Chosen by a Killer

by Laurie Nave

  “We discussed her concern over weight gain. I had noticed that her eating habits had become laxer. To stay competitive, you must be vigilant about your size. I suppose knowing she was teetering on the edge sent her into more anorexia.”

  For someone whose close friend was hospitalized, Natasha had been very matter-of-fact. True, it had been years, but the actress didn’t seem very sympathetic. Celia couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the story. Was it truly just pure good luck that Natasha’s friend had relapsed, making the way for the opportunity? She wanted to chide herself for being jaded, but then again, Natasha had killed five people. Manipulating a few circumstances wouldn’t be a stretch. Celia knew how easy it was to use someone’s behavior or circumstances to her advantage. After all, it’s how I got my break too. She made a note of it, reminding herself to explore it more later.

  Chapter 5

  “So how’s your friend?”

  Celia looked up and smiled at John. She’d expected him to come by at some point to check on her. When he was focused on one of her projects, he was a pest. “Much better, thank you for asking. I’m working on the next article now.”

  “Good. When do you think it’ll be print-ready?”

  “Probably tomorrow by lunch.”

  “I was hoping for today, but tomorrow will do. Too bad you had that side trip.”

  “Well,” Celia said sweetly, “the more I focus, the faster it’ll be ready.”

  Taking the hint, John grunted and walked away. He was annoying sometimes, Celia thought, and a bit of a slave driver. However, the job paid well and afforded her many benefits. She could usually charm John out of her way. She was relieved he didn’t press for information about the “friend.” The man was like a bloodhound, almost as bad as Celia was. She had a plan if he did, though. All she would need to do was begin a sentence about “gynecological problems,” and he’d run for his office. The thought made her laugh.

  The phone rang as Celia was finishing the first paragraph of her article. It was Bart. He’d called the night before, but it was so late she’d ignored it.

  “Hi, Bart.”

  “Hey babe, glad you’re back in the office. How was the trip?”

  “It was fine. I got home late last night. Working on the article now and trying to get it done by close of business.”

  “You mean your business closes?” Bart laughed at his own joke. “How about lunch around noon?”

  “I can’t, Bart. I have to finish this. But dinner later this week?”

  “Sure babe. I’ll call you later. Don’t work too hard.”

  “I’ll try not to. Oh, and Bart, I’m not the biggest fan of being called babe. It’s just not me.” Celia doodled in the margins for a few seconds.

  “No problem, Celia. Just a pet name. No more babe then.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later on.”

  Why did the pet name bother her so much? Celia wasn’t one of those who thought all pet names were demeaning, but Babe? It was presumptive, somehow. Sure, they’d slept together before she left for Delaware, but “Babe” implied an intimacy she didn’t feel comfortable having with Bart. Women were thought to be the ones who got clingy. In Celia’s experience, it was the opposite. It was why she had never married or had a true long-term relationship. They were invasive.

  On Tuesday at exactly noon, Celia submitted the finished article. She’d had most of it done by Monday afternoon; however, John had stopped by two more times hounding her, so she held it until her original deadline. He was happy enough once she submitted it, and once that was off her list, she could look toward her next interview with Natasha. She hadn’t been able to get their initial conversation out of her mind, and the woman fascinated Celia.

  After two more phone calls, Celia agreed to meet Bart for dinner Tuesday evening. They decided on a Tex-Mex place near his apartment, and Celia was looking forward to some queso; it was her weakness. He was waiting at the bar when she arrived, and she had to admit he looked hot. His jeans were just tight enough, and the sweater fit in all the right places. Now that she knew what those shoulders looked like unclothed, she appreciated them even more.

  “Hey B—Celia.” Bart gave her a quick kiss. “Want something to drink?”

  “A margarita would be perfect, thanks.”

  “Done.” He signaled the bartender, ordered, then turned back to her. “You look great.”

  “You too. I definitely approve of those jeans.”

  Bart slipped an arm around her waist. “Maybe later you’ll take them off.”

  Celia stiffened a little, uncomfortable with public affection, but she managed a smile. Margaritas made her horny. “You never know,” she teased, pretending to push him away in a flirty manner.

  They sat at a table and began perusing the menu. Celia always ordered the same thing, but she felt compelled to survey the menu as some sort of ritual. They ordered drinks and cheese dip, and then Bart pulled her menu down slightly to look at her.

  “So do you have plans this weekend? I’d love to take you somewhere.”

  “I wish. I’m going to be traveling several weekends in a row.”

  “Man, John keeps you busy, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he know his star reporter needs vacations too?”

  “It’s not all work. My... friend still needs my help.” Celia pulled the menu up slightly and pretended to keep browsing.

  “That must be some friend if you’re willing to sacrifice weekends,” Bart grumbled.

  “Meeting with a friend is not a sacrifice,” Celia said.

  The waitress took their orders and menus, and Celia asked Bart about work to change the subject. She supposed she could tell Bart about her interviews with Natasha and swear him to secrecy, but they had only been out a few times. She had agreed to keep them confidential. Besides, she didn’t owe an explanation to a man she had only gone out with four or five times.

  Bart told her a few funny stories about crazy clients—no names, of course. He did have a way of telling a good story. Celia found herself relaxing and laughing freely. The three margaritas probably helped. He touched her hand from time to time, and she enjoyed watching his arm flex under the sweater. By the time dinner was done, Celia was happy to take a walk with him and then invite him back to her place. He might be a bit too enthusiastic, she thought, but enthusiasm had its positive sides.

  The next morning, she got up while Bart was still asleep and showered. He was still snoozing when she finished and while she dressed. Celia had an early meeting with another writer, and she was going to need to leave soon. Finally, after her hair was done, she sat on the edge of the bed and shook Bart gently. “Wake up, sleepy.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s only 7:00, but I have an early meeting. I need to go soon.”

  He sat up and stretched before smiling. “You look good. I’ll go ahead and get up. I need to shower.”

  Celia looked at her watch and frowned a bit.

  “I won’t make you late,” he laughed. “Or, you could always just give me a key, and I’ll lock up when I leave.”

  “I’ll tell you what, if you can get ready quickly, I’ll take you to breakfast.” Celia stood and walked away from him. “It’s the least I can do,” she flirted a bit.

  “Sounds like a deal to me.” Bart threw back the covers and gave her a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom.

  Celia exhaled as he shut the door. A key? He was moving far too quickly. No one had a key to her place except her, and she liked it that way. If he kept up the insistence on going away and hints about keys, she’d have to put the brakes on. Those were the kinds of conversations Celia was never good at; someone always got angry.

  After a quick breakfast at a diner, Celia headed to work as quickly as possible. She was going to be almost ten minutes late for the meeting, but it was better than giving Bart a key or even leaving him there alone. She didn’t want people alone in her space. Luckily, Julia was patient, and they got started and made up the time. B
y the time everyone else got to the bullpen, they were almost done. Celia headed to her office and checked messages. Other than the fact that her assistant was home with a bad cold, the rest of the messages were nothing of real importance.

  “So, Celia, can I come in?” John knocked on her half-open door. It was 10:30, and Celia had become so engrossed in writing she didn’t look up immediately.

  “Sure, John. I’m just making some notes.”

  He sat down slowly and looked at her. “Notes about Natasha Bronlov?”

  Caught off guard, Celia sat up and stuttered a bit. “Wh—what?”

  “Your assistant is sick, so when her phone rang and I happened to be walking by, I thought I’d answer, help out, take a message for you. You were meeting with Julia.”

  “I see,” Celia said.

  “Someone from the prison asked if your next visit could be moved to 1:00. They are having some sort of official visit that morning. Want to tell me what’s going on? Or do you have a close friendship with a serial killer that you failed to tell me about?” He folded his arms.

  Crap! Celia hadn’t wanted to tell John yet. She knew he’d hound her and press her to give people a sneak peek. “Look, John—”

  “I get it. I know all of you are going to do some sleuthing of your own from time to time. I also know I’m not the biggest game out there. Though I’m pretty freaking close.” John leaned forward. “What I don’t get is why my favorite ice queen reporter would be interested in serial murder, especially when everybody knows that woman won’t talk to anyone about anything.”

  “John... she asked me to come.”

  “Bull,” John said simply.

  Celia sighed and pulled out the letter she’d received from Natasha. He read it, and as he did, his expression changed.

  “Well, I’ll be! This is amazing! This is big news! This is going to make me and the publication the biggest out there.” He slapped the edge of Celia’s desk gleefully. “When can you get me something tantalizing to run as a teaser?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. You read what she wants.”

  “Yeah, and to hell with that. She can’t get to the pub anyway. Hell, those death row people can’t even watch the news, can they? We can’t sit on this for three months. What if one of those jailers leaks it?”

  “They aren’t going to leak it. Natasha will pay them if she has to. She won’t keep talking to me if I don’t do it her way. I’ve got this, John. Just be patient and we’ll be the big game. The only one with this story.”

  “Is something else going on here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean am I even the game you were gonna pitch this to? I know you, Celia. You’re ambitious. You travel all over. I also know the two biggies have been courting you.”

  “What, how did—?” Had John been reading her email?

  “No, don’t change the subject. Are you keeping this quiet so you can use it to make the next step up?”

  “No, John.” Celia was getting exasperated. “Good grief you’re paranoid. I didn’t want to talk to you about it until I’d done enough interviews to get something good. I’ve only met with her once!”

  “You’re under contract. And I have some clout in this business.”

  Now Celia stood. “Get out. Now. You don’t get to threaten me. This story is for us. Here. At this publication. And you’re acting like a child.”

  John tossed the letter at her desk and stood. Celia didn’t sit, so he shook his head and left her office, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 6

  On Friday, Keith led Celia to an empty room and waited with her until Natasha arrived. When she did, she blew the officer who was escorting her a kiss before sitting. He didn’t look amused. Keith raised an eyebrow at Celia before walking out with the other officer.

  “Good morning,” Celia offered.

  “God, I hope you brought cigarettes.” Natasha ignored the greeting.

  “I did. I bought the brand that used to be my favorite.”

  “You don’t smoke anymore. I had forgotten.”

  “I don’t. There’s a history of lung problems in my family. I quit after my mom got cancer.”

  Natasha leaned forward when she saw Celia take out a small book of matches. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Celia smiled and shrugged. “She smoked two packs a day after my father left. I guess it’s unwise to tempt fate.”

  “So you’re not a smoker. You work very hard. You dress... conservatively.” Natasha smiled. “What do you do for fun?”

  “I have some pastimes. Just not much time.”

  Natasha laughed. “Time is all I have. So, do you knit? Cage fight? Fool around?”

  Celia laughed as she set up her recorder. “So this is the part where we talk about me, huh?”

  “I’m bored. Humor me, please.”

  “Well, let’s see. I run. Not in marathons, but I do the occasional 5K. I like photography, though I’m not all that good. And I love to bake.”

  “Baking?” Natasha brightened a bit. “You look too fit to bake.”

  “I don’t usually eat what I bake unless testing the batter counts.”

  “Hmm, maybe you could bake me a cake and hide a file inside or something. Didn’t that work in old movies?”

  Celia laughed, imagining Natasha in a black and white striped uniform, picking the lock of her cell with a file. “It might set the metal detector off, sadly.”

  “Too bad. I could have used it to poke the new guard a bit.”

  “I noticed he didn’t seem too friendly.”

  Natasha rolled her eyes. “He is very by the book. Has something to prove I think. He let me know very quickly that my ‘being a big star’ wasn’t going to get me any special treatment. As if the prison death row has special treatment. He probably has ‘little man’ syndrome.”

  “But he’s over 6 feet tall,” Celia chuckled.

  “Dear, that isn’t the kind of little I mean.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, and then both women burst into laughter. Celia tried to contain herself. Natasha was very disarming, but the journalist didn’t usually break her professional manner this way.

  “We only have an hour, so let’s go ahead and get started.” Celia pushed the record on the player and looked at Natasha. “I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about what you said about Margaret.”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, there was something about the way you put it. You said you had noticed her eating habits. Did the two of you talk about that?”

  Natasha smiled. “Of course. Models talk about eating and not eating pretty regularly.”

  “So you told her she was eating too much?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. In fact, just the opposite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Natasha drew imaginary circles on the tabletop with her finger. “I told her I was jealous that she could eat the way she did and not worry about a muffin top.”

  “I see.” Celia looked down at her notebook to write. So there was more to the story. “So was she worried?”

  “I have no way of knowing. I assume not, since she kept eating, at least for a while. We were going to do a swimsuit shoot together, and I remember telling the assistant how unfair it was that Margaret could eat like a horse and still fit into almost as small as size as I could.”

  Celia wrote slowly, thinking about what Natasha had said. She knew passive-aggressive when she heard it. All women know that “I’m jealous you can eat so much” was code for “be careful dear, you’re getting pudgy.” And there was no doubt Natasha knew it.

  “Is there something on your mind?” Natasha asked.

  “Did you know that Margaret had struggled with an eating disorder?”

  “Oh God, yes, everyone knew. She was very vocal about overcoming it.”

  “Yes.” Celia looked up. “It’s a shame she had that relapse.”

  “It certainly is,” Natasha replied.
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br />   They looked at each other in silence. Celia thought Natasha might say more, but it was clear the actress was waiting for her out. She was not going to share. Celia figured she should drop the subject. “So your modeling career took off. What was it that made you want to make the jump to movies?”

  “That was initially more my father than me. He used to call me his chameleon. So I started auditioning for very small parts and television commercials. I had some luck with those, but he pushed for more.”

  “I read one piece that stated he was a bit of a stage dad.”

  Natasha laughed. “He did have that reputation. My father was used to getting what he wanted.”

  “So he wanted you to get a bigger role in something, and then you got it.”

  “It wasn’t quite as simple as the modeling. There were many things my father could do, but convincing the world I could act wasn’t one of them. It’s hard to make that jump from a few lines and a perfume ad to a real role. I felt I had talent, but in Hollywood, that isn’t always enough.”

  “I’m sure. Who you know plays a part in all that.”

  “Yes, who you know.” Natasha looked at her pointedly. “And who you allow to know you.”

  “Surely you don’t mean the proverbial casting couch.”

  “I prefer to call it an intimate audition. One that gave me some leverage. Lots of married directors cheat. Some of them don’t want their wives to know. Or the executives.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “I only did that once. My first big role was a success, and I got great reviews. After that, it was all about marketing and hearing the right things at the right time.”