CELEBRITY STATUS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #4) (6 page)

            Kate nodded. Sometimes young people under eighteen were granted the legal status of an adult by the courts, under certain circumstances.

            “I discovered Daddy had deeded the farm over to my mother, and I was her only heir. I sold it and never looked back.”

            “Do you still see your father?”

            “Now and again. When we happen to be in the same city at the same time, we go to dinner. And he always sends me flowers the first night of a concert tour.”

            Kate glanced quickly at the clock sitting on the small table next to the cushioned client’s chair. Cherise caught the look and frowned.

            Kate leaned forward. “With the time we have left, I’d like to teach you some stress management strategies.”

            She started with some relaxation techniques the young woman could use to help her sleep better. The client was adamant that she wasn’t going to take any sleep aides, not even melatonin, a natural hormone. Considering her father’s drinking and her mother’s drug abuse, that was a wise attitude to have, Kate thought, even if a bit all-or-nothing.

            “I also want to work on how to manage your thoughts,” Kate said. “Self talk is a powerful thing. If you’re telling yourself that something terrible is going to happen, then you will be a basket case, and your anxiety might actually make you less alert to your surroundings, less able to think quickly should a bad situation develop.

            “So you need to monitor your thoughts a bit. I’m not saying suppress your fear. That isn’t healthy either. But when your thoughts start going down the ‘scared to death’ track, you need to stop them and start reminding yourself of all the precautions that have been taken, that Skip and Rose and their people are going to keep you safe, et cetera. That will help you stay calm so you can respond quickly to their instructions.”

            Cherise had been nodding throughout Kate’s little speech, and she even went along with a few minutes of role-playing to help her get the hang of shifting her negative self-talk toward the positive.

            With ten minutes left in the session, Kate brought up the issue of the waiver of confidentiality. Cherise immediately refused.

            “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist, or I won’t be able to work with you anymore.” Cherise started to interrupt but Kate held up her hand. “Please hear me out. I have good reasons for asking for this. I need to be able to tell Skip anything I think may be relevant to keeping you, and himself, safe. And it’s just really weird for us at home now. He can talk about what’s going on, but I have to monitor every syllable.”

            Cherise waved her hand in dismissal of the latter reason as she asked, “So why exactly would you need to talk to him about our sessions in order to help keep me safe?”

            “Let me give you an example,” Kate said. “If I can tell Skip the exact words you just practiced saying to yourself to calm down, then if he sees you starting to freak out in a tense moment, he can repeat those words to you. They’ll be much more powerful than anything else he might think of to say, because they directly refute the negative things you tend to say to yourself when you’re scared.”

            “Okay,” Cherise said. “I’ll sign a waiver, but only for you to tell him things that would help keep me safe.”

            Kate walked to her file cabinet and got out two blank waivers, thinking about how she would word the reason for the waiver to give herself as much leeway as possible. Once she had filled in the names on the appropriate lines, and “to enhance Canfield and Hernandez’s ability to investigate and protect against threats” on the reason line, she handed that form to Cherise along with a pen.

            “I also need a waiver to discuss relevant information with Rob Franklin,” Kate said.

            “Why would you need that? You don’t even know the guy,” Cherise said.

            “Actually Rob and I are good friends. That’s how Skip knows him, and knows that he’s one of the best lawyers in this area. And again, I would only tell him things that would help him do his job,” Kate said, adding to herself,
or things he needs to know to stay safe.

            Cherise reluctantly signed the second waiver.

            Kate waited until the client was completely out the door before allowing herself a sigh of relief.

* * *

            Over dinner that evening, Kate said, “I got a release from you-know-who today so after little ears are settled down, I have some things to tell you.” Skip just nodded and went back to listening to his children’s rather disjointed accounts of their day.

            When he came downstairs after story time and tuck-in, Kate took his hand and led him into the living room. “First of all,” she said, turning sideways on the sofa to face him, “Cherise tends to be narcissistic.”

            “If that’s psychobabble for self-centered, I’d already figured that out.” Skip let out a small chuckle.

            “Think self-centered on steroids. It’s not that narcissists don’t have any empathy. They’re just so self-absorbed that they don’t think about others’ needs or feelings. If she’s presented with an option that will keep her safe but might jeopardize others, she won’t give it a second thought. She’ll take that option. Say the stalker has a gun and opens fire on all of you. She might jump into her limo and order the driver to take off before any of you could get in the car.”

            “Duly noted. Her driver Friday night will be one of my men,” Skip said.

            “I can also imagine her shoving one of your people
toward
a knife-wielding attacker, to save herself. Although she probably wouldn’t do that to you. She likes you. And she’s likely to give you a hard time about anything that doesn’t make immediate sense to her.”

            “Oh, she’s already done that on a couple occasions.”

            Knowing her laid-back husband well, Kate added, “You may need to be rather forceful with her at times, not let yourself worry about whether or not she’s going to fire you later.”

            “I’m not sure I’d be all that broken up if she fired me at this point,” Skip said. “There are moments when I feel like she’s more trouble than the case is worth.”

            “Last but not least,” Kate said, “I’ve taught her some techniques for keeping herself calm in a crisis, but she may not remember to use them when the time comes. The words I told her to say to herself are, ‘It’s going to be okay. Skip has things under control.’ So those are the words to use with her, even if it’s blatantly obvious that you
don’t
have it under control.

            “She’s a bit of a control freak, and knowing what I now know about her childhood, that makes sense. She survived by taking control of her own life at a very young age. But she seems to trust you, so if she believes you have things under control, she should be more manageable.”

            Skip nodded. “Let me run one of our suspects past you and see what you think. He’s her latest ex-boyfriend. Broke up about nine months ago, after he’d been staying with her at the farm most of the time.” Skip told Kate everything they knew about Timothy Lansing.

            Kate thought for a moment. “He doesn’t quite sound like the type to carry a torch this long. Too self-centered himself.”

            “I’d agree with that, but he was definitely still quite angry with Cherise,” Skip said.

            “Yeah, but notes from him would be much heavier on the threats and much less about love, I would think. Even if he was still in love with her, he would probably deny that he is, even to himself. And cover up those feelings with anger.”

            “Could he have sent the notes and killed the cat just to mess with her head?” Skip asked.

            “The cat sounds more like him than the other notes. Do you have any other suspects?”

            “A whole list of them. Rose is slogging through it, but so far they’ve either had an alibi for the time period when the cat would have been left on her porch, or they just aren’t ringing any bells with Rose for other reasons.”

            “Keep in mind that narcissists–and the type of people Cherise would hang out with are likely to be cut from that same cloth–they’re often quite excellent liars. And the line between narcissist and full-blown psychopath is a thin one. Your guy may not look like the kind of whacko who would send threatening notes and kill cats. He may come across as charming and completely harmless.”

            Skip grimaced. “So in other words, he could be anybody.”

CHAPTER FIVE

            The family had just sat down to dinner the following evening when Skip’s pocket started purring. He took out his cell phone and checked the caller ID, grimaced, then put it back in his pocket. He turned his attention back to his daughter’s efforts to lobby for a pony for her next birthday.

            “I’ll be five years old, Daddy. I can take care of a horse.”

            “Whoa there. A minute ago it was a pony, now it’s a horse?”

            “We never should have given her that rocking horse her first Christmas,” Kate said, just as Skip’s pocket vibrated again. He ignored it.

            “I think five is still a bit young,” Skip decreed. “We will revisit the question when you are say, seven, and in the meantime, we’ll look into some riding lessons. You may discover you don’t even like real horses once you get to know them.”

            Edie was now bouncing in her chair. “Really, Daddy? Riding lessons!” She clapped her hands. “Can I name the horse I ride?”

            Skip laughed. “I doubt it, Pumkin. He or she will probably already have a name.” Not wanting Edie to be totally taken by surprise if the real animals did not live up to her fantasies, he added, “And you might not like horses as much as you think you will. They poop a lot, and part of taking care of them is picking up after them when they poop.” Skip grinned at his daughter, ignoring his vibrating pocket for the third time.

            “Poopy, poopy,” Billy sang out.

            “You had to get him started,” Kate said.

            “Billy, not good word to say at dinner,” Maria admonished the two-year-old.

            “Daddy say it,” Billy protested.

            “Yes,” his mother said, “and Daddy is going to be
punished
later for saying it, so if you don’t want to be punished, stop saying it.” Kate was avoiding eye contact with her husband. She knew he was grinning, contemplating what his punishment might be.

            Skip’s pocket purred for the fourth time.

            Kate sighed. “You’d better call her back, Skip, before she works herself into a total snit.”

            “Oh she’s no doubt already there,” he said, leaving his dinner half eaten as he got up and headed for the living room.

            “Finish your dinner, kids,” Kate said, and got up to follow him.

            Skip was saying into his phone, “Be there shortly. Call Rose and fill her in.”

            “You have to go out there?” Kate asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice as she followed Skip into the study.

            “Last call was from Ben,” Skip said. He unlocked the gun safe and removed his .38, along with its waistband holster. Unbuckling his belt, he started threading it through the holster.

            “There’s been another note?”

            “Not exactly. A piece of jewelry this time, engraved. ‘Our love forever, til death do us part.’ And this points toward our boy, Timothy. Jewelry was in a Tiffany’s box, and we know he purchased something from there recently.”

            Kate wrapped her arms around him, avoiding the gun that was now at the small of his back, under his loose shirttail. “Be careful, sweetheart,” she whispered, then kissed him hard.

            He gathered her close against him and kissed her back. When they came up for air, he said, “I always am, darlin’.”

* * *

            At the farm, Cherise once again rushed across the room and flung herself at him. This time she was too quick for him. Her left hand collided with his gun. But instead of pulling back as most women would, she let out a soft, “Oh,” and actually stroked the gun butt through his shirt.

            Skip’s jaw tightened but he gave her a fake smile as he gently disentangled himself and led her to one of the sofas. He glanced in Ben’s direction.

            “Rose and Dolph are on the way, to canvas the neighbors,” Ben reported. “Housekeeper found the box in the mailbox, but it hadn’t been mailed. Wrapped in shiny red paper. No address or postage. Somebody had to have put it there after the mail delivery. It was on top of the envelopes. I opened it with a kitchen knife. Nobody else touched anything, except the outside of the box. It’s all on the kitchen table.”

            “When’s the mail usually come?” Skip asked Cherise. He was standing in front of the sofa where she was sitting.

            “I don’t really know. Bonnie usually gives it to me just before dinner, but you’d have to ask her when it’s delivered.” Her voice was shaking. She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him down beside her. He crouched down in front of her instead. She hung onto his hand and he saw no way to get it loose without being blatantly rude.

            “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “This may turn out to be a good thing. It may give us a major lead.”

            “I can’t stand this, Skip. This... this pervert is ruining the farm for me. This was the only place I felt safe. And free. The only place I could walk around outside without worrying about who might be watching.” She threw herself forward and Skip had no choice but to catch her in his arms. Taken by surprise, he almost fell over but managed to regain his balance. Standing up, he drew her up with him, then nudged her down onto the sofa again.

            “Listen, I’ve got this under control,” he said, as he sat down on the sofa at right angles with hers. “Like I said this is a good thing. This points toward someone we already suspected, and now we may be able to prove it’s him and get him arrested.”