With that university ID badge in hand, Eddie was also confident that Warren’s real story—and perhaps even the identity of his killer—were within reach. Finding William Benedict in Northern Arizona University’s databank clinched it.
More shocking was his discovery of Benedict’s arrest on a charge of homicide—something that for now, he needed to keep from Rob.
Eddie regularly had to remind himself that his closest friend’s chosen profession made it that much harder to share with him potentially explosive information. No matter what else he turned up, the very knowledge that Warren Bradley—the persistent persecutor of Grant Randolph, Carrie Kahn, and so many others—had been tried for homicide would be enough to have Rob aching to get to his keyboard and begin writing a blockbuster story. Expecting his friend to sit quietly on that information would have been like placing a boulder atop a volcano in the hope that it would stay put in an eruption.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Four days after they searched Warren’s home, Eddie got his department’s approval for out-of-state travel expenses.
After landing in Phoenix, he planned to pick up a rental car and driving the three hours north on Interstate 17 to Flagstaff—home of NAU, Northern Arizona University.
Rob would have happily paid his expenses to go along, but, faced with putting another week’s editions on press, he waited anxiously for Eddie’s call.
All day Friday, Rob had an edge in his voice.
“Maybe you should head over to Smitty’s for an early end of the week happy hour,” Holly groused after Rob snapped at her one too many times over a missing photo or a typo.
“You’re probably right. I could use a beer, but I’m skipping it this week. Eddie had to go out of town on some work thing. I’m going straight home after work.”
“Why don’t you join me at the No Name for a drink?”
As grumpy as he’d been all day, she was owed at least an end of the week cocktail. But then he remembered the rest of this weekend’s itinerary. He shook his head. “Thanks, Holly, but Karin and I are going to try to leave by noon tomorrow for an overnight at her folks’ place up in Calistoga. We’ve got errands to run before that, so we’ll have to get an early start tomorrow.”
“Okay, suit yourself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet Mr. Right tonight.”
That’s not too likely, Rob thought, considering that the same gang can be found at the No Name Bar just about every night of the year.
“The first round is on me,” he said, as he handed her a ten-dollar bill.
Holly snatched it up. “I should complain about your being grumpy more often,” she giggled as she went out the door.
It was nearly five-thirty by the time Holly made the three-block walk up Bridgeway to her destination. She walked into the No Name and was unhappy to see the same old early evening crowd.
As busy as it already was, Holly was lucky to find a seat at the bar. She caught the bartender’s attention—Alberto, a handsome thirty-something guy who worked behind the bar and made it a point to know all his customers.
“Hangar 1 martini, two olives, one onion—right, Holly?”
Holly gave Alberto a seductive wink. “I guess you know me, huh?”
As she waited a few moments for the bartender to work his magic, her eye caught a familiar face she had difficulty placing. When Alberto put her drink down in front of her and asked with a warm smile if she needed anything else, Holly said, “Yes I do. How about the name of that cute guy over there, blue shirt, blond hair?”
“That’s Chris Harding. He's a patrol officer with the Sausalito police.”
She smiled. “Do you think I can get him to lock me up?”
“I guess that depends on how badly you behave,” Alberto responded with a laugh and a wink as he hurried off to serve another customer.
Holly absentmindedly stirred her martini. Where had she seen Hottie Harding before? Oh yes—she’d met him and Officer Steve Hansen at the reception after Bradley’s memorial service.
Eventually, Holly caught Chris’s eye. They exchanged smiles and an air toast.
A few minutes later, Chris walked over to her side of the bar and stuck out his hand.
He had a firm but deliberately gentle grip. Holly liked his smile, along with the rest of him.
“I feel sure we’ve met before,” Chris said.
“Well, Sausalito is such a small town that—”
“Wait a minute; I know where…It was at the reception after Warren Bradley’s service.” His smile faded. “That was a sad day, wasn’t it? He was such a talented guy. Not to mention a fantastic cook!”
“Yes, he was one in a million.” Holly took it as a good sign that she didn’t have to remind him exactly where and when they first met.
After a few minutes of small talk, Holly’s mating mind clicked in. It confirmed her initial interest. Chris was probably mid-thirties, which made him a little younger, or a little older, than her—check. He had great features: blond hair, blue eyes, handsome face, and adorable dimples on his cheeks, which appeared each time he smiled—double check. And clearly, he had an impressive build underneath that soft blue cotton shirt he was wearing.
Yep, right age, good job, great body, and an adorable smile.
He was Holly's boyfriend trifecta.
Chris explained why he had made the move up from San Jose to Sausalito, and Holly told him that she worked at The Standard.
“I’ve heard a lot about the paper, but I haven’t read it.”
It was after Holly’s second martini and Chris’s second Jack Daniels and soda that he leaned into her and said, “You know, my place would be a lot quieter for us to talk than here.”
Holly thought for a moment, and then said with a smile, “So would my place.”
“Where is it?” Chris asked as he moved in close to be heard over the growing Friday night crowd.
“I’m
