by Laurie Nave
It was a little surreal to be writing an article about someone who was going to be executed in a matter of days. It was even more surreal that Celia was actually feeling down about the whole thing. After all, the actress had killed five people. And Celia had never felt strongly about the death penalty either way. It didn’t affect her. Besides, if someone was dumb enough to get caught, there were consequences, right? Now, though, Celia felt a little strange about how flip she’d always been.
And then there was Natasha as a person. Celia knew that Natasha considered her a friend, and Celia could admit to herself that she felt the same way. Sure, Celia had other friends, like Marlene or Julia. But honestly, those friendships had always felt lopsided. Marlene almost saw Celia as a sister, which was sweet, but Celia had never felt the same closeness. Not just with Marlene, either. She never shared much of herself with others. Luckily most people didn’t notice. Celia noticed that most people spent more time talking about themselves than probing others. That was fine with her.
But Natasha was different. Nothing about Celia shocked Tasha, and the actress seemed to know more about Celia than she said. Even though they had grown up in different families, their childhoods had been remarkably similar. And their young adult years were the same as well. They were driven, single-minded, focused on doing what needed to be done to take control of their lives. Celia never would have told Marlene about the way she got inside Paul’s head, for example. And she certainly wouldn’t tell anyone about the accident her colleague had.
Natasha wouldn’t judge. Natasha had done the same types of things for her career. The press had referred to Natasha as a sociopath, even a psychopath. As if that was the worst thing a person could be. The two women were pragmatic, Celia thought. In life, it paid to be pragmatic. She thought about people like John, Lucille, and even Bart. John was so paranoid and worried about everything. He was constantly on edge. Lucille missed her daughter terribly and felt rejected by her. Celia had heard her cry about it. She pined for a child who didn’t even bother to visit.
And then there was Bart. He had to know there was no long-term potential between them. His emotions had wrecked things, and then his emotions made her life hell. He still visited his dead wife’s family, for God’s sake! And based on what the police had told Celia, his emotions might have gotten the better of him in that situation as well. Pragmatism was absolutely preferable.
Refocusing on the article, Celia wondered what Natasha was feeling. Was she as calm and stoic as she liked to appear? Or was she secretly hoping her attorney could stop things? It was unlikely the governor was going to step in, given the publicity the case had received and the fact that five people were killed in cold blood. Natasha had certainly never expressed any remorse. Maybe Celia could ask Keith to probe a bit. The actress seemed to like and trust him.
After a couple of hours, Celia closed her laptop and joined Keith on the couch. They finished the game. Watched a bit of news, and then watched the late-night host’s monologue before Celia finally stretched and said she was tired. Keith thoughtfully turned off the television and said he’d retire as well. After he grabbed the rest of the dessert. That man could eat!
When Celia checked her phone before turning off the lamp, there were three missed calls and two voicemails. She punched in her password to listen to the first message.
“Ms. Brockwell, this is Amelia Thompson calling from Jefferson General Hospital. Please return my call at this number, extension 4208.”
“Ms. Brockwell, this is Ms. Thompson from Jefferson general Hospital again. It is imperative that you call as soon as possible. Extension 4208.”
Oh no...
Celia dialed the number and waited, holding her breath.
“Jefferson General Hospital, 4th-floor nurse’s station, Candace speaking.”
“Yes, this is Celia Brockwell. I had a message to call Amelia Thompson.”
“Oh yes, Ms. Brockwell. We’ve been trying to reach you. I’m afraid Ms. Thompson is with a patient.”
“I assume the message was regarding my father?”
“Yes, well...I’m sorry to inform you, Ms. Brockwell, but Stewart Marshall passed away earlier this evening. His liver and kidneys failed, and he was unable to rally. I’m so very sorry.”
Celia leaned against her pillow. “Oh, okay. Thank you for letting me know. Do you know...is his family still there?”
“No, I’m afraid they have left. Is there anything I can assist you with?”
“No thank you.”
Celia ended the call and closed her eyes. She had questions, but she knew the nurse would not be able to answer them. What had the doctor’s name been? Could she tell Celia more? Knowing her father had died was unsettling, partly because she couldn’t help but wondering what really happened? Did he truly misuse his insulin pump? Wouldn’t he have realized his sugar was dropping? In the movies and on television, they always got agitated or started sweating or something, didn’t they? Did he pass out and fall, or was he already unconscious when his pump delivered the insulin?
And did Bart have something to do with it?
Chapter 30
William caught Celia as she was coming out of the elevator the next morning. “Have you talked to Natasha by chance?”
“I haven’t. I am not scheduled to see her until the day of her execution. Is something going on?”
“I sent a letter to the governor. Again. I’ve talked to her attorney to see what else I can do. We’re running out of time.”
“I know. I hope your letter does some good. Have you seen her?”
“I’m supposed to see her the day after tomorrow. The stubborn woman hasn’t let me visit in years, and now she wants to see me. I’m just glad she relented. I’m hoping I can talk her into pushing her attorney harder. I can’t believe she is actually resigned to this.”
“She’s been calm about it throughout the interview process. I admit it surprised me too.”
“Well, let’s cross our fingers. Life in prison is a hell of a lot better than death.” He headed down the hallway.
Celia thought about what he said. She wasn’t sure Natasha would agree that spending the rest of her life in a cell was the better of the two options. Of course, almost everyone had a sense of self-preservation when push came to shove.
Gladys already had several messages for Celia when she reached her office. “They’re starting early this morning.”
“Thanks, Gladys,” Celia said as she took them. “I’m going to get these taken care of first thing, and then I’d like to be undisturbed for a couple of hours.”
“Sure thing. Need coffee or anything?”
“No thanks.”
Celia closed her door and looked through the messages while her laptop started up. William wanted her to call, and Celia wondered if they’d already had the conversation in the hallway. She’d put him off a bit. Two of the staff had questions about articles that were due at the end of the day; questions usually meant delays. That would need to be a priority. One of her sources for a story wanted to reschedule their meeting. He was probably getting cold feet. Celia would need to work her charm to keep him on board.
The last message was from Marlene, asking Celia to call her. It was unusual for Marlene to call her work number, so Celia was curious. She decided to call Marlene first.
“Hey, Marlene, what’s up?” Celia asked.
“Pull up the link I sent you. It’s in your personal email.”
Celia opened her inbox and looked for Marlene’s message. It was just a link.
Former Journal Editor Arrested for Fraud and Embezzlement.”
“Oh my,” Celia said. “This is interesting.”
“Keep reading,” Marlene replied.
According to the story, John Talbot had been arrested on charges of fraudulent business practices and the embezzlement of almost 100,000 dollars. In addition, he was being investigated for harassment.
“Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Unless yo
u’re one of the complainants?”
“I’m not. I was ready to be if he came back to the restaurant; money be damned. But now I don’t have to.”
“William didn’t say a word about any of this, even when I probed him about things.”
“He probably couldn’t.”
That was true, Celia thought. She did wonder who had filed the harassment charges, but William would probably keep that quiet too. He’d want to protect whoever it was for as long as possible. No wonder Natasha trusted him, she thought, her respect for the man growing.
“Well, I’m glad for your sake that he’s got more on his plate than stalking your restaurant.”
“Me too,” Marlene replied. “I’m getting too fat to outrun him!”
“I doubt that,” Celia laughed.
“I’m serious. I’m having more and more trouble seeing my feet every day. But I love it.”
“Better you than me. But I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Thanks,” Marlene said. “I know you’re in work mode, so I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to share.”
Celia hung up the phone and reread the story. It was brief, but she had no doubt the speculations would fly around the office. Maybe she could charm some more details out of William later in the day.
By lunchtime, Celia had gotten her writers back on schedule, reassured her source, and unsuccessfully tried to pry information out of William. He wasn’t sharing, and while it frustrated her, it did give her insight into his character. Again, she thought about how valuable his friendship must have been to Natasha.
At 2:00, Natasha’s attorney called. Celia sighed when she saw the number. “Hello, this is Celia Brockwell.”
“Andrew McMillian here. I wanted to talk with you about Celia’s impending execution. I think we may have to work together to stop this.”
“What is it you’d like to do?”
“I can arrange for you to visit Natasha. This afternoon if necessary. We need to convince her to allow you to publish at least part of her story. If you can paint her in a sympathetic light, maybe it will make a difference to the governor.”
“Have you talked with Natasha about this? What does she want to do?”
Andrew sighed. “I’ve tried more than once. She won’t listen to me. But I think she’d listen to you. For whatever reason, she seems to trust you even more than she trusts her legal team.”
Celia ignored his tone. “So you’re saying she’s made her wishes clear.”
“She has, but she isn’t thinking clearly. She’s so stubborn and...arrogant. I can’t believe she’s willing to die to prove a point.”
It isn’t to prove a point, Celia thought, but she knew her attorney wouldn’t understand. Celia was never going to beg for her life. She was going to be in control of it in whatever way she could be. Keeping her silence had been part of her control.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. If Natasha asks to see me or get my help on this, of course I’ll go. But if she’s clear about this story, I am not going to interfere. To be blunt, I work for her, not you.”
She heard him curse under his breath. “Fine. You two are peas in a pod, you know.”
“Thank you. Now I have work to do.”
Celia cursed too after she hung up. The attorney meant well, but he was also stubborn and arrogant. From the beginning, Tasha had been very clear about the timing and parameters of her story. Even if Celia thought she was crazy, she wasn’t going to do anything except what the actress asked. It wasn’t just because of Natasha’s wishes. Celia knew if she pushed her, Natasha would take the article off the table completely. Not that Celia couldn’t decide to publish it after her death anyway, but it wouldn’t change anything now.
At 6:00, it was time to shut things down and head home. Since Keith had insisted on staying the night again, Celia decided to pick up her favorite pizza on the way home. It was fine for him to stay and be the protector, she thought, but she wasn’t going to let him buy all the dinner.
Julio’s Pizza was Celia’s favorite splurge. It was a great place for deep-dish Chicago-style pizza, and Julio knew her by name. He greeted her warmly when she walked into the restaurant.
“Celia, my love! Vegetarian for you, yes?” He always greeted his patrons with an exaggerated and completely fake accent.
“Not today, Julio. I have a dinner guest, so I’ll have your special.”
“It must be a man guest if you are ordering Italian sausage, pancetta, and pepperoni.”
“Just a friend,” Celia laughed.
They chatted while the pizza was baking, and Julio showed her the latest photos of his daughter and grandchildren. Celia noticed a new photograph of his wife above the wall menu. She had died two years before, and Julio periodically changed the photo, wanting to share all of her beauty, he said. He handed her the large pie and then returned to the kitchen to yell at the staff, most of whom were family members.
It was almost 6:30, and since Julio’s was in the opposite direction of home from the office, it would take Celia over half an hour to reach her house. She zipped around cars and tried to make up a little time by pushing the speed limit. When she crested a hill and saw a backup of traffic, probably due to a rush-hour fender bender, she sighed. The pizza was going to get cold. She took her foot off the accelerator and prepared to stop.
Nothing happened. The car didn’t slow at all. Trying again, Celia pressed the brake pedal harder, and it just sunk to the floor. The wall of cars was approaching fast, and Celia tried to think of a way to avoid them. No matter how hard or how many times she pressed the pedal, the brakes were not going to respond.
Finally, she swerved over to the narrow shoulder, hoping her car would fit. It almost did, but the roughness caused her to swerve a bit too far, and she began driving down the deep embankment, bumping up and down. One particularly large jolt snapped her neck forward, and her car lurched over, finally coming to rest on its side in the deep ditch. Her ears were ringing, and dots began to cloud her view before everything went dark.
Chapter 31
The first thing Celia noticed was the smell – that strange, slightly burnt chemical smell from the airbag. The car was on its side, but she was still fastened into her seat belt. Thank goodness it rested in the passenger side, she thought. It took a bit of doing, but Celia was able to unfasten her belt, get the door open, and climb out of her car, taking her purse with her. Traffic was still moving inch-by-inch on the road, and a few people were rubbernecking to see her emerge. Celia pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911 to report the accident. Then she called Keith.
“Hey, Celia, when is that pizza gonna be here? I’m starving!”
“Well, I think it’s all over the car interior. I had a little problem.”
“What’s wrong?” She could hear the change in his voice. “Are you okay?”
“I am, but my car isn’t. I ran off the road and went into a pretty deep ditch. The car’s on its side. Can you come to get me? I should be close to mile marker 14.”
“God, Celia! Yes, I’ll be right there! Did you call the police? Is anyone hurt? Are you okay?”
“It was just my car. I couldn’t stop so I had to get on the shoulder.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Stay put.”
Keith arrived just ahead of the police car. Celia waved him over, and he jogged down the embankment, concern on his face. He helped Celia up and checked her over. “How’s your head? Can you track my fingers?”
“I’m fine, just a little jangled.”
“What happened? You said you couldn’t stop.”
“Yeah, I crested the hill and noticed the stalled traffic, but my brakes wouldn’t work. I pumped them and such. No luck. So I tried to ride the shoulder, but apparently, it’s too narrow, or I was going too fast.”
“Your brakes didn’t work? Have you been having trouble with them?”
“No, not at all.”
Keith went to her car and began inspecting its underside. He managed to get the h
ood partially open and looked around a bit. Celia’s fog cleared, and she realized he was looking for evidence of tampering. He and the officer were chatting, and then he pointed to something. Celia felt a sinking in her stomach, and she knew what he was going to say before they came back over to her.
“Someone messed with your brake line,” Keith said flatly.
“By someone you mean Bart.”
“Well, we can’t prove it at the moment, but that would be my guess.”
“Dammit! Would somebody please just kill him for me?”
The officer with Keith chuckled a bit. “I’ll chalk that up to a head injury.”
“You need to get checked out. Do you need an ambulance?” Keith asked.
“No way. No ambulance.”
“Well, either way, you need to get checked out. I’ll take you after we finish here.”
While the officer took down Celia’s account, Keith went back to the car, took out his phone, and took a few photos. By the time they were ready to go, a wrecker had arrived, and Keith told them where to take her car. The two of them climbed into his jeep and headed to the ER.
“Thanks for coming,” Celia said.
“No problem. So no problems until just now with the brakes?”
“No, everything was fine. I didn’t notice anything until I crested that hill and tried to stop.”
“Well, the hole is small. You could have been leaking all day, or even more than a day. You’ll have to make a list of every place you’ve been. I’ll see how quickly Walt can get video. If there is video everywhere you’ve been.”
Celia cursed again. “I can’t believe this is still happening. For an attorney, Bart is an idiot.”
“He isn’t thinking rationally. Whatever it was, something switched in his brain. And I don’t think it’ll switch back on his own. I can’t believe there’s no record of him doing this before.”
Celia thought about his wife and her conversation with Walt. “There may be.”
