Mommy May I

by A. K. Alexander

  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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  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 fr
om 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?”

  “No, not at all.” Her stomach tightened. “So now, what’s this about Leeza? I simply can’t believe what you’re telling me,” Helena stammered.

  “Believe it. The maid found her dead around an hour ago,” he replied. “I understand that you knew Mrs. Kiley quite well.”

  Helena didn’t know how to respond. Feeling weak in the knees, she slowly sank into an oversized chair opposite him. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  “And you weren’t exactly the best of friends?”

  “You could say that, too.”

  “Ms. Shea, where were you last evening between ten and twelve?”

  “I was at a meeting with a friend. I got here around 11:30 and then took my dog for a walk on the beach, like I said. I came back home, and after my fit with the door, I fixed it the best I could and stayed up for a bit with my daughter.” Helena felt as if she were in a fog, bogging her down. She couldn’t fathom that Leeza was dead.

  “And your friend and daughter can verify your time table?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about when you went for a walk? Were you alone?”

  “Just me and my dog. Why do you ask?”

  “How long was the walk?”

  “I don’t know, ten, maybe fifteen minutes.” Helena thought briefly about the phone call, but her gut told her to remain silent, even though she knew he wasn’t buying her story about the glass door. “You could ask Ella, my dog.” She smiled hoping to get a laugh out of the detective. He couldn’t seriously be thinking that she was involved. But he remained sullen.

  “Ms. Shea, did you kill Leeza Kiley?”

  “What?” she asked, horrified. “Of course not! I can’t believe this!”

  “Just doing my job. I read the papers.”

  “You made that clear the other night. But I wouldn’t consider an Enquirer or The Scene reliable sources of news. There was no love lost between us, but I certainly did not murder her. I’m actually starting to feel harassed by you.”

  Collier nodded his head. “Do you mind if I have a look around?”

  “For what?”

  “As I said, I’m doing my job.”

  “Am I a suspect in your investigation, Detective?” she asked, her voice turning hostile. Her face burned as anger churned in her stomach.

  Detective Collier did not answer her question. He stood and glanced around. He stared at her living room drapes for quite some time. What was he thinking? He walked over to the edge of the window and looked down at the floor. Helena couldn’t see what he was looking at, but he pulled a plastic baggie out of his coat pocket and bent down to pick up something. Turning around to face her, he held out the knotted rope that held the drapes back. She’d forgotten to get a replacement tie back when she’d noticed it missing the other night.

  “Problem with your drapes?”

  The question caught her off guard. Why would he be concerned with her drapes? She answered him anyway, not wanting to make the situation any worse, especially with Frankie only a few feet away. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. I noticed it a few days ago. My dog probably knocked that down. I think she must’ve chewed off the rope and hid it someplace. She’s a puppy. They do stuff like that.”

  “Did you know that Mrs. Kiley was strangled? Your drapery rope looks like the one she was strangled with. Ms. Shea, you’d better get yourself a good attorney.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “If I were you, I’d do it pronto because within minutes I’ll have a search warrant. It looks as though you might be taking a ride with me today. Oh, and by the way, I’d come up with a better story for your lawyer about the broken door and the drapery cord. ‘Cause I ain’t buying it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Within an hour, a swarm of reporters stood outside Helena’s home. On the basis of the missing drapery cord, Detective Collier had called in for a search warrant, and now her home crawled with police. She heard a helicopter hovering overhead and wondered which news crew was filming her roof, expecting something exciting to happen. She hated those bastards.

  Helena figured that Patrick had heard by now and was probably worried sick. But the phone lines were tied up with reporters trying to get their scoop, and her cell phone, even if she could use it, was somewhere in the sand where she’d dropped it last night.

  She was certain their images were fixed on television sets all over the city at this very moment—busy reporters concocting their cockamamie stories. Maybe the police were putting Patrick through the same paces. If there was a hawk like Detective Collier at his place, there was no telling when she and Patrick might be able to communicate. If the press was outside her home, they had likely surrounded Patrick’s ranch as well. Helena hated the thought of that. She wished Frankie were with her father instead of having to see this. From the scare Collier had given her, Helena wasn’t sure how this morning would end.

  She crept into Frankie’s bedroom where a youthful looking police officer rummaged through Frankie’s underwear drawer.

  “I hope you’re getting off on that,” Frankie said.

  Helena heard the vehemence in her daughter’s voice. “Frankie,” she warned.

  “But, Mom, he’s touching my panties. What are they looking for anyway? This is lame.”

  “Yes, it is. But I don’t think we have a choice.” Helena tapped the officer on the shoulder. He smiled sheepishly. “Can I have a word alone with my daughter?”

  “I don’t know if that’s okay, ma’am.”

  “It’s fine. I asked Detective Collier.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. Why don’t you go and ask him yourself.”

  “I suppose it’ll be okay for a few minutes.”

  Helena shut Frankie’s door behind the rookie. In a hushed tone she spoke quickly. “Has Detective Collier talked to you yet?”

  “No.”

  “He will, and I lied abou
t how the glass door got broken.” Helena told Frankie everything she’d told Collier. “So if he asks you about it, I need you to agree with my story until I can speak with an attorney.”

  “Why, Mom?”

  “I don’t have time to answer that now, please just do it. The other thing is that I need to reach your dad, but our phone is tied up and I lost my cell last night. Did you bring yours?”

  Frankie nodded. She opened the closet and got out her gym bag, rummaged through it, and pulled out the cell phone Helena had bought her so they could always keep in touch. “Wouldn’t leave home without it.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Frankie handed the phone to her. Patrick’s number was busy. She then dialed his cell phone, to no avail. Helena sighed.

  “Page him, leave my number, and type in 911,” Frankie suggested.

  “It’s true what they say, I guess, about teenagers being smarter than their parents.”

  Helena paged Patrick. She and Frankie both crossed their fingers hoping he would call back. They got their wish momentarily.

  “Jesus, Helena, what’s going on down there? I’ve been trying to get through to you. I’ve even tried this number, but Frankie’s had her phone off. I got a call from the LAPD saying that Leeza was murdered and that they’d sent some men to your house. What is happening?”

  “I don’t know, Patrick. They think, they think….” She refused to choke up. She had done nothing wrong, and she wouldn’t let the police and reporters get the best of her. “They’re considering me a suspect in Leeza’s murder.”

  “What? That’s crazy. My God, Helena, on what basis?”

  “I don’t have time to go into it right now. I’ve only got a minute. We’ve got to get Frankie out of here. There’s a detective with a huge chip on his shoulder, and he’s talking about taking me to the station.”