“That's great news,” replied Edgar. “London?”
“Yes,” said Ben. “Lois is thrilled. The only thing is, we need to find someone to lease our house while we're gone. . . hell, maybe even buy it if we end up staying there, and I'm trying to find someone I trust.”
Edgar felt his heart skip a beat. Was this a sign that they were supposed to move back to San Francisco?
“We own a house here in Wonderland. . .”
“I know that,” replied Ben. “I was hoping that maybe you knew of someone looking for a house. We're in such a rush. . . I don't want to rent to just anyone.”
“Well,” said Edgar, weighing his words carefully, “the fact is, we've been considering moving back to the city.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Ben?”
“I'm here,” he replied. “You don't know how that makes me feel! I mean, would you consider looking at it? It might be short-term, like I said. We'd have to work all of that out.”
“Are you still on Telegraph Hill?” asked Edgar, his heart pounding.
“Yeah,” replied Ben. “Same house for the last ten years.”
“I could talk to Jack,” said Edgar. “Maybe we could come up and look around this afternoon, if that works for you?”
“Sounds great,” replied Ben. “Lois is going to be so happy.”
“Let's say one?”
“See you then.”
Edgar ended the call and looked out the window into the back yard. Was it really possible that this had just fallen into their laps? Not only was it in San Francisco, but in
North Beach
, Edgar's favorite neighborhood. He nearly skipped on the way to the bathroom to shower. Now all he had to do was find a delicate way to approach Jack.
* * * *
It had proven easier than Edgar had initially feared to convince Jack to drive to San Francisco, not that Edgar had been completely honest with his partner. Instead of admitting that he had shown interest in renting the house, Edgar had suggested that his old friend from the paper had merely suggested their help in staging the house for prospective renters. Jack, a sucker for decorating, had fallen for the ruse. The traffic into San Francisco was light and the weather once again agreeable. This morning, however, Edgar was in more of a hurry, as if the house on Telegraph Hill might vanish if he didn't get there quickly, so he decided to circumvent city streets for the highway, exiting downtown and heading straight to North Beach.
Since it was early, the couple decided to have breakfast. Edgar parked the car on Green Street and the two men walked the two blocks down to Columbus, where they went to a cafe and ordered coffee and pastries.
Seated at a sidewalk table, the city bustling around them, Edgar smiled at Jack.
“This is nice,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.
Jack smiled back and took a sip of his own coffee.
“It is,” he agreed. “We really don't visit the city enough.”
Edgar considered his next words carefully. Should this be his cue to jump into the whole “we should move back” spiel or was Jack telling him, in not so many words, that visiting was all he was interested in doing? Thankfully, he was spared having to say anything by the ringing of his cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Edgar, it's Miller.”
“Miller,” replied Edgar, glancing at Jack. “How are you?”
“Let's cut the chitchat,” he said, sounding unusually gruff. “I have some information for you. . . when can we meet?”
“I'm in the city,” replied Edgar, “in North Beach, in fact. Name a time and place.”
“Meet me at the corner of Columbus and Broadway in half an hour,” he said.
Then, without preamble, he hung up.
Edgar put his phone away and looked at Jack.
“Miller has some information for me,” he said. “He wants to meet in half an hour, just down the street.”
Jack nodded.
“Did he say what it was?”
“No,” replied Edgar, “but he sounded pissed off.”
“Will there be time to go to Ben and Lois’ house?”
“I imagine,” replied Edgar.
The two men finished their coffee and pastries in silence, each lost in thought. Finally, Edgar looked at his watch and stood.
“I'd better head that way,” he said. “I'll meet you back here in twenty minutes?”
“I'm going to peek in a few shops,” replied Jack. “Call my cell phone when you're headed this way.”
Edgar turned and began making his way to the rendezvous spot, his thoughts an emotional rollercoaster. On one hand he might be getting the information to save Eldon Court but, on the other, it might mean losing the house on Telegraph Hill. As he neared the corner, Edgar saw Miller and the reason for his grouchiness. . . a black eye.
“Edgar,” Miller said.
“What the hell happened to you?” asked Edgar.
“Let's just say that it's a workplace hazard in my business,” he replied. “And I told you that Converse was a mean cocksucker.”
“Converse didn't do that?” asked Edgar.
“Hell, no,” laughed Miller. “I could take that little prick by myself. . . a couple of his goons did it.”
“I'm sorry. . .”
“Don't be,” replied Miller. “I went poking around regarding Mr. St. John, and found something interesting.”
“Such as?”
“His dear mama is none other than Rose Emerson St. John.”
“The actress?” asked Edgar.
“Actress” was perhaps a misuse of the word. Rose Emerson St. John hadn't acted in years and the movies she did make back in the day were hardly Oscar-worthy. Edgar pressed Miller for more information.
“You're sure she's his mother?” he asked. “How did you find this out?”
Miller looked almost offended by the question and so Edgar talked over it.
“What do we need to do now?” he asked.
“Here's her number,” replied Miller, passing a piece of paper to Edgar.
Edgar looked at the number. It had a southern California area code.
“Should we call her?” he asked. What was he supposed to say? Hello Ms. St. John, your movies were awful and we want your help tricking your son?
“She's expecting you to call,” said Miller.
Edgar was perplexed but, before he could ask another question, Miller spoke again.
“My bill will be in the mail,” he said, walking away. “You're welcome.”
As he disappeared in the crowd, Edgar felt more confused by the minute. He started to call Jack but realized that the house on the hill would have to wait. Reluctantly, he dialed Ben.
“Ben,” he said, “I'm sorry. . . we're going to need to re-schedule. I know, I'm sorry. . . something unforeseen came up. That sounds good. . . my best to Lois.”
He ended the call and then dialed Jack's cell phone.
“I'm headed that way,” he said. “I've got some really strange news.”
* * * *
Miller hadn't been pulling his chain; not only had Rose Emerson St. John been expecting his call, but she seemed eager to meet with him, explaining that she would be in the area the following day.
“I'm certain that we can remedy the situation,” she had said cryptically.
Despite his absolute dislike for her son, Parker, Jack was acting downright giddy at the prospect of meeting the infamous Rose Emerson St. John. The morning of her visit he changed shirts three times and insisted on flowers in the entryway.
“Calm down,” said Edgar, still upset over the house in the city. “Have you forgotten who her son is?”
“No,” replied Jack, looking hurt. “But you have to be polite. She's a star.”
“
Was
a star,” corrected Edgar.
Jack was about to protest this statement, when he caught the unmistakable figure emerging from Number Two Eldon Court.
“Here she comes!” said Jack. “Now play nice,” he scolded Edgar, before opening the door.
As Jack rushed out to greet their guest, Edgar looked next door to see that Rich had returned from the hospital.
Great
, he thought,
just what the neighbors need to see
.
What next?
Part Three
“Where the Bodies Are Buried”
By Adam Carpenter
* * * *
“What the hell is going on in this neighborhood?”
It was a question he spoke aloud, but his voice sounded foreign to him as it bounced against quiet walls. He had not done much speaking lately, mostly because there was no one to converse with, no one with who to ask questions and receive back answers, no one to tell him he was loved.
But for the first time in more than a week, Paolo Bautista felt like talking to someone, but the trouble was he didn't know which of his neighbors he felt like approaching, whether he could trust them any longer. Certainly not Parker, the man of mixed motives and divided loyalties; Rich he felt conflicted about, given the way he'd tried to stop Aaron from pulling the trigger but had ended up atop him while the gun went off. And Marc. . . his friend who had seen him through Aaron's funeral, one of the worst days of his life. . . After his gallery opening had ended in disaster, there was no telling how he truly felt. As for Dane and Sawyer, they were once again AWOL, on a job or just drying their tears in some other location, considering Dane and Aaron had been brothers. So who did that leave? Jack and Edgar, Eldon Court's stalwarts, that's who. Until he saw what he saw. . . that woman coming to their home, the way they had invited her inside, that scene had left Paolo disturbed and further confused. Doubt had once again crept into his mind and wouldn't let go. Yes, Paolo had seen some odd things this past week on Eldon Court, and normally he'd have been be in the thick of the drama, questioning, judging. . . perhaps participating. Not so, now, Paolo was just a passive participant, peering out through his curtains, a guest on his own street.
It was Sunday, normally a day when the neighbors of Eldon Court would all get together and have a few drinks out by the pool, accompanied by some laughs and some harmless flirting, sometimes a bit more than that. Like the pool parties they had shared this past summer, the first when he'd allowed the bear-like Rich North to screw him hard down on the beach, others when he'd sucked Parker St. John's hot rock of a cock in the same location. Both of these encounters, tinged with temporary satisfaction and lingering regret, he wished he could now take back. Had those sexy trysts been worth it when now he was faced with a life without the one and only man he'd ever truly loved, Aaron Walters?
Paolo would forever miss the once-lighted-hearted Aaron, his smile, the way he took life one day at a time. Right now, after a time of solitude Paolo had forced upon himself, he had to figure out what the next stage of his life would bring, and whether Eldon Court, still under siege from Danvers Converse, was a part of it. Had his losses been worth it, challenging a man of such power and wealth and depravity, a man bent on revenge? Their Victorian home on Eldon Court was just that, a home, a building, replaceable. Aaron had been a man, once a vital, happy one, until Converse had threatened to ruin him. And succeeded.
But Paolo wasn't like Danvers Converse, revenge wasn't something he wished to exact. Truthfully, he was tired of all the intrigue and drama. So what then did he want? Unlike Aaron, Paolo always wondered what tomorrow would bring, and right now, on this picture-perfect day, he realized to get to tomorrow you had to embrace today. Taking the first step toward whatever the future held required Paolo to journey outdoors.
And so he did, opening up his black and white world, into one of vibrant, rich color, just like Dorothy had done after landing in Oz following a powerful storm that turned her life upside down. But that's where the comparisons ended; Paolo wasn't so sure about clicking his heels three times, home didn't seem like such a place he wanted to be.
* * * *
The bright sunshine nearly blinded him, and for a moment he felt like he was under attack. He could hear the loud squaw of a flock of seagulls as they flew through the sky, circling over the nearby beach and the crashing of waves from the Pacific; their sounds were deafening to him, so used to the quiet was he. But Paolo didn't retreat back inside, he took that next step, and that next, allowing Eldon Court to open up to him. He stole an apprehensive look back at his own house, watching as the door eased shut, almost as though someone was inside and pushing him beyond his limits. No, he was all alone, and, as he gazed forward, the overwhelming sense of loneliness pulled at him. There was no one around; the street was all quiet on this morning.
He sat down upon the edge of the wooden porch, his eyes squinting against the harsh rays of the sun, closing his eyes to let the warmth of the sun touch his natural dark skin tones. He was dressed in his usual shorts and T-shirt, and the sun felt like a kiss upon his toned arms and legs. He stretched out, almost like he was sun-bathing. Now this was life in all its glorious simplicity, it's what living in Wonderland was supposed to be all about. This town was not a place in which you came to die.
A sudden sound jolted him awake, almost like it was pulling him back from an abyss, and his eyes worked back and forth until he found the source of such a noisy intrusion. It was the turn of a car's engine down at Number Five. Paolo watched as Rich North, back home after his recovery from a gunshot at the gallery incident, pulled out of his driveway and zoomed down the street, not even noticing Paolo. Perhaps that was how it was supposed to be. Paolo, closed off for over a week, had been rendered invisible.
Which just gave his powers of observation more. . . power.
He'd seen the blowsy, glamorous red-headed lady at both Number Two with Parker, and visiting at Number Four, Edgar and Jack's, and he was no closer to understanding who she was or what her connection to Eldon Court was. But what most disturbed him was his friend, Marc, who had taken to jogging every morning, before and since Rich's return. His actions weren't fooling Paolo because he'd seen where Marc had jogged to, even if he was trying to be surreptitious about his destination—he's always ended up at Number Two, with Parker quickly letting him in, practically pulling him inside with hunger. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. Now, with Rich having driven off Eldon Court this morning, Paolo had to wonder if Marc was going to head out on one of his jogs.