Chosen by a Killer by Laurie Nave (read e book txt) 📗

“I have thought about many things over the years I have been here. You are correct. I would have been undetected had it not been for my father’s murder. Of course, psychologists said that I killed him because I needed the world to know what I had done. That is not true. I had no need for anyone to know.”

“So why kill him?”

“Because he lied.”

Chapter 18

When Celia returned from lunch, Gladys was sitting at her desk, and she looked up and grinned. “You’re late!”

“What? Late for what? My meeting with the CEO isn’t until 3:00.”

“Well, your 1:00 was been waiting for almost fifteen minutes,” Gladys countered.

Celia stopped at her door. “I don’t have a 1:00.” She looked through the oblong glass window on the door. “Oh, god, no.”

“He said he had an appointment. He showed me a text...” Gladys said meekly.

“It’s okay,” Celia replied. “Just don’t go anywhere. If he isn’t gone in five minutes, call me for a meeting somewhere.”

Gladys nodded, and Celia walked into her office, keeping her door open. “Bart, why are you here, and why did you lie to my assistant?”

“I had to see you. You won’t talk to me or answer my messages, so I had no choice. You shut me out.”

“I didn’t shut you out. I told you how it is. I also told you not to contact me.”

“You don’t control me, Celia. You don’t make decisions for me.”

“No, I make decisions for me,” Celia responded. “And I have decided I do not want you in my life. At all.”

Bart stood and walked toward her. Celia refused to move. “Celia, we have to talk. We can make this work if you’d stop being so stubborn.”

Celia stepped forward, thankful she wore heels. They put her eye to eye with Bart. “There is no ‘this.’ There never will be. But you need to understand something. I have every communication, every message. Including your little note.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bart sneered.

“You can walk out of my office right now, or I can call security. And my next call will be to your boss.”

“This isn’t done,” Bart said. “And by the way, I know about your little meeting at the coffee shop.”

“Good for you. Worried I might have learned something?”

“I’m not worried. But Stewart should be.”

“I said this is over. Get out.”

“And I said this isn’t done. Not by a long shot.”

“It’s done, or the police will be visiting you. I have plenty to give them.”

Bart smiled and stepped back. “Fine, Celia, I’ll leave.” He walked to the door and stopped. “Have a great afternoon,” he said before taking something out of his pocket and tossing it into the trash.

Once he left, Celia closed her door and leaned against it. What an ass. She looked down and noticed a crumpled envelope in her wastebasket. She fished it out and smoothed it on her desk. It was the note Bart had sent her, the one she had ripped and thrown away at her house. It was taped together. Celia held her breath as she reread it. Bart had been in her house.

Celia sat at her desk and scrolled through her contact list until she came to the number she needed. As it began to ring, she sighed heavily.

“Good afternoon, City police department front desk. How may I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Celia Brockwell. I’d like to speak to Detective Wilson please.” Frank Wilson was one of her contacts at the station, and they had developed a rapport. If he couldn’t help her directly, he would know who could.

“Wilson speaking,” Frank answered.

“Frank, it’s Celia from the Post.”

“How are you? What can I do for you? Got a new story brewing?”

“Actually, I have a personal favor to ask. What do I need to do to file a report of stalking? Maybe get a restraining order?”

“Is someone bothering you?”

“Yes, there is. I thought I could diffuse it myself, but it’s getting out of hand.”

“Tell you what, come on down to the station. I’ll call one of our best guys. He can take your statement, and I’ll fill you in on the rest of the process.”

“Thanks, Frank. I’ll be there soon.”

Celia arrived at the station fifteen minutes later and knocked on Frank’s door. He was talking to a colleague, and when he stood, Celia secretly hoped he was the “best guy” Frank had mentioned. The man was probably in his late thirties, and he was at least 6’3” tall. It was obvious he spent a lot of time at the gym too. His presence was intimidating, to say the least.

“I’m Walter. Walter Robinson.” The man extended his hand and Celia shook it. “Have a seat.”

Celia took the remaining chair, and Walter sat down as well. “I appreciate both of you seeing me.”

“No problem, Celia,” Frank replied. “You’ve given the department a hand on more than one occasion. Tell us what’s going on.”

Celia told them about her brief pseudo-relationship with Bart, the calls and messages, the repeated attempts to see her. She showed Frank and Bart the screenshots and messages. She also showed them the handwritten note.

“You sure he wrote this?” Walter asked, scrutinizing the note.

“I am. I have something to compare. Here.” Celia handed him one of the cards he’d written, attached to one of the many flower arrangements he sent. “He signed this, and the writing looks the same.”

Walter looked at both notes and nodded. “This is good. The anonymous note ups the threat level, and this card is a good handwriting match. Have you filed for a restraining order?”

“I haven’t yet. I was hoping it wouldn’t get that far. But when he lied his way into my office today, I got rattled. I think it’s time.”

“You think your assistant will corroborate his lie?” Frank asked.

“Oh, I’m sure she will. She was upset that he fooled her.”

“So here’s what you need to do,” Walter said. “You need to go to the courthouse and fill out the paperwork. Get your