The Undead Next Door
Page 26She 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."
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."
"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."
"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."
"We made the date last Saturday." He strolled to the door, frowning. "I hope she hasn't forgotten."
"Aren't you worried about making Simone and Inga mad?" Heather winced. She shouldn't have asked. It wasn't her business if Alberto was juggling three women. But when one of them was her old high school buddy and the other two were psycho bitches, it could get messy in a hurry.
"They won't know." Alberto paused by the door. "I have no chance with them, really. I should let it go, but they have some kind of hold on me."
Heather lifted her brows. "A hold? Like a spell?" Were the psycho bitches actually psycho witches? ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">