Free Hostile Makeover by Ellen Byerrum

sauntering off to fight her phantoms. Lacey was aware that Yvette was now standing close by, apparently to make sure there were no more scenes.
    “You see? My security people are as incompetent as the rest of them,” Amanda sneered. “I’m not planning on being killed without a fight, but if anything happens I want you to find out who did it and make sure they are brought to justice.”
    “Tall order. And I don’t take orders from sources,” Lacey protested.
    “It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Amanda snapped. “Why doesn’t anybody believe me?”
    “Tell me about the stalker.”
    “Which one? The one in D.C. is just an overeager fan, a celebrity groupie. His name is Johnny Monroe, or so he says.”
    “Why don’t you think he’s a threat?”
    “Ha! You should see him. He’s just a nerdy little pipsqueak nuisance. But apparently someone else wants to see me dead. Here, if you don’t believe me . . .” Amanda pulled a small note from a carefully concealed pocket in her dress. Lacey was impressed: a designer frock with pockets! Not having enough pockets was one of her pet peeves. Amanda thrust the note at Lacey. It was written in red marker on a small glossy photo of Amanda. Scrawled messily across her face was the message, Pretty is as pretty dies. Sweet dreams, top model.
    “You don’t think this Johnny Monroe wrote it?”
    “No. He believes we could have a ‘relationship.’ He’s desperate to see me. He has something to tell me, he says. But we can’t let him get too close, because . . . well, you just don’t want to encourage that sort of thing. He writes daily. And we’ve caught him trying to deliver another letter today.”
    So that’s what the ruckus at the door was about?
    “Forrest could break him with one hand. And he doesn’t write these horrible things,” Amanda said, pointing at the new message. Lacey wondered if this was all just an elaborate ruse to get more news coverage.
    “Did you tell the other reporters this story?”
    “The other reporters have not solved any murders, to my knowledge.” Amanda sipped her tea.
    “Let’s say I believe there may be someone who wants to kill you. Let’s narrow the field. Who do you think it is?”
    At that, Lacey saw Zoe and Yvette trade a look that told her there was no shortage of people who might like to dispatch Amanda to the Big Runway in the Sky. She overheard Yvette whisper, “Kill the golden goose?” Fawn shot Amanda a look of pure hatred.
    “I know who it is,” Amanda said. “It’s Greg. Greg Spaulding.”
    “Your fiancé?”
    “Former fiancé. You know how to deal with killers. Can’t you just stab him or something?”
    “No, I can’t just stab him!” A couple of incidents with sharp-edged weapons and they never let you forget, Lacey thought. She wondered why Amanda didn’t suspect her unfortunate former boyfriend, Caleb Collingwood, of being behind the threats. Unless she knew he really was dead. Did she even have a hand in his disposal? But Lacey didn’t want to interrupt the flow of Amanda’s thoughts, especially if Dr. Spaulding was involved in a murder plot. So she simply jotted down Caleb’s name in her notebook with a question mark. She couldn’t print the mad ravings of Amanda Manville. Not ethically. Politicians were easy targets, but libeling private citizens, especially wealthy, influential ones? Very dangerous. Mac’s eyebrows would have something to say about it. “And why on earth would Dr. Spaulding want to kill you?”
    Amanda stood up and clutched her chest melodramatically. “To destroy his own creation. He made me what I am; he told me that. And now he hates me. He never should have fallen in love with me, he said, that it was wrong for a doctor to fall for his patient. He wants to erase me, permanently.”
    “What does it matter that he’s finished with you? You’ve gone on to greener fields too. And new conquests,” an angry Yvette cut in. “And you don’t seem to care if your