Vivien staggered in horror and wanted to turn around and call for help from a neighbor’s house. Next instant, a firm, chocolate-scented hand covered her mouth and muffled her terror-filled cry. A pair of strong arms circled around her and pulled her behind the thick bush of honeysuckle.
“Shshshsh,” the man whispered in her ear. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She remained petrified, held so tight in those strange arms that she could hardly breathe. Only her heart beat wildly, pushing against her ribcage, as a savage beast fed up with captivity that wanted to break free.
While she forced her brain to find an escaping solution, the giant with the canister reappeared in the periphery of her visual field. She wasn’t able to see that monster’s face. The hood of a long, black coat camouflaged it perfectly. As the perpetrator approached her front door again, a light breeze brought the smell of gasoline to her nostrils. Next second, she watched in horror as her house entrance was engulfed in reddish, savage flames.
CHAPTER 22
“Another signature here,” Mr. Donohue instructed. “And another… right here. That’s it! We’re done for tonight.”
The old accountant closed the blue file, sending sidelong glances toward the delicate porcelain plate. In the end, his sweet tooth defeated his reservation, and he dared to take the last chocolate and walnuts cookie artfully crafted to please the most sophisticated palate.
“I hate to leave a mess behind me,” he declared smiling.
“Please, Mr. Donohue! Don’t be shy!” Timothy encouraged him. “Personally, I aim to diminish my sugar intake. Nevertheless, it’s a permanent struggle, because – as you – I love sweets.”
“When I was younger, I used to allow myself to be lured into different types of diets. Occasionally, I would lose a few pounds. Now I indulge in everything I crave for,” Mr. Donohue laughed heartily, patting his huge abdomen. “And talking about that, my wife is cooking lamb, twice baked potatoes with three cheeses, coleslaw, and some fancy dessert. We both would be very happy if you would dine with us tonight, Timothy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Donohue. It’s so kind of you and your wife to invite me so often. You both know that I hardly – if ever! – decline such an invitation. However, tonight I have a very important date. Please send Mrs. Donohue my sincere regards. I’m always humbled by her culinary talents.”
The accountant treated Timothy with a meaningful stare.
“So all those rumors are true, aren’t they! Actually, it’s written all over your face, my boy,” the old man said, giving Timothy a friendly pat on his shoulder. “Listen, Carol Hopkins’ granddaughter is a darling and gorgeous girl. I listened to her playing Chopin at a charity concert in Los Angeles a couple of years ago. I watched her in awe, and I thought: God, she’s too beautiful to be so talented and too damn talented to be so beautiful! Yet,” the old accountant paused and shook his finger at Timothy, “she’s a bit too young for you, I may say.”
“Yes? Is that what you think?” Timothy asked with a waggish grin.
“Don’t get me wrong! I don’t blame you. Who in this world doesn’t like fresh, young meat?” Mr. Donohue winked at him and chuckled.
“Well, you know that I always value your opinion, sir,” Timothy added, escorting his accountant to the door.
“Then don’t lose any more time. Go ahead, my boy! You’re on the right track,” Mr. Donohue assured him dearly, stepping out of his office. He bade adieu to his favorite client and left, anxious to get home and have his gourmet dinner.
Timothy returned quickly to his computer. During his long meeting with Mr. Donohue, he had registered the arrival of at least one new email. She clicked the Inbox and was unpleasantly surprised to find that he had received another message from that mysterious person who had been harassing him for the past few weeks. The last five or six days, he had not received anything, and he had started to believe that the woman – he had no doubt it was a woman! – had found out about his recent relationship with Vee and had abandoned him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like that!
He opened the message. The usual vulgarities were entirely missing this time. A more ominous, threatening tone had taken their place. He read boiling with fury:
Poor Robert… What a disaster! Watch out, dear! You might be next…
“That’s it!” Timothy muttered. Tonight, he decided to do what he should have done long ago. He started to dial the phone number of his high school colleague, detective Art Leonard. Simultaneously, he heard his cell phone ringing. He answered instantly, thinking that Vivien was calling – he was running a little late. A strange woman greeted him. Her voice appeared altered deliberately.
“Good evening, Timothy! Darling…” She purred like a cat. “Tonight you’re working late, aren’t you? That’s not good for your health. Take Robert Kane for example. He was working overtime every single day lately. Stress kills.”
“Who are you?” Timothy snapped. “And what do you want from me?”
“Do you still remember what the burned body of a woman looks like, Timmy? Did you call your pretty girlfriend over the last hour? Just to check on her…”
Timothy’s heart leapt to his throat.
“Vee,” he whispered, lost for a second. Savage fury rose instantly inside him. “You miserable bitch!” he roared, as the woman erupted in a diabolical laughter. “If you dare to touch her I’ll kill you! I’ll find you anywhere you hide, and I’ll squeeze the life out of you with my bare hands!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, feeling as if he were losing his mind. The woman hung up still laughing hysterically.
Shaking like a leaf, Timothy dialed Vivien’s home phone number. She didn’t pick up. Her answering machine started.
“Get out of the house, Vee! Now!” he screamed in terror. Running full-speed toward his car, he called her on her cell phone. As Vee didn’t answer, he pleaded with her voice mail. “Please Vee, get out of your house now! Listen to me, baby! Do it now!”
CHAPTER 23
Haunted by gloomy thoughts, Senator Edward McLean crept into his large personal library. It had become his habit to retreat in here. The colossal, noise-proof door seemed to separate him from the entire world, and the library walls, full of bookshelves filled with books, muffled his secret phone conversations. He felt safe in here. He could afford to be himself in here. He sank into the brown leather armchair and heaved a sigh. He needed a woman tonight. Someone to fuck my brains out, he wished. Preferably an experienced woman capable to pull me out of this miserable state. Through sex, he freed himself from his personal demons and from all the stress that gripped him in a steel-like claw. It didn’t last though. The sweet taste of freedom usually faded fast. It seemed as if he walked in a circle, and he always returned to his initial lamentable state of mind – he was trapped.
As perfect as it appeared in the eyes of the world, his marriage was a disaster. He hated his wife. He hated her piercing voice and her shrill criticism, her baggy, old-woman-like clothes, her hairspray-sodden blonde hair and style, her sweet, nauseating perfume… In fact, it would’ve been easier to say what he liked about her: Nothing! Most of all, he hated the way she looked at him – as if she knew about his torment, and she enjoyed it. She doesn’t know about it. Not yet…Or does she? he asked himself, not sure of anything anymore. That bitch… The Queen was blackmailing him, so that she would convince him to resign. If she didn’t know already, his wife would find out soon. The entire world would find out. My political carrier will be over.
Senator Edward McLean opened the right drawer of his library desk. He took the small revolver and examined it as if it were a fine piece of jewelry.
This might be a solution… It would exonerate me from everything, he reflected pessimistically. It wasn’t like him to have suicidal thoughts, but today, he was desperate.
He had worked hard his entire life to get here. He wasn’t going to give it all up so easily.
Curious, he speculated about which one of the gorgeous young women
he had slept with had become pregnant from him. At least, he was content to know that, in those few hours of sex, he had felt infinitely more love and attraction for each and every one of those women than he had felt for his wife in fifteen years of miserable marriage.
Six years ago, he thought melancholically. Sometimes he had the strange sensation that time buried him little by little, with every day that went by. All of a sudden, the realization that he had a five-year-old girl brightened his soul. He recalled the young daydreamer he had been so many years ago, when a family, a woman to love him, and a couple of children would have summed up his biggest wishes. That of course, before he had allowed himself to become afflicted with the political syndrome that, undeniably, had dragged him into this deplorable, wretched marriage. His wife had possessed the money and powerful connections to lure him into that world then. Her dowry was useless now, and so were her friends.
Bit by bit, he finally got a clear picture inside his mind. He was unhappy – there was no doubt about that. He needed to make major changes in his life. He couldn’t go on living like that. I’ve got to quit playing this stupid role. That isn’t me. If you play stupid for too long you might remain like that forever. I’ve got a life to start living. First of all, he owed it to himself, to that honest, idealistic, optimistic, and romantic young man he had been once. And then, he owed it to his child. He intended to become involved in the upbringing of his little girl. He wanted to be a father.
Senator McLean dialed the phone number of his assistant. The young man answered on the first ring.
“Joe, please call the local TV station and let them know that I expressed my intention to make a public announcement tonight. I will be at my office in less than one hour.”
Immediately after hanging up the phone, he took a piece of paper and wrote a note to his wife. He didn’t apologize and didn’t ask for forgiveness. He just informed her about the current most important events in his life, and about the decisions that he had made. He put the letter in an envelope and abandoned it on the right corner of his desk. Then, he took another piece of paper and wrote down a few ideas for the public statement he was going to make very soon.
With a long-forgotten, optimistic feeling that now seemed almost strange to his being, Senator McLean left his library. He walked through the kitchen and spoke to the old house servant in his usual, friendly manner that always infuriated his arrogant wife.
“Mrs. Ramirez, there is a blue envelope on my desk in the library. I don’t want to ruin your schedule, but do you think you’ll be able to take it to my wife? After I leave the house, please. I believe she’s in her bedroom at the moment.”
“Yes, Mr. McLean,” the housekeeper answered, ready to oblige. “I’ll do it for sure.”
With that settled, Senator Edward McLean walked resolutely toward the exit. He heard the landline phone ringing but didn’t waver. He just couldn’t care less about who called. Mrs. Ramirez picked it up. As he stepped out of the house, Mr. McLean heard the metallic noise of the property’s gates as they were being opened pushing the button from inside the house. Someone was coming, and he wasn’t in the mood for visitors. He just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.
As he opened the door of his black Mercedes, the headlights of a car that parked dangerously close on the large, circular driveway blinded him. Before he could make it safely inside the privacy of his luxurious vehicle, a tall and robust man climbed out of an old Toyota. He addressed him politely.
“Mr. McLean, good evening, sir! I am detective Art Leonard from Menlo Park Police Department. I would like to ask you a few questions. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes of your time.”
Initially, the senator wanted to ask the detective how he had managed to get through his security, but he gave up the thought after seeing his badge.
“If you don’t mind the outside, cold air,” Mr. McLean said, “then I can offer you a few minutes.”
The detective pulled out of his pocket the picture of a young and good-looking woman. He handed it to the senator.
“Does it ring a bell? Her real name is Megan Smith, but she practiced high-class prostitution as Sunshine for the mysterious Amazon Queen.”
“I hope she’s not dead,” the senator uttered visibly distressed.
With his long, well-groomed fingers, he gingerly touched the angelic features of the woman in the picture. How could he not remember her? The only virgin he had ever made love to. He had paid an exorbitant price to buy her virginity. She was worth every penny! The senator warmed at the memory of her charming presence.
“No, she’s not dead. In fact, I came to inform you that she’s the mother of a five-year-old girl.” Detective Art Leonard showed him the picture of the child.
As his eyes met the little girl’s photography, Edward McLean understood what all was about. The child had his smile, his eyes… She was his daughter; he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. The emotion chocked him. Afraid that his voice might betray his internal turmoil, the senator handed Detective Leonard the note with his speech of resignation. He didn’t explain anything, he didn’t articulate a word. Quietly, he leaned on his car and ran a hand through his hair again and again.
“I want to correct my mistakes,” he finally said. “I want to be recognized and treated as her father. I am ready to pay any amount of money that Miss Smith requests.”
“She doesn’t want any money from you. All she wants it’s for you to get involved, use your power and influence, and help her find her little girl. Tiffany has been missing for a few days now. The story is more complicated,” the detective pointed out. “I think you should forget about that public resignation for now,” he added, pleasantly surprised by the senator’s humble attitude. He had come to meet an arrogant, distant, and prideful man. He had found nothing of the kind. Detective Art Leonard had been wrong this time, and amazingly, he felt like celebrating.
CHAPTER 24
“Vivien is all right, Tim. She’s in my car now,” Clark spoke through the phone. “We’re both here at her place. She’s just a bit shaken, that’s all. The police are leaving now. They’ll come back tomorrow for more investigations. Where are you? How did you learn about it so fast?”
Timothy Leigh had just lived the longest ten minutes of his entire life. He ignored his brother’s questions.
“Clark, I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. Put her through! Now!” he yelled.
He barely finished the sentence, and the lovely voice of his beloved woman touched his soul.
“Tee, my love, don’t worry! I’m OK. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to you,” he told her, making a tight, fast turn on one of the adjacent streets. “I’ll be there in… less than a minute.”
Vivien stepped out of Clark’s car and waited for him on the sidewalk in front of her house. In only seconds, they were in each other’s arms. Timothy examined her face in the bluish light of the street lamp.
“My sweet love,” he whispered, kissing her tears-filled eyes. “Let’s go inside. You take a few clothes, anything else you need, and you come to stay with me. I can’t bear the thought of you alone in this house anymore.”
Clark intervened in their conversation jovially. He seemed too relaxed for the gravity of the present situation.
“Hey, man, you should thank me! I saved your pretty, little girlfriend tonight! And her house also!”
Timothy treated him with a glacial glance.
“I want to talk to you, Clark. Please come inside the house for a minute.”
All three of them headed for the back door. Clark had managed to save it earlier, throwing over the fire all Vivien’s flowerpots that had adorned the small and coquette veranda of the back of her house. The front door had been totally destroyed, and now the main entrance was being blocked with boards nailed to the wall by a handy neighbor.
“What a disaster!” Timothy exclaimed, staggered by the view. He took careful steps, trying to avoid the shards, humid
pot soil, and multicolor pansies scattered everywhere. The image of that burned door stirred up painful memories. Black, hideous scars had damaged its yellowish white paint. He brusquely swung around and lifted Vivien up in his arms. She looked frail, as he had never seen her before. The terror, through which she had lived, seemed to have depleted her of energy. He felt a powerful desire to hold her close and a stringent need to shield her from any bad thing coming her way.
“Open the door!” he ordered Clark. The man obeyed without a word.
The second they stepped inside, Timothy realized that the interior of the house was intact. That soothed a bit his emotional turmoil.
“The nutcase didn’t enter the house,” Vivien mentioned, as if she had read his mind. “I wonder what he wanted and who this person is. Why me?”
Timothy entered the bedroom before her and inspected every corner of that room. Content that everything was in order, he came back by her side.
“Don’t rush,” he said softly, kissing her cold lips and gingerly touching her pale face. “I’m right here if you need me. Take everything you want, but don’t forget that we can come back for more any time.”
He left her to pack a small bag with strictly necessary cosmetics and changes, and he followed his brother in the hallway outside her chamber. Fury smoldered inside him.
A few steps from Vivien’s bedroom door, he made a dash for Clark, grasped him by his jacket, and pushed him roughly to the kitchen wall.
“How come you were around her house again?” Timothy hissed into his brother’s face. “I warned you to stay away from her, didn’t I? Come on! Quickly! Give me a serious reason not to beat the crap out of you!”
“Hold your temper, Timmy! You’ve lost your freaking mind, man!” Clark roared between his teeth. “If I hadn’t happened around here, that monster would’ve killed her. It was pitch dark and not a soul in sight.”
“Only you!” Timothy continued mockingly. “The ever so chivalrous Clark! Spare me your puerile lies! Whom did you pay to do the dirty job for you so you could play the hero’s role?”
Broken Serenade Page 17
