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

Ms. Brockwell. As her attorney, I am not completely comfortable with her talking to the press without me present.”

Smiling, Celia turned the page in her notepad. Of course. “And as the person whom Ms. Bronlov has asked to be her sole interviewer, I do not feel comfortable asking her to compromise her boundaries.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Celia continued to doodle. The longer he was silent, the more certain Celia was he would acquiesce. She knew if he cleared his throat, she had won.

“Well,” the attorney said, clearing his throat, “as Ms. Bronlov has been insistent on this point, I suppose we should accommodate her. Now, regarding the contract, are you satisfied with the preliminary terms, or do we need to negotiate any particulars?”

“I feel satisfied with the terms Mrs. Bronlov set forth,” Celia answered.

“Well, then, since everything seems to be in order, I will have the final contract sent for your signature, and we can schedule the first interview.”

“Thank you, Mr. McMillian,” Celia said. “I look forward to speaking with your client.”

Once the call was over, Celia walked across the street for lunch. She told her assistant she would be returning at 1:30 and reminded her of the 2:00 appointment with her editor. John was proficient at what he did, but he was notoriously late for appointments. Celia’s assistant, Gladys, would make sure he was on time.

While she nibbled on a salad, Celia explored the notes she had taken researching the actress’s crime. The interviews were sparse and brief, and even the tabloids were guessing at what went on in the actress’s life. The stories contained an array of photos, all showing Natasha with the same cool, closed expression on her face. Funny that all the journalists and hacks chose such stark photos when there were hundreds of more attractive photos out there.

Natasha Bronlov was arraigned at 1:00 this afternoon, and bail was set at two million dollars. She is expected to post bail this afternoon before returning to her Greenwich home until the trial begins. Her legal team had no comment as to their defense strategy.

A few stories were detailing the trial and verdict. Again, her attorneys had no comment. And, of course, the most recent story was about the denial of her last appeal.

Natasha Bronlov's legal battles may finally be over, as her last appeal was unsuccessful. After a decade on death row, it looks as if Delaware will execute its first woman in decades.

Eventually, Celia gave up on her research and concentrated on her salad. The patrons around her were noisy; it was a popular lunch spot with its varied menu and casual atmosphere. The owner had been a fixture for four decades, and he traveled from table to table greeting guests. Celia had no idea of his real name; everyone called him Pop.

“Ah, Ms. Brockwell, only a salad today? You’ll wound my cook!” Pop’s thick accent carried through the restaurant.

“Last time I was here I ate so much, all I can have is salad this time. Your cook is bad for my figure.”

Pop laughed and ambled to the next table.

The sight of the owner caused Celia to imagine Natasha’s father. He’d been her final victim, the one who led to her arrest. It was strange to Celia that Natasha had chosen to kill him. Surely she’d known it would seal her fate. Why had she? Was he abusive, a stage father, or worse? The actress might not want a retelling of her crimes, but Celia was determined to get answers to her questions.

At 2:08 John entered her office, still eating the sandwich he had ordered for lunch. It wasn’t typical for the boss to come to the employee’s office for meetings. However, John’s office was so cluttered, it was all but impossible to find room to work, much less have anyone in for a meeting. He would rather not have to put things in order. It also meant that if he was running late, no one was at his office door waiting.

“So, Celia, what’s happening with the CEO piece? Did you crack him yet?”

“He tried to put me off, saying he needed to talk with his attorney to craft a statement. I let him know how that would play in a story. He agreed to make a brief comment. An hour later I had enough for an article.”

“I swear you could have been a detective.” John tossed his napkin into the wastebasket. “You don’t need a bad cop. So when do you think you’ll have something ready?”

“It should be ready to go by the end of the day. That means it can run in the next edition.”

“Perfect!” John pushed himself out of the chair and began pacing a bit. “So when do you plan to fly out to Phoenix? Later in the week?”

“About that,” Celia had rehearsed her speech. “I need to visit a friend in Delaware on Friday. I was planning to take the train Thursday night, and I can fly into Phoenix from there.”

John stopped and frowned. “I was hoping you’d be able to do the Phoenix bit Thursday or Friday.”

“I already have the appointment set up in Phoenix for 9:00 am. on Monday. I’ll be back in the office writing Monday night.”

“Do what you need to do then. Your friend sick or something?”

“Something like that.”

John grabbed a handful of candy off Celia’s desk and left. Celia took out her recorder and headset and began working on the CEO article. A revealing article by day’s end would appease John. Not to mention, it was time this man’s shady practices were exposed. It was just dumb luck that he hadn’t already been prosecuted. He wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought he was. How he had managed to rise in the ranks to run a company was beyond Celia’s understanding. It certainly wasn’t his intellect.

It was almost 6:00 when Celia sent her article, and she was supposed to meet Bart for dinner at 7:00. She’d been seeing the widowed attorney for a