by Laurie Nave
There was less than a week until Natasha’s execution. Celia hadn’t heard anything from her, and she had to admit she was a little surprised. Of course, she didn’t really have phone call privileges, and she’d never sent a letter to Celia before. However, the two women had developed an odd sort of friendship, and the actress had seemed sad at the prospect of not speaking again. Celia was planning to attend the execution, but it wasn’t as if they would chat there. Celia had researched the protocol for that last day or so, and she knew a bit about what Natasha’s day would be like. It was strange to think of it. Maybe it didn’t make sense, but Celia was a bit sad as well. There was a kindredness about Tasha that both disturbed and comforted Celia.
It comforted Celia because she wondered over the years if she really was an ice queen, as a few people had told her. The term didn’t bother her; she was who she was, and her nature was part of what made her successful. However, it hadn’t escaped her notice that most people, especially other women, tended to be more emotional than she was. That emotion had always seemed to be a handicap in Celia’s estimation. Tasha understood that. Of course, Tasha was a serial killer. She’d been described as a sociopath, even a psychopath. Celia didn’t think the actress was the latter. However, Celia had wondered more than once if she herself might be the former. Looking back over her own choices, there was certainly manipulation there, along with a lack of regard for others. But certainly, everyone looked out for number one most of the time. They had to; how else could one achieve real success?
The phone startled Celia out of her ponderings. She saw Andrew’s name. “Hello, this is Celia Brockwell.”
Ms. Brockwell, it’s Andrew, Ms. Bronlov’s attorney.”
“Yes, hello. How can I help you?”
“Well, Ms. Bronlov has given me her list of requested visitors for next week. You are on the list.”
“Oh, really? Well, how does that work, exactly?
“Well, you’ll arrive at the prison several hours before the execution. You’ll have 15-30 minutes to visit. There will definitely be a partition this time, I believe. I’ll send you the details if you like.”
“That would be helpful, yes.”
“I am still hoping for a last-minute reprieve, of course. But it doesn’t look very hopeful.”
“Well, I for one hope you can pull a rabbit out of the hat.”
“As do I. I oppose the death penalty on principle. I’ll send you those details. Feel free to call me with any questions you may have.”
Celia ended the call and sat back in her chair. Tasha wanted to see her on the day of the execution. She wondered who else was on the list. There was no family to visit, and Natasha didn’t have many friends. She couldn’t help but wonder if William was on that list. But then, he had said he didn’t think he could bear to watch the execution. He might visit her, however, to be supportive. It would be tasteless to ask him, Celia thought. Still, she was absolutely curious.
The email notification pinged on Celia’s laptop, and she opened the message. It was from Tasha’s attorney. He reiterated the actress’s invitation and attached what Celia assumed were the standard guidelines for visitors. Celia opened the document and began to read.
Celia would need to arrive around 1:00. She would be allowed to visit with Natasha briefly, under supervision, and with a partition. She couldn’t bring any items with her or receive any items from the actress. The visiting window was narrow. Natasha would have her last meal at 4:00 pm. There was information regarding what the prisoner would wear, the preparation and visit from the Warden and a chaplain. The chaplain could be refused, and Celia suspected Natasha would do that. Natasha would be allowed a shower and a different garment, and then she would be prepped for the injection.
One of Celia’s early pieces for The Journal was about the death penalty, so she knew what a lethal injection would entail. Still, reading about it this time was different. This time Celia would be observing, and the recipient would be someone she knew, someone she had come to respect in her own way. The journalist wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, but she had come to regard Natasha as a friend.
Pushing the execution out of her mind, Celia spent the rest of the day reviewing pitches for stories, editing some of her own work, and looking through a stack of resumes. She needed to hire a couple more staff members. By the time she finished, it was after 6:00, and she was starving. Keith wanted her to call every time she left work, which Celia thought was a bit much, but she swiped his number as she walked toward the elevator.
“Celia, hold up a minute,” William called out to her as she pressed the down button. He caught up with her and pressed the button again. “Heading home for the day?”
“I am,” Celia replied. “It’s been a long one.”
“Have you had a chance to look through any resumes?”
“I have. I’ve narrowed the huge stack to a smaller stack. There are about a dozen who look pretty promising.”
“Good. Let me know if you need anything. I want us to be ready for what’s next.”
“Good thinking.”
“How are the interviews going?”
“I’ve finished the interviews, and I’ve been crafting the article. It’s strange, and a bit sad.”
“Yes, it is,” William sighed. “She committed terrible crimes, but she is not a terrible person. I confess I’m feeling some grief. I’ve had friends die, but not this way.”
“Yes, it’s not the same as cancer or an accident. She will die at a prescribed time and place at the hands of the state.”
“You sound troubled by that concept.”
“You know, I never really had much problem with the death penalty. You take lives, you forfeit your own. But knowing the story behind the crimes, and knowing that sometimes murder seems like a real answer, it isn’t as cut and dried.”
“I’m not sure I agree that murder is the answer, but I do understand why Natasha felt so betrayed, especially by her father.”
“You knew about that?”
“I helped her find out the truth about her mother. She was controlled, of course, but when she was arrested for her father’s murder, I knew immediately what had pushed her over that edge.”
Celia didn’t respond, but she did wonder exactly how much William knew about the actress’s life. She was impressed that he never exploited that relationship as a member of the press and CEO of a media organization. She respected his loyalty to a friend. The elevator opened then, and she and William said goodbye.
Celia had been home for less than five minutes when someone knocked on her door. She looked through the peephole and saw Lucille holding a kitten in one hand and a box in the other. Oh great, another cat, Celia thought, but she put on a friendly smile and opened the door.
“Hello, dear,” Lucille said. “I was waiting for you to get home. You have a package, and they put it on my doorstep by mistake. I thought it might be important.”
“Thank you,” Celia replied, taking the package. “Who is your new friend?”
“Oh, this is Tom. My friends at bingo gave him to me.” She nuzzled the kitten and sighed. “He’ll never replace Jerry, of course, but he can keep me company.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad you have a new companion.”
Lucille stood outside the doorway, waiting. Celia could tell she wanted to know what was in the package, but Celia wasn’t going to open it in front of her. There was a fine line between neighborly and nosy.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your evening,” Lucille said, sounding a little disappointed. “You have a nice night.”
Celia closed the door and took the package into the kitchen. She hadn’t ordered anything; however, she did occasionally get promotional items. Her address was there, but the return wasn’t familiar, and the postmark looked odd. The box was small and light. Taking a knife, she cut the tape and opened the flaps.
Two Ziploc bags were nestled in some tissue paper. One of the bags held her toothbrush, and the other held
a pair of her underwear, neatly folded. She dropped the bags quickly and closed the box. How had Bart gotten into her house? He couldn’t have! There were no alerts on her phone, and Keith hadn’t called her in a panic. She knew she’d armed it before she left. Celia pulled up the camera app, but Lucille’s front door wasn’t in view. There was no way anyone had been in her house today, she thought. Did Bart take them when he broke in before? She pulled her phone from her purse and called the police station.
“Yes, I need to speak with Walt Stanfield, please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Celia Brockwell, and it’s urgent.” She didn’t want to panic, but Celia was shaking with rage.
“Celia, It’s Walt. What happened?”
“Someone put a package for me on my neighbor’s front doorstep today. She thought they delivered it to her by mistake. I opened it, and it has things from inside my house. I know no one has been here. My alarm was on, and there’s no one on either camera. I think Bart must have taken things when he broke in before.”
“What was in the package? Did you touch them?”
“My toothbrush and a pair of underwear. They were in Ziploc bags. I know what you’re thinking, but I’d bet you won’t find any prints. The underwear was folded like it had been washed. I only touched the bags and the outside of the box.”
“Stay there, and I’ll be over with someone. Do you think anyone is around your house now? He might be watching, wanting to see your reaction.”
“I didn’t notice anyone,” Celia walked toward the door. “I’m going to stay on the line and check.”
“No, Celia don’t go outside-“
“It’ll only take a minute.” She walked out of her front door and looked up and down the street. There were no unusual cars. Then she walked back inside and checked the back porch and yard. There was nothing out of place. “No one is here.”
“Stay inside and lock your door until I get there.”
“I will.” Celia hung up and looked inside the box again. She couldn’t remember if the underwear had been in her drawer or the hamper. The idea of Bart taking clothing out of her hamper was disgusting. And why hadn’t she noticed the toothbrush? Was it because she had more than one sitting in the holder? She couldn’t remember. Sometimes she would keep the old one to clean her jewelry. Regardless, Bart had not just left Jerry on her bed and roses on her floor. He’d gone through her things.
Walt and another policeman arrived quickly, and Keith wasn’t far behind them. Walt must have called him. The police began examining the box, and Keith took her into the living room to sit.
“So do you think he took your things when he was here before? You haven’t forgotten to arm the alarm, have you?”
“No way, I arm it every morning and every night,” Celia replied. “It must have been when he broke in before. Ugh, he went through my drawers...or my hamper. And why my toothbrush?”
“They’re both personal. He probably thought you’d notice the toothbrush.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t. Why keep them and send them to me? And how did he send them? Why did they end up on Lucille’s step instead of mine?”
“My guess is he knew he’d only get one shot in your house, but he wanted to prolong it. So he took a few souvenirs that he could scare you with later. You should probably go through the house and see if anything else is missing.”
“Hey, guys, you two should see this,” Walt called from the kitchen.
They walked into the kitchen, and Walt’s partner was taking photos of the box.
“See this?” Walt pointed to the postmark. “It’s not a real postmark. This box never went through the mail.”
“What? You mean he brought it here himself?” Celia asked
“Probably so.”
“Wouldn’t that be risky?”
“Well, he probably knows how far the view of your camera goes. My guess is he knew no one would see him going to your neighbor’s door. That would explain why he put it there instead of at your door. Delivery men make mistakes all the time, so no one would think anything of it.”
“I assume you’ll run prints and DNA on everything,” Keith said.
“Yeah, but I’m not hopeful. He probably wore gloves and made sure there weren’t any. My guess is that the only prints we’ll find are Celia’s and the neighbor’s. We’ll take it with us and check everything, though. And Celia, you need to go through this house with a fine-toothed comb. We need to be prepared for any more special deliveries.”
After the police left, Celia let out a string of curses. “That was very eloquent,” Keith laughed.
“Why thank you. I have more if you’d like to hear them.”
“Nah, I’m good. If I wanted more I’d have joined the navy.”
“The navy,” Celia chuckled. “Yeah, I’d like to see Bart buried at sea.”
“After walking the plank?”
“That’s not the navy, that’s pirates,” Celia teased. “But they’d work too.”
Keith folded his arms and looked at her. “So are you going to pack a bag?”
“Why would I pack a bag? I’m not going anywhere.” Celie pretended not to know what he meant.
“God, you’re stubborn!”
“I’m not running away every time he pushes a button. He doesn’t get that power.”
“It’s not about power. It’s about safety,” Keith countered.
“I am safe. He put the box at Lucille’s door because of my alarm system. He knew there were cameras. He can’t get in here without tripping the alarm and being caught on camera. This is probably one of the safest places I could be right now.”
“I thought you might say that. I’ll be right back.” Keith walked out of the house and walked back in after a minute or two. He was carrying an overnight bag. “So I’ll stay here.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Celia argued.
“I’m not a babysitter. I’m the muscle.” Keith flexed. “Think of me as the bodyguard.”
“Oh god,” Celia laughed. “Well, if you think I’m gonna sing to you like Whitney Houston, you’re wrong.”
“You’re too young to know that movie.”
“I have cable, and I don’t sleep much,” Celia laughed. “It’s not gonna be comfortable. My office couch is a pullout, and it’s lumpy.”
“I’ll survive.” Keith tossed his bag through the door of her office and then rubbed his hands together. “So what’s for dinner?”
“I’m not about to cook. So I guess we get to choose from the stack of delivery menus in my top drawer over there.”
Keith opened the drawer and looked through the stack. “Pizza, pizza, Mexican, Italian, Chinese, oh look, more pizza. Hey, this sounds interesting. Barbecue?”
“Oh, that one I’ve never tried. It was in my mailbox one day.” She walked into the kitchen and looked over his shoulder.
“My dad had this big smoker when I was growing up. A couple of times a year he’d stay up all night sitting next to it, making the whole neighborhood hungry. I wonder if this place is any good.”
“Go ahead and call if you want. Do they have chicken? I’m not a big pork fan.”
“Yeah, they do. This actually looks good.” Keith punched the number into his phone and waved away Celia when she tried to hand him her credit card. He ordered pork for himself, chicken for her, and several sides. He topped it off with dessert.
“You a little hungry?” Celia teased.
“Hey, I gotta keep my strength up. I have to protect a damsel.”
“Oh good grief,” Celia rolled her eyes. “Should I faint now?”
“It would help set the whole mood, yeah.”
Celia punched him and grabbed each of them a beer from the fridge. They sat on the sofa to wait for their dinner, and Celia grabbed the remote. Keith took it from her. “How are you really?” He asked.
“I’m angry. I’m frustrated that this whole thing is still going on. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”
/> “Are you afraid?”
“I guess I am in a way. I just don’t know what he’ll do next, ya know? I have no say, and that drives me crazy.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed you like to be in control of a situation.”
“Doesn’t everyone? I mean, I hate the idea of life happening to me. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work.”
“And yet sometimes it does,” Keith adjusted so he was facing her. “I get it. We all like to know what’s coming next. But a lot of times we just don’t. Sometimes you just have to wait and see.”
“It just feels like I’m waiting for Bart’s next stunt. And what if he gets tired of leaving things on the doorstep or slashing tires? You can’t be around every minute, and it’s not your job to take care of me.”
“Maybe it’s not my job, but it’s what a friend does, isn’t it? You’d do the same for me.”
Celia laughed. “I don’t think you’d need my help against a stalker.”
“Maybe not, but there have been times in my life it sure would have been nice to have a scheming mind like yours.”
“Scheming mind? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
Keith laughed. “You know what I mean. You read people. You plan and figure things out. Look at how you immediately jumped into your new role at work. You’ve got a quick mind.”
“I wasn’t very good at reading Bart,” Celia muttered.
“Yeah, that’s because your libido got in the way.”
“Don’t remind me,” Celia groaned. “I may never have sex again.”
“Now, that would be a tragedy,” Keith laughed.
“Shut up, perv,” Celia chuckled. “Give me the remote. I need some trash TV.”
After their supper arrived, they decided to move to the kitchen to eat. Celia was amazed at how much food Keith could put away. Obviously, he worked out enough to compensate for the calories. He offered her some dessert, but she declined. Once the dishes were done and the leftovers wrapped up, Celia decided to do some writing while Keith watched a game. He complained that he should have brought his 72-inch television with him. What was it about guys and televisions, Celia thought. Then again, she had enjoyed watching a couple of movies on his giant screen. She shook her head as Keith shouted at a referee and then turned her attention to Natasha’s article.