Press

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  (Dead Ahead is based on the characters created by J.R. Rain; the use of story situations and supporting characters from the “Vampire for Hire” universe is authorized by J.R Rain.)

  Dedication

  For Mark and Chrissy

  Acknowledgments

  J. R. Rain, thank you for creating Samantha Moon, the most compelling vampire since Dracula, and for making her the mom of Tammy and Anthony, two fantastic kids.

  Thanks again to Tracy Seybold for being such a wonderful editor.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Books by Eve Paludan in J. R. Rain’s Vampire for Hire World

  Other Books by Eve Paludan

  About the Author

  Dead Ahead

  Chapter 1

  Samantha Moon was watching Judge Judy while using a Dremel to round off her jet-black, pointy vampire fingernails. In her usual brash style, Judge Judy was reaming out a woman for assaulting her roommate over missing Tupperware when Sam’s phone rang. She paused the show, turned off the power tool, and answered the call.

  “Moon Investigations. Samantha Moon speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hi,” said an unfamiliar deep male voice. “I heard you do surveillance-type investigations.”

  “That’s one of my most requested services,” Sam replied, “believe it or not.”

  “I believe it.”

  “Did you see one of my online ads? I’ve been trying that out.”

  “No, a friend gave me your name and number.”

  “One of my former clients referred you?”

  “No. A cop. Detective Sherbet. He said he’s worked some cases with you and you’re the best at surveillance he’s ever met.”

  Vampires usually are. “We’ve solved some interesting cases together. How do you know Detective Sherbet?”

  “He calls me ‘the pusher.’”

  “Excuse me?” Sam replied.

  “I own a donut shop that he frequents, when he’s not cheating on me at another donut shop, that is.”

  She almost laughed but restrained herself. “Now, there’s a steady customer for you.”

  “He says my pink frosted donuts are addictive. Over the last ten years, he’s come into my shop two or three times a week.”

  I’ll bet he does. “That was nice of him to give you my name. May I know yours?”

  “Sorry, of course. My name is Tyrone Tarkington.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Tarkington?”

  “You can call me Tyrone.”

  “Thank you, Tyrone. You can call me Sam.” She waited patiently for him to unload his baggage. When he didn’t, she finally said, “Can you tell me the purpose of the surveillance?”

  He sighed. “I called you because I think my wife is cheating on me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She tried not to think of her cheating ex, Danny. “I can help you, but I’ll need more details. A photo or two, the year, color, make and model of her car, names of her health clubs or hair salons, the name of her employer, things like that. And if you agree to my price, I’ll need a retainer and a signed contract.”

  “What’s your price?” he asked.

  “Are you and your wife local?”

  “We’re in Fullerton.”

  “That’s where I’m located, too. It’s three-fifty a day for local spouse surveillance—a three-day retainer is required. It shouldn’t take me any longer than that.”

  “That’s a reasonable price and policy.”

  “I’m actually giving you the friend discount since you’re Sherbet’s donut dealer.”

  He chuckled, but there was bitterness behind it. “Thanks. So, have you followed a woman before?”

  “Yes. This won’t be my first time following someone’s wife. It shouldn’t take me long to get evidence. Will you want photos?”

  “No, I don’t need—or want—photos of her actually cheating on me. I just need verbal confirmation if she’s seeing someone else, so I can proceed with a divorce. California is a no-fault state, and we don’t have a prenuptial agreement or anything that would require tangible evidence of infidelity. And I really don’t want to drag her reputation through the mud—I wouldn’t want her to lose her job, which she loves.”

  “I doubt she would lose her job.”

  “Well, her employer would frown on adultery, especially if it happened on the clock.”

  “I see. That does put a different spin on it.”

  “Sam, I just need to know for myself. If she’s cheating, we don’t need to make a federal case out of it.”

  “Really?” Sam said.

  “Yes. She’s a private person and even if she’s cheating on me, I don’t want to destroy her in the eyes of everyone who knows her.”

  “That’s considerate of you, perhaps more than she deserves if she’s cheating on you.” Sam thought of Danny again and wished she hadn’t because it did no good to be angry at a dead man.

  Tyrone continued, “I don’t want to make a lot of drama because it’s about our family, too. Protecting them, I mean, from any fallout. We have three grown children and a grandchild on the way. There’s no need to shame her or harass her if she’s fallen for her partner.”

  Sam envisioned a law partner. “Her partner at work?”

  “That’s who I think it is. I’ve met him a few times in social situations like employee barbeques and baseball games. Frankly, he doesn’t seem like the cheating type either.”

  “People act differently outside of social gatherings,” Sam said. “However, how they act in private, one on one, is who they really are.”

  He hesitated. “You said a mouthful.”

  Sam nodded. “Tell me about your wife.”

  After a few seconds, he said, “Amber is the kind of woman who would have to be in love in order to cheat. She and I have been married for twenty-five years, so I just have to know if she still loves me or not. And if she doesn’t, I’m just gonna sell the donut shop and leave this marriage quietly. Maybe I’ll get an RV and go on all those trips we talked about, but never did because of the donut shop and her job, too.” His voice trembled.

  Sam felt sorry for him. “You sound pretty darn reasonable for a guy whose wife may be cheating on him.”

  “I’ve seen a marriage therapist once a week for a month. She wouldn’t go with me. The therapist advised me to get to the truth and not waste any more negative emotion on what might not even be reality.”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” Sam agreed. “Have you followed her?”

  “No. She’d definitely notice. Plus, stalking is a serious crime, even if it’s your spouse.”

  “Sounds like w
e’re on the same side here,” Sam said.

  “I hope I can keep taking the high road. I’m trying to come to terms with it all—if this infidelity even exists. I think it does, though, because she doesn’t want me anymore. In that way.”

  “Understood,” Sam said quietly. That was one of the first signs of a cheating spouse. “You’re right.”

  “Thanks for understanding,” Tyrone said. “We’re both in our early forties, still young enough to want intimacy, despite the first grandchild on the way. It’s killing me, Sam, that we’ve spent more than two decades together, only to get to this point where our lives together might end.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that.” I know how that is.

  “Thanks,” Tyrone said. “I do want to warn you that this case might be a little more difficult than you expect, so I don’t know if that changes the price of your investigation for the extra work it’ll take to follow her.”

  “Why would you think her surveillance would be more difficult than usual?” Sam asked.

  “Well, she’s a cop.”

  Uh-oh. “Okay, then.” That gave her a little pause, but she knew she could handle it. “I can follow a cop. It might be a little more difficult but no price change.”

  “Well, there’s more. She’s an undercover cop. In plainclothes and driving an undercover car. Sometimes several different cars during her work hours.”

  “That could be a challenge, but I can handle it. What department does she work in?”

  “Narcotics. Sometimes, her cases overlap with the robbery or homicide departments, but I trust Detective Sherbet in Homicide to keep it confidential that I planned to hire you.”

  “You can trust Sherbet. Do you really think she’s cheating on you during her work hours?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly when she does it because that’s when I sleep. Running a donut shop, I’m early to bed and early to rise, pardon the baking pun.”

  “I bet you have a lot of jokes about donuts and bakeries.”

  “I do. If I wasn’t so depressed, I could probably do standup comedy about being a donut maker.”

  Sam smiled and let him keep talking.

  “Sam, you’d have to follow her and figure out if she’s really working undercover all those extra hours—or just playing around on me on the clock at work.”

  “That would be exceptionally bad for her career, too.”

  “I agree. If you haven’t figured it out yet, she works the graveyard shift for the Fullerton PD.”

  Perfect. “My night vision is excellent. In fact, I do my best surveillance after sunset.”

  “Detective Sherbet did tell me you prefer to work nights.”

  “That’s correct. Okay if I email you my contract?”

  “Sure.” He gave her his email address.

  “Thanks. Hang on a sec.” It just took her just a few seconds to customize the contract template and email it to him. “Okay, I sent it.”

  Sam heard the ding of his email app.

  “Got it. I’ll read it right away.”

  “Great. Tyrone? Let’s meet up.”

  Chapter 2

  Sam texted Kingsley Fulcrum, her werewolf lawyer boyfriend: I have a new case, so I can’t meet you tonight at Versai for wine and sympathy. Can we take a rain check?

  Within a minute, she got a text back: Sure. Catch up with me when you can and next time, I’ll make it drinks and dinner.

  She texted back: Now you’re talking. XOXO. TTYL.

  It was just after 6 p.m., and Sam was feeling stronger and feistier than she ever felt during the daylight hours. Between midnight and 2 a.m., her vampire strength would hit its peak. She wore a special alchemy ring that let her go out into the sun, but, to a vampire, there was no time of day as welcoming as a just-completed sunset.

  There was no fresh blood here at Tyrone’s Donuts, except inside her new client’s veins. Her vampire energy nearly crackled with excitement, spurred on by Elizabeth, the dark entity living inside of her. Elizabeth was telling her that the donut man’s blood would be the sweetest blood she had ever tasted. Sam licked her lips but silently told her entity, Shut the hell up and stay down there in your dark corner, you conniving bitch.

  Unlike most other vampires, who had to either find a willing feeder or head to the streets for a blood meal from a random victim taken by force, Sam had a second alchemy ring, one that allowed her to consume regular food. However, the blood hunger still always simmered just beneath the surface of her conscious thoughts. Her physical needs were met by regular food, but the psychological addiction to blood was apparently forever.

  After they introduced themselves, Tyrone Tarkington turned the shop’s door sign to the We’re Closed side, locked them inside and brought Sam a generous pink box of donuts.

  She peeked inside the box. “Oh, an assortment! Thank you. They smell heavenly.”

  “And the smell is just the beginning. By the way, I have a big exhaust fan that vents out the donut aroma into the neighborhood. It makes people show up.”

  Sam smiled. “How could they not?”

  Sam and her new client—a still good-looking, but middle-aged, sandy-haired guy with blue eyes and a just a few extra pounds around his midsection—sat in a back booth of his closed donut shop. The display cases were empty and crumb-free, the customers were gone, and the tables, chairs and even the floor were whistle-clean. Tyrone and Sam were now drinking the last of what might have been the world’s best coffee out of to-go cups.

  The client contract was already signed, folded up and sitting between them on the table, along with his retainer. Sam was pleased to see Tyrone was this efficient and speedy.

  “Cash?” she said.

  “Well, I don’t want my wife to see a check written to Samantha Moon, Private Investigations. We have a joint checking account.”

  “Of course.” Without counting it, Sam put the donut-scented, rubber-banded cash in her laptop briefcase, along with the contract. “Thanks, Tyrone, for signing that before I even got here. And thanks for the donuts, too.” She grinned. “My kids will enjoy these. In fact, they’ll probably wolf them down in one evening.”

  “My feelings would be hurt if they didn’t. Do you eat donuts?” he asked.

  “Sometimes, but if I indulge in one, I make myself jog an extra mile or exercise for an hour.”

  “I should do that, but then I would have to jog, oh, eight miles a day,” he said. “Or eleven, if I’m being completely truthful.”

  “Eleven donuts a day?” Sam smirked.

  “I do have a treadmill at home, but I’m on my feet so long at this shop that I only use it about three times a week—only for about the time it takes for me to watch the national news and get tired of it and hop off.”

  Sam said, “It would be hard to work in a place with so much deliciousness around. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I don’t know how to do anything but bake. I was raised working in this shop and so was my dad. My grandfather, also named Tyrone—I’m the third one—started the business back in the day when Fullerton had more walnut and orange trees than it did people. But my grown kids—all gluten-free vegans—have taken no interest in the family business. As a one-man show, I’ve had to scale back to making only eight kinds of donuts per day. Next year, I might only make six kinds. Or five kinds. I’m not sure yet. I’m a little exhausted.”

  “I don’t blame you. It’s a lot of work to run this business on your own, I’m sure. But if you ever stop making the pink-frosted donuts, what will Detective Sherbet do?”

  “Probably lose weight and live longer.” He paused and wagged his dark-blond eyebrows. “Me, too, for that matter. I’m getting a little long in the tooth to be eating donuts all day. It’s starting to show.” He patted his little tummy.

  She gave him a wry grin. “Not so much that I noticed,” she lied a tad. “So, did you bring photos of your wife?” Sam asked, trying to be polite but also get her own business done in a timely manner.

 
“I did. I scanned and printed these pictures on computer paper in the back office, so you can keep them.”

  “You have your wife’s pictures in the back office?”

  “I do, and pictures of my kids, too.”

  “That’s sweet,” Sam said.

  “That’s me. Mr. Sentimental.” Tyrone opened a manila folder and pushed two eight-by-ten photos of his wife across the table. She was not young, but she was still very striking with her shiny, dark salt-and-pepper straight hair cut in a chic bob. She had an angular chin with a stubborn dimple in the center and intense green eyes.

  Sam perused the photo printouts. One portrait was older, with her in a police uniform. The other was really old, one of those glamour studio portraits that used to be all the rage in shopping malls, back in the ‘80s. In that one, her makeup had been professionally applied and she looked a bit stiff, as if it wasn’t really to her liking that her bare shoulders were showing in a sparkly evening gown that looked a little scratchy. Or that her hair was extra poufy-looking in a teased up-do. The makeup artist had gone a little overboard on the eyeliner, too, but Sam could see she was a knockout when she was younger.

  “She’s beautiful,” Sam observed.

  “Even still. Amber takes care of herself. Always has. She still looks almost the same as when we got married, except she quit getting her hair permed. Me? Not so much. By the time the sun sets, I’m kind of beat and I look it.”

  “And at sunset, I’m just waking up,” Sam admitted.

  “Amber, too. She’s a night owl, for sure.” Tyrone hesitantly lifted his gaze from the portraits of his wife to Sam’s face. “Have you changed a lot over a decade?”

  Sam said, “I’ve been told I’ve gotten a bit paler over the years.”

  Tyrone scrutinized her skin. “You probably just need to get outside more in the daytime,” he suggested. “Put some roses in those cheeks.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Sam joked.

  “Or maybe you can’t go out into the sun for some important reason.” Tyrone’s deep voice went up in pitch, as if he had just noticed something important about her. Something a bit scary. Sam noticed he was looking at her black fingernails with chagrin.