Free A Whisper in the Dark by Linda Castillo Page B

there was more. “You want to elaborate on why you think a love story would set someone off?”
    “It’s not the first time a book has sent someone into a tizzy.”
    Wondering why she was stalling, he motioned toward the counter. “A butcher knife stabbed into one of your books and drizzled with human blood is a hell of a lot more than a tizzy.”
    When she didn’t respond, he sighed with impatience. “Julia, if you want me to help you, you’re going to have to level with me.”
    She fidgeted. “It’s called literary erotica.”
    “Literary erotica, huh?” He was no scholar when it came to books, but he had a pretty good idea what she was talking about. “You mean you write about sex?”
    “I write about a man and a woman having a consensual and loving sexual relationship.”
    Not knowing what to say to that, John scratched his head and tried to imagine what this rather benign woman could have written that would anger someone to the point of stabbing a bloody knife through one of her books.
    “Do you think your book is the reason this guy is sending you letters?” he asked.
    Her eyes met his. Within their depths he saw knowledge and the kind of fear a woman like her should never have to feel. “If you read the letters in that context, it makes sense.”
    “Any ideas who you might have offended? A religious zealot? What?”
    “I think it’s someone who feels that, perhaps, sensuality shouldn’t be part of literature. That maybe I’m perpetuating something sinful.”
    Sensuality, he thought, was the politically correct word for sex. Jesus. “So, this could be based on religious beliefs.” He let the idea roll around in his head for a moment. “But then I guess the Puritans were always cramping the sinners’ style.”
    “Certain kinds of literature have been controversial since man began scratching symbols onto the walls of caves.”
    “Do you think this might have something to do with your father or Eternity Springs Ministries?”
    “I don’t know.” Turning away from him, she sank down into the chair behind her desk. “Probably not.”
    “What’s Benjamin’s take on this?”
    She looked away, sighed. “I haven’t exactly told him.”
    “You told him something , because he called me.”
    “Claudia told him someone was leaving notes. Thankfully, she didn’t tell him about my book.” She pursed her lips. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
    “Any particular reason why?”
    “You can’t possibly be that dense.”
    “I am,” he said, deadpan.
    She laughed. It was a throaty sound that rippled over him like warm waves, hitting every pleasure center in his brain.
    “Julia, I don’t see what the big deal is.”
    “The big deal is that my father has worked hard to get where he is. He’s about to be elected director of the Eternity Springs Ministries.” She put her face in her hands for a moment, then raised her gaze to his. “As unreasonable as it sounds, I think if word got out that his daughter is writing . . . explicit novels, it could hurt his chances of getting the directorship position. It’s an elected position, and he needs the votes of all twelve of the board of directors.”
    John considered that for a moment. “Benjamin Wainwright is no dummy, Julia. He probably already knows—”
    “He doesn’t,” she cut in. “I write under a pseudonym. There’s no way he could know.”
    “So then who does know about the book?”
    “Claudia and Jacob. My editor in New York. My agent, also in New York.”
    Jacob again , he thought. “Do you have a Web site?”
    “Yes, but there’s no photograph.”
    “What about an address or e-mail address for fan mail?”
    “I have both. A P.O. box here in the Quarter and an e-mail address.”
    “The letter you received this morning was hand delivered?”
    She nodded. “I don’t know how he could have found out about the bookstore.”
    “Unless he works here.”
    “It wasn’t Jacob.”
    John didn’t say anything. His cop’s mind was