“Oh my, another one by the wayside. You’re almost as ruthless as I am.”
“Well, I never had the chance to date Chip Rogers,” Celia said good-naturedly as she turned on the recorder.
“Men like him are why it is necessary to be ruthless, trust me,” Natasha said dryly.
Celia had learned to pretend to laugh at these comments while listening closely. Often, there was something substantial behind the humor. “Oh really? So he’s nothing like his romantic comedy persona then, I assume.”
“Are they ever?” Natasha shifted in her seat. “I know you don’t smoke, but...”
“You do,” Celia finished. She pulled a pack of Natasha’s favorite brand out of her jacket pocket. Natasha smiled and took the pack. She pulled out a cigarette and held it out so that Celia could light it with a match from the small packet she had in her other pocket. “You know, I still can’t believe they let you smoke during our little visits.”
“They’ll do anything if you flash them,” Natasha quipped, and Celia dropped her jaw in surprise. “I’m kidding, hon.” She leaned forward. “You have to pay them for that.” Then Natasha sat back and laughed.
Celia didn’t probe because it was usually impossible to tell when Natasha was lying. Besides, her earlier quip about men was much more interesting. “So which man-made you ruthless first? Obviously not poor Chip.”
Natasha sighed with annoyance. “Not that old song again.” She took a long drag, blew smoke to the right, away from Celia’s face, and flicked the cigarette against her chair. “Everyone always thinks it’s dear old dad.”
“Well, he was your final victim, so you can understand my curiosity.”
“Are you saying all little girls whose daddies play in their panties end up murdering them? It’d be a lonely world.” Narrowing her eyes at Celia, Natasha licked her lips.
Studying her notes, Celia continued. “So no hanky panky with dad. But again, he was your final victim. Sexual abuse isn’t the only way to be abusive.”
“Daddy loved me, in his way. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t beat me. He loved me, loved my face, loved my talent, and especially loved the money and fame. The more I mattered to everyone else, the more I mattered to him.” Natasha shrugged. “Proud papa.”
“So then, why—”
“I didn’t specify what he was proud of,” Natasha said, crushing her half-smoked cigarette. “He disappointed me. So what happened with Bart?”
“He disappointed me,” Celia said dryly.
Natasha stilled for a moment, the pack of cigarettes in her hand. Then she threw back her head and laughed. “And that’s why I chose you,” she said, lighting another cigarette. “At least you didn’t kill him.”
Celia laughed and changed the subject. “So enough about your father for today. You talked about some of your earlier crimes, the small ones. I’m just going to ask, will you tell me about your first murder?”
A buzzing sound interrupted them, and Celia jumped slightly at the vibration in her jacket pocket. She’d placed her cell phone there, and the officer hadn’t frisked her today. They seldom searched her closely anymore. In any other situation, she would have celebrated the oversight. Today it annoyed her. She was even more annoyed when she saw that the call was from John. He knew where she was, and he had already called twice before she arrived at the prison. His intrusiveness was a problem.
“Your admirer?”
“My boss. I never should have told him about our interviews.”
“He’s jealous?”
“You know, I think he actually is. He’s nosy and overbearing in a way he never has been, and he’s dying to slip some sort of teaser into the paper.”
“You know what the contract says.”
Celia turned off the phone. “I do, and so does he. He’s angry. He’s redirected stories to some other journalists as punishment. It’s a ridiculous temper tantrum.”
“Surely the petty bastard can’t hurt your career?”
“You know, I’ve stopped being surprised at what petty bastards can do.” Celia turned a page in her notebook and resettled. “Enough talk about bastards and admirers. I don’t want to ruin both our days. So let’s get back to the story. We’re ready to talk about murder.”
“I think it’s time, yes. Of course, you know I’ve been sizing you up just as you have been sizing me up during our conversations. I feel confident I was right about you. Now we can begin talking about the murders.”
Celia tried not to lean forward too eagerly. She knew she was being tested in each interview, and she knew that if she had failed, the interviews would be terminated. That was the primary reason she still had not told John about the story. Celia wasn’t going to get anything good until she had passed the tests. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“There’s a diner I like to go to for coffee very early in the morning,” Natasha began, crushing her half-smoked cigarette onto the table. “It is very quiet there, and almost always empty. I am not entirely sure how the owners stay in business. But they are a shy old couple, and they do not follow Hollywood or gossip or any other type of privacy invasion, so they never knew who I was. It was my private haven, and I went to great lengths to keep it that way.”
“I can understand that,” Celia said, nodding. “I’m sure there was almost no place you could go and not be recognized and hounded.”
“Exactly.” Natasha pointed her unlit cigarette at Celia. “This was very important to me.” She waited for Celia to light it and then took a long drag before continuing. “That is why I could not let anyone change things.”
“And your first victim, he changed things,” Celia finished Natasha’s thought.
“It was more than that. Tom Hayles, had he been a stranger, would have been easy enough to tolerate. I always dressed inconspicuously, and I never had my hair done or makeup on, so to most people, I would not have looked like the woman they knew from magazines. But Tom was
