The officer’s eyebrows climb in surprise as he says, “No kidding? It sucks for my daughter that today isn’t ‘Take Your Daughter to Work Day.’ She tried hard to get tickets for your concert in Nashville, but it sold out in minutes.”
“Gee, I’m so sorry. I hate it when we have to disappoint fans.”
“So, what brings you into the 201?”
Jude carefully lays out the note on the table in front of the officer. He left it on the paper towel where he placed it last night before I took my shower. It looks deceptively benign just setting there — yet, for Jude and me, it’s anything but harmless.
Officer Browning glances back and forth between us as he tries to decide which one of us will give the most coherent explanation. Apparently, he decides I must be the most levelheaded because he turns to me and asks, “What is this?”
“There are threatening pictures and a note in the card. I opened it because I thought it was from a friend. It was hand delivered to a reporter who’s a longtime acquaintance of mine. I can’t guarantee that it’s from the same sender as before, but I guess it’s the latest threat in an ongoing campaign against me. It has the same sinister undertones as the letters before it.”
“So, you have a stalker? Do you have the local authorities in Oregon involved?”
Jude whips out his phone and pulls up his copy of the first group of messages I received. “We tried. We showed them these graphic, disturbing messages, but they didn’t seem overly concerned. I can’t imagine why not. The threats seem pretty real to me. I guess it didn’t rise to the standard you all need to take action. Maybe Tasha isn’t a big enough star, I don’t know — but in any event, nothing happened. Then the band had to go on tour … and here we are.”
After studying Jude’s phone for a few moments, Officer Browning looks up at us and asks, “So it’s your contention that whoever sent you the emails has followed you to Tennessee?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. We don’t know what to think. We were visiting a fan at St. Jude’s Hospital and apparently, whoever wrote the card handed it to one of the members of the press I deal with pretty routinely and told him to give it to us.”
“Okay, so maybe this was a publicity stunt to get you more press coverage? Why involve us?”
“No, that’s not what this was. Aidan and I did a public service announcement about St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, but I never mentioned I was visiting a child through the Dreaming While Awake Foundation. I merely talked about St. Jude’s mission and how they helped me when I was a child. Aidan and I had a press junket related to raising funds for St. Jude’s. It had nothing to do with anything else. The rest of it’s extremely private and confidential.”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe your story, Ms. Keeley, but you wouldn’t be the first ‘star’ to invent a controversy to get media coverage. A lot of stars do stuff to boost their ticket sales or to command bigger fees on the speaking circuit.”
“I can promise you I’m not that kind of star. I wouldn’t waste law enforcement’s time with a hoax. I can’t tell you for sure if this stuff is related to my problem fan, but I can tell you that both of them are creepy as heck and keep me up at night. Do you know how hard it is to get up on stage and act like nothing’s wrong when I get stuff like this?” I ask the officer bluntly. “I’ll just tell you. It’s darn near impossible. I have to watch my back all the time and I can’t trust anyone. I don’t know what they want from me, I just sing songs for a living. I mind my own business and try not to throw flames on social media. I’m not even edgy. This time they came after Jude too. It’s incredibly bizarre. He has done nothing to these people. Until a few months ago, he was completely in the background.”
Jude grabs my hand. “Tasha, you haven’t done anything either — except work your butt off to become one of the best singers out there. I’m not sure why anyone would have anything against you. I don’t know if we can make sense of this. Clearly somebody has mental health issues they need to take care of. We need help from the police to figure out who it is.”
“Sadly the Internet seems to make some of the more unsavory folks among us even more brazen. What makes you think this person is anywhere near you?” Officer Browning asks. “They could be in another country for all you know.”
“They were close enough to get a picture of Jude and me standing in the middle of the hallway in St. Jude’s Hospital. As far as I can tell, aside from the bullet wounds and the target over Jude’s head, the rest of it isn’t doctored.”
“Well, that certainly would make you sit up and take notice,” Officer Browning mutters.
“Exactly. That’s why we’re here. Tasha didn’t sleep a wink last night. She was shaking like a leaf. I can’t ask her to live like this. We have to figure out who is doing this to her — I mean us.” Jude can barely hide his agitation.
“Are you sure it’s not some misguided ad executive somewhere within your record label trying to drum up publicity? In this age of reality TV shows where sick and twisted is the name of the game, you never know what some upstart trying to make a name for themselves might come up with.”
I nod as I say, “I’m sure. I’ve known Aidan O’Brien since I was thirteen years old, and I know everyone in his company. There isn’t anyone who would do this to me. Everyone treats me like family — actually, they treat me better than family. When Aidan found out about the threats against me, he doubled his security force. He doesn’t want anything to happen to any members of the band or crew, or anyone else associated with this company.”
“I imagine not. America is a very litigious country, the risk to his company could be huge,” the officer comments.
“No, that’s not it at all. Aidan doesn’t want us to get hurt because he’s that kind of person,” I insist. “Look, you don’t even have to take my word for it. Logan Anthony will be here in a couple hours. He’ll have all the nitty-gritty details about what’s already been done and what they’re planning to do for security. They’ve been trying to solve this for months. You can rehash it all with him.”
Officer Browning sighs. “I know it seems as if I’m being confrontational. I’m not trying to be. I don’t want to give you false hope. My hands are probably tied. There’s a limit to what I can do. Agency resources are stretched, and without witnesses to a direct threat, I don’t know how much we’ll be able to track down. I can have my forensics folks look this over and see if anything stands out to them, but beyond that — it’s a crap shoot.”
The sense of hopefulness I had coming into this meeting drains out of me in an instant. I start to collapse abruptly as if someone unplugged me from the wall. Jude notices my change in demeanor and shoots me a look of concern. He starts to say something and I just shake my head sharply.
Alert to my cue, Jude clears his throat and says, “It’s been a long day for all of us. We’re going to go back to the hotel and wait for Mr. Anthony to arrive. We’ll be back later if you need more information from us. We’re staying at the Peabody if you need us for anything. Our cell phone numbers are on the statements we filled out with our incident reports. Thank you for your help.”
I don’t know if it was his fatigue or mine, but I could swear Officer Browning looks more than just a little relieved as he stands to escort us out the door.
“They probably won't do anything, will they?” I ask as I crack the hard sugar shell on my crème brûlée.
“It’s too early to tell,” Jude responds. “By all appearances, we caught the cop on a really bad day. After he’s had some sleep, he’ll look at it all again. I mean, think about how tired we are and we’ve been on vacation. I suspect once he’s got backup from Logan and Nick, he might come around.”
I snicker as I respond, “Yeah, once those two get their military mission faces on, they can be intimidating. It could be a motivating factor, for sure.”
Jude snakes his spoon over and helps himself to a bite of crème brûlée before I can bat his spoon away with mine. “Hey! I was eating
that,” I protest.
“Really? It didn’t seem like you were eating it quite fast enough. It’d be a darn shame to let it go bad,” Jude teases.
“Yeah right!” I answer as I crack the crunchy toffee topping. “The sugar is still warm on the top. I want to write a memo to myself to remind us to have crème brûlée for breakfast more often. This is amazing.”
Jude shrugs. “I don’t see why we couldn’t. It’s full of all sorts of healthy, wholesome things like eggs, milk and vanilla —”
I take another big bite and lick the spoon as I finish his sentence. “… and sugar. Lots of sugar. Yet somehow today I can’t bring myself to care.”
“You’re on vacation, you’re not supposed to care about that stuff,” Jude reasons. “On the other hand, if you really don’t want to finish it, I would be happy to take care of any leftovers for you —”
“Not so fast there, Hernandez. You weren’t kidding when you said you’re always hungry.”
“I did try to warn you, right?” Jude says with a cheesy grin as he tries to take another bite. “It’s not my fault I have a ferocious appetite for all things amazing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
JUDE
TWO MONTHS. WE’VE BEEN SITTING on pins and needles for two months. I don’t know why I thought this process would go any faster in Memphis. I knew Logan and Nick have been working Tasha’s case for months before we got the card outside of St. Jude’s Hospital. Even so, I thought once we had the attention of real-life police authorities, things might speed up a little. I guess I was wrong. Maybe it’s what I get for watching police dramas on television. In real-life, things aren’t wrapped up in twenty-two minutes.
I watch as Aidan and Tasha finish playing a duet on the piano. “See? I told you I have no business singing in that key,” Tasha says to Aidan.
“I don’t know, Tash, I think you should go for it. It would shock your fans for sure.”
“I can’t help but wonder if you’re saying that because you can’t really hear how bad I sound,” Tasha teases.
“Okay now, don’t forget who signs your very generous paycheck.” When Aidan looks down into the pit and sees me he asks, “Which version do you prefer?”
“If I give you an honest answer, is it going to affect my paycheck too?” I counter with a smile.
“Nah, you know me. I’m all about artistic integrity, yada, yada, yada —”
“In that case, I vote for keeping it in the key of C. Tasha sounds better in her lower register. It’s where she’s most comfortable. Otherwise, her nerves can get to her and it shows in her voice.”
Aidan looks at Tasha and says, “Ouch, your boyfriend pulls no punches.” He looks down at me and asks, “What brings you by?”
“Logan wants to talk to Tasha and me.”
“Why didn’t you say something? Tasha and I were just goofing off. Go! Take care of business,” he says as he holds his hand out to help Tasha off the stage.
On the way to Logan’s office, Tasha asks me, “Do you know what this is about? Is one of us getting fired? Aidan doesn’t have a policy about employees dating each other, does he?”
I smirk as I respond, “If he does, he should’ve said something long before now. It’s been almost a year.”
“Yeah, your sister said something about having a special dinner to mark the occasion.”
“I talked to Fernanda. I told her it sort of defeats the purpose of a romantic date if my sister tags along like a third wheel.”
Tasha lifts her eyebrow at me. “I don’t know … your sister cooks like a five-star chef. There is an upside to her plan.”
“You’re just a sucker for homemade tortillas and enchiladas. Fernanda’s definitely found your soft spot.”
“I know. If I keep hanging around her, I won't fit into any of my costumes.”
Right before we step into Logan’s office, I stop to quickly kiss Tasha. “I don’t know why he needs to talk to us, but you know I always have your back. I love you. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. Singing on stage with Aidan is a dream come true — but it’s nothing compared to being with you.”
“Jude Hernandez, why do you always have to do this? Now I’m an emotional mess. Logan has to wonder why I seem to always be on the verge of tears when he is around. You don’t make things easier when you go around saying sweet stuff. Just for the record, I have your back too. Te amo.”
When I knock on the door frame, Logan holds up his finger to indicate he’s on the telephone. He waves us in anyway. Tasha and I quietly tiptoe into the room and sit down as he wraps up his phone call.
“That was Officer Browning from the 201 in Memphis. They’ve located your stalker.”
Tasha slumps against me briefly before she straightens with resolve and asks, “Okay, so hit me with the bad news — who is it?”
Logan consults his notepad before answering, “Does the name Frankie Carlino mean anything to you?”
Tasha bites her lip as she concentrates. Finally, she blurts, “No. No! Why? Should it? I don’t even know what to think about this. I didn’t expect it to be a stranger. I didn’t want it to be someone I knew either. How crazy stupid is that? It has to be one or the other,” she adds, panic coloring her voice.
My brain is spinning. I need some more details. “How did they find him? It’s been weeks — we’ve been back in Oregon a solid month and a half. I would’ve expected them to nab him the same day it happened.”
“He showed up on some hospital surveillance tape they thought had been lost in a system upgrade. Apparently, he took a taxi to meet the reporters at the hospital. He was good. He fit right in with the paparazzi. He stood there for hours before making his move toward the journalist who knows you.”
“Howie said he had a tour jacket from our bus. We recently got those, so I don’t know how he could’ve gotten his hands on one. There weren’t very many of them issued. He must’ve paid a pretty penny to get his hands on one.”
I can’t help myself; I shudder as I ask, “What did he do? Pay with a credit card?”
The corner of Logan’s mouth hitches up. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate the irony of this. He was careful enough to wear gloves, pay for cash, and register under an alias at the hotel.”
“So … what was his ‘America’s Dumbest Criminals’ moment?” Tasha asks as she grabs my hand. “I’m assuming he had one.”
“Oh yeah, he sure did — and you won't believe what it was.” Logan picks up a printout off the printer and grins broadly. “Creepy Stalker Dude dropped his Starbucks card in the taxi. It just so happens the taxi driver has been robbed at knifepoint several times. He had his own little surveillance set up in his rig. It took a while for word to filter down to him we were looking for someone who had taken a ride that day. When it did, the driver happily handed over both the footage and the Starbucks card. That’s how we found out about Frankie Carlino and his strangely compelling addiction to Starbucks coffee.”
“What the — ?” I start to say with a healthy amount of righteous indignation, but I’m interrupted by Tasha’s softly uttered question.
“Why? All I want to know is why? Why of all the people in the world did he come after me? Does he hate women in general or am I something special?”
Logan hands Tasha a tissue and explains, “I want more than anything to be able to give you those answers — but I don’t have them. Carlino — formally known as Creepy Stalker Dude — hasn’t said much. He lawyered up pretty quick once he realized what the cops had on him.”
“Who is this dude? What do the cops have on him? What’s his problem with Tasha?”
“Jude, you’re going to have to take it down a notch or two — or a hundred.” Logan comes around and sits on the edge of his desk. “I understand you’re concerned. We all are. Unfortunately, this isn’t my investigation. I’m only playing a consultant role on this case. Browning is working on it, but it’s the early days.”
“Okay, I get it. I need to be patient, but that’s not
my strong suit. You’ve worked with me long enough to understand.” I stand up and pace the room. “So, what do they have so far? This guy terrorized the woman I love for months. I think I have the right to know anything and everything about him — including what he eats for breakfast, don’t you think?”
“Personally, I think you deserve that and more. Professionally? The rules become a little murkier. The local law enforcement folks have to follow the rules, and you know, that pesky thing called the Constitution.”
Tasha’s sighs and rolls her eyes. “It’s always something.”
Logan snickers and shuffles the papers in his files.
“So, that’s it then?” Tasha asks. “We’re back to square one with no real leads or answers? All we really know that we didn’t know before is what he looks like.”
“Not exactly true,” Logan clarifies. “He did spill a bit before he decided to clam up. Apparently, this isn’t personal. Somebody paid him to do this.”
“Excuse me? Did you say what I thought you said? He was a hit man? I have a freakin’ hit man! At what point did I wake up in the middle of some spy movie? I’m a singer. You know, like Donnie and Marie. Neil Diamond, Judy Garland, Britney Spears —” Tasha’s voice shakes with shock as she tries to make sense of it all. “I sing songs. Why would somebody want to hurt me?” She turns to me and asks, “Jude, is this some sort of weird nightmare? Please tell me he didn’t say somebody paid Creepy Stalker Dude to kill me. That’s just too screwed up to be believed.”
Logan answers her before I get a chance to do anything other than gather her into my arms for a hug.
“I think you hit it right in the head, T,” Logan replies in answer to Tasha’s string of questions. “It’s all about what we can believe and then ultimately prove. We don’t even know if we can trust this guy. He’s just saying he was paid to do this. We don’t know anything about his story or whether it’s true. We know he’s some insurance guy from New York. His business dealings seem to be shady, but beyond that, he doesn’t seem to be a criminal mastermind — much less a hit man.”
Jude’s Song (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 7) Page 18
