Serial Date: A Leine Basso Thriller (8 page)

Chapter 12

“
What are they
doing, Peter?”

Peter's stomach twisted at the anguish in Edward's voice.

“It's for your safety, Edward,” Peter answered.

The locksmith Peter hired was packing up to go, having changed all the door locks to key-only entry and exit. Secure, locking shutters now graced every first floor window. A home security expert had installed perimeter cameras the day before.

 Peter couldn't take a chance on Edward killing again. He waited until he'd paid the locksmith and watched him drive off, then sat Edward on the couch in the living room.

“Look, I told you if these kinds of things started to happen again, I'd have to do something drastic. You don't want to end up in a hospital, do you? It wouldn't be like the one mom was in.”

Edward looked down and shook his head. His breathing was like that of a child after a tantrum: fast and heavy, peppered with little explosions of air. Peter hated locking him in the house, but didn't know what else to do. He couldn't let Edward go to a hospital. Not now. Peter would figure out what to do later, when he had a minute to think.

“Please, Peter?” Tears streaked Edward's face. “I promise I'll be good. I-I promise I won't leave, ever.”

Peter sighed. Edward's promises were like air—plentiful and free. He couldn't put it off any longer- he had to look in the freezer. Had to get that last gruesome confirmation of his brother's continued psychosis and somehow destroy the evidence he knew was there. He got up and walked through the kitchen out to the big freezer in the garage, steeling himself for what he'd find.

He lifted the lid and glanced inside. Among frozen packages of hamburger, vanilla ice cream and lima beans, the freezer held a smattering of small plastic baggies, the contents of which were various shades of brown and black. He reached in and picked a baggie at random, this one with a small tan object, and opened it. Peter's shoulders sagged.

A frost covered, furry ear. He couldn't tell what kind of animal it was from, but did it really matter?

Edward stood at the doorway to the kitchen, attention riveted on him. Peter held the bag up for him to see.

“Where'd you get this?” He looked down at the rest. “And these?”

Edward raced over and snatched the bag from his hand.

“They're mine! They were the mean ones. You told me it was okay to punish the mean ones.” He clutched the baggie with both hands.

Peter leaned over the edge of the freezer and dug through the rest of the baggies, checking the few that appeared to have dissimilar contents. All contained animal parts.

He shook his head, unable to reconcile sweet, sensitive Edward with psycho-crazy Edward. “Where'd you hide the other…parts?”

Edward stared at the freezer, then Peter. “No other parts, Peter. I promise.”

He must have buried them in the back. Peter slammed the freezer door shut and swept past Edward, heading into the house to the backyard. On the way, he grabbed a shovel standing in the corner. Edward shuffled behind him, wiping at the snot running down his nose.

“Peter, don't be mad at me. I won't do it again, I promise.” Edward stopped at the door. More tears bubbled over, streaking a path down his face. “Please?”

Peter ignored him and walked down the concrete steps onto the patio. Waiting for his blood pressure to return to normal, he scanned the green lawn and well-kept flower beds. Better hire a service. Don't want the neighbors wondering what happened to Edward. Besides, it would only be for a little while, until Peter could figure out what to do with his brother.

Peter walked to a suspicious looking clump of grass and attacked it with the shovel. Edward's muffled sobs didn't slow him down. He stopped when his efforts revealed nothing but dirt. Spotting a freshly turned mound of soil surrounding a new lavender plant in the flower bed he yanked out the seedling and dug beneath it, but again found nothing. He rested the shovel against his hip and wiped at the sweat forming on his forehead.

Nothing else in the yard looked disturbed. Peter headed for the garbage can alongside the detached garage, anxiety dogging his steps. He lifted the lid, breathing a sigh of relief when all he smelled and saw was normal, everyday garbage. After checking inside the garage, he walked back to where Edward was furiously replanting the lavender.

“Edward,” Peter said, keeping his voice even. “You have to tell me what you did with the other…pieces. I need to know so I can take care of them.”

Edward continued to firm the dirt around the plant, pretending not to hear him. He sniffled, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Edward, have you ever—” Peter cleared his throat, then took a deep breath. “Have you ever eaten any of the mean ones?”

Edward snapped his head around with a look of horror. “No!”

Peter was at a loss. He would have to make an appointment with Doctor Shapiro, find out if the blackouts could be controlled with new medication. Of course, he'd need to figure out a way to make sure Edward took it. Whenever the blackness won, Edward would have no memory of anything he did. Like when Peter found him standing over their stepfather. He adamantly denied having beaten him to death, even though his blood soaked clothes and the pieces of brain and bone on the bat in his hands told a different story.

As for the letter, Peter figured Edward wouldn't remember writing the disjointed, rambling manifesto. It didn't sound like him, but Doctor Shapiro suggested his personality had splintered from some childhood trauma. Shapiro didn't know the half of it.

At a loss, Peter leaned the shovel against the fence and held out his hand. Edward looked up, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Come on, Eddie. Let's go make us a grilled cheese sandwich and watch some Stooges, okay? You've had enough excitement for one day.”

Edward grinned and clapped his hands. “Yes—the Three Stooges. I like the Three Stooges.”

Peter took him by the hand and they walked into the house together.

“Hey, Moe!”

Chapter 13

“
You hungry?”

Jensen poked his head out of the bathroom door. Leine corrected herself: Santiago. They'd just had an evening of wild, no-holds-barred sex. Calling him 'Jensen' seemed somehow too removed from what they'd done to each other.

“Not really,” she replied. “Hey—what do your friends call you? Santiago is nice, but it's a mouthful.”

Jensen grinned. “Putnam calls me Santa. My mother calls me Santiago Reynaldo Tomàs Jensen, but that's usually when she's mad.”

“I'll stick with Santiago, or maybe Jensen. Or how about Snookie-wookie-buns? Would that work?”

He laughed as he came back in the room and crawled into bed. “Yeah, that'd go over great with the guys.” His brilliant green eyes bored into hers. “As long as you call me.”

She could swear her knees melted. Good thing she was lying down. Jensen bent his head and nipped at her shoulder. He slid down to nuzzle her neck, followed by a slow, leisurely lick of her right nipple. Leine felt a shiver dance down her back.

“Are you ready for the red-hot tamale grandé?” he asked between nips, his voice husky.

Leine rolled her eyes and sat up. “Look, Santa baby. It's late, and I've got to be at work in less than an hour. Not that I wouldn't love to stick around, but I need to swing by my place, see if April got back all right.” She sighed. “Hopefully she's calmed down and we're on speaking terms.”

Jensen lay back with a smile. “No problem. But remember what's waiting for you,” he said, sliding the sheet off his impressive erection.

Leine laughed as she climbed over him and padded into the bathroom. “Believe me, it'll be tough enough to function today without having that picture in my head.”

***

Leine kicked the door to the bungalow closed and dropped her purse on the chair by the fireplace. The key was gone from under the pot on the porch. A vase of Black-eyed Susans stood on the counter, along with a twenty-dollar bill. She walked over to the fridge and opened the door. A half-gallon of two percent milk, a block of cheddar and a head of romaine took up residence on one shelf. Several cans of Red Bull stood on another.

Leine moved down the hallway and stopped at the closed door to the guest bedroom, hesitating to knock. She didn't want to wake April if she'd gotten in late. Thinking better of it, she went to her room, picked out some clean clothes for the day and headed to the bathroom to shower.

Showered and dressed, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The guest room door was open and the bed made. Not sure what mood her daughter would be in, Leine walked to the kitchen, bracing for anything. April sat at the counter, wearing the skull t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, drinking a cup of coffee. Her backpack rested against the stool next to her.

“Want some?” April indicated the fresh brewed pot of coffee next to the stove.

“Sounds great.” Leine poured herself a cup and took a sip. Pretty good. Better tasting than hers.

“Did you have fun last night?”

April's tone held no trace of anger from the day before. More like polite interest.

“Look. Obviously, we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I can't change the past, but I'm willing to start working on the future. Can we please start fresh?”

April studied Leine for a moment, ran a hand through her hair.  “Where were you last night?”

Leine's shoulders relaxed a fraction. “With a friend. Detective Jensen.”

“I'm sure a date with him was a lot better than staying at home waiting for a daughter you haven't seen in over three years.” Her voice echoed against the kitchen walls. “You really don't care about anything or anyone, do you? But I already knew that, didn't I?”

Leine's heart broke at the hurt in her voice. Her eyes welled. She couldn't stop the tear from trickling down her cheek. Another followed.
Oh, God, not now. Maintain, Leine
.  She covered her face with her hands, unable to stop the torrent of emotion that engulfed her.

When the storm passed, Leine lifted her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. April sat frozen to the stool, evidently unsure how to handle seeing her ex-assassin mother go through an emotional breakdown.

That's what I get. No one expects me to have any feelings. How can a person who did what I did for a living be human?

Leine grabbed a kitchen towel and blew her nose, leaning against the wall for support. She took a deep breath and let it go.

“Detective Jensen called at a vulnerable moment. If we hadn't had a fight, I wouldn't have left. And, I know it's no excuse, but being back in L.A. has been stressful...so weird, the old neighborhood, the memories.”

April traced invisible circles on the counter with her finger. Leine stared at the delicate silver and lapis ring she wore.

“That's why I'll be staying at Frank's.”

“What? I thought he was out of town.”

“He gets back today.”

“You don't have to do that.” Leine's stomach curled into a knot. “I said I was sorry. Give me some time. I really want to talk to you, try to figure us out.” When would another chance like this come along? When she was eighty?

April straightened on her stool and shook her hair off her shoulders. Like she did when she was a little girl. “It's already done. I called him last night. His plane lands at LAX in a few hours.” She lowered her gaze and started with the circles again. “So what's your new job like? Del told me you were working security for a reality show. Kind of overkill, don't you think?”

Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?
To her, Leine would always be a killer. No wonder she doesn't visit. She still seethed at the thought of her old boss, Eric. He single-handedly destroyed the close relationship that had existed between her and her daughter. It didn't matter to Eric how devastating killing Carlos had been for Leine. As long as he got what he wanted.

“Yeah. Well. I'm not in the business anymore. I have to pay the bills.”

“You hate television.”

“Hate's a strong word.”

April shrugged, took another sip of coffee.

“Look, can we talk later? I need to get down to the studio. How about we have dinner tonight? I'll come by Frank's and pick you up after work, okay?”

April stared into her coffee like a fortune teller reading tea leaves. Then she looked at Leine. Why hadn't she noticed the red-rimmed eyes? Shit.
How horrible of a mother am I to make my only daughter cry?

“I think Frank has something planned already.”

“Come on, April. You need to meet me part way.” Leine's heart pounded steadily in her chest. That in itself was a wonder, since she could barely breathe.

April paused a beat, considering. Then, “If you want. Sure.”

Leine noticed her mouth twitch. She decided it was a smile.

She could work with that.