by Stacy Juba
"I hate to ask, but could I get a comment for the paper?"
"I'm sorry it happened. He was ..." What could she say that wouldn’t sound phony? All of America had seen her and Reggie sniping at each other. "He was unique and I know he’ll be greatly missed by his family, friends and fans."
"Does his murder make you nervous?" Alison asked. "Do you plan to take extra security precautions?"
Cassidy stopped before the window with its close-up view of dead grass. Alison wasn’t making it easy to relax her guard. She’d never considered how vulnerable and isolated her basement apartment was.
Tenants ran into each other in the parking lot, but rarely in the main two-story building. Each entrance hallway led to two apartments, upstairs and downstairs. The guy above her used the back fire escape and Cassidy never saw him. She had the bottom level to herself. That used to be a plus, but now Cassidy wouldn’t mind a next door neighbor.
"His murder sickens me, but why should it make me nervous? Unfortunately, violence happens every day and if Reggie wasn’t well-known, it would’ve just been another item in the local newspaper, the tragedies that we try to make ourselves immune to so we feel safe going about our daily lives. It's a horrible tragedy and my prayers go out to Reggie's family." She barely recognized her clipped careful voice.
"Thanks," Alison said. "I'll call you tomorrow about the newspaper series."
Cassidy hung up and closed her eyes, shutting out an image of Reggie in a puddle of blood. She could visualize the gruesome scene in a cheesy horror flick. He would hop up after the take and flirt with an actress. She couldn't see it in reality.
Distraction. She needed a distraction. Cassidy leafed through the stack of mail that Glenn had delivered, normal mail that didn't beg for a dinner date or a signed picture. Bank statement, coupon book, a cream envelope with a typed label. Cassidy ripped open the envelope. She dropped onto the couch, skimming the letter.
"My sweet love, you should have won. You outshone all the other contestants by far. Never forget that you are a winner in my eyes. Now that you have settled in, I am ready to prove my love. I can't wait to hold you in my arms, to caress your auburn hair and feel your soft lips. I've always felt there was something missing in my life. Now I know that it's you, my darling. Soon you'll see that I am your destiny."
Cassidy skipped ahead ten pages to the signature. Miles. She jumped up from the couch.
This letter hadn’t come to the studio. It had been mailed to her apartment. He knew her address.
Her head snapped up at the sound of the creaking staircase. Someone was visiting, unannounced. And she’d forgotten to connect the chain after Glenn and Bo left.
Cassidy sprinted to latch the door, telling herself that Bo had probably forgotten something. She was just being careful. Nothing to worry about.
As a knock rapped on the other side, she pressed her face against the peephole, her new best friend. Large heavily made-up eyes peered back.
Shoulders slackening, Cassidy opened the door. "What are you doing here?"
Her mother edged past her in a tight pink and white pinstriped waitress uniform and crepe-soled shoes. Frizzy yellow curls strayed out from bobby pins at the sides of her head.
Bracelets jingling like dog tags, her mother plumped into a cushioned chair. "Did you hear Reggie Elliott was murdered? It came over the radio as I was leaving work."
"I just found out."
"What do you think happened?"
"I don't know." Cassidy sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the white ceramic napkin holder, debating how much to tell her mother.
The phone shrilled. She made a split second decision to answer it, and then too late, wondered whether it would be better to screen calls in case it was another reporter.
Or Miles.
"Go to the police," Glenn said over the crackle of his cell and the background traffic. "Reggie Elliott was murdered."
"I know, but my situation isn't related to Reggie. You know what probably happened? Reggie was a real ladies man. He probably took up with the wrong guy’s girl before the show, and now the boyfriend got revenge." As she spoke, Cassidy couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that earlier.
"Why take a chance?" Glenn asked. "You were both in the same spotlight so you should report anything unusual. It’s a good idea to contact the police anyway, even regardless of all this, so you have this guy’s harassment on record in case anything develops with him."
He was right, she knew he was right. Cassidy finally caved. "Okay, fine, I’ll do it, but quit worrying about me, Glenn."
As Cassidy hung up, her mother's false lashes fluttered. "What did he want? There's something going on, isn't there? He knows and I don't?"
Cassidy sighed. Last thing she needed was her mother’s irate jealousy. Halfway through the story about Miles, her mother rooted through her purse and unhooked a canister of pepper spray from her keychain.
"I got this for late shifts at the diner," she said. "I don't like walking to my car alone. Take it. I’ll get another one."
Cassidy started to object, then changed her mind. Considering all the strange people who suddenly knew of her existence, having access to blinding chemicals might not be a bad idea. "I'll carry it, but don't worry."
"If your loser father hadn't given you that Raggedy Ann doll when you were a kid, this nut wouldn't have sent you one. Why would you say that was your favorite toy? What about all the toys I gave you? Like the video games and that fire engine rocker?"
She blinked at her mother's illogic. "If it wasn't the doll, it would have been something else. What difference does it make?"
"Maybe you should get a bodyguard. I remember reading that Madonna’s stalker tried to kill her bodyguard because he was in the way. It’s good to have protection, so these lunatics know they can’t get to you."
Chills licked the hairs at the back of Cassidy’s neck. She began straightening the stash of napkins in the napkin holder, lining up the corners. "For one thing, I can’t afford a bodyguard. Besides, I'm not wasting my money, or letting some psycho control me. I learned to take care of myself a long time ago. I'll handle this like I've handled everything else in my life."
Hurt softened her mother's eyes. "I may not be the world's greatest mother, but I've always been there for you. I’m just remembering how a young TV actress, Rebecca Schaeffer, opened her door back in the 1980s and a maniac shot her."
"I’ll be careful opening the door."
"Why don’t you sleep over at my house?"
"I'm staying right here. End of discussion." Cassidy continued arranging napkins, then on impulse, reached over and read the postmark on the most recent Miles letter. Her insides sloshed into liquid.
New York City.
Not only did Miles know where she lived, he was getting closer.
Chapter Six
Cassidy drummed her fingers on the desk, taking in the file cabinets and metal safe in the police detective's office. She had only visited the Garrett Police Department once to fill out an accident report for a fender bender and that time she hadn’t gone past the lobby. She never would have guessed that she’d be here as a "celebrity" harassed by a stalker.
Cassidy picked up a ball-point pen and clicked the tip in and out to busy her trembling hands. She’d discovered five additional Miles letters in the studio fan mail last night. He could be the stranger hovering near her in the grocery store or following her in traffic.
After the other letters materialized, Cassidy went on-line and researched celebrity stalking. She found the case her mother mentioned, where My Sister Sam sitcom actress Rebecca Shaeffer was shot to death by an obsessed fan who had stalked her for two years. According to the reports, the stalker sent her disjointed letters containing no threat of violence. When he saw Schaeffer in a movie scene in bed with a male actor, he decided to punish her for her "immorality."
Cassidy swallowed the dryness in her mouth. That poor young girl. Then there was Theresa Saldana, an actress
best known for her role in the feature film Raging Bull and on the television series The Commish. In 1982, Saldana was the victim of a stalker who stabbed her ten times in broad daylight, almost killing her. Cassidy had read that his goal was to kill her, get caught, and obtain the death penalty so he could join Saldana in death. Cassidy jabbed the pen onto a blank yellow sticky note, leaving a jagged black trail.
And, who could forget deranged fan Mark Chapman, who shot John Lennon only hours after asking the former Beatle for his autograph? Cassidy had also read about another victim named Lennon, Peggy Lennon from the singing Lennon Sisters on the Lawrence Welk Show. A stalker hunted down her father and shot him to death, believing he was an obstacle to being with Peggy.
Get a grip, Cassidy ordered herself. Those stories were horrible, but rare. Just because this Miles guy churned out more junk mail than the U.S. Post Office didn’t mean he would attack her or her family. She couldn’t let the cops think she was a scaredy cat, after all that work to portray herself as a strong feminine role model on TV.
Cassidy straightened as Detective Sean Pierce returned with a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a Coke. He popped open the can and handed it to her. Nondescript in his gray striped button-down shirt and khakis, Detective Pierce scraped up a plastic chair beside her. From his retracting brown hair and the crinkles under his dark eyes, he looked as if he was in his early forties, but he had the trim build of a thirty-year-old athlete.
He shot her a curious glance. "You were on that game show. I recognize you from the newspaper. Must have been quite an experience."
"That's an understatement," Cassidy said.
Detective Pierce emptied a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirred it. If he was attempting to help her relax, he wasn’t succeeding. Her mind wouldn’t shut off. "The dispatcher tells me you have an unwanted admirer."
"Yes. I feel a little silly coming here when this person hasn’t even approached me yet, but he gives me a bad vibe. He’s really persistent, and if you read his letters, he’s not all there if you know what I mean." Cassidy passed over the pile of envelopes and picked up Raggedy Ann from the floor beside her feet.
"He calls himself Miles," she said. "He sent this doll to the studio in New York, then a letter came to my apartment. I found a half-dozen others in my fan mail from the network."
Detective Pierce unfolded one of the letters and held it between his fingers. He read a few lines and frowned.
"What do you think?" Cassidy asked, dropping the doll onto his desk and leaning forward.
"Why Raggedy Ann? She doesn’t exactly symbolize romance."
"On the show, I mentioned that I had one when I was a kid. My father gave it to me."
He nodded and flipped the page. "This guy sounds like a real winner. He sure rambles. You don't know anyone named Miles?"
"No."
"Did he threaten you in any of these letters?"
"No, I’d call them obsessive, not threatening. But that doesn’t always matter, does it? Isn’t it true that stalkers can start out flattering and turn violent?"
"Yes, but I’m glad to hear you haven’t gotten any threats yet. How about ex-boyfriends? Could any of them be hung up on you and hiding behind this Miles persona?"
Cassidy pulled herself erect, balancing the soda can on her knee. She’d been the one to end most of her short-term relationships, but none of the guys had seemed overly distressed. They’d taken the hint and stopped calling. Unfortunately, the one man who made her toes tingle was engaged. "I don’t think so. It's someone who saw me on TV. It has to be."
"Give me the names anyway. I'll run a background check."
She scribbled a list of all her dates since high school, a deep flush coloring her cheeks. Four names, only one in the past year. Working her way through college hadn’t left much time for a social life and she’d turned down several dates at the gym to avoid awkward situations when the relationship soured. Cassidy had even less girlfriends – most of her high school pals had moved away, either getting married or accepting jobs out-of-state.
She reviewed the list before handing it to the detective. "This is a dead end. These guys would contact me directly, not use an alias."
Detective Pierce trailed his finger down the short list of names. "You’re sure about that?"
"Yeah, and besides, none of them were serious. I dated them all a handful of times. They weren’t lunatics. I'm telling you, this guy is a stranger."
He thumbed through the pack of envelopes, scanning the postmarks. "You’re probably right, but I prefer exploring all angles. These letters have all been sent within the last few weeks. Maybe as the show wound down, this Miles character realized he'd go through withdrawal."
"Why me?" Cassidy blurted out. "I mean, look at all the real celebrities he could have pursued. Actresses, models, singers. Why fixate on a contestant from a dumb reality show? Um, don’t tell anyone I said it was dumb, okay?"
His eyes focused on her. She'd hate to be on the receiving end of a criminal investigation. He looked as if he could hold that stare for a long time.
"Maybe you remind him of his mother, or he liked the way you laughed. Stalkers often keep diaries, recording fantasies about their victims. There was one case where the guy went as far as setting the victim’s place at the dinner table every night. Eventually, he tried to kidnap her."
Cassidy's arm went limp, sending her can clattering to the floor and Coke pooling around her sneakers. That sounded like the cases she’d read about on the Internet. Was Miles making up deluded fantasies about her? She groped in her purse for a tissue. "I'm sorry."
She crouched on her knees and soaked two Kleenexes.
"I didn’t mean to frighten you," Detective Pierce said, letting her handle the spill. "Chances are, this stalker isn’t anything to worry about, but use common sense. Keep the doors locked in your home and car, be aware of your surroundings and write down the license number of suspicious vehicles. Ask your neighbors to keep an eye out for anyone unusual hanging around, and I’d suggest screening your calls. Avoid walking alone and it would be a good idea to carry a cell phone in case you’re ever followed. In other words, be vigilant for awhile, and hopefully this guy will disappear. If he approaches you by any chance, politely but firmly tell him you’re not interested."
Cassidy dumped the tissues into the wastebasket and rubbed sticky beads of Coke off her wrist. Being that cautious sounded like a daunting task. What if she got distracted and forgot to stay on high alert?She scooted back into her seat. "There’s one more thing. The first place winner of Sink or Swim, Reggie Elliott, was found murdered this weekend outside of Trenton, New Jersey."
"I heard something about Reggie Elliott on the radio this morning, but I didn’t realize he was dead," Detective Pierce said, his brow grooved into a frown. "Had you talked to him lately?"
"Not since the cast party. We weren't close."
"Were you ever romantically involved with him?"
"No way."
"Did he ever mention anyone named Miles?"
"No. You ... you don’t think there’s a connection to my situation, do you?My guess is he got himself into a love triangle and ticked off a boyfriend or husband, but I wanted to make sure you knew about him, just in case." Cassidy pressed her hands down on the arms of her plastic-topped chair as if she were about to get washed out to sea.
"I'll call the police out there and tell them what's happening," Detective Pierce said, scrawling in his notebook. "We should send them copies of your letters as a formality, but truthfully, it’s unlikely that Reggie’s murder has anything to do with your stalker. If he was your boyfriend, it’s possible that would have enraged a highly disturbed person, but since Reggie wasn’t a competitor for your love then he posed no threat. My advice remains the same, to err on the side of caution and if this guy progresses beyond letters or suggests violence, give me a call."
"Thanks, Detective."
Cassidy drove home from the police department a little more reassured than
when she’d arrived. The detective’s recommendations made sense. He was telling her to be careful, not panic.
But, apprehension flooded back as she entered her apartment and heard the sharp ring of the phone. Four messages awaited her attention on the answering machine.
She dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, a funny tingling in the pit of her stomach. What if Miles had set her place for dinner and wanted her to pick up a loaf of bread?
After the fifth ring, the machine clicked on followed by her greeting and the beep. "Hi, Cass, sorry I missed you," an unexpected voice said. "I-"
She lunged for the telephone. "Josh!"
"I’m glad I got you," her crush said. "I can't believe Reggie is dead."
"It's terrible. I'm still in shock." Was Josh calling other contestants, or just her? Cassidy struggled to sound casual. "Have you heard anything more about what happened? I’m wondering if he hit on the wrong girl and broke up a relationship."
"Could be, or I wouldn't put it past him to be involved in drugs or blackmail," Josh said.
"I’m hoping it’s something like that and not a crazy fan that got hung up on him during SOS. I’ve got my own stalker and hearing about Reggie has kicked my paranoia into overdrive."
"Are you serious? Are you okay? What’s going on?"
Cassidy hadn’t intended to solicit his sympathy, but some inner force had propelled her into telling him. Maybe a need to see whether he cared. Pacing the room, she gave him a brief overview.
"You should be careful. I don’t like this. Can you have a friend stay over?"
His worried tone warmed her heart, and for just a moment, Cassidy felt less alone."I'll see what happens. It’s only letters right now." She tucked a red strand of hair behind her ear and rested her back against the refrigerator. "Were you just calling to talk about Reggie?"
Silence. Then a deep sigh. "Not really. I wanted to say hi. We didn’t get to talk much at the cast party. They kept you pretty busy."