Beach Blanket Bloodbath (Amanda Feral Book 4) (12 page)

Then again, I do tend to sling mud first
and throw a wet nap later.

“You decent?” Longshoreman buttoned his plaid
shirt and cocked his head, listening.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m
clothed, so, I guess?”

He turned, descending the dune in three
aggressive strides. “Have we met?”

“Unlikely.”

He nodded but stood there transfixed,
looking me up and down as one might the butcher’s case. I couldn’t help but
notice his mouth and those teeth peeking through his broad smile, sharper than
they had any right to be. Not in a vampiric way, but a lack of access to
orthodontia. He seemed to have too many canines.

“Were you at the theater, tonight?”

I nodded. “I guess. Not really any of my
business, though.”

He shrugged, began to turn back the way
he came and then stopped, swiveling toward me. “Wait. I do remember you. I got
the distinct impression you were oogling me.”

“Oogling? Two o’s?”

“Yep.”

“Well, since that’s not technically a
word, I’m certain I wasn’t doing it.”

“Fine. You were sizing me up. Taking my
measurements.”

“I’m not a tailor. I’m not sure what you’re
getting at.” I did, of course, but it’s important to string these things along,
let the guy know you enjoy a chase, especially since he was making all this
shit up. Men love the banter. The more salacious the better—watch and
learn.

“Alright then,” he said, eyelids suddenly
heavy. “How’s this, you were imagining fucking me.”

My mouth dropped open, he’d stolen my
line!

He continued. “I was frankly surprised
when you didn’t cross that parking lot and blow me right there in front of the
grieving and the bloodthirsty.”

Bloodthirsty? Did he mean Gil or the
crowd?

I scoffed. “That would’ve never happened.
You’re far too greasy for my taste.”

He closed the distance between us, tilting
his head. I could feel his dark eyes tracing my outline, making plans for me. “And
you’re sure of that?”

His scent radiated. Wet. Oceanic.
Ferrous. And then, somewhere beneath that, a subtle fragrance of skin creams
and makeup. What the fuck? It’s like two people. Didn’t make sense. Unless he
was both a skin diver and a tranny, which wasn’t outside of the realm of
possibility. But he cut quite a masculine figure and his voice was so deep, he’d
make the shittiest drag queen ever.

I shrugged.

He shrugged and smiled as though the
whole routine was a joke. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“I’m headed to the Driftwood for a drink.”

“Sounds like a date.”

“Nope.”

“Sounds like it could be a date.”

“Listen. I don’t know you from Adam. As
far as I know, you could be the guy that ate that girl in the alley.”

The breath caught in his throat and he
seemed to mull this over before extending his hand. “My name is Thad. Thad
Chumley.”

I accepted his greeting with more than a
little reticence, but when I did his big hand enveloped mine in a near
blistering heat. “Nice to meet you,” I said, jerking my hand away. “I’m Amanda.”

“Cold hands, warm heart,” Thad said,
laying it on thick.

“It’s no date, Thad. I just need a drink,
it’s been a shitty day.”

“Well, at least let me walk you down to
the Driftwood. The beach isn’t safe for a single lady at night. Didn’t Mrs.
Winterford explain?”

“No.” In fact, just the opposite as I
recalled. She’d insisted this was the path of least resistance. I should have
known she’d led me astray when I had to take off my shoes. “How did you know I
was staying at Mrs. Winterford’s?”

“Hers is the only accommodation on this
end of the spit.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll tell me all the
reasons why I’m taking my life into my own hands as we walk then. Also, don’t
skimp on the part where you’re offering excellent protection in an attempt to
make yourself feel manlier. That’s always helpful.”

He ignored my slight. “It’s nothing
really, just a rash of disappearances. Nothing a woman like you couldn’t
handle.”

“You have no idea,” I mumbled. “So how
many is a rash exactly. Four? Five?”

“Thirteen. Occasionally they’ll find a
foot, still in its shoe. Those usually wash up in Canada, for some reason.”

“Just the feet?”

“They found a wrist once. Just the wrist.”

It took everything I had in me to keep
from saying that wrists were my favorite. When I was alive I used to love hot
wings, but not the drumstick, the part with the two bones. The one you had to
work for. The sweetest meat is the hardest to get, they always say—and by
they, I mean me. I’ve never actually heard that before. In fact, I just made it
up. Plus, the delicate little bones make great toothpicks.

Thad offered his arm and against my
better judgment I accepted. We walked about twenty feet before we arrived at
the back door of the bar. Fishing nets obscured a smoking area; buoys lined a
crushed seashell path to the door. Exactly what you’d expect of an aging hooch
shack.

“Well, I’m glad we had this chat, Thad. You
could have saved a shitload of time by just pointing.”

Thad grinned, those jagged teeth sort of
growing on me. Probably because they seemed to go with his predatory behavior. That’s
when it dawned on me. I coughed and spat the word quickly, “Wereshark.”

Thad’s brows raised and his grin
stretched into a full-blown smile. “I’m not sure I heard you.”

“Oh, I think you did.”

“Let’s talk about it inside. They have an
excellent bourbon selection.”

And that’s all he had to say. He was so
much more charming when he was leading me to the liquor.

The Driftwood looked exactly like you’d
expect it to, wooden ship steering wheels, seagulls on posts and a barnacled
porthole for every booth. We sidled up to the bar, the keep not so much
greeting us as gargling a welcome through a gaping hole in his neck that he
tamped off with the butt of a lit cigar.

“Mr. Chumley. Miss. What’ll it be?”

“The lady’s going to need some brown
stuff, Burt,” Thad said, slapping the bar top. “On the rocks and some of that
old brine you keep for us sharks in the back for me.”

“You got it.”

He disappeared through a swinging door
and when I returned my gaze to Thad, I wasn’t surprised that his black eyes
were locked on mine.

“I heard you back on the beach. You said
something and did it in such a way that you weren’t particularly scared of the
repercussions.”

I pretended to forget. Shook my head no,
just to make the time go faster.

“You said that a guy had eaten Miss
Sandflea. Eaten was the word.”

“Did I? Maybe I was just hungry.”

“Or maybe you think I did it.” He
grinned, his lips curling back to reveal those pointy bastards. “That I
ratcheted
my cold jaws open and devoured
the poor lackluster girl...oh wait. That’s what
you
would have done.” He leaned in close, his hand on my outer
thigh, fingertips tingling despite the fabric separating us. “I can smell it on
you.”

Okay. So he knew I was a rotting corpse.
That hand didn’t feel like it bothered him any.

“Well, I can smell it on you,” I returned,
poking his chest with each word. “Very. Fishy.”

Thad straightened, pounded a palm on the
bar. “Where are those drinks, Burt?”

Two glasses slid toward us. I grabbed
mine greedily and tossed it back, slamming the empty on the bar for effect.

“Okay, Thad. I know you’re a predator.
You know I am, too. And I think we’ve figured out the pedigrees. But that doesn’t
explain the latent aroma of cheap cosmetics wafting out of your chumhole.”

This time it was my turn to play the
seductive interrogator, I tapped my fingers against the back of his hand
resting on the bar, stroking the skin across the ridges of tendon. “Now, don’t
get me wrong. I understand the need for a healthy dinner. I do. It’s just that Miss
Sandflea happens to be the daughter of the local bookseller, Mrs. Swinton, and
I’m sort of indentured to turn over her killer. So, if you wouldn’t mind, we
could set that up for tomorrow. Give you a chance to settle your affairs?”

Thad nodded, stabbed his tongue against
his cheek. “Sure. Sounds good.”

I laughed. Clearly it wasn’t going to be
that easy. “Unless you have another idea.”

“How about we split her. I’ll be hungry
tomorrow, too. Three squares.”

“I can’t do that. I need her to spread
the word about my book. Publishing is a cutthroat world and I need all the
supporters I can get, so I’m afraid I’m gonna have to throw you to the sharks...so
to speak.”

Thad groaned. “That was terrible.”

“Agreed.”

“What if I told you I was completely set
up?”

“I’m listening.”

“I was minding my own business. Having a
smoke when Miss Sandflea came out into the alley. She was holding a note and
looking around like she was supposed to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“Me. And I’ll tell you why I think that.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a note. It read:

Thad, Meet me in the alley. Your
^S
ecret
admirer.

“Oh yeah. That’s not at all juvenile,
except for the fact is typewritten. Strange little ‘s’ though, huh?”

“Right? But still effective as it turns
out. When I went to talk to the girl that’s when it happened.” He closed his
eyes tight in the memory.

“What happened? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“She was doused with blood and fish
chunks. And I, well, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Feeding frenzy,” I said, nodding. “Been
there, done that.”

The excuse didn’t mean I wouldn’t throw
him into the ring as the killer; it just meant he probably wasn’t guilty. What
kind of person chums the pageant queen? I mean, besides the obvious answer…a
hilarious one.

I stared at him, trying to divine my next
move and for some unknown reason neglecting to notice his. Thad’s hand ran down
my spine, lingering on the bow of my ass. I jerked.

“You’re disgusting, Thad.”

He shrugged, innocently. “I don’t mean to
be crass.”

“You come by that naturally, then?”

“It’s a trait of the species. Whether
scything through the water toward my prey, or weaving through a crowded bar to
relieve a smoking hot undead lady, such as yourself, of her panties, I’m all
stealth.”

 
“I mean, you literally make me sick to my stomach. So, I
think what’s best in this situation is for us to go back to my room and fuck
and then never talk about it again.”

His mouth dropped open and then he
settled into the idea and duckfaced. “All right, just as long as I get to go
down on you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

The wereshark belched, sucked his teeth.

Both sets.

“You have two rows of jagged teeth. That
doesn’t even fly in Arkansas.”

“You know what they say about sharks?”

“Predators of the sea?”

He shook his head. “We like to eat.
Feeding machines. In the sea it takes the form of tearing into our prey,
devouring them. On land, it means we know how to eat…”

“Wait, don’t say it.”

“Pussy.”

Now, normally, my first thought upon
coming face to face with the possibility of surprise cunnilingus is hygiene. I
worry about certain—there’s no way around this—odors. But Thad
Chumley was so disgusting—a real shipwreck-scavenging, barnacled shit show—I
really didn’t think even my worst snatch day would hang the fucker up. Which
begs the question: why would I even consider it?

Right?

Did I mention the hotness? Jesus Christ
the man was…sleek. That was the word.

I imagined we all had our secrets. I hadn’t
told Wendy or Gil that Scott and I were “taking a break”. And I certainly didn’t
want Thad to think I was available for all his drooling tongue acrobatics.
Though, if I were being honest, at the mere mention of his “ability,” I began
to wonder if he was as skilled as he bragged.

It’s called a dry spell.

Scott had left two weeks previously and
despite the way we left it, amicably and by that I mean he smiled as I threw
shit at him and called him a son of whore and such. You know, the usual. It’s
not like I’m required to take the news that my boyfriend wanted to explore
other options without going a little nuts on his ass. Making absolutely no
promises that I would stick around waiting for him to return to his senses, in
fact, I’m pretty sure I threatened to find someone exactly like Thad to get
back at him.

The exact words I used, “And just when I’d
decided to let you do that thing you always talk about.”