Page 62 of Promise Me Never

| Fifty-Nine |

Savannah

The next morning, Savannah went back to her search even though she had no idea what she was looking for. Bennett was tidy and all the kitchen drawers were neatly organized. No junk drawer in this kitchen. She walked over to the armoire and opened the cabinet doors first. Carefully folded throw blankets and extra pillows filled the two shelves. Pulling open the next drawer, she found games, some decks of cards, and a backgammon set. This was pointless. She needed to clear her head.

She called over to Finn. “Ready for your walk, Finny?”

His ears perked up and he jumped up, ran to the mudroom, and sat under the coat rack on the wall where his leash hung. She pulled it down along with his coat. It was especially cold today, so she decided to borrow Bennett’s down jacket. She pulled it from the rack and slipped it on.

She was going over everything in her mind as she drove, and the more she thought about it all, the more she began to believe that Bennett couldn’t be guilty. She’d done enough research on serial killers to know they didn’t just stop. Why would he kill two women in the span of a few years and then get married? Unless he was escalating, she thought. Maybe graduating from killing women he dated to women he married? It had only been a year since Poppy had died and he’d known her only a short time before marrying her—just as he had with Savannah. There could have been other women in between that they weren’t aware of. But no, he was famous. Maybe not as recognizable as an actor, but still, it would be hard for him to get away with meeting and killing women. “Stop it. This isn’t the plot to some movie of the week,” she said out loud. She had let Isabel make her paranoid. She would text her and tell her she didn’t want any more contact. This was over.

She parked the SUV and got Finn out of the car. A light snow was falling, and she pulled the hood up over her head. Shit. She’d forgotten her gloves.

“It will have to be a short one today, buddy.”

As they began to walk, the snow picked up. Her hands were already turning red, and she put her free hand in the jacket pocket. She felt something hard. She pulled it out. A key. His office key? She needed to get back to the house and check.

“Sorry, Finny, only one loop today.”

She couldn’t wait to try the key, but when they got home Felicia was bustling around the kitchen, cleaning up. Savannah shook the snow from her feet in the mudroom and called over to Felicia.

“I’m in the mood to bake, but I don’t want to be in your way. Why don’t you go home and relax. The house is fine.”

“I’m almost finished. Just want to finish cleaning the microwave, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

There was no point in arguing. She’d just have to wait. Savannah hung Bennett’s jacket back on the hook. That was when she noticed it. A woman’s scarf. It was crumpled in a heap on the floor. It must have fallen off when she’d grabbed the jacket. She bent down and picked it up, unfolding it with both hands. It looked expensive, and the tag said Made in France. It wasn’t something she’d ever wear. Four blue interlacing saddles with a horse and carriage in the center of the scarf. She opened her computer and did an image search. Hermès. There was a photo of a woman wearing it, and that was when Savannah realized she’d seen it before. Her palms were wet with sweat, and she wiped them on her jeans, then picked up her phone and pulled up Angela’s Facebook page. There it was. A photo of her wearing this exact scarf. This was too much of a coincidence for her to ignore. How many women had this exact Hermès scarf? It had to be hers. And another thought occurred to her. What woman would leave behind a scarf worth close to three hundred dollars?

| Sixty |

Bennett

Bennett shut the door to his hotel room and flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and pulled it out. He set his alarm to go off in forty-five minutes. But first, sleep. He’d arrived in Rome from Munich two hours ago and his talk was in three hours. One more week and this would all be behind him and he could get back to the life he loved. He hated touring. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his readers. Of course he did. But having moderators ask the same boring questions day after day was mind-numbing. And trying to answer enthusiastically took acting skills he didn’t possess, but he did his best.

In what seemed like seconds later, his alarm went off and he stretched and got up. After a quick shower and change he sat down and opened his laptop. He went to the video footage of the house. There was a queue of videos in the history. He clicked on the first one. There was Savannah, making tea for Felicia. He was glad the two of them were getting along. Poppy had never liked Felicia and the feeling was mutual. He turned the volume up as he unpacked, listening to them both. But then he turned and ran back to the laptop, hitting rewind. Savannah was asking about Isabel. That was strange. He rewound further. Ah, it was because of the book dedication. That made sense. He didn’t realize she was the jealous type. He’d have to reassure her when he was home that he only had eyes for her. He fast-forwarded through the next few videos. Savannah and Finn. Savannah and Felicia. No one bothering his office. He shut the laptop and went to his talk.

| Sixty-One |

Savannah

Felicia finally left at eleven a.m. and Savannah sent a text to Isabel.

Found something. Can you come over?

A moment later she answered.

On my way.

She walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the office door. With a trembling hand she inserted the key. It fit! She turned it. The door opened. Her heart was like a jackhammer as she flipped on the light and looked around. Bookshelves lined the walls and as she stood in front of one, she realized all the books were ones by Bennett. Each shelf contained all his foreign editions. She turned to the wall to the right. There were at least thirty copies of each of his books in English. She picked up an Edgar Award and read the inscription. Promise Me Never. There were four other awards for that book.

On the wall behind Bennett’s desk were photos of him at book events, at award ceremonies, on the set of the movie for Promise Me Never. The office was a shrine to his success. No personal photos anywhere.

She moved to the Baroque mahogany desk that dominated the room, its opulence overpowering the other furniture: a subdued love seat and end table. She sat down behind it and flicked on the computer, eagerly waiting for it to boot up. Opening the drawers, she saw that everything was neatly organized just like his closet. The first had pens and notebooks. She pulled on the bottom drawer, but it wouldn’t open. Was it locked? She pulled again. No, just stuck. She’d need to put all her weight behind it. Before she stood, the screen lit up and she clicked the return button on the keyboard. It asked for a password. Of course. She tried Poppy, then her name, but nothing. There was no way she’d be able to guess. She stood up and yanked on the drawer again. It opened. The only thing inside was a gold box. Curious, she lifted it out and put it on the desk. Sliding the top open, she gasped when she saw what was inside.

| Sixty-Two |

Bennett

Bennett had a few hours before his talk at seven o’clock. Opening his laptop, he navigated to the home video app and watched live. He saw Savannah walking down the hall toward his office. She stopped. Inserted a key. How had she gotten the key? He sucked in his breath as she turned the knob and went inside.