We pulled around a curved, brick, herringbone driveway.

The house, I think, was even bigger than Kingsley's monster of a house - Beast Manor, as I'd come to think of his home, complete with its safe-room.

This house was epic and rambling on a whole other level, and I was fairly certain there was even more of it in the back, too.

Tara explained that the design was a Mediterranean-style Spanish Revival.

Having minored in architecture in college - with a major in criminal justice - I knew the design well. But seeing it up close, and in such grandeur, was awe- inspiring.

I could be very comfortable here, I thought. A home fit for a king. Even a vampire queen.

Allison was still oh-ing and ah-ing as we stepped out of the Range Rover. I might have oh-ed, but I certainly hadn't ah-ed. The house itself was situated on lushly manicured grounds, complete with sumptuous gardens filled, in part, with fresh herbs. I saw everything from sage to rosemary, to mint and thyme. The home's courtyard had a distinctively European flair, with intricate brick and plasterwork.

Trees were the overall theme of the home and sprouted from ornate planters situated everywhere. A five-car garage was off to one side. The garage and much of the home's façade was covered in thick ivy.

"I'm in heaven, Sammie," said Allison. "Remind me to thank you again for inviting me to join you."

"I didn't invite you. You insisted."

"And I'm so glad I did."

I shook my head as we each fetched our suitcases from the rear of the vehicle.

As we headed up the wide flagstone stairs, I noticed Tara, our host, looking at me. Or, rather, at my suitcase.

"You don't roll your bag?" she asked.

Oops. My bag, I saw, was bigger than both Tara's and Allison's. And both of them were struggling a bit up the steps, rolling and lifting. I had mine in my hand, hefting it without thought or effort. "I like the exercise," I lied. "My trainer would be proud."

Tara smiled as if I had made some sense. Allison snickered behind me. And once we were inside the cavernous home, I acted normal and used my suitcase's own rollers.

The home opened onto two curving staircases with ornate, wrought-iron railings. Polished wood floors stretched seemingly everywhere. A beautiful, round marble table with fresh-cut flowers in a crystal vase greeted us immediately, along with the sound of laughter and voices and kids playing.

"Grandpa George - that's what everyone called him, even his wife - never made any of us feel unwelcome. The entire house was on-limits, as he would always say."

"On-limits?" asked Allison. She was scurrying to keep up behind us. Turned out my new friend had rather short legs.

I heard that, she thought, her words reaching me easily.

I giggled.

I heard that, too. And yes, I have issues with my legs.

I stopped giggling, or tried to.

"Well," said Tara, speaking over her shoulder as we headed into a gorgeous living room. "Grandpa George always told us the entire house was available to all of us kids. There was never a room we were not allowed in, except - "

She paused.

"Except what?" I asked.

"Well, the family mausoleum, of course."

"Er, of course," I said. "Grandpa George sounds like he was an amazing man."

Tara nodded and tensed her shoulders.

"Yeah, the best."

We next passed through the kitchen, where three or four people were leaning against counters, drinking and talking.

Tara said hi and introduced us as her friends. They all smiled and raised their drinks, but watched us closely. Very closely. It was the same for the other rooms and other people. Introductions, polite smiles, suspicious stares.

As we swept through the house and out through a pair of wide French doors, Allison caught up to me on her stubby legs and whispered in my ear, "What was that all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"The stares. Creepy."

"I don't know," I said.

"At least not yet," said Allison.

"Right," I said, as we now followed Tara along a curved, stone path that led through even more succulent gardens.

There was a volleyball net set up out here, along with kayaks lined along an arbor with what was, perhaps, the biggest brick barbeque I'd ever seen. The home, I was beginning to realize, was designed for one thing and one thing only: pleasure, and lots of it. At least of the family kind. A sort of funhouse for adults and kids and everyone in between.

"But we're going to find out," said Allison.

"I'm going to find out," I corrected.

"Hey, I'm your assistant."

"Fictional assistant," I added.

And there it was, just around another turn in the path: the swimming pool where Tara's grandpa had been found last summer, face down and quite dead. I noticed Tara kept her eyes averted. I didn't blame her.

Next, was a row of guest homes in the back, which is where Allison and I would be staying. Bungalows, actually. Each was as big or bigger than my home in Fullerton. Tara showed us to one such structure, which proved to be a two- bedroom suite, with bedrooms on either end and a kitchen and living room in the middle. A fireplace was there, too.

Firewood and kindling was stacked neatly nearby.

I made arrangements with Tara to come back and debrief us once we were unpacked and settled in. I also requested that she bring family photos. I needed to know everyone who was here. Intimately.

She understood.

"Debrief?" asked Allison when Tara had left.

"That's detective talk," I said.

"You mean detective mumbo-jumbo."

"Remember why we're here," I said.

"To catch a killer."

"Well, I'm here to keep you alive."

I snorted.

"Don't scoff," said Allison. "I saw it clearly."

"You saw what clearly?"

"Me saving your life."

"How?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Convenient."

"Don't scoff at us mystics, Sammie.

We work in mysterious ways."

I snorted again and picked the room on the left.

"Hey," said Allison. "Why do you get that room?"

"Because you work for me, remember?"

"Oh, damn," said Allison, plopping down on her own bed and then stretching out. "I forgot about that part."

But she was asleep before I could respond.