Clare shivered, realizing she’d thought of her friend in the past tense.
Did she believe that Natalie was dead?
No, but she feared it.
She opened the door of the closet. Some hair ties and scarves, and her clothes hanging a little haphazardly.
All very Natalie—little puff sleeve dresses with bows, in pastel colors, low-heeled pumps to match. One dress at the back, a party dress in black lace, clearly figure-hugging with a plunging neckline, gave Clare pause. This was out of character for the girl she knew, and a dramatic departure from the other frilly outfits in Natalie’s wardrobe.
It was svelte, sophisticated, and sexy.
Below it, on the shoe rack, was a pair of black patent stilettos. Clearly to go with the dress.
“This dress is out of character for the Natalie I knew,” she remarked as Oliver joined her.
“Certainly different from the other garments.” He took it off the hanger, then snorted.
“What?”
“The label. Vlad Kominsky Couture.”
Clare had personally never bought anything at Vlad Kominsky Couture, but a lot of humans did these days. Wearing dresses designed by a vampire was the ultimate sign of being woke and trendy. If you wanted to be anyone in Motham’s monster/human scene, you wore one of these gowns.
“Vlad will probably remember when she bought it, and what for.”
“She may not have told him.”
“True, but Vlad never forgets a client, and he’d have been working out how much money he could squeeze out of her.”
Just then the landlady knocked on the door. “Everything alright in there?” Oliver walked to the door, and they started to chat, Oliver charming her easily.
“On the last day you saw her, did you notice anything unusual?”
“Oh no, she was her usual sweet self, quiet, polite.”
“Did she go out much? Like, in the evenings. Night times?”
“Rarely. Not that I knew.”
“No boyfriends, girlfriends, friends?”
“She was shy. Certainly no sexual liaisons, I don’t allow that kind of behavior here. So she’d have to go elsewhere.”
Clare went over to the little desk as they talked, and flicked through papers. There was nothing of note—a bill for dry cleaning, a couple of receipts. She opened a drawer; it was fullof underwear. Mostly they were cotton, plain, except one pair of panties in red silk, and a matching bra.
Clare frowned. The red silk made her recall her own red dress. She silenced the thought. Had Natalie been trying to impress someone on a night out?
She was about to close the drawer when her eye caught on the edge of a card sticking out from the silky red knickers, with scalloped edges and gilt lettering. She pulled it out.
It looked almost like a wedding invitation. Clare’s eyes scanned the words quickly:
You are cordially invited to
a cocktail party.
Meet and greet monster business leaders
and kickstart your career in Motham City.
