The Undead Next Door las-4

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  "That was me, Robby MacKay."

  Billy looked him over. "You're a foreigner, too?"

  "Aye, from Scotland. Have ye looked at the body yet?"

  "I'll ask the questions around here." Billy removed his notepad and pencil from his pocket. "Now, where exactly is this dead body?" He glanced at Jean-Luc. "It's not another squirrel, is it?"

  "It's Mrs. Bolton." Heather glared at Billy. "She's the curator at the Chicken Ranch Museum.

  You'll find her…in the cellar." Tears crowded her eyes as the gruesome image filled her mind.

  "What were you doing at the Chicken Ranch, Heather?" Billy demanded.

  She took a deep breath, willing the tears and the image away. "Fidelia sent us there. She had a vision."

  "We've been looking for the man who set fire to Heather's house," Jean-Luc explained. "Fidelia thought he was hiding at the Chicken Ranch, so—"

  "You went there?" Billy interrupted, his nostrils flaring. "You should have called me!"

  "There was no way of knowing if Fidelia's vision was correct," Heather said.

  "That doesn't matter." Billy stepped toward her, jabbing a finger in the air. "You don't do your own investigation. You call me." He glared at the two men flanking her. "If anything had happened to Heather, I'd hold you two accountable."

  "We are protecting her," Jean-Luc said through gritted teeth.

  "That's not your job." Billy tossed his toothpick to the ground. "So you're saying the same guy who set Heather's house on fire just killed Mrs. Bolton?"

  "Aye," Robby answered.

  Billy made some notes on his pad. "Any idea who this guy is?"

  "I don't know his name, but he's killed before," Jean-Luc said. "In France."

  "Shit. Another foreigner." Billy scowled at him. "How come the French police let this guy get away?"

  Jean-Luc sighed. "No one knows who he is. He has threatened Heather, and we have sworn to pro—"

  "Whoa!" Billy held up a hand. "Heather, if you're on his hit list, I need to take you immediately into protective custody."

  "And where would you put me and Bethany?" Heather asked. "You're not equipped for this sort of thing."

  "I'll think of something," Billy said. "There's always the jailhouse."

  "No!" Heather grimaced. "I'm not putting Bethany in jail. We're safe here."

  Billy's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that? Looks to me like your problems started when you met Mr. Sharp."

  "I have five guards, including Robby, and an excellent alarm system," Jean-Luc declared. "I can keep Heather and her family safe."

  Billy glowered at him, then turned to Heather. "Is that what you want? You want to trust this foreigner with your life?"

  "Yes." Heather felt amazed that she'd answered so easily. Even though there were things she didn't know about Jean-Luc, she really did trust him. She glanced at him and saw the relief on his face.

  "I need to talk to you alone." Billy retreated to his squad car and waited for her to join him.

  She descended the steps and crossed the driveway. "What is it?"

  He glanced back at Robby and Jean-Luc and lowered his voice. "You've only known them a few days. Are you sure you can trust them?"

  "Yes."

  Billy gave her a dubious look. "I'm not sure you're thinking clearly. Are you here of your own free will? You're not being coerced in any way?"

  "No. I truly believe this is the safest place for Bethany and me."

  Billy frowned. "Well, that Frog is watching you like a hawk."

  Heather glanced back. Jean-Luc was watching them intently. "He cares about me."

  "There's something about him I don't trust."

  "Billy, you don't trust any foreigners. In fact, you don't like anyone who isn't a native-born Texan."

  "Well, yeah, that's true." He turned to a fresh sheet of paper in his notepad. "I'm gonna give you my private cell phone number. You can call anytime night or day, and I'll come running."

  "Okay." She accepted the paper.

  "I'm serious, Heather. I let you down before. I won't do it again."

  Tears returned to her eyes. "Thank you."

  "I've gotta go check out this dead body, but I'll come back later with more questions."

  She nodded. "I understand."

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Take it easy."

  "Thanks." Heather turned back to the house while Billy circled his squad car. By the time she reached the porch, his car was peeling away.

  "Are you all right?" Jean-Luc touched her elbow as he escorted her back into the foyer.

  "I'm tired." Heather rubbed her eyes. "But I'm too nervous to sleep, and Billy might come back with more questions."

  "Would you like to see my office? We could be alone there to talk."

  Talk? He'd end up kissing her again, and as lovely as that sounded, she didn't want to throw herself at him to take her mind off a dead body. "No, not tonight. I–I'd like to be alone for a while. I think I'll get some work done." She headed for the design studio.

  "I'll let you in." He walked beside her. "Heather, I don't want you to feel…trapped here. I know this is the safest place for you, but if you wish to leave…"

  She touched his arm. "I'm staying here."

  "Good."

  She wondered if he'd overheard her conversation with Billy. If so, he had excellent hearing.

  He punched the keypad and opened the door for her. "I'll be in my office if you need me. And Robby's in the security office."

  "I'll be fine, thank you."

  With a sad look, he touched her cheek, then walked away.

  Heather meandered to the worktable and looked over her sketches. She took a few deep breaths and tried to push all the wretched memories away. For just a little while, she needed to escape.

  She needed to create something beautiful.

  She selected the design she wanted to make first and the fabric, a royal-blue silk chiffon. Then she went to work making the pattern. After a few hours, she had one she was happy with. She cut out the material.

  "Mrs. Westfield?" Robby peeked in the door. "Yer daughter just came down the stairs. Jean-Luc took her into the kitchen. I thought ye'd like to know."

  "Yes. Thank you." Heather rushed into the hallway and accompanied Robby across the showroom.

  "I saw her pass by the camera outside Jean-Luc's office," Robby explained. "I called him, and he helped her down the stairs and into the kitchen. I hope ye doona mind."

  "No, not at all. I'm glad someone was awake to take care of her."

  "If ye need me, I'll be in here." Robby let himself into the security office.

  "Good night." Heather continued on to the kitchen and eased open the door silently. She heard Bethany's voice.

  "I'll be Barbie, and you can be the crocodile."

  "Very well," Jean-Luc answered quietly.

  "What's he doing?" Bethany asked.

  "He's bowing. 'Good day, milady. "

  Bethany giggled. "Crocodiles don't bow."

  "They should when they meet a princess."

  Bethany laughed some more. "You bow like that when you see me."

  "Because you're a princess. This house didn't have a princess till you came."

  Heather's heart expanded. What a sweet thing to say.

  "I know!" Bethany sounded excited. "Let's pretend I'm the princess, and the crocodile is a frog."

  "Ribbit," Jean-Luc croaked.

  Bethany burst into giggles. Heather smiled to herself.

  "And then the princess kisses the frog." Bethany made a loud smacking noise. "And he turns into a prince. And now, they're in love forever."

  There was a pause, and Heather waited to hear what Jean-Luc would say next.

  His voice sounded low and tense. "Can the fair maiden love him when he's…an ugly creature?"

  Heather almost yelled yes. But surely Jean-Luc wasn't referring to himself? He wasn't a creature.

  He was gorgeous and sweet. The most perfect man she'd ever met. There wa
s no point in denying it any longer. She was falling in love with him.

  "I think so," Bethany answered seriously. "Princess Fiona fell in love with Shrek, and he's a green ogre."

  Heather beamed with pride over her brilliant daughter.

  "I haven't heard of this Shrek," Jean-Luc said.

  "You don't know Shrek?" Bethany sounded amazed. "I have it at home. You can watch it with me."

  "I would like that," Jean-Luc replied.

  Heather closed the door with a thud. "Hello?" She walked through the sitting area and spotted them at the kitchen table.

  "Mama!" Bethany leaped toward her. "I woke up and you weren't in bed with me."

  "I'm sorry." She knelt to hug her daughter. "I was working late."

  Jean-Luc stood. "I gave her some milk and cookies. I hope you don't mind."

  "No." She smiled at him. "You're a sweetheart."

  The corner of his mouth lifted, and his eyes glimmered with emotion. And yet he seemed to be at a loss for words. Heather's heart filled with love and longing.

  The door opened behind them, and Robby spoke, "The sheriff is back. He wants to interview us each separately."

  "I'll go first." Jean-Luc headed for the door.

  "Come, sweetie." Heather ushered her daughter to the door, too. "Let's get you back in bed."

  She led Bethany to their bedroom and read a book to her until she fell asleep. Heather glanced at the clock. A little after three A.M. Good Lord, this night was endless. Yawning, she descended the stairs and found Billy waiting for her. After thirty minutes of questioning, he was done, and Robby escorted him from the building.

  With a sigh, Heather headed back to the stairs. Finally, she'd get some sleep.

  She heard music and stopped to listen. Classical music. She eased toward the cellar door and pressed her ear against it. A piano and harpsichord.

  "Can I help you?" Robby sauntered toward her.

  "I was just going to bed. Good night." She dashed up the backstairs to her bedroom.

  Why were so many people in the cellar, when she and her family were locked out? What was Jean-Luc hiding? A spurt of anger gripped her. She was trusting him with her life and with the lives of Bethany and Fidelia. Why couldn't he trust her?

  She knew she was falling in love with him. If they were going to have a successful relationship, there couldn't be secrets between them. And if he wasn't going to divulge his secrets, she would discover them on her own.

  Nothing would stop her. Especially not fear.

  CHAPTER 18

  Red glowing eyes, danger, the flash of white, gnashing teeth. Mrs. Bolton's dead body sprawled on the floor. Heather jerked awake.

  "Mama, are you all right?" Bethany stood by the bed, her eyes wide with worry.

  Heather took a deep breath. It was just a bad dream. Fidelia's warning about red glowing eyes had seeped into her own dreams and memories.

  "You okay?" Fidelia sat on her bed, tying her shoelaces. She and Bethany were already dressed.

  "I'm fine." Heather glanced at the bedside clock. Ten minutes after ten. "I overslept." Not surprising since she'd been up most the night. "Have you had any more dreams?" she asked Fidelia quietly.

  The older woman frowned and mouthed the word fire.

  Fire? Heather raised her eyebrows. She wanted to know more, but didn't want to discuss it in front of Bethany.

  The little girl ran to the door. "I'm hungry."

  "Let's get some breakfast." Fidelia ushered her out.

  "Was it bad?" Heather asked just as Fidelia was closing the door. "The fire?" she whispered. Fidelia winced. "Infierno." She shut the door.

  Hell? Heather shuddered. Was that Louie's plan? To set this house on fire and kill them all? She showered, dressed, and went to the kitchen for a quick breakfast.

  Afterward, she asked Pierre to let her into the design studio. "I could let myself in if I knew the combination."

  Pierre propped the doors open. "I'll ask Robby. No one can know the combination without his permission."

  "I see." She hated the locked doors as much as all the surveillance cameras that were being installed, but it couldn't be helped. She strolled into the room and halted in front of her worktable.

  For a second, she couldn't believe her eyes. She blinked. No, it was real.

  There on the table, her sketches were ripped in two. The royal-blue silk chiffon that she'd cut so carefully the night before was slashed and mutilated. She cried out.

  "Madame?" Pierre dashed into the room. "Are you all right?"

  She pointed at the destruction. "My work."

  "What's wrong?" Phil ran into the room.

  "My work is destroyed." Heather groaned. "There are so many guards in this house, and so many damned cameras. Why didn't anyone see this?"

  "There are no cameras in here," Phil explained. "We're installing them today."

  "Who would do something so mean?" Pierre picked up two halves of a sketch.

  Phil frowned. "Whoever has the most to gain from it."

  Heather sucked in a deep breath. Alberto. He didn't want her designing for Jean-Luc. "I need to talk to Alberto."

  "You think he did it?" Pierre asked. "I've known Alberto for years. I don't think he would. But don't worry. We'll investigate the matter thoroughly."

  "It won't happen again," Phil assured her.

  Heather nodded.

  Phil and Pierre left, and she stood there, looking at the destruction. Could Alberto really do something this mean? At least there was plenty of silk chiffon still on the bolt. She would have to cut the dress again. If she started now, she could be sewing by noon.

  She smoothed the royal-blue material across the second worktable, then arranged her pattern pieces on top.

  "Buon giorno." Alberto strolled into the room. "Pierre said you wanted to see me?"

  Heather took a deep breath to remain calm. "What do you know about this?" She motioned to the table behind her.

  "Oh my God! What happened?" He rushed over for a closer look.

  "I was hoping you would tell me."

  He picked up a piece of slashed fabric. "This is terrible!"

  She glared at him. "It sure is."

  His eyes widened suddenly, and the material slipped from his fingers. "You think I…?" He huffed with indignation. "I have no need to resort to this. Your line of clothing will fail miserably on its own."

  Heather hesitated. He seemed genuinely affronted. But if Alberto hadn't done this, then who did?

  "Oh, of course. It was the models. Simone and…Helga."

  "Inga." Alberto rubbed at the red scrape on his neck. "They do not control their anger well."

  "You can say that again. What is their problem?"

  Alberto winced. "Please. Don't tell Jean-Luc. He's already angry at them. He'll fire them for sure."

  "They deserve to be fired."

  "No! Please. It would destroy them."

  Heather snorted. "They're top fashion models. They could work anywhere."

  "No, they cannot. Jean-Luc is the only one who would hire them. He—he understands their…problem. They have a, uh, disability."

  "Right. I recognized that right off the bat."

  His eyes widened. "You did?"

  "Oh yeah. It's called psycho bitch."

  "No! They—they cannot go out into the sun at all. Most designers would never tolerate that."

  "You mean they're allergic to the sun?"

  Alberto shrugged. "You could say that. Imagine—no photo shoots on the beach. No other designer would hire them. They'll be completely ruined if Jean-Luc fires them."

  Heather couldn't work up an ounce of sympathy. "They should have thought of that before they went berserk."

  "They feel threatened by you. Jean-Luc has never shown so much interest in another woman."

  "Really?" She was starting to feel a little magnanimous now. "You mean he hasn't had a long string of girlfriends?"

  "No, not at all. He has stayed away from women for years. But that
has changed now that he's met you."

  "What about the other girls that Louie murdered?"

  Alberto winced. "That was a long time ago."

  She bet it was. Her immortal theory kept coming back.

  Alberto pressed his palms together. "Please don't tell Jean-Luc about this. I'll talk to them. I'll make sure they never cause you trouble again."

  "You can make them behave?" She gave the scrape on his neck a dubious look.

  "If they want to model my gowns in the show, they will do as I ask. And I'll help you." He motioned to the table where she was about to recut the first gown. "I'll show you a way to cut the skirt on the bias. It'll flow better when the model's moving down the runway."

  "That would be great. Thank you."

  "And these sketches—" He picked up two halves. "They won't ever look as good, but you can tape them back together and make copies. In fact, you should always make copies of everything you do. There's an excellent copier in Jean-Luc's office. You should use it."

  "I would hate to disturb him."

  Alberto laughed. "He's not there during the day."

  "Then where is he?"

  Alberto visibly gulped. "He's…away." He waved a hand vaguely in the air. "On business."

  "Where?"

  "I'll give you the combination, so you can go to his office," Alberto rushed his words. "Fourteen eighty-five. Don't ask the significance. And it's the same number for the keypad to this room."

  "Really?" Was that why they were so reluctant to tell her the combination? How many keypads used the same number?

  "Is it a deal?" Alberto asked. "You won't tell Jean-Luc what Simone and Inga did?"

  "No, I'll let it pass."

  "Please don't tell anyone I told you the combination."

  "My lips are sealed." She'd found a new, unlikely ally. Alberto spent the next two hours helping her cut the first gown, and she knew it was an improvement over the one she'd cut the night before.

  "Thank you." She gathered up the scraps to throw away. "Would you like to join us for lunch?"

  "Sorry, but I can't. I'm meeting Sasha for a late lunch."

  "I didn't know she was back in town."

  Alberto frowned. "I didn't know she'd left."

  "She left Sunday. She went to San Antonio to some fancy spa."