Julianna Morris - Honor Bound

Perhaps he should call Kelly. She knew a lot about the goings-on in Sand Point. She might even have guessed who the author was, and there was no harm in ensuring he was okay. Griffin Bell was obviously a pseudonym, because no one had ever lived in Sand Point, Oregon, by that name. Ben had checked it out himself.

Or maybe he ought to think about it for a while. The chance that Mr. Bell was in any danger was slim. Besides, calling Kelly was not the best idea…mostly because he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

Actually, that was ridiculous.

Kelly disliked him. She wasn’t going to get the wrong idea about anything he did.

KELLY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on her bed, petting her cat as she watched the press conference from earlier in the day. Phillip Stone talked a lot, and Ben Santoni said as little as possible.

He reminded her of an old police show, the one where the detective kept saying, “Just the facts, ma’am.”

That was Ben on camera—just the facts, brief and to the point—except he was a whole lot sexier than that television detective. Kelly grinned reluctantly. She didn’t want to be seen as a love-starved widow, but she did miss sex. Sparks were rare with the men she’d dated since Mitch’s death.

Or it might just be her.

The man she’d dated the longest was Detective Chris Palmer, formerly of the Sand Point Police Department. Chris was a nice guy looking for a permanent relationship, but she couldn’t get past him being a cop. She’d already buried one man because of his work; she didn’t want to bury another.

Life might not be exciting these days, but it was safe. Her heart couldn’t get torn apart again if she didn’t get close to anyone.

Ben said a few more words, and then stepped back. He wasn’t a public relations man, but at least he tried to be reassuring.

“Are you reassured, Frodo?” she asked the feline.

Frodo closed his eyes, his whiskered face thoroughly smug; his world was very much the way he wanted it to be—he had a warm bed, plentiful food, catnip and someone to scratch his neck. Then the phone rang, disturbing his contentment.

“Marrooow,” he squalled as Kelly reached for the receiver, jostling him in the process.

“That’s right, rude. Hello,” she said.

“What’s rude?”

Ordinarily Kelly would have been embarrassed at being overheard talking to her cat, but she didn’t care what Ben Santoni thought of her. “Calling so late. Don’t you know that country folk go to bed as soon as we feed the chickens?”

“I just woke you up and you’re that quick with a comeback?”

“You can never be sure.”

“That’s true. Do you save them for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Santoni. You aren’t worth the effort.” She stroked her offended cat. Frodo responded with a soft purr and rolled over on his back, wrapping his paws around her wrist.

“Don’t hold back, Kelly, tell me what you really think.”

“Oh, I do. I can’t tell you how freeing it is. What do you want, Ben?”

He was silent for a moment.

“Ben? Speak up, we’re getting older by the minute. How did you get my number, anyway? I’m unlisted.”

“The police chief is given the city employees’ home and cell phone numbers in case of emergency.”

“This is an emergency?”

“Near enough. I just read Deep Water and Deep Sea.”

“So?” Kelly wished no one had ever heard of those two books, especially if it meant she had to take calls from Ben Santoni at eleven-thirty at night.

“So, I wanted to know if you have any clue about the author’s identity. Griffin Bell is probably a pseudonym, but it could be an anagram of his name.”

“The bio in the book says Sand Point is his home-town—he might not even live here any longer.”

“And maybe he does. This is a small town, you’ve lived here all your life, you know everybody…. Surely someone has said something.”

“You have screwy notions, you know that? Sand Point has a population of twenty thousand, with lots of stores, churches and space to avoid one another. Nobody knows everyone, with the possible exception of Henry.”

“It’s tiny compared to Los Angeles.”

“I didn’t see you for fifteen years,” she pointed out. “Whenever you came to visit, that is. You were here occasionally, weren’t you?”

She’d deliberately kept to herself whenever Henry and Gina’s nephew was in town, and now she was stuck working in the same group of buildings with him. Maybe it was kismet and they were doomed to butt heads for the rest of their lives.

“I visited a couple of times a year, like when I was a kid, only not for so long,” he said. “I was also here after Henry got hurt. Your pie was delicious, by the way. It was nice that you sent so much food over when he was laid up.”

The mention of Henry’s car accident sent a painful tightness to Kelly’s chest, a reminder of when she’d lost her mother. She’d taken refuge in her kitchen, cooking everything in sight.

“I wasn’t the only one,” she said. “You do things for people you care about.” There was another silence and her brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?” she prompted.

“Uh…I was…nothing. At any rate, I still want to know if you have any idea of who the Deep Sea author might be.”

“Why does it matter?”

“I’m curious.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Are you paying attention to the mayor now?”

“No.” Ben sounded irritated. “He watches too much television. It’s ludicrous to think a writer would set up a situation in a book, then commit murder so it looks like a copycat crime. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to contact the author and make sure he’s all right.”

Kelly started to pull free of Frodo’s grasp, stopping when the cat flexed his claws, refusing to let go without a tussle. She rotated her shoulders to ease the tension in them. “I’m sure he’s fine. What does Henry say? He’s got nerve endings in every corner of Sand Point.”

“I, uh, I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. Just forget it.” There was a click on the line as he hung up.

Kelly disconnected, but it was harder to turn off the sick sensation in her midsection. “That man is impossible, Frodo.”

Her cat blinked and then rolled onto his side and licked his paw, bored with the conversation because it wasn’t about him.

She settled against a stack of pillows and listened to the roar of the ocean waves, crashing on the cliff outside her window.

Usually it soothed her.

Tonight was different.

Ever since the murders she hadn’t felt as secure in her oceanfront home. She had neighbors on either side, but the house was more secluded than in the central part of town. It was one of the things she’d liked about the place, though Henry had insisted on installing his preferred brand of locks and other security on the doors and windows as a housewarming gift.

She could go and stay with them—they’d welcome her, but she hadn’t taken their help when her mother died, and she wouldn’t begin now.

BEN SLAMMED THE PHONE DOWN.

He’d never had high blood pressure, but he was certain that it had leaped twenty points. It probably did whenever he talked to Kelly. He strode into the kitchen and turned the switch on the coffeemaker. A copy of the investigative file was in his briefcase, begging for attention.

An hour later Ben had read the file twice and was livid. He hadn’t been happy with the detective’s briefings on the investigation and it was no wonder; they’d done a half-assed job. He was making notes when there was a knock on the kitchen slider.

“Oh…hey, Henry. Come on in,” he said, opening the door. Cool night air flowed in, filled with the piney ocean scent he’d always associated with Sand Point.