Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  The redhead went limp under the weight of Leslie’s body. The knife gone, it must have hit home, it must have found flesh, it must be over, Zelda thought… it must be over now, no more sense in breathing any more.

  For a moment the room froze, Zelda fainted on the floor with Leslie numb on top of her, Jane standing over them, and Robin still recovering in the corner, while Martha saw little but the flash of polished metal in Jane’s large hand. For a moment the action stopped cold, frozen in time, as it would always remain frozen in the five minds of the five women, each with different vantage points, each with different angles of perception, each with different versions of the truth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Robin climbed from her car looking at the familiar setting of Roman Hill Estate. It was getting all too familiar anymore, though this should be the last time she had to make this trek, at least for awhile; that is, if all the loose ends had been wrapped up as neatly as it seemed. Staring up at Felicia’s turret bedroom once more, she flashed on the first time a week ago that she and Leslie had arrived to investigate the murder. It made even more sense to her now that Felicia had died in such a enigmatic way, with a host of odd women surrounding her, interplaying with her very complicated life. She liked complicated things, and so it was when she died.

  “Feeling better this morning?” Leslie asked as she joined Robin and the two walked towards the house.

  “I’m okay, a little headache, but it was mostly gone this morning. I still can’t get over that I didn’t get that knife from Zelda, Eve, whoever she was.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t really surprise me,” Leslie replied. “You’re out of shape, need to brush up on some basic karate. You’re getting too lazy. A little too much laziness could kill you.”

  “Well, you didn’t get it away from her either,” Robin reminded her partner.

  “We can thank Jane,” Leslie said.

  “Want to thank her personally?” Robin asked in jest.

  “Maybe, just maybe.”

  “Is she going to be here this morning?” Robin asked.

  “I called to tell her we’d be here. She was rather non-committal,” Leslie replied. “But at least it’s over, Betsy should be here any minute.”

  “Over, hum, that’s right it’s over.”

  “What’s the matter? I’d think you’d be happy.”

  “I should be, shouldn’t I?”

  “But you’re not,” Leslie queried.

  “No, I just have this weird feeling that it’s not over yet.”

  “Weird feeling, about what?” Leslie asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Robin answered.

  “Something we’ve overlooked?”

  “I don’t know, I think we’ll just see how things are when we confront them all. I have a feeling we still don’t have the whole story.”

  As they talked, a car pulled up the long driveway and John Longcore and his sister Betsy got out.

  “Just who I wanted to see,” John said, giving first Leslie and then Robin big hugs. “Thank you for saving my sister.”

  “It’s always easier to save the innocent,” Leslie told him with a smile. She gave Betsy a warm kiss on the cheek.

  John reached into his pocket and pulled out a check that he handed to Leslie.

  “Very nice, thank you,” Leslie said. She looked at it, then handed it to her partner.

  Robin pocketed it without seeing the amount.

  “Listen Betz, I’ve got to go,” John said, turning to his sister, “we’ll have dinner tonight, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “You going to be all right?”

  “I think so,” she replied, looking up at the old house. “I have my things to pack, then I’ll take a taxi to the cemetery and give Felicia my last kiss.” There was a sad look on her face.

  Robin looked at the small woman trying to imagine her with Felicia. For all the sexual partners that Felicia had, Betsy seemed the oddest. She wasn’t the kind of woman that Felicia was usually attracted to. Not that there was any particular type, Felicia’s tastes were obviously broad and wide. But Betsy seemed too conventional for Felicia’s lifestyle. Maybe there was a siren under all that quiet and composure. She had a lusty reputation, but even so, Betsy seemed too sensible to be attached to anything as bizarre as Felicia Roman. Where would she go now? That was a mystery as interesting as the case.

  “Don’t worry, sis, we’ll find a place for you,” John assured her. “I think there’s an apartment near mine that’s available. I’ll do some calling this afternoon.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a tentative smile. John gave his sister a hug and then climbed into the car and drove away.

  “Good morning ladies,” Leslie said, entering Felicia Roman’s study to see Martha, Remy and Jane sitting in an awkward, though relieved silence.

  Robin and Betsy followed Leslie into the room.

  “Oh, Betsy,” Remy raced toward the pale but smiling woman. The two hugged warmly at Remy’s insistence, though for Betsy the display was forced.

  “This has been all my fault,” Remy began. “I’ve been over and over it in my mind, I should have known, please can you forgive me?” She was in tears again, just as she’d been in tears for nearly the entire twenty-four hours since Zelda’s unveiling.

  Betsy stroked the distraught woman’s mop of hair, because she really had no other choice, even though the gesture seemed unnatural.

  “Remy, leave Betsy alone for awhile, she needs a little space,” Martha chimed in.

  “Oops, I’m sorry,” Remy said and she pulled away. The woman fidgeted nervously with the cotton handkerchief in her hand, wringing it, pulling it through her fist.

  “Eve was a cunning imposter, it was a confused time for you back then Remy. How would you have known?” Leslie said, as the whole room watched the anxious Remy return to her place beside Martha on the sofa.

  Betsy sat down in the high backed chair that had always been Felicia’s. She didn’t look like the grand dame, she wasn’t even trying to; it was simply pleasant to sink herself into something familiar. She smiled at the others, feeling as if she would prefer being there alone, not with five women eyeing her.

  “We’ve checked things at Brightwood,” Leslie said, jumping into the uncomfortable silence. “Eve Delisle escaped from Brightwood, just at the time that Zelda Wing left her employment there. Apparently she stalked Zelda, killed her, maimed the body beyond recognition, dumped it, and then assumed Zelda’s identity, which she’s maintained now for at least four years. Before Brightwood she murdered two other women. She moved on to Felicia because Felicia was so notorious. The S&M was pretty bogus… for the benefit of Felicia’s personal kink. Then the attempt to kill Martha in the same way, knowing how Martha would fall into her trap. We don’t know what set her off this time. One thing for certain. She’s smart, clever and extraordinarily ruthless. She had an uncanny way of covering her tracks for a woman so mentally disturbed. Of course it helped that she bore a strong resemblance to the real Zelda.”

  “Where is she now?” Martha asked.

  “There will likely not be a trial, but that will take months to decide. She’ll probably be locked up in a hospital for the criminally insane. When she was taken into custody yesterday, she’d regained some of her composure, but her mind was all over the place. Her gross failure with Martha didn’t sit well with her fragile psyche.”

  “Oh my, I should have known,” Remy said, with tears still falling from her eyes. Though she sat next to Martha she seemed to cringe when her lover surrounded her with a comforting arm. She shook the woman off. “It was strange how she wrote to me out of the blue a year ago. I thought it was a good idea for me, reacquainting myself with someone from Brightwood, that it might help me understand the past, help me heal even more.” She looked up at Leslie and Robin with an imploring look. “She was so gentle and reassuring, reminding me of private things we shared during that time. I wonder how Eve knew.”

  “She was in possession o
f Zelda’s diaries which were rather detailed regarding every aspect of Zelda Wing’s life. She really hit on a gold mine, choosing to take the woman’s identity. It was all spelled out in clear terms. All she needed was a little hair dye and the right hair cut,” Leslie said.

  “Maybe you can tell us, what might have brought her to Roman Hill in the first place?” Robin asked the shivering woman on the couch.

  Remy looked up at Robin nervously.

  “I really don’t know,” Remy replied. Her eyes refused to focus on anyone.

  “Zelda, Eve I mean,” Martha began, “told me that you wrote to her about strange things happening here. What did you tell her, dear?”

  Remy’s chin trembled. “Oh, I’m sure it was too much. I must have told her that you and Felicia were, you know … playing your games.” Remy’s voice turned cold, as if her entire body had been suddenly hit with a blast of snow. She shook, her arms drawn in close to her sides.

  “Remy, hon, perhaps you need to lie down,” Martha suggested, worriedly.

  “No, I don’t need to lie down,” she wiggled away from the woman’s grasp. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, then looked up as she realized that everyone was staring at her.

  “You told her about the S&M?” Leslie asked.

  Remy looked up, her eyes darting about the faces of the women looking at her.

  “Yes,” she answered, “I told her that my lover was into S&M games with another woman, that I couldn’t do those things, and I was very concerned about my relationship with Martha.”

  “But Remy, I thought we’d talked about this?” Martha said.

  “How did she respond?” Robin asked.

  “She wrote back not to worry, that there was nothing wrong with variety in sexual expression, that perhaps I should talk to Martha about my feelings.”

  “Quite a sane thing to advise you,” Leslie said.

  “I can’t believe how devious she was,” Martha said, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe that you three rescued me from this. I would have died.” The look of shock on Martha’s face was as real as the one she’d had the day before, when she was finally aware of exactly what had happened in the middle of her scene.

  “It’s going to take some time to get over, I’m sure,” Robin said kindly.

  “But Remy,” Martha said, “You mean to tell me that you didn’t have any doubt about Eve when she came here. I mean did she really look that much like the real Zelda?”

  Remy shook. “I told you,” she said icily. “The woman looked like the Zelda I knew. But you know as well as anyone that I was not well when I knew her. Please, Martha, stop browbeating me!”

  “Remy?” Martha tried to calm the woman down, but it was obvious that Remy didn’t want Martha’s affectionate concern.

  “Perhaps we could all use something to drink. I’ll see if I can find something.” Martha’s discomfort was showing, and she rose from the sofa, patting Remy’s hand softly. “I’ll be right back. A little iced tea?” she said addressing the whole room. There were enough nods to send Martha on an expedition to the kitchen. Remy quickly jumped up and followed her lover.

  “Maybe she needs my help,” she said nervously.

  “You think that woman is going round the bend?” Jane asked, as the two disappeared into the back of the house.

  “She doesn’t look very sane,” Robin agreed. “This has obviously shaken her badly.”

  “I’d put her back in the mental institution and let her calm down,” Jane suggested. “But then who am I to say anything?”

  “Did Zelda kill anyone else between her stay at Brightwood and Felicia?” Betsy chimed in. “I mean, is she some kind of serial killer?”

  “That’s not clear, the police will be looking into it, as they check their unsolved murders,” Leslie said. For an instant, she caught Jane’s attentive eye, and Leslie stared at the Domme. Her legs were crossed in a masculine way, her cowboy boots still caked with mud on the heels. She squashed a cigarette in the ashtray beside her, the husky finger pressing the butt into the glass while Leslie stared at her. The detective felt her body jump, as it had on so many occasions. Her mind fast forwarding to their private talk, the one they would need to have when this was all over. It made her nervous, even as the possibilities excited her.

  “So, what’s your explanation about those tricky little rope knots you two were so worried about?” Jane asked. She was smirking, almost anticipating the answer.

  “Eve had seen the pictures,” Leslie explained. “In one moment of lucidity, she spilled the beans to the police, started talking, told them all kinds of things. She thought she was quite clever pinning this on you, Jane. Of course, when Betsy was arrested, she had no problem supporting that theory too. It seems that Eve was very cunning, giving her lovers what they wanted most, only to run a knife in their gut to complete her own twisted needs. It wasn’t until Felecia that she used the S&M fetish, but that worked perfectly into her schemes and she pulled it off without a hitch. Moving on to Martha was as easy as repeating the same crime, which was amazingly bold given the circumstances. You would have thought that she’d have cleared out… or at least laid low. I guess that suggests how much her insanity was in control.”

  “She tried doing the same thing with me,” Jane said. “I laughed in her face, she wasn’t clever enough to know that’s something I’d never do. But Zelda hasn’t a clue what S&M is all about, the bond of trust that’s nurtured between Dominant and submissive is so essential to a good scene. We’re a safe, sane and consensual world, as the saying goes. Not a bunch of crazy perverts. Zelda wasn’t sane enough to understand the beauty of that special bond – or the need for it. But she was clever enough to use the fetish to serve maniacal schemes.

  “I think I might have been a little different for her, however. She may have wanted a way out with me. She wanted me to take her hard, she wanted the punishment to hurt her, really hurt her. It’s too bad Felicia was so naïve and didn’t see the forces that controlled that woman.”

  “Yes it was,” Betsy said. There was a sadness in her eyes, a loneliness that seemed to bring the room down to her level of gloom. A respectful quiet followed… .

  … until the scream.

  A blood curdling cry pierced the quiet calm in the study.

  The four women jerked. Then Robin and Leslie immediately bolted to the back of the house, to the kitchen.

  Remy had a kitchen knife in her hand, as if trying to reenact the failed moment in the upstairs bedroom the day before. Martha for the second time in two days found herself about to be the victim in a murder, the glazed over eyes of a crazy woman staring into hers.

  Strange the strength of madwomen with knifes, Robin thought as she struggled to pull Remy away from Martha. What a stupid thing to think, she’d decide afterward, but Remy’s strength was suddenly far beyond what anyone would have thought. She had her lover pinned to a kitchen counter, her smaller form leaning against the heavier Martha with a zealot’s madness propelling her.

  “You’re supposed to be dead! Dead! Do you hear!” she screamed at her frightened lover. “You run off screwing around with that bitch, you loved her, didn’t you? You said you loved me! But you lied, you lied to me, you bitch!” Remy tried to bury the knife in Martha’s chest, as Martha struggled for her life, barely able hold off the slowly sinking weapon.

  Robin pulled at Remy’s back, expecting Leslie behind her to have the knife in hand.

  “You bitch, you lying bitch!” Remy screamed. She lunged again.

  She was sobbing, her words garbled by her rage. Yet her strength was finally vanishing as her body collapsed back against Robin, when the detective gave her one sharp determined tug. The knife dropped to the kitchen counter, without having to be pried from her hands. And Leslie instantly retrieved it, taking it as far from Remy as she could.

  “I brought her here,” the woman sobbed. “I knew who she was from the moment she arrived.” Regaining a degree of clarity, she looked up at Martha one last time, f
or one last verbal knife to throw at the object of her passion. “I knew she was Eve. I knew she hadn’t died. I suspected it all along when I got the letters. I may have been insane then, but there were things about Eve you could never forget, even if you only met her once.” Remy’s eyes were still filled with hate. “It was Eve all right, and she was going to kill you, just the way she did Felicia, and I was happy about it. I wanted her to.”

  Martha hid her head, not wanting to look at Remy’s twisted face. Robin pulled Remy away from the kitchen, more babbling, hurtful denunciations would be pointless. She led the dazed woman into the hallway, to the foyer, where she and Leslie would keep her calm. Jane had 911 on the phone, and Betsy comforted the shocked Martha. For the second time in two days, Martha had been rescued, and a houseful of women were left stunned. Hopefully this was the end at last, but an eerie silence followed, no one ready to let down their guard.

  An hour later Leslie and Robin watched the red lights of the ambulance disappear down the driveway of Roman Hill.

  “So, this was your gnawing intuition,” Leslie remarked.

  “She was sadly unstable, I feel very sorry for her,” Robin said, shaking her head. “Amazing, bringing a madwoman into this house to match her own madness.”

  “She’ll go back to Brightwood, or wherever she belongs, certainly not among the sane,” Leslie speculated.

  “I feel sorry for Martha, did you see her in there, she looked horrible.”

  “She’ll survive, she’s the kind that does,” Leslie said. “If Jane’s smart she’ll put Martha in charge of the renovations of the estate, and have some top notch showplace by the time it’s done.”

  “I’m still not sure about the Bed and Breakfast idea,” Robin said.

  “I think you’re right, but knowing Jane, maybe she’ll open a new club? It would be perfect for that don’t you think?” Leslie said. “I suppose if you can forget what happened here.”