Flash Point

by Metsy Hingle

“Just how do you propose I do that?”

  “Come with us to the crime scene, see if you can see or feel anything else.”

  “No,” she said, pushing to her feet. She walked over to the counter, opened a bottle of water and poured it into a glass. “Please, I’d like you to leave.”

  “You heard the lady, Jackson. Let’s go,” Leon told him.

  Jack stood, met his partner’s gaze. “Would you give me a minute alone with her?”

  “We’re a team, remember?”

  “I know. But I still need a minute.” He paused. “Please.”

  Leon’s mouth flattened, but all he said was “Give me the keys. I’ll go pull the car around and meet you downstairs. Thanks for the water, Ms. Santos.” He stared at Jack. “Five minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Jack told him. Once his partner was gone, he walked over and stood behind Kelly. “Kelly, I know sometimes you see things…sense things in people,” he said, searching for the right words. “You sensed them in me the first time we met.”

  “That was different,” she said, her hand unsteady as she gripped the glass. “You helped me that night in the park. And I wanted to repay you for your kindness. I didn’t even know this Dr. Gilbert.” She put down the glass and turned to face him. “Anyway, he’s dead now. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”

  “No. But you might be able to help me find his killer.”

  “I can’t.”

  “How do you know unless you try? All you have to do is—”

  She glared at him. “I know what you want me to do. You want me to put on a…a psychic sideshow for you and your police friends. Well, forget it. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

  “Whoa! Hang on a second,” Jack said, taken aback by her anger. “Who said anything about a sideshow? I’m asking you to help me find a killer and I resent the hell out of you for thinking otherwise.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’m telling you the truth,” he fired back. “Look inside me if you don’t believe me.”

  “No,” she said, and started to move away.

  Fueled by frustration, he captured her wrist. “Look inside,” he insisted, and moved closer, crowding her space. He heard her breath catch, but she didn’t back down. Neither did he. Suddenly Jack became aware of just how close they were standing. Of how soft her skin was. Of her scent—something secretive and elusive—like her. He released her wrist and lifted his hand to tuck a strand of blond hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. Then he trailed his finger down her cheek. A shiver went through her, into him. Desire, hot and primal, fisted in his gut.

  “Kelly,” he whispered, and watched her eyes darken as he lowered his head. He kissed her. Slowly. Thoroughly. Deeply. And when he lifted his head, he was rock hard and aching.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” she told him, and pressed her fingertips to the lips he’d just kissed.

  “Probably not. But if you’re expecting an apology, you’re out of luck.” And because he was tempted to kiss her again, he turned around and walked out the door.

  Long after Jack had left, Kelly stood there and continued to stare at the door through which he’d exited. She touched her lips, remembering the heat and weight of his mouth on hers, the hunger she’d tasted in his kiss. At the memory, heat pooled in her belly and the ache inside her that had flowered at his touch started anew. She wanted Jack. And she didn’t have to be psychic to know that he wanted her, too. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to have Jack hold her in his arms, make love to her, with her.

  And what do you think will happen when he sees the real you? Have you forgotten what happened with Garrett?

  Reality came slamming back, along with the painful memories of the last time she had believed that she might actually be able to have a normal relationship with a man.

  Garrett Scott.

  He’d been everything she could ever have hoped for in a lover. Handsome. Charming. Intelligent. Sensitive. He had literally swept her off her feet and made her believe, at least for a little while, that he could actually love her. Shame and hurt washed through her as she thought of her own naiveté. Not wanting to dwell on her past mistakes, Kelly turned away and headed for the telephone to call the Reverend Mother again.

  When the Reverend Mother came onto the line, she said, “Hello, Kelly. I’m so glad that you phoned. You seemed so distraught when you left here last night, I was worried. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Reverend Mother, but thank you for your concern.”

  “Not at all. I’m just pleased to hear you’re feeling better. Now, how can I help you, child?”

  “I was wondering if there’s any sort of log of visitors or appointment schedule that’s kept there at the convent.” Although she hadn’t signed any such log during her two visits to the convent, both of her appointments had been written in the Reverend Mother’s appointment book and marked off by the secretary upon her arrival. “In particular, I was hoping there might be some record of Sister Grace’s visitors for…oh, say the last three months.”

  “We don’t have any visitors’ log and the only official schedule is the one posted each month with the various events and the list of chores and tasks assigned here at the convent. However, I keep an appointment book with my schedule, as do some of the other sisters.”

  “Would you happen to know if Sister Grace kept one?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea.” She paused. “What, if I may ask, is it you’re looking for?”

  “I’m hoping that maybe Sister Grace kept some sort of record of her visitors during the past few months. I think whoever was in the chapel with her the night she died had come to see her before.” She’d gone over that chapel scene in her head at least a dozen times since she’d left Peter Callaghan’s office, and now she was more convinced than ever that the nun had been murdered. She was also fairly sure that the person responsible for Sister Grace’s death had visited her on at least one previous occasion.

  “Kelly, does this have anything to do with your theory about Sister Grace’s death? About it not being due to a heart attack?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I understand if you don’t believe me, but—”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, child. I think that you truly believe everything you’ve told me. But surely you must see that this…this theory of yours is…well it’s highly unlikely.”

  “It may seem unlikely, Reverend Mother. But I can assure you that Sister Grace did not die from natural causes. She was murdered by someone who followed her to the chapel that evening.”

  Kelly didn’t have to see the frown creasing the Reverend Mother’s brow to know that it was there. “I wonder if you realize the magnitude of what you’re suggesting? That someone actually came into the house of our Lord and murdered one of our sisters.”

  “Believe me, Reverend Mother. I do realize it. But what if I’m right? What if someone did kill Sister Grace? What if Sister Grace isn’t the only one this person has killed and she decides to kill someone else? How can I just sit by and do nothing?”

  A long silence followed, during which time Kelly wondered whether the nun was still on the phone line. Then she heard a sigh. “You can’t, child. And neither can I. What can I do to help?”

  “Is it possible for you to find out if Sister Grace kept an appointment book?”

  “Sister Maria might know. She was the one closest to Sister Grace and she packed away her things after…after she died. Unfortunately, Sister Maria’s out at the moment. She teaches religion classes at the community center on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. But I’ll ask her when she gets back,” the Reverend Mother assured her. “Is there anything else?”

  “I don’t suppose the convent has a switchboard that records incoming calls, does it?”

  The Reverend Mother chuckled. “We don’t generate enough calls to justify one, I’m afraid.”

  “What about an
answering service?”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t afford one. We sisters rely on the diocese and donations to keep the convent running. Since the scandal in the Catholic Church a few years ago, the monetary support to the church and to us has decreased substantially. An answering service would be a luxury and we cannot afford luxuries.”

  Not for the first time, Kelly marveled that Sister Grace and others like her had chosen such a life—one filled with few rewards that she could see. It made her all the more determined to repay Sister Grace by finding her killer. “Reverend Mother, is there any one in particular who’s responsible for answering the telephone?”

  “Not really. The general rule is whoever is nearby when it rings answers it. Sister Mary Clarence has been acting as my secretary for the past year or so, and since the majority of the calls are directed to me, she’s often the one who answers the phone. If no one answers, the answering machine picks up and Sister Mary Clarence retrieves the message later.”

  “And if you or whichever sister is being called isn’t available, would Sister Mary Clarence take a message?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Does Sister Mary Clarence keep some type of record of those messages?” Kelly asked.

  “As a matter of fact, she does,” the Reverend Mother told her, a note of excitement in her voice. “She has one of those message pads that they use in offices. The type that makes a copy beneath it. I’ll have Sister Mary Clarence get the ones for the past few months for you.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Mother. I appreciate it.”

  “Kelly, do you really think this person actually contacted Sister Grace here at the convent?”

  “It would certainly make sense. It’s what I did whenever I wanted to reach her. Anyway, it’s a place to start,” Kelly told her. The other place she intended to look was the nun’s journals. “I’d also like to speak with Sister Maria. If she was close to Sister Grace, perhaps she said something to her.”

  “If you’ll give me the phone number where you’re staying, I’ll have her call you when she returns.”

  Kelly gave her the hotel’s phone number, along with her room number. “And if you’ll let me know when Sister Mary Clarence has those phone message logs ready, I’ll come by the convent to get them.”

  “I’ll get back with you shortly.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Mother. I appreciate all your help.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” the Reverend Mother told her. A lengthy pause followed and then she said, “Kelly?”

  “Yes, Reverend Mother?”

  “Don’t you think you should contact the police and tell them about your suspicions?”

  “What would I tell them, Reverend Mother?” Kelly asked. “That I had a vision and saw someone murder Sister Grace? Do you really think they’d listen to me?”

  “I listened,” she reminded her.

  “You’re more open-minded than most people. Trust me, if I went to the police, they’d only laugh in my face.”

  “But if you’re right, you could be in danger.”

  She’d realized already that by searching for Sister Grace’s killer she would become a threat to the person who’d believed she’d gotten away with murder. But it was a risk that she had to take. “I’ll be careful, Reverend Mother. I promise.” And after assuring the nun that she would go to the police the moment she had any real evidence or found herself in danger, she ended the call.

  The next thing she needed to do, Kelly decided, was to contact Peter Callaghan. She dug through her camera bag, found his card and telephoned his office. “This is Kelly Santos. I was wondering if Mr. Callaghan is in?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Santos, he’s in court this afternoon. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Actually you might be able to help me.” And after explaining to Peter’s assistant that she no longer wanted the boxes of journals sent to New York but to her at the hotel, she said, “If you can just let me know whether the boxes have been shipped yet or not, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll check with the mail room and get back to you,” the woman assured her. “And in the meantime, I’ll let Mr. Callaghan know that you called.”

  “Oh, there’s no reason to bother Peter. I mean, he doesn’t have to call me back. You can just let me know the status on the boxes.”

  “All right. But knowing Mr. Callaghan, he’ll probably call you anyway. In the meantime, let me see what I can find out in the mail room and then I’ll get back to you.”

  It was Peter who got back to her. “The boxes and painting are in our mail room scheduled for shipping in the morning.”

  “Would it be possible for me to come by and get the boxes with the journals and letters?” she asked.

  “How about I have them delivered to you?”

  “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

  “None at all,” Peter assured her. “You want me to have the painting sent to you at the hotel, too?”

  She thought about it a moment. “You might as well,” she answered.

  “Consider it done.”

  “Thanks,” Kelly told him and hung up the phone.

  While she waited for the boxes to arrive, Kelly roamed about the suite. As she did so, her thoughts kept returning to Jack and that kiss. When she found herself picturing his face for the third time in as many minutes, she plopped down on the couch and grabbed the TV remote. Five minutes later, she turned the noisy thing off and stretched out on the couch. Tired from her restless night and the events of the morning, Kelly closed her eyes, and within moments she was asleep.

  And she dreamed…

  She dreamed of fire.

  Coughing, she sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The room was dark. Why was it so dark? Mommy knew she didn’t like the dark. Why hadn’t she put on her lamp? she wondered.

  And what was that yucky smell? It made her throat burn and her eyes sting. She coughed again. She wanted a drink of water. But it was so dark. Slipping out of the bed, she hurried over to the chest and pulled out one of the drawers so she could climb up to turn on the light. She pressed on the switch, but she still couldn’t see well. There were clouds in her room, she thought. Only they weren’t the pretty clouds like the ones that she and Mommy looked up at in the sky, the ones that sometimes looked like ponies or ships or castles. These clouds were ugly and they smelled like smoke and made her cough.

  Suddenly frightened, she started to run to the door. And stopped.

  Somebody’s there. Somebody’s there. Somebody bad’s on the other side of the door. Hurry! Hurry! Have to hide before the bad person finds you.

  Terrified, she raced back to her bed and climbed underneath it. And clutching her teddy bear tight, she pressed her mouth against his soft fur so as not to cough, and then she watched as the doorknob turned.

  “No!”

  Kelly came awake with a start. Sweat beaded her brow. Her throat felt as dry as the desert. And her heart was beating like a drum. She sat up. Her eyes automatically went to the door, where she watched in horror as the doorknob began to turn.

  Nine

  Grabbing the candlestick from the table, Kelly moved quietly across the room. She yanked open the door, poised to strike.

  And the woman standing on the other side of the door shrieked. She dropped the little silver bag she was holding and threw up her hands in front of her face as if to ward off a blow. “Kelly, it’s me! It’s Meredith!”

  Kelly lowered the candlestick and stared at the other woman. “Meredith?”

  “Jesus Christ!” Meredith Callaghan pressed a hand to her chest. “You nearly scared me half to death.”

  “What are you doing sneaking around outside my hotel room?” Kelly demanded, more shaken than she cared to admit.

  Meredith hiked up her chin indignantly. “I was not sneaking,” she informed her. “I heard you were in town and decided to stop by and say hello.”

  “You were trying to get into my room.”

  Mered
ith let out an exasperated breath. “I knocked on the door, but you didn’t answer. I was just about to leave when I heard you cry out. I thought something had happened, or that you’d fallen or something, so I tried the door.”

  “I fell asleep and must have been dreaming,” Kelly offered by way of explanation.

  Meredith arched one perfect brow. “That must have been some dream,” she commented as she stared at the candlestick in her hand.

  Feeling somewhat foolish, Kelly said, “I thought someone was trying to break into my room.”

  “A break-in at this hotel? You’ve got to be kidding,” Meredith said as she scooped up the fussy-looking little bag that had fallen. “The Jardines own this place. Believe me, the security here is top of the line.”

  “Obviously it’s not that great, since you had no trouble getting up here or obtaining my room number.”

  She gave her that megawatt Callaghan smile. “That’s because I’ve got connections. Where are your manners, Kelly Santos? Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  For a heartbeat Kelly considered saying no, but those manners drilled into her by the good nuns won out. She opened the door wider and allowed Meredith to enter.

  “Oh, what a lovely suite.”

  “I suppose Jack told you where I was staying.”

  “Hardly,” Meredith informed her huffily as her eyes swept over the room. “You’d have thought I’d asked the man to divulge classified secrets. He wouldn’t tell me anything. In fact, if it weren’t for Peter mentioning that he’d seen you, I wouldn’t have even known you were in the city.”

  “I’ll have to remember to thank Peter,” Kelly said dryly, and shut the door.

  “He’ll like that. Especially since Jack gave us both grief, saying that Peter shouldn’t have said anything and that I shouldn’t bother you. As if a visit from an old friend would be a bother.”

  “Perhaps you should have listened to Jack.”

  “Why, Kelly Santos, what a thing for a southern girl like you to say. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t happy to see me.”

  “The truth is, Meredith—”

  “Here,” Meredith said, and shoved the fussy bag at her. “I brought you a little gift.”