Free The Damsel in This Dress by Marianne Stillings

freedom and wasn’t prepared to accept her change in circumstances.
    Fury curdled her blood at how she had to change her schedule, her very life, to keep herself safe from a complete stranger.
    In frustration, she fell onto the bed on her stomach and opened her purse, digging through it until she found her notebook. She would call Paris. She needed to call Paris. It would be very early morning there, so hopefully her adventuress mother would be in her own bed in her own hotel room.
    It took a few minutes to make the connection, but finally a sleepy female voice said, “Oui?”
    “Loretta? Loretta, it’s me, Elizabeth.”
    There was a moment of silence while the woman on the other end of the line obviously came a little more awake. For a moment it sounded as though she pressed her hand over the receiver and spoke in French to someone in the room. She must have removed her hand, because abruptly Loretta Tremaine’s strident voice came through loud and clear.
    “Elizabeth! Why are you calling? Is everything all right there? Is it my Pids? Has something happened to Piddle?”
    Betsy swallowed her instant regret. Things never changed. Loretta . . . never changed. If she had expected maternal words of comfort, the joke was on her. Again.
    But she had wanted, needed, to hear her mother’s voice. With Daddy out of the picture, there was only her mother. It had always been a contentious relationship, but it was the only one Betsy had.
    “Actually, everything’s fine, Loretta. I just wanted to see if you’re having a good time. Um, are you alone?”
    “Oh, that was just Richard,” she said in a light, dismissive tone. She did not elaborate. “Elizabeth, darling. It’s four in the morning here.” Her voice deepened. Betsy recognized that tone. It was Loretta’s attempt at being a Concerned Mother. “If it’s not Mummy’s doggie, then what is it? Have you been in an accident?” She gasped. “They didn’t let your father out by mistake again, did they? Dammit, don’t they realize he’s a danger—”
    “No, no, nothing like that,” Betsy said through a strained laugh. “The thing is, Loretta . . . well, it’s possible I’m being stalked. I’ve received some odd phone calls and a note, and today, at the writer’s conference, somebody broke into my room.”
    She didn’t dare tell her mother how close her dog had come to being a frigid fatality. “Detective McKennitt—”
    “McKennitt? McKennitt . . . McKennitt. Oh, yes, now I remember. The one you wrote that deliciously scathing review about last year?”
    “Yes, well, he has a new book out now, but, well, never mind. It’s more that—”
    “Now, Elizabeth. I rather liked his book. By his writing, he seems rather manly,” she purred. “Is he a manly man, Elizabeth?”
    “Yes, Loretta. Infinitely manly. But the point is—”
    “Well,” scoffed Loretta, “stalking. I’m speechless.” That would be the day. “Are you sure you’re not just imagining all this? I mean, you’ve always had an overactive imagination. Perhaps the stress of being rejected by so many men has finally caught up with you, poor darling. Perhaps—”
    Hot tears burned the corners of Betsy’s eyes. Keeping her voice as steady as possible, she said, “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, Loretta. I’ve got to go now. Really, I’m fine.”
    “You’re not fine. You’re being stalked, or some such thing. What kind of maman would I be if I didn’t worry so over my little chick? What’s that detective’s name again, the illiterate Neanderthal you despise?”
    “Soldier McKennitt. But—”
    “You say he’s watching out for you?”
    “Yes.”
    “But he’s not the one stalking you.”
    “No.”
    There was a pregnant pause. “Is he as good-looking as he sounds?”
    Betsy resisted the urge to scream. “I repeat. He’s manly, Loretta. A manly man. Naked gladiators should be so manly. He’s tall. He’s dark. He’s got blue eyes. He’s handsome as they come.