The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,79

opened the door.

On the way out, Jon’s warning played through my head. “I’m sorry. Can I ask you one more question?”

“Sure,” he said, looking a little stiff. “Shoot.”

“Are any of the neighbors suspects?”

The detective’s smile was coy. He took a moment to answer. “Let’s just say there are a few people who haven’t been cleared yet.”

“Thank you.” I wanted to kiss the man but I didn’t. For one thing, he was wearing a wedding ring. Instead, I practically danced out of the police station. My heart felt light. My over-wound nerves were unknotting with each deep breath I took. Ah, the joy of breathing easy. I hadn’t even realized how freaked out I’d been.

I sang to Lady Gaga’s “Telephone” as I drove home. At the top of my lungs. I collected a few stares as I waited for the traffic light to change. But I didn’t care. I was too happy to worry about what anyone thought. Jon’s wife might have been killed. That was a terrible tragedy, one I shouldn’t take lightly—not for Josh, not for Jon—but at least I didn’t need to worry that I was living with a killer.

After checking the house, and finding I was alone—Jon had said he was going to work and Josh was at a local fair with a friend—I headed down to my girl-cave and pulled out my sketchbook. It had been weeks since I’d had time to work on my collection, with the move and everything. I flipped through my drawings.

Flat.

Boring.

Blech.

Yuck.

What in the world had made me think these designs were any good? Sheesh.

I flipped to a fresh page and gathered a handful of freshly sharpened pencils.

Hours flew by.

I took the occasional break to stretch and eat. Before I knew it, the world outside my window was dark. I took a look at the day’s work—hoping I wouldn’t open my sketchbook tomorrow and think it all sucked—before shutting everything down and going upstairs.

The house was dark. Über quiet. Empty.

I padded into the kitchen for a snack before heading into the family room. I channel-surfed for about two minutes. Cut off the TV. Nothing worth watching. I glanced outside at the deck, the nicely wooded backyard, the silvery moon.

What the heck? I headed outside and flopped onto one of the chaise lounges on the deck.

The air smelled great, like freshly mown grass and damp earth. It was so quiet I could hear the insects, the birds, the skittering of an animal somewhere—I hoped that was just a squirrel. Finding one of Josh’s baseball bats sitting propped up against the house, I moved it next to my chair. Just in case.

I glanced up. There were a couple of floodlights pointed down at me. They weren’t lit, so they weren’t activated by a motion sensor. Must be a switch inside somewhere.

The distant sound of someone shouting echoed through the neighborhood. It was coming from ... I turned my head ... that way.

Hmmm ...

I’ll admit, I’m nosy by nature. Add in the possibility that one of my neighbors might be a suspected murderer, and I couldn’t resist the impulse to snoop. I followed the sound of the voices. They were coming from Erica’s house. She was the one who was yelling. Interesting. Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected was having a moment.

There was no fence between our yards. Convenient.

The visibly furious Erica was in the family room, which, like ours, opened onto a wide deck in the backyard. Her back was to the door wall, arms flailing. Thanks to the fact that the wide glass doors were open, I could catch bits and pieces of what she was saying. None of it was nice. Her poor husband. She didn’t have a shred of respect for the bastard. Not an ounce.

But hey, she’d said he was handy with power tools. That had to count for something.

After throwing one last insult about his lack of skills in the bedroom—low blow, if you asked me—she stormed out of the room. The show was over. Just as I was about to head back home, something lunged out from behind a low shrub and sank its fangs into my ankle.

I screamed like a girl. Couldn’t help myself. Then I did what anyone else would do. I kicked my foot like a wild woman while running as fast as I could with some ferocious beast tearing at my flesh. It was agony. I mean, seeing-stars painful. Stomach-clenching painful. Tears-welling painful. I slammed my ankle against everything I could. A tree trunk. The