Ben hoped it wasn’t a lie. He hoped there was enough decency in the woman he’d married that she’d regret cutting off contact with her son.
Toby seemed satisfied. He curled into a ball, his breathing slowing into the steady breaths of a sleeping child. Ben ached as he stared at his five-year-old son. Still innocent, still able to be comforted by his father. But innocence got lost early these days, and some parents were too busy to offer comfort.
He didn’t want to be that kind of father, or to have his son grow up too fast. And he never wanted Toby to wonder if he was loved the way he himself had wondered.
With a quiet groan Ben picked up Deep Sea and thumbed through the pages he’d marked as interesting. It was harder than he’d expected to stop being a detective. He’d have to apologize the next time he talked to his former captain. Captain Trujillo had frequently meddled in cases, much to the frustration of his officers. Now the shoe was on the other foot and Ben was fighting the same impulse.
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