Honor Bound

Yet it wasn’t the end, because she still wasn’t sure that Ben was right for the job. The police chief should be a community leader, something he didn’t seem to understand. And she hated how distrustful he was of people—maybe distrust came in handy for a homicide detective, but how could anyone live that way?

“Mrs. Lawson!” Mayor Stone called from down the hall.

Viv stuck out her tongue and pointed her left thumb downward. She’d disliked Phillip Stone since the day he’d suggested it was time for her to retire.

“Yes?” Kelly called back.

“May I speak with you?”

He was in the “Media Center,” a small room with a computer, fax machine, photocopier and assorted other electronics. What it lacked was the internet. The mayor had cut it from the budget, claiming there was too much personal use by employees. Internet had been restored to the police station, though. Ben’s assertion it was an essential element of modern police work had convinced the City Council, so they’d overridden the mayor.

At least Ben knew the tools he needed to be effective. If Mayor Stone had gotten his way, his smarmy brother would have been permanently appointed police chief. While Ben might not be right for the job in some ways, he was better than Frank Stone.

“How can I help you, Mayor?”

He handed her a sheet of paper. “What do you think of it?”

“It” was a poorly designed campaign flyer, with tired catch phrases and little substance. Kelly politely read half, then returned it to him. He was probably nervous after getting into office in a special midterm election.

“I’m flattered you value my opinion, but I can’t comment as a city employee, the town charter prevents me from being involved in elections, the way it bans sitting candidates from using city equipment and supplies to support a campaign.” She glanced at the photocopier, lid up and ready for use.

Phillip’s face became wooden, yet there was a hint of alarm in his brown eyes. The same color as Ben’s, Kelly mused idly, except Ben’s were nearly impossible to read.

“We certainly can’t break the rules.” The mayor thrust the flyer in a pocket and then adjusted his tie and smoothed his silvered black hair. “I have to go. I have a press conference at three.”

He was milking the situation for all it was worth, but he shouldn’t stand too close to his new police chief while doing it. Phillip Stone had a receding chin and sloped shoulders, while Ben was tall, handsome and authoritative. His dark Italian looks had received a great deal of attention from the women in Sand Point.

From her, too, once.

Kelly shook her head. Despite how Ben had hurt her when they were eighteen, she’d let him affect her marriage. Nothing dramatic, but sometimes when Mitch had walked out of the house rather than confront a problem, she’d remember the way Ben had never missed an opportunity to argue, and how exciting that was.

It had happened the day Mitch was killed in the warehouse fire…she’d been upset about some silly thing and he had refused to discuss it with her, instead leaving early to report to the firehouse. Frustrated, she’d thought, Ben wouldn’t have done that.

She’d felt guilty, of course. It was Mitch who’d been there after her mother died. Mitch who’d proven himself. Mitch who’d respected and loved her and would never have hurt her.

Except he did hurt you, her heart whispered.

He’d died, too.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS PAST ELEVEN BEFORE Ben got through the final chapter of Deep Sea.

The book was a good read—fast paced, with a modern, sexy twist on old-fashioned, hard-boiled detective fiction.

The first novel, Deep Water, was nearly as good. He could see why the author was so popular; the guy knew how to put together a tidy suspense story.

As for any similarities to the dock murders, the homeless victims shared physical characteristics, but that could be coincidence. The real homeless victim had slept in a local shelter once in a while, and the rest of the time presumably under a bridge or in deserted buildings on the docks—they still hadn’t determined exactly where. The fictional “homeless” victim was a wealthy man who’d walked away from his former life, paralyzed with guilt over his wife’s suicide. Both spent their days on the waterfront as acute observers of the flow of life about them, but in the book the murderer used an organic poison that mimicked death from natural causes, while Simon had been stabbed.

It was the similarity to Harvey Bryant’s murder that intrigued Ben the most. The real and fictional businessmen were both found dead by an abandoned fish cannery, killed with a double-tap through the heart and a finishing shot behind the ear. Very neat and efficient.

He suspected that whoever fired the real shots was a pro, and damned good at their work. Ben had worried about copycat crimes; now he thought the books might have already been used as a blueprint for murder. One of the details they hadn’t released to the public was that the actual crime scene had been staged; the evidence showed Harvey Bryant had been killed somewhere else and his body moved to the docks.

But why?

Was it connected to the strike against H. Bryant Industries? Labor strikes were never pretty, and this one was particularly ugly. There’d been accusations of unfair labor practices, safety issues and substandard pay and benefits. The strike might have been settled, but the workers and their families felt they’d gotten a raw deal. It could also explain the mayor’s death threats—Phillip Stone was a personal friend of the Bryants, but apparently he’d done little, if anything, to help mediate in either a public or private capacity.

“Poppa?”

Toby stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Ben threw the blankets back and patted the bed. “Hey, why are you awake?”

“I dunno.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Toby crawled up on the mattress and Ben tucked the covers around him. After a long minute his son looked up. “Um…I miss Mommy.”

Ben dreaded these moments. “I know, pal.”

“Does Mommy miss me?”

“I’m sure she does.” 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 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.

His aunt and uncle had volunteered to lend a hand with Toby whenever he needed it, so he’d rented the other side of their duplex when they told him it was available. Henry and Gina were great neighbors—they respected his privacy and did everything possible to help with Toby.

“Don’t tell me,” Henry said, raising his eyebrows at the papers spread across the table. “You’re taking over the investigation.”

“Not exactly.”

A knowing grin crossed Henry’s face. “Then why do you have the case file?”

“It’s a copy. I’m reviewing the progress we’ve made.”

His uncle smiled wider and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“That’s the real stuff,” Ben warned. “Double strength. Aunt Gina will blame me if you can’t sleep.”

“Caffeine doesn’t keep me awake anymore.” Henry took a long swallow, although the coffee was hot enough to scald. “And your aunt wouldn’t blame you, she loves you too much.”

Ben couldn’t argue the point. His aunt had indulged him as a boy, something he’d never fully appreciated before. It was a miracle how she’d put up with him. His behavior had been relatively okay when the visits were to places like London, Rome and Athens—wherever Henry happened to be assigned at the time—but the later trips to Sand Point were another story.

“God knows why,” he said finally. “I was an antisocial monster when I was a kid.”

Henry gave him a fond look. “You weren’t so bad. And you had issues back then. We understood. My sister and her husband…well, we don’t need to get into that.”

It was the most Henry had ever said about the past, and Ben shifted uncomfortably. Yeah, he’d had issues. His childhood hadn’t been idyllic, proving money didn’t bring happiness. He barely spoke to his parents now, though they’d recently left a few messages, asking if they could visit. He’d put them off, not interested in a family reunion with two people he’d never been close to, even when he was a kid.

“Kelly would have disagreed with you. She thought I was awful.”

“She didn’t think so the whole time.” Henry’s mouth flattened, plainly recalling the evening that Ben and Kelly were caught by a Sand Point cop, engaged in heavy-duty necking.

“It wasn’t a big deal—we were eighteen,” Ben found himself saying, a defensive reflex from the one time his uncle had been truly angry with him.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure why Henry had been so upset. Maybe it was embarrassing for the police chief to have his nephew hauled in by one of his own officers, or maybe it was because Henry and Gina thought of Kelly as a daughter. Kelly’s mother had been renting half of the duplex when Henry and Gina bought it. The arrangement had continued, with Henry and Gina living on one side and Kelly and Shanna on the other, so they’d watched her grow up from age twelve.

Hell, Henry was the reason Kelly worked at City Hall; he’d gotten her the job when her husband died.

With a neutral expression, his uncle sat at the table and put a finger on several sheets of paper, twisting them around. A low whistle came out as he read.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s a lousy piece of investigating,” Ben said. “When your detectives took positions in Portland after you left, these two were hired by the interim police chief. They’ve got law enforcement training, but limited hours on the job. Very limited.”

“You can’t attract experienced detectives to Sand Point with the starting salaries we offer…or experienced police chiefs. So teach them. What do you think I did with my guys? I had to do it more than once, as a matter of fact. I’d get them trained and sooner or later they’d go looking for bigger and better opportunities.”

Ben opened his mouth, then closed it.

Damn it all, Henry was right.

Instead of grinding his teeth in frustration, Ben should be teaching Lasko and Fairmont to be the detectives he wanted them to be. They needed on-the-job training. A college education and police academy certification were fine, but didn’t translate into true investigative skills.

He’d learned from a tough partner who’d kicked his ass in the right direction if he made a mistake.

Henry waved at the file. “Small towns aren’t the same as cities. That means your job isn’t the same as being a captain or police chief in Los Angeles.”

“So I’m discovering. How the hell did you go from Europe to Sand Point?” Ben asked. “CIA to small-town cop? It’s quite a switch.”

“We moved to Oregon when I got tired of knowing that as soon as one bit of scum got put away, there were ten more ready to take his place. It isn’t that way in Sand Point. My work here made a difference. I liked that difference. I’m an egotist.”

“More like someone who plays daddy to the world.” Ben pressed his fingers to his eyes so hard he saw stars. He’d always wanted to be a cop. It was the one constant from his childhood, and yet there were times that working in law enforcement was more discouraging than sweeping sand in a windstorm, particularly when lawyers got perps released as fast as they were arrested.

Henry put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll get it sorted out. I wouldn’t have recommended you if I hadn’t known you were the best man for the job.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. Now get some sleep, son. Tomorrow comes soon enough.” The back door opened and closed and quiet filled the house.

Ben smiled. Henry and Gina should have had kids; they were born parents. They’d certainly done a lot for him. Even when it came to the house… Ben glanced around the cheerful kitchen. It was a real home thanks to Aunt Gina’s extra touches. They would have wanted to do the same for Kelly and her mother when they’d lived here, though he doubted it would have meant much to Shanna.

His clearest memories of Shanna James were of a hard-eyed woman wearing tight, short, low-cut dresses, sitting on the porch in a cloud of tobacco smoke. She’d worked at a bar till 2:00 a.m., gone through men the way she went through cigarettes, and had a foul mouth that rivaled a longshoreman’s.

The only thing he’d had in common with Shanna was a case of mutual dislike. When they first met she’d called him an “f’ing spoiled brat” and told him stay out of her way. Then she’d yelled at Kelly to “get in the goddamn” house.” Kelly probably would have gone hungry and run wild if it hadn’t been for Henry and Gina, but she’d survived her childhood and ended up married to the former mayor’s son.

So she’d done okay for herself.

Yawning, Ben dismissed the thought and pushed back from the table.

Tomorrow he would talk to Lasko and Fairmont. Whether they liked it or not, he was going to kick their collective asses in the right direction. He’d make them decent detectives if it was the last thing he ever did.

THE NEXT MORNING KELLY went into City Hall, her footsteps echoing in the marble corridor. She smiled at the sound. The old part of City Hall was an improbable birthday cake of a building. It was utterly impractical, but most of the employees loved it. Dubbed the “Marble Monster” when first built in 1926, it provided a gaudy focal point for the entire area.

Phillip and Frank Stone were standing near the base of the main staircase and she veered sharply, hoping to escape notice.

“Mrs. Lawson, I need to speak with you.”

Wonderful. Kelly turned around. “Yes, Mayor?”

He waved an envelope in the air. “The Kite and Blackberry Festival committee just asked me to ride in the parade. I’m concerned they didn’t make the request sooner.”

Frank stepped closer. He was shorter and more wiry than his younger brother, but unlike Phillip, he wasn’t going prematurely gray. “Sugar, the mayor should have been the first person invited. You’re on that committee. You should have made sure the right protocol was followed.”

Sugar?

The way he said it made her long for a shower to wash off the slime. “I’m not on the committee, Mr. Stone. I’m the city’s liaison with them. I can’t make them do anything.” She looked at the mayor. “However, I reminded the chairman several times that a formal invitation is customary.”

The mayor puffed out his chest in affront. “You had to remind the chairman? You would think they didn’t want me in their parade.”

“They’re shorthanded with the flu season hitting so early. And since your devotion to civic duty is well-known, they assumed you planned to participate. They naturally felt you would understand under the circumstances.” She hated playing to his ego, but it made things easier in the long run.

“Oh, yes, yes, quite so,” Phillip agreed, appeased. “We’re all part of the same team. And speaking of team-work, my brother has decided to stay in Sand Point for a while instead of tending to his business up north. I feel safer having him here after receiving all those death threats.”

The policeman standing behind them looked disgusted. Kelly sympathized. It was hard to believe anyone was serious about hurting the mayor, and standing guard on him had to be one of the most boring jobs in the world.

“I’m sure Police Chief Santoni…” Her words trailed. She couldn’t bring herself to say Ben would appreciate the help since she was certain that he wouldn’t appreciate a single thing about Frank Stone. Frank was smarter than his brother…and a dead loss in every other way.