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

appeased Keith by staying home. She talked to Keith, Walter, and two other officers about Bart’s latest call. Of course, the phone had been a burner, so there was no way to trace it. And Celia hadn’t thought to try to record the brief conversation. They all agreed, however, proof or not, Bart was the caller. Walter promised to speak with her father’s doctor at the hospital to find out more about his diabetic coma. There was nothing Celia could do but wait for news.

On the third day after her accident, she went to her office long enough to get some messages, talk to a couple of writers, and be scolded and sent home by Gladys. Gladys was a very professional assistant, but she could switch to a mother when it suited her. Celia gave up and left the office before lunchtime.

She was considering whether or not to cook that afternoon when someone knocked on her door. It was Lucille, and she was holding a basket.

“Hello, Lucille, how are you?”

“I’m just fine, but how are you?” Lucille handed Celia the basket. “That nice man staying with you told me you’d had an accident! I made some bread, and I thought I’d come to check on you. You’ve been so kind to me.”

“Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

“Oh, no, no. You need your rest. I just wanted to see that you were alright. I need to take Tom to the vet.”

She named her new cat Tom. Tom and Jerry. “Well thank you for that. And for the bread. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

Lucille walked back to her house, and Celia closed the door. Smelling the bread, she sighed. Her neighbor was a kind old lady. The bread would go well with some soup if Celia could find enough ingredients to make it.

“What smells so good?” Keith walked into the kitchen a while later and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“I decided to make some soup. Lucille brought homemade bread over earlier.”

“I guess that means you’re feeling better.” He leaned over the pot. “Looks good.”

“It needs to simmer a little more. You can drink your beer and get comfortable.”

Keith was already on his way into the den. He’s really made himself at home. It didn’t bother Celia, but she realized while she watched him that she was ready for him to go. Maybe cooking for him would soften the blow.

“This soup is great.” Kevin got seconds from the pot. “Especially with the rain, it’s perfect.”

“Glad you like it. You can take some to work if you want.”

“Thanks, I probably will. And this bread...I might have to marry Lucille.”

“Aren’t you a little young for her?”

“Who knows?” Keith winked. “Maybe she’s a cougar.”

“Well now I’ve lost my appetite,” Celia joked as she took her bowl to the sink.

“That’s not very nice. She’ll sick her cat on you if she hears talk like that.”

“Did you know she named her cat Tom? The first cat was Jerry, this one’s Tom.”

Keith chuckled. “That’s pretty funny. Maybe tomorrow I can bring him some catnip.”

“About that,” Celia sat next to him. “I was thinking that since I’m okay now, you might want to get back to your place.”

Keith concentrated on his soup and bread, not answering. Celia tried not to stare at him, and she could tell by the way his back stiffened that he wasn’t pleased with her suggestion. He walked to the kitchen and put his bowl into the sink and then sat back down.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No, not at all. I just thought...you’ve been here a while. My head is fine. I’m going back to work. I’m sure you would like to get back to your own space.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, why?”

“You seem off.”

Celia sighed and walked toward the guest room. The bed was unmade, and clothes were hanging on the back of a chair. “You know, you’re kind of messy.”

“That’s not it. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. I just need my space.” Celia began putting the discarded clothing into Keith’s overnight bag.

“This is stupid,” Keith said. “I can stay one more night. You need me here, and we’re going to the same place tomorrow.”

Celia winced and kept packing. “You’ve been great, and I appreciate it. I promise I do. But I don’t need a babysitter. You haven’t been to your own house in days. You’re too tall for this guest bed. It can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“Celia, stop.” Keith took the bag. “What’s going on? Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

She threw her hands up and stomped out of the guest room toward the kitchen. Opening the dishwasher, she began putting up the clean dishes. When she slammed a tumbler onto the shelf, it shattered. “Dammit!” Celia ran her finger under the cold water, hissing as it stung her.

Keith took a clean dish towel from the top drawer. He turned the water off and wrapped the rag around Celia’s finger, applying enough pressure to make her curse again. “Celia, talk to me.”

Pulling her hand away, Celia looked at her finger. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll be there in a second. She blotted the cut again and then grabbed some gauze and tape from her first aid kit before sitting beside Keith on the couch.

“Need some help?” He took the supplies. After wrapping her finger in the gauze, he taped it securely and then sat back.

“I really thought Natasha’s attorney would pull a rabbit out of his hat.” Celia sighed.

“He kept her on death row for a decade. He did everything he could.” Taking Celia’s uninjured hand, Keith continued. “I know you two formed a kind of bond, but she killed five people.”

“I know that. I’m not stupid!” Celia pulled her hand back. “She also lost her mother and a life with her brother to a man who only loved her for the money!”

“What are you talking about? What brother?”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me. Celia didn’t have a brother.”

“Yes, she did!” Celia pounded the sofa. “William is her brother!”

Keith opened