Authors: Josh Lanyon
Stranger Things Have Happened: An Adrien English Write Your Own Damn Story (The Adrien English Mysteries) (4 page)
“Wh-what words?” you moan.
“You know.”
“P-P-please?”
“Warm.”
“Pretty please?”
“Warmer.”
Oh, and it
is
warmer. Deliciously, delectably hot. It’s hard to think with his knowing fingers sending little flashes of dizzying delight through your trembling body. But gradually you understand what he wants, what has really happened here.
You swear softly. But there’s no use pretending. You say huskily, “I surrender, Jamie.”
James laughs softly and licks your ear. “Good. Me too, Captain English.”
I
t doesn’t help — you absorb the fact with dismay — that they think you faked this burglary.
“They didn’t break in.” Riordan rejoins Chan at the foot of the stairs and they hold a brief undervoiced conference. Not so undervoiced that you can’t hear them — and their suspicions.
“They must have used Robert’s key,” you tell them.
Riordan glances up at you. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
The irritating thing is, that even in this moment of stress, you just can’t help noticing how unfairly attractive the asshole is. Long legs encased in Levi’s, powerful shoulders straining the seams of a surprisingly well-cut tweed jacket…, he’s not your type, but then you don’t really have a type anymore.
Riordan asks for your keys in order to check out the upstairs and you can’t think of a good reason to refuse. When he gets done stomping around overhead, he and Chan exchange some meaningful looks (not
that
kind of meaningful look because these two are strictly of the heterosexual variety) and they hold a little impromptu third degree.
“Well,” Riordan drawls. “You didn’t tell us everything this morning, did you?”
You knew this was coming sooner or later. You say feebly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Riordan smiles. Lots of perfect white teeth. The better to eat you with. Better not to think about that.
Chan says, “We were just over at the Blue Parrot. We thought we’d clear up a couple of points with you.”
“Such as why you lied,” Riordan chimes in.
It goes downhill from there.
You admit to arguing with Robert over his repeated swiping of the petty cash, but you remind them that that would be a pretty lame motive for murder. Except, as Riordan points out, lots of people kill for lame reasons. MOST people kill for lame reasons.
That’s probably true, but what they don’t understand, probably can’t understand, is that you loved Rob. Maybe you weren’t crazy about who he grew up to be, but you still loved him. And you would do anything to take back that stupid argument.
Except you can’t.
Riordan and Chan try to get you to admit you were sleeping with Robert, but you weren’t. He never asked. And hopefully you’d have had the brains to turn him down if he had. Otherwise, these two might be legitimately questioning you right now.
You swallow hard and say as calmly and quietly as you can. “Robert left before I did last night. He left to meet someone. Didn’t the bartender confirm that?”
Chan snaps his gum. “Sure did. Robert left at 6:45 and you stayed and had a second Midori margarita. You left at about 7:30. Fifteen minutes later, Robert showed up again looking for you.”
Amazingly, the police do not arrest you and you are left to spend the rest of the evening thinking about all the things you should — would — do differently if you had a second chance. Unfortunately, your second chances don’t begin until Rob is already dead, so you just have to keep turning pages and see if you can salvage something.
Why did Rob come back to the Blue Parrot? Did he feel as bad as you did about that final argument? Or was he still angry, still looking for a fight?
You’re never going to know.
Later that night, Tara, Rob’s wife — widow — phones.
“You killed him.” Tara’s voice is so low you can barely hear the words, and when you do understand them, your hair stands up like a porcupine’s quills. Luckily, it’s a good look on you.
“What are you talking about?”
“You killed him just as surely as if you’d stuck the knife in his chest.”
Yeah, the conversation doesn’t go so well. Tara is under the misapprehension that Rob left her in order to be with you. Whereas, in fact, Rob left her to be with everyone in L.A. Of course, you cannot say this. In fact, there’s not much you
can
say except to swear up and down that you never regarded Rob as anything but a friend (which isn’t technically true, but yet
is
true as far as it affected the outcome of Tara’s marriage).
Tara concludes the evening’s performance by wishing you a horrible death.
You finish up by getting drunk and watching an old pirate movie on TV.
Sadly, you don’t have a lot of choices this evening. Sometimes it goes that way.
__________
If you want to sail ahead to the part where the pirate ship appears on the horizon, click here
A
s Detective Riordan’s firm, warm lips latch onto yours, you feel a surge of, well, hopefully alarm, though probably not.
You plant your hands on his pecs and give him a good, hard shove.
He’s not expecting it, and topples backwards.
“What the hell was
that
?” you demand. Apparently it’s been a while.
“I thought you were having a heart attack.” Riordan’s face is flushed.
“Most people just call 911. Or were you kissing me in gratitude for removing myself from your investigation?”
Riordan glowers at you and then, unexpectedly, laughs. “You are kind of a nuisance,” he agrees.
“What are you doing here?” you ask suspiciously.
“I think that’s my line. What exactly were you searching for, English?”
You make up some bullshit about needing work papers that you think Robert might have accidentally taken home. Riordan hears you out with a sardonic expression. He waits until you’ve come to a complete and full stop.
“Uh huh. Did it not occur to you that we would have already conducted a search of the premises?”
Well, yes. But for some reason you were thinking the cops would maybe not know what to look for. Although love — and hate — letters would hardly be something the police would overlook.
You must look suitably chagrined because Riordan gives another of those hard laughs. He suggests the two of you go somewhere so you can have a little chat. You’re not sure if the invitation is optional or not.
__________
If you decide to go with Detective Riordan, click here
If you feel discretion is the better part of valor, click here
Y
ou are preoccupied on the drive back to Pasadena, and no wonder. Riordan cannot be straight. No straight guy ever kissed another guy like that. Like he’d been waiting all his life to lock lips with his fellow man. Like you’re the best thing he ever tasted, and he wanted to make a three-course meal of you.
You can’t stop thinking about that kiss (or near kiss, if you’re joining us from
here
) and every time you do let yourself think about it, you feel weak in the knees. So it’s a good thing you’re already sitting down.
After you merge onto the freeway, it occurs to you that you should call Claude and let him know what happened.
__________
If you fish out your cell phone and call Claude right now, click here
If you wait to call Claude till you’ve arrived at Cloak and Dagger books, click here
B
ruce suggests that you meet for a quick coffee down the street. The place just happens to be one of your favorites, and you agree. After the morning you’ve had, you could use a time out. You lock up the bookstore and walk down to the coffee house.
You’re sitting on a stool, sipping your coffee and gazing out the plate glass window when you spot a tall, black-haired man in a dark suit, jogging across the street. The man neglects to look both ways and he’s struck by a passing car. You watch in horror as he flies up and lands on the hood of the car, before tumbling lifelessly to the street.
Traffic comes to a screeching halt. People, yourself included, pour out of the shops and restaurants and gather around the scene of the accident to see what can be done.
Unfortunately, nothing can be done, and the man — who turns out to be Bruce Green, the reporter from
Boytimes
— dies right there in front of you.
Truly one of the very worst days of your life.
A week later Claude is arrested for Robert’s murder. When you eventually learn about Claude’s violent past, you’re saddened but not surprised. As much as you loved Robert, he could have driven a saint to the breaking point.
A
s quietly as possible you sneak back out of the bookstore and run like hell to the Thai restaurant next door, slipping in through the open kitchen door. Frantically, you try to explain your situation to the astonished cooks.
It takes a minute or two, but once your neighbors understand your plight, they grab an assortment of meat cleavers and butcher knives and race over to the bookstore just in time to confront a tall, rawboned man in black jeans and a black turtleneck. The man has lank, dark hair, brown eyes, and a gaunt face that you’re sure you’ve never seen before.
He stares at you for a long, strange moment and begins to cry.
Do
you know him?
The intruder tries to run, but your neighbors are in no mood for fooling around. They surround him, threateningly waving their weapons. The police are summoned and Detectives Riordan and Chan arrive right after the uniforms.
The intruder breaks down and confesses he is a former schoolmate of yours, Grant Landis. The name doesn’t ring a bell.
Landis claims he killed Robert to avenge some perceived slight back in high school. You’re really having trouble following his story, but it seems like maybe it had something to do with the Chess Club.
Landis is still babbling when he’s hustled into the black and white police cruiser and taken away.
Detective Riordan approaches you and brusquely apologizes for giving you a hard time that morning. You get the feeling he wants to say more, but what is there to say?
Apology over, he says curtly, “Take care, Mr. English.”
You nod stiffly.
Riordan hesitates, then slips on his reflector shades. He looks cool and impassive as he studies you. Then he turns and walks away.
G
reen suggests you go somewhere and get a drink together. That sounds good to you. You could use a drink after the funeral service.
You follow him to a little pub in Atwater Village called The Griffin. It’s a little brick box with red, black and white striped awnings. Inside it’s dark and empty. The Beatles play on the jukebox, which is generally a good sign. You’re not really paying attention though, your thoughts still back with Messrs. Riordan and Chan. Do they really think you killed Robert for his insurance money? It’s a surprise to you that Robert even bothered with insurance. That would have to have been Tara’s doing because Robert never thought a week ahead.
You wonder why Claude did not come to Robert’s funeral. But then again, maybe he stayed away because he’s hoping the police don’t know about him yet.
Call-Me-Bruce gets the first round. While he’s at the bar, you use the men’s room. When you return to the table, Bruce is munching morosely on a handful of peanuts. He smiles at you, and his face changes. He’s more attractive than you realized. Or maybe the drinks are stronger here.
Actually, they are pretty strong. You feel the whisky and soda almost at once. You should have made time for breakfast.
“The smartest thing you can do,” Bruce is saying earnestly, “is put yourself completely in my hands. I’ll get your story out there. I’ll make sure you have the full support of the gay community behind you.”
You know he means well, but there are few issues that attract the full support of ANY community, and you find it hard to believe that anyone is going to rally around you without more evidence that you didn’t have anything to do with Robert’s death. After all, there is a fair bit of circumstantial evidence against you. In recent times, you and Robert had a rocky relationship, you argued in public the night he was murdered, and you were one of the last people to see him alive.
Of course you had no motive to kill Robert, but motive means a lot more to you than it does to the police.
“I don’t really have a story,” you tell Bruce. “There really isn’t anything to tell.”
He smiles in polite disbelief. “You and Hersey were lovers, weren’t you?”
You choke on your drink. “Rob and
me
? No way.”
“Really? It seems to me like he must have had feelings for you.”