Tell It Like It Is

by Stanalei Fletcher

  Shelby looked up and saw identical frightened stares. “Perhaps I should take this outside.”

  Rosalee nodded. “That might be a good idea.”

  Shelby started to leave when Rosalee stopped her. “If that is another threat. I want to see it.”

  Shelby bit back a refusal. “Of course.” Instinctively, she wanted to protect the author from the ugliness of what was happening. If seeing the threat, especially one hand-delivered to the front door, would keep the woman on the cautious side, then Shelby would show it to her. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  Holding the envelope by the corner, she hurried downstairs and headed through the kitchen to the back porch. Before opening the envelope, she pulled out her cell phone and took several pictures. Then she slit it open, and still wearing her gloves, extracted a single sheet of white copy paper.

  The other threat letters had been magazine cutouts pasted on paper. This one was printed from a laser printer.

  “Why is this one different?” She wondered aloud.

  Like the other threats, this one demanded Rosalee stop writing her book or she’d not live to see any more of her work published. It specifically referred to the method of execution used on the maid in New York.

  An icy weight filled Shelby’s chest. Someone had inside knowledge of the maid’s murder. This note proved the killing wasn’t a burglary gone wrong, but directly related to the threats.

  She snapped several more photos, then e-mailed them to Northstar with a promise to overnight the original letter for processing. She also gave O’Neal an update on the party scheduled for that night and advised against Rosalee’s annual holiday gathering, in light of this new development.

  A couple of minutes later, O’Neal confirmed receipt of the photos, but instead of accepting her recommendation to cancel the party, he gave her a contact name to call for additional backup. A Gerard Theron.

  Shelby swore, and then glanced guiltily over her shoulder to make sure Rosalee wasn’t listening. The author should be safely in her office with Marta. Shelby needed to get back there.

  She dialed Gerard Theron’s number and arranged for him to pick up the letter to keep the chain of custody clean. Theron said he could be there within the hour. She also asked if he could provide additional security for the party, which he said he could. She wanted to ask about his credentials and how he was available at a moment’s notice, but if O’Neal said this guy was trust-worthy, that was good enough for her. After thanking him, she hung up.

  She still didn’t like the idea of a party and a horde of guests to guard, but felt better knowing additional eyes would be watching the crowd. With that task done, she headed back inside. She’d seen plenty of shipping materials in Rosalee’s office and could secure the package before it left the house.

  When Shelby entered the office, Rosalee looked up from her writing tablet. “What took so long?” Some of her color had returned and she seemed more composed. “What was in the envelope?”

  “Another letter.” Shelby crossed to her desk, noting that Marta had left the tea, but must have returned to the kitchen. The housekeeper was probably blaming herself for bringing the envelope inside. Shelby would review additional protocols with Marta for answering the door, later. Especially for the party that night.

  “A threat letter?” Rosalee’s expression showed she’d already guessed the contents.

  Shelby nodded, knowing what would be asked next.

  “Can I see it?”

  “As long as you don’t touch it.” She couldn’t deny the client her right to see the threat, and carefully extracted the sheet of paper and laid it on the desk. “I’m overnighting this to Northstar. Someone will be here to pick it up shortly.”

  She waited for Rosalee to read the letter, watching for any hint the woman was ready to call off the party. Other than a slight tremble in her hands when she removed her reading glasses, the author showed no sign of distress. Maybe she’d seen the threat too many times to show fear.

  “O’Neal said you didn’t have to cancel your party, but surely you can see now that it would be for the best.”

  The older woman was shaking her head before Shelby finished speaking. “More than ever, I need this celebration. I’m not going to hide away and give this bastard the satisfaction of controlling my life.”

  “Ms. Kane—”

  The author held up a bejeweled hand. “If you don’t start calling me Rosalee, then I’ll have to start using your given name.” Her eyes narrowed with the threat. “Justine.”

  Shelby swallowed. “Rosalee.” Removing the offensive letter, she slid it into the original envelope. “This letter is different.” She waggled the envelope like an evil talisman. “It proves a connection between you and what happened in New York. For your own safety, I suggest you reconsider this party.”

  “No.” Rosalee stood. “The matter is settled.” She crossed the room. “By the way, we’re stopping work after lunch to shop for a dress.”

  Shelby groaned. Maybe the woman had a death wish after all. “Surely, you already have a dress for this evening?” If this party was planned weeks ago, of course Rosalee had her wardrobe all picked out.

  “It’s not for me.” The other woman waved a hand toward her. “For you.”

  Shelby shook her head. “We are not leaving the house to shop for me. I have perfectly acceptable clothes for what I need to do tonight.”

  Rosalee studied the cargo slacks and loose jacket with a distasteful eye. “Functional, maybe, but I don’t want you scaring my guests with your utilitarian attire.”

  Shelby gestured to her clothes. “I’m much better equipped to protect you wearing this.”

  “Nonsense.” Rosalee brushed off Shelby’s objection with a wave of her hand and tinkling of bracelets. “I’m paying you to act as my assistant. I want you at the party—dressed the part. We’re not leaving the house. I’m having the dresses brought here for you to try on.”

  Shelby considered protesting further, and then thought better of it. By joining the party, rather than circling the perimeter, she’d have a chance to watch people, eavesdrop on conversations while keeping an eye on Rosalee. However, she didn’t need a dress for that. “I have a perfectly nice pantsuit.”

  “This gathering is not business casual, dear. You need a party dress.” Rosalee smiled and that wicked gleam appeared. “A flirty little black thing will be just the ticket to show off that toned figure of yours.”

  Shelby had no response to the unexpected compliment. She so rarely assessed her body other than to stay in shape for the job. “Ms.—Rosalee—I don’t need—”

  Rosalee held up her hand. “Consider it tonight’s uniform. I expect you to look presentable.”

  Shelby bit back her argument. Rosalee had a point. As much as she didn’t want to dress up for the party, she wouldn’t embarrass the author by not blending in. “You win.”

  “Always.” Rosalee beamed. “One doesn’t get to be my age without scoring a few victories.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider about tonight.”

  “I’m quite safe in my own home,” Rosalee replied. “Tonight, I’ll have my friends and family around. I personally know everyone attending. And don’t forget, my nephew is with the FBI. With both him and you here, how much safer could I be?”

  “He’ll be here tonight?” Shelby had yet to meet the elusive Special Agent Nelson Kane. She was surprised the agent hadn’t stopped by. By now, he must have heard of Rosalee’s New York incident. Even though his aunt didn’t want him to know, surely the authorities would have contacted him. Did he purposely go out of his way to avoid his aunt? If so, the man was irredeemable. With no family to call her own, she failed to understand why people chose to ignore their relatives.

  “I have a promise on his mother’s grave he’ll make an appearance.” Rosalee sparkled with the expectation of seeing her nephew.

  “Does he know about the New York incident? Maybe if you told him, he’d recommend canceling the party.
The FBI could—”

  “No!” Rosalee snapped. “I haven’t told him. I won’t put Nelson in that position. In my opinion, there isn’t a finer agent in the Bureau, but he doesn’t bend the rules. Not even for family.”

  ****

  Kane’s cell phone chimed on his belt as he walked out of Mulhany’s and into the cool December night. He brought it to his ear. “Kane.”

  “I have to find out from the agency that my son is on administrative leave?”

  “Dad!” His father’s gruff voice surprised him. “Why were you calling the office?”

  “Because I’ve been trying your cell phone for the last hour and you weren’t answering,” Phillip Kane grumbled. “So what the hell happened?”

  Kane started to apologize for not hearing his phone in the noisy bar but his father cut him off.

  “Never mind. You can explain later. That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “Oh?” His father didn’t usually keep tabs on him, so the call had to be about something important.

  “Aunt Rosalee expected you by now. Where are you?”

  Kane glanced at his watch and winced. He’d joined Roberts to get an update on the case. They’d ended up watching the basketball game, and he’d stayed longer than intended. “Sorry, Dad. I’m heading over right now.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. It’s your aunt who’s been looking for you.” The reprimand was clear in his father’s tone. “You made her a promise.”

  Kane unlocked the door of his black muscle car and climbed in. “I know. Tell her I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Make it quick. There’s been an incident you’d better look into when you get here.”

  His father’s tone alerted Kane to more trouble than just being late to his great aunt’s Christmas party. “What’s going on?”

  “She got another letter today.”

  “And?” She got letters all the time. Even ones she said were threats from the Mafia had looked like some fan’s idea of a sick joke. The last one had been so poorly glued together it didn’t even sound threatening. If she hadn’t insisted on opening all her fan mail personally, instead of letting one of her assistants do it, she wouldn’t be bothered by celebrity-stalking kooks.

  “Marta said this one was delivered to the house.”

  Kane’s grip on the phone tightened. This was different. The other letters were mailed to her fan post office box. None had gone directly to her home. “Did Marta tell you what the letter said?”

  “Not exactly. I think Rosalee’s waiting until you get here to tell us.” While his father talked, Kane started his car and pulled out of the bar’s parking lot.

  “I’ll look into it as soon as I get there.”

  A slow burn rose in his chest as he negotiated the streets toward Aunt Rosalee’s Long Beach home. His anger was directed at himself. He’d been too cavalier about her situation to see the real threat. Just the day before, he’d told Roberts his aunt didn’t have a case that warranted investigation. Obviously, if threats were showing up at her front door, he was wrong. This was bigger than a publicity stunt.

  It appeared the threats were real, after all. As much as he hated to admit it, his aunt had been right to call Northstar Security. Why was it taking the firm so long to find something? The first note arrived almost two months ago. Then there had been nothing, until another one last month. The only thing that linked the letters as coming from the same person was the magazine cutouts. That, and the vague threat for her to stop writing her latest book.

  It appeared Northstar had dropped the ball. He’d been cursing his administrative leave, but now it was a good thing he had a few days to spare. If nothing else, he could make sure Rosalee’s home was secure and the alarm system was working properly.

  Traffic was in his favor and he arrived at his aunt’s neighborhood in less than twenty minutes. He pulled onto her street, but couldn’t get his car close to the house. The driveway was full of vehicles, so he parked on the street about three houses down and jogged to his aunt’s two-story Tudor.

  Aunt Rosalee had lived in this same neighborhood for as long as he could remember. Tall palm trees lined the driveway like sentinels guarding a palace. A thick evergreen hedge hugged the multi-level exterior wall. He’d visited the house countless times, but this time, he took note of how the property offered too many hiding places. In fact, he’d used some of them as a kid when he and his brother played in the yard.

  At a glance, everything looked secure on the outside. Without an actual walk-around, he couldn’t be certain the area was clear of unwelcome lurkers. Once he checked in with his aunt, he’d come back out and do a thorough inspection.

  As he reached the top step, his aunt’s housekeeper opened the front door. Loud party noise and music, followed by a blast of heat, made him lean away from the open door.

  “Meester Nelson, I am glad you are here.” Marta gave him a wide welcoming grin. Then she frowned. “You should have been here earlier.”

  “I’m here now, Marta.” Kane raised his voice over the party’s din. “How’s my aunt doing? Is she in her office?”

  “No, no, no. The party is on the main floor. Mees Rosalee is just fine. But she misses you.”

  He winced at Marta’s reminder he’d not kept his promise. “I’m glad she’s okay.” The tension left his shoulders. “Where is she?”

  Marta smiled again. “She is through there.” The housekeeper pointed toward the large dining room. “She will be happy to see you.”

  Kane poked his head inside and caught a glimpse of his aunt in the middle of a laughing crowd of people, mostly women. Some milled around while they held small plates of food and goblets filled with drinks. The smell of food called to him and he wanted to see his aunt, but not if he had to wade through a crowd of man-hungry fans.

  “Are you not coming in?” Marta raised a knowing eyebrow.

  Kane would rather face a room full of bad guys, like those he’d busted yesterday, than endure the endless introductions his aunt was sure to put him through. At least during a bust, he understood the rules, had trained for contingencies, and knew when to execute his exit strategy. Maybe he’d start with something less intimidating and work his way up to his aunt’s entourage. “Where’s my dad?”

  Marta pursed her lips as though she knew he was avoiding the party and clearly didn’t approve. However, she didn’t scold. “He is in the kitchen.” She opened the door wider for Kane to enter. As he stepped inside, she closed it behind him with a firm click. “You will have to go through the dining room.”

  Kane glanced at the housekeeper, noting her triumphant expression. “You don’t play fair, Marta. I’m going to tell Aunt Rosalee on you.”

  Marta’s smile grew broader. “You do that, Meester Nelson. She just might give me a raise!”

  This was why he took visits in small doses. Every time he stopped by, he was left feeling helpless to escape his aunt and her housekeeper’s matchmaking schemes to pair him with some dreamy-eyed dame.

  Tonight, he refused to be distracted from the important issue at hand. “Dad told me about the letter that came today.”

  Marta immediately sobered. “Sí.” She glanced up to the location of his aunt’s office.

  He saw his chance to escape. “I’ll check it out. Then I’ll visit with my aunt.” He gave the crowd one last look and headed toward the curved staircase to his aunt’s office, noting with surprise that someone had placed a table in front of the bottom step. He slipped around it, and started up.

  “No! Meester Nelson, it’s not—”

  Kane was already up the stairs, the party’s noise drowning out the rest of Marta’s protest.

  He was pleased to see the second floor’s lighting was muted to discourage the guests from wandering. This party was for his aunt’s friends, but that didn’t mean they had license to roam the house.

  Aunt Rosalee always invited him, his father, and his brother to her Christmas gathering as her way to include them in the celebrated
aspects of her life. The parties had been a tradition for as long as he could remember. Some years, the crowd was larger than others, but his aunt always went out of her way to make them feel as important as her other guests.

  As he’d grown older, he’d felt uncomfortable with the attention and tried to decline the annual invitations. His brother, Nigel, was currently deployed in the Middle East or he’d be here tonight, too. Their father always insisted they attend, reminding them that Aunt Rosalee wouldn’t be around forever. He didn’t want Kane or Nigel to regret not spending time with her.

  Except his dear aunt was living forever. She was a fixture in his life. Always there. Her constant presence gave him a reassuring sense of continuity.

  He reached the office door, glad to see it was closed to visitors tonight. Although, when he turned the knob, he wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. His aunt was too trusting.

  A banker’s lamp glowed on the assistant’s walnut computer desk. His aunt had been through so many assistants; he never bothered to keep up with names. He strode over to his aunt’s desk without turning on the overhead light, knowing what he was looking for—the manila envelope Marta had described to his dad.

  Except for a couple of file folders, Aunt Rosalee’s desk was empty. He picked up one of the folders and opened it.

  “Put that down.” A soft voice from the doorway held a veiled threat and was accompanied by the growl of his aunt’s Yorkie.

  Kane looked up to see a small woman in the shadowed doorway. Behind her, the muted light also shadowed her face. By the near whiteness of her hair, and the fact she held his aunt’s dog, he guessed she was the latest assistant.

  He closed the file and walked around the desk. “It’s okay.” He used his “trust me” tone as he reached into his jacket to retrieve his ID. “I’m—”

  The woman abruptly stepped in his path, forcing him to stop mid-stride. His immediate reaction was to grab the old lady before he knocked her down.