Chapter 10
Karlyn glanced at the navy suit she’d picked up off the rack at a local department store. She hadn’t brought much in the way of clothes, despite the fact that she’d been told her father’s condition was serious. Maybe she’d been in denial as she packed.
She headed downstairs, which bustled with activity. Caterers had arrived from Atlanta an hour earlier. Broderick Campbell left strict orders as to what food should be served after the funeral, down to the condiments.
Her mother, looking lovely in a lilac suit, stood with Graydon Snow. The editor had deep circles under his eyes, but he was impeccably dressed, down to the navy silk handkerchief jutting from his pocket.
She went to greet him. “Hello, Mr. Snow. Thank you for coming.”
He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Karlyn. I’m sorry about Broderick’s passing.”
Karlyn wondered at his words. Meetings between the two were legendary—and loud—as Graydon tried to give editing advice to his famous client. Broderick refused most of it, claiming Graydon messed with true genius.
The elderly editor brightened. “Your father does have one last novel slated for fall. It’s his most accessible work ever.”
“Meaning people will actually understand what it’s about?”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Martha warned her.
Graydon waved away the words. “It’s dense as ever, but the biting sarcasm is more discernible. It will outsell anything he’s done.”
He smiled at her. “You’re having a wonderful career. I hear one of your Matt Collins books is going to be made into a movie. Who’s writing the screenplay?”
Karlyn shivered. “I’m supposed to. I haven’t touched it since I’ve been in Walton Springs. I need to get back to New York and—”
“You can’t leave me!”
Her mother’s words startled her. Martha Campbell never gave her daughter the time of day, much less longed for her company.
“Move in with me, dear. At least for a few weeks. With your marriage ending, you’re at odds and ends. The house has plenty of room. You could use your father’s office to work.”
Sit in his chair while she crafted her first screenplay? It seemed almost sacrilegious.
That only made her want to do it.
It would be easier to meet with Chris if she remained in Georgia. Plus, she wouldn’t have to waste time finding a place to live back in Manhattan. She could finish the screenplay. Wrap up her novel. Figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
“If you want me to.”
“You may stay as long as you choose, Karlyn. We’ll get to know each other again.”
“You’ve never known me,” she whispered under her breath as Martha offered Graydon a cup of coffee before they left for the service.
It was worse than Karlyn imagined. She should have hired security. Who knew a funeral in a small town would be turned into a zoo? She’d thought a few reporters from New York might attend. Broderick was well known, but it wasn’t as if a former president or Oscar winner had died.
When they turned the corner, she spied photographers lined outside the church, snapping away at everyone who entered St. Michael’s Episcopalian. Fortunately, their driver bypassed the crowd and drove them to a rear entrance. A mousy associate pastor led them in a side door and to their seats in the packed sanctuary. At her urging, he promised to notify Chief Risedale of the situation immediately.
The service began. The head clergyman opened with what a warm, caring man Broderick Campbell had been. Karlyn tuned out his words. Her father was cold, aloof, and had perfected the art of being a bastard.
Instead, her focus turned to Logan Warner.
Ever since her father died and she’d been encompassed in his arms for a brief moment of comfort, she couldn’t rid herself of the handsome detective’s image. It seemed shallow to have the type of thoughts that flitted through her mind concerning the lawman, but she couldn’t help it. He oozed sex appeal. Images of having mind-blowing sex with him wouldn’t go away. She felt herself flushing with guilt.
The funeral service ended. She took her mother’s arm. Graydon Snow captured the other side. Together they guided Martha down the aisle and out into the cool, overcast March day. Immediately, flashbulbs went off, blinding Karlyn.
And then the questions came, fast and furious.
“Karlyn, why did Mario leave you?”
“Karlyn, are you having an affair? Is that what’s behind the divorce?”
“Did your father ghostwrite your novels?”
“Who will play Matt Collins in the movies?”
“Karlyn, squelch the rumors. Are you pregnant?”
That last question took her by surprise. She had always wanted a child. Mario felt a baby would be a distraction from their careers. Now she was thirty-two and divorced. A child was the last thing she needed.
But she would have given anything to have one.
She ignored all the questions as she inched down the concrete stairs, yet they kept firing at her.
“Karlyn, did you write your father’s last two books?”
“Who is Matt Collins based on?”
“Is it true your father cut you out of his will?”
She remained dry-eyed and determined to get through the pack of wolves. She noticed policemen stationed in the street this time, directing traffic as people left the church. Chief Risedale must have realized he had one hell of a mess on his hands and sent every available man to the unexpected chaos at St. Michael’s.
They reached the car. Karlyn panicked as the crush of the press separated her from her mother and Graydon. She saw them retreat inside the car while she floated away as if she’d broken through the ice on a lake and found herself swept quickly down river by the rapid flow.
A hand latched onto her wrist. Strong fingers reassured her as they tugged her away from the madness.
It was Logan Warner. He flashed her a determined look that told her he would get her out of there.
Somehow, he did. One moment she’d been on that tide being washed out to sea. The next she was fed into a dark sedan with orders to lock the door. Logan managed to make it to the driver’s side and slipped in.
“You’d think you were a rock star or British royalty,” he said dryly. “That was crazy.”
He maneuvered the car a block and turned off the main street. A series of quick turns that would lose anyone who followed.
“Shall we head to the cemetery?”
“No.” Karlyn swallowed, glad she could finally breathe. She took a deep breath, inhaling the clean scent of pine that filled the car. Logan Warner seemed like a tall pine at that moment—large, protective, and steady.
“Father’s being cremated. He abhorred the idea of mourners stealing his headstone. Or the yearly ritual of visiting his grave by fans and foes alike.”
Logan nodded his approval. “Smart man.” He headed in the direction of her mother’s house and gave her an amused glance. “So you didn’t think security was needed?”
She laughed. “It never entered my mind. Broderick was famous in a dry textbook kind of way. That was like media day at the Super Bowl.”
“What about at the house? Expecting guests?”
She nodded. “Caterers are there. I don’t know how many Mother invited over.”
Logan grimaced. “That will quickly get out of hand. The paparazzi will follow the cars there. If they haven’t already scoped it out.”
He reached for his cell. “I’ll keep it off the radio. You never know who’s listening to the police scanner. It’s a small town hobby.”
Logan apprised dispatch of the situation and had several patrolmen sent to the Campbell homestead. He suggested finding a few off-duty officers to join them, promising they’d garner their u
sual rate. Karlyn nodded in agreement, eager to avoid a scene like the one at St. Michael’s.
“Hopefully, that’ll help.” He focused on the road ahead but said, “You realize they were there as much for you as for your dad. You got some pretty brutal questions thrown your way.”
She shrugged. “I’m left alone in New York. For the record, Broderick wrote his own stuff and I write mine. I left Mario, not the other way around. He had the affairs. And I’m not and never have been pregnant.”
He whistled. “Maybe I should write the tell-all about you. I got all the answers I need to pick up a quick buck. Or maybe I can hit the TV circuit and do Entertainment Tonight. This could be a whole new career for me.”
Karlyn laughed. “I don’t think you could make a living off me. I’m boring. I run. I love long, hot baths. And I write most of my waking hours when I’m not running.”
“Or bathing,” he quipped.
She smiled. “Actually, I light candles and bring a bath tray with pen and paper into the tub sometimes. I’ve scribbled some of my best ideas while my toes shrivel.”
“So you brainstorm first and then write. Do you have an outline going in? Or do you wing it?”
“Actually, a little of both. I try to have some kind of road map, so I know the general direction I’m headed.” She chuckled. “But sometimes the characters surprise me.”
“I wondered how it worked.”
“Everyone’s different. Some people start banging on the keys. Others write a forty-page synopsis and block out every scene in advance. I fall between incredibly anal and flying by the seat of my pants.”
They drove on and she added, “I read newspapers voraciously, trying to find story ideas. Ways people were murdered. Unusual events. Connections between people that weren’t obvious.”
She looked at him. “I might even try to pick your brain sometime if you’d let me, Detective.”
He laughed. “Not much happens in the Springs that would make for a good plot.” He hesitated. “I did work in Atlanta. I saw way more action there.”
“Why did you leave?”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “I’d rather not get into that.”
Karlyn realized she’d barely avoided stepping on a land mine and changed topics. “Are you from here?”
“Grew up in the Springs. My dad’s a local doctor. Mom runs a beauty shop. Forgive me, she now calls herself a stylist and it’s a . . .”
“Salon.”
“That’s it. To me, it’ll always be the beauty shop. Memories of smelling stinky perms and hair dye that can fry your nostrils.”
Karlyn laughed. “The smells are still there. Disguised better nowadays. And smart stylists give you a glass of wine to help forget about them.”
Logan turned onto Magnolia Lane. Two squad cars sat in front. A small crowd gathered outside.
He glanced over at her. “Showtime.”
Chapter 11
“Would you like to come in for a few minutes?”
Logan nodded. Little did Karlyn Campbell know, but he’d planned on it.
“Steel yourself,” he said as he parked several houses down from the Campbell homestead.
He hopped out and came around to open her door, offering his hand. Her fingers gripped his tightly. A pleasant pulse of sexual energy coursed through him.
Karlyn looked up, surprised, but Logan squeezed her hand lightly. He kept her hand in his as he guided her along at a brisk rate.
“Don’t make eye contact,” he instructed. “Or answer any questions. And for God’s sake, don’t smile.”
Karlyn tried to hide an emerging smile. “You sound like a defense attorney leading his guilty client up the courthouse steps. In fact, I had a scene pretty much like that in—”
“—Bells and Whistles. Guy was guilty of killing his wife and his mistress—all in the same night.”
She gave him an appraising look. “So you are a fan, Detective. Maybe I’ll autograph a book for you before I leave town.”
Logan wondered when that might be. Why should he care? Karlyn Campbell was a New Yorker, not someone who’d stick around a backwater burg like the Springs.
So why did that bother the hell out of him?
He maneuvered her through the throng gathered on the lawn, nodding to the patrolmen saddled with crowd control. They made it to the front door and inside. Logan reluctantly dropped her hand.
Instantly, he smelled the hot coffee and wanted a cup. Although the rain ceased before sunrise, the March day remained chilly and damp. A woman with her hair in a tight chignon appeared and offered to take their coats. He helped Karlyn slip out of hers and then handed his off.
Karlyn led him from the foyer into the great room. A thin man appeared with a tray, offering wine. Karlyn shook her head at the offer. Logan waved him away.
“Would you prefer coffee?” the server asked. When they nodded, the man said, “Follow me, please.”
He led them into the dining area, where a coffee service had been set up. They each took a china cup. Logan savored the rich taste of Colombian beans. Karlyn doctored hers with enough sugar to give a dentist a toothache and a huge dollop of cream.
He couldn’t help but tease her. “Are you sure there’s any coffee in that cup?”
She blushed. “I do take it light and sweet. And I thrive on caffeine. Writing takes up energy. With a Starbucks on every corner in Manhattan, it’s an easy habit to slip into.”
“So what’s your favorite? Pumpkin Spice? Vanilla? Mocha Frappuccino?
Karlyn assessed him. “For a man from a small town with no Starbucks in sight, you know your gourmet flavors.”
Logan’s teasing stopped. Felicity had been the Starbucks addict, picking up a cup if she dropped the twins off at school. The memory hit him square in the gut, deflating him like a needle jammed into a balloon. He tried never to think of the past, but it had a tendency to creep up and wallop him on the head when he least expected.
The arrival of a wave of people saved him from answering her. They included Martha Campbell and a distinguished man with a trim Van Dyke beard in silver and a blue handkerchief peering from his pocket. Others followed behind them.
Karlyn went to greet her mother. Logan moved near a bay window and sat on a piano bench. He’d always been an observer at parties, studying those around him, making up stories about them, wondering how close he came to the truth.
He watched her move about the room, more intrigued with her than before. Knowing she’d be tied up, he decided to grab another cup of coffee before slipping out.
He met Martha Campbell at the coffee urn.
“Thank you for getting Karlyn here safely. I saw you take charge.” She frowned. “Broderick was a private man. He would’ve viewed that spectacle with distaste.”
Logan sipped the hot liquid. “The Springs tried to leave the two of you to your privacy. It’s always been a respectful place.”
“With Broderick gone, I plan to immerse myself in town life.”
Her words took him aback. “You do?”
“My husband withdrew from the world to create his own on the page. I loved him, so I chose to become a part of that solitude.”
She gave him an impish look. “It will surprise people to learn I’m quite outgoing. I love social events. Perhaps you can recommend a few activities?”
Martha rested a hand on his sleeve and smiled beseechingly at him. The Springs would be on high gossip alert now with the Merry Widow out on the prowl before her husband’s ashes were delivered to the house.
Logan eased his coffee cup to his lips, forcing Martha to drop her hand. He smiled at her innocently.
“Tell you what, Mrs. Campbell. I’ll give you my mom’s phone number. She runs the local hair salon.”
“Resa Warner is
your mother? Oh, she’s a lovely woman.”
“She’s involved with many activities in the Springs. Garden club. Bible study. Pilates.” He set his saucer down and pulled out his ever-present pad and pen, scribbling his mom’s contact info.
Karlyn stepped up at that moment. “I see you’re entertaining Detective Warner.”
“He’s helping me make friends in town. I think I’ll be best friends with his mother. In fact, I believe I’ll ask your parents to dinner tomorrow to get the ball rolling. You must come, too, Logan. Wouldn’t that be nice, Karlyn?”
Karlyn’s puzzled look spoke volumes. Logan knew he was taken aback by the suddenly friendly Mrs. Campbell and wondered how much she’d been under the thumb of her much-older husband. She beamed at the prospect of kicking her heels up and starting a social life in the Springs.
“I’ll call her as soon as my guests leave and tell her it was at your suggestion,” she promised. “See you tomorrow night. Seven-thirty.” He watched Martha sashay away. His eyes met Karlyn’s. They both burst out laughing.
“What has gotten into her?” she asked. “Mother looks like a kid in a candy store picking out all the forbidden sweets she never had.”
Logan ventured, “She told me your dad didn’t like to socialize. Out of respect, she became a part of the isolated world he created.”
He glanced across the room and watched Martha Campbell as she laughed at a comment. “I’d say she’s a butterfly emerging from a long stay in a cocoon—and not one of her own making.”
“We’ve never been close,” Karlyn confessed. “She told me once they regretted having children. That Broderick would always come first. I was left alone while they lived in their own world. Now she’s inviting guests for dinner? Asking me to stay in Walton Springs?”
Logan smiled at her news. “So you plan to hang around the Springs?”
Illusions of Death Page 6
