The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks

by Josh Lanyon

  Actually he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a good night’s sleep. Before Frisco. Before Marcel turned out to be mostly a figment of his imagination.

  Rising, he found a saucepan in Nick’s cupboard, filled it with water, and left it heating on the stove while he hurried across to his own apartment for a change of clothes and a tin of hot chocolate.

  A glance over the banister showed him a deputy sheriff walking upstairs. He recognized him as one of the two who had shown up the night he had discovered the body in the bathtub. This was the younger man. “Abe,” the senior partner had called him.

  “Morning,” Deputy Abe said laconically. His expression indicated he remembered Perry quite well too — and was equally unimpressed.

  “Morning,” returned Perry, drawing back. He’d had a vague idea of grabbing some of his things out of Watson’s apartment, but that would have to wait.

  Letting himself into his own rooms, he used his peak flow meter and noted the results on the asthma chart pinned to the fridge — pleased to note that despite the stress and strains of the past week, he was still safely in the green zone — grabbed clean clothes and the tin of Nestlé’s Quik and dashed back to Nick’s.

  Nick’s bedroom door was closed, Nick apparently still fathoms under after the long, nearly back-to-back trip to and from Los Angeles. Perry showered, shaved, and changed into clean Levi’s and a forest green thermal Henley. He knew the color suited him; he had bought it for the vacation with Marcel. He examined himself in the mirror. Despite the uneasy night’s sleep, he looked better than he had recently. But then he felt better — mostly because Nick was back.

  Last night he’d been too tired to tell him what he’d learned about the house’s history — last night none of it had seemed relevant — but this morning he couldn’t wait to hear Nick’s thoughts.

  Pouring himself a cup of cocoa, he sat down at the table and glanced over the notes he’d made at the library the day before. He was still reading when Nick padded in.

  Unshaven, bleary-eyed, he stalked over to the gas range. “Morning,” he growled.

  “Good morning,” Perry said cheerfully. “There’s hot water.”

  “I see that. I take coffee with my hot water.” He scowled at Perry’s mug. “Tell me those are not bunny-shaped marshmallows.”

  Perry blushed.

  “Don’t you drink coffee?” Nick sounded disbelieving. “Couldn’t you at least make coffee for those of us who don’t like bunnies in our morning beverage?”

  “I don’t know how to make coffee,” Perry admitted.

  Nick turned that red-rimmed gaze on Perry. “You’re not kidding,” he said at last.

  “No. I don’t drink it, so I never learned.”

  Nick shuddered. He turned on the taps and filled the stainless coffeepot. “How’d you sleep?” he asked over the rush of water.

  “Okay,” Perry said, trying to repress a grin. He enjoyed Nick’s company — even when Nick was feeling grouchy.

  Nick finished filling the coffeepot and sat down at the table. He nodded at Perry’s notes. “What are you doing?”

  “I was at the newspaper morgue yesterday. I learned some things about the house.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, it is supposed to be haunted…” At Nick’s expression he added hastily, “But that’s not the interesting part.”

  Nick scrubbed his face with his hands. “Give me the interesting part.”

  He had square, capable hands. They were tanned — Nick was tanned everywhere as far as Perry could see even though it was late autumn now. He’d have liked to see if Nick was brown under those flannel shirts and jeans; he’d have liked to feel those square, capable hands on his body. He brought his thoughts up short, a little shocked at his own shallowness. Here he was, just two days after losing the love of his life, and he was fantasizing about another man.

  A straight man at that.

  Although…sometimes the way Nick looked at him made him wonder. Perry wasn’t vastly experienced, but he did know what that certain alertness, that awareness, meant in another person’s stare. It started in kindergarten and never stopped as far as he could tell.

  He realized that Nick was now looking at him, waiting to be brought up to speed, and said hastily, “Back in the thirties there was a big robbery on the estate, and a bunch of jewels and money were stolen from guests by a gangster by the name of Shane Moran. No one ever found the loot.”

  “So what…the ghosts of the robbed guests are haunting the halls of Alston Manor?”

  “No. Shane Moran is supposed to haunt the grounds. He was killed in a shoot-out in Witch Hollow Woods.”

  Nick groaned. “Lemme guess. He was shot for wearing a loud yellow sports jacket?”

  Perry laughed. “Maybe. But the guy in my bathtub was not wearing costume dress. That coat came from Big and Tall World, I’m betting.”

  “The Sopranos Collection,” Nick said.

  “Hey.” Perry looked thoughtful. “He did look like a gangster, sort of.”

  “Not everyone with a taste for checks and plaids is actually a criminal, although I can see why you might think so.”

  Perry laughed.

  “Jesus, you’re chipper in the morning,” Nick complained, but he didn’t seem unduly upset about it. He rose. “Eggs and bacon okay?”

  Perry was considering Nick’s first comment. His mother used to say he was “sunny natured,” and he guessed that was true. The last few days had been spent in a fog of misery after the fiasco with Marcel, but his natural optimism was beginning to reassert itself. He was amazed to realize he had barely thought of Marcel today until this very moment.

  “I guess I’m kind of a morning person,” he informed Nick.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Nick said. “Scrambled or fried?”

  “I think I’ll just have cereal.”

  “I don’t think so,” Nick said. “You need to eat real food. No wonder you have asthma.”

  “Asthma doesn’t have anything to do with eating.” Perry was slightly amused, slightly defensive.

  “No? Well, I’m not a doctor, but it seems like the better shape you’re in, the fewer problems you’d have with your breathing. Do you ever work out?”

  “I hike a lot. In the woods.”

  “You need to work out,” Nick informed him. “Weights. Build your muscles. You have to be able to take care of yourself in this world.”

  While Nick delivered his lecture on fitness, he cracked eggs, chopped onions, grated cheese. Bacon popped on the stove. Coffee perked. It was homey. Cozy. Perry warned himself not to enjoy it too much.

  “Did you tell the cops about this stuff?” Nick asked.

  “I didn’t think of the secret passage till I was talking with you.”

  “Not that,” Nick brushed aside the notion of a secret passage. “I mean the stuff about the missing jewels. That’s what you think is going on here, right? Someone is looking for Shane Moran’s missing loot.”

  He raised his eyebrows at whatever he read in Perry’s face. “Kid, it wasn’t that hard to follow where you were heading.”

  Perry couldn’t help it. Nick was so damned sharp and savvy. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be someone like that. Someone who always knew what to do — and the best way to do it.

  “I tried,” Perry said. “The sheriff kept interrupting me and asking about Tiny.”

  Nick put the plate in front of Perry. “Eat up.”

  Perry shoved his notes aside and picked up his fork. “You’re a good cook.”

  “My grandmother taught me to cook. She thought it was important for a man to be able to make himself a home-cooked meal when he wanted it. Thank God she did. My wife was the worst cook ever born. She made MR rations seem appetizing.”

  “I didn’t know you were married.”

  “Divorced.” Nick added curtly, “Got the papers Saturday.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Too long.” His tone indicat
ed that this topic was now off-limits.

  Perry ate his breakfast silently while Nick stared out the window. The phone rang and Nick went to answer it. Perry heard him pick up, and then after a moment of silence, say curtly, “We’ll be right over.”

  Nick stuck his head in the kitchen.

  “That was Stein. He said he heard someone walking overhead in your apartment so he tried ringing. No one answered. He called here to find out if you’d moved back or not. I said we’d meet him over there.”

  “Why didn’t he tell the deputy?”

  “He said the deputy is gone.”

  “He’s probably in my apartment.” Perry’s eyes widened as he watched Nick squat down, open the cupboard beneath the sink, and pull out a pistol. Nick shoved the pistol in the back waistband of his Levi’s with the casualness that bespoke great familiarity with weapons. Perry’s father had handled his weapons the same way.

  Nick glanced at him, the lines of his face hard and businesslike. “Why would he be?”

  It took Perry a second to remember his comment about the deputy. “I’m probably a suspect.”

  “I give the police more credit than that.” And with that Nick was on his feet and out the door.

  Perry pushed away from the table to follow reluctantly.

  Chapter Eight

  The trip from Nick’s tower room to Perry’s took about a minute. Reaching Perry’s apartment, they found the door slightly open.

  Nick pulled his gun, planted one hand in Perry’s chest, and whispered, “Stay here.”

  Perry was happy to obey. He watched Nick start forward. Nick glanced back at him, and an expression of exasperation fleeted across his set face. He jerked his head backward, giving Perry to understand he was supposed to get out of the line of potential fire.

  He plastered himself against the wall behind Nick, heart hammering hard. His chest was getting that tight, itchy feeling. God, please not now… He fought the desire to cough.

  Nick kicked open the door and slipped inside the front room, gun at the ready. He pivoted alertly to the left, swung to the right — never mind the gun, he was a weapon all on his own, Perry thought, watching his progress through the crack in the door.

  Nick disappeared out of Perry’s line of vision.

  Perry waited. His eyes fell on something he had missed as he watched Nick. A pair of feet stuck out from behind the kitchen counter. Someone lay on the kitchen floor.

  A wave of dizziness hit him; he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

  Another body. They ought to change the name of this place to Homicide House.

  When he opened his eyes and looked again, Nick was stealthily cutting from the hallway into the bedroom.

  A moment later he stuck his head around the corner.

  “Get in here, Foster. Someone knocked Stein out.”

  “Stein? How did he get up here so fast?”

  “I don’t know. I just know he’s here and unconscious.”

  Stein was making an effort to sit up when Perry and Nick joined him on the kitchen linoleum.

  “What the hell happened?” he muttered.

  “Someone cold-cocked you,” Nick replied. “Did you see who?”

  Stein felt the top of his head. “Shit, what’d he hit me with? A baseball bat?”

  A visible lump rose out of his iron-gray part.

  “Probably that,” Perry said, pointing to the fireplace poker, which was wrapped in a paint-spattered rag.

  “I guess I oughta be grateful he wasn’t trying to kill me.”

  “He?” Nick questioned.

  “He or she.”

  “What happened?”

  “The door was open so I walked in.”

  “Why?” Perry asked.

  Stein admitted, “I guess I just assumed it was you two. Anyway, I heard a movement behind me. He must have been behind the door. I turned and he slammed me over the head.”

  Nick asked, “But you didn’t see who it was?”

  Stein shook his head, then winced.

  “The bedroom window was open,” Nick said.

  “He must have got out that way,” Perry said, meeting his eyes. “Otherwise we’d have seen him going down the stairs.”

  Nick nodded slowly. “Unless he started downstairs before we left my place. He’d have to be moving pretty fast. See if you can locate the deputy. He’s got to be here somewhere.”

  “Maybe he’s disappeared, like Tiny,” Stein mumbled.

  Wide-eyed, Perry turned back to Nick, who shook his head. “Nah. No way. He’s either inside Watson’s apartment, or he’s snooping around downstairs.”

  Perry jumped up and raced down the stairs. He reached the landing and was starting down the second flight when someone called, “Hey, Foster! Where’s the fire?”

  It was Deputy Abe back in his chair outside Watson’s apartment door.

  Perry skidded to a stop and stared down the long hall.

  “Where were you?”

  The deputy raised a coffee mug. “Downstairs. Getting something hot to drink. This place is like a morgue.”

  “Mr. Stein was knocked out upstairs in my apartment.”

  “Who? Stein? What was he doing in your apartment? Where were you?”

  “I was staying with Nick. Mr. Reno.”

  “The SEAL?” The surprise in the deputy’s voice was not flattering. Perry flushed. Not that there was anything to be embarrassed about — unfortunately.

  He said shortly, “Mr. Stein heard footsteps. He went up to investigate.”

  “Why didn’t he call me?”

  “He couldn’t find you.”

  The deputy looked uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah. I was…er…talking with Ms.…um…Bridger.”

  Miss Scarlet in the kitchen, Perry thought grimly amused. He waited for the deputy to set aside his mug, and then led the way back upstairs.

  “A lot of screwy things happen in this house,” the deputy commented.

  “Tell me about it,” Perry muttered.

  They found Stein on his feet, though listing a bit, refusing offers of paramedics.

  “An ice pack,” he said. “Coupla aspirin. I’ll be good as new.”

  “You could have a concussion,” Nick said. “I’d get checked out if I were you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Stein said caustically.

  And Nick’s cheek creased in a reluctant smile. “Maybe not,” he agreed.

  The deputy asked all the obvious questions while Stein grew more impatient and gray with each passing moment.

  “How many ways can I say it?” he asked finally. “I didn’t see a goddamned thing.”

  “I’m just trying to do my job,” the deputy said, injured. “This is what they pay me for.”

  “Is that so? I’m not impressed with how my tax dollars are spent. When I was on the force…”

  They all tuned out at that, Deputy Abe turning a jaundiced eye on the informal gallery of Perry’s paintings. As Stein’s reminiscences wound down, he asked, “Are these worth anything?”

  Perry shrugged.

  The deputy frowned at a painting of a field of berries ripening in the autumn sun. “I don’t see the point of painting something like this when you can just take a photograph.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Perry said.

  “No, because a photograph is more accurate.”

  “Art isn’t just about accuracy. It’s about interpretation. It’s about —”

  Nick said, in the tone of one making a real effort, “I don’t think an art critic broke in here.”

  The deputy shrugged as though personally unconvinced.

  “This is the last time I do the neighborly bit,” Stein grumbled. He was headed slowly for the front door. He gestured to Nick. “Next time I’ll let you take point. You seem trained for it.”

  That reminded the deputy. “By the way, do you have a permit for that cannon?” He was eyeing Nick narrowly.

  “Yep.” Nick smiled tightly. “I’m the law-abiding type.”


  The deputy held his gaze, then turned to Perry. “Anything missing?”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t checked,” Nick pointed out.

  Perry gave him an ungrateful look and walked quickly down the hall to the bedroom.

  The deputy said, “I guess I’ll poke around a little. See what I turn up.”

  “You could check the bedroom window for fingerprints,” Nick suggested.

  “I’m glad you thought of that,” the deputy drawled. “What would the sheriff’s department do without you?”

  Perry returned. “I don’t think anything’s missing. I can’t tell that anyone was even in here.”

  “Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s leave it to the professionals. We don’t want to make life harder for them than it already is.”

  * * * * *

  “That’s it,” Perry said as they reached Nick’s rooms, and the door slammed shut behind them. “I’ve had it. I can’t stay here. I’ll never feel safe here again.” He began to pace, rubbing the palms of his hands nervously up and down his thighs.

  “Whoa. What’s this about?” Nick reached out and grabbed Perry’s shoulder, bringing him to a stop.

  Perry regarded him with those fawn-colored eyes. He looked scared and angry, and his voice shook as he said, “I don’t know what it’s about. That’s the whole trouble. But there’s something wrong here. Can’t you feel it?”

  Nick was feeling something all right — and it was most definitely wrong — but that didn’t stop him from slowly drawing Perry toward him until their mouths were so close he could feel Perry’s quick breaths against his lips.

  Perry’s mouth was pink and unsteady. He gazed up into Nick’s eyes and then lowered his lashes, relaxing in Nick’s hold. He didn’t make a move toward Nick, he just waited docilely for whatever was going to happen, to happen.

  Christ, he was young. Nick tried to remember what it felt like to be that young — he didn’t think he had ever been that young. Too young, too passive, too inexperienced.

  A total twink. Cute, though.

  Nick let Perry go, stepping back. He looked away so he didn’t have to see the disappointment on the kid’s face.

  Perry sucked in a sharp breath and looked up. He didn’t speak. The silence took on a strained quality.