Ignoring Harrington’s order, Sandra slipped to Erin’s side to remove the restraints. She was only able to loosen one wrist before someone grabbed her arm and twirled her around.
“You interfering bitch!” Spittle hit her face as Webster shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle.
“Don’t hurt Mommy! I’ll be good! Don’t hurt Mommy!”
Everyone froze.
Between sobs, Erin repeated, “Please don’t hurt Mommy! I’ll be good!”
Webster shoved Sandra out of his way, before bolting for the door.
Arm extended, Harrington stepped in and clothes-lined him, then pinned him to the wall. “C'mon. Gimme a reason to kill you.”
Webster’s eyes bulged—but he didn’t move.
~*~
On Monday, Sandra walked over to Cottage D to see Allie Johnson one last time, before she departed. The walkways were cleared now that the real maintenance man, not the undercover cop, had returned from vacation. Friday evening, once all the excitement had worn down, Harrington had found the cop, unconscious and duct-taped, in a closet.
Webster was under arrest. The local court refused to set bail. Louise Carson was also under arrest for an assortment of crimes, including assault for drugging the police officer, and false imprisonment. The unlicensed psychiatrist, along with the shock therapy paddles, awaited deportation back to his home country somewhere in the Balkans. The Cure Center was closed indefinitely, pending further investigations.
Erin had recovered the ability to speak in complete sentences. She was going to make an excellent witness for the prosecution.
“Enough about everyone else,” Allie said as she filled a box with personal items. “What about you?”
“I have a plan.” Sandra was both relieved and excited by the prospect. “My soon-to-be ex-husband has agreed to help me apply to become Erin’s legal guardian. He’s so happy I’m only asking for the house, my car and money to cover my living expenses, he’s promised to pull some strings to expedite the process. She’s about the age of one of the children I would have had, if I hadn’t miscarried, and she already calls me Mommy.”
Allie nodded. “What about the rest of your life? Children grow up and move away, you know.”
“When Jim and I married, I gave up on law school, became a paralegal, and helped him build his practice. I’ve decided to pick up where I left off.” She smiled. “I’ve become very attached to the Adirondacks. With any luck, I’ll be accepted at Albany Law School. Jim has offered to pay my tuition. Can you believe it? He said it’s an investment in his financial freedom.”
A horn honked. “There’s my ride. Thanks for everything.” Sandra walked outside into the diamond bright sunshine, squinting at the outline of a man leaning against the limousine—and felt a sharp pang of disappointment when she realized it was only the chauffeur.
Did you really think he’d be here to see you off?
“Ready to go, Ms. Blake?”
“Yes, thanks. You have all my things?”
He nodded.
She turned and took one last look around Lake Placid as her eyes welled up with tears. Damn, damn, damn the man! He had really gotten under her skin. “Let’s go,” she choked out.
The chauffeur opened the back door and Sandra slid into the dark leather interior, eyes blinded, head bowed as she wept. Needing time alone, she pressed the button and closed the divider. Too soon, the car stopped. Despite pressing all the knobs in the back seat, the divider wouldn’t go down.
The back door flew open; Harrington stood on the curb.
He reached in to take her hand. “Come with me.”
“What’s going on?”
He led her up the steps of the gray courthouse, through a metal detector, and into a judge’s chambers—all without a word.
A gray-haired man in black robes looked up from a stack of papers. “Ms. Blake?”
“Yes,” she answered, anxious that something had gone terribly wrong.
“I’ve spent the last two hours on the phone with Family Court judges in New York City, each and every one of them singing your praises. A bossy lawyer named Jim Radcliff has called here so often, I’ve told my secretary not to put him through anymore. And this fellow—” the older man shook his finger at Harrington. “Has been badgering me to death.”
Sandra looked back and forth between the judge and Harrington, and opened her mouth. All that came out was a weak whisper, “Why?”
“Because a certain young lady needs a foster parent, and everyone in the State of New York seems to think you are the best person for the job.”
Erin burst into the room, leaped into Sandra’s arms and hugged her, rocking and repeating, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!”
“I thought you’d like some company on your trip back to Manhattan,” Harrington said with an enormous smile.
Eyes swimming, Sandra took the pen, and signed the paperwork with shaking hands.
As the beaming judge looked on, Harrington embraced Sandra and Erin in a giant bear hug.
“Do you believe in miracles?” Sandra whispered.
“Yes, I do,” he replied, and sealed her destiny with a kiss.
French Kiss: Pigmalion
~*~
Baltimore Metropolitan University’s football stadium thundered with the footsteps of homecoming fans rushing to get out of the torrents of a heavy late November rain. Car horns honked, and revelers shouted a drunken chorus of, “BMU BEAT YOU! WILDCATS RULE!”
Levisa Harris and her best friend, Claire, crowded under the eaves, pressed back against the closed concession stands with what seemed like hundreds of other fans who peered glumly out at the rain. A post-game ambiance of hot dogs and beer, mixed with the smell of wet wool, swirled around them.
Hair soaked, Levisa attempted to push her flattened copper-colored curls out of her eyes and noted Claire’s short blonde hair hadn’t fared any better. “We look like drowned Wildcats.” Levisa glanced at the unending rain and hoped it would stop soon.
Claire looked at her friend and laughed. “Thank God, for hair dryers and flat irons.” A young man jostled up against the petite blonde. “Hello, I’m standing here!” Claire shouted.
“I know,” a man wearing a nautical windbreaker retorted with a soft southern drawl. “We came over to offer ya’ll a lift.”
Levisa spoke without thinking. “Richmond, Virginia.”
“Beg your pardon?” A look of surprise crossed his clean-shaven face.
“You’re from Richmond, right?” Levisa noted he was attractive in an old money, preppy kind of way, but he didn’t appeal to her at all.
“Yes, but how’d you know?” He leaned in a tad too close, expelling beery breath as he spoke.
Levisa leaned away, seeking fresh air as Claire spoke up. “She’s an expert on accents.”
“Parlor tricks! Oh, this is fun!” the Virginian said. “Sam, say something.”
“Chip, we need ta go.” Sam’s deep voice held a note of irritation. “I have ta study fer my CPA exam.”
“Baltimore—Pigtown.” Levisa looked at Sam with interest, and not just because of his accent. High forehead, half-covered with a shock of black-brown hair, he possessed long straight nose and full lips. A small scar curved around his strong chin.
She touched the scar on her own chin and wondered if he had fallen off his bicycle as a child, too. She pulled herself up short. Stop thinking about how adorable he is. Focus on the brass ring: finish the research project, graduate, and get a good job. “You’d be perfect for my Speech-Language Pathology Master’s research project.”
“I ain’t no guinea pig.” Sam pulled at Chip’s arm.
“One quick question—Sam, is it?”
He turned and faced Levisa directly, towering over her, his broad shoulders and wide chest straining at his ratty sweatshirt.
An image of him without his shirt, all rippling muscles, flashed into her mind. She forced herself to look directly into his deep-set eyes the color of dark chocolate. She s
wallowed hard, and asked the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “How far do you think you’ll get with that accent in an accounting firm?”
Sam’s face flushed. “I’m really good at numbers. That’s what matters in bidness.”
He was so good-looking, but he wouldn’t be hired, much less promoted, with that accent. Why didn’t he get it? Frustrated, she heard herself blurt out, “What company wants a CEO who sounds like a hick?”
He glowered at her. “Yew callin’ me a hick?”
Claire stepped between Sam and Levisa. “Please don’t be offended. She’s saying she can help you get a better job—if you reduce that Bawlamer accent, Hon!”
“It’s not nice ta make fun of people,” Sam snapped and grabbed Chip’s arm. “Let’s go.”
She felt short of breath, as if she’d run up a flight of stairs, instead of standing here, arguing with this hardheaded man. “If you change your mind,” Levisa shouted after him, “come to the Speech, Language, and Hearing Clinic. It’s in the middle of campus.”
As the two men walked off, collars pulled up against the wind, Claire turned to her friend. “You know, he’s not half-bad looking.”
“Chip? The preppy? Not my type,” Levisa watched the two men climb into an old Ford Taurus and focused on the back of Sam’s head and the way his dark hair tapered down his neck.
“No, the other one—Sam, with those dreamy brown eyes and that wavy black hair. Whew!” Claire fanned her face. “I’d love to give him a few private lessons, if you know what I mean!”
“Put a lid on your id, girl!” Levisa laughed and shook her head in an attempt to dispel her own disturbing responses to Sam. “I don’t have time for a man in my life. If I don’t finish my research, I won’t graduate in spring. All I need is one more Pigtown subject for the study and I’ll be done. Too bad, he’s the one that got away!”
~*~
“Look at this email.” Levisa pushed away from the computer, so Claire could read the screen.
“Dear Levisa—I hope you don’t think me too bold, but I can’t stop thinking about you since we met at the stadium on Saturday. You are the most interesting woman on this campus. Would you please meet me for coffee at the library? I’d love to get to know you better.
Warmest regards, Chip.”
“You have an admirer. Isn’t that sweet?” Claire giggled. “I wish I had someone who wrote me fan letters.”
Levisa strummed her fingers on the desk. “How’d he get my email address?”
“The clinic website?” Claire suggested.
“If it was Sam,” she murmured, “I’d be there in a heartbeat.”
Claire smirked at Levisa and harrumphed.
She caught herself, and put on her studious face. “No—Not that. I’m still short one subject.” Levisa looked at the calendar over her desk with the days numbered in a countdown to graduation. “I’m running out of time.”
“So, are you going to meet Chip?”
“No. It wouldn’t be fair to lead Chip on just to try to get to Sam. I’ll write back and tell him thanks, but I’m too busy with my research.”
Levisa spent the rest of the day working with her clients and entering data for her project.
At five in the evening, Claire stuck her head in the doorway. “Ready to go?”
“One sec. I’m going to check my email before I leave.” Levisa logged in and gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Claire peered over her friend’s shoulder. “Oh, Chip’s AHOY!”
“I have over thirty emails from him—one every fifteen minutes!” Levisa clicked the mouse, scarcely able to believe her eyes. “Look at this! They all say the same thing—‘Please reconsider. I’ll just keep begging until you give in!’ This is creepy, I’m blocking his messages.”
“Wow!” Claire exclaimed. “How come I never get a guy that’s mad about me?”
“This is the wrong kind of ‘mad’! Let’s go to the Rusty Bucket. I need a drink.”
~*~
The next day, Mrs. Pierce the receptionist, called back to Levisa’s office. “There’s someone here to see you.”
“Does he have a Pigtown accent?” Levisa crossed her fingers, sat on the edge of her seat and hoped it was Sam.
Mrs. Pierce chuckled. “Always on the lookout for good material, aren’t you? No, he’s just the usual.”
Disappointed, she wondered who would ask for her by name. Levisa walked out to the front counter, scanned the noisy waiting room crowded with mothers and preschool children and stopped short.
“I’m so glad you can see me.” Beneath his open nautical windbreaker, a tiny polo player raced across Chip’s shirt. As he placed his hand over his heart, the Virginian extended a small bouquet, and the scent of roses wafted her way. “Darling, these are for you.”
She ignored the flowers and took a step backward. “Chip, I’m sorry. I thought I was clear in my email. I don’t have time for dating now, I have to finish my thesis.”
He dropped to his knees in front of the desk, much to the amusement of a nearby child playing with a toy truck on the threadbare carpet. The little boy giggled and ran to his mother, pointing at the ‘funny man.’
“Please go out with me!” He clasped his hands to his chest, still holding the flowers. “I think about you constantly. I can’t sleep–I can’t eat. I must be with you.”
Levisa’s face burned with embarrassment. It seemed as if people were coming out of every nook and cranny to watch the dramatic scene. If she heard one more woman say, “Isn’t that romantic!” she was going to scream.
“Get up!” Levisa seethed between gritted teeth. “I’ll have a cup of coffee with you, but that’s it.” She grabbed her raincoat. “Let’s go.”
All the way to the café, Chip jabbered about his admiration for her profession, how dedicated she was, how lovely she looked, and how brilliant she must be to be able to identify all those accents. By the time she got into line, Levisa was exhausted. She looked at her watch for the fourth time.
“Did I tell you how much I admire you?”
Levisa gave Chip a weak smile and answered, “Yes, many times.”
For heaven’s sake! Why did it take so long to make a latte?
The preppy leaned his head close to hers, the smell of mouthwash heavy on his breath. “I must tell you, Sam Parker is driving me mad with his practice. Did you tell him to put marbles in his mouth?”
“What? No, I never even saw him in the clinic!”
“Gotcha!” Chip guffawed. “The look on your face! If only I had a camera.”
The milk steamer hissed in the background, matching Levisa’s slow burn. “That’s not funny.” She turned her back on the snickering man.
“Oh, come on. It was just a joke!”
Maybe they should play rock-n-roll instead of jazz to make the lines move faster! One cup of coffee with this jerk and she was gone. A second register opened and the clerk motioned to Levisa to approach.
“Let me get that,” Chip interjected.
“No, thank you.” She reached out to give the clerk a five-dollar bill.
“Really, I insist.” He flashed a perfect smile and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from the barista.
“I said—No— Thank You!” Levisa wrenched her hand away from his viselike grip. He was beyond a jerk, and had moved up to the jackass category.
“Oh, you are a vixen! I like it when a woman has fight.”
Coffee in hand, she backed towards the exit. “Get away from me. I never want to see you again.”
Everyone in the coffee shop stared at her.
“Levisa, darling! Don’t do this to me,” Chip called, following her out the door. “You know how much you mean to me.” He reached for her arm.
Could it get much worse than this?
She turned to flee, felt her footing slip on the wet concrete steps, and tumbled through the air.
~*~
“Are yew okay?” Sam’s face came into her field of vision, a worried frown creasing
his handsome features.
“Why am I on the ground? What happened?” Oh, my God! Of all the times, of all the places to run into him again! She attempted to sit up, but he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She felt heat rush to her neck and face. Was his hand really that hot? Or, was it just that the ground was so cold and damp by comparison?
“Yew fell down the stairs. I think yew got knocked out. Stay put. The police are on their way.”
“I just had the wind knocked out of me.” She took a deep shuddering breath and lifted her head. Flashbulbs went off in her skull and the crowd of students surrounding her began to spin. She closed her eyes to keep from getting sick.
“Let me put this under your head, Hon. Then yew can tell me what you remember.” The pleasant scent of a spicy aftershave wafted up from his jacket, as he tucked it in place. He brushed her hair back on her forehead, and his fingertips left a blazing trail on her skin. She blinked and found herself staring into his warm brown eyes. Her stomach dove in a long, lazy somersault. Yes, maybe she should stay put for a little while longer.
She took a deep breath. “Your buddy, Chip, he’s a weirdo.” She related how he had emailed her so often she’d had his email address blocked, then his embarrassing behavior in the clinic. “I thought if I got him out of where I worked, I could reason with him, but he wouldn’t give up. The last thing I remember was him trying to grab my arm. Which reminds me—where is he?”
Sam shook his head and frowned. “He ain’t my ‘buddy.’ We just live in the same apartment building.” He glanced around the crowd of students, his hair ruffled by a light breeze. “I don’t see him.”
The BMU Police and EMTs arrived, took reports from Sam and Levisa, and placed her on a gurney. She clutched Sam’s jacket to her chest, intending to return it to him, but when she looked around, he was gone. A pang of disappointment surprised her. What’s happening to me? I’m a scientist, cool, calm, rational. But when he’s around, I’m a quivering toy poodle! She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, and dozed off to sleep.
Killer Kisses Page 5