by Honor Bound
Ben gritted his teeth.
“I asked her out a few months ago,” Fairmont added. “It was a no-go, but she was nice about it. Do you suppose it’s because I’m younger than her?”
“This is a police department, not a dating service,” Ben said sharply. “I don’t want Mrs. Lawson harassed by you or the press. I shouldn’t need to point out that if they report that Harvey Bryant’s murder is identical to the one in the novel, it’s the same as releasing details from his autopsy.”
“I wasn’t harassing her. I just asked her on a date.” At a cold stare from Ben, Fairmont flushed. “Uh, right. It would be the same as releasing the autopsy findings.”
“So we have a complication that we’ll have to deal with. I would also like to find out who leaked the report.”
Lasko frowned. “How about someone in the coroner’s office?”
“It’s possible. Look into it…discreetly.”
Ben flipped through his copy of the files when he was alone again, trying to find anything they might be missing in the investigation. Two murders. Possibly the same killer. Or possibly unrelated. Simon was on the fringe of society, while Bryant had honed a talent for making enemies. Even Bryant’s wife wasn’t in the clear—she had an alibi, but his death smacked of a professional hit and there was a large estate and life insurance policy to consider.
One would think murder in a place like Sand Point with its limited number of suspects would be easy to solve. Of course, that still left twenty-thousand people who could have done it.
KELLY LEFT THE OFFICE after a strained conversation with the mayor. Phillip Stone seemed torn between a desire to continue condemning her books, and wondering if the publicity from having a bestselling author working for City Hall would help his reelection campaign.
Theodore Bartlett with the Sand Point Gazette stopped her on the way to her car. He looked annoyed, probably because his cousin had scooped him on her other identity.
“Kelly, I hear you’re Griff—”
“I can’t talk,” she said. His photographer snapped a shot and her mouth tightened. She liked Theodore better than she liked Fred, but all things were relative.
“You must have something to say.”
“No, I don’t.”
She got into the car and drove home. The silence should have been soothing, but she couldn’t stop thinking…partly about her books, and partly about Ben. She hadn’t expected him to defend her to Fred Bartlett, or to be so considerate afterward.
The phone rang and she checked the caller ID. The Sand Point Gud-2-B-U Radio Station. She let it ring and ignored the answering machine blinking with twenty-three messages.
She had no intention of turning on the television and seeing Fred’s “news” report about her. She’d probably looked like a deer caught in headlights, which was a good description of how she’d felt.
There’s no point to crying over spilled milk. At least the cat will be happy, she thought as Frodo wound himself around her ankles, meowing. It used to be Shanna’s favorite saying when things went wrong, and a lot had gone wrong for her mother.
At least the cat will be happy.
Shanna’s twist on an old theme.
Did anyone besides Henry and Gina know about her mom’s wry sense of humor and the way she’d wanted her daughter to have a future that didn’t include serving booze in a smoke-filled bar? Doubtful. Everybody had seen what they wanted and never looked past the tight clothes. But then, Shanna hadn’t cared what anyone thought.
Kelly leaned over and hauled Frodo into her arms. She peered into his whiskered face. “I shouldn’t care, either, should I, baby?”
He yawned.
If she hadn’t cared what people thought, she would have told them about her writing at the right moment and damned the gossips. In retrospect, it would have been easier. What had turned her into such an uptight prig, seeking approval from people who didn’t matter anyhow?
Life, Kelly decided, putting Frodo down and going into the kitchen. She baked when she needed to think, and she needed to think about Simon. Why was he murdered? It would have made more sense if Harvey had died first. Simon might have been a witness, killed to shut him up. But Harvey couldn’t have witnessed Simon’s murder. He’d been attending a business meeting in Eugene that evening.
She was taking a peach pie from the oven when the doorbell rang. Kelly hurried to the door, expecting Henry with his toolbox and a sheepish grin on his face to match his sheepish excuse for showing up. Or worse…it might be Fred or Theodore Bartlett, or some other curious person wanting to ask her about Deep Sea and the murders.
She resolutely opened the door. It was Ben, with a pizza box in one hand and a soft-sided briefcase in the other.
“You didn’t look,” he growled. “I watched and you didn’t check to see who was there.”
“It’s daylight.”
“Bad things happen in daylight, too. Crime doesn’t stop for when the sun comes up.”
“And I thought you were Henry. It’s amazing how much stuff he suddenly wants to inspect or repair. He knows how transparent he is, doesn’t he?”
Ben handed her the pizza and stepped into the house. “You’re the one making him come up with excuses. If you’d stop being so pigheaded we wouldn’t have to play games with you.”
“You mean like the game Henry and Gina played on Sunday, taking me out to lunch so you could install those motion sensor lights?”
“We’ve already had this argument. Now you’re embarrassed because you were upset and I kissed you. Get over it.”
Kelly’s softer feelings toward Ben vanished; he had a remarkable ability to tick her off. “It was just a kiss. I am over it.” His eyebrows hiked upward and she made an impatient sound. “We’re grown-ups. Surely we’ve gotten past dramatizing something that happened during an emotionally charged moment.”
“That’s mature of you.”
Sure. And she almost believed it.
“So why are you here before Toby’s bedtime?” she asked as he sniffed the air and headed unerringly into the kitchen. “With a pizza?”
“He’s spending the night at a friend’s house, so I have the evening free. That smells incredible.” Ben bent over the fresh peach pie and inhaled deeply. “What’s this?” He peeked under the dishcloth covering a bowl.
“Bread dough.” Kelly set the pizza on the table and covered the dough again. She swatted his hand away from a pan of brownie batter and slid it into the oven.
“I heard you left work after talking to the mayor. How did that go?”
“Not well. Between his blustering and everyone wanting to talk about me being Griffin Bell… I just couldn’t take it any longer.”
The phone rang again and Kelly groaned when she saw it was the Sand Point Gazette calling. “See what I mean? It’s rung fourteen times since I’ve been home, and there were twenty-three messages on the machine before I got here. I would have unplugged it, but I don’t want Gina to worry if she can’t get me. I’m only going to answer if it’s her or Henry.”
“Turn it off,” Ben ordered. “She knows to call my cell.”
Relieved, Kelly disconnected the phone. She would have to get a new unlisted number in the morning.
“Let’s eat,” Ben said. “I brought Giovanni’s Pizza—self-proclaimed ‘best pizza on the planet,’ with pepperoni, mushrooms, onions and olives.”
They’d often eaten at Giovanni’s when they were dating. Had he remembered, or was it a coincidence?
“I’ll eat a piece later.”
“No, eat with me and tell me something new about Simon.”
Since he’d made it into a business meal, Kelly could hardly refuse. She took a slice and bit into it while Ben sprinkled crushed red pepper over his.
“You told me Simon may have spoken other languages,” he said. “Is there anything else?”
“He may have traveled quite a bit. He mentioned Panama and Southeast Asia, and he knew parts of the United States well.”
“Where in the U.S.?”
“Arizona, Texas, Louisiana, Washington, D.C., Florida—lots of places, though I can’t see how that will help.”
“It can’t hurt.” Ben chewed in silence for a minute. “Why do you think he spoke other languages?”
“I saw him a few times with crewmen from foreign cargo ships. They’d be conversing comfortably, but a lot of those guys don’t speak English.”
“Did he have any belongings that might have tempted them? Jewelry perhaps—a watch or ring that looked valuable. Three ships left port early in the morning, before his body was discovered. If his death isn’t connected to Harvey Bryant’s murder, it could have been a crime of opportunity.”
Kelly pictured Simon in her mind. “I never saw him with anything of real value. His ring finger had an indentation, as if he’d worn one for years, but the skin was evenly colored so it must have come off a while ago. I think he had just two changes of clothing, though he kept himself clean. Definitely no watch.”
“You’re a good observer.”
“Not good enough.” She dropped the slice of pizza back into the box, her appetite vanishing. “We were friends. I should know more about him.”
“You tried. He could have gotten help if he’d wanted it. There are public agencies that assist with making a fresh start, and private organizations that do the same thing.”
“I guess.” Kelly wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Would you like milk or soda?”
“Milk. But coffee would be great with that pie if you plan to offer me some.”
She poured him a glass and started the coffeemaker, her mind churning. Would she always wonder if she was responsible for Harvey’s death, despite Ben’s insistence that she wasn’t?
She moved restlessly around the kitchen. “Do you think mystery writers are ghouls at heart?” she asked finally.
Ben shook his head. “I think they’re human puzzle-solvers—the puzzle of why one person would take another’s life. It’s contrary to everything we’re taught.” It was about solving a puzzle. Months ago she’d heard of a body found in glacial ice, frozen for thousands of years. When forensic evidence pointed to murder, her imagination had taken off, painting a picture of the man’s world, his family and the motives for the killing. She’d wanted to put the pieces together and understand why.
“I was working on a fantasy novel when Mitch suggested writing a mystery,” she murmured. “He loved them. So I began reading Agatha Christie and other authors and got hooked. But it wasn’t the gore and death, it was the characters and the relationships and the way lives get entangled.”
“That makes sense. You’re still bothered about this afternoon and what Fred Bartlett said, aren’t you?”
“A little.”
A lot, her conscience amended.
Kelly peeked at the bread dough and decided it was ready. She dumped it onto a floured board and shaped it into a loaf.
“By the way, the Kite and Blackberry Festival Committee has talked to you about this weekend, right?” She put the bread at the back of the stove to rise and took the brownies from the oven.
“Yes, they’ve been in touch. The department has an overtime budget for extra police-coverage. We also coordinate the volunteers setting up the parade route in the morning. I’ll be on call, but the day-shift captain has been running the event security for years. I’ve gone over the procedures with him and he has a good handle on things.”
“The committee has been working on it for months, though most of the plans were set before you started. It’s a big deal. There’ll be fry bread with blackberry syrup, berry pie, scones and berry jam—all sorts of stuff. The kites are spectacular and we’ll have contests and booths with vendors selling crafts and other products.”
“Uh-huh. I remember Aunt Gina saying something about it as well. I think they’re planning to take Toby.” Ben looked at her warily. “And you’re bringing this up because…?”
“Because the festival is the sort of thing the police chief should be seen at—participating and meeting everyone. Henry and Gina always go.”
“I see.”
“The murders have shaken everyone. The town needs to feel life is returning to normal, and having you attend would help,” Kelly urged. She wanted Ben to stay in Oregon for Henry and Gina’s sake. Some of that depended on Ben, but some of it depended on the town accepting him. It took time for Sand Point to warm up to newcomers, and they were already uncertain about their police chief.
“Fine, we’ll go together. Toby will love telling his Sunday school class that he went to the festival with Miss Kelly,” Ben added with an easy grin.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “That isn’t what I meant. Besides, I don’t need to be protected with everyone there.”
“Did you ever think I need protection? You can guide me through the protocol of how a police chief behaves at this kind of function.”
She slapped frosting on the hot brownies and spread the chocolate so it melted evenly across the top. “There’s no special protocol. The festival is fun and food and folks being silly.”
“Silly?” A concerned frown creased Ben’s forehead. “That usually means alcohol. I should work with the command center instead of attending. We don’t need any incidents with people so much on edge.”
“No, it doesn’t mean alcohol,” Kelly said, exasperated. “It’s a family event—face painting, three-legged races and dunking city officials in a tank of water to raise money for a good cause. Silliness like butter dripping down your chin from corn on the cob and getting barbecue stains on your T-shirt.”
DUNKING AND FACE PAINTING?
Holy cow.
Ben didn’t know what to say. He’d never been high on his dignity, but three-legged races were something out of old movies, weren’t they?
He cleared his throat. “Is the mayor getting dunked? They’ll raise a fortune from you and Viv alone. I’ll contribute my fair share, as well.”
Kelly chuckled. “He’d never do it. Riding in the parade is his idea of civic duty. But Max did the dunk tank when he was in office and enjoyed every minute.”
“Max?”
“My father-in-law, Max Lawson,” she said affectionately. “He wanted to volunteer this year, but he’s recovering from heart surgery and his doctor went ballistic at the suggestion.”
“So you’re still close to the Lawsons.”
“I’ll always be close to them. They’re great people.”
Just like good ole Mitch.
Except Ben couldn’t whip up his usual cynicism about Mitch Lawson’s heroism. If there were genuine heroes in the world, then Mitch might actually qualify—minus the superhuman qualities attributed to him.
“How about the police chief? Did Uncle Henry ever get dunked?”
“Oh, yes. Once they liked and trusted Henry, he was always requested. It’s for fun. You want someone riding the dunk tank who will enjoy it in the spirit intended. That’s why the mayor wouldn’t work out—nobody’s that comfortable with him.”
Trust.
Again.
In Los Angeles Ben had been a respected, decorated police officer. That didn’t seem to count for beans in Oregon. He had to prove himself all over again, not only as a police officer, but as a man. He’d lived by the strict code Uncle Henry had taught him, but maybe Kelly was right. It wasn’t enough to care about justice, he needed to care about people.
“I want Sand Point to be comfortable with me, even if it means getting asked to be dunked,” Ben said. And all at once, that’s what he really wanted—an invitation to ride the dunk tank.
“Give it time.” Kelly wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Help yourself to the pie and coffee. I’m going upstairs to work on the computer. And, uh, you can sleep in the spare bedroom if you want. It’s the second door on the right up the main stairs.”
He savored the minor victory of being offered a bed. “Thanks but the couch has the best vantage point. I’m on guard duty, remember?”
“Whateve
r. I’ll try not to disturb you when I come down to bake the bread.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Ben didn’t expect to sleep, anyway. The persistent ache in his groin would keep him awake, if nothing else. Kelly might be over their kiss, but he sure wasn’t.
CHAPTER TEN
“EAT AN ELFONT EAR?” Toby’s eyes were wide. He was perched on his dad’s shoulders as they wandered down the main thoroughfare of the Kite and Blackberry festival.
Kelly chuckled. “You bet. This kind of Elephant Ear is made of yummy fry bread and dunked in blackberry syrup. How about it?”
The five-year-old vigorously bobbed his head. Before the parade they’d sampled blackberry jam with English scones, but now it was time to get serious and for Kelly that meant fry bread with blackberry syrup.
“I’ll get the Elephant Ears,” Henry said. “Grab us a seat.”
They picked out a picnic table and Ben settled Toby in the middle. The morning of the festival had dawned clear and unusually warm for the Oregon coast, and vendors and patrons alike were enjoying the weather.
“Kelly, I’m so glad I found you,” cried a woman rushing toward them, only to stop short when she saw Ben. “Police Chief Santoni. Hello.”
“And hello to you.” He put out his hand as he’d done dozens of times already that morning. If the mayor’s press conferences had accomplished nothing else, they’d ensured that Ben’s face was well-known in Sand Point. He was a commanding presence and had displayed his usually hidden charm.
Toby helped. Ben was tall and handsome in the Sand Point Police Department uniform, and Toby was dressed similarly in khaki pants and a shirt. People were delighted with the father and son duo.
“This is Mirabelle Nolan, one of the pillars of the festival committee,” Kelly explained.
Between Gina, Henry and herself, they’d managed to introduce Ben to nearly everyone, though Kelly had also fielded endless questions about her books. The story had come out in the Thursday evening news about her being Griffin Bell. There had been a few raised eyebrows and arch comments regarding the sexy contents of her novels, but overall it was better than she’d expected.