Quickly, she said, ‘Why don’t you leave those posters in place, Grandma? Actually, why don’t you come to the book-signing yourselves? It’ll give you a good clue to who’s vampire-mad in town.’
‘That’s right,’ Ivy said, brightening. ‘It could work like a trap, to draw them in. And you never know – one of the book fans might even be the blogger.’
‘My goodness,’ the Countess said. She exchanged a glance with the Count. ‘That is an excellent idea!’
Ivy glowed at the praise, and the Count beamed down at both of his granddaughters, dropping his stack of posters into a nearby bin. ‘Obviously, you girls have inherited your detective skills from my side of the family.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The Countess raised her eyebrows. ‘Do I have to remind you that it was my family line that included Giovanni, the famous Vampire Investigator of old?’
‘Now, now, my dear.’ The Count’s eyes glinted with mischief as he baited his wife. ‘You can hardly claim a nineteenth cousin!’
Olivia stepped aside to make her phone call, but she was so drawn into watching the humorous bickering between her grandparents that she barely noticed that Holly’s phone had gone to voicemail. ‘Holly, this is . . . oops.’ A beep sounded, signalling that she’d been cut off.
Never mind, I’ll just send her a text.
She typed it in quickly, as Ivy warned their grandparents about the garlic issue in the mall.
‘If you want to stay out here to keep safe . . .’ Ivy began.
‘Absolutely not.’ The Count set his jaw proudly. ‘Now that we’ve been warned, I can take it.’
‘And I came prepared for every eventuality,’ said the Countess. She reached into the pocket of her green-and-orange golfing trousers and pulled out a tiny bottle of Chanel No. 5. ‘There!’ She spritzed a cloud around her neck and hair. ‘Safely shielded.’ She gave the Count a stern look. ‘And I warn you, dear, if you make any more claims about your great-aunt Helga, I’ll spray you with it, too!’
The Count and Countess were still bickering over ancient family history when they reached the bookstore. S. K. Reardon – a tallish man with a mop of blond hair – sat at the front table holding a gold pen ready to sign his books.
Unfortunately, Olivia could see that there was no queue of eager readers waiting to have their books signed, the way there had been at Jackson’s event. There are hardly any customers in the shop at all! Poor man, Olivia thought.
As she stepped inside, her eyes locked with Reardon’s for an awkward moment. Desperate hope flashed across his face. He lifted his pen in anticipation.
Oh no, Olivia thought. ‘Quickly!’ she mumbled to the others. ‘Pick up a book, pick up a book!’
‘What? Oh, yes. Of course.’ The Count quickly scooped up a copy of Bare Throats at Sunset from the towering – and previously untouched – pile at the front of the store. ‘Er.’ He coughed and hurried towards the table, where S. K. Reardon was watching them intensely. ‘Would you mind?’
‘Of course not! I’d be delighted.’ Reardon snatched the book from his hands before the Count could even finish his request. ‘I hope you enjoy . . .’ His words trailed off as he looked up and found the Countess giving him a death-glare from over the Count’s shoulder. The author’s pen froze before it even reached the page.
She looked him up and down with obvious disdain, and he visibly gulped, the pen sliding out of his grip. ‘Ah, can I help you with anything else?’
‘Just tell me this, S. K.,’ the Countess said icily, as the Count picked the unsigned book back up and began to flip through the opening pages. ‘Do you happen to have a blag ?’
Oh no, Olivia thought. She wanted to do something, but she was frozen with horror. Ivy had already moved away, circulating through the shop with a watchful gaze.
‘An, erm, what?’ The author looked confused.
‘You know!’ The Countess waved one hand impatiently, nearly hitting him on the nose. ‘Are you a blagger?’
S. K. Reardon stiffened in outrage. ‘I have been called many things, madam, but a blagger is not one of them!’
‘Hmmph.’ The Countess sniffed. ‘Well, I suppose you’re no real danger, then.’
‘Excuse me?’ He stared at her.
‘I wish you well with your little . . . book,’ the Countess said stiffly, turning away.
She bumped into the Count, who had been completely absorbed by the novel. With his vampire speed-reading, he had nearly finished the whole thing. ‘I say!’ He looked up at the author, wide-eyed. ‘This book is fantastic!’
‘It is?’ S. K. brightened, looking pathetically hopeful.
‘It really is! Although of course no real vampire would –’