Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) (27 page)

A hand flew up, halting the heated discussion around her. "What is it, Ms. Brody?"

"It's him. It has to be him," she insisted, taking a step forwards. "He matches the description. He knows my book at least as well as I do. He's had the opportunity... Damn it, he may have even used the book to gain access to Sophia."

"Who are you talking about?" Evan demanded.

"Jeremy Dixon. Her publicist," Andrew explained. "He fits. I didn't want to believe it, but it makes more sense than anything else. Now I think about it, he had no trouble finding Veronica's place, even down that weird stretch of back streets..."

"Jeremy? He was in my home," Veronica murmured, hugging herself. "He acted so concerned about Gabriel, about getting him safely home... Are you sure?"

Autumn wasn't certain of anything now, aside from a need to curl up in bed with the covers drawn tight over herself, blocking out everything wrong and evil with the world. The idea that Jeremy could have murdered two women and mutilated a third...

"I want a car over to his address right now," Barrington demanded, ushering an officer away. "Liu, maintain the integrity of this crime scene. I have to notify the next of kin. You five," she added, gesturing to Autumn's group and Zach, "are not to leave town. Go back to your respective residences, temporary and otherwise, and remain there until I contact you. Do not travel alone. Am I clear?"

"Come back to the hotel with us," Andrew urged their friends. "I know you just checked out, but he knows where you live. Even with Kevin—"

"You don't have to ask me twice," Veronica interrupted. "Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Folded pages were carefully smoothed out upon the floor, lined up from left to right along the electric blue carpet. Her fingers gingerly traced each crease as a twinge of guilt flooded her. These pages had deserved more care than a hurried shove into a crowded bag. They were filled with facts, names and dates, curated by a woman who wanted nothing more than to protect a member of her team.

Words from beyond the grave.

The details were sparse, the sources abbreviated with initials and nicknames meant to obscure identities in the wrong hands. Zoe Ferguson was a helpful ally, but also wise enough to protect her own interests.

"What do they say?" Veronica asked quietly.

"The first page is sourced to someone she calls Radar: '
2013. Production of R and J
'—assuming she means
Romeo and Juliet
. '
Understudy was repeatedly greeted at stage door by someone she called a creeper. Wouldn't say more about it or ID them; afraid to be replaced.'
That makes me sad."

Veronica shrugged sadly. "But it's not surprising. This is such a cutthroat business. Jobs are hard to come by. If the understudy gig was the best she'd managed in a while, she wouldn't dare rock the boat or risk developing a reputation as a difficult actress."

"Not wanting to be the victim of harassment isn't being difficult; it's basic decency," Evan grumbled.

"Spoken like a good man who's never had to live the life of a woman," Autumn replied harshly. "Next page is from a source referred to as
F.D.
'
2014, Once. Ensemble member complains of unwanted flowers. Assumes they're from an ex who keeps calling. Turns out the ex is getting hate mail and thinks she's to blame. Letters and flowers abruptly stopped.
' That's creepy as hell."

"Agreed." Andrew placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently. "The last one?"

Autumn squinted at the page; the writing was hurried and difficult to decipher. "Hmm... Source is someone she calls
Lollipop Guild
... '
Three months ago - Avenue Q. Wouldn't name cast member. Says she began receiving flowers and love letters for weeks...
Whoa, this one talked to their admirer, alright."

"Seriously?" Veronica leaned forward, struggling to read the page over her shoulder. "What happened?"

"Here's the part Zoe underlined: '
Stalker tried to ask her out. When cast member stated she had a girlfriend, stalker apologized and was never seen again.'
This makes no sense. Veronica is clearly in a relationship. It isn't deterring this guy at all."

Veronica reached for her can of Diet Coke with a huff. "He has a name: Jeremy."

"We don't know that it's him," Evan reminded her.

"I do," she replied angrily. "Because no one else makes sense. Right, Autumn?"

Gathering the pages from the floor, Autumn sighed. "As sick as it makes me to consider it, he really fits everything we know. He's unusually interested in my book and Veronica's situation; he matches two separate witness descriptions; he drives the right car... I don't know what to think anymore."

A knock on the suite door silenced the room. Andrew answered the door, peering through the peephole before releasing the security bolts and opening it. Outside stood Kevin, his tablet in hand.

"I think you all need to hear this," he announced ominously.

Stepping aside, Andrew let him in, locking the door behind him. "What's wrong?"

Gesturing to his tablet, Kevin grimaced. "A buddy of mine knows someone in the Midtown North Precinct. He's been keeping tabs on the investigation into Jeremy Dixon for me. Nothing we say here leaves this room, you understand?"

"Of course," Evan assured him. "None of us are taking chances with Veronica's safety."

With several swipes of the screen, Kevin began to read off what appeared to be an email, from Autumn's vantage point. "They got a judge to expedite a warrant for search and seizure on his place, arguing probable cause and the potential for him to destroy evidence relevant to a homicide. Once they stepped inside... Well, they confirmed that probable cause."

"So it's him?" Veronica needled.

"They found a copy of Autumn's novel, highlighted and annotated, particularly around the chapters involving attacks and killings. They also found stationery that appears similar to the paper used for the letters."

Andrew’s grip on the arm of the couch tightened. "Christ!"

"But the most damning part, aside from Dixon being missing and his closet torn apart, was in the bedroom..." Hesitating, he reluctantly explained. "He has a wall covered in photos."

"Of me?" Veronica's voice was scarcely a squeak.

At his nod, she lunged from the couch, rushing towards the bathroom and slamming the door. Evan immediately moved to follow, but Autumn waved him off. From experience, she knew Veronica would prefer the comfort of a friend over letting Evan watch her wretch. She gingerly rose to her feet, taking measured steps to the bathroom to avoid aggravating her injuries.

Frustrated, Evan glared at Kevin. "So are they going to arrest him?"

"The warrant's out. BOLOs are being issued for five states, including his home state of Michigan. His passport's been flagged as a Hold and Detain. All we can do now is wait."

Autumn tapped on the bathroom door. "V? Can I come in?"

"No," she sobbed through the door. "This is gross."

"So that's a yes." Autumn slipped inside, locking the door behind her.
No boys allowed
.

She could hear Veronica cursing beneath her breath as she flushed the toilet and slumped beside it. Her greyish pallor and trembling hands disturbed Autumn deeply. She had lived this once, for months in a row. Still had days where the cold tile of a bathroom floor was her bed, lest movement set the lurching pendulum of her stomach in motion anew. It was a misery she wouldn't wish on anyone, let alone her best friend.

"Do you want the good news?" she offered quietly.

"There's good news?" Veronica snapped.

"Mmhmm." Kneeling beside her friend, Autumn reached for a hair tie on the counter, gently twisting long blonde waves into a messy knot at the nape of Veronica's neck. "You're letting yourself react to it. Feel it. The terror, the sickness, the shock... You've been too stoic, V. You know that."

"Maybe I like stoic," she grumbled, avoiding Autumn's gaze.

"You're going through something that no one who hasn't been through it can fully comprehend. Not emotionally. Not psychologically." Glancing down at the scar on her arm, she continued. "The way out is through. Not avoiding it, not denying it, not playing like you're tougher than the fear. Just... feeling it. Accepting that it's okay to be petrified."

Always larger than life, Veronica seemed more like a small child now, her hand pawing absently at Autumn's leg. "And after this? The scared shitless and too afraid to sleep part?"

"Then, you fight back. And win. Because you will, V."

The two woman embraced, each cognizant of the other's personal struggles. The physical threats were merely the superficial wounds; it was the spirit that took the gravest blows. But they were survivors, thriving in spite of the neurotransmitters and electric bursts zig-zagging within a cerebral pinball machine. When Veronica pulled away, it was with a steely resolve that she rose to her feet. Extending her hand to Autumn, she helped her up before reaching for the mouthwash on the counter.

"Thank you."

"It's what friends do."

Autumn watched as a familiar ritual unfolded: a gargle, spit and gargle again; lip gloss pulled from a pocket and dashed on hurriedly; the closed eyes and deep breath as the mask of normalcy fixed in place.
Daily armor
. With a final once over in the mirror, Veronica turned around.

"I'm ready."

Autumn held open the door, ushering her friend through while seething.
Me, too. I'm ready for the police to put this monster behind bars, so Veronica can feel safer. I'm ready for him to pay
.

The wait for justice had begun. None of them, gathered in the living room in anxious solidarity, could have predicted the harrowing events soon to follow. Oblivious lambs, they patiently awaited the slaughterhouse blade.

She really should have expected the call on Tuesday morning, but somehow, the name
Courtney Nelson
on the call display caught Autumn off-guard. Reaching for her morning coffee (Irish Cream, thanks to Andrew’s ministrations), she swiped to answer and took a large gulp for comfort.

"Hello?"

"Autumn! How are you doing? How is your friend?" Courtney's harried voice was a jarring juxtaposition to her typical collected coolness.

"Veronica is upset, of course. She's called out of her show for the day to rest." Another sip, her mind focused on the nuances of flavour. Staying grounded in the present.

"Of course, understandably so. This is a nightmare. And you?" At Autumn's hesitation, Courtney continued, "It's okay to be honest with me. You've been lied to. We were all used."

"I'm angry," Autumn declared, ignoring Andrew's quizzical look. "I'm angry that he took advantage of you and me. That he turned an act of healing through writing into a living snuff film and gave my friends starring roles. I'm angry that I didn't realize it sooner and keep him away from her."

"I feel terrible. I hired Jeremy. I feel responsible for the damage he's done and I just... I wanted to apologize to you personally for letting you down. In light of your own history, exposure to a monster was the last thing you needed."

"Courtney, you're not to blame for Jeremy's actions. Don't give him an excuse to shirk responsibility. This is all on him." Swirling her coffee gently, she added, "Tough truth to accept. I know from experience."

She could hear Courtney sigh over the line. "Regardless, please let me know if you need anything at all. And if you want to pull the book, I'll go to bat for you."

"I've promised several people to wait for the proverbial dust to settle before making a decision of that magnitude, but I really appreciate that, Courtney. It's good to have your support."

"It's the absolute least I can do. I'll be in touch, Autumn. Take care of yourself, and please convey my apologies to Veronica as well."

"I will. Goodbye, Courtney."

As she hung up, Andrew joined her on the sofa. Were she not so emotionally overwhelmed and in pain, the sight of him in only a robe might have been a welcome distraction from the dread hanging over her like a demented halo.

Angel of destruction. That's me.

"Courtney must feel like crap. I know I would, in her shoes."

"Of course she does. But she didn't beat a woman to death yesterday, so she can sleep easy, as far as I'm concerned. With or without her hiring him, a stalker like Jeremy will find a way." Gulping her now lukewarm coffee, Autumn groaned. "Remind me to never bruise my ribs again, alright?"

"How about I remind you to never bruise
anything
again?" Planting a kiss on her cheek, he frowned. "I'm torn right now. You're the wisest person in this room." At this, Autumn snorted. "Help me out, future wife?"

"I'll do my best. What's the problem?"

"I know we've had the 'stop treating me like a fragile doll' argument several times, but I can't help it: my instincts are to lock us away in this room and not come out until Jeremy's behind bars. But, as my email just reminded me, I have an interview in Brooklyn two hours from now."

"Documentary stuff?" Autumn clarified. "Well, you have to go! We leave on Friday morning. Sooner, if my mother has her way."

"I could reschedule—"

"No." She pressed her hand against his chest, emphasizing her point. "No way. I'm not going to back to living a life where some psycho dictates what I feel I can and cannot do. I have come too goddamn far to do that again! And I'm not going to let you start making sacrifices, either."

Duly rebuked, Andrew wrapped an arm around her, nuzzling her hair. "I know how far you've come. God, I know... I remember it. I remember how badly you were hurting. I remember every single night we stayed up, talking and crying or just lying still..."

Much to her annoyance, the tears began to fall. Memories flooded her senses, dragging her back into the murky hell of grade eleven. The nightmares, so vivid and brimming with blood that she would wake up screaming, tearing at her clothes to check for wounds where only sweat rolled down her skin. The hours she'd spent with Andrew, asking him to pin her against a wall, begging him to as she wept and shook.
Exposure therapy
, she'd pleaded.
I don't want to fear you
. A Halloween spent locked away in her room with ear buds, every shout of surprise a landmine, every shadow a trigger pulled inside her brain.

I will not go back to being that woman. I can't. I would rather die
.

"Are you sure you want me to go?" he whispered. "Asking for help isn't weakness."

"I'm certain. This is
our
life. We're going to live it exactly as we want to. I'm going to watch TV in bed and rest, and you will go take care of your interview. I'll be fine."

Running a thumb along her cheeks, he brushed away the traitor tears. "Okay. But if
anything
happens, or if you change your mind, you call me. Don't hesitate. Don't feel bad. Promise?"

"Promise. Go and get ready."

With one last lingering kiss, Andrew dressed and prepared his gear for the trek ahead. A part of her longed to cling, to keep him close, but she fought it back.
It's not about needing help
, she told herself.
It's about not being a prisoner to the 'what-if'.
The hotel was on high alert, and Kevin was two floors away outside Veronica's room. There was no need to hold her fiancé back.

"I love you," she blurted out.

His hair a tangle of damp, tousled waves, Andrew gave her the look that never failed to elicit blissful palpitations.
You're all I need
, it said. "I love you back."

With a satisfied smile, she flipped on the TV. "Good. Just checking."

* * *

I'm standing on the beach near my home, staring out at the water. There's something odd about it, something I can't quite discern. The waves crash lazily over my bare feet, dusting them in fragments of shell and rock, the water unusually warm.

I hug myself, rubbing my arms. Why did I only wear a summer dress on what feels like a cold spring night at best? Why am I here?

The moon is swollen, pulsing with a ghastly pallor that sends a shiver down my spine. I study it now, looking for the Man In The Moon that people will argue to death over. His face smirks cruelly from above, mocking my insignificance and frailty. It slips free of its cumulus cloak and illuminates what I now see is a lake of blood. A warning.

"Autumn?"

I spin around, my breath hitching at the sight of Zoe Ferguson. She stands with her arms akimbo, a trickle of rusted crimson coursing down her cheek. Even in death, she is beautiful and strong. He has not taken that from her.

"Zoe... I'm so sorry."

She waves my words away, as dismissive as she was in life. "No apologies. I refuse to make any and neither should you. What's important is that you got the message."

"The notes? I have them. This guy definitely has a pattern that's hit a whole new low with Veronica."

She hesitates, gesturing now to the lake before us. "Do you see what I see?"

"A lake flooded with O Positive?" I reply flippantly. "Yeah, I see it. I've been seeing it, in one way or another, since Ben laid out picture after picture of dead girls who'd been written off as runaways and forgotten. And just when my life seems to be heading in a better direction, I'm drowning in it all over again."

"No," she argues. "You're seeing the mirage."

"I'm pretty sure I don't see my imaginary alter-ego anymore."

Zoe rolls her eyes and approaches a lapping, liquid tongue. Dipping her palm into it, she turns to cup it, holding it up to my face. It seems as blue as Casteel Prep's school uniform. Clean. Pure. I'm baffled.

"Sometimes, we see what we're meant to see, not what's actually there. Remember that."

With a wistful smile, she turns away and walks off into the distance, her caramel skin glowing amber in the scattered light cast by distant lamp posts. Mesmerized, I bear witness to her disintegration into ether, wisps of what was once a woman drifting on the breeze…

The persistent ring of a telephone roused Autumn from her nap. Shaking her head clear of the confusing imagery, she reached for the hotel phone, answering with a yawn.

"Hmm?"

"Ms. Brody, I apologize for the disturbance, but there is a police officer here to see you."

"Female, snappy dresser, resting bitch face?"

"Um... I believe so."

Autumn rolled her eyes.
Of course. Because somehow, I am never done answering questions for her.
"No rest for the wicked. Send her up."

Hurriedly, she ran a brush through her hair and tugged on yesterday's jeans shorts, humming along to a favourite song of hers by Andrew McMahon.
I really do have a fixation with Andrews
, she mused, buttoning her fly. It was an upgrade over flashing the detective her cherry-red bikini briefs, even if they did supposedly make her ass look magnificent. A rapping on the door signaled Barrington's arrival. Autumn opened it begrudgingly, making no effort to conceal her annoyance.

"Hello, Autumn. I hate to be a bother, but in light of what we learned yesterday, I have a few more questions about Jeremy Dixon. Would you mind if I came in?"

"Like I have a choice," Autumn grumbled. "You do realize I'm supposed to be on bed rest, right? I've already pushed myself beyond all reason the last few days, and I'm feeling pretty lousy."

The polish of the detective added insult to Autumn's wounded pride. Clad in Andrew's faded and threadbare Rage Against The Machine tee and her rumpled shorts, she felt sloppy and juvenile. Morgan Barrington's effortless combination of a sleeveless green blouse and black capris, coupled with her perfect hair, pissed her off.
It takes me hours to look that good and I bet she just rolls out of bed, country club ready.

"I certainly don't want to make your health worse, which is why I've come to you. But I do want to make sure Dixon is not a threat to you or any of your friends. The case needs to be air-tight for Veronica's sake. Can we do this inside, please?"

"Fine." She retreated into the suite, refusing to hold the door open for the detective. Her chest ached with every step and she was increasingly aware of her need for about thirty more consecutive hours of sleep.

Barrington dutifully followed, studying the decor with an intrigued look. "I normally don't care for an ultra-modern decor, but it really works for this hotel. Maybe it's the transient nature of an establishment like this."

Autumn shrugged, settling into the sofa. "I like it. You had questions?"

"Yes." And there it was: the damn notebook. "What was your first contact with Jeremy Dixon?"

"Last week. I came to New York to handle a few things for the promotion of
Dissected
with my editor, Courtney Nelson. She introduced me to him and advised that he'd been working for a few weeks on promotional opportunities. We briefly went over some of those plans."

"During this first meeting, did Mr. Dixon mention Ms. St. Clair in any fashion?"

Autumn shook her head. "Nothing at all. It was an incredibly brief conversation. I mentioned that a friend of mine was going through a hard time, and he obliged in cutting our talk short."

"Hmm..."
Scribble, scribble, scribble
. "Did this seem to elicit any reaction, can you recall?"

"No... but I mean, I wasn't looking for one. Nothing overt to where I wondered about him."

Barrington nodded, glancing up from her notes. "Part of our interest lies in the fact that Jeremy Dixon falsified some of his credentials to gain access to Forked Creek Press. While Veronica is clearly the target of the letters and attacks, it's quite possible the obsession began with you."

Autumn’s stomach lurched. "You've got to be shitting me - pardon my language. I've already had a psycho follow me around while another tried to kill me."

"It's difficult, I know, but I have a team looking into your social media accounts now, determining if we have any IP matches to Jeremy. It's not so much a theory as an avenue we need to explore to fully understand his behaviour." Barrington paused, reaching into her pocket for her vibrating phone. "I'm sorry, I need to take this."

"Go ahead. I'll just sit here, freaking out..."

Barrington stepped into the entryway, her voice hushed and agitated. Autumn closed her eyes, focusing on the music from the bedroom.
This can't be possible. How in the hell could I be this unlucky?
And yet, it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility. She and Andrew had assumed that the stalker could have followed Veronica's history from Casteel online, but he could have just as readily been studying up on
her
. But why? And why had he shifted his attention to Veronica?