CELEBRITY STATUS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #4) (2 page)

            “I had the same hesitation about taking her case, but nobody around here knows who she is, so our privacy is protected along with hers,” Skip said.

            “Well, I can talk to her one time at least, and assess whether or not I could work with her. Do you think she’d accept that caveat, that it’s just an intake interview and neither of us are committed to continuing unless it feels right?”

            “Yeah, I think she’d go along with that.”

            “And, Skip, you definitely need to tell her I’m your wife.” Kate still went by Huntington professionally, since that was the name under which she had established her reputation as a trauma recovery specialist. “That might feel weird to her. In which case, I can give you a couple names of good people she could call.”

            The kids bounced down the stairs, dressed in their PJ’s and giving off the fragrance unique to freshly bathed children. Kate gave each a hug and a kiss and Skip led them back upstairs to do story time and tuck them in.

            By the time he returned, Kate had set the table again, for two this time, with a tablecloth, candles and a single red rose in a small vase. The fickle May weather had turned cool enough that her plan to eat out on the porch had been revised, but she figured Skip could handle the chill long enough to grill the steaks. She’d turned on the gas so the grill could warm up.

            Skip came back into the kitchen. “Now then, Mr. Canfield,” Kate said, putting her arms around his waist and snuggling against him. “Can we get back to
my
agenda for the evening?” She reached up to gently brush back the hair that had flopped onto his forehead.

            “That sounds like a splendid idea, darlin’,” he drawled softly, as he leaned down to touch her soft, warm lips with his own.

            Her plan had been that they would eat first, but her hands had other ideas. Of their own volition, they slid up under his shirt and started exploring, trailing fire up and down his broad back. When those hands moved around to his chest, Skip’s skin quivered under their touch, and he broke off the kiss to suck in his breath.

            He swept her up into his arms and was halfway to the bedroom before Kate finally caught her own breath enough to inform him that the gas grill was turned on.

            He put her down on her feet. “Don’t go away,” he whispered. While he headed for the porch, she slipped into the kitchen to blow out the candles, making it back to the hall just in time.

            “Now, where was I?” Skip said, trapping both her hands against his shirt front with one of his larger ones. “Oh, yeah.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her again. The hand that wasn’t holding hers captive slid up under her knit top, in search of the hook on her bra.

            Letting go of her hands, he wrapped his arm around her to draw her tight against him, while still exploring her mouth. The hand under her top was exploring as well. When his thumb flicked across a nipple, he felt her gasp against his lips and she swayed on her feet. He broke the kiss, grinned down at her and once again swept her into his arms.

            It was almost ten o’clock before they got around to grilling the steaks.

* * *

            The intake interview with Cherise Martin went fairly smoothly. Although she’d made the appointment as Carol Ann Morris, once in the office, she told Kate she preferred being called Cherise. “I’ve gone by that name so much of the time for so long now, that it feels more natural than my real name,” she said with a small laugh.

            Kate asked a series of questions designed to give her a feel for the woman’s personality and overall mental health. The blue-eyed blonde was even more beautiful in person than in the images Kate had seen on television and in magazines. Her body language, relaxed and poised, expressed a level of confidence unusual in a twenty-seven year old. She answered Kate’s questions without hesitation.

            “Where are you from, Cherise?” Kate asked, segueing into the next phase of the intake interview.

            “Georgia. I grew up on a farm just outside of Atlanta.”

            “You don’t have a southern accent.”

            Cherise flashed a perfect white smile. “Hours and hours with a voice coach. A southern twang is fine if you sing country/western, but my fans expect me to sound like the girl next door, so standard English was drummed into me.”

            That was as far as Kate got in her efforts to get a sense of the young woman’s history. Each attempt to go down that road was expertly deflected with a short, superficial response. Kate finally cut to the chase and asked about the strange love notes.

            “They come through the mail. No return address, no signature. My assistant puts aside any fan mail that’s anonymous or sounds the least bit threatening. I now realize how wise Sarah is to do that. Otherwise we might not have made the connection with the earlier notes. The first three were just anonymous declarations of undying love. But then the tone changed. They started sounding like veiled threats.”

            Cherise showed the first signs of agitation as she continued, “This last one, that came two weeks ago. It sounded like this guy, whoever he is, was going to try to kidnap me.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s when I called Skip’s agency. He looked through Sarah’s file and made the connection with the earlier notes. Same style of writing.”

            The young singer sat up straight again. “That man’s a real sweetheart, Kate. You’re a lucky woman.”

            “I know.” Kate said with a small smile, then intentionally changed the subject away from herself. “How does your boyfriend feel about the notes?”

            After a moment of confusion, Cherise’s face cleared. “Oh, you mean Johnny. He’s not my boyfriend. That was our publicist’s bright idea. We’re just partners, singing partners that is. And Johnny writes a lot of our songs. He’s secretly engaged to be married. I don’t know what Jim–that’s the publicist–is going to do when the wedding date gets closer. I guess he’ll fake some dramatic break-up between us and pretend Sharon’s caught Johnny on the rebound. They’ve actually been dating for over a year.”

            By the end of the hour, Kate wasn’t one hundred percent sure about taking the case. She suspected she’d only seen the public persona of Cherise Martin, who didn’t seem to be coming unglued at all. Nevertheless, she decided to work with the young woman, for a few sessions at least, to teach her some stress management strategies.

            As they were winding down, Kate said, “Cherise, I’d like you to sign a waiver of confidentiality so I can talk to Skip about your case. I wouldn’t tell him specifics of what you say to me, but it would be helpful if he can keep me informed about the threatening notes.”

            Cherise shook her head. “I thought therapy’s supposed to be private. It’s okay if he tells you what’s going on, but not the other direction.”

            Kate paused, the niggling feeling of discomfort a bit stronger, but she’d already committed to seeing the woman. “I understand,” she said, “that it might feel weird, thinking we’re talking about you behind your back, but it would strictly be on a need-to-know basis. If that’s not comfortable for you, however, we can see how things go for now.”

            “Well, I don’t see how there would be any need to know,” Cherise said, a sharp edge to her voice.

            “As I said,” Kate responded in a soothing tone, “we’ll see how things go. There may not be such a need, and if there is, then we can readdress the issue at that point.” She stood with these last words, to signal the end of the session.

            Cherise remained in her chair for several seconds, elegant legs crossed, before making any move to get up. “Please call my assistant to schedule my appointment for next week. She keeps my calendar.” Cherise’s tone was a bit haughty as she handed Kate a card and started walking toward the office door.

            Kate hesitated. This woman apparently had some control issues, or was she just spoiled? “Next appointments are usually scheduled at the end of each session,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.

            “Well, Sarah has my schedule. I have no idea when I’m free next week.”

            “How about if I call Sarah and we’ll set up several appointments for the next few weeks,” Kate suggested. She wasn’t about to spend valuable time each week chasing down Cherise’s assistant to make the next appointment.

            “That would be fine.” Cherise turned and headed for the outer door of Kate’s small waiting room. As the young woman opened the door, Kate saw Skip lounging against the opposite wall in the hallway. He straightened to a stand and smiled at Kate over Cherise’s head. Was it Kate’s imagination or did the woman’s back stiffen?

            Kate resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her husband. Once the door had completely shut behind the client, she muttered, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

            On Sunday morning, church was more crowded than usual. Skip and Kate were running late when they dropped the kids off at their Sunday school rooms. They made it into the sanctuary just before the priest and choir started down the central aisle. Squeezing into the end of the first pew they came to, Kate knew she would have trouble paying attention during the sermon with Skip’s thigh pressed up against hers.

            As the congregation sat down after the hymn and opening prayers, Kate tried to focus her mind on holy thoughts. She let out a small snicker when Skip reached over and squeezed her knee. He was apparently having trouble keeping his mind on God as well.

            Halfway through the second Bible reading, Kate felt Skip’s pocket vibrate. He pulled out his cell phone as discreetly as possible and looked at the caller ID. Kate saw his jaw tighten, a sure sign he was not happy with what he saw. Taking her by the elbow, he moved her to her feet and led her out the back of the church.

            “Probably be less disruptive this way,” he said, once they were through the doors. “I’ve got a bad feeling I’d just have to come back in and tell you I have to leave. That was Cherise.” He was punching buttons to call the client back. As soon as he said his name into the phone, Kate could hear screeching coming from the other end of the line. “Cherise, calm down,” Skip kept saying, but the screeching continued.

            Finally, he broke through the hysteria enough to get her to put Ben on the phone. He listened silently for a couple minutes, then said, “Rose and I will be there in less than an hour. Is Sarah there?... Call her. Maybe she can handle Cherise.”

            Skip disconnected and turned to Kate. His wife did not look happy at the intrusion into the one day of the week they both tried to reserve for family time. “There’s been another note,” he said. “This one was delivered to her farm.”

            Kate’s expression softened. “That’s not good. But can’t Ben handle it?”

            Skip stepped to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Darlin’, it was delivered skewered on a bloody knife. Lying beside one of her barn cats on her front porch. The cat had been stabbed to death.”

            Kate shuddered, grateful for his steadying arm. “Holy shit,” she whispered, then crossed herself in apology for cursing on the church steps.

            “Go on back in. I’ll get Rose to pick me up,” Skip said. “And say a prayer that we catch this bastard soon!”

            Kate nodded and turned back toward the church. Skip punched the speed dial number for his partner as he headed for the family van to retrieve his .38 from the locked glove box.

CHAPTER TWO

            Ben Johnson answered Cherise’s door. As soon as Skip and Rose walked into the vast living room of her renovated farmhouse, Cherise raced across the floor and flung herself at Skip. Resisting the urge to back up, he gently grabbed her wrists before they could circle his waist and come in contact with the gun tucked into the back of his waistband, under his sports jacket.

            “It’s okay, Cherise. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He steered her to one of the three white leather sofas that made a giant horseshoe in front of the stone fireplace. Not comfortable with sitting beside her, he crouched down in front of the sofa. He was beginning to suspect it was second nature for her to throw herself at just about any man who crossed her path, and he didn’t want to encourage her.

            He caught sight of the singer’s personal assistant coming into the room. “Sarah’s going to take care of you now, okay. I need to talk to Ben for a minute. I’ll be right back.” He stood up as Sarah sat down beside her boss, a glass of water and a pill in her hands. Skip hoped the pill was a tranquilizer.

            He moved over to where Rose and Ben were conferring in low voices. Rose gave him a succinct summary. “She wouldn’t call the cops. Insisted Ben get the farm manager to remove the cat. He’s bagged the knife and note separately.”

            “Where’s the note?” Skip asked Ben.

            The other man–slightly shorter than Skip and built like a grizzly bear, with thick dark hair and a beard to complete the image–tilted his head toward the kitchen. “On the table,” his deep voice rumbled.

            Rose and Skip headed for the remodeled ‘country’ kitchen that had all the most modern appliances and gadgets imaginable. Ben knew without being told that he should stay with his charge. He’d been a bodyguard for almost a decade now, first with the same agency where Skip had once worked, and now working for his buddy.

            The partners of Canfield and Hernandez stared down at the note, made even more gruesome and menacing by a bloody gash down the middle. The author had left room for the knife thrust. There was a wide space between the lines in the middle of the page.

           
Dear Cherise, or should I say, Dear Carol,
There’s no point in hiding from me. You know our love will win out in the end. See you at Merriweather.