by Stacy Juba
Her eyes felt as if they would burst, her brain, explode. Throbbing pain built into bone-crushing agony and layers of blackness dropped over her vision. The clamped hands dimmed behind a curtain of darkness, growing fuzzier until they disappeared into the void.
A familiar figure appeared in the shadows, a tall young man with thick dark hair and somber blue eyes. Brian?
She was dead when the killer unclasped the locket and slipped it off her bruised neck.
Chapter Twenty
Cassidy stood on her green resistance tube, extending the handles out front into upright rows and longing for her barbells gathering dust back home. Her rubber tube traveled well, but lacked the challenge of free weights.
"Cassidy, could you come here please!" Donald called in a strident voice.
She dropped the handles, the tube collapsing in a U-shape on the floor. Donald never spoke so urgently. He hardly spoke, period. Cassidy descended the stairs, trepidation mounting with each step.
Donald and Rosemary angled forward on the couch, glued to the television. Chazz reclined near the wood stove, a coal black lump. The news report switched from the studio to outside a stucco building. An attractive brunette clutched a microphone, a border of palm trees fringing the background. Cassidy lowered herself into an easy chair and watched with growing dread.
"This is Natasha Hults covering what appears to be a homicide in the Burbank home of popular Sink or Swim host Gabriel Collins. North Hollywood police have found at least one body in this perplexing and gruesome discovery by cleaning lady Sylvia Ulrich. Collins' involvement is unknown at this time. Police have not released the victim's name pending family notification, but sources indicate that the deceased was a young woman.
"This is the second tragedy to strike a member of the Sink or Swim cast in the short time since the first season drew to a close. A few weeks ago, SOS million dollar winner Reggie Elliott was stabbed to death in his New Jersey apartment. His killer remains at large and there is no word on whether the latest tragedy could be connected. We will bring you updates as this bizarre story develops."
Cassidy rubbed her temples, her head jack-hammering with a thousand questions and her mouth cottony. Another homicide linked to Sink or Swim? How could that be?
Shuddering, Rosemary nestled her petite frame against her husband and peered past him at Cassidy. "What do you think?"
"I don't know." Cassidy braced herself against the arms of the chair, a sense of doom lodging in her chest as her initial shock turned to fear.
Gabriel. Reggie. Miles. They connected into one giant spider web. She had no proof, no knowledge of what had transpired in Gabriel's house, or who had killed Reggie, nothing but a strong feeling that nagged at her insides. The reporter had claimed "at least one body" had been found. She’d bet anything Gabriel was dead and the woman had been in the wrong place.
"I'm sure this isn't related to your situation. You know these wild Hollywood types." Donald’s voice sounded faraway over the hollow thunder of blood in her eardrums.
"I could’ve accepted Reggie's murder as coincidence," Cassidy said. "But if Gabriel was killed or targeted, how could we each have a different person after us?"
Donald plowed a finger through his floppy sideburns. "You'll see. This Gabriel probably went off his rocker and killed his girlfriend. Nothing to do with your TV show, or your stalker, at all."
"There's no sense worrying when we don't know what happened," Rosemary said. "Let's eat supper and relax until they know more."
The update came on the ten o'clock news, following a teaser about "another Sink or Swim slaying." Anxiety belted Cassidy square in the stomach as she sat beside Donald and Rosemary on the couch. She crossed her legs, and uncrossed them, wired with relentless energy. A different female reporter appeared on camera before the same stucco building.
"In a shocking turn of events, police have revealed that Felicia Fowler, a well-known Sink or Swim contestant and the daughter of Academy Award winning director Jake Fowler, was found strangled early this afternoon in the Burbank condo of Gabriel Collins."
Cassidy's heart plummeted and the oxygen whooshed out of her body. Felicia!She had roomed with Felicia, seen her fuss over her hair and makeup, heard her snore. My God, she had just watched her on television the other night. How could Felicia be dead?
"According to sources, Gabriel Collins is being questioned by North Hollywood homicide detectives," the reporter continued. "At this time, the LAPD will not comment on whether he is the focus of their investigation."
The picture flashed to a weary middle-aged police detective. He spoke into the mike thrust under his jaw. "No one's been eliminated at this time. We're interviewing people and are waiting for results of the forensics tests."
Cassidy cupped her ice cold hands around her neck. So much for her guess that the former SOS host was dead. Gabriel a possible suspect in Felicia’s murder? What the hell?
Rosemary placed comforting pressure on her elbow. Cassidy looked up into the older woman's rosy cheeks, scrubbed clean with Noxzema. The medicinal scent invaded Cassidy’s nostrils and overpowered her with sudden headiness.
"Why do you think that girl was at Gabriel's house?" Donald asked.
"Gabriel liked young women," Cassidy said slowly. "Felicia flirted with him. They both live in L.A. and were reunited on a talk show this week. There's probably some romantic involvement."
"Do you think he could have killed her? Does he have a temper?"
Cassidy rested her head against the cushion, fighting to wrap her fuzzy brain around Donald’s questions. "I don’t like the guy, but I can't see him committing murder."
"Maybe Felicia and Reggie knew something they shouldn't," Donald suggested. "Blackmail. Or the deaths could be isolated incidents. Don't jump to conclusions until you have more information."
She nodded, dazed. Gabriel Collins. He had made her walk the plank, his smugness grating her nerves. Could he have written the Miles letters? But stalkers usually fixated on one person. Why kill Reggie and Felicia, unless he had masterminded a sinister game and the players were SOS contestants.
Cassidy grimaced as Donald switched off the TV. It didn't add up. Her initial letters had been postmarked during SOS shooting. Gabriel had been in the middle of the Atlantic. Her stalker had brought her chocolate chip cookies, left a note on her car and attended the ship preview. Gabriel was in Hollywood, filling in on the talk show.
Obviously, SOS had inflated his career if he’d gotten that offer. He’d been working his way up the show business ladder for years. Why fly off the deep end and kill people now, when he was achieving a higher level of fame?
Unbidden, tears leaked out of Cassidy’s eyes as she envisioned Felicia, strangled, with bruises and rope burns destroying her beauty. What panic and pain she must have suffered. A picture of herself lying dead leaped into Cassidy’s mind and nausea surged up her throat.
"We need our sleep," Rosemary said. "Maybe in the morning, the police will release more information."
Cassidy staggered to her feet on unsteady legs. She'd leave a message for Detective Pierce, asking him to contact the LAPD, being a pain in his side once again.
Tomorrow she would seek answers.
***
Cassidy awoke at 6:45 a.m. to a whiff of coffee and a barrage of cell phone calls. First, separate calls from her mother, Bo and Glenn begging her to be careful. Then Josh rang the house’s main number twice. Rosemary told him Cassidy was unavailable and let the answering machine screen subsequent calls.
Whizzing past channels with the remote control, Cassidy curled on the couch in her bathrobe. Nothing but game shows and talk shows to divert her attention. Rosemary puttered around the kitchen, assembling ingredients for an applesauce cake to feed their nerves.
Windows rattled as a gale lashed outside. Gray clouds deepened the sky to a leaden hue. Autumn was drawing closer, so close that Bo started school tomorrow. Seasons were ending, and Cassidy was veering further and further away from her
goals.
The cell phone jangled on the coffee table and she recognized the number on the display panel. Detective Pierce. Cassidy answered it, sitting up, her spine erect.
"I spoke with the LAPD," Pierce began. "Gabriel and his attorney claim that he fears for his life since Felicia was killed in his condo. He said he barely knew her and had no motive to kill her, but his alibi isn’t rock solid."
"Are they looking for a link to Reggie? To me? Do they know Adam Horton has been acting suspicious?"
"Adam is still in New Hampshire at his cousins’ place, so he couldn’t have killed Felicia. The LAPD has spoken to police in Reggie’s town and they’re listening to my concerns. I’m faxing them the Miles letters. They may ask the FBI Behavioral Science Unit to draw up a profile." Detective Pierce hesitated and she heard a trace of reluctance in his tone. "But, the LAPD's first priority is whether Gabriel Collins killed Felicia Fowler. That's the only crime that occurred in their jurisdiction. So far, no evidence hints any of this is related."
"If it is, the show’s contestants and crew members could be in danger." Cassidy got up and walked the pine-planked floor. Like me. Swallowing, she pushed back a cloud of matted hair. At least if she was dealing with a SOS serial killer, it narrowed things down slightly to find out that Adam wasn’t responsible. But there were a whole slew of people who could be.
"We'll be shaking up trees to see what falls out," Detective Pierce said.
"In other words, be grateful for any help I can get." Cassidy eyed herself in the antique mirror over the fireplace, the glass reflecting her disheveled appearance and the long bleak shadows of the room. She looked terrible.
"No offense, but in a nutshell, yes. Incidentally, we’ve checked out Rhonda Sue Vanelli. She’s a dogwalker and her clients say she hasn’t taken a day off in a couple years. That doesn’t mesh with the out-of-state postmarks on your Miles letters."
"That’s what I figured, but thanks for looking into it," Cassidy said grudgingly.
"Here’s my advice. Stay in hiding if you're certain it's a safe place, and wait this out."
"Could you check into my gun license? Isn’t my situation considered an emergency by now?"
"I’ll make some calls, but again, I don't recommend that as the solution to your problems."
After they disconnected, Cassidy shuffled to the window. Mountains loomed outside the window, faint outlines in the fog, alien terrain from the life she knew. Maybe a gun wasn’t the ideal solution, but what other choice did she have? She couldn’t hole up in the mountains forever.
Cassidy had her own trees to shake, and they were back in Garrett.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next day, Cassidy coiled on the edge of the bed, a throw pillow clenched in her lap. She’d just gotten off the phone with her mother, who had called to read Cassidy the lead article in the Garrett Daily News. It started off:
Cassidy Novak Stalked! Did SOS Star Flee Town Out of Fear?
By Alison Larson
Staff Writer
GARRETT - In the wake of two contestant murders, reports are surfacing that a stalker has targeted local Sink or Swim competitor Cassidy Novak. Garrett Police Det. Sean Pierce says he does not know whether the stalking could be related to the brutal deaths of Reggie Elliott and Felicia Fowler, who rose to fame on the reality game show Sink or Swim.
Alison had quoted Lynn from Sensational Seas Cruise Lines, Rhonda Sue and Spike, collecting anecdotes about the flower at the ship preview, cookies at the gym and Adam Horton scene. Now the news had spilled to national media. Cassidy's mother had dodged five phone calls from reporters and yelled at a television crew in the front yard. Thanks to Alison Larson, the whole country believed Cassidy was a coward.
Would the coverage instigate her stalker? Scare him off?
Cassidy flung the pillow across the room. She wanted to throttle Alison, but at the same time blamed herself. She’d sought publicity and that meant taking the good with the bad. Alison had held out for a long time. Still, Cassidy felt like murdering someone and Alison would have been the perfect target.
Calming herself with deep breaths, Cassidy opened her notebook. She'd coerced telephone numbers out of the SOS publicity department and had contacted her fellow contestants the previous night. She reached three-quarters and left messages for the rest.
So far, no one had received Miles letters, nor had any contestants heard from Adam or Gabriel.
Cassidy doodled on a blank page, dreading her next chore, calling the parents of Reggie and Felicia. She tugged at the flyaway wisps brushing her earlobes. It would be awkward enough interrogating Reggie's parents. The Fowlers hadn't even buried their daughter yet.
She had to do this, no matter how invasive. She couldn't wait until someone else turned up dead. Like herself. Cassidy dialed the Elliotts' number, praying she conveyed the right touch of sympathy and tact.
"Yes?" A female spoke with caution.
"Mrs. Elliott? This is Cassidy Novak, from SOS? I want to tell you how sorry I am for your loss." Cassidy’s knuckles curled into her lap. It hadn’t been a secret that she and Reggie disliked each other. His mother might not want to talk with her.
"Cassidy, hello," Mrs. Elliott said with more strength. "I'm relieved you're not another reporter. It’s so nice of you to call. I know you and Reggie were competitors, but in the end, it was just a game."
"I guess you must have heard about Felicia Fowler."
"That poor girl. All I keep wondering is, were she and my boy killed because they went on a game show? It happened so soon after Reggie, it can't be coincidence."
Hope flared inside Cassidy that Reggie’s mother shared the same suspicions. "That's why I'm calling. I don't know if the police told you, but I'm being stalked. I'd like to know whether Reggie, Felicia and I shared the same stalker."
"They don't tell us anything. They keep asking if Reggie was on drugs, or in trouble with a bad crowd. My son was a good boy. He was like you, Cassidy, a believer in fitness. He wouldn’t work that hard to build up his muscles, then ruin his body with drugs." Mrs. Elliott sniffed, her voice thick with emotion. The telephone line crackled, as if she were leaning over and groping for a tissue.
Cassidy waited for her to compose herself. "I can’t see him doing drugs either, Mrs. Elliott. I just want to rule out one more thing. What about girlfriends? Could he have been dating someone with a violently jealous ex?"
"No, my Reggie hadn’t seen anyone seriously in awhile, he was more into clubbing with his friends. He met girls, of course, but no one who came around here more than once or twice, and not since before SOS."
"Did Reggie ever mention the name Miles? Could he have received threats or obsessive letters from this person?"
"It doesn't ... sound familiar. He never ... mentioned letters, and the police have supposedly gone through his fan mail," his mother stammered, choking back sobs, her brief moment of equilibrium vanishing.
Boy, this was hard. Cassidy ripped off a corner of her notebook page and showered it into white flakes. "I'm sorry to ask you these difficult questions. I just have a couple more. Did Reggie have any contact with Gabriel Collins?"
"Not since the final episode. He and Gabriel planned to stay in touch. My son wanted to be an actor and Gabriel promised to help him."
"What do you think about the LAPD investigating Gabriel for Felicia's murder?"
"I'm only going by my son's judgment. He trusted Gabriel and considered him a friend. The police ought to investigate him, of course, but they should look at other suspects, too. They need to pay attention to my son's case, before the trail gets cold."
"Thank you for your openness, Mrs. Elliott. It’s really helping to shed light on things." Cassidy wished the woman was nearby so she could give her a warm hug.
"I’ll do anything it takes to get my son’s killer behind bars." Embarrassment colored Mrs. Elliott's wavering tone. "This sounds terrible, but when I heard about Felicia, a tiny part of me was relieved that there could be a c
onnection. Now maybe people wouldn't say these lies about Reggie. I ache for that girl and her family, I truly do. But Reggie is ... was my son."
"We all want answers. I think we both have to push the police into exploring every angle. Let’s stay in touch, okay?"
"Thank you, Cassidy. I’m going to contact the detective on the case right now."
After she hung up, Cassidy made Phone Call Number Two. Accessing Mr. and Mrs. Fowler was like requesting that the President take a telemarketing survey. She identified herself to a stern housekeeper who replied that the Fowlers were busy. Cassidy revealed she had possible information on the murder that she wished to discuss with one of Felicia’s parents. Long silence.
"Hold on," the woman said.
A couple minutes later, Cassidy repeated her desire to a male personal assistant. He probed for details, reluctant to connect her with his employers.
"They're going through a trying time," the assistant said. "It would be much simpler if you could share your knowledge with me."
Simpler for him, maybe. Cassidy doubted she could have reached Felicia's parents before the murder, either, unless her name appeared on the magic VIP list.
"I’d prefer to speak with them directly," she said. "If they’re interested in hearing what I have to say, please have them call me on my cell phone."
Jake Fowler stunned her by calling back fifteen minutes later. He wasted no time with greetings, his manner terse. "Look, Ms. Novak, we're preparing for our daughter's wake. I hope this is important. What's this about information?"
She sensed the force that made the man a respected film director. Cassidy had seen him accept an Oscar years before she'd met Felicia. Success chiseled the fine planes of his face.
"I'm very sorry about your daughter, Mr. Fowler. I hate to intrude on your privacy. Unfortunately, I have serious concerns that Felicia, Reggie Elliott and myself may have attracted the same stalker, some kind of serial killer. The LAPD has this information. I wanted to make sure you were aware of it as well."