Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center) (28 page)

“I recognized your footfall.”

He flinched. “Seriously?”

She let out a soft moan. “So what has that frown fixed on your face?”

“I have to tell you something.” He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “It’s going to sound odd, but I want to tell you that I’m as confused by it as you will be.”

Worried, she thought, and from his eye movements and clenched hands, not at all sure of his reception.

“You’ll probably hold this against me.” He glanced away, then pulled his gaze back to meet hers. “No, that’s not true. You will hold it against me. You’ll doubt me.”

“Are you planning on lying to me, Ben?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then just tell me and give me the chance to hear what you have to say with an open mind. I promise to try.”

“It won’t be easy to hear.”

She sat up, then turned to face him, her leg folded under her on the seat. “Okay, I’m prepared.”

He licked his lips and looked her right in the eyes. “Emily from Richard Massey’s office sent another page over. Her fax jammed.” He lifted a hand. “It says she found a check from Massey to me, Kelly.”

Her heart beat hard and fast. “But you said you didn’t know him.”

“I’d never heard of him before all this.” Ben expelled a deep breath. “But according to his records, he paid me to follow you.”

“What?” The shock he’d dreaded pumped hard through her veins, thudded in her temples.

“I don’t know why, Kelly,” he said in a rush. “I didn’t work for him, period. Not following you or doing anything else. I haven’t gotten a check from him or ever even spoken to the man.” He lifted his shoulders, clamped his jaw. “I promise you I don’t know anything about any of this.”

Her mind raced. Was he playing her? Had he been all along? She gave herself a mental shake. This was Ben.
Ben
. He wouldn’t do that.

“Let’s just say that sometimes people are the exact opposite of who they appear to be … ”

A man’s voice, a memory. She squeezed her fingers into her palm. Who had told her that? She could hear him speak so clearly. It had to be a memory. But of whom?

Think, Kelly. Think
. She tried to form an image of the owner of the voice.
Who are you?

Nothing came.

She tried harder.

Still nothing.

“Kelly.” Ben claimed her attention. “I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t do this, and I never saw that check.”

She pursed her lips, studied him. “Was it cashed?”

He tilted his head. “I know this is hardly the time, but if you choose not to believe me, I don’t expect I’ll have another chance—”

“What do you want to say, Ben?”

“Even now, you’re practical and to the point.” He snapped the air with a straight hand. “You cut to the chase. I like that about you.”

Her heart suffered a little tug. She ignored it. This wasn’t a time for emotion. It was a time for logic. “So be practical and to the point back and answer my question. Was the check cashed?”

“No, it wasn’t.” He stopped short, then started over. “It hasn’t been cashed yet, anyway.”

“Okay.” Kelly stared past his left shoulder a long minute, grappling to wrap her mind around these new events. “What does this mean?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Fair enough. He wasn’t feeding her some song and dance, and she was grateful for it. “Well, we’d better find out.” She tapped her fingertips against her knee. “Obviously, they’re marking us both, and our not knowing why puts us in even more danger.” Prickly-skinned, she rubbed her arms. “There must be a compelling reason for—” His grave expression stole her thought. “Ben, are you still worried that I don’t believe you?”

His face flushed in the diffused light. “Frankly, yes.” Ben shrugged as if it didn’t much matter, which of course meant it mattered a great deal. “In your position, I’m not sure I’d believe me, and saying we need to find out what it means isn’t absolution or belief.” He looked away. “It was a lot to ask, much less expect.” He swerved his gaze back to her. “But I am telling you the truth.”

Worry. Fear. Hope. All of that and more played out on his face, in his body language, for her to see. “Ben.” She lifted her hand and cupped his face. “I believe you.”

His jaw dropped open and he just sat there.

“You look stunned.” She liked it. Was that awful of her? It couldn’t be. The desire to kiss him arced through her, settled, and stayed put.
Bad idea. Very bad idea
. She pulled her hand back, sat on it to be sure it stayed in place, and stared deeply into his eyes.

Shadows slanted across his face, making him appear even more torn. “You do believe me?” Before she could answer, he added, “I want you to, but if you don’t, I won’t blame you. I know how bad this looks.”

“It looks awful,” she admitted. “But you have no reason to lie, Ben, and you’ve given me every reason to trust you.”

She trusts me
.

His throat went thick. He closed his eyes, let that trust flow over him and seep deep inside. Where did she get the strength to believe? In the face of such strong evidence, how—why—did she dare to believe?

He glanced at the cross above the altar. Remembered with longing a time when he had the peace that came with faith. The certainty that regardless of what happened, everything would work out. That the crooked places would be made straight. But after Susan and Christopher … he hadn’t believed in anything but the absence of those things. Its acute sting had been his constant companion. But had his bitterness blinded him? Even when logic and evidence said she shouldn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, she trusted him. He choked up and whispered, “Thank you, Kelly.”

“Oh, Ben.” Her voice went soft, her eyes softer.

He wanted to kiss her. Anticipated it, but he couldn’t do it. Not here. Not in Susan’s chapel.

She twined their hands atop his knee, stroked the back of his hand. “Is there more?”

“No—no, that’s all of it.”
Coward
. It rippled through him.
If you weren’t, you’d at least tell her you’d like to kiss her
.

Maybe he would. But it wouldn’t be right, would it?

Not if she isn’t free. What if she isn’t? What would that do to her? To you? You could let this relationship develop and then find out she belongs to another man …

The thought alone had him sick inside. With everything else, he couldn’t put her through that—and he couldn’t go through it himself.

His phone rang. “Sorry.” He answered it, thankful for the reprieve. “Brandt.”

“Ben, it’s Mark.”

“Yeah, Mark.” His gaze locked with Kelly’s. A man could get lost and stay lost in those blue eyes.

“I’ve got the ownership information you wanted on that beach house.”

“Great.” He shifted on the pew, putting a little distance between them.

“For forty years, it belonged to a woman named Bethany Bennett.”

“Never heard of her.”

“I’m surprised,” Mark said. “She lived here most of her adult life—a local artist.”

“Oh, wow. You mean Beth Bennett.” Kelly showed no reaction to hearing the name. Not a flicker. “She did paintings and pottery.”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“I knew Beth,” Ben said. “I haven’t seen her in awhile. Did she move away?”

“She died three months ago.”

Another loss in the village that had gone unnoticed while he’d been distancing himself from everyone and everything. “What happened to her?”

“Natural causes, according to the death certificate. I put a call into Hank Green to see if I could get some specifics out of him.”

Hank had been the coroner for as long as Ben could remember. “Wait a second. If she’s gone, then who owns it now?”

“Kelly Jean Walker.”

Kelly. Ben stiffened. “Um, related?”

“Yeah, her niece and only surviving relative. She inherited it, but someone else paid the taxes. Today, in fact.”

“Who?”

“A lawyer from Atlanta. Alexander Denham.”

A chill swept up Ben’s back. “He was at Chessman’s dinner party. I met him. We talked about historical landmarks.”

“Yeah, I remembered you mentioning that.”

“This smells funny, Mark. I’m not sure why, but—”

“Yes, it does. And thanks to Kelly, I now know why.”

“Kelly?”

“She suggested we check the ownership of the beach houses flanking Beth’s. Guess who owns them.”

“Denham?”

“Think closer to home.”

“Gregory Chessman?”

“Exactly.”

Ben sifted through everything, taking into account this new information. “So what does that tell us?”

“It tells us that someone is going to a lot of trouble to hook you to Kelly, and they’re really nervous about something to do with that beach house.”

“You’re sure they’re one and the same?” he asked, certain Mark would surmise he meant his Kelly and Beth’s Kelly.

“Positive,” Mark said. “I ran her background twice.”

Ben resisted the urge to ask if she was married.

“Her folks died when she was a kid. Samuel Johnson was her guardian. No relation to her—”

“Then why not Beth?” A blood relative would have priority when it came to custody.

“Beth wasn’t stable. At least not enough to get custody, though she
did try. But Kelly’s parents designated Samuel as her guardian and according to the case file, Beth had been committed to a mental hospital twice.”

Everyone in the village considered her crazy, but Nora swore she was just an eccentric artist with an active imagination.

Mark went on. “Kelly’s dad and Samuel grew up together and stayed close until her dad died.”

“What have you got on him?”

“No immediate family, but guess who turned up in his background check?”

“Chessman?”

“No, but close,” Mark said. “Paul Johnson.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Afraid not. Samuel is his uncle.”

“What?” Kelly whispered from beside him.

Ben tilted the phone. “Give me a minute. It’s complicated.” He spoke again to Mark. “But Paul didn’t recognize her. Clyde, Mel, and Harvey have canvassed all over the village. No one knew her.”

“Paul wouldn’t know her. Samuel’s branch and Paul’s branch of the family are estranged and have been for thirty years. I don’t know why. But Samuel is the self-made man and the hated rich uncle. No interaction.”

How was Kelly going to take this? It was a lot to digest. “I see.”

“Not yet,” Mark said. “It gets even more bizarre.”

It couldn’t possibly.

“Something happened early on. I can’t tell from the paper trail what exactly, but in short order, this attorney, Denham, took over Kelly’s guardianship. I’m still waiting on a lot of the personal stuff, so the reason may turn up. I can tell you she looks good on paper. No arrests, no record, or anything like that. Not even a parking ticket.” Mark let out a little
chuckle. “She’s got as much money as you do. That’ll be good news for her to hear.”

“She’ll need some.”

“Yeah, I expect so.”

Ben again fought the urge to ask if she was married, had a family. “What does she do?”

“Pretty much what you used to do—philanthropic work.”

“What kind?”

“Building centers for at-risk teens mostly, and funding programs for latchkey kids. I spoke to a hotel concierge in New Orleans. He said they had a drive-by shooting and a kid was killed. A few days later she showed up out of the blue saying she was going to build a place they’d be safe. She was there about a week and went to leave to site a center location, but her Jeep wouldn’t start. A part-timer working for him got her a rental—the red Jag. She left the hotel that night and never returned.”

“I see.” Ben let his gaze lose focus a second, processing that.

“You’re not going to believe who that part-timer was, Ben.”

“Who?”

“Richard Massey.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” Mark said.

Which tied right back to Chessman. “What about the other guy? Did you personally get in touch with him?”

“Denham?”

“Yeah.” Kelly looked eager to know what he was hearing. He held up a wait-a-minute finger, certain seeing it would exasperate her. It did; her sigh could power a windmill.

“He was out,” Mark said. “I left a message on his voice mail.”

Ben filled him in on the fax from Massey’s Emily.

“Ben, the way I see it, someone’s playing connect-the-dots between you two. It’s transparent.” Mark paused. “Well, between Susan and Kelly. Do you have any idea why?”

“Other than the obvious physical similarities, no, I don’t.” Ben couldn’t stand not knowing any longer. “When are you expecting that personal information?”

“Not sure. I’ve got inquiries out. Waiting to hear.”

“Let me know when you do, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, Mark.” Ben bit back his disappointment at not knowing if she had her own family. That was the one thing Kelly and he most wanted to know, which probably made him the most selfish person in the world right now.

He closed the phone and tucked it into his pocket.

Her eyes gleamed. “So who am I?”

She didn’t doubt he knew. Astute woman. “Your name is Kelly Jean Walker.”

“Kelly Jean Walker.” She let it roll off her tongue, tried it out. Then whispered it again.