Never Too Rich (67 page)

Christ Almighty! Here he was, every second counting,
and he had to take the time to tell a goddamn story! Reporters. He
couldn’t stand them. Couldn’t get along without them at times,
either. Especially times such as now.

“
It’s the psycho who’s been
butchering the models,” he yelled.

Babs Petrie didn’t hesitate. “Then why didn’t you
say so in the first place? Haul your ass in here and let’s go!”

The front door was open wide.

As if it had never been slammed shut.

Yellow light flooded out, rippling down the front
steps.

Like vomit flowing from a rectangular mouth.

Edwina never slowed. She ran straight toward it,
never once considering her own welfare. A maternal fire of volcanic
magnitude burned within her, stoked by every yard of distance she
covered. Her breath came in rasps from the exertion; her pulse
pounded like kettledrums.

She wanted to yell to let Hallelujah know she was
coming, but every ounce of her energy had to be expended in doing,
not saying.

As she neared the bright doorway, it seemed to grow
in size before her eyes, the foyer beyond growing larger and wider
and more hellishly yellow, and then she burst past the door and
into the dazzling light. Skidding to a halt on the zodiac-inlaid
marquetry, she looked quickly to the left, then the right.
Instinctively she raced down the hall, back to the ballroom. She
could hear Basia’s bossa nova blaring at full blast. Too loud; too
distorted. Hal and Billie Dawn would never turn it up like—

Be there! she prayed. Oh, please, you guys, be
there! I’ll get you out! Your ma’s coming, sweetie! Your ma’s going
to kiss the boo-boo and make all the hurt go away. She’s not going
to let anything happen to you, baby—

The ballroom was deserted.

She keened in frustration.

Where could Billie and Hal have disappeared to? She
looked around in a panic. Were they hiding? But if so, where? God,
this house was so goddamned big! It would take forever to search it
thoroughly.

First things first.

She raced over to the cassette recorder and switched
it off.

The sudden silence was unearthly. Like that of a
tomb.

“
Hal!” she called out, her voice
reverberating and echoing. “Hal! Billie!”

The silence seemed to mock her.

In desperation she ran in and out of adjoining
rooms, then sped back to the foyer. Barely hesitating, she bounded
up the curving staircase with its banister of flaming bronze suns
and moons.

“
Hal!”
she roared.
“Billie!”

And then, just as she reached the second-floor
landing, from somewhere—she wasn’t quite sure where—she could hear
a plaintive cry.

‘“
Ma!”

“
Hal!” she screamed. “Hal, baby,
where are you?”

“
Maaaaa . . .”

The voice came from her right! Yes! She tore off
toward it.

“
Ma!” Suddenly she stopped. Now it
was coming from somewhere behind! She was running in the wrong
direction! In confusion, she looked around.

“
Ma!” So it
was
coming from
the right!

“
Ma!” No! It was coming from the
other end of the hall! What the—

A convulsion of fear flip-flopped her stomach. Hal
couldn’t be in both places at once! Which meant that only one of
the voices was her sweetie’s. The other had to be a mimic’s.

No, not a mimic’s.

The killer’s!

Oh, God! Her grip tightened on the heavy
revolver.

“
Ma!” From her right.

“
Ma!” From her left.

Edwina’s head swiveled with each word.

“
Hal!” she screamed. “Hal, sweetie,
which one is you?”

“
Me, Ma!”

“
No, Ma,
me!

Edwina couldn’t tell which was which. Was that
possible? Could both voices sound so genuinely like Hal’s?

Try the nearest one first! she told herself grimly.
Then double-time back if it isn’t.

She continued down the hallway at supersonic speed.
She had to rescue Hal, had to save her from—

No! She couldn’t think of it! Then she burst into
the library and stumbled over—

—
Anouk!
And sanity suddenly
tilted and the world crashed out of orbit. She shrank back, barely
able to believe her eyes. Anouk! Oh, God, no! Oh, Christ, no! Where
was her hair? Sweet baby Jesus—

What did that monster do to her goddamn scalp?

“
Hal!” she screamed, and started to
race back out. But a fleeting shadow stepped in her way, and the
moment before she collided with it, a savage elbow rammed into her
chest. The air whooshed out of her lungs and she went flying
backward, the revolver jumping out of her hand.

“
Hal!” she tried to scream again,
but she had no breath left, not even for a whisper. She took a deep
lungful of air and began to struggle to her feet.

And suddenly shrank back.

The monster was right there, towering above her. All
black nylon and smeared makeup and dried blood and—
God,
no!
—wearing Anouk’s bloody scalp!

Miss Bitch smiled down at her and said in a perfect
imitation of Hallelujah’s voice, “Are you like trying out for the
Olympics, Ma?”

Desperately Edwina’s eyes searched the carpet for
the revolver, but it must have landed too far away. She couldn’t
see it.

She did the next best thing. Dug her elbows into the
carpet and tried to crab-crawl her way backward.

And then Miss Bitch screeched falsetto laughter and
boink!,
bashed something down on her skull.

Edwina didn’t see stars. Her eyes simply rolled up
inside their sockets until only the whites showed and everything
went black.

She never heard the snarling roar of the Harley as
Snake jumped his bike over the threshold downstairs, riding right
into the house.

Chapter 72

And theeeeere goes Johnny!” R.L. said. He aimed the
remote at the TV set and hit the Off button.

Johnny Carson, grinning boyishly from behind his
desk, disappeared with a burst of static as the picture on the tube
imploded.

R.L. tossed the remote on the nightstand and eyed
the small polished brass Tiffany alarm clock. It was past midnight.
Small wonder the big colonial bed felt so empty!

He let his head drop on the crisp cotton pillows. He
was feeling lonely and deserted, dammit! What could be keeping
her?

He stared up at the ceiling and sighed to himself.
He’d borrowed this house in the Hamptons for the weekend from a
business associate, figuring that he and Edwina would at least be
able to enjoy a little R&R between the flurries of activity the
fashion show elicited.

Well, obviously he’d been wrong.

Turning his head sideways, he eyed the extension
phone and considered calling the showhouse. Immediately he decided
against it. No. A call would only communicate his impatience and
add to her pressures; that was the last thing on earth Edwina
needed right now. And besides, hadn’t she warned him that she might
be back very late?

Yes, she had. But
this
late? Past
midnight?

Bored, he picked up the remote again and popped the
TV back on. Idly he flipped channels. Flash, flash, flash.
Commercials, late-night game shows, commercials, talk shows,
commercials. Rock stars gyrating to noises made by fingernails
scratching across chalkboards. Entertainment for the nineties.
Nothing intrigued. How could it? Not one old movie was on.

R.L. killed the picture again. For a while he just
lay there. Christ, it was quiet! He missed Edwina something
fierce.

Dammit, what was keeping the infernal woman! He
needed her. Needed her badly.

Well, if she didn’t come soon, he would get dressed,
drive over to the showhouse, and wait quietly outside until she
came out. He’d surprise her with a ride back to his borrowed
house.

But he’d give her another three-quarters of an hour.
No, more like
half an
hour.

Tops.

Snake rose to the challenge of indoor driving.
Tossing his helmet into a corner, he expertly maneuvered the big
bike through the halls and rooms of the first floor. Tires
screeched on swirling marquetry. Oil leaked on priceless carpets.
He burned rubber on imported marble. That the ape-hanger handlebars
just barely cleared the narrowest of the doors didn’t slow him down
one bit. He was a biker, man. He could turn the hog around on a
dime if he had to. Yeah.

The stench of exhaust filled the rooms.

He did a wheelie along the endless corridor.

There was nobody on the first floor. But he wasn’t
discouraged. All he had to do was look hard enough and he’d flush
out the little bunnies.

He roared back out to the foyer and skidded the
scoot around on its length. Then, aiming the front tire at the
curving stairs, he opened up in first gear and let out the
clutch.

It was like climbing a jagged marble mountain. Metal
screeched torturously as the underside of the frame and exhaust
pipe scraped against every step.

Snake was oblivious of chipping the marble or
damaging the bike. He had no appreciation whatsoever for interior
decoration, and as far as bikes went, he’d never bought one. They’d
all been stolen. So once this one went—bye-bye, baby—he’d simply
abandon it, “trade it in” for another.

With a long, drawn-out screech, the bike bumped
laboriously up over the last step. Then, both tires finally flat on
the landing, Snake stopped and gunned the accelerator. He looked
first at one end of the corridor and then the other.

Where could everybody be? he wondered. Had they
heard him coming and run, or what?

He killed the motor. The sudden silence was intense,
the ticking of the cooling engine like the countdown timer on a
bomb.

He cupped his grubby hands to make a megaphone of
his mouth. “Shirl!” he bellowed. “I know you’re around here
somewhere! Get your ass out here or do I gotta come after you?”

He tilted his shaggy head and listened.

The house was quiet. Too fuckin’ quiet for a place
where the front door was wide open.

“
All right, you fuckin’ slut!” he
snarled. “Just wait’ll I get my hands on you! You’ll be one sorry
bitch!”

Then he half-rose off the seat and brought his foot
down on the kick starter. The sudden roar rattled two mirrors in
their gilt frames.

Letting out the clutch, he raced down to the far end
of the hall, slowed to a crawl, and made a sharp right into the
first room. He would start from there and slowly work his way to
the other end, systematically checking out every room, nook, and
cranny.

It’s worse than a nightmare, Billie Dawn thought as
the dreaded sound of the motorcycle came inexorably closer. She
stifled a moan. This is what hell must be like. Nothing could be
worse than this.

She clung to Hallelujah, and Hallelujah clung to her
as they sought comfort and strength from one another. They were on
the second floor, cowering behind a three-panel screen set
diagonally across a corner in the room decorated to look like a
twins’ nursery. From the next room they could hear a splintering
crash as Snake roared around, kicking furniture over as he
went.

“
I’m scared,” Hallelujah whispered.
She looked up at Billie searchingly. “Oh, Billie, like what are we
gonna
do?”

Billie held her tighter. “Sssshh,” she whispered,
and quickly pressed a hand across Hallelujah’s mouth. The
motorcycle was out in the hall again. This room was next in
line.

The Harley thundered in, the vibrations and noise
rattling mullioned windows in their frames.

Holding her breath, Billie cautiously leaned forward
against the screen. With one eye she peeked out through the
hairline crack between two of the hinged panels.

Snake was slowly turning his head, his eyes sweeping
the room. It was the same old Snake; he hadn’t changed a bit. Still
grungy and smelly and greasy, still wearing the same old togs. She
wondered what she could have ever seen in him. My God, I must have
been desperate!

Then everything inside her turned to stone. He was
turning toward the screen now, looking right in her direction. She
didn’t dare breathe. Then his eyes passed by and she felt
immeasurable relief . . . and then suddenly his gaze returned and
he focused all his attention on the screen again. His squinty
pinpoint eyes lingered, as though trying to see through the three
panels.

She didn’t move. What if he noticed a shifting
shadow through the hairline crack? His eyesight had always been
exceptional. He could pick up the slightest movement out of the
corner of his eye.

The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. Beads
of nervous sweat trickled down her forehead. She wished he would
give up and go away. She wished she hadn’t chosen such an obvious
place to hide. She wished, above all, that her path had never
crossed Snake’s.

Snake.

Just seeing him this close-up made something
powerful cramp and twist inside her bowels. Funny, how your memory
played little tricks on you. She’d almost forgotten how big and
brutish and powerful he really was. How his broad body seemed to
fill an entire room. But she hadn’t forgotten how murderously mean
he could be; her memory on that score was still perfect. Hatred and
cruelty rolled off him in waves.

“
Shirl!” he yelled. “You back
there?”

Oh, God! Billie swiftly jerked back from the screen
and dug her fingers into Hallelujah’s arms.

Hallelujah looked up into her face. She had never
seen such naked fear. Such wild, terrified, haunted eyes.