Читать книгу Bone Cold - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 19

Wednesday, January 17 3:00 p.m.

Ben stopped outside the florist shop’s door. The sign above it proclaimed this The Perfect Rose.

Anna North’s workplace.

She hadn’t been difficult to track down. She had dedicated her last book to the Big Brothers, Big Sisters of America and her “Little Sister” Jaye. The local B.B.B.S.A. director was an acquaintance of his; he had contacted her and she had suggested he reach Anna through The Perfect Rose.

Ben cleared his throat. He probably should have called first. It would have been the proper thing to do. But refusing him over the phone would have been too easy. And he didn’t want to make refusing him easy. He wanted her to agree to let him interview her for his book.

Wanted it rather desperately.

He had thought a lot about Anna North since seeing the Unsolved Hollywood Mysteries segment on E! He had read her novels. Had read between the lines and learned a great deal from her stories. He had put that information together with what he knew about her past and present in an attempt to anticipate how she would react to his having found her. She would be angry with him. If he understood her as well as he thought he did, his showing up would frighten her. She fiercely protected her privacy out of fear. She would most probably react like a cornered animal.

He would win her over.

Ben took a deep breath and pushed through the door. She appeared at the workroom doorway; he recognized her by the glorious mane of red hair, so like her mother’s.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling and crossing to the service counter.

She returned his smile. “How can I help you?”

The moment of truth. “I’m Benjamin Walker.” He held out his hand. “Dr. Benjamin Walker.”

She looked surprised, but took his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“So, what can I do for you today? We have some really nice hydrangeas in. From California. And our roses are always—”

“Perfect?” He smiled. “Actually, I’m here to see you.”

“Me?”

“First let me say that I’m a fan of your work.”

“My work?” she repeated. “Oh, you mean the arrangements. I’m sorry, but I can’t take credit for them, though I wish I could. Dalton Ramsey is both the owner of The Perfect Rose and the artistic force behind its creations.”

“You misunderstand, Anna. I’m a fan of your novels.”

The blood drained from her face. “My nov—How did you—”

“Justine Blank is an acquaintance of mine. She told me how I could reach you.”

Anna looked confused. And upset. He hurried to reassure her. “I’m a psychologist and quite harmless, as Justine knows. My specialty is the effect of childhood trauma on adult personality and behavior. Your case has always interested me and when I learned you were both Harlow Grail and the author Anna North, I took a chance on coming by here. I hope you’ll agree to speak with me.”

She seemed to absorb that information. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, but not much. “This past Saturday you saw the special on unsolved Hollywood mysteries and put two and two together?”

“Yes. And I saw your dedication to the B.B.B.S.A. in Killing Me Softly. I figured Justine would be able to tell me how I could get in touch with you. I was right.”

She looked away, then back at him. He saw now that she was angry. “My case, as you call it, has interested a lot of people. But I’m not interested. In fact, I’ve done everything I could to forget it. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

“Please, Ms. North, hear me out.”

“I don’t think so.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m a private person, Dr. Walker. By hunting me down like a prize in a child’s treasure hunt, you’ve invaded my privacy. I don’t appreciate that.”

“It frightens you, I understand.”

She frowned. “I didn’t say it frightened me.”

“You didn’t have to. Of course it does. You lived through a nightmare. You were snatched by a stranger and held against your will. Control of your life was taken away. Control of your body. You were physically assaulted and forced to helplessly watch a friend be killed.

“The ordeal left you with a very real sense of the sickness and evil in the world. You hide from the public because of that knowledge. Because you promised yourself you would never put yourself in that position again. You promised yourself that you would never offer some stranger the opportunity to take your life away from you again.

“So you changed your name. Left your past behind. Anonymity makes you feel safe. And my showing up here today makes you feel anything but safe.”

“How do you know this about me?” she managed to say after several moments, voice shaking. “We’ve never met.”

“But I know about your past. I’ve read your novels.” He pressed a business card into her cold hand. “I’m writing a book on the effects of childhood trauma on personality. I’d like to interview you for it. The inclusion of your story, how your ordeal has shaped you and your life, would greatly enhance the book.”

She opened her mouth; to refuse, he knew. He saw it in her eyes. In the tightness around her mouth. He didn’t give her a chance to refuse. “Just think about it. Please. That’s all I ask.”

Without another word, he turned and quickly left the shop.