Honor Bound. Julianna Morris
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Point had one or more killers, who’ve probably already left on a cargo ship. We have an unending supply of transient seamen with our deepwater port. At any rate, I’m not the one who’s overreacting now.”
Ben ignored her, dropping the leaf in his plastic envelope and scooping some soil into another. He smelled the contents. “Did you dump some flavored coffee here? At the end of day, when you got out of the car?”
She threw up her hands. “Would it matter if I said yes?”
“I wouldn’t send it to the lab, for one thing. Those tests cost money.”
“The answer is no, but you don’t need to send anything to the lab.” The mayor was already fuming about the cost of the murder investigation; the last thing she needed was the city paying for unnecessary tests.
“It doesn’t hurt to check things out. I’d like to know why someone was hanging around here.”
“If anyone was hanging around, it was most likely totally innocent.”
Ben rocked back on his heels, cool and professional, his expression as unreadable as if he’d been wearing mirrored sunglasses. “Last night Aunt Gina suggested I come over when Henry wasn’t available. Why didn’t you agree?”
“I changed my mind. There wasn’t anything to worry about.”
“Why didn’t you call me in the first place?”
Kelly blew out a frustrated breath. “I just didn’t, that’s why.”
“That isn’t an explanation.”
“Okay, it didn’t occur to me.”
“I’m the police chief. You see me at City Hall and receive my status reports every morning and evening. I’m Henry’s nephew, and the two of us used to date. Why didn’t it ‘occur’ to you that I might be someone to contact when you’re having a problem? I should have been at the top of the list.”
“Because the one time I did call you for something, you were too busy,” she said coolly.
He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“It isn’t important any longer.” Kelly shrugged. “I’m not sure it ever was.”
She climbed back into the Jeep, more annoyed than she was justified. It was because of those cracks he’d made about fake pelicans in the yard and the other stuff her mother had loved. How dare he? Nobody, including Shanna, would have claimed she was perfect. But she’d done her best, and that was a far cry from what Ben had ever done.
Kelly learned from her mistakes.
She had loved Ben, and then he hadn’t come when her mother died. He hadn’t even cared. It was the sort of lesson that stuck. She’d just returned from the mortuary and the florist, making decisions about a casket and burial plot, and flowers and feeling desperately alone. The house was deathly quiet. She’d broken down and called Ben, but he’d blown her off as fast as possible.
She didn’t know what kind of man Ben was now, but it didn’t matter. He had no right to criticize Shanna or make snide comments about someone who couldn’t defend herself.
Ben opened the door and flipped his thumb in command. “We need to talk.”
“We can talk at City Hall.”
“No, here.” He stood with his legs apart, a looming figure of authority until Kelly slid from the Jeep again.
“What is so vital it can’t wait?” Honestly, if he had the nerve to say anything more about her mother, she’d scream. Let him explain that to the neighbors when they came running.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re the author of the Deep mystery-novels?”
Kelly’s jaw dropped. “How do you know?”
“Give me some credit. I remember from when we dated that you wanted to be a writer. Then there’s the way you acted when I questioned you about the books. Not to mention the steno pad I borrowed from your desk yesterday…with an outline of the next two books in the series.”
Now he knew and it was a relief. At least she wouldn’t have to screw up her courage, looking for the right moment to tell him.
“Fine, I’m the author. What difference does it make?”
“To start, why keep it a secret?”
“I like my privacy. Is that so bad?”
“That depends on what you’re hiding.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I’M NOT HIDING ANYTHING,” Kelly said hotly.
“Except your identity.”
“There’s a difference between wanting my privacy and having something to hide. You don’t know what it was like when I was growing up…how…” She stopped, her cheeks pale.
“How what?”
“You wouldn’t understand. You always assumed I was like my mother, the way everyone else did.”
There was enough truth in the accusation that Ben knew it was wiser to keep his mouth shut.
Kelly crossed her arms over her stomach and mulishly set her chin. “Anyway, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was going to tell you sooner or later that I was Griffin Bell. But there shouldn’t have been any rush since you claimed you were concerned the author was all right, not that you wanted to ask about the murder.”
Fair enough, yet Ben was still annoyed. Kelly had been thwarting him since the day he’d started work at the police department.
“Writers like publicity to increase their book sales. Why didn’t you capitalize on the media attention?”
“I would never take advantage of something so tragic for my benefit,” Kelly snapped. “It’s bad enough that people are saying the murders are alike. How could I announce out of the blue that I’d written them? The books are fiction. What happened to Simon and Harvey is real life.”
Fiction?
Maybe.
But the homeless character had appeared in the second book of the series; that novel could have been written after Kelly met Simon.
“How much are your stories inspired by real people?” Ben asked. “Harvey Bryant, for example…or Simon? Were they recreated in your story?”
She made a visible effort to calm down. “Definitely not Harvey. He was lousy to his employees, but I can’t see him being dishonest like the character in Deep Sea. As for Simon, getting to know him did give me ideas. He puzzled me. He was intelligent, articulate, informed about the world…. I didn’t consciously describe him in the book, but I realized later that a lot of the details were the same.”
“So you thought he was more than just a bum.”
“Of course I did. Kids don’t grow up saying, ‘gee, I want to live under a bridge someday.’ He was special, but I’m sure if you got to know any homeless person you’d discover they’re more than what they seem.”
Her defense surprised Ben; she must have cared a great deal about Simon. The man was an enigma. The autopsy had revealed that he was in fair shape for a guy living on the streets, with a relatively healthy liver for a supposed alcoholic. He also had two, old gunshot-scars and an eagle tattoo on his arm. They’d entered his data into the National Crime Information Center’s Unidentified Person System. Now all they could do was wait until they got a break.
“Is there anything else you want to know?” Kelly asked. “I have a job to do.”
“Not right now.”
They returned to City Hall in silence. Kelly hurried away without a word, and his life didn’t improve when he