Revenge al Dente: Celia Brockwell Suspense Series

By Laurie Nave

Celia Brockwell writes the truth and takes no prisoners. She's exposed predators, dogged charlatans, and even told the story of an infamous serial killer. It's how she has made her career. Going after the brutal facts is how she's made her career.

However, sometimes her matter-of-fact approach makes enemies. So when her friend is kidnapped, it doesn't surprise Celia that the kidnapper contacts her.

So who is this mysterious criminal? Is it her old boss, who is fresh out of prison and resentful? Is it a professional rival? Or is it someone who wants something only Celia can provide?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Singing River Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201664688

Laurie Nave

I’ve been writing since I could hold a pen. Prior to that, my teachers or mom wrote down the stories I told. I spent years singing throughout the US and in Europe, taught school for 15 years, and even worked for a division of NASA. Now I work as an instructional designer for a state university. Through it all, I have continued to write. My favorite genres are Christian nonfiction, suspense, and romance. When I’m not writing or working, I love spending time on the river with my husband, hanging out with my kids, singing, and spoiling the undisputed queen of our household, Ginger.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

He’s worse than a helicopter mom! Celia thought, as her phone buzzed. She swiped the call away without looking. It was only 9:00, but she was exhausted. Exhaustion seemed to be a consistent state for the past few months. I’m just bored. I can’t find a story to top the story of Natasha the serial killer. It had been over a year since Natasha Bronlov, the famous actress-turned-serial killer, invited Natasha to do a series of interviews. Over a year since she had become an unlikely friend. Over a year since Natasha had been executed by the state. Of course, Celia had written various articles since then, but none had the impact of the exclusive look at Natasha.

I need a new challenge. Maybe I should get a cat.

Oh god, I need a vacation, Celia said aloud.  If she was thinking of becoming a cat lady, she must be insanely desperate.

The phone buzzed again, and this time she rolled her eyes and answered.

Hey, what’s up?

Keith, Celia smiled. What are you up to?

I just got off work. Starving. You interested in late-night pizza?

Actually, I was thinking I might go to bed early.

You, the burn-the-midnight-oil reporter, going to bed at 9:00? Come on, I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go to your favorite place.

Celia sighed. If she said no, Keith would take up the therapy cause again. You need to talk to someone. You’re not yourself. Stop being so stubborn. She couldn’t deal with that. Sure. Give me fifteen minutes.

She was still looking for her left sneaker when Keith knocked on her door. I’ll just be a minute, she called, hop walking toward her bedroom.

Dang, it’s so clean in here, Keith said, when she finally answered the door. Have you been watching those hoarding shows again?

I told you, Celia answered, holding her wayward shoe. I only use that for background noise when I’m writing. If I watch it, I’ll have the urge to throat punch people.

Not big on hoarding compassion, huh? Keith chuckled.

Ugh, not at all. Throw that crap away, people! Let’s go get pizza. Now you’ve made me hungry.

Once they were seated and had ordered their regular, Keith folded his arms and nodded at Celia. So what’s up with you?

Please, not another feelings talk.

Who said anything about feelings? You were crawling into bed at 9:00. It’s weird for you, that’s all.

It’s not weird. I’ve been working hard. Plus, being editor-in-chief isn’t easy, you know.

Come on, Celia. You thrive on deadlines and stress. You used to outlast me when it came to all-nighters. Now you’re practically middle-aged.

You’re two years older than I am, Grandpa. Celia tossed her straw paper at him.

That’s my point. Keith leaned forward. Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, and you say you’re fine -

Then why are you talking about it? Again. Look, I get it. You met me when I had just landed the biggest story of my career. Now the story is over. Celia waved a hand. I always have a slump after a big story. Big stories are exhausting.

A slump? For a year?

I appreciate your caring, I do. But I’m fine. I’m always fine.

Keith sighed. Celia, in the past year, you’ve been stalked, you lost your dad, and you watched a friend get executed. It’s completely normal to grieve those things.

Okay, first, Celia forced herself to keep her voice even. Bart is gone. For good. I never have to worry about him again. And while I feel bad for my dad’s new family, I hardly knew him anymore. And Natasha? Well, it was enjoyable talking to her, but I’d hardly call her a friend.

Whatever you say, Keith relented. Just please remember that no one expects you to be a robot, even though you think you are.

I’m not a robot. I just don’t get emotional. Celia huffed. And I’m tired of talking about this.

Okay, understood. Keith raised both palms in defeat. Did you hear that John, your old boss, got out of prison?

Already? I thought he got two years.

Overcrowding. Since all they got him on was the embezzlement stuff, they let him out.

I guess I need to tell Marlene, Celia sighed. She won’t take it well.

You better be on guard too, Keith warned. He’s not exactly your biggest fan.

I’m not worried, Celia shrugged. And you better not be either. I’m not going to deal with another overprotective thing.

Yeah, I was overprotective when a man killed the neighbor's cat, and probably your dad. I overreacted on that one.

That’s not what I meant. Geez.

Their pizza arrived then, and they ate in silence. Celia tried not to be annoyed with Keith. He and Marlene were her only friends, really. They didn’t push her to be anyone but herself. But they didn’t understand that she wasn’t like them. She didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve like Marlene, and she wasn’t free with her regard like Keith. She was probably more like Natasha than she was like either of them. She’d tried to explain that, but neither of them would hear it.

How about room for dessert? Joe said, smiling. I still have cannoli. Or would you prefer apple pie?

I can’t eat another bite, Celia smiled. Your pizza is like magic.

Me neither, Keith said. I can’t believe we finished the whole thing.

Joe laughed and left them the check. Once they’d each paid half and left a generous tip, they left the restaurant, waving at Joe.

You know his cannoli are frozen, right? Celia said as they fastened their seatbelts.

No way! His pizza is homemade.

I think he spends so much time on his pizza he doesn’t have time for a real dessert.

Ha! Well, no one could compete with Marlene’s cannoli anyway.

Oh god, Celia moaned. Or that Italian cheesecake. Now that I’d make room for no matter how much pizza we ate.

It was almost 11:00 when Celia got home. A perfectly respectable time to go to bed. She’d left her phone at home, and message notifications were waiting for her.

Marlene: Hey, you still up? Thought we could catch up while the baby is sleeping

William: I need to move our 9:00 meeting to 10:00. See you then.

Marlene: Asleep already? You’re worse than me! Call me tomorrow. I need your help with a dinner party!

Celia laughed at Marlene’s last message. Only Marlene would have a dinner party with a four-month-old baby who barely slept. If anyone deserved to be exhausted, it was Marlene. Feeling a twinge of guilt for not checking in on her friend more often, Celia made a mental note to call Marlene first thing in the morning. Since William postponed their regular meeting, maybe she could take some pastries and coffee over to the new mom. Setting her alarm, she turned off the light and began thinking of apple fritters.

Cold. It was freezing, and there was only a thin sheet to cover her. The lights bored through her skull, even as she shut them against its brightness. It wasn’t fair to be so cold. Not today. Celia tried to peer through the glass, but it was fogged over from the frigid air.

The condemned has declined to make a statement. She will now be-

Wait! A voice came from behind the glass. I need to say something! Please. I need to tell you something!

Please be quiet. You had your chance, prisoner.

But I have to tell them something! I have to!

The officer snapped his fingers, and her voice was silenced; her vocal cords were no longer able to move. The needle came closer, and she raised her head to look at the glass. Natasha was looking at her through her reflection.

Tell them. Tell them you aren’t me, Natasha whispered as the needle penetrated Celia’s skin.

No! Celia’s voice startled her awake. Sitting up, she forced herself to breathe in and out, four counts each. The room felt stuffy, and her damp t-shirt stuck to her skin. After she flipped on the light, Celia stood on shaky legs, aware that her throat was burning. She needed a glass of water.

It wasn’t the first time Celia had the dream, and every time, the needle pierced a little further. She remembered hearing the children’s myth that if you fell in your dreams and hit the ground, you would die. The legend had always amused her, but she couldn’t help wondering what might happen if the officer ever compressed the syringe. Shaking her head, she filled a paper cup with cool water. Grow up, Celia.

These days, sleep was always out of the question after a nightmare. Celia took her cup to the kitchen and found some cheese and crackers to go with it. As she scrolled through the guide on her television, she lamented the lack of decent programming at 2:00 am. The choices seemed to be limited to infomercials, preachers promising