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Carmilla flashed the girl a smile, letting her hand drop just a little too low as she signed her name across the girl’s chest with a dramatic flourish. The girl giggled, gave her a wink, clutching the book that Carmilla hadn’t actually signed, and disappeared into the crowd. Sighing, Carmilla turned back to the bar and signaled for another glass of bubbly. No point putting the marker away, she’d be signing her name all night.
“Kitty!” Will dropped into the chair next to her, “Why the long face? Did Mattie finally get to you with her speeches about the insanity of killing off your star character or did she find out that you haven’t written a word for the new book in months?”
She narrowed her eyes, “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing!” Will raised his hands, “But she’s going to find out eventually that you’re just sitting around in your bathrobe all day and reading Camus instead of writing.”
She reached out to grab the glass of champagne but Will intercepted the action, gulping it down.
“You know,” she growled, “I don’t have to let you live me with me.”
He batted his eyes, “but you’re such a good big sister.”
“Kiss ass,” Carmilla muttered.
“Seriously though,” he spun around to look at her, “before Mattie drags you off to sign more books before your career dies a tragic death without a star to write about. What’s your deal? You usually love these book launches.”
Carmilla shot him her best death glare then caved, “I’m bored.”
“Ah yes,” Will said, “Parties where everyone is celebrating my brilliance and my writing and me often bore me as well. It’s so hard to be a best selling author.”
“You want to know why I killed Betty?” Carmilla ignored him.
“Because that’s a terrible name for a lead femme fatale?” Will offered.
“Because it was boring.” Carmilla said, absently signing a book shoved in her hands, “Because I knew what was going to happen on every page, in every single scene. She was fun when I was first starting. Female spy. Very sexy. A little raunchy. Drove Mother up the wall. But now? She’s the same old. Like these parties. It’s always the same. ‘Oh Carmilla, where do you get your ideas? I’m your biggest fan…”
“And the ever-popular, will you sign my chest?” Will added.
Carmilla smirked, “that one I don’t mind.”
“Naturally.” Will said.
“I just want something to ask something new,” Carmilla said, “is that too much to ask?”
A new voice appeared from behind her, “Carmilla Karnstein?”
The voice was one of a cute girl so Carmilla pasted a smirk on her face and spun around, already uncapping the marker, “Where do you want it or can I make a suggestion?”
Her assumption wasn’t wrong, the short girl standing in front of her had a head of long light brown hair and the face of a cherub but it was the badge she was waving in Carmilla’s face that got her attention, “Miss Karnstein. I’m Detective Hollis. Toronto Police. There’s been a murder and I need to ask you a few questions.”
Carmilla’s brain froze for a moment, marker still hovering.
Will leaned over her shoulder, plucking the marker, “Well, at least that’s a new one.”
#
Detective Laura Hollis dropped the folder on the table of the interrogation room and stared down at the girl sitting across the table from where she was standing. All black leather and tight shirts. Carmilla Karnstein. The Carmilla Karnstein. Author of at least one entire shelf of her bookcase at home.
Not that she’d be mentioning it.
After all, on the way over she’d just happened to eat a cupcake that she kept in the car because she happened to be hungry and apparently, that was just the funniest thing to one Miss Carmilla Karnstein. Not all cops ate doughnuts.
“Well, Miss Karnstein,” Laura said, “thank you for coming in to speak with us.”
Carmilla’s eyes practically raked over her, “For you cupcake,” she purred, “I’d go anywhere. Somewhere with handcuffs? Even better.”
Laura chose to ignore that. She drifted her hand over the file, ruffling a few pages, “You’ve got quite the rap sheet for a best selling author.”
Carmilla shrugged, “Gotta live a little. We can’t all live our lives behind a desk.”
“Crashed a car into the park fountain?” Laura asked.
“Defensive driving.”
“How about,” Laura continued, “running naked through downtown with a goat under your arm screaming about a sacrifice?”
Carmilla chuckled then went straight faced, “School play.”
“It says here,” Laura was actually curious about this one, “that you broke into a pet store and stole 13 cats?”
“Borrowed” Carmilla said.
“Dressed in a giant black cat onesie,” Laura continued.
Carmilla just raised an eyebrow, “is that relevant?”
“Not at all,” Laura said, “but that’s not something you usually see on a rap sheet. Like big beefy villainous guys with gun violence and murder are pretty much par for the course but I don’t often get kitten related crimes. And you’ve got to have enough money to buy hundreds of cats if you wanted them so it wasn’t about actually wanting them but you broke in anyway. Plus I’ve got a bet with Laf on who can get a better story and a bunch of cats stolen by someone in a giant cat costume is definitely going to win. So I’d kind of like to know why you did it?”
The look Carmilla was something between amusement and confusion, “Are you sure you’re a Detective, cupcake? Because you don’t really seem like a cop and if this is just William’s weird way of congratulating me on the book again then I’d like to jump right to the part where I take you on this table.” She gave Laura a long wink.
Laura immediately shut the file, dropping her fists to the table, “Fine, Miss Karnstein. I assure you that I am in fact a real detective and I would appreciate it if you stopped the lewd comments.”
“You’re the one bringing up my rebellious, naked days,” Carmilla leaned forward, eyes glinting, “does that do it for you detective? The bad girl with the hot body?”
Laura squashed the tiny part of her that screamed yes, ““And yet, despite everything,” Laura said, “all the charges were dropped.”
Carmilla rolled her eyes and leaned back, “My mother is the mayor, cupcake. Can’t have her children getting locked in jail.”
The scoff slipped out before Laura could stop it.
The glint was right back in Carmilla’s eyes, “If my lack of punishment bothers you,” Carmilla said, “I’d be happy to let you spank me.”
Laura took a deep breath, shot Carmilla her chilliest smile, and sat, “Miss Karnstein, this whole bad girl, seductress of the innocents routine might work on your usual class of women. But I’ve got murder on the mind and a job to do. Our relationship can be one of two kinds, the kind where you make my life easier or the kind where you make my life harder.” Laura’s eyes narrowed, “and believe me, you do not want to make my life harder.”
Carmilla said, “Alright, cupcake.” And although the tone was complacent, her eyes tracked Laura like she something shiny.
“Amy Smith, social worker, daughter of a real estate mogul, ” Laura slapped a photo down on the table, “Know her?”
Thankfully, Carmilla actually leaned forward to take a look, “Not that I recall. She’s cute.”
“She’d dead.” Laura said. It was satisfying to see Carmilla jump slightly, “What about this guy?” She dropped a second picture, “Kyle Launder, owns a burrito stand.”
Carmilla winked, “Not really a burrito girl. Tacos are more my speed.” Laura didn’t even bother trying to stop the eye roll as Carmilla continued, “What’s this got to do with me?”
“We found her like this,” Laura put another picture on the table. Amy was naked except for the rose petals covering her body and a pair of sunflowers draped over the eyes.
Finally Carmilla leaned forward, grabbing at the photo, “This is my book,” she said, “Flowers for Your Grave. That’s the murder Betty investigates on her first case.”
“And we found Kyle like this,” she slapped down a picture of a man lying in a strange occult circle, “straight out of Hell Hath No Fury.”
Carmilla grabbed the second image too, brow furrowed as she examined them closely. “Looks like I have a fan,” she said at last.
“Yeah,” Laura agreed, “a deranged one.”
A smile draped over Carmilla’s face as she peered at Laura over the top of the photos, “Oh you don’t look deranged.”
Something twisted in Laura’s gut at that smile, “What?” she stuttered, “of course I’m not-”
“Hell Hath No Fury,” Carmilla interrupted, “Angry vampires catching people to sacrifice to an anglerfish god? Come on cupcake. Only hardcore Karnstein groupies read that one.” Laura tried to force down the blush, “I’m flattered, you recognized it.”
“Do any of these groupies ever write you letters?” Laura asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Of course,” Carmilla said, “I bet a big fan like you has written one or two yourself.”
“Disturbing letters?” Laura pressed.
Carmilla winced, “All my fan-mail is disturbing. Locks of hair. Crayon drawers. Offers of marriage. Used condoms.” Even Laura had to wince in sympathy at that one. “I take it you’ll want to go through it?” Carmilla continued.
Laura nodded, “We find that obsessives often-”
“contact the article of their obsession.” Carmilla finished.
Laura felt somewhat impressed until Carmilla added, “I also happen to be pretty well versed in psychopath, cupcake. It’s a writer's necessity. Happy to show you the ropes if something gets too advanced for you.”
“Thank you,” Laura gritted her teeth, “for your cooperation.”
#
Carmilla could admit that this was the one time she was thankful that her mother was who her mother was. All it had taken was one sleepless night where she couldn’t get Detective Cupcake out of her head and a quick phone call.
Now she was back and Captain Cochrane had just called Detective Hollis over.
And the girl was fuming.
Carmilla stood from the couch and smirked at the detective over the Captain's shoulder as the Captain said, “Hollis, Miss Karnstein has volunteered to help us with the case and, based on the nature of the murders, I’ve decided to accept.”
Laura hadn’t looked at her yet so Carmilla said, “It’s the least I can do the city I love,”
The detective’s eyes narrowed and flashed towards her, seeing right through her sarcasm, “Sir,” she said to the captain, “can I speak to you for a minute, alone?” Carmilla’s smiled in delight as the girl’s nostrils flared.
“Nope.” the captain said, “have fun.”
The captain left the two of them outside her office and Carmilla made sure to get right in Laura’s space, “So,” she made her voice extra husky, “shall we get started?”
The Detective blushed.
She’d have fun alright.
#
Twenty minutes into the piles of her fanmail and Laura’s face had yet to unbunch from Carmilla’s presence. It was amazing.
Carmilla kept sneaking peeks, unable to stop the small smile every time she saw the tiny scrunched nose of the detective.
“What?” Laura snapped at last.
Carmilla went back to her letter, not reading a word, “Just trying to figure you out cupcake. The little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking? Cute.” Laura immediately straightened her face, “too cute for a detective.”
“I promise you, Miss Karnstein-”
“Carmilla,”
Laura didn’t stop at her interruption, “Carmilla, I am, in fact a real cop with a real gun with real bullets that would hurt if I accidently shot you.”
“Kinky.” Carmilla said, “My safe word is vampire.”
The look Laura gave her could have melted glass, “Why are you here? Do you even care that people are dead? Does that matter to you at all? Because all you seem to be doing is making jokes and making my life a whole lot harder and two people have died and if we don’t figure this out there’s not going to be any justice for them. And can you really be so jaded by your money and your celebrity that you’re just here for kicks and don’t give a crap about these people and their day in court?”
For a moment Carmilla’s throat seized, then it descended into a low, burning anger. The kind that always curled in her gut and didn’t take much to flame into action, “Justice? Cupcake, you may look like a baby blanket got it on with an angel but you can’t seriously be that naive. There’s no such thing as justice in this world. It’s a concept we made up to make ourselves feel better about everything. People die every day. Hundreds of them, all across the world and most will never ever see anything resembling your justice. So if you just stopped the high and mighty, doing this for some greater good shtick and just showed up for the paycheck like the rest of us, then you’d be better off. Justice isn’t real and if it is, it sure as hell doesn’t care about us.”
She stared at Laura for a moment, the paper curled under her fist. When she got no response, Carmilla gave a tight smile of satisfaction and started uncurling the page.
“You’re wrong,” just when she’d actually started reading, Laura’s words cut through the room, “or maybe you’re right but it doesn’t matter. So maybe justice doesn’t exist and maybe there are hundreds of people who don’t get justice all over the world but you’re wrong because it does matter. Because they get it here.” Carmilla put the letter down, Laura’s eyes were practically burning, “I make a promise to every case that crosses my desk that they’re going to get their justice and maybe that’s just a drop in the bucket of the world but let me tell you, it makes a ton of difference to that person. To that person and their family it’s everything. And maybe that’s not some big heroic thing but it’s something. It’s what they deserve.” She pointed to the file, “It’s what Amy deserves. Hell,” Laura’s eyes caught and held hers, “it’s even what you deserve.”
Laura broke eye contact first, diving back into Carmilla’s fanmail with an overwhelming ferocity. Carmilla, however, was frozen. Stuck staring at the detective as her brain tried to catch up and compartmentalize the detective’s words. She couldn’t have possibly meant what she said. There was no-one who actually thought like that. Not possible.
“The story,” Carmilla croaked out the words. Laura spared her a look, still cold, and grabbed the next envelope, “I’m here for the story. There’s always something that makes the chain of events make sense. The world makes sense in a twisted sort of way. Why these people? Why kill them like this? Why we do the things we do and are the way we are?” Carmilla ran a hand over her pants.
Why this apparent ray of sunshine dug through murders every day.
What was the story behind Detective Laura Cupcake Hollis?
Something in Laura’s eyes softened slightly, “We usually call that motive.” She tapped lightly on the table, “And we don’t always find it.”
“There’s always a story,” the words came out softer than Carmilla intended, “Me. You. We’ve all got one.”
Laura’s fingers went to a necklace tucked under her shirt, tugging absently as she bit her lip and watched Carmilla. The brown eyes poking at something even she couldn’t see, “I think we do.”
Then Laura looked down and her eyes widened into something that wouldn’t have been surprising in a Disney movie, “and when we can’t find it. We use something like this.”
She flipped the paper around to show a crayon drawing of a woman, covered in roses with sunflowers over her eyes.
Carmilla practically surged forward, reaching for the paper. Laura snatched it back, “Don’t! We’ve got to get this checked for prints first.”
“But it’s mine,” Carmilla just kept herself from whining.
Laura rolled her eyes, “We’ll send you a copy.”
Carmilla considered, “Actually, could I also get copies of those images from the murders?”
“What?” Laura’s squeal of indignation should not have been so adorable.
“See,” Carmilla laid her hands flat on the table, “I’ve got this weekly poker game, mostly other writers, and this would make them so jealous.”
“Jealous?” Colour was slowly rising in Laura’s face.
“That I have a copycat?” Carmilla said, “Cupcake, that’s like the holy grail for murder writers. Some psychopath thought my work was good enough to imitate.”
The look on Laura’s face almost made her wish she hadn’t asked. Almost. If it wasn’t for the return of the adorably bunched nose, “You realize those are crime scene photos?”
“It’s not like I’m asking for the bodies,” Carmilla said.
Laura looked like she was about two seconds from wringing the air around Carmilla’s neck when some beefy manchild stuck his head in the door, “Hollis, they found another one.”