by Honor Bound
“That I could make it on my own. That he knew marrying him was a choice, and not my only option. It’s what everyone would have assumed if we’d gotten married quickly.”
Ben twisted awkwardly. He didn’t know about “everyone,” but it was close to what he’d thought. Sometimes he was a jackass. He would have sworn Kelly couldn’t confound him the way she had when they were kids, but here she was, doing it just the same. Aunt Gina and Uncle Henry loved her as a daughter, yet she obviously hadn’t accepted their help or an easy escape from her troubles.
Kelly swept her hair back.
“The thing is, I finally realized something else—I was also trying to make Mitch prove that he wasn’t like those men who made promises to my mother, and then left when they got what they wanted. He was always honest and straight with me, yet I was making him pay for broken promises he hadn’t made.”
“So that’s why the anniversary of that night meant the most to you, rather than the date of your wedding.”
“Yes. It brought us closer. And it isn’t as if I dread the day—but with everything that’s going on, it’s normal to wonder how things might be if he hadn’t died.”
“You mean he’d be here with you, instead of me.”
“It’s more than that. I wouldn’t have met Simon and written the second book in the same way because I wouldn’t have been working at City Hall. We might have had a…” Her voice trailed off and she looked unhappy.
“Had a what?”
KELLY KEPT HER GAZE ON the table. Ben’s thoughtfulness surprised her, that might be why she’d told him about Mitch and their special night. It seemed so long ago—that was one of the reasons she’d gotten depressed, as if she ought to hold on to the pain, instead of moving forward. But pain didn’t really keep her connected to Mitch. He was gone and time marched on. It was inevitable.
“Had a what?” Ben prompted again.
She winced. Ben being Ben, he wouldn’t let it go.
“All right, we might have had a family. But everybody has things they regret. I’m no different.”
“I know all about that—I’m a divorced single father.”
“Toby seems to be adjusting well.”
“He’s some kid.”
There was an endearing pride in Ben’s voice and she wondered if he resented leaving his son to babysit her, even though it was his own idea.
“You need to go home,” she said quietly. “Henry said you haven’t found any more evidence of someone watching the house. Whoever it was, he’s probably been scared off for good. You should be with Toby.”
“It’s fine. I usually wait until he’s in bed before leaving, and Gina and Henry love having him stay…though Toby did ask me to give you a good-night kiss.”
The teasing spark was back in his eyes and Kelly smiled faintly. “I’ll consider myself kissed. Figuratively speaking.”
“Actually kissing you would be more fun.”
“You’ll have to live with the disappointment.” She got up and put her cup in the dishwasher. “Sleep well.”
Without looking at him again she headed upstairs. She didn’t ordinarily go to bed so early, but she didn’t want to get used to having someone to talk and laugh with, only to have him leave again.
THE NEXT MORNING KELLY walked into the City Hall rotunda and saw the local television reporter, Fred Bartlett, rushing toward her, his cameraman following close behind. Fred wasn’t one of her favorite people. After Mitch’s death he’d harassed her endlessly, wanting an intimate interview with the “hero’s widow.” The same thing had happened when the memorial was dedicated in front of the city buildings.
“Mrs. Lawson, may I speak to you?” he called.
“Fred, you know the mayor wants questions about the murder investigation and the threats he’s received to be directed to him or the police chief,” she said. “I can’t tell you anything.”
“But I want your comments as the author of Deep Sea.” Fred’s words bounced through the marble floors and walls of the building.
The rotunda was an echo chamber and heads appeared over the balcony, from office doors and the utility payment counter like prairie dogs popping up from their holes. Their mouths seemed to universally open in astonishment.
Kelly reeled, abruptly feeling sick to her stomach. Ben had warned her to be prepared for someone to figure it out, but she’d foolishly hoped it wouldn’t happen, at least not until the murders were solved. Denial flitted through her mind, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Even if Fred believed her, the truth would eventually come out and things would be worse.
“H-how do you know about that?”
“We got an anonymous tip at the station.”
Anonymous.
What kind of people called in anonymous tips, she wondered bitterly. It was hardly the kind of information they could get in trouble for revealing.
“Well?” Fred prompted.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“You can’t pull a ‘no comment’ on me,” he implored, and she was reminded of their school days when he’d been the editor of the “Sand Bite,” the school newsletter. He wasn’t mean-spirited or vindictive, but he had a taste for gossip and no respect for boundaries. “This is big news. You’re a bestselling author. Do you have a nondisclosure clause in your contract with the publisher? Is that why you didn’t tell Sand Point you were Griffin Bell? Or is there another reason? We’ve learned Harvey Bryant’s murder is a carbon copy of the killing in your novel. How do you feel about that?”
He fired the questions in quick succession and Kelly had trouble breathing. She’d known there were some similarities, but not that the details were identical. Had somebody really gotten ideas for murder from what she’d written?
The videographer stepped uncomfortably close, his large camera balanced on his shoulder.
“Get that camera down. Now.”
Kelly was relieved to hear Ben’s authoritative voice.
“Oh…Police Chief Santoni,” Fred said, disconcerted. “Hello. I was just asking Mrs. Lawson for an interview.”
Ben brushed the small of Kelly’s back with his fingers and stood at her side, a tall, reassuring presence. “So I heard.”
“Did you know she’s the author of Deep Water and Deep Sea, Chief?”
“I learned about it last week.”
Fred cocked his head. “We’ve had press conferences since then and you never mentioned that fact.”
“I’m aware of that. I was respecting Mrs. Lawson’s privacy. And it’s none of anyone’s business. Her novels are entertaining, but they are just novels. Sand Point is fortunate to have such a talented author living in the area,” Ben said carefully. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but our viewers will want to know more. We have our very own detective writer in Sand Point, like that television series.” Fred waved his hands in excitement. “Is she helping the police department with the investigation? Wouldn’t that be something?”
Ben took a step forward. Fred and his cameraman instinctively retreated an equal distance.
“Mrs. Lawson doesn’t claim to be a detective, despite her tremendous writing ability. As a conscientious newsperson you can help your viewers understand the difference between fiction and truth.”
“But one of the murders was copied from her novel. Kel, does that make you feel responsible?”
BEN SHOT A GLANCE AT Kelly’s pale cheeks and the horror shading her expression.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Viv had phoned about the commotion in City Hall, but nothing had prepared him for his primal response at seeing Kelly being harangued, with a camera shoved in her face.
“In the first place, we don’t know the novel was copied,” he said. “In the second, the author’s identity doesn’t have any bearing on the investigation. Whoever committed the crime is to blame. Mrs. Lawson is an innocent bystander.”
“Well…yes, but Harvey Bryant’s autopsy shows—”
“How did you get your ha
nds on the autopsy report?”
Fred shrugged. “I’m obligated to protect my sources.”
Ben’s jaw hardened. If one of those sources was a Sand Point Police Department employee, they’d soon be hunting for new employment. “No matter who your source might be, I urge you not to make the details public.”
“I know the routine. You can count on me, Chief.”
Count on a reporter? Unlikely, particularly in Sand Point. Uncle Henry had told him that the TV and newspaper reporters were cousins and longtime rivals for everything from news to women to deep-sea fishing. It explained a lot. Fred Bartlett would love putting the story on the air if it meant getting a scoop on his cousin. And that went double for Theodore Bartlett with the Sand Point Gazette.
“I appreciate your cooperation,” Ben said dryly. Everyone kept offering cooperation and support, but the reality of it was debatable.
“So you’ll allow me to interview Mrs. Lawson, provided we don’t bring up the autopsies?”
“That isn’t my decision.” Ben looked at Kelly again. “Do you want to be interviewed?”
She squared her shoulders. “Fred, I’m just a fiction writer. We have to let the police do their job. That’s all I have to say.”
“Hey, Kel, you’re the Sand Point Public Affairs Officer, and you aren’t going to talk to me?”
Despite her pallor, Kelly’s eyes flashed. “We’ve already had this discussion, Fred. My work for the city does not give you the right to invade my private life.”
Ben moved between her and the other men. “You have your answer, gentlemen. Please don’t bother her again. Good day.” He waited until the reporters had left City Hall before turning around. “Are you okay?”
“Sure.” But the muscles in her throat moved convulsively.
“Yeah, right.” Onlookers vanished as Ben gave them a glare. He put his hand on Kelly’s elbow. “We’re going to your office.”
CHAPTER NINE
KELLY WAS BARELY AWARE OF the climb to the second floor. She was cold, frozen inside and out.
Does that make you feel responsible?
Responsible.
The word echoed in her mind; it drowned out everything else, even the worry of what would happen now that her identity as an author had been revealed. Could she be responsible for Harvey’s murder? She hadn’t seen the autopsy report, but Fred obviously had gotten a copy and believed there was something to it. Maybe this was what she’d been afraid of all along, ever since the murders.
Ben closed the door of her office firmly and she stumbled into the desk. Really, the room was too small, she thought hysterically. The city’s marble monster had plenty of space, but much of it was taken up in wide hallways and impressive staircases.
“Don’t worry about what people will think,” Ben said. He pulled her against him and warmth radiated through her, though ice still seemed to be the only thing holding her spine together.
“What people will think?” Kelly let out a strained laugh. “Who cares about that now? I want to know if I caused Harvey Bryant’s death. Is his wife a widow because of me? Are my books the reason his children don’t have their father?”
It was all she could do not to scream or cry or fall apart completely…except she had too much experience at keeping things together when her world had shattered.
“Kel, don’t do this to yourself.”
“Don’t call me Kel. The only one who calls me Kel is that revolting worm of a reporter. Fred wouldn’t leave me alone when Mitch died, and he won’t now. You have no idea of how—”
“Jeez, Kelly, stop it.” Ben kissed her roughly, smothering her frantic words.
After a minute Kelly leaned into him, every inch of her body touching his. Heat slid through her and settled low in her abdomen. Being kissed was better than the chill and nausea consuming her. She needed… Needed?
His kiss gentled, coaxing a response, but she couldn’t concentrate. No, she didn’t want to need him. She didn’t want to need anyone.
“Damn.” Ben eased away and cupped her face between his hands. “You think too much. Do you know that?”
“It’s hard not to. What if Fred is right?”
He grimaced. “Didn’t you listen to what I told the worm? You aren’t responsible for Harvey Bryant’s death. I’m offended by the idea. My job is finding and arresting the guilty, not heaping blame on someone who had nothing to do with it.”
“But I—”
“No. Forget it. Criminals make too many excuses for what they do. Your stories are fiction, but they also have messages about honor and hard work and that punishment will come of wrongdoing.”
“They’re just mysteries.”
“Yes, but even the Bible has murder and war and betrayal in it, as well as justice and morality. You don’t want to start banning books, do you?”
Kelly understood what Ben was trying to say, yet she understood something else, too. “Then someone did copy the murder in my novel. Fred said they got an anonymous tip about me being Griffin Bell. What if the tipster believes I’m responsible and that’s why they called the station?”
“At this point we can’t be certain of anything. I just know that you’re not to blame.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. You must have done things as a police officer that were hard to live with. How do you get through it?”
“It’s a cliché, but, one day at a time.”
She knew the routine. A day at a time. A breath in, a breath out. A day passed, then a week and a month, and the unbearable slowly got easier to bear.
“Thank you for defending me to Fred. I hope you don’t get any backlash.”
“Not to worry. I can handle him. So, you’re not going down to the library and bookstore to torch your novels, are you?”
Kelly grinned without much humor. “I’m sure the mayor will take care of the book burning for me.”
“Let him try. I’d love to arrest the guy.”
“Please don’t. You know he’s looking for an excuse to get rid of you.”
BEN SAW CONCERN FLIT through Kelly’s eyes. Okay, she got to him. He didn’t like it, yet the things he’d assumed about her no longer rang true. The pretty, wide-eyed girl he’d once known had turned into a stubborn, independent woman with enough compassion to have made friends with a homeless man. Her distress over Simon’s death was genuine, along with her horror that someone may have used her novel as a blueprint for murder.
As for the anonymous tip about her identity, it bothered him for a number of reasons—Kelly’s safety being first, followed by who had discovered the truth and how.
“The mayor can’t fire me,” he explained. “Uncle Henry had me negotiate an employment contract that gives the privilege to the Sand Point City Council. Who, as you know—”
“Never does anything the mayor wants,” Kelly finished.
“That’s right.”
Kelly sat on the edge of the desk, away from him, but the impression of her curves lingered on his body and Ben was reminded of the ache in his groin.
“How did you know Fred was at City Hall?” she asked.
“Viv. She should be a spy. I swear she’s bugged this place. She called when the commotion started and said to get over here, pronto.”
“That’s Viv.”
Ben hesitated. “Speaking of which, I understand the two of you inquired about paying for a funeral for Simon.”
“That’s right, but the medical examiner’s office said he’d already been buried.”
“We wait a certain period of time, trying to identify the deceased and looking for family. If we’re not successful, the city then arranges for cremation or a simple burial. I get why you’d want to pay for a funeral, but why Viv? Did she know him, too? She never said anything.”
“No, but it bugs her that he wasn’t identified.”
“It bugs me, too.” The color had returned to Kelly’s cheeks and Ben decided it was time to beat a retreat. “If you’re okay now, I’d better get back to work,”
he said. “I was in the middle of a case review with my detectives.”
WHEN BEN RETURNED TO THE police station his employees’ curiosity was palpable. He’d gone out at a dead run; who knew what they must have thought.
“Lasko, Fairmont, we’ll pick up where we left off.”
The detectives leaped to their feet. “Sure, Chief,” they said in eager unison. It made Ben feel older than his years. He remembered that excitement, the thrill of getting out and catching the bad guys.
“Shut the door,” he said as Lasko followed Fairmont into his office.
They sat at attention and Ben wondered if one of them had leaked the autopsy findings. He was ready to demand a confession when he recalled what Kelly had said about trust…that she didn’t have any reason to trust him.
Trust was something he’d worked at earning, and he hadn’t liked hearing her say he didn’t have hers. But it raised another question—did these two men have any reason to put their trust in him? And would they have less reason if he accused them without evidence?
“What’s up, Chief?” asked Fairmont.
“It seems the television station has gotten hold of the autopsy findings,” he said neutrally.
Anger flashed across both detectives’ faces.
“Damn it,” Fairmont cursed.
“How the hell did it happen?” Lasko demanded. “We keep the files locked when we aren’t working on them.”
“Fred Bartlett is protecting his source.” Ben leaned back in his chair and tapped a pencil on the desk. “He has, however, suggested he won’t make the findings public.”
“But you don’t believe him.”
“I’m a skeptic, Lasko. This is a small town, without much news to report. The biggest things he’s had to put on the air are the murders and the death threats against the mayor. However, Bartlett does have another piece of news that might slow him down—he’s also learned that Kelly Lawson is the author of the Deep novels.”
Lasko grinned appreciatively. “Wow. That’ll keep the news boys busy for a while. She’s hot and looks great on TV.”