Young Ladies of Mystery Boxed Set

by Stacy Juba

  Just like his fiancée had kept him occupied, but Cassidy refrained from pointing that out. "It’s nice to hear from you. What have you been up to?"

  A muffled feminine voice spoke in the background. Cassidy wasn’t surprised when Josh said hurriedly, "I’d better go. Take care, okay?"

  Cassidy hung up, emptiness swallowing her butterflies. She’d bet her luxury cruise and $3,000 spending money that Shannon had walked in and Josh didn’t want her knowing who was on the other end of the line.

  It would have been easier if Josh had never called. Hearing his masculine voice reminded Cassidy how much she missed him. How much she’d yearned for their almost-kiss to reach fruition. She’d had a crush on him ever since they first met during the group audition in Los Angeles. They’d hung out on breaks and gone for lunch at local sandwich shops. They shared a connection from the beginning, but it hadn’t mattered, because he was already taken.

  Trying to shake off her depression, Cassidy checked the messages flashing on her answering machine. Three were from national publications seeking comment on Reggie’s death and one was from Brooke, the SOS publicist, with instructions to direct reporters’ murder queries to the publicity department.

  Cassidy couldn’t summon the energy to return calls. First, she needed company to perk her up, and given the circumstances, who better than the building spy?

  She cut through the musty storage room down the hall from her apartment and jogged to an upstairs wing. As she knocked on the only door in the corridor, her mouth watered at the sweet scent of cinnamon and apples.

  "Come in!" her neighbor Pat called.

  Cassidy stepped into a stuffy foyer lit by a fringed maroon lamp. A stand-up fan whirred from the kitchen counter, beating hot air, and she caught a faint whiff of Harry the Hamster. He scurried on the exercise wheel in his cage, a brown and white blur amidst the squeaky turns. Harry was her kind of hamster, an exercise nut.

  She and Pat had the same type of one-bedroom apartment, but sixty years of antique furniture cramped Pat's living room and dusty glass shoe figurines cluttered the curio cabinets and bookshelves. Framed pictures of her son and grandchildren adorned every spare inch of wall not laden with Victorian plates.

  Pat rose from the sagging plaid couch she shared with a blonde porcelain doll and a pile of newspapers, her wrinkled face easing into a toothy grin. Gray hair hung heavy on her rounded shoulders, falling straight down the back of a housedress that had suffered too many spins in the washing machine.

  "Smells good in here," Cassidy greeted her neighbor, her mood elevating. She knew exercise raised endorphins, but Pat’s coffeecake yielded a similar reaction, a tidbit she’d better hide from personal training clients who needed to lose weight.

  "The baking's in your honor," Pat said. "I was going to visit you tonight."

  Guilt tugged at Cassidy. Between work, answering fan mail and speaking to the press, she'd hardly seen Pat since returning home. "I dreamed about your coffeecake on the ship. It was like a mirage."

  "Give your little brother a piece. I saw him here this weekend."

  Eagle-eyed Pat never missed anything. Some neighbors considered her nosy, but Cassidy appreciated Pat’s alertness now more than ever.

  "You look a little down, honey," Pat noted. "Are you upset about your friend Reggie? His death is all over the news. What a terrible thing."

  Cassidy pulled out an antique oak rocking chair and sat down. "That’s part of it, but unfortunately there’s more. A crazy fan has been harassing me."

  Pat sank back onto the sofa, eagle eyes magnifying behind her spectacles. "You mean like those famous people in Hollywood?"

  "I guess. I've been getting weird letters. I was wondering whether you’ve noticed anything unusual lately, like a stranger hanging around the building."

  "I did see a white panel van last Thursday, parked a little ways down the street on the same side as that other apartment house. It was a work van, but without a logo."

  Cassidy rocked back, the chair creaking. "What time?"

  "I noticed it around 8:30 when I went out to get the morning paper. It was there all day, but I figured it must be a visitor or hired help for the other building. The van was gone when I looked out the window, around dinnertime."

  The driver could have watched the apartment house, learning schedules of residents, including her own. Cassidy’s heart pumped faster. Could it have been Miles, or was there a logical explanation? "I wish I'd noticed."

  "I should have written down the license plate. I didn't see anyone in the front seat, but there were small windows in back. He could've been looking out and no one would know." Pat banged her fist into her thigh.

  "Don't worry about it. It might be nothing, but if you see it again, get the plate number."

  "I'm calling Julia from Number Five. Now that I think of it, she mentioned that someone was asking about you." Pat curved her plump body, leaning toward the phone on the end table.

  As Pat dialed, Cassidy glanced at Harry the Hamster resting on his wood chips. He liked living in a cage. She didn't. That was what life was beginning to feel like, one big cage, with strangers gawking at her from the other side.

  "Julia, remember that guy who asked if Cassidy lived here?" Pat began. "What did he look like? Did you happen to see a white van last Thursday?"

  She hung up a few minutes later and stared out between the maroon curtains. Cassidy followed Pat's gaze, cold knots tingling down her spine. The window offered a view of the side street and main road, deserted except for a boy riding a bike.

  "It was a kid who asked whether you lived here," Pat said. "Maybe late high school or college age. She saw him on foot the day before you got back. Julia doubts he's anyone to worry about."

  "What about the van?"

  "She didn't notice it. I know a few people in the other building. I'll find out if anyone knows anything. Maybe it was just a visitor."

  Pat trudged into the kitchen in her stockinged feet, poured two glasses of milk and muttered, "Should've taken the license number. Don’t worry, if some obsessed person is in that van, he'll have to get past me."

  "Thanks, Pat, but first, he'll have to get past me," Cassidy said grimly.

  Chapter Seven

  "Look! There she is!" A few hundred spectators pointed and gawked as Cassidy entered the ballroom of the Starlight Sensation. She gulped and smoothed down her sleeveless emerald pantsuit.

  Deniz Jewell had called the other day with an offer for Cassidy’s first public appearance, and conveniently, it was only forty-five minutes from home. A cruise line had asked her to headline the grand preview of a new luxury ship, docked at the Black Falcon Terminal in the South Boston Waterfront District. They wanted her to sign autographs and socialize with the guests who’d paid to attend a cocktail party and information session.

  Cassidy would have preferred something more fitness-related, like an exercise video or sneaker endorsement, but Deniz said she was putting out feelers and that in the meantime, her client should take any work she could get.

  Although a cruise ship wasn’t what Cassidy had hoped for, she appreciated the marketing department’s interest in her and liked that the event was in Boston. Even better, the cruise line had sent a black stretch limo for her and her companions from the Garrett Daily News.

  Lynn, the cruise line’s six-foot plus brunette director of publicity, rubbed her hands together in anticipation. Barrettes fastened sausage black curls off her rawboned face, lengthening her giraffe neck. Her springy ringlets bounced as she talked. "We’re delighted to have you here, Cassidy, especially on such short notice. We just knew you’d be the perfect ‘face’ of the Starlight Sensation. When we have our maiden voyage this fall, we’d love for you to cruise with us. We could do a huge publicity campaign."

  "Oh ... wow, that sounds like fun," Cassidy said.

  First SOS. Then the cruise runner-up prize. Now this. How many ships was she doomed to ride?

  "As you can see, you’re a big hit." Lyn
n waved toward the guests murmuring and sneaking glances from round tables festooned with drinks and appetizers. "You’ll sign autographs in here and our staff will be sure to keep the line orderly."

  Good to know, but Cassidy half-wished she’d jumped out of the limo a few miles back at Castle Island, a spacious urban park and her favorite spot in Boston. She loved walking or jogging around Castle Island and the peaceful Pleasure Bay, enjoying views of the ferries and vessels passing in the harbor, the low airplanes descending toward Logan International Airport, and the tourists milling about the historic Fort Independence. She’d give anything for a hotdog and ice cream at Sullivan’s, the popular family-run restaurant that serviced visitors. Alas, she’d get no relaxation today.

  As Lynn conferred with a co-worker, Cassidy turned to her own personal news team. "Boy, does this beat the Atlantic Devil in the luxury department," she muttered.

  "No kidding." Alison scrawled into her wire-bound notebook. With her sleek helmet of blonde locks and designer wardrobe, she looked more like a TV anchorwoman than a small-town newspaper reporter.

  Zach Gallagher, her photographer, pulled his Nikon digital camera out of a padded bag and removed the felt Stetson from his wavy black hair. "I wouldn’t mind taking a trip on this baby myself." His flash blinked, triggering a half-dozen cameras from other parts of the ballroom.

  "Cassidy! Cassidy!" An acne-scarred young man rushed over to them. Lank greasy blond strands hung ragged past his shoulders, limp as a used mop, and a torn tee-shirt with Cassidy's blurred likeness fell to the waist of his ripped jeans.

  He cupped a camera to his heart. "Please, could I pose for one picture with you? I know this is a huge favor, but I can’t stay that long."

  Lynn gave her a subtle nod. "Yeah, sure," Cassidy said.

  She positioned herself beside the kid and Lynn snapped the photo with a cheerful "cheese."

  His lip trembling, the kid stared at Cassidy. "You don't know what this means to me. You should have won. Reggie was a loser."

  How could he say that? Reggie was dead. There were more important things than winning. Like living. Cassidy clamped down on her lip to keep from retorting. Telling off a fan wouldn’t exactly endear her to the cruise line. Being the "face" of the Starlight Sensation could mean a lot of money in her bank account. They were already shelling out $1,000, plus the expense of a limo, for her to scribble her name and act amiable.

  Luckily, the rest of the fans acted more restrained. Cassidy spent a pleasant hour and a half smiling and signing autographs. Afterwards, the last group streamed out the French doors, heading to the theater for the travel spiel. She snagged a finger sandwich and a couple wedges of cubed melon off a platter before strolling toward Alison, Zach and Lynn in back of the room.

  Lynn gathered papers into a folder and stretched to her Amazonian height. "Thank you, Cassidy. That was fantastic. The next presentation should be starting if you’d like to watch."

  "Great. I’m still shocked all those people waited in line to meet me. Thanks so much for inviting me today." Cassidy popped a piece of fruit into her mouth.

  As Alison asked the publicist a few questions, Zach plucked a long-stemmed red rose off a vacant chair and extended it to Cassidy. "For you, my lady."

  She looked at him over the blood red petals. Young face, mature eyes. Wisps of dark bangs straggled under the brim of his cowboy hat, which he had replaced after he finished taking pictures. He definitely improved the view around here. The harbor outside had nothing on him.

  "Thanks," Cassidy said after she swallowed the melon.

  Zach offered a sheepish grin, tanned olive skin setting off even white teeth. "It's not from me. I would have bought you a dozen if I knew you liked them. A little girl asked me to give it to you."

  Cassidy read the tag taped to the stem. "You're the flower of my life. My love for you is blooming. Miles."

  Hair on the back of her neck bristling, Cassidy dropped the rose to the hardwood floor and spun around. All she saw were white-jacketed waiters, glittering crystal chandeliers and their own reflections in the mirrored walls. "Was she with a man? What happened? What did the girl look like?"

  "She was five or six. Long blonde hair pulled to the side, pink shirt, blue jeans.She came up to me on deck while I was walking around and said, 'This has to go to Cassidy.' I said, sure. I didn't see a parent, but I wasn’t paying much attention. You okay?" Frowning, Zach touched her arm.

  Cassidy shook him off and stepped away. Not only had she let her stalker intimidate her, she was coming across as weak to the press. "I'm fine."

  Alison bent over in her chair to retrieve the rose. She squinted at the tag, gripping the stem upside down. "What's this about? Who's Miles?"

  "I'm being stalked." Cassidy hated using that word, but there was no other way to describe it.

  "For how long?"

  "Since I got off the show. Lynn, the police need the names and addresses of all the visitors today. And we've got to find the little girl."

  Lynn wore the startled expression of a giraffe in the path of a charging bull. She stroked the sides of her elongated neck, tapped her folder against the table and shuffled the papers inside. "We'll do our best. I'll call security."

  "I’ll take Cassidy to the playground," Zach said. "That seems like a good place to search for a kid. I saw it while I was taking pictures."

  Moments later, he and Cassidy stepped inside a play area painted in blues and greens. Laughter ringing through the air, children soared down a slide, played tag or scurried up a spider-shaped jungle gym. Boston Harbor glistened through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  "What about them?" Cassidy nodded toward two girls giggling on the hopscotch court.

  Zach scrutinized the hopscotch partners and turned to study a girl monkeying to the top of a plastic tree house. "Nope, I don't see her. Let me talk to the babysitters."

  Cassidy opened her mouth to say she'd take care of it, then decided she could use a few minutes to collect herself. Zach approached a red-shirted young woman near the sandbox and spoke in a low tone. Cassidy squared up as Zach trudged back.

  "Nothing," he said. "The staff hasn't seen anyone who fits the description."

  "Let's keep looking."

  An hour later, they still hadn’t found her. Cassidy waited in the hall for one last ditch attempt while visitors filed off the ship. Two male security guards lingered a few feet behind her, on Lynn's orders.

  Miles could be anyone. He could be watching right now.

  Cassidy’s pulse rate increased as a bearded middle-aged man strode down the passageway, a travel bag hoisted over his shoulder. He eased against the wall and unzipped the pouch, allowing guests to pass. Fumbling through the contents, he eyed Cassidy. What if he was going for a gun?

  She motioned to the guards. "Stop him!"

  They converged on the guy, who stepped back, blinking. "Is there a problem? I think my wife is calling."

  Cassidy squirmed at the mechanical tinkle of the Mexican Hat Dance chiming from his cell phone. "Sorry," she murmured. "We thought you were someone else."

  She had to calm down. Instead of freaking out and imagining that someone would pull a gun, she should get one herself. Pepper spray and the switchblade she’d crammed into her purse were no match for bullets. Cassidy vowed to look into a firearms license when she got home.

  The guards accompanied her off the ship to meet Zach and Alison at the terminal check-in desk.

  "Any luck?" Cassidy asked.

  "The little girl has disappeared," Zach said. "No one's seen her."

  Alison opened her notebook, revealing a page pecked with chicken scratch. She turned to a fresh sheet. "Tell me about the stalking. Have you gotten letters? Gifts?"

  "None of your business," Cassidy said shortly.

  "Come on, Cassidy, you’re a public figure," Alison said in a slightly scolding tone. "You can’t control what’s written about you."

  Unfortunately, she knew Alison was right. Cassidy couldn’t put he
rself out there for scrutiny, then tell the media what was on and off limits. Still, she didn’t want her stalker to know he was getting to her.

  Cassidy scrambled for a bargaining chip. "I can pull the plug on your series and invite another paper to follow me around. Besides, if you mention the stalking now, you’ll tip off your competition. And for what, to report that I’m getting notes that aren’t even threatening? Because that’s all it is. He’s never even called me." Seeing Alison’s attentive look, Cassidy plowed ahead.

  "But if Miles is caught, and I’m sure he will be if he keeps pulling stupid pranks like this, I’ll give you an exclusive. That will get you a lot more recognition. Associated Press and the other big media outlets would pick up a story like that. They’d even credit your paper for breaking the story."

  "She’s got a point," Zach interjected. "It wouldn’t hurt to sit on this."

  Alison hesitated, and then nodded. "Okay, but if any attempts are made on your life, I’m running with the story."

  "Your concern is touching." Rolling her eyes, Cassidy turned to Zach. "I need something from you. Maybe you took a picture with the little girl or Miles in the background. Could we look over the photos in the limo?"

  "Let’s do it on a computer after we get back," Zach said. "The screen’s bigger."

  "See, Cassidy, we’re on your side," Alison said with a smug smile. "We’re all friends."

  "If you’re waiting for a thank you, forget it. I know you’re both hoping Miles shoots my brains out so you can publish the inside scoop."

  Alison’s smile dimmed, but Zach smirked. Cassidy wasn’t naïve enough to believe that either of them cared about her well-being. They were using her to advance their careers, the same way she was using them.

  She led the way outside and halted. Dangling a picture between his fingers, a young man sprinted toward her. "Cassidy! Cassidy! Sign this! Please."

  Cassidy’s eyebrows elevated as she recognized his shaggy hair and tee-shirt from earlier. He was the boy who had made the stupid remark about Reggie.