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A dull laugh rattles through her. “Oh honey, I won’t hide it. I didn’t care for the woman after she pulled that stunt. But let’s not toss around the word motive willy-nilly. That sounds downright judicial. Clawdia and I wanted the same things in life: to dominate the airwaves, and for the most part we did. These people didn’t come out because they hate us. They’re here because they can’t get enough.”

“I more than agree with you. In fact, I’ve never seen more rabid fans—my family and friends included.”

Duchess lashes her tail through the night as she looks up at Vampyra with her eyes as wide as saucers.

I’m making sad puppy-dog eyes, Duchess is quick to proclaim. Sherlock Bones told me all about it. He says there is no greater weapon to get a suspect to spill their guts. Is it working, Bizzy? I can feel her trembling. I think she’s about to confess!

“You know,” Vampyra says, looking at me over Duchess’s head. “If you want to know what Clawdia was really up to lately, you should talk to Miss Kitty Cadaver.”

Was that a confession? Duchess sits straight up. Oh wait…she just pointed the finger at someone else, didn’t she?

I give a little shrug because she sort of did. But hey, at least we’re getting somewhere. I hope.

“Miss Kitty?” I ask. “The bubbly YouTube wonder with the pink pigtails?”

“Don’t let the cotton candy act fool you. Those two were thick as thieves these last few weeks. Unhappy thieves, but thieves nonetheless.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw them arguing backstage at multiple events. Clawdia was either mentoring her or controlling her—I couldn’t tell which. But nevertheless, it was intense.” She pauses a moment to scratch behind the cute cat’s ears. “Kitty is young. Impressionable. And Clawdia knew exactly how to use that for her best interests.”

Duchess glances up at her in the midst of what looks like the best massage on the planet. Vampyra’s voice changes when she talks about Clawdia. She sounds downright bitter. Hurt, even. She opens one eye my way. Hey, if it turns out she’s the killer, do you think I could pay a visit in prison? I’d really hate to lose out on one of these rubdowns. She really does have it down to an art.

“What were they working on?” I ask, trying my best not to envision her in an orange jumpsuit.

Vampyra shrugs. “I don’t know specifics. But whatever it was, Kitty looked stressed out about it. And Clawdia?” She lets out a short laugh. “She looked like she’d just won a million dollars.”

Fish and Sherlock come running this way and do a little loop around Vampyra and me.

“Hey hey, the gang’s all here.” Vampyra laughs.

“These two also belong to me,” I’m quick to tell her. “That’s my cat, Fish, and my sweet dog, Sherlock Bones.”

“Oh wow.” Her brow arches into her dark hairline. “Sherlock Bones? You must love a good mystery.”

Or a can of tuna, Fish mewls, and I quickly scoop her up.

“My husband is a detective with the Seaview Sheriff’s Department.” So much for playing it cool.

Interesting, Vampyra muses to herself as she inspects me in this new light. Why do I get the feeling I’m being investigated by a rookie amateur sleuth and her furry menagerie, too?

I frown because she just hit the furry nail on the head. There goes any hope of garnering any more clues from her. That is, if she has anything to hide.

“Vampyra, do you think Miss Kitty had something to do with this?” I soften my tone because now I’m asking as a friend, not the rookie amateur sleuth like she accused me of being. And besides, I’m pretty sure a rookie amateur is an oxymoron.

“I think you should ask her what she and Clawdia were up to. Because whatever it was, it wasn’t any good.” I’m about to press further when she shifts her attention to the festival grounds teeming with bodies. “You know what the worst part about this industry is?” she says, holding Duchess close to her chest now as if she needs her to keep warm. “Women are taught to tear each other down from day one. It’s conditioning. We’re supposed to compete, not collaborate. Clawdia didn’t just participate in that. She made it an art form.” She made it personal. She always made it personal. That witch ruined far more than one deal.

There’s real anger underneath her words now—especially those she’s not speaking.

“You were up on that stage last night with everyone else,” I say. “Cocktail in hand. What went through your mind when you saw that Clawdia collapsed?”

Vampyra closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. “I hardly touched my drink. I set it down after the toast. I’m not a big drinker, and it was far too sweet for my taste.” Her lips press tight. “Anyway, those cocktails were just like Clawdia. They were over-the-top and all for show.”

An obvious disdain rises in her voice as she says it. But there’s something else layered in there too. I was standing right there during that toast, and I watched all of the Scream Queens on that stage drain their glasses in unison. Vampyra was no exception.

I’m pretty sure she just lied to my face. I’m just not sure why.

Vampyra’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she shifts Duchess to check it. Her face changes. Not dramatically, but enough that I notice.