The Undead Next Door (18 page)

The car stopped weaving and zoomed down the driveway in a straight line.

Heather exhaled a long breath. “He’s gone crazy. Thank God he doesn’t want Bethany this weekend.”

“That was different,” Robby spoke behind them.

Jean-Luc glanced back to find the Scotsman giving him an amused look. “Are you ready to go?”

“Aye.” Robby strode down the steps to the driveway, carrying two swords. “Let me check the car first.”

“This is it.” Heather studied the Queen Anne house lit by the headlights of Jean-Luc’s car as he parked. Between the scraggly azalea bushes in the front flower bed, she spotted a stone cellar.

The two-story wooden frame house was out in the middle of nowhere, but fifty years ago it had drawn customers from all over the state. A large sign by the front steps read Chicken Ranch, est. 1863. Heather noted an old Chevy Impala in the parking lot, probably Mrs. Bolton’s car.

Heather gathered her purse, containing Fidelia’s Glock and a flashlight, and met Jean-Luc on the sidewalk. Robby handed him his foil, and Jean-Luc slid it into a sheath hidden beneath his long black coat. Robby didn’t bother to conceal the claymore strapped on his back.

Heather shook her head as they climbed the front steps to the porch. “The curator’s not going to let you in with those swords.”

“That is the least of my worries.” Jean-Luc knocked on the door.

As they waited, Heather admired the elaborate gingerbread work around the covered porch and the wicker furniture. “They’ve maintained the place well.”

Jean-Luc knocked again.

Heather frowned. “She said she would keep it open.”

Jean-Luc turned the doorknob, and the door swung open slowly. “She has kept it open.” He entered the dimly lit foyer, followed by Robby.

“Hello?” Heather called out as she stepped into the house. No answer. She gazed about, taking in the flocked wallpaper and Oriental rug on the wooden floor. “Maybe she’s in the bathroom.”

Robby obviously didn’t believe in such convenient reasoning, for he drew his claymore. He entered the dark parlor on the right, his sword clenched tight in his fist.

He halted abruptly. “Lord Almighty,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Jean-Luc rushed in, then stopped.

Heather couldn’t see what they were looking at, so she fumbled along the wall and flipped the light switch. “Good Lord.”

The light was aimed at the far wall, where a giant oil painting spread five feet across. Heather swallowed. No wonder Fidelia recognized this painting. Who could forget it? A curvaceous blonde reclined on a velvet chaise, completely nude while she pleasured herself, one hand on a plump breast and the other between her spread legs. Judging from the look on her face, her hands could work miracles.

“Sheesh. That doesn’t leave much to the imagination.” Heather turned away to look at the rest of the room. Red velvet chaises like the one in the painting lined the walls. She wondered if the prostitutes had reenacted the scene for paying customers.

Robby’s head tilted as he studied the painting. “I suppose its purpose is to help a man be prepared.”

Jean-Luc stood beside him, his gaze also glued to the painting. “That makes sense from a business point of view. If the men are ready to perform, then they can move the customers through more quickly.”

“And make more money,” Robby concluded.

“Hello?” Heather waved a hand in front of their faces to get their attention. “We’re looking for a homicidal maniac, remember?”

Robby jerked as if coming out of a trance. “I’ll take a look around.” He returned to the foyer and clambered up the stairs.

Heather glanced at the painting, then frowned at Jean-Luc. “Are you done?”

His mouth twitched. “I feel a bit sorry for her. All the men who came through here, and still, she needs to find pleasure by her own hand.”

Heather shrugged. “If you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

He arched a brow. “Has it been that way for you?”

She scoffed. “I wasn’t talking about myself.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t your ex have only three steps?”

Heather felt her cheeks grow warm. “I wonder what happened to Mrs. Bolton.” She headed toward a closed door and knocked before cracking it open. “Hello?”

“Allow me.” Jean-Luc withdrew his foil, then entered the room first.

Heather smoothed a hand over the wall and found the light switch. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, circled by a mirror edged in a gold, ornate frame. The mirror reflected the lights, making that part of the ceiling sparkle, but Heather suspected the mirror had other purposes as well, seeing that it was situated over a large bed.

The bed and windows were lined with red satin and lace. Red wallpaper, flocked with black cupids, covered the walls. A large desk with pigeonholes sat in the corner.

“The madam’s room, I believe.” Jean-Luc looked inside a closet. “Though it looks like she did some entertaining herself.”

“Yep.” Heather motioned to a pair of handcuffs linked through the bed’s wrought-iron headboard. “Looks like she needed to be in charge all the time.”

Jean-Luc frowned. “I could never submit to that. I don’t like to feel powerless.”

Heather snorted. “You would have to trust me not to hurt you.” She winced. “I mean whoever was with you.” Her face grew hot.

He smiled slowly as he approached. “Are you inviting me to your bed, chérie?”

“No. I was speaking theoretically.” She crossed her arms. “Though I doubt I would need to chain you to the bed.”

“No, you would not.” His eyes twinkled. “Would I need to chain you? Theoretically speaking.”

She shoved her hair back from her damp forehead. This theory was getting too hot to handle. “I need to feel that I’m in control.”

“Ah, now you have given me a challenge.” He stepped closer. “To make you lose control.”

She swallowed hard. “I think we’re getting off course. We need to find Mrs. Bolton.” She strode toward another door.

Jean-Luc went through first, and she followed. It appeared to be a less formal parlor, a place for the ladies to relax when off duty. It opened onto the foyer and the next room, which was the kitchen. There they found the door leading into the cellar.

Robby joined them and insisted on going down first. He flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

“Could be a blown fuse,” Jean-Luc said.

Heather retrieved her flashlight from her purse and lit the stairs. Robby went first, followed by Jean-Luc and Heather. At the bottom she shone the flashlight around, illuminating a small storeroom with shelves. The cellar was obviously divided into more than one room.

“Do you smell that?” Robby asked quietly.

“Yes.” Jean-Luc grabbed Heather’s arm. “I’m taking you back to the car.”

“What? Why?” She saw Robby going into the next room. She sniffed the air but could smell nothing but dust.

“Lui’s not here,” Robby called from the next room. “But I need the torch.”

“Merde.” Jean-Luc wrapped his left arm around Heather. “Stay with me.”

She shivered, and the light wavered as they entered the next room.

“The wall to your left,” Robby’s voice came out of the darkness. “That’s where I smell it.”

She pointed her flashlight at the wall and gasped when letters in red appeared. It was a message, but not in English.

“It’s French.” Jean-Luc took her flashlight and panned across the words. “It says, ‘We will meet at the time of my choosing.’ Signed with an L.”

“Louie,” Heather whispered and stepped back. “He was here.”

Robby stepped close to the wall and examined the red letters. “’Tis fresh.”

With a gasp, Heather realized it wasn’t paint on the wall. It was blood. Fresh blood. She stepped back, her skin crawling with gooseflesh. “He left the message for us. He knew we were coming.”

“Yes.” Jean-Luc continued to study the message.

Bile rose in her throat. Where did all that blood come from? She stepped back and tripped.

“Aagh!” She fell back and landed on something bulky. She screamed again.

Jean-Luc quickly turned the beam of the flashlight on her. And the dead body.

“Oh my God!” She scrambled away.

A woman’s body lay on the cellar floor, her throat slit. Jean-Luc and Robby rushed forward.

Heather slapped a hand over her mouth. Jean-Luc grabbed her. Everything went black for a second, and she blinked, nauseated and dizzy.

A breeze wafted over her face, and she realized she was in the parking lot next to Jean-Luc’s BMW. She must have fainted for a minute because she couldn’t recall getting there.

“Let’s get you home,” Jean-Luc bundled her into the car.

With shaking hands, she dropped her purse onto the floorboard. Poor Mrs. Bolton. She’d become Louie’s first victim in Texas. With a shudder, Heather realized she’d thought the word first.

They couldn’t let Louie kill again. Especially when she and her daughter were on his list.

Back at home, Jean-Luc paced the hallway outside the kitchen. Never again. No matter how much Heather pleaded with her pretty green eyes, he was not taking her on another hunt. Not when Lui was leaving dead bodies behind.

Merde. There’d been too much blood on the wall. The smell of it had been so powerful, he hadn’t sensed the dead body on the floor.

Heather rushed down the backstairs. Her face was still pale, and her gaze flitted about nervously.

“Are they all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Bethany’s asleep, and Fidelia’s reading. She could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Heather strode into the kitchen, and Jean-Luc followed her. “I don’t even want to think about it.” She washed her hands in the sink, then wrung them dry with a towel. “It was so awful.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go.” He poured her a glass of water. “Here. Unless you want something stronger.”

“This is fine.” She gulped down half the glass. “Fidelia was right. Louie was hiding there in the cellar.”

“Oui. But he’s moved on now, and we don’t know where.”

“Poor Mrs. Bolton.” Heather shuddered. “I don’t understand. Why would she let a creepy killer stay in her basement? Was he threatening her or tricking her somehow?”

Jean-Luc frowned. He would have to divulge some information. “Lui was probably controlling her. He’s adept at manipulating minds.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “Then Fidelia was right again. He’s psychic.”

“Yes. He uses people and then discards them.” With a gulp, Jean-Luc realized it was time to tell her more. If he wanted their relationship to develop and last, and he did, then he needed to be honest with her. His heart raced. What if she rejected him? He would have to be very careful. He couldn’t let her run away and face Lui alone.

She sighed. “I know Robby has already called Billy, but I dread talking to him. I don’t want to relive that horrible scene all over again.” She turned on the faucet and rinsed her hands once more.

“Heather.” He turned the water off. “You can’t wash it away.”

Her eyes glistened with tears, and her hands shook as she dried them. “I’m trying to be brave, but I keep remembering her body. I just want it all to go away.”

The kitchen door cracked open, and Robby peered inside. “The sheriff’s outside.”

Heather waited on the front steps, drumming her fingers on her thighs. Billy was still in his squad car, taking his time. He thumbed through a notepad. Then he selected a new toothpick from a plastic dispenser.

She groaned, closing her eyes briefly.

“It’s all right,” Jean-Luc whispered beside her. “The sheriff is claiming control of the situation by making us wait.”

She clenched her fists to keep her hands from fidgeting. She could no longer doubt that Louie was a killer. He had no regard for human life whatsoever.

Robby positioned himself on the other side of her.

“We’ll no’ let any harm come to you, lass.”

She was actually very fortunate. She had two macho men who would fight to the death to keep her safe. Not to mention the other guards and Fidelia. She wasn’t alone like poor Mrs. Bolton. The memory of her dead body sent another tremor down Heather’s spine.

Billy finally set his hat on his head and exited the car. “Good evening, folks.” He slammed the car door shut, then circled the squad car to stand in the middle of the driveway. “Now which one of you called about a dead body?”

“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 was 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.