Fatal Identity Read Free Page A

job with the studio as a combination bodyguard and driver.
    Although the studio had dismissed Mercedes’s threatening letters as a crazy prank by an unstable fan, they’d immediately assigned George to be her driver. And it had worked, as far as Mercedes was concerned. She never worried when George was around. He was more than capable of defending her, and when she was with him, she felt safe. At least there hadn’t been any threatening letters today. Mercedes had checked the mailbox at the end of the driveway, when they’d stopped at the gates. She hoped that her ordeal was over, that her crazy fan was locked up tight in some mental hospital or jail.
    Mercedes still shivered when she thought about the letters that had come in the mail. The words had been cut out of magazines, and pasted on pieces of plain notebook paper. The whole thing had sounded like something you’d see in a bad B-movie, but the message had been chilling.
    Most stars got an occasional letter from a crazy fan. It was so common, it was almost normal. Ashley Thorpe, her costar in Summer Heat, had told Mercedes about the proposal he’d received from a seventy-year-old widow who’d offered her life savings if he’d spend the night with her. And Sandra Shepard, the character actress who played her mother in the movie, had mentioned a letter she’d received last year from a high school student in Iowa, inviting her to be his date for the senior prom.
    Mercedes had been in the “biz” for over fifteen years, and she’d shrugged off plenty of proposals and propositions from crazy fans before. But the letters she’d received two months ago were very different. They’d come to her home, instead of the studio.
    The first letter had arrived on a Saturday, and Mercedes had been alone in the house. She’d been out at the pool, enjoying the warm rays of the sun, when she’d heard the distinctive squeaking brakes of the mailman’s Jeep. Since she usually got a letter from Marcie on Saturdays, she’d hopped into her car and driven down the long, winding driveway to pick up the mail.
    Marcie’s letter was there, and Mercedes had taken the time to read it. Then she’d noticed another letter marked “personal,” with no return address, and she’d opened that as well.

    I am watching you. I will always be near. Do not try to hide. You can keep nothing from me. I am with you at night when you swim in the pool. I am with you when you go to bed in the red room. Please do not sleep in the red room. Red is the color of blood.
    The others will tell you lies about me, but I am not what they say. Do not try to escape me. I will not let you leave me again. You will be with me always, even in death.
    Jimmy

    Mercedes’s hands had been shaking as she’d finished reading the letter. He knew her bedroom was red! He really was watching her! She’d jumped back into her car, locked all the doors, and peered out of the window in fright. The grounds seemed peaceful enough, but was he out there somewhere, taking vicious pleasure in her fear? Her instinct had been to race for the house, but she’d left it unlocked, and he could be waiting for her inside!
    Pure panic had propelled her as she’d turned on the ignition and put her car in gear. She had to get away! But where should she go? What should she do? She’d made a quick U-turn, tires sliding on the gravel, and headed down Mandeville Canyon Road.
    She’d glanced nervously in the rearview mirror, but no one had seemed to be following her. She was safe. For now. As she’d turned on Sunset Boulevard, she’d suddenly remembered the interview she’d done for a popular fan magazine. It had mentioned her exercise regime—twenty laps in the pool every night. And there had been several photos of her in her newly redecorated bedroom. If he’d seen a copy of that article, he would have known about the swimming and