At 5:15 that afternoon I was on the phone to Richard Zeeman. "Hi, Richard, this is Anita Blake."

"Nice to hear your voice." His voice was smiling over the phone; I could almost feel it.

"I forgot that I've got a Halloween party to go to Saturday afternoon. They started the party during daylight so I could make an appearance. I can't not show up."

"I understand," he said. His voice was very carefully neutral—neutral cheerful.

"Would you like to be my date for the party? I have to work Halloween night, of course, but the day could be ours."

"And the caving?"

"A rain check," I said.

"Two dates; this could be serious."

"You're laughing at me," I said.

"Never."

"Shit, do you want to go or not?"

"If you promise to go caving a week from Saturday."

"My solemn word," I said.

"It's a deal." He was quiet on the phone for a minute. "I don't have to wear a costume for this party, do I?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I said.

He sighed.

"Backing out?"

"No, but you owe me two dates for humiliating myself in front of strangers."

I grinned and was glad he couldn't see it, I was entirely too pleased. "Deal."

"What costume are you wearing?" he asked.

"I haven't got one yet. I told you I forgot the party; I meant it."

"Hmm," he said. "I think picking out costumes should tell a lot about a person, don't you?"

"This close to Halloween we'll be lucky to find anything in our size."

He laughed. "I might have an ace up my sleeve."

"What?"

He laughed again. "Don't sound so damn suspicious. I've got a friend who's a Civil War buff. He and his wife do re-creations."

"You mean like dress up?"

"Yes."

"Will they have the right sizes?"

"What size dress do you wear?"

That was a personal question for someone who'd never even kissed me. "Seven," I said.

"I would have guessed smaller."

"I'm too chesty for a six, and they don't make six and a halfs."

"Chesty, woo, woo."

"Stop it."

"Sorry, couldn't resist," he said.

My beeper went off. "Damn."

"What's that sound?"

"My beeper," I said. I pressed the button and it flashed the number—the police. "I have to take it. Can I call you back in a few minutes, Richard?"

"I'll wait with bated breath."

"I'm frowning at the phone, I hope you know that."

"Thanks for sharing that. I'll wait here by the phone. Call me when you're done with (sob) work."

"Cut it out, Richard."

"What'd I do?"

"Bye, Richard, talk to you soon."

"I'll be waiting," he said.

"Bye, Richard." I hung up before he could make any more "pitiful me" jokes. The really sad part was I thought it was cute. Gag me with a spoon.

I called Dolph's number. "Anita?"

"Yeah."

"We got another vampire victim. Looks the same as the first one, except it's a woman."

"Damn," I said softly.

"Yeah, we're over here at DeSoto."

"That's farther south than Arnold," I said.

"So?" he said.

"Nothing, just give me the directions."

He did.

"It'll take me at least an hour to get there," I said.

"The stiff's not going anywhere, and neither are we." He sounded discouraged.

"Cheer up, Dolph, I may have found a clue."

"Talk."

"Veronica Sims recognized the name Cal Rupert. Description matches."

"What are you doing talking to a private detective?" He sounded suspicious.

"She's my workout partner, and since she just gave us our first clue, I'd sound a little more grateful, if I were you."

"Yeah, yeah. Hurrah for the private sector. Now talk."

"A Cal Rupert was a member of HAV about two months ago. The description matches."

"Revenge killings?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Half of me hopes it's a pattern. At least we'd have some place to start looking." He made a sound between a laugh and a snort. "I'll tell Zerbrowski you found a clue. He'll like that."

"All us Dick Tracy Crimebusters speak police lingo," I said.

"Police lingo?" I could feel the grin over the phone. "You find any more clues, you let us know."

"Aye, aye, Sergeant."

"Can the sarcasm," he said.

"Please, I always use fresh sarcasm, never canned."

He groaned. "Just get your butt out here so we can all go home." The phone went dead. I hung up.

Richard Zeeman answered on the second ring. "Hello."

"It's Anita."

"What's up?"

"The message was from the police. They need my expertise."

"A preternatural crime?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Is it dangerous?"

"To the person who was killed, yeah."

"You know that's not what I meant," he said.

"It's my job, Richard. If you can't deal with it, maybe we shouldn't date at all."

"Hey, don't get defensive. I just wanted to know if you would be in any personal danger." His voice was indignant.

"Fine. I've got to go."

"What about the costumes? Do you want me to call my friend?"

"Sure."

"Will you trust me to pick your costume?" he asked.

I thought about that for a few heartbeats. Did I trust him to get me a costume? No. Did I have time to hunt up a costume on my own? Probably not. "Why not?" I said. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"We'll survive the party and then next week we'll go crawl in the mud."

"I can't wait," I said.

He laughed. "Neither can I."

"I've got to go, Richard."

"I'll have the costumes at your apartment for inspection. I'll need directions."

I gave him directions.

"I hope you like your costume."

"Me too. Talk to you later." I hung the receiver on the pay phone's cradle and stared at it. That had been too easy. Too smooth. He'd probably pick out a terrible costume for me. We'd both have a miserable time and be trapped into a second date with each other. Eek!

Ronnie handed me a can of fruit juice and took a sip of her own. She had cranberry and I had ruby red grapefruit. I couldn't stand cranberry.

"What'd cutesie pie say?"

"Please don't call him that," I said.

She shrugged. "Sorry, it just sort of slipped out." She had the grace to look embarrassed.

"I forgive you, this once."

She grinned, and I knew she wasn't repentant. But I'd ribbed her often enough about her dates. Turnabout is fair play. Payback is a bitch.