Helena brushed tears from Frankie’s face. “No one’s going to hurt me.”
“We just found each other, and I’m finally beginning to feel like I really do have a mother who’s there for me. I’ve never had that. Daddy was always great, but it’s not like having a mom. And Leeza was a real bitch, certainly not very motherly.” Frankie frowned.
Helena pulled her close. “It’s okay.” She held her, rocking her like she would a baby, tightening the blanket around her. The only difference was, this baby had grown into a young woman filled with pain—a pain that Helena blamed herself for causing. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered. “I promise.” Helena sang softly to her child as Frankie drifted off to sleep.
The thought of eyes still watching them never left Helena’s mind as she let Frankie’s head rest in her lap. Helena would stand vigil all night, refusing to allow Leeza’s hired hand—or anyone else, for that matter—get to her child.
Leeza never stayed the entire night at a man’s place. It didn’t matter if she dated him for a while or not. It was one of her rules. She needed her beauty sleep. Something she couldn’t get with a man snoring next to her. Besides, they often kept her awake. They liked her too damn much.
So, she left the Brad Pitt look-alike she’d hooked up with at the restaurant where she and Claire had eaten the other night. He’d turned out to be somewhat goofy. A couple of hours with the future Ms. March was all he wound up getting. Ms. March! She relished the sound of that and hoped it would grind into Patrick’s nerves and burn like acid.
Thank God she’d divorced him.
To hell with him!
He couldn’t appreciate a real woman, anyway. He liked little girls, like his precious Helena and the kid. Now everyone in America would soon see that
she
was beautiful, too. That scandal brought misery to all those who’d deserved it, but it brought her nothing but joy. Still, she couldn’t help but feel for the kid. She had to admit that she did love her, in her own way.
Leeza’s day had played out fantastically, taking all those photos for the March issue of
Playboy
. The scandal and being famous, or infamous, depending on how one looked at it, had also helped to land her the spread instead of some younger “twenty something” model. And the money was yummy icing on the cake. She laughed out loud, loving the idea of bringing more grief to Patrick and that bitch.
She headed up the Santa Monica Freeway in her Burgundy Jaguar, a perk from the divorce settlement. Her hands gripped the smooth steering wheel; it still smelled of new leather.
She was slightly buzzed from the champagne she had drunk only hours before. Too bad she had another photo shoot the next day, or she could’ve played a lot longer with that guy, goofy or not.
Helena may have been a super-model in her youth, but Leeza knew that the perfect age for a sexually uninhibited woman was thirty-eight. The proof of that was evident on any given night with men lusting after her gorgeous body.
Winding around the bend before her house, a few miles up from Helena’s shack, she snorted and tossed her flaming red tresses behind her shoulders. Minutes later, she pulled into her garage.
Once inside the house, she rushed to turn off the alarm only to notice it wasn’t on in the first place.
Damn that maid! She’s been told a million times to set that thing when she leaves.
Leeza did it herself and headed for the bar to pour a nightcap before going upstairs, kicking off her heels as she walked.
She mixed herself a dirty martini, squeezing the olive juice into it. She flipped on some Luther Van Dross, which she adored. So sexy. She and Patrick had loved listening to him when they were together. At times, she missed Patrick, loved him and hated him at the same time. This was one of those times, when an empty, cold house reminded her that she was alone. Her shrink told her she was obsessed with him.
Que sera, sera.
She opened her French doors and stepped out onto the balcony, toasting the wind and sea.
She shut her eyes and sang along with Luther.
She thought about Patrick. Maybe if she’d tried harder to love the kid, this would have never happened. Could they have been a family? Well, neither regret nor tears could change things now.
Her eyes shot open as a strong arm wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Another hand covered her mouth, silencing her scream. “Shh, shh,” a man’s voice whispered in her ear. He finished singing the Van Dross song. He knew all the words. She began to relax, thinking he must be an old lover. The song ended. She couldn’t help but be turned on. This had to be one of her lovers. If only she could figure out which one.
“It’s so sad, but this has to be done. You are so beautiful. Poe would’ve loved you. In fact, Poe does love you. I am Poe. I would love to read to you, but tonight there is no time. I have so much work to do.”
The words didn’t coincide with the idea of his being a lover. And as he squeezed her harder, Leeza realized this brute was here for more than a romp in the sack. She struggled, but was no match for him. He was strong, very strong.
“No, no. Don’t do that. If you would cooperate, it could be so much more pleasant.”
She tried hard to kick him in the shin. She wished she hadn’t taken off her stilettos. She continued to struggle, refusing to give up. Hell, she was Leeza Kiley. Born to fight, all the way from the trashy trailer park she’d dragged herself out of to her recent ugly divorce.
But as he whispered in her ear again, her blood froze from his icy words. Fear overtook her. She tried to bite his hand, but couldn’t. Leeza realized that she was in mortal danger.
“You
are
feisty. I like that, but you’re beginning to bore me. I was hoping we could have a little chat about Helena. I hate her as much, if not more than you do. I could destroy her like I have so many. But I’ve conjured up a much better idea. Once I killed for fear of abandonment—such power in that realization. Abandonment is very scary. But in Helena’s case it’s all about revenge. You know about revenge, don’t you?” He kissed her on the cheek. “Well, beautiful, I could enjoy playing games with you, but you’re not the one I want. Don’t you fret, sweet thing, because I’ll take care of that bitch once and for all, for all the pain she’s caused so many of us. Good night, beauty.”
Leeza felt a rope tighten around her neck, and she struggled as he squeezed the life from her. She gasped for air as the pain grew intense, and she started to lose consciousness.
Ironically, Leeza’s last thoughts were of Helena. For the first time in her life, she felt sorry for her. She knew from the hatred in this man’s voice that what this psycho had in mind for Helena would be far worse than the way he’d chosen to kill her. Leeza felt the ground beneath her slip away, and within seconds all was gone.
What a splendid night. Although it had deviated from Richard’s usual ritual, it was almost better—beginning with the scare he’d put into Helena.
He did, however, wish that he could’ve preserved Leeza. The last one was getting a bit ripe. It was time to bury her. The embalming process was not indefinite. But there were other reasons why Leeza couldn’t join the collection. It would’ve ruined the plan. Yet, he had taken the time to make a wax mask of her face. Upon returning to the cabin, he would go to work on it, to recreate the face of the woman. Then it would forever be available to help him remember her, as he did each of his beauties, even after he disposed of them.
He hoped he hadn’t been too hasty or careless in removing the paraffin from Leeza’s face lest he leave any traces of the wax behind. But he figured she probably had facials all the time, maybe even gave them to herself as a part of her own facial routine, so he needn’t worry. Besides, Richard was certain that he’d removed all traces of the mask.
Everything was about ready to go. It was all beginning for Helena. Richard loved it. He would enjoy her demise almost as much as if she were seated in front of him, begging him to read to her.
There had only been one who’d entered his life who loved to be read to, who had stuck by him. Richard knew as soon as they met that she would’ve never abandoned him. She was the reason he hadn’t killed for so long. She had filled that void left by his mother. Mommy had approved of her. She had carved a light in his soul where there had been none. When he’d found her, he knew his aching need to conquer and collect had been satiated, that she alone could take pain away. Because she was faithful. And she had.
However, Helena Shea single-handedly destroyed that for him. She was responsible for turning him back into his old haunted self. She
took
Brianne from him,
forced
his love to abandon him. And now, just as he had paid, Helena Shea would pay dearly. But she wouldn’t pay with her life, oh no, not that, not yet. She would begin by losing the people and things that meant the most to her. It was a damn shame that crack addict Rachel hadn’t keeled over yet. It would be a perfect start to things if she’d do that. The beauty of her involvement was that Richard hadn’t known she was in the center when he’d watched it blow. His mother must have planned that for him. She would have had the insight to do such a thing. Mommy hated Helena as much as he did.
By tomorrow morning, Helena would be paying with her freedom. And from there, it would only get worse.
Helena finally drifted off to sleep on the sofa. Visions of Leeza entered her dreams again, swinging a pendulum directly in front of her, laughing and mocking her, telling her what a horrible mother she was. In her dream, Leeza set Shea House on fire, and oh, my God! Frankie was inside. Just as her dream state began to allow the velvety darkness of real sleep to take over, the ringing of her doorbell—followed by a loud knocking—awakened her. Ella went berserk, barking her head off.
Frankie stirred. “Mom?”
“It’s nothing, baby. Go back to sleep.”
Helena checked the clocks in the kitchen. It was almost seven in the morning, later than she thought. A dull light came through the pinned up sheet. The front room was goose-bump cold without any glass to block it. Who could be at her door at this hour?
The doorbell rang again. Ella continued her earsplitting barking. “Okay, okay,” Helena muttered. She reached the door, her hands shaking from being abruptly awakened.
“Police, Ms. Shea. We need to speak to you.”
“Police?” she whispered, “What the . . . !” Maybe it had something to do with the incident last night. But how could they have known? Or possibly it was about the fire? She peered through the peephole and saw a uniformed officer standing next to Detective Collier, wearing that tweed jacket and bad Elvis hairdo. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Ms. Shea, Detective Collier with the LAPD. We spoke at The Sober Living House the other night. I’m here with Officer Keen. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Helena opened the door. “If this is about the fire couldn’t we make an appointment to speak at a more appropriate time? It’s only seven on a Saturday morning.”
“I’m aware of the time. But this can’t wait. It has nothing to do with the fire at your center, Ms. Shea. There’s been a murder. We’re hoping you might be able to help us out.”
“Murder? Who?” Helena watched the detective shift his weight from one foot to the other.
“Leeza Kiley,” the detective said. “Can we come in now?”
Helena gasped. She could barely speak. She eyed the cops suspiciously. “You’re really twisted, Detective Collier. I told you that I didn’t start the fire at Shea House. What kind of game are you playing with me?”
“I can assure you that I am not toying around.” The detective and officer walked into Helena’s home. Addressing the uniform behind him, he ordered, “Secure the place. It’ll be a zoo around here before long.”
“My daughter is still asleep. Let’s go in here.” She led the officer into the living room, while Ella stood in the hall, growling at the detective. Helena had to lock the dog in her room.
“Mom? What’s going on?” Frankie appeared in the hall, too.
“It’s nothing. Go lie back down in your room.”
“But Mom, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet. There’s a policeman here who needs to speak with me. I’ll let you know after he leaves.”
“Is this about last night?”
“I don’t know. Now go back to bed. You can watch TV in my room if you like.”
Frankie reluctantly did as she was told. Helena went back into the living room.
The detective was on her sofa, pad and pencil in hand. “What happened to your door, there?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Helena weighed the possibilities of telling him the truth. The possible negative consequences of doing just that made her lie.
“Try me.”
“I lost my keys last night while taking my dog for a walk.”
“So you broke the window? Little rash, isn’t it? What about your daughter?”
“She was sleeping, and you know teenagers, they can sleep through anything. I tried to break in and when I couldn’t, I got pretty flustered and angry, so I busted the window.”
“Boy, you certainly have a temper, don’t you Ms. Shea? That’s interesting. You wouldn’t mind if I corroborated your story with your daughter, do you?”