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call what we’d just done? A booty call? I straightened my sweater and adjusted my jeans, which had enough spandex to have helped when Jerry had reached inside and . . . I shook my head. Time to get a grip. I had life-and-death issues to deal with. Like planning a trap for Ms. Westwood. Jerry was right. I needed to use some vamp mind control and make her forget she’d ever heard of Glory St. Clair. I headed for the door into the shop.
    “Hold it right there, missy.” Emmie Lou Nutt, one of my resident ghosts, shimmered between me and the doorknob.
    “Not now, Emmie, I’ve got things to do and people to see out there.” I saw her husband, Harvey, shimmer into place beside her. He wore his usual overalls, never wore anything else. Emmie was stuck for eternity in the cowgirl outfit she’d worn the day Harvey had accidentally run over her in his pickup at the Texas State Fair. They lived in my shop because they’d met in this building more years ago than they’d admit.
    “Reckon you don’t wanta be goin’ out there right now, missy. There’s a mischief maker wantin’ a piece of your hide waitin’.” Harvey had a toothpick in his mouth, and he shifted it from the left to the right as he looked at his wife. “Tell her, hon.”
    “He’s right, Glory. Hidin’ a stake in his pocket. Good thing he’s not wearin’ them vampire-detectin’ glasses, or he’d of had him a field day with your friends out there. Instead he’s got a picture of you in his pocket right next to that durn stake.” Emmie Lou swished her skirt. “Harvey tossed a purse at his head.” She giggled. “Made him jump. Right, Harvey?”
    “Sure did.” Harvey sidled up close to me. “Call your vampire buddies in here and have a confab. You know, send ’em one of them there mental messages like ya do. Get Flo to read that fella’s mind. Find out who he is.”
    “What is this? Stake Glory week? I wonder if he works for Vivien Westwood?” I realized Harvey had the right idea. I unlocked the storeroom door and sent a mental message to Flo. “What did this guy look like?” I listened while Harvey described him. Not exactly rock-star material. In fact, he sounded cute but ordinary. A lot like—
    The storeroom door opened, and Flo and Richard rushed inside, then slammed and locked it.
    “He’s David Westwood, another heir to the Westwood billions. He’s trying to kill you.” Flo hugged me close. “Don’t worry, we’ll rip out his throat as soon as he’s outside and away from your shop. I know how you are about bad publicity.”
    I breathed in Flo’s expensive perfume. What was this—a vamp-hunting contest? I pulled back. Yes, got it in one. And how like Brent Westwood to arrange something creepy from the grave.
    “Killing Westwood’s son would be a little more than bad publicity, darling.” Richard leaned against the door. No sign of my ghosts. Apparently they were back in the shop, ready to toss more purses if necessary. I hoped they stuck to non-breakables.
    “He’s right, Flo. As much as I’d love an easy solution, I have a feeling that if both a son and a daughter are after me, then there’s probably some kind of paper trail that would make a cover-up difficult.” I sat on the table where I’d had such fun just minutes ago. “And how many kids did this billionaire have anyway?” I wished for my laptop, which was in the shop.
    “Easy to find out.” Richard opened the door a crack. “I’m also going to discover how many men he brought in with him. I thought it was busy for eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night.”
    “Anybody buying anything?” I jumped off the table. At least if business was good that would be some consolation.
    “Zilch. Except for this.” Flo held out her wrist. “I love my new bracelet. Vintage costume jewelry is very in right now. And this was a signed piece. Lacy gave Richard a discount.”
    “It’s perfect on you.” I knew it was one of my more expensive items too. I smiled at Richard.