Chosen by a Killer

by Laurie Nave

  Julia sipped more water and placed the bottle on the desk. “You could be right. You know, I’ve been here ten years, and sometimes I’m still not sure how John landed the position he’s in. Not that he doesn’t get things done. But his controlling tendencies and his manner...”

  “I know. He’s a bit like the manager of a mom-and-pop store who was thrust into running Walmart headquarters at times. And that’s when he gets like this.”

  “Any idea who would be running things if we did get absorbed?” Julia sounded concerned.

  “If they replace John, they’ll want someone with name recognition and big story guns.”

  Julia sat back and smiled. “It could be you.”

  “I dunno. It’s kind of a boys’ club.”

  “Julia, you have more balls than any man in this office. I don’t know everything you’re working on, but I got the idea in our meeting that John seems a little rattled.”

  Celia considered John’s words. If something was stirring, it might explain his paranoia. “Oh well, there’s no use speculating. If something that big is going on, it won’t be a secret for long.”

  “True.” Julia grabbed her water bottle and stood. “Thanks for the water. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  Once Julia was gone, Celia thought about what she’d said. Was John worried about his job? Was that why he was so skittish and testy? Celia had to admit, the thought of moving up appealed to her. She was doing well now, but a promotion within a bigger media corporation would give her more freedom and more clout. And she’d be one of the few women in that position. A buy-out would also explain why John was so worried about this story that had fallen into Celia’s lap. Being the only journalist with real access into Natasha Bronlov’s life was a distinction that would certainly come with some perks and recognition.

  As she returned to her tasks, Celia imagined what it would be like to have a more authoritative position. She liked the idea. Maybe it was just gossip, but if not, she was going to throw her hat into the ring, forget about John. This was her livelihood and her passion. A moody man operating above his pay grade wasn’t going to get in the way.

  Chapter 12

  “I saw you in the newspaper this week,” Natasha said as Celia sat and began setting up the recorder.

  “You read the newspaper?”

  “Not typically,” Natasha replied. “Occasionally a guard will leave me theirs. This time Keith gave it to me with the request that I return it when I was done.”

  Celia opened her notebook. “Ah, you must have seen photos from the gala. I did see Keith there. He was working security.”

  “Yes, he mentioned you were there. I do hate that newspaper photos are black and white, though. What color was your dress?”

  “It was navy blue. I’d worn it before.”

  “You looked great, and that date of yours was certainly hot. Someone new?”

  “No, not new. It was just a date for the gala.”

  Natasha smiled. “Is he the one you had the date with before? The recorder isn’t on yet. Surely you can give me a first name.”

  Celia sighed. “His name is Bart. Yes, we’ve been out a few times.”

  Natasha put her elbow on the table and leaned forward. “He looks very professional. Potential long-term material?”

  Celia laughed. “The jury is still out. I thought yes, then no, and now I’m undecided. He’s a bit... enthusiastic for my tastes.”

  “Lucky him,” Natasha teased. “I’ve never had much luck with long-term. Of course, I also never had much desire.”

  Celia turned on the recorder as Natasha continued. “My parents’ relationship was less than inspiring.”

  “Yes, you mentioned there was conflict.”

  “I’m sure someone like my father would be hard for any woman to live with. My meek mother was certainly no match for him.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that when you dated before your arrest, you tended to be paired with men who had a strong presence.”

  Natasha laughed. “That was very tactful. What you mean is that I had a thing for handsome, arrogant pricks.”

  “True,” Celia chuckled. “But none of them lasted.”

  “Maybe they were no match for me,” Natasha joked.

  “You know, I can see that. You were formidable and successful. That could threaten even the most confident man.”

  “That was a problem for some of them,” Natasha agreed. “Although a few were just too desperate for a lifelong commitment. Which is all but a delusion in Hollywood.”

  “Yes, why is it that we women are seen as clingy when so many men are so eager to lock it down?”

  “I have no idea,” Natasha replied.

  “It has to be difficult navigating a relationship in front of the whole world.”

  “The press is incredibly annoying. They feel entitled to everyone’s most private details.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “No offense, of course.”

  “Of course,” Celia said. “I tend to agree.”

  “And yet you certainly seem to be adept at convincing corrupt CEOs to spill their secrets.”

  Celia shrugged. “In my mind, there is a difference between exposing a criminal or cad and hiding in the bushes outside a celebrity’s home.”

  “The paparazzi don’t think so,” Natasha’s voice sounded tense, and Celia saw her fingers press into the table.

  “I have to say, you were much more successful than most at keeping them at bay.”

  “It was certainly difficult. They are like roaches. Stomp one, and three more skitter out from the dark.”

  “Sounds like you have some personal experience, despite your best effort.”

  Natasha sat back and studied Celia in silence. “I’m definitely going to need a cigarette to tell this story.”

  Laughing, Celia pulled one from the package and lit it with a match. She handed it to Natasha, who smoked it quietly. Celia sat back and waited. Natasha would begin talking when she was ready. As she waited, Celia thought about how Natasha’s slow control would drive John up the wall. It would drive several of her colleagues up the wall. Patience had usually worked well for Celia, however.

  “One of the things any public person has to learn to deal with is the less than professional so-called reporters,” Natasha said. “Don’t misunderstand me. Nothing is stopping a journalist from the Times from being a pain in the ass in their way. I’m sure your recent CEO subject would agree.”

  “Good point,” Celia said. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “I am. But those small parasites who wait for a glimpse of your undies or a temper or for you to appear just a little too drunk,” Natasha flicked ash at an imaginary example. “They are the first to truly make life difficult, especially if you are young and female.”

  “That makes sense,” Celia agreed. “They probably figure you’re an easier target.”

  “Exactly. And they can use their fake charm and flattery to take an inexperienced person off-guard. It’s a clever ploy, providing they don’t overestimate themselves.”

  “Overestimate?”

  “You’d be amazed at how many people will assume you are naïve simply because you are blonde and pretty.”

  “Being a mousy brunette, I wouldn’t know,” Celia grinned.

  “You are very attractive, so I have no doubt you have been underestimated as well.” Natasha shifted and smoked for a moment. “But there’s something about that blonde stereotype that amplifies it. People assume you’re a less intelligent Marlene Monroe character or the farmer's daughter.”

  “Or, in your case, the immigrant daughter naïve in the ways of the world, with an overprotective father.”

  “You understand.” Natasha crushed the cigarette. “His name was Paul, and he worked for one of those grocery checkout rags.”

  “Paul Singleton?” Celia asked.

  “Yes. You know him?”

  “We both attended the same school. He was a few years older than I was and already working.”


  “Well, he obviously lacked your talent. He was there, and you are here.” She waited for Celia to respond. When the reporter remained quiet, Natasha continued. “I had just finished filming my first movie. I had been successful as a model, but the jury was still out on my acting.”

  “And Paul followed your career?”

  “Apparently. He was flattering, but a bit of a pest. It became clear that he wanted to know how I had gotten such a big role so quickly.”

  “I see.”

  “Once I realized he was fishing for a scandal, I told him to leave me alone. Then my father told him to leave me alone. He ignored us both.”

  Celia took notes and pictured a younger Paul hounding the young actress. He hadn’t seemed like that type, but he’d had some bad luck early in his career. And he certainly wasn’t a fan of Celia’s. “So what happened?”

  “Well, he began to hound the casting director and one of the producers. He even went after one of their wives, assuming I had slept with her husband since he was a notorious philanderer.”

  “And you didn’t sleep with the producer?”

  “Not that one,” Natasha replied. “But he was becoming more than a nuisance. He was a problem.”

  “I imagine so. Sounds relentless.”

  “I knew he had an alcohol problem. He’d been arrested for drunk and disorderly and had a couple of DUI’s. He was on the brink of some real legal trouble, even prison time.” Natasha smiled. “So I invited him for a drink.”

  “You did?”

  “He probably thought I was going to proposition him to leave me alone. I let him think that as I filled him with good scotch. When I suggested we drive separately to my place, I knew he was intoxicated.”

  “Ah, and did he get to your place?”

  “He never made it. I called in a report of a blue Taurus driving erratically, and I gave the license plate. I knew another DUI would complicate his life the way he was complicating mine.”

  Celia sat quietly as Natasha watched her, waiting. After a few seconds, it dawned on Celia, and she widened her eyes. “Was that the night of the accident?”

  “It was,” Natasha replied. “He must have been very excited to get to my place. He drove too fast around a curve, and the road was wet.”

  Paul Singleton had died in a single auto accident in 2005, running off the road and into a tree. His blood-alcohol level had been well above the legal limit.

  “It was not exactly what I had planned, but he never bothered me again. The police did question me. People had seen us together.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “That I had agreed to meet him to do an interview, that he had been drinking heavily and ignored my pleading that he call a cab.”

  The story was a little chilling, and Celia was shocked. But she was also fascinated. The actress’s plan was pretty clever, considering the circumstances. Still, it resulted in Paul’s death. Was Natasha responsible, though? It was clear he was an alcoholic who made some pretty bad choices.

  The five-minute warning knock startled Celia a bit, and she directed her attention back to the actress. “Do you think that incident deterred other reporters? I mean, they couldn’t have known.”

  “I don't know. The owner of the tabloid tried to ask me about that night, but I shut him down, citing trauma.” Natasha shrugged. “Mostly, it taught me to treat everyone holding a press card or camera with suspicion. I also found a very forceful attorney.”

  Celia finished her note-taking and shut off the recorder. She offered Natasha one more cigarette. When Keith knocked, Celia was ready to leave. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “I look forward to it,” Natasha replied. “I want to hear more about Bart.”

  “We’ll see,” Celia laughed. “If he doesn’t give me some space, there may be nothing more to tell.”

  Celia was still thinking about Paul when she got home. She hadn’t known him to drink that much in school, but then again, they weren’t close friends. He never got that one big break. Of course, had he won the internship over Celia, he might have had a successful career. Did that failure impact his drinking? She shook off the thought. All she did was win a contest. If Paul had been more confident in his writing, he wouldn’t have been so easy to rattle.

  As she was washing her face, Celia heard the landline begin to ring. “Damn.” She picked up her toothbrush, determined to ignore her father’s call again. But it wasn’t her father’s voice on the phone.

  “Your phone number is unlisted, but unlisted numbers aren’t that hard to find. Why didn’t you give it to me earlier? I’d like to get together this week. I was hoping the gala could be a new start. Call me.”

  Oh my God, I knew that was a mistake.

  Celia climbed into bed and turned off the light. First her father, now Bart. She was absolutely going to have to get rid of that line.

  Chapter 13

  “You got more flowers,” Gladys greeted Celia when she returned from lunch on the Thursday after her interview with Natasha.

  Celia groaned and walked into her office, closing the door behind her. She looked at the large arrangement on her desk. This time it was Gerber daisies. It was another gift from Bart, who had sent her something nearly every day since the gala. After reading the note, Celia picked up the large pink vase and walked back out of her office.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Celia asked her assistant. “My office isn’t a greenhouse!”

  “I’ll keep them out here if you want,” Gladys replied. “I love daisies.”

  “Thank you,” Celia said, placing them on the corner of the desk. “I’m going to have to put a stop to this.”

  “He is very persistent, isn’t he?”

  “That’s an understatement. I feel like I’m in junior high school. What grown man does this?”

  “Not my ex-husband, that’s for sure,” Gladys laughed. “But you’re right. It is excessive.”

  “I never should have gone to that gala. Just dinner, my ass,” Celia grumbled. “He just put himself in the definite no category.”

  “What?” Gladys asked.

  “Never mind. I better go ahead and deal with this.”

  Once she was back in her office, Celia took out her phone. There were several messages from Bart, a couple she had answered but most she had ignored. He called on Wednesday night and left a message. Celia was hoping he would give up, but that wasn’t going to happen. Celia dialed his number and braced herself.

  “Hey Babe—Celia,” Bart answered on the first ring. “You’ve had a busy week! How are you?”

  “I’m good,” Celia answered. “Thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to.”

  “You deserve to be spoiled,” Bart said. “You looked so beautiful Saturday night. The only thing I could think of to compete with that was endless flowers.”

  “It’s thoughtful, Bart, but it’s too much. I really can’t accept any more. I thought we agreed that Saturday night was just dinner.”

  “We had such a good time,” Bart continued as if he hadn’t heard. “We clicked all night. And the way you danced with me, I could tell the spark was still there.”

  “No Bart, it’s not,” Celia said firmly. “Look, I’m glad we cleared the air. I’m glad we had an enjoyable evening. But this isn’t going anywhere. It’s done.”

  There was silence on the other end. “Celia, you’re my friend...”

  “I thought we could be,” she said. “But friends don’t send flowers every other day and send endless text messages. We can’t be friends. I’m sorry. You need to stop calling me.”

  “Is it the rent-a-cop?” Bart’s voice was quiet, but Celia could hear the anger.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The tall security guy you had that intimate little conversation with on our date.”

  “Intimate conversation? Do you mean Keith? We just said hello. You were right there.”

  “How did you even meet him? Traffic court?” Bart scoffed.

>   “No, I... It’s none of your business. You need to back off.”

  “Did you screw him like you did that other guy?”

  Celia stood up and willed herself to remain calm. “Listen. This is done. You will not contact me again. You will not come near me. I am making this plain. Stay away.”

  “You don’t get to control me, slut.”

  “Goodbye, Bart,” Celia swiped to end the call. It felt surprisingly unsatisfying. Sometimes Celia missed the catharsis of slamming down a receiver. “What a psycho,” Celia muttered. She gathered the flowers in her office and walked past Gladys. At the end of the hall, Celia dumped them into a large garbage can.

  “Everything okay?” Gladys asked when she returned.

  “Sudden allergies,” Celia said. She sat down and blocked Bart’s number. Hopefully, this would be the end of it.

  She spent the afternoon transcribing her interviews with Natasha, trying to put Bart out of her mind. As she listened to the actress’s story about Paul again, she felt sympathy. Bart was just a determined suitor, not a dime store reporter, and Celia would love it if he ran off the road. In fact, if she saw him right now, she might run over him herself. While it was on her mind, she contacted the phone company and arranged to have her landline disconnected. She should have done it ages ago.

  Gladys managed to intercept everyone who wanted to see Celia throughout the afternoon; it was one of the things Celia loved about her. Even John wasn’t permitted an audience. By the time 6:00 arrived, she was ready to finish things up and soak in a hot bath at home. After she unplugged her phone.

  Chapter 14

  Celia read her notes as she handed the corrections officer her purse, sunglasses, and briefcase. After spreading her arms so that she could be checked for weapons, she nodded to the clerk behind the glass and followed Keith through the heavy doors and down the hallway. Checking the batteries on her recorder, Celia listened absently to Keith’s small talk, commenting during the proper pauses. The inmates either ignored her, slept, or made half-hearted attempts at getting her attention. She had been there so often by now that no one gave her much notice anymore.