Death in a Funhouse Mirror by Kate Flora Read Free Book Online Page A

stopped being connected with regular life... things like friends and food and vacations and movies and fun. Especially fun. They'd both become so serious about their issues they couldn't think of anything else. They weren't even having sex anymore, as they both told me. Helene because she wouldn't sleep with a bisexual man. Too risky. Cliff because, as he put it, women had ceased to interest him. Can you imagine wanting to know that about your parents?"
    "I know what you mean. I'm quite sure my parents have never had sex."
    She threw the dishtowel onto the counter. "Let's clean this place up and get out of here. You don't mind dropping me at home, do you?"
    "Not at all. You don't have your car?"
    She glanced down at her funny clothes. "You don't seriously think I got up this morning and dressed like this? I came back here with Cliff last night. We came from the hospital in his car."
    Together we loaded the dishwasher, put food away, and returned the kitchen to its pristine state. Eve started to put the cake in the refrigerator, hesitated, and then wrapped it in plastic. "You should take this, Thea. I don't want it, and Cliff doesn't do dessert. Bad for his figure."
    "I don't usually do dessert either."
    "No, but that gorgeous man of yours does."
    "He's not mine, Eve."
    "Oh, come on. I see how he looks at you," she said. I nodded. "You could do worse."
    "Thanks. I know that."
    "Right. Let's take the cake and run." We found Andre half-asleep in the living room, slumped in a corner of the couch. Meagher and Florio had left without saying good-bye.
    There's something about a vulnerable man that brings out all my protective instincts. Andre certainly doesn't need protecting, but as he sometimes reminds me, everyone can use a little caring. I sat down beside him and nuzzled his neck. "Come on, sleepyhead, time to go home." He grabbed me in a bear hug and held me there, muttering something incomprehensible, but he's too well schooled in the necessity of instant response to linger in sleep, even on his days off. It didn't take him long to get to his feet.
    The night was soft and damp, perfumed by drifts of scent from the flowers blooming everywhere. A perfect night. A night that invited a moonlight walk. And only a few hundred feet away, last night—which had been another night just like this—someone had stepped out of the shadows clutching a knife and slaughtered Helene. That thought, and the shadows all around me, gave me goose bumps. I practically ran down the walk to the car, shoved the key into the lock, and jumped in. Eve was right behind me, slamming her door and locking it behind her. Andre came more slowly, compelled by the policeman in him to survey the scene. The instant he was in the car, I started the engine and got out of there as fast as I could.

 
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    Chapter 4

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    Once again, it was Andre who made the coffee. He brought a cup in to me where I was huddled in the bed, refusing to wake up. Or, more accurately, still trying to get to sleep. Awake, aware and alive, I'm great at handling difficult situations. Thea the calm and competent. I can handle the whole gamut, from tweedy, testy admissions directors who resent my presence to the shocked, emotionally labile children of recent murder victims who want to unload onto my shoulders. I can take it all in and still stay calm and wise. But every experience, every vivid, horrible image gets filed away, and the creative director in charge of my dreams uses it to full effect.
    So while Andre had slept beside me, lost in leaden sleep, I had spent a miserable night watching intraskull slasher movies where the victims were people I knew. Grisly, full-color visions of Helene Streeter, her face dead white, eyes glazed with pain, trying to hold herself together as she crawled toward help. An androgynous, faceless figure with a dripping knife stood behind her, watching. A flash of white teeth in the darkness. A smile of satisfaction. Above her, floating