Mommy, May I? (24 page)

Frankie tried to hold her breath, but his strength and persistence won out. She felt herself drifting off—the fumes of whatever covered her face nauseated her, stinging her nose and eyes. The world below blurred and then disappeared into a void. Seconds later she could no longer hear the crashing waves.

The grandfather clock in Patrick’s living room chimed eleven o’clock, startling Helena. The effects of the past twenty-four hours had done a good job of shattering her nerves.

They’d talked with her attorney all evening after she’d phoned Lindsay and received an update on Rachel and the baby. The baby was doing fine, and Rachel was better but still in a great deal of suffering. Helena wished she could go to her. No chance of that. She had to get her information through Lindsay. The hospital refused to give it to her. Apparently there were people who believed she was guilty for both Leeza’s murder and torching the center. She knew there was even speculation that she’d tried to kill Rachel. The whole thing was ludicrous, and Helena had never felt more depressed in her entire life, other than when her dad died. At least she’d seen that coming. This situation was more like a bad train wreck. She’d had no idea it would hit.

James, her attorney, finally left for his hotel, even though Patrick insisted he stay with them. He’d phoned once to let them know that most of the media had left the front gate, but the guards were still standing watch. Some comfort.

Morgan, one of the big black dogs, climbed onto the sofa with Helena, warming herself by the fire Patrick had lit. She looked over at him stoking the fire. The other dog, Merlyn, was lying at her feet. The smoky smell of burning wood made Helena think of happier times, when a roaring fire would have brought Patrick and her together, cuddled in each others’ arms.

She scratched Morgan’s head. “What did you do, chase my poor puppy into my room? You ornery vixen.” The large animal wagged her stump of a tail. Although the fire blazed, nothing seemed to warm Helena. Frankie’s cold words had left a dull ache in her heart. Patrick gave her a woolen blanket, which she wrapped around herself.

“There we go. That should last a little while longer, at least.” He placed the poker back in its holder. Then he came over to her, hesitating before sitting beside her on the sofa. She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the ends of the blanket as she tried to hold back her tears. Patrick wiped them away. “It’s all going to work out.”

She squeezed his hand. “I want to believe that, but I’m having a hard time. It’s not like we haven’t dealt with all this before. I guess I can go through a trial if I have to, because I’m innocent. But this whole thing is so unfair to Frankie. She’s just a kid. To have to drag her through this media onslaught again makes me sick. Then there’s poor Rachel and little Jeremy. I feel so helpless.”

“Me too. But we had no way of knowing this would happen.”

“I love Frankie. I can’t lose her again.”

“You won’t. She’s more resilient than you give her credit for.”

He hugged Helena tightly, enough to make her feel slightly uncomfortable in his arms. She pulled away, fearful that their embrace might lead to more than a shoulder to cry on.

“Listen, there’s something I have to tell you. It’s something I’ve even been keeping from James until I had a chance to discuss it with you.” Helena watched her grave words tug at his features.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’ve been some weird things going on lately, and well, I didn’t want to alarm anyone. I thought it was Leeza up to, you know . . .”

“Helena, you’re not making any sense. What’re you getting at? What weird things?”

Helena took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she told Patrick all about the near hit and run with the van, the phone calls and her suspicions about the fire.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Disbelief was written all over his face. “This is serious. What were you thinking?”

Helena choked out, “Well, I thought, as I said, that Leeza was behind it. And if she did hire someone to destroy me or Shea House, that could only implicate me further in her murder.”

“Possibly, but you’re innocent, and that would come out. I can’t understand why you’ve kept this a secret.”

“You can’t? Why don’t you try to go out in public right now, Patrick. You don’t think people won’t berate you, question you, doubt you? They’ve been doing that to me ever since Leeza started the ball rolling by telling Frankie the truth via the tabloids, before we had a chance to. Come on, you don’t think that if I went to the police with this that there wouldn’t be doubts, questions? If I had told them this, it might look even worse for me now, like I’d concocted this whole outrageous story of a stalker so that I wouldn’t be a suspect.” Her hands trembled as she wiped her nose. “Innocent yes, but believable? Come on, the tabloids in the past made me sound like a manipulative bitch who spent all her money on partying and didn’t give a rat’s ass about her child. Not to mention that I’m a husband stealer. I was just rebuilding a decent image, one in which people would see me for who I really am, not some self destructive, ego driven maniac. Now, what do you think people are going to believe? And that detective who’s out for my blood, do you think he’s going to believe me? No. People like to believe the worst, and I felt by hiding this I was at least protecting you and Frankie.”

Patrick leaned back rubbing his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Well, what should we do?”

“I think we have to go with it and hope for the best. We’ll tell James tomorrow. He’s good at what he does. He’ll try hard to keep it under wraps. He’s your attorney. There is something that goes along with passing the bar called confidentiality. Trust him.”

“Okay. But I’m still not sure if it’s the right thing to do. Right now, I’m too tired to worry about it anymore. I think I’ll try to get some sleep. I’ll check on Frankie one last time before going to bed.” Anger churned deep in her stomach as she recognized skepticism in Patrick’s voice, but she was far too exhausted to deal with it.

“Helena, the one thing I don’t get is why you didn’t call me when this psycho included our daughter in this game, when he said he’d been watching her?”

She closed her eyes, feeling as if she were already on trial. She shot back at him, “It happened so fast, I really don’t know. Maybe I thought that for once I could protect her. You’ve been doing it all her life. And for once, just once, maybe her mother should do that too. I know it sounds stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry now, but it’s how I felt.” She excused herself and headed for Frankie’s room. Her muscles ached as the hollow pit in her stomach swelled. Anger was not something she managed well. It had been something she’d always kept bottled inside. An unhealthy trait, one that allowed her addictions to control her life, but she could never go back there again, no matter how loudly the chemicals that dulled her pain called her by name. So for now, the ache raged on.

Frankie’s light was still on, and Helena could hear the radio playing Jack Johnson. Good, she’s still up. Maybe she’ll want to talk. She knocked on her door. No response. She decided to go in and turn off her radio and light. When she entered her room, she saw that Frankie wasn’t there. Helena checked the bathroom, then went down the hall to the kitchen, thinking that perhaps Frankie had gone there for a midnight snack. No luck. Where could she be? She double-checked throughout the house. The realization set in that Frankie was not anywhere inside the house. Panic rose like spewing lava from a volcano.

Patrick was locking the back door as she came into the kitchen. The look on her face must’ve told him something was very wrong. “What is it?”

“Frankie’s gone!”

Patrick insisted they not call the police for the moment. “Listen, she’s a savvy kid. She knows exactly how to sneak off this property, and I know no one got onto this place. It would’ve been impossible.”

“If she was able to get out, someone could’ve gotten in,” Helena replied.

“Like I said, she knows the ins and outs like nobody else would.”

“So she’s done this before?”

“Of course. She’s a teenager. She probably snuck off to hang out with her friends. Think about it. Here we’ve told her that basically she’s grounded, through no fault of her own. She took off to let off some steam.”

“I still think we should call the police.” When Helena reached for her pack of cigarettes, Patrick grabbed them out of her hand. She said nothing.

“Didn’t you just say that by including the police in every aspect of our lives we were only inviting trouble?”

“That’s unfair, Patrick.”

“I really believe we have nothing to worry about. She’s a pretty pissed off fifteen-year-old right now. If we call the cops, our problems will escalate. Let’s try to think logically. Here.” He opened a drawer and handed her a leather notebook.

“What’s this?”

“Frankie’s personal phone book. After the last time she pulled a stunt like this, I insisted she keep it in the kitchen, just in case. Start calling. I’ll go search the grounds. She may be out at the barn or at the cliffs, listening to the ocean. Don’t jump to conclusions. It really could be that simple.”

“But it’s so late.”

“She’s looking for a little freedom, and I don’t think it matters to her what time it is.” Patrick knew it was late, and although his words sounded calming even to himself, he couldn’t help but feel worried. Frankie knew the penalty for sneaking out: no driver’s license until she turned eighteen. He’d felt that would be a sufficient deterrent.

He grabbed Merlyn’s leash, the keener of the two canines, and headed out with him. Helena dialed the first number.

Patrick walked the length of the ranch. He peered into the stalls and the tack room, where Frankie liked to clean her saddle, absorbing the smells of the leather and saddle soap. Frankie loved that smell. Patrick had hoped he’d find her here taking comfort from her favorite horse. But, no.

Thank God the reporters were gone. They’d be back here bright and early, hoping to see something worth photographing or reporting. The silence made him feel uneasy, as he left through the back gate and headed for the cliffs leading down to the beach. It was very dark.
Should’ve brought the damn flashlight.

As he began the descent down the trail, he stopped short when his shoe kicked something. Merlyn whined. Patrick bent to pick it up—Frankie’s backpack. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Goosebumps bubbled on his arms. He opened the backpack, finding one of Frankie’s sweaters and her cell phone.

“Oh, God! She wouldn’t have left this stuff behind. What if she’s fallen? He screamed, “Frankie, Frankie, it’s Dad!” No reply. He needed light to see. He stumbled back up the cliff with the dog following. On solid ground, he sprinted toward home. He pushed open the kitchen door.

Helena, her face etched with anxiety, looked up from the phone book as she was setting the phone back down. “What is it? Did you find her?”

Patrick shook his head. He was out of breath. “No—you?”

“Nothing. One of her friends confessed they had plans to meet at the beach, but she never showed.”

“Call the police,” he ordered, in between gasps for air. Logical thinking had fallen away. He now knew something horrible had happened to his child.

Frankie tried to shift her weight to one side, but couldn’t.
Can’t move my hands and legs
. She realized they were in restraints.

Tears choked the back of her throat, which was excruciatingly dry, when she discovered she was wearing different clothes. This psycho had put her in a white cotton nightgown, trimmed in an eyelet pattern. She wasn’t wearing any panties. She cringed. What had he done to her? She didn’t think he had raped her, because she didn’t hurt between her legs. Her friends who weren’t virgins had said that it hurt like hell for a while right after their first time. She also didn’t notice any blood, but the thought of him touching her and seeing her naked made her want to vomit. She tasted bile rising in the back of her throat.

She shook her head, trying hard to regain her composure, to make some sense of what had happened. As her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, the room reminded her of her dad’s ski cabin in Tahoe but much smaller, and, oddly, black foam rubber covered the walls. The musty smell of rotten wood and mothballs further nauseated her.

All around the room were pictures of a girl who looked a little bit older than Frankie. There were also magazine and tabloid clippings from the past couple of years about her family. Why had this man erected a bizarre shrine to their scandal? What had he done to that other girl? What did he intend to do to her? It struck Frankie as even odder that adorning the top of the walls, almost like a border, were facemasks. All women. They looked frighteningly real, even the hair. Frankie felt a shiver slide down her spine. One looked exactly like Leeza. She knew then what he’d done and what he planned to do to her. Her heart raced as blood flowed rapidly through her. Every nerve ending screamed with fear.

She closed her eyes when the door opened. He walked over to her. She heard him set something down on the nightstand.
The Gypsy Kings
bellowed Spanish melodies from a stereo in the other room. He gently wiped her tears away with a handkerchief. She flinched, a scream aching to escape, but she was too petrified to make a sound.