“Oh, that makes sense,” I said, but still curious. “Shell-B? Where did that come from?”
He laughed. “That’s a mixture of a couple of things. First of all it was my dream car, which I now own. Sitting in my dad’s garage is a 2008
Shelby GT500 KR. Blue with silver stripes. Two hundred and eight original miles on her. The other reason for the name, well, do you remember our conversation about the shell game?”
I nodded, remembering that time in the shower fondly.
“Why not make finding me a shell game too?” His face glowed with his secret. “Whenever you travel now, you’ll have a fake name on your luggage. We’ll have to take a look at what you have your name on. People can hack into shit on the Internet like you wouldn’t believe.”
I was twirling my cell phone under my fingers while we were talking. I was curious about something completely different from what we were talking about. I punched a few buttons and waited.
Ryan’s phone started to play. The music was familiar, but I didn’t know the artist.
“Why are you calling me?” He laughed.
“Just curious,” I admitted. “That’s my ringtone? Who is that?”
He twitched his lips and smiled. “It’s an oldie. Did you ever hear of Cream?”
I nodded. He picked his phone up but I stopped him.
“No, wait! Just let it play. I want to hear it! Sunshine of your love? Is that the name of the song?”
“Yep. It’s a cool song, but I never get to hear it ‘cause somebody you and I know has issues about calling me.” He gently kicked my foot under the table.
Ryan ripped open the tab on the FedEx package and pulled out three packs of paper. Each pack was an inch or two thick.
“What’s all that?” I asked while I dumped the mail out of the garbage bag onto the table.
“Scripts. More scripts. What the hell is all of that?” he yelled.
I gasped when I saw multiple 4x6 glossy pictures of Ryan and our stalker, Angelica, from the day that he posed with her in my pub. There were also glossy pictures of Ryan alone; mostly side shots of him entering through the back door of the pub. The scariest of all the photos was a picture of Ryan and me walking down the sidewalk. Angel had scribbled out my face with a black magic marker and drew a target on my chest. I almost passed out at the table.
I flipped one of the pictures over and read the back.
I desperately separated all the pictures from the pile of mail. Ryan’s eyes grew wider and his face turned white. Each picture had a handwritten message:
And the picture of me with the bullseye had three words written on the back… Ryan’s face still showed his horror and his fingers were unsteady as he started to open up one of the boxes addressed to him. I heard him gasp in shock again. Inside the box was a brown plush teddy bear that had a big gash down the front of its chest and some of the white stuffing was sticking out. There was tape across the opening. The note inside the box read “I’m broken-hearted without you.”
The other boxes had the same handwriting on them. Ryan didn’t touch them. He shoved it all back into the garbage bag.
I was shaking but I still had my mental faculties. “Ryan, don’t throw any of that away. We’ll need all of that for court.”
In total there were four packages, seventeen pictures, three threatening letters, and nine greeting cards from her. She even included what appeared to be drops of blood in one of the cards.
Ryan quickly called his manager. “David, I want private security immediately for Taryn. I want someone posted inside her business during working hours and I want someone to escort her anywhere she has to go when I’m not with her. I’ll also be hiring a lawyer out here in Rhode Island.”
The only thing preventing us from both screaming was the knowledge that she was in police custody at that very moment.
The next morning, our schedule quickly shifted back to our normal routine, and I promised Ryan that I wouldn’t leave the building. I handed him a to-go cup of coffee and kissed him goodbye in the hallway. Mike shielded Ryan as he climbed into the back seat of the car sent to deliver him safely to the set, and the paparazzi were waiting to take his picture the minute he stepped out the door.
I was mentally preparing to open the pub back up for business and reviewing the precautions I needed to get in place before I unlocked the front door. Despite all the terrifying circumstances from yesterday, I also had a top-secret birthday party to plan.
“Hi, is this Matt?” I asked hesitantly, staring at the piece of paper that contained the phone number I stole from Ryan’s cell.
“Yeah? Who’s this?” he replied.
“My name is Taryn. Taryn Mitchell. Do you know who I am?” I didn’t know if Ryan’s friends kept tabs on the news.
“No. Should I?” he asked defensively.
“How can I say this without you hanging up on me. Are you near a computer?”
“What?” Matt questioned.
“Do you have access to a computer?” I asked again.
“Yeah. I’m sitting in front of one. Why?” he asked.
“Please go on the Internet and search my name.” I spelled my full name for him so he’d get it right.
“Awe, come on! Can’t you people just leave him alone?” Matt groaned.
I knew by his response that he found me.
“Matt, please, just listen to me. It’s really Taryn Mitchell calling you. Your long time friend Ryan is living with me in Rhode Island.”
“Bullshit!” he replied.
“No, for real. I am telling you the truth.”
“I’m not convinced, but I’m glad to see Ry’s got a smoking-hot girlfriend.”
“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I remembered a funny story Ryan told me about Matt. “Okay, how is this for convincing? Sitting under a car cover in his dad’s garage is a 2008
Shelby GT500, blue with silver stripes. You beg him every time you see him to let you drive it but he won’t let you because you have a habit of flipping cars. You’re the only guy he knows that could flip their mom’s station wagon.”
“Hah!” He laughed out loud. “Is he there? Let me talk to him!”
“You believe me now?” I chuckled. “No, he’s not. He is on set.” I explained that I wanted him and Scott to come to the surprise party.
I called Kelly next. I needed a devious plan to get the entire cast to my place for Ryan’s birthday. She said she’d get word to the director through Cal.