CHAPTER 6: TRAVELLER

To make up for missing Christmas, Adrian spent two weeks over the

summer with her grandparents. She reconnected with Maya, spent time with

the aging Tom and Jerry, spent time in the garden, in the kitchen with her

grandparents.

They welcomed her three New York friends for a week so they could

shoot another video.

She’d carry with her, always, the memories of her grandparents sitting on

the big porch watching her set up an outdoor yoga segment. Of coming

downstairs in the morning to see her grandmother and Teesha chatting away

over coffee in the kitchen.

Then fall brought school and the color-washed leaves. Though Harry

wanted to screen her mail, she insisted on looking through it herself. She

found some of the ugly, some of the obscene, but the good far outweighed

it.

She didn’t forget it, but she set it aside.

FOGGY BOT TOM, DC

But the poet didn’t. Thoughts of her lived in that angry and patient brain.

But there was time, so much time yet. And there were others. Many others

who would come before.

She, a crescendo, a culmination. But before the crescendo, one needed to

begin.

From a list, a name was chosen to be the first. Adrian Rizzo would be the

last, and Margaret West, the first.

It began with the stalking, the hunting, the watching, the recording. Such

a thrill! Who knew there could be such a thrill in planning?

Well planned, with a simple, straightforward termination seemed best all

around. Easy strolls by the quiet house, hours at the computer. Just another

diner in a trendy restaurant enjoying a meal while the prey ate and laughed

and drank.

See how she moves, with no idea her time is ticking, ticking away. How

she samples a spoonful of dessert and rolls her eyes in pleasure and laughs

with the man she’d be lucky to spread her legs for later.

Divorced and on the prowl, that was Maggie!

And when the plans fell into place, how the heart beat in the blood. All

the time, the skill, the practice merging together. Cut the alarm on that

quiet, now sleeping house. Pick the lock on the back door, safe in those

shadows.

Another thrill, walking through the house, all but gliding up the stairs.

Make the turn toward the room where the lights went out last at night.

Bedroom.

Sleeping. Sleeping so peacefully. Hard, so hard to resist the urge to wake

her, show her the gun, tell her why.

Two hands to hold the gun steady. Not trembling with nerves, but

excitement. Pure excitement.

The gun barely popped the first time with the silencer. The second, a bit

louder and the third, louder yet. Still a fourth, just for the delight of it.

How her body had jumped. How that small sound she’d made echoed in

the dark room.

How terrible, they’d say. Murdered in her own bed! Such a fine

neighborhood. Such a lovely woman!

But they didn’t really know the bitch, did they?

To throw the police off—idiots—steal a few things.

Souvenirs.

The thought of taking a photo of the work came too late, blocks from the

quiet house.

Next time. Next time there would be photos to look back on.

Adrian released the second video in January, but since she’d insisted on

learning to drive, she drove to Maryland in the car she’d bought with her

profits to spend Christmas at the house on the hill.

She’d agreed to do some remotes, some phoners, but she would spend

Christmas in Traveler’s Creek.

Lina spent most of the month, including the holidays, in Aruba shooting.

The second poem arrived, like the first, in February, though this one

carried a postmark from Memphis.

You think you’re special and so elite,

But you’re a fraud and incomplete.

One day you’ll pay for living a lie.

That’s the day I help you die.

She didn’t bother to tell Lina this time—as Lina had said, what was the

point? She made a copy for her own file and gave the original to Harry.

She concentrated on school, on a concept for her next video.

And tried not to obsess about admittance to Columbia after Teesha got

her letter, after Loren got into Harvard and Hector into UCLA.

She had backup colleges, of course. She wasn’t stupid. But she wanted

Columbia. And she wanted to room with Teesha.

She wanted.

When she opened the acceptance packet from Columbia, she danced on

all three floors of the triplex.

She called her grandparents, texted her friends, texted Harry. Since her

mother was doing an event in Las Vegas, Adrian copied the acceptance

letter and put it on her mother’s desk.

She said goodbye to high school with no regrets, and began what she

thought of as the next leg of her path.

Adrian attacked college strategically, selecting electives she felt enhanced

her goals, pumping her energies into learning and earning solid grades, and

earmarking summers for video shoots and long visits to Maryland.

She had plans, lots of plans, and by her senior year at Columbia, many

had fallen neatly into place. She and Teesha shared an apartment in easy

walking distance to campus—paying the rent with the profits from Adrian’s

annual DVDs.

She’d begun working with another student, a fashion design major, on

developing her own line of fitness and athletic wear.

While Teesha fell in and out of love, or at least lust, with careless ease,

Adrian kept her dating life casual.

She didn’t have time for love. Lust she considered not only a simpler

matter, but the satisfaction and release of it a part of good health—when

approached safely and without demands.

Her business relationship with her mother, while complex, boosted both

their brands. Their personal relationship remained as Adrian felt it had

always stood: distant but amicable.

As long as neither crossed the other.

On a blustering February evening, Adrian walked into the restaurant

struggling to push aside her anxiety over what she thought of as her annual

Ugly Valentine. This one, postmarked from Boulder, made the sixth. The

fact that there’d been no follow-through, no escalation, didn’t comfort her.

Their consistency signaled someone very focused and unnaturally obsessed.

She’d nearly called off the dinner meeting with her agent and Harry, but

pushed herself out the door with the latest poem weighing like lead in her

purse.

Since, as always, she arrived early, she thought to have a drink at the bar

to ease her nerves rather than sit alone at a table in the dining room.

The thrum of conversation and energy helped. She gave her name to the

hostess, then turned into the bar with its dark wood, its old exposed brick.

She started to grab a stool, then spotted a familiar face at one of the hightops.

She’d seen Raylan a handful of times since he’d left home for college in

Savannah, and since Maya kept her updated knew he’d scored coveted

internships with Marvel Comics that led to an entry-level position as an

artist at its New York headquarters.

The boy with sketches all over his bedroom walls had landed what she

assumed was his dream job.

And the gorgeous blonde with him had to be the artist he’d fallen for in

college and now had a long-distance relationship with while she, like

Adrian, completed her senior year.

She hesitated—they looked so involved with each other they might have

been on some deserted beach in the moonlight. But she could hardly

pretend she hadn’t seen the brother of her oldest friend.

They looked like artists, she thought as she started toward their table.

Raylan with that burnt honey hair waving over the collar of his shirt, the

woman—Adrian couldn’t pull out the name—with her sun-washed braid

halfway down her back.

Raylan glanced over as she approached, and those green eyes scanned

her face, first with puzzlement, then dawning recognition.

She felt a little buzz—but then his eyes always managed that.

“Well, hey, Adrian.”

“Hey back, Raylan. I heard you were working in New York.”

“Yeah, Lorilee Winthrop, this is Adrian Rizzo, a good pal of Maya’s.

Adrian, this is Lorilee, my …”

“Fiancée. Just today!” Even in excitement Lorilee’s voice carried images

of magnolias, Spanish moss, and cold sweet tea sipped on verandas. She

stuck out her hand, with its pretty diamond on the third finger.

“Oh my God.” Instinctively, Adrian took the offered hand, felt the

warmth, the thrill. “It’s beautiful. Congratulations. Wow, Raylan,

congratulations. I can’t believe Maya didn’t text me.”

“We haven’t told anybody yet.”

“I’m a blabbermouth. I can’t help it.”

“Do me a favor, don’t tell Maya we told you first. You know,” Raylan

added. “Maybe act surprised when she tells you.”

“I can do that. Consider it an engagement present.”

“Do you want to sit down?” Lorilee invited. “Maya’s told me a lot about

you, and I met your grandparents. They’re just wonderful, aren’t they? Oh, I

love your DVDs. And I just can’t stop talking. Raylan, honey, get Adrian a

chair.”

“No, no, but thanks. I’m meeting people—I’m just a little early.”

“You live in New York. I can’t believe I’m going to move here next

spring.”

Raylan looked at his fiancée as if she were the only woman in this world

or any. Adrian felt a little sigh, a little tug inside her.

“In case you couldn’t tell, Lorilee’s a southern girl.”

“Really? I’d never have guessed. And an artist, too, I’m told.”

“I’m trying. What I really want to do is teach art. I love kids. Raylan,

honey, we have to have a dozen.”

He smiled at her. Adrian swore she could count the stars on the deep

green sea of his eyes.

“Maybe half a dozen.”

“Sounds like a negotiation.” Adrian laughed, and tried to imagine the boy

she’d known with half a dozen kids.

And oddly, she could.

“Raylan, your mom and Maya are going to be over the moon. They’re

crazy about you,” she told Lorilee.

“Oh! That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“I speak true. Maya’s told me a lot about you, too, and one thing she told

me is you’re too good for Raylan.”

“More true,” Raylan said. “As long as she doesn’t believe it until a year

from June when it’s official, I’m gold.”

“You’re so silly.” Lorilee leaned over the table to kiss him.

“And there’s my dinner meeting. I’m so glad we ran into each other. And

whatever Maya thinks, I say the two of you look perfect together.

Congratulations again.”

“It was just wonderful meeting you.”

“You, too.”

Adrian walked away to exchange quick hugs with her agent, with Harry.

Before they settled at their table, she ordered a bottle of champagne for

Raylan’s.

Perfect together, she thought again, and found their happiness so

infectious she didn’t realize she’d forgotten about the poem in her purse.

Three days later, she received a thank-you note—with hand-painted

tulips on the front—from Lorilee.

Dear Adrian,

Thank you so much for the champagne. It was incredibly

thoughtful, so unexpected. We wanted to thank you in person,

but didn’t want to interrupt your meeting.

I’m so glad we met, and on the happiest day of my life. Jan

and Maya love you so much, and I love them. That means, by

connection, I love you, too. I hope you don’t mind.

I’m going to keep doing your workouts, and they’re going to

help me look amazing on my wedding day.

Thanks again,

Lorilee (the future Mrs. Wells!)

Though Adrian didn’t consider herself sentimental, she found the card so

charming, she kept it.

After she graduated in the spring, she dived straight into a new video.

Though she’d hired dancers and trainers to participate in previous shoots,

this time she strong-armed Teesha and Loren.

“I’m going to look like an idiot.”

In his sweatpants and New Gen tee, Loren stood six feet now. He’d

trimmed down, had let his fire-red hair grow enough to handle what Teesha

called his “lawyer do.”

“You won’t,” Adrian assured him. “You did fine in the rehearsals. Now

you just follow my cues.”

“You can’t cue me to suddenly develop rhythm. I’m going to screw up

that cardio dance bit. Why Latin style, Ads? With the hips and all that.”

“Because it’s fun.” She poked him in the stomach. “And you look great.

How much did you lose?”

He rolled his eyes. “Twenty-five after I put on the Freshman Ten and you

started nagging my ass long-distance.”

“She never gave me a chance to gain the ten. Long-distance?” Teesha

rolled her eyes back at him. “That’s nothing compared to rooming with.”

“You look good.”

Teesha wiggled her hips, fluffed at the ebony halo she wore since she’d

whacked off her braids. “I do. I surely do. I am rocking this outfit.”

“What there is of it,” Hector said as he walked the space again.

She wore snug black shorts, a black sports bra with candy-pink piping,

and a pink New Gen hoodie tied around her waist.

“Got it, flaunting it.”

“Uh-huh.” Hector, sporting a goatee and a short ponytail, shoved up his

wire-framed glasses. “You know there are pigeons in here.”

“Adds ambiance.”

Adrian had picked the old building, the roofless-in-some-spots building,

for just that. She’d yet to use an actual studio or slick gym, and from the

feedback, her audience enjoyed her more offbeat locations.

She only grinned when the scream of a siren echoed. “Authentic

ambiance. And instead of professionals, we have two regular people.”

Except for the lighting and sound crew, Hector’s assistants.

But still, when it came down to it, not that far from a weekend on a

rooftop that cemented friendships and launched her dreams.

“Okay, thirty-four-minute dance cardio’s up first.”

She wore candy-pink shorts with a faux black belt, pink halter-style

sports bra with black piping. She let her shoulder-length hair do whatever

the hell it wanted for this routine.

She took her mark, waited for Hector—who doubled as director—to give

her the go. And smiled into Hector’s camera.

“Hi, I’m Adrian Rizzo. Welcome to For Your Body. This two-disk set

will take you through a fun and challenging cardio dance with Latin flavor.

A thirty-minute routine focused on your core, thirty minutes of strength

training with light and medium weights, a bonus round for thirty-five

minutes for a full-body workout that hits every muscle. And finally, thirtyfive minutes of yoga.

“We’re in New York City today.” She glanced up as a pigeon flew

overhead. “Joined by some local wildlife. I have my friends with me.

Teesha.”

Teesha gave a snappy salute.

“And Loren.”

Adrian laughed when Loren held his hand up in the Vulcan greeting.

“Remember, you can do any part of this video, switch it up, combine it.

Do what’s good for you, but do something, because it’s for your body.”

It worked, she could feel it. She knew it when she heard Teesha laugh,

heard Loren’s muttered counts.

It worked when, during the core session, Loren collapsed back on his mat

and called for his mommy.

It worked for three long, full days and ended with pizza and wine on the

floor of the apartment Adrian and Teesha shared.

“My abs are still screaming,” Loren claimed.

“We woke them up.”

He took a huge bite of pizza. “They want to go back to sleep. Maybe

forever. Next time I’ll run the camera and Hector can melt into a pool of his

own sweat.”

“I’m a behind-the-scenes guy.” Hector took a sip of the wine he hoped to

develop a taste for. “And I’m going to be behind the scenes in Northern

Ireland for the next two months.”

Teesha pushed straight up. “What scenes?”

“An HBO series. I’m assistant on the B-roll crew, but I’m in.” He

grinned a mile wide. “Hollywood, baby. Well, Northern Ireland’s version.”

“That’s big time, dude.” Loren shot out a finger. “Big time.”

“It’s a step toward middle time that could lead to big. You better not boot

me as your videographer.” Hector shot his own finger at Adrian.

“Never. Jesus, Hector Sung, this is huge! When do you leave?”

“We start next week, but I’m flying out day after tomorrow so I can do a

little touristing. You guys should come over this summer.”

“Yeah, like it’s a subway ride to Queens.” Teesha shook her head. “I’m

loading in summer classes, Hec. I’m going for my MBA ASAP.”

“After which she’s going to be my business manager. And when Loren

finishes law school and passes the bar, he’ll be my lawyer. So.” Adrian

lifted her glass in toast. “We keep the band together.”

Over the next few months, Adrian jockeyed her time with appearances,

visits to her grandparents, promotions for her new sportswear line, and a

new project.

A weekly fitness blog, including a short, streaming demonstration of

what she called the Five-Minute Workout of the Week.

Since she could stream from almost anywhere—once Hector taught her

how—she often included someone else in the demo. The owner of her local

deli, a random dog walker, a cop on the beat (whom she dated satisfactorily

for a few months thereafter).

One of her favorites, and one she’d watch again countless times in the

years to come, starred her grandmother.

With a foot of snow outside, the fires crackling, and the big house

sparkling with Christmas, Adrian set up in the kitchen.

“Just have some fun with it,” she told Sophia.

“The kitchen’s for cooking, for gathering, for eating.”

Adrian adjusted the camera. “You cook, gather, eat, you need to move.”

Satisfied, Adrian turned, smiled at her grandmother.

“You look terrific. Scratch that. You look hot.”

Sophia flicked a hand in dismissal, then laughed and shook back her hair.

“It’s the outfit. Your design.”

“Well, my brand. But it’s who’s in it that counts.”

It did flatter, Adrian thought, the forest-green support tank, the cropped

leggings of green, blue, and pink, with pink low-tops.

“You’ve seen enough of these to know how it works. Just follow my

lead. You have something to say, say it. It’s easy, fun, and fast.”

“I already pity me.”

With a laugh, Adrian slid a hand in her pocket, hit the remote. “For this

week’s five minutes, I’m with the amazing Sophia Rizzo, or as I know her,

Nonna. We’re in her kitchen where she—and my grandfather—cook like

culinary angels. He’s currently tossing pizza dough at their restaurant here

in the Maryland mountains. So Nonna and I are taking five out of our

holiday baking to move the bod and up the heart rate.

“Ready, Nonna?”

Sophia looked straight into the camera. “This isn’t my idea, but she’s my

only grandchild, so …”

“High knee march, get those knees above the waist to work the abs.

That’s the way, Nonna. Nobody’s going to deny themselves some holiday

treats. I won’t, not when they’re made by Dom and Sophia Rizzo, so when

you indulge—in moderation—don’t forget to move.”

“Only for you would I do this for people to see this poor old woman.”

“Hah! Poor old woman, my butt. And speaking of butts. Squats. You

know how to squat, Nonna. Get that bootie back. Squeeze those glutes.”

She moved on to lunges, well aware Sophia sent her mock dirty looks,

then combined the movements, calling out the count, then finished with hip

circles and a stretch.

“And there you have it. Take five between the shopping, the baking, the

wrapping, the indulging, and if you’re lucky, you’ll look as fit as my

incredible nonna.”

Adrian wrapped an arm around Sophia’s waist. “Isn’t she gorgeous? How

lucky am I to have this DNA?”

“She’s flattering me because it’s all true.” Laughing, Sophia wrapped her

arms around Adrian and kissed her cheek. “Let’s have a cookie.”

“Let’s.” Adrian turned her head so their cheeks pressed, smiled at the

camera. “Merry Christmas and happy holidays from ours to yours. Don’t

forget. Stay fit and fierce and fabulous. See you next year!”

Adrian hit the remote. “You were perfect!”

“I want to see it. Play it back.”

“Absolutely. But with cookies.”

“And wine.”

“And wine. I love you to bits and pieces, Nonna.”

ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA

On a cold, cloudy night in late December, with the lightest of snows

swirling like bits of lace, the poet huddled in the back seat of a shiny blue

sedan.

The car alarm, the locks? A simple matter when you did your research.

It had been too long between thrills, but one had to choose carefully. The

gun again, though others had felt the blade, the bat. But the gun, the way it

lived in the hand when it did its work.

A favorite.

As was this prey.

Hadn’t she proved herself a whore? Wasn’t she even now in that cheap

motel room, letting someone not her husband pound into her?

She’d better enjoy it, as it would be the last time she felt anything.

No Happy New Year for you, bitch.

All in black, a shadow, invisible as the whore finally opened the door.

Light from the room spilled over her. She blew a kiss to the cheating fuck

inside, then smiled all the way to her car.

She hit her fob for the locks—reengaged, slid behind the wheel.

Her eyes widened in the rearview mirror for just an instant, that final

instant, before the bullet tore into her brain.

A second shot for good measure. And the now traditional photo.

Only a moment later, an easy stroll through the lightly spinning snow to

the car parked three blocks away.

And the thought rang clear and bright.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

In February, Adrian opened the poem. They upset her, always, but this one

stole her breath, had her lowering shakily into a chair.

The old woman with her fake red hair’s your latest trick

To preen and pose and make me sick.

Be careful who you use to get ahead,

Or, like you, they’ll end up dead.

She reported it, as always, made copies, as always. But this time she

contacted the police in Traveler’s Creek.

Then her grandparents. Though it took a lot of doing, she finally

convinced them to install an alarm system.

Seven years now, she thought while she paced the apartment and avidly

wished Teesha would get home. What kind of person wrote and sent a sick

poem to someone every year for seven years?

A sick one, just like the poems, she thought. One who obviously

followed her blog, her public life.

“And a coward,” she murmured.

She had to remember that. A coward who wanted her upset and anxious.

Though she knew she shouldn’t give whoever it was the satisfaction, she

couldn’t rid herself of the upset or anxiety.

Walking to the window, she stared out, watched the cars stream by, the

people hurrying along the sidewalks.

“Why don’t you come out?” she muttered. “Wherever you are, whoever

you are, come out and we’ll deal face-to-face.”

As she watched, a thin sleet began to fall and the light dimmed. And she

knew she could do nothing but wait.