Good Deed Bad Deed : A Novel Mystery

by Marcia Morgan

  Ana broke the brief period of uncomfortable silence. “I know you must have a reason for showing up here without calling. Not that I mind—I’m just curious.” She waited for a response, but it seemed that Ben was weighing his words. While waiting for him to speak, she noticed how well he fit her idea of the handsome and casual Englishman. He was very appealing in his well-worn jeans, black tee shirt, and the famous leather jacket. It would have been easy to stare, but she turned away slightly, protecting herself from embarrassment.

  Ben took a deep breath before beginning. “I have a proposition for you,” he said, and then realized the inappropriate nature of his words, considering Ana’s state of undress. As a distraction he walked to the window and turned his back to her before speaking. “What I meant to say is that I need to ask a favor.”

  “It’s perfectly fine that you’re here in person, but why didn’t you just call?” Ben hesitated and Ana continued, “Could you please stay turned toward the window? I want to trade this towel for a robe.”

  “I’ll stay turned around, scout’s honor.” Ben was becoming nervous, anxious to convince Ana of his story. He knew they should get on the road right away. The words he had planned to use escaped him, and he wondered how he would get her to drop everything and accompany him.

  “Okay, I’m decent now. Turn around and tell me what kind of favor you need from me. I can’t imagine.” She crossed her arms and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m needed at my parents’ house a couple of days earlier than I had planned. I threw some things in a bag, jumped in my car and took off before remembering my promise to you … about the interview. I remember telling you we’d have a couple of days to get it done.” He waited to get a read on her response to his feigned forgetfulness. She just sat there, looking at him with a neutral expression and waiting for the rest of it. “I didn’t have the hotel’s number, so I decided to stop here and hoped you’d either be here, or I’d wait in the lobby and watch for you. I’m glad you were here.”

  “Well, obviously I’m not happy that you’re leaving sooner than you had planned. I’ll have trouble putting off my editor for another week or so and continuing to ask him to cover expenses.” Ana got up and started to pace in front of the bed, then said, “But you still haven’t asked for the favor. Is to forget about the interview what you’re asking?”

  “No worries about the interview, or your editor. That’s why I wanted to catch you. My proposition is that you come with me to my parents’ house. They love company. You’ll like them, I promise.” His expression was expectant.

  “I couldn’t just ‘show up’ and put them on the spot. I would be too uncomfortable.”

  “I promise you wouldn’t. I used to bring a buddy with me sometimes. They are always very gracious. Besides, the interview isn’t the only reason I asked you. Even on the drive over here my shoulder started to hurt. It’s really in no condition for such a long drive. If you come with me, you can help with the driving. That way, everybody wins!”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve never driven in England. I’ll kill us both!” she said, covering her face and shaking her head back and forth. “Why can’t we just take a train?”

  “We’ll need a car while we’re there, and besides, everyone has a first time.” Ana shot him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. Continuing to plead his case he said, “So don’t worry, you’ll have me guiding you. I’ll tell you which lane you should be in, how fast to go… you know … the basics. I promise to be patient.” She searched Ben’s face for a clue to his sincerity. He paused a moment before declaring, “If I’m not afraid, you shouldn’t be either.”

  The period of silence continued, and Ben could almost see the wheels turning as Ana paced around the room, her expression a bit serious. Finally she spoke. “I guess that if I want to get my assignment done, I don’t have much choice,” she said, then added, “But you have to suffer through getting us out of the city. There’s no way I’m driving in London.”

  Ben could tell by her tone that she was not looking forward to having another unexpected challenge foisted upon her by the man she just wanted to interview and be done with it. And as yet he hadn’t told her that she would be driving a powerful sports car. “So, are we on?” Ben asked, breaking into the most charming smile he could muster.

  Ana sighed and slumped her shoulders before answering. “You have me in a corner, Mr. McKinnon. I guess I’m going sightseeing in the country.” She paused, obviously thinking of what should come next. “Now tell me, what kind of clothes are appropriate for being a guest at a country house?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ben went down to the lobby while Ana busied herself making a few quick choices from her Spartan assortment of clothing. She had always prided herself on packing light, and lacking the drama and aftermath of an attempted kidnapping, most of her previous assignments had been completed in short order. As she piled things into her bag, she thought about what kind of impression she would make in general, appropriate clothing or not. Granted, the opinions of Ben’s family would be out of her control, but driving on the wrong side of the road and arriving in one piece was of greater concern. She slipped into her one pair of jeans and the black tee she had been talked into while sightseeing at the Tower of London. Some might have called it tacky, but she liked the bright colors in the screen-printed crown imbedded with fake jewels. The bold design spoke to her, some sort of message about the monarchy. Whether it was good or bad remained an unknown. Best-case scenario, Ben’s parents would see it as her homage to the queen, rather than an insult. She grabbed her own leather jacket out of the small closet then pulled the room’s door shut as she wheeled the suitcase out into the hall.

  An older couple was waiting in front of the elevator and stepped in quickly when the doors opened. Ana hurried down the hall and called after them, “Hold the elevator, please. I’m in a terrible hurry.” The man managed to keep the doors open with his arm and nodded to her as she entered. The woman held her umbrella close to her body and stepped closer to her husband. She looked Ana up and down before turning away, nose in the air. Uppity cow, Ana thought.

  The elevator stopped at the lobby, and before the doors had opened completely, she spotted Ben. He quickly subdued his laughter when he saw the tee shirt, causing her a moment of doubt that bordered on embarrassment. “Well, I thought the trip would be shorter than it’s turned out, and what little I brought was for business.” Continuing an unnecessary explanation regarding her wardrobe, Ana said, “The shirt is just a souvenir. Besides my raincoat and what I was wearing when we met, I’d only thrown in a pair of jeans, a jacket and a couple of sweaters. But I thought a sweater might be too hot for the drive. I run hot when I’m nervous,” she said, rambling on in defense her choice.

  “It suits you. I like it. On you it’s more whimsical than tourist-y.”

  “Nice recovery. I really have no illusions about its tastefulness. I just liked the colors. And when you only have one tee, black is better for spills. This is a lot of talk about a tee shirt.”

  “That shirt is nothing compared to some of the wild outfits my sister puts together. She works hard at being unconventional. She would call it trendy.” Ben’s tone was disapproving, but with a tolerant edge.

  “So, you have a sister. Will I get to meet her at your parents’ house?”

  “Her name is Olivia. I have no idea if she’ll be there. She makes a project of keeping her activities to herself. Thinks it makes her look independent. But she still depends on my parents quite a bit. I guess she’ll grow up in her own time, not ours.”

  “ You’re the big brother?”

  “ Yep… by about twelve years.” Ben reached for Ana’s suitcase and said, “Let’s go. Nothing matters other than getting out of town. I think rush hour is winding down by now. Are you ready?”

  Ana walked over to the desk and told the concierge that she would be away for a few days, but that she would keep the room, that some of her belongings remained there. Be
n took charge of her suitcase and handed her the leather jacket. He jumped on the opportunity to ask if she’d had it long enough to consider it a dependable friend. Ana rolled her eyes and followed him out of the hotel into the fading afternoon. For reasons of safety Ben did not want to leave Ana standing on the street while he fetched the car, so he requested that she come with him. They walked a quick block to the garage entrance, Ana trying to match Ben’s long stride.

  They stopped at the kiosk and Ben gave the attendant his ticket. The young man matched it to the number on the key and jogged down the row to fetch the car. Ana’s mouth dropped open when she saw the emerald green Jaguar approaching. The attendant stopped the car in front of them and got out. He opened the passenger door and waited for Ana to get in; however, she stood firm, her expression incredulous. Ben opened the trunk, tossed in her suitcase and closed the trunk with a flourish. He went ‘round to the passenger door, and as he motioned Ana to get in, said cheerfully, “Climb aboard! We’re chasing the light.”

  Ana’s expression was still one of shock. “Seriously?” she exclaimed, “Surely you don’t expect me to drive a sports car— and on the left side of the road! I can barely function with a standard three gear transmission, let alone what I imagine is four or maybe five in this four-wheeled museum piece.”

  Ben had to laugh at the brief diatribe, and then said, teasing, “Are you insulting my baby? You can be sure that it’s up to snuff in every way.” She hesitated a moment before speaking. “We need to get a few things straight. Should I get it in writing that I’ll be relieved of any responsibility for damage while driving this car?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Like I said before, I have faith in your ability to rise to a challenge. I’ve seen you in action.” Ben smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “For the record, you’re not liable. Also for the record, this is a classic 1962 XKE 2+2, so I don’t race around in it like an idiot. It’s not that kind of sports car, at least not to me.”

  Ana sighed, seeming relieved, and then slid into the passenger seat. With his good arm Ben pulled up the seatbelt and handed it to her. He shut the door, then hurried around to the other side and climbed in beside her. She looked things over, first running her hand over the walnut instrument panel then the supple leather seat, its color reminiscent of warm caramel.

  “Have you noticed yet?” Ben asked.

  “Noticed what? I’ve noticed there’s a back seat and that the whole interior seems to be top grade.”

  “Do you see a gear shift?”

  It took Ana a moment before she realized what he was telling her. She looked more closely and noticed the leather encased gear knob extending from the console. A bit confused, she asked again what she was supposed to see. Ben had been playing with her and decided it was enough. They had a two-hour drive ahead, if traffic cooperated.

  “It’s an automatic transmission. I couldn’t help but enjoy watching you stew about having to shift.” Ana picked up on the playful glint in his eye before he continued. “This is definitely a classic car, but as I said, I don’t drive like a racer. It’s actually quite easy to maneuver.”

  “So you let my angst be your entertainment, Mr. McKinnon?” Her tone was accusatory, but unconvincing. Ben could see that besides being beautiful, she was a good sport. “I’m too relieved to give you a thrashing, but don’t pull anymore stunts on me, or you’ll be driving yourself, shoulder or no.”

  Ben agreed to be good, and then told Ana about the extensive work the previous owner had done on the Jaguar, which included rebuilding the engine and replacing the transmission. “I wondered why the man would consider selling it after spending so much to put it right. That might have been a red flag to some people. Fact is, I just wanted it, no questions asked. It ended up being a good deal.” He reached up and patted the dashboard.

  Ana thought about his attachment to the leather jacket, and now this elite automobile. She wondered if he could relate to people in the same way, especially to a woman. There were those who could only attach to inanimate objects, the predictability and ability to control being the key. If this were the case with Ben, she would be gravely disappointed. The Jaguar’s engine turned over with a powerful growl, bringing a startling end to her pondering. It settled easily into a satisfied purr before Ben pulled away from the kiosk, exiting the dark garage and embarking on what was expected to be a few relaxing days in the country.

  The commuter traffic had not eased, and it was slow going across town, although it was good sightseeing for Ana. Reaching the M40 from Regent Street required passing through a tollbooth, around Trafalgar Square and then skirting Piccadilly Circus, where five main London roads converge. Ben pointed out the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain and the only tall building left with a large neon display. After more signs and more streets, London began to thin out and they finally eased onto their route toward the countryside.

  Modern buildings gave way to green fields and pockets of forest, all sliced clean through by divided highway. In spite of the slight variations in the road’s direction, they were basically traveling due northwest. The sun was settling toward the horizon and glared through the windshield, making the view ahead indistinct. Gazing out the side window Ana could see clusters of rooftops nestled here and there among the rolling hills. She imagined each village to be like the charming backdrops created by Agatha Christie for her novels of murder and mayhem.

  Ben angled off onto the M25 toward Oxford, then junction eight toward Cheltenham. Once settled on his route, he reached forward to turn on the CD player. His hands were settled back on the wheel before the soft and mournful sounds of a ballad by Johnny Cash filled the void. Ana listened quietly and after a moment or so she turned her body slightly to face him.

  “Seriously? Country music? You’re just one surprise after another.”

  “Don’t you like classic country?” he asked. “Would either James Taylor or the MJQ be more to your liking?”

  “No, it’s not that, although the MJQ is definitely a favorite of mine. It’s just not what I expected from a Brit with a literary education.”

  Conversation was suspended while they listened to lyrics of unrequited love and heartbreak. Ana had known another man who liked country music, but he was from the southern U.S. and it was to be expected. Her philosophy about men who like country lyrics was formed as a result of her experience with him. She concluded that some are either incapable of expressing deep feelings, or uncomfortable sharing emotion. They can find emotional solace in the lyrics, so often about lost love. Privately, she admitted that such an opinion was a rather harsh analysis, when based on only one romantic interlude. Yet she still fancied herself an armchair psychologist. It could come in handy for a journalist.

  Ben broke the conversational silence. “I can’t remember whether I told you this, but I was an ‘American’ until I was almost thirteen. Actually, I am an American. I was born in the U.S. … San Francisco. Maybe I’m one of those people they call an ‘ex-pat.”

  “No, I don’t think so, because you have two passports. Even though you’ve been here since you were just thirteen, you haven’t picked up much UK English accent. You sound about sixty percent American, forty percent English—a nice mix.”

  “Yeah … that’s been brought to my attention more than once. My mother sounds very public school, as she should, since her education was tops.” Ben smiled, then added, “I think my ‘Americanization’ has always disappointed her a bit.”

  “I guess you must actually feel more English though, since your parents both come from the UK.”

  Ben turned down the sound and continued, “While I was attending university here in England I did a year of study abroad. I was born in San Francisco, and attended school there, so I decided to go back. Those were good memories, my childhood, except that my father was gone a lot with work.”

  “SFSU or USF?”

  “San Francisco State University. At that time their Humanities department was highly rated. So with my English major, it was
a perfect choice.”

  “So I guess it’s like they say … the guy’s a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll.”

  “Guess so– but not so much the rock and roll. I generally like all music, some kinds more than others… except rap and hip hop.”

  Ana put her purse down by her feet, settled into her seat, and said, “That’s a relief. I’d hate to be trapped in the car with either of those.” She turned to him, conjuring up something else meant to impress, and said, “I remember being told by some guy about Kris Kristofferson doing country lyrics … said he was quite a poet. Or maybe the poetry was set to music. I don’t remember exactly what he said”

  Ben straightened up in his seat, stiffened his arms and tightened his grip on the wheel. Ignoring her reference to poetic country lyrics, he asked, “Just a guy, or a boyfriend?”

  Ben’s question was immediate, and she wondered why his tone had been curt and the question rather personal. But she had to admit to liking his interest, given that it could be interpreted as a bit of jealousy. “Just a guy at some party. Don’t even know why I remembered.” Her choice of a white lie was meant to diffuse any further questions about her past. She knew it didn’t matter because she never wanted to see Luke again.

  “Well, you’re right about Kristofferson,” Ben said, his voice subdued yet more relaxed.

  He declined to comment further, and they settled into a slightly tense lapse in conversation during which Ben turned up the volume. Ana noticed that he was clenching his jaw and wondered if his shoulder was starting to hurt. Half way through an old standard by Patsy Kline, he lowered the sound again and asked, “Is that your phone I hear?” He took another opportunity to tease her and said, “Who has a song from The Wizard of Oz for a ringtone. Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead? Really?”