Then she chastised herself for even thinking about that in a time like this.
“I’m disappointed. We had a real shot at this and—”
“You think I ruined it?”
“Does that seem harsh?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Benson said and he began to pack up. He scooped up his laptop and his notebook and shoved them in a messenger bag. Annie put the pizza in a to-go container and followed him into the crisp winter evening. The cold bit at her nose and she tugged her coat around her face, jumping in place.
“Now what?” Annie asked. “You staying around here?”
“I am. But it’s not safe for human consumption at the moment. Your place?”
“For what?”
Benson frowned. “Schubert talk, I presume.”
“You presume?”
“Unless you had another idea?”
The brownies, slightly stale, were still delicious. Annie excused herself and changed into pajamas, unworried about whether or not he found her beautiful or put-together. Her feet were tired and she’d shoved herself into kitten heels all day, and she had nothing to hide from Benson. She wasn’t trying to maintain any mysteries in her life, especially not with him.
She ran her fingers through her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t remember the last time she really looked and examined each wrinkle and each pore.
Annie never hated her looks, but she’d certainly developed massive insecurities related to other deficits.
After all this time, she’d hoped she would be settled and enjoying life. She knew, although she couldn’t put it into words, that it had to do with how her parents met and married. Her mom and dad loved each other very much, but they weren’t a romance per se. They were two abandoned spouses who found a need for each other, and the story never elicited any smiles and heart flutters. Annie bought into the fantasy because she saw it happen for others and she knew, deep down, she wasn’t asking for much.
Back in the main room, Benson made himself comfortable on her couch, flipping through files and wading deep into searches about Bill and Missy.
“No one mentioned a kid,” he said to her as she plopped on the other side of the coffee table from him and crossed her legs on the floor, reading the pages he’d discarded to the side.
“The press never learned about him,” she nodded. “But Linda Remington asked about the child. Just once. I managed to grab a copy of that transcript with police. Her fourth or fifth interview, though. I don’t know if that is significant. If there was a missing child shouldn’t she have raised the alarm sooner?”
“I have an idea,” Benson said and Annie scooted closer to the table and raised her eyebrows in expectation.
“Sure. I’m game.”
“Let’s record this. For the podcast.”
Annie stared at him as he leaned forward and eagerly grabbed a small microphone on a silver stand and plugged it into his phone jack. The mic lit up with a green dot and he made sure to set it between them. He joined her on the floor without giving her the option to protest.
“Wow. You’re…serious and efficient.”
“You sold me the story, so let’s do this. Record us talking about it. Here.” He moved all the files within reach and angled his laptop so they could both see it; he had several pages open, including Gloria’s transcripts of the Love is Murder discussions. Annie had to admit she enjoyed seeing him digging into the case with her and exploring the facts like a member of her legal team.
“We can only talk about stuff that’s public knowledge or part of the public record. We need a signal for shit we can’t talk about,” she looked around and found a single coaster half-under the coffee table. It was a wedding favor from a friend and she remembered going on at the table about the sadness in receiving one single coaster. If you’re a couple, you get two. A set. But I get this single one…with a wedding picture on it…to remind me of my non-marriedness. At least give everyone a set. That’s all I’m saying.
She cringed with the memory, possibly fueled by the wedding’s other charming feature: a margarita bar.
Annie held the coaster up and pronounced, “If I wave this, stop talking and we’ll pause the recording.”
“Deal,” Benson answered and he pushed the button on his phone, lighting up a steady ticking of the clock. They were on and the seconds sped by: 3…4…5…6.
“We’re here at lawyer Annie Gerwitz’s house and we’re going through what we know about the key players in the case we’re looking into right now….the Cannon Beach Murders. As you know, this is an active investigation, so we’ll be limited in what we can share, but as always, you are free to speculate,” Annie rolled her eyes as Benson set the stage. He wanted listeners without full knowledge of the facts to speculate? “Annie, why do you think these murders intrigue people so much? I hadn’t heard much about them, but then when I started to dig, I realized that there were all these online communities working to solve this puzzle. Lots of speculation and lots of theories, some crazy and outlandish, some plausible and it’s true we may never know. Why do we keep coming back to them?”
He paused, she smiled. Oh, how Benson liked to hear himself talk—wax on and on. She thought he, too, might make a good lawyer.
“We come back to any story that’s unfinished,” Annie said leaning in closer to the microphone, and he motioned for her to slide back to her original position, giving her a thumbs-up. “That’s all it is. Also, this case appeals to our most basic fears of death…Missy Price went out for a walk on the beach and never came back. Bill Schubert also went for a walk on the beach and never came back. We can picture their fate as our own until we know what happened, and then we can tell ourselves, well, that will never happen to me.”
“Missy Price didn’t live a loud life.”
“She had no social media accounts, an interesting work history. No family came forward when she died. Her parents were dead…” Annie trailed off, something tugging at the back of her mind. “A few friends say she had had a sister, which we know now, but…”
Annie stopped talking again and looked away in the distance, hoping to see the thing her brain wanted her to recognize.
“Had. Huh?” Benson asked.
And everything slid into place like a track readying for a train. Annie stood up and Benson stood with her, taking the phone and the microphone into his hands and keeping them close to her mouth as she jumped and searched around for her own device. She spotted her purse and dove into the pockets, pulling out her phone.
“What. Wait! What?” Benson asked, two feet away, the silver mic near her face.
“Missy Price’s family died. Death certificates for her parents. But there was no proof of a sister. None.” Annie pulled up a text thread with Gloria and scanned for the piece she’d just remembered. “Right. Right. Here’s what Gloria said. A few friends confirmed that she’d talk about a sister. When people pressed her, she said her sister was dead to her. We just took that to mean they’d had a falling out.” Annie looked up. “Shit. And now…sister shows up and drops her relationship to the unsuspecting parents at the Friday Coffee Hour, Holly’s immediately on board…”
“She knew about the boy.”
“She knew a lot about Missy that we didn’t know…”
“Okay. So, how do you know what she told you is legit?” Benson asked with his creeping microphone. Annie shivered and pushed it away, down to his side. She’d left the coaster on the table and so she merely waved her hand as a signal.
“We can’t talk about this?” Benson asked.
Annie held her phone, wanting to text her friends, needing assurance that the sister could confirm her relationship to the victim and realizing that they’d been so excited at the opportunity to really help someone, they forgot to take their time and think about what they knew already.
“I don’t know what we’re going to find out here,” Annie whispered. Then to herself, she said, “The sister had pictures of the two of them toget
her.”
“An old friend?”
“Motive for lying?” Annie asked, more to herself than to Benson and his future audience, an idea she was starting to loathe. “Money? Fame?”
Annie rubbed the bridge of her nose and walked back to the coffee table and sat down again on the floor. This time Benson sat down right next to her, knee to knee, and he put the phone on the ground between them and the mic on its silver stand. He leaned back, listening, intrigued, engaged, and Annie had to look away first. She resisted climbing back up and pacing the room, but instead, she focused on the feeling of their knees together and how the air seemed to get sucked out of the room all at once.
She noticed how he stared at her and when she stared back, he didn’t look away sheepishly. He remained steady.
“My brain needs room to think,” Annie said, more snappishly than she intended.
“How can I help?” Benson asked, leaning closer.
“Just…I don’t know….” Annie tried to recall everything Holly told them about the sister. She’d have Gloria pull the meeting she came to off the video archive. She felt relieved by the video call, knowing they easily had a transcript. That had been Annie’s idea—to transcript meetings—and this was why. “Let me sit and think. I need to recall my intuitions at the time.”
Benson turned off the recording. He exited out of the program and sat back, still one hand by the microphone, no longer in use.
In silence, he let her sit.
“The woman gave details of a childhood in Ohio. No official documents place her in Ohio. The sister did say very quickly, but I thought I noticed…she might have had a different name.”
“So, Missy Price wasn’t Missy Price.”
“I don’t know. No. Change the subject for a bit. My brain is like those goofy puzzles in the 90s that turned into 3D shapes if you crossed your eyes. I need to relax it and not stare intently or I’ll never see it. Ask me another question…any subject…not Missy Price.”
He didn’t hesitate. “What would be the worst part about dating me?”
Annie’s heart jumped and she spun to look at him, shocked and confused. If she’d continued the metaphor, he’d knocked over the puzzle entirely. She stared at him and wondered if he was pleading or prodding. He blinked, waiting, lips tight. Is this really happening? Now? His brown eyes worked between her and the ground, and she took a breath, unwilling to understand the universe’s sense of humor.
“How about a different question, asshole,” she tried to joke, but her voice was shaking.
Nothing, then the matchmaking, the contract, and Benson. As if life’s greatest joy was practical jokes on those who took things seriously. When she decided to open herself to love, a fork opened in the path ahead, mocking her.
“Maybe the question is,” Benson continued, his voice lowering to a whisper, “why won’t you give me a chance. A real date. Stealth. I promise.”
She didn’t hesitate in her response. They’d had this dance. “You know this,” Annie started, but even as she formed the argument from the ashes of her heart’s desire, she started to become disgusted by its repetition and its lack of believability.
“You signed a paper. It said you’d give the process a chance and it said they wanted exclusivity. I do know, yes.” He looked down. “Here’s the thing. I like you and I think we should have a fun day together…that’s all. That’s not breaking any contract. It won’t be a date. It’ll be two friends having a joyful day.”
“It’s just cruel when you know I won’t say yes,” Annie replied. How did he make her the bad guy for wanting to follow the rules? He made her sound petty for turning down a day of joy? It hit her then, the anger at the loss, the frustration with the teasing; he wouldn’t understand.
She couldn’t help but look at him forlorn, upset, tears forming in pools in her lower-lids.
“Why are you crying?” Benson asked in a near-whisper and he put his hand out and caught a tear as it rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away. His lower lip jutted out in a frown.
“I made a promise,” Annie cried harder now. The burst of emotion surprised even her; she knew she’d had a bad day at work, but this seemed extreme. She sniffed back the emotion, letting the tears speak for themselves. “You’d be nothing but a dalliance, Benson. That’s all.”
“If that’s all you think I am, then I am doubling down on my offer of a day. No strings, okay, just have fun with me. Give me a chance, Annie.” The mirth disappeared as if he realized that she wasn’t going to cave; she’d seen many people crumble when they assumed she was breakable. She saw his eyes grow narrow and turn serious and gray; they stormed with indignation at her reluctance—to him it made no difference—and he sat up straighter, his hand on the table flexing and unflexing, thinking and pondering. She knew he was trying to find a different way to get what he wanted
She eyed the fist, his body language, and she cleared her throat.
“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.”
He took a deep breath.
She sucked in a quick breath between her teeth.
“Benson—“ she started, but before she could finish whatever admonishment was on her lips, he took his thumb and rubbed it down her cheek, cupping her chin in his hand, his eyes soft, searching.
And he kissed her.
He leaned in, slow enough that she could have moved if she wished, but she didn’t, and kissed her. Their lips touched long and slow, and Annie was embarrassed by how dry her mouth must have tasted, but Benson didn’t seem to mind as he closed his eyes and kept his hand on her chin, moving with her as she scooted inward, unafraid, relinquishing to the moment.
He kissed her and she’d let him.
His free hand found the back of her neck and Annie gave in to the kiss and all its power over her.
When she came up for air, eyes wide, heart pounding, he never took his eyes off of her, as if he was studying her response and preparing for the worst.
She sighed.
“That was a mistake,” she said.
Benson managed a half-smile. “Shit. I took the over,” he mumbled.
“What?” Annie asked, consumed and giddy with hormones, ready to kiss him again and yet understanding the risks, calling herself back. Had that happened? Had that really happened?
“I figured you’d call it a mistake over ten seconds after the kiss. You called that at a mere second,” he groaned and slapped his forehead in exaggerated mockery. “I thought maybe I’d get a wow or a repeat go, so I took the over. Wow. Wow.”
“You think this is funny?” Annie asked, deciding whether or not she was angry at him or herself. If Rylan found out? If her parents found out? But the war within herself was already growing and things inside of her were taking sides. Her heart ached for another kiss and for the feeling of his hands on her cheeks. Had she ever had anything so intimate? Her cheeks stained with tears, his lips finding hers, the saltiness of that first moment. Her brain was with the contract, the promises made, the expectations.
“I think this is life and life can be hilarious,” Benson answered. He stood up and stretched his arms to the ceiling. His shirt traveled with him and Annie couldn’t help but sneak a look at his stomach—toned, inexplicably tanned. “You know where I am…”
“Don’t go,” Annie called as he turned to retreat, and he stood and shook his head.
“Stay. Go. It’s a dance, Annie,” he replied and tangoed to himself, tapping his feet against her slow, and he sounded tired. “Do you know what you want?”
Annie froze.
“I work,” Annie started, staring down at the floor and then up at the ceiling, “day and night…without a single regard for me….because that’s the life I chose. I keep making choices. Good or bad, I keep making them. Am I making the best choices?” she crossed her arms and shrugged, the power of the moment taking over. “I don’t know. I make the choices that cause everyone in my life the least the amount of pain.”
She stopped.
“Am I p
ain, Annie?” Benson asked, eagerly seeking an answer.
“I don’t know,” she whispered in reply. “Sometimes it feels like…maybe.”
“We’re a good team.”
“You’re making that up.”
“You don’t believe in chemistry?”
She paused, contemplated and shook her head. As she formed the best way to get him to exit her house, Annie’s stomach growled. It was low and loud, too loud to ignore as his head turned and his eyes glanced down. She felt so betrayed by her body—the one slice of pizza hadn’t been enough.
Annie put her hands protectively over her stomach and grimaced, embarrassed by the loudness of her body’s demand.
“You want the leftovers?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I’ll make you something,” Benson said and he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward her own kitchen.
“You won’t find anything to eat in there,” Annie lamented, knowing he’d discover the barest basics of any apartment dweller. Regardless, Benson seemed determined. Maybe because of the kiss and her response, the snack situation seemed like an important and dire distraction.
He opened cupboards and her freezer, amassing ingredients with a perplexed and determined gaze. He handled the flour and the sugar, measuring something in his mind, before snapping his fingers and sitting her down at the kitchen table with a forceful push.
Benson cut the freezer-burned edges off chicken purchased on-sale and frozen months ago and tossed it in a pan with some olive oil where it sizzled and filled her place with a soft aromatic cloud. Without much conversation, he took the varied contents of her kitchen and served her up something steaming and crisp, green and colorful and brilliant in less time than it would’ve taken her to find a clean pan.
“A little snack,” he said as Annie dug with a fork around the chicken and the rice, the spices from her own cabinet unfamiliar with unused. She popped the concoction into her mouth and beamed with pride as the buttery veggies and chicken mixed well in the soupy concoction. Did she have all the things for that in her own house?
“That’s impressive,” she said. “No one’s ever turned my pantry into magic before.”
Savage Distractions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 3) Page 10