GOOD DEED
BAD DEED
A Novel Mystery
Marcia Morgan
Copyright © 2021 Marcia Morgan.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Ben had agreed to the location under protest, the dismal weather adding to his aggravation. Too much noise combined with the smell of beer and damp clothing made him wonder why his agent had picked this place for a meeting. A decent interview in this pub was an unrealistic expectation. The environment annoyed him, and given that the interview was to be conducted by a female, all he could seem to think about were the three things he disliked most about women in general. Number one would always be a woman who shows up late. Next is the woman who shows up right on time and turns out to be a terminal bore. Last, but not least, is the woman who seems afraid to eat anything that isn’t green. Not to say that Ben disliked women, quite the contrary. His tastes had been formed through extensive experience with the fairer sex.
He sat at the cluttered bar, sipping at a pint of ale while mentally kicking himself for agreeing to the meeting. He scanned the crowd with a rather blank expression until his attention was drawn to a scruffy-looking man who approached and sidled up to the bar. He crowded another patron aside and stood next to Ben, who noticed the damp musty smell of the wool coat he was wearing. The man removed his cap, exposing a balding pate framed with a fringe of stringy brown hair. He turned toward Ben and raised his chin in a gesture of acknowledgement. The barman took his order and soon returned with a pint of stout. The man laid the book he had been holding on the bar then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, asking the barman for a napkin to dry it off. Just then it rang. The man answered, listened, and hung up without saying another word. He managed one long gulp of his beer, paused before taking a final swig, paid and made a quick exit.
Ben’s scrutiny of the man had helped pass the time, but for some reason, he found the man’s actions and his demeanor rather sinister. He blamed the impression on his habit of looking for a story in the minutia of life. Ben noticed that the man had forgotten the soggy book, so he picked it up and saw that it was a London pub guide. He thumbed through it and began to read to himself: The English pub has always been an institution, a gathering place— a group of second family. He observed the crowd and concluded that it had evolved into a venue that provides opportunities to seek social interaction. That’s a polite way to put it, he thought.
* * *
The patter of light rain on the taxi windows made Ana wish more for a novel and a glass of Cabernet by the fire than for an arranged meeting in a pub with a no-doubt egotistical author. There were three things she couldn’t abide in men. A man who arrives too early topped her list. No matter how punctual she may be, she appears to be late. Second is the man who arrives late, leaving her to imagine she has been stood up. Running a close third would be a man who, less than halfway through the evening, makes it clear that he knows they’ve connected and would she like to go somewhere private. If Ana were to list her relationships, even the temporarily successful ones, there would be few entries. Months ago she had declared a moratorium on dating and taken refuge in her decision.
The taxi pulled up in front of her destination in Kings Cross. Ana was a bit anxious about the whole thing and hesitated before stepping out into the unseasonably drizzly night, leaving her borrowed umbrella behind. She looked down the dark and dingy cobbled alley in front of her and noticed lighted windows. Still confused, she turned back toward the taxi, shrugging in doubt and asking the driver whether that location could possibly house a trendy gastropub. He rolled down the window and confirmed he had delivered her to the right address, explaining that what was once a red-light district was now an upscale area. She thanked him and turned back toward her destination. As he sped away she remembered the umbrella and scolded herself for being so distracted. Nothing to do about it now, she thought, and then looked skyward, feeling the touch of light rain on her face.
Reassured by the appearance of a young couple walking toward her, Ana proceeded down the alley slowly, navigating through the puddles, trying to save the heels of her boots from the cobblestones, until she reached the lights and noise. She saw the establishment’s sign and leaned forward to peer through the smudged glass windows at the animated faces of people enjoying each other. What would they all be doing without alcohol to loosen the tongue, she thought. Returning to the matter at hand, she took a minute to adopt her professional stance before walking toward the entrance.
* * *
Ben was bored with waiting and swiveled on his barstool to face the crowd. He was an inveterate people watcher, prone to zero in on a particular face and proceed to create their back-story. As he surveyed the crowd his eyes fixed on the doors. He half-wished that she would be late so he could just get out of there, grab a cab, and go home to his bed, book, and bottle of Scotch.
The rain had formed a puddle at the entrance, and as Ana pushed through the swinging door, one of her boot-clad feet slipped in the wetness. She stumbled in, barely staying upright. Several male patrons jumped up to catch her, but she managed to straighten up, pausing to adjust her raincoat before checking the crowd for the man she was supposed to meet. Instinctively Ben had jumped from his stool to assist, but was too far away to make contact. However, he was close enough to see her quite well. He focused first on her dark wavy hair, glistening from the mist and slightly askew over one of her eyes. The raincoat she wore was the color of a tropical sea and complimented her olive skin. Ben glanced at his watch and realized that the appointed time for the arranged meeting had come and passed. At first it didn’t occur to him that this damp vision of beauty and clumsiness could be the person for whom he was waiting.
Ana walked further into the crowded room and continued to scan the crowd. Her expression was serious, her brow lightly furrowed in contemplation of an aborted opportunity to carry out the assignment. She was meant to interview Benedict Alexander McKinnon, the current rave author of travel fiction. Her eyes fixed on a tall man standing very still at the bar, looking her way with a rather sly smile on his face and a pint in one hand. He was wearing jeans, a deep blue turtleneck sweater, and a well-worn leather jacket. It didn’t occur to her that this could be the man. She had expected him to be a professorial type: horn-rimmed glasses, an old tweed sport coat, and the look of being slightly underfed. This was definitely not the case. He was built for his height, with broad shoulders and what she could see of a trim waistli
ne. His thick hair was dark auburn, slightly long and combed straight back from his handsome, angular face. She admonished herself when wishing he would turn around and lean on the bar, proving that he looked just as good from the back. She came closer, and when they made eye contact she could see that his eyes were blue, the color of his sweater making them all the more noticeable.
Ana‘s impulse was to engage him, and she went with it. She approached him slowly, and when they were face to face, she cocked her head slightly and said, “I’m not sure why, but I have a feeling you’re the man I’m supposed to meet for an interview. If not, apologies.”
Ben paused before answering, looking her up and down discreetly before their eyes met again. “I think I’m the right guy. And with the entrance you made, I sure couldn’t miss you.” Ana looked down, still feeling a little flustered by her entrance. “Glad you didn’t hurt yourself. We would have missed our appointment,” he said.
She looked up at him, trying to think of what to say next. His smile lit up his whole face, and having once again replayed her entrance in his mind, he was trying very hard not to chuckle. Ana sensed this, but still had difficulty looking away from him.
The din of the crowd enjoying their evening in the pub made conversation difficult. Ben disliked having to talk loud into a woman’s face, so he suggested they look for a relatively quiet corner to conduct their business. The dread and annoyance he had felt while in limbo at the bar, waiting for whom he expected to be a brash journalist with a masculine edge, faded quickly when he caught sight of the mass of hair, the dark searching eyes and embarrassed expression of the woman who stumbled in from the rain.
Ben placed his hand lightly on the small of Ana’s back as they jockeyed through the crowd. She became very aware of his touch, and liked it, but knew it was just what a gentleman does rather automatically when guiding a woman forward. They saw a small corner table being vacated and hurried to lay claim. Ben had noticed her walk and had always liked that certain natural sway that some women have, usually when wearing high heels. He was very partial to women in heels.
Once at the table she began to remove her raincoat. Ben assisted and slid it from her arms, quickly noticing the way her waist tapered into very feminine hips. She was dressed in a red cashmere sweater and gray wool slacks. He could see they were slightly damp at the cuff, and that her boots had suffered from the puddles on the sidewalk. She unwrapped the printed silk scarf from her neck and tied it on the handle of her bag. Long gold hoops hung from her ears, and as she turned to sit, he caught a faint whiff of her very pleasant scent.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “I can see that you’ve done battle with the weather tonight.”
“I had to wait in front of my hotel for a cab, then ended up having to walk a bit before I could catch one. My hotel doesn’t have enough stars to warrant a doorman to do that sort of thing for guests.”
“I’m sorry this ended up being scheduled on such a nasty night. I don’t want you to come down with something over this. If you feel chilled, you should get back to your hotel and change. We can reschedule. I’m anti-interview, but with what you went through to get your assignment done, I’m feeling more cooperative than usual.”
“That’s lucky for me then,” Ana said, hoping she might be part of the reason for his cooperative mood.
“I really didn’t think that being published would have so much ‘peripheral responsibility,’” he said, making air-quotes with his fingers.
“Being published is one thing, but when you have two best-sellers in a row, and rumors abound that a third book is in the works, the ‘peripherals’ escalate. But I promise to make this as painless as possible.” Ana felt compelled to look deeper into his eyes, to be sucked into those whirlpools of ocean blue and learn instantly who this man was at his core. Those eyes could get a girl into serious trouble, she thought.
The desire astonished her, but it was quickly countered by the feeling that she was entering dangerous territory and should temper herself. “Don’t worry about me being a little worse for wear due to the rain. I’m relatively dry, all but my boots.” She leaned sideways, looked down at them and said, “They don’t look too bad. And you’ve basically given me your evening. You could have been home, wherever that is, reading by the fire with your trusty retriever sleeping at your feet and a whiskey on your side table.”
“Wait just a minute! Sounds like you’re describing an old man’s evening. How old do you think I am?” Ben sat back, put his hands on the edge of the table, and made a pretense of being annoyed.
“Oh gosh. Sorry. No, not old at all. It was just a picture that came into my head. Frankly, it looked like a scenario I would enjoy, especially on a night like this. I think your age is a matter of record, somewhere, but I didn’t research that fact ahead of time because to me it isn’t that relevant. It’s the work that interests me.”
“Well, since you covered yourself so well on that subject, I’ll tell you. I’m thirty-nine for another two months. Then I plan to have the proverbial mid-life crisis, maybe a few years early, and move to an island where I’ll live in seclusion and produce absolutely nothing.”
“Wouldn’t that scenario require a ‘comely island girl’ to keep you company?” As soon as the words were said, she realized it was flirting and ordered herself to rein it in.
“Hmmm. I hadn’t considered that part of it.” Ben paused for a moment, unable to avoid the picture in his mind of Ana filling the role of comely island girl. He sighed and continued. “Maybe I should rethink the seclusion part. Maybe a sportier car would do the trick.” His thoughts seemed out of control. Now he envisioned Ana beside him in that sports car, her abundant hair blowing wildly, her laughter increasing in tandem with the car’s speed. He quickly returned to the present and said, “I hope that last bit was off the record.”
”Oh yes. We haven’t even started yet and it’s nice to keep it casual for a while. I won’t quote you on anything until I tell you that I’m officially interviewing. And I’ll be asking you if you mind my using a tape recorder … just for the purpose of complete accuracy.”
“I understand that’s the way it’s done now. I’ll just have to remember to ‘edit’ before the fact, not after. But I still don’t see myself as interesting enough for a printed interview. It’s my characters that people must like … or a plot that takes them to places they may never see. I think it’s wise to create a story line that appeals to a variety of people, and sometimes, to their fantasies of one kind or another.”
“Well that sounded like a good quote, but since we’re still in neutral mode here, do your best to remember it when the time comes. And before we become further acquainted, or whatever we’re doing here, I would love a brandy to warm body and soul.”
Ben leaned back against the leather booth, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “Apologies for the bad manners. I was caught up in our conversation once we sat down, and I didn’t even think about it. We’ll get you a brandy, but I think I’ll just stick to beer.”
He caught the waiter’s eye and ordered warm brandy for Ana, and a sleeve of ale for himself. In spite of the pub being crowded, the service was fast, and soon the drinks were placed before them, along with a bowl of pretzels. Ana held the warm snifter with both palms and brought it to her mouth as if it were a bowl of café-au-lait. She let it barely touch her lips, enjoying the warmth and the brandy’s rich aroma. Flickering light from the candle on the table reflected onto the brandy-kissed lips of her partially open mouth. Ben rather shocked himself with his sudden desire to lick the brandy from those perfect lips and transfer it to her mouth with his tongue. He also felt the need to shake such libidinous thoughts from his head and get a grip on reality. All he could do was to shut his eyes tightly for a minute and try to will away the images.
Unaware of his wishful thinking, Ana kept her mouth near the rim of the glass and looked squarely at him. She didn’t know what the expression on his face or the tightly closed eyes were saying, b
ut it seemed as though something had disturbed him. She was sure she had caused no offense during their conversation, so she let her curiosity slide and continued to sip the brandy. She would never have guessed that with each sip, Ben would be both plagued and pleasured by his vision of licking and sucking the brandy from her lips and letting his tongue dance with hers in passionate kisses. He couldn’t remember if there had ever been a time when a woman had affected him so quickly, or had made him feel so strongly those sensual preludes to hot sex.
Then he was struck by the fact that he had forgotten her name, or maybe it had never been mentioned. But it was strange that she hadn’t offered him her card. He could only assume that in terms of purpose, she was legitimate. The arrangements had been made weeks ago, and to tell the truth, his lack of enthusiasm had caused a lack of attention to what was being said. All he had managed to remember was time, date, location, and that a woman would conduct the interview. This additional lapse in manners disturbed him further. The last thing he wanted was to ask her to identify herself. That would be humiliating, and he was bound to lose status in her eyes. Any status he may have gained with her was an unknown, but he wanted to hold onto it and was sure this wouldn’t help. He had to ask himself why he cared about her opinion and had to admit that he did care. That was another part to the mystery of why this woman had unknowingly cast a spell on him.
Ana reached across the table and touched Ben’s arm lightly. “You seem to have gone to another planet. I could hear the wheels turning. I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“I’m sorry. I can be guilty of letting my mind wander at inopportune times. I really didn’t mean to be rude.” He ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously.
“Is that a common occurrence with writers? Do you ‘go off’ into a different realm where ideas form and stories are born?”
“Maybe sometimes. This time I think it was to escape the noise. My head is buzzing.”
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