Bermuda Heat

by P. A. Brown

  David gingerly picked up the envelope. He studied the front of it, then flipped it over to look at the back. “So this is the big mystery.” He waved away the wine. “I have to go back.”

  “Coffee then?”

  David nodded and Chris went to put it on.

  Oprah, the little tortoiseshell cat David had rescued the year before, appeared out of nowhere. With the recent death of Sweeney, David’s old Siamese, Oprah was now the only cat in the house. She had quickly assumed the position of queen of the house.

  The package had been sent from Long Beach. As far as Chris knew David didn’t know anyone in the southern beach 8 P.A. Brown

  community. Oprah jumped into David’s lap and he stroked the purring cat, an absent look on his swarthy face.

  “Well, open it,” Chris said.

  David sipped his coffee, then opened the shipping package and drew out a thick brown envelope. He used the letter opener to slit open the flap and slid out four sheets of paper. He grunted when he opened the first one. “It’s from a Walter Dodson, California P.I.”

  “What does he want with you?”

  David scanned the rest of the first letter. He scowled, the flesh of his normally dark face going a little pale. “He says he’s enclosing a letter from my father…”

  It was Chris’s turn to frown. The only “father” David had was his stepfather, Graham Laine, living back in New Hampshire with David’s mother. Chris had heard the story often enough; David’s biological father had died in Vietnam before he’d been born. Graham had adopted him right after marrying his mother when David was barely three years old.

  “He says my father is still alive.”

  When David slid the letter across to Chris and focused on the second letter, Chris scanned the contents of the first. Dodson had been hired by a Joel “Joey” Cameron in Bermuda in regards to his son, David Eric Cameron, born of Barbara Willerton in San Francisco on April 18, 1970. David’s birthday. The rest matched, too. Except, instead of his father being dead, apparently Joel had been told David had died. Chris felt a chill march across his arms.

  David read the second letter, the one purportedly from his father. His face grew more ashen.

  “David?”

  “She lied,” David said. “All this time she lied. She lied to both of us.”

  Chris had never heard such coldness in his husband’s voice before. He wanted to say they both knew what a bitch his mother was, but knew David wouldn’t like it if he did. David had always BeRMudA heAt 9

  been more tolerant of her than Chris could ever be. Even when she had refused to attend their wedding or even acknowledge it, David hadn’t turned away from her.

  “What? She told the guy you were dead?” Chris muttered.

  “That’s creepy.” Deep down Chris knew that David still loved his mother and hoped to get her approval one day. Like that was ever going to happen in this lifetime, or the next for that matter.

  “Does he say what made him suspicious?”

  “No, he doesn’t,” David said. “I guess if I want an answer to that, I’ll have to meet him.”

  David glanced at the letter again. Chris could see it was handwritten in small, tight script which filled the whole page.

  “He says he’s sorry and he wants to meet me.” David scowled, his mouth pursing and his teeth worrying his lips. “He says to bring you along too, he’d love to meet you. Apparently he knows all about us.” He flipped the letter from the P.I. over, then slid it back to Chris. He held up the two other things he had taken from the envelope. Chris saw they were Delta e-tickets.

  “He wants us—you—to go there?” he asked.

  “Both of us,” David said.

  “To Bermuda?”

  David nodded. He still looked shell-shocked. Chris rose and circled around to his side, crouching down beside him. Oprah meowed forlornly when Chris put her on the floor. The cat wound around their feet. Sergeant sensed the tension and slid his wedge-shaped head against Chris’s leg. Chris ignored the dog and took both of David’s hands in his, wishing he could erase the worry lines now creasing his husband’s face.

  “Hey,” Chris said. “It’s okay. Look on the bright side—your dad’s alive. That’s good news, right? Let’s meet him before you condemn him. Your mother always said he was a loser. But if she told so many lies, maybe that wasn’t true, either. Maybe he’s not the bad guy, after all. Besides,” he added with a teasing smile. “I hear it’s beautiful there.”

  “You think?” David muttered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, 10 P.A. Brown

  we have jobs, bills to pay, plans already made. We can’t just go jaunting off to God knows where on a whim.”

  Chris took the tickets out of his hands. They were from Delta.

  Economy class. He would change that fast enough if David actually wanted to do this. Suddenly Chris wanted to go. His curiosity was killing him. Surely it must be doing the same to David.

  “It’s hardly a whim. Think of it as a genealogical study.

  Haven’t you always said you wished you knew about your dad’s side of the family? Maybe you’ve got cousins or uncles.” Feeling mischievous, Chris wheedled. “Or maybe even brothers and sisters. Besides, we’re due for a holiday. What could be nicer, beaches and little pink houses?”

  “John Mellencamp?”

  “Nah, I don’t think he lives there. Though I hear Michael Douglas does.”

  “You don’t get enough celebrities here?” The faint ghost of a smile lightened David’s normally dour, pock-marked face. His green-flecked brown eyes crinkled. Some of his color returned.

  “You really want to go?”

  “Don’t you? This is your father.”

  “The father who abandoned me. The one who apparently couldn’t stick around to do the job.”

  “Not really,” Chris said. “If he thought you were dead…

  So why did your mother lie? She didn’t want you to know he abandoned you? Knowing your mother, I’ll bet you there’s a lot more to it than that. You need to hear the story from him and find out for yourself.”

  “You know, I always worry when you start sounding logical.

  You’re thinking too much.”

  “What kind of clothes do they wear in Bermuda? God, I hope it’s not all Bermuda shorts. Even I’d look geeky in those things.”

  David toyed with the pepper mill on the table. Suddenly the room filled with the sharp odor of fresh ground pepper. Sergeant BeRMudA heAt 11

  sneezed and gave him a malevolent look.

  “You don’t look geeky in anything,” he said, but it was clear his mind wasn’t on the banter. He set the pepper mill down on the engraved tabletop and brushed pepper onto the floor.

  “Maybe we should go. I’ll have to set it up at work. I’m due some holidays—”

  “Yeah, because you never take them,” Chris said. It was a long-standing argument between them. They were both workaholics, except Chris’s work was with computer systems and never involved violence, and David’s was dealing on a daily basis with Los Angeles’ lowest forms of life. Every day he went to work, Chris worried about him. And it didn’t do any good to tell David that. He’d patiently explain that it was his job. He also reminded him that detectives were mostly desk jockeys, not front line cops.

  At which point Chris always countered with the reminder that David’s partner had died and it hadn’t been behind a desk.

  “First things first,” David muttered. He picked up the letter from Joel. “He included a phone number. So let’s talk to the guy.”

  Saturday, 5:45pm, Cove Avenue, Silverlake, Los Angeles David grabbed his coffee and slipped into the living room, settling on the white leather couch. Chris curled up beside him, legs tucked under him. He rested his hand on David’s knee.

  David took a deep breath and picked up the handset.

  He punched in the 4-4-1 area code and the number. It rang six times and he was going to hang up when a breathless female voice answered.

  �
�Hello?”

  David glanced over at Chris, who offered him a tentative smile.

  12 P.A. Brown

  “Hello, is Mr. Joel Cameron there?”

  “Sure, Dad’s right here—”

  “Who is this?” David blurted. He didn’t know how to be subtle in circumstances like this.

  “Imani,” the all too sultry voice said. “Imani Cameron. Who’s this?”

  “This is David Laine. I—”

  “Oh my God, David!” She squealed, all pretense of maturity gone beneath a girlish outburst. David smiled. His little sister.

  His other little sister. “David! You called. Please tell me you’re going to come to Bermuda. You must. Dad is so thrilled—”

  A second voice, older and definitely masculine, spoke up in the background. “Imani,” the gruff voice said. “I hope you’re not talking to that boy again. I’ve told you I don’t think Daryl is appropriate for a young lady—”

  “No, no, Daddy. It’s not Daryl, it’s David! From the mainland.”

  Even through the phone line David could hear the man’s confusion. “David? My David? From Los Angeles?”

  The phone was taken away from Imani and the gruff voice broke in. “David? Is this really you? You must have received my letter.”

  The voice had a slight English accent, brushed with Jamaican patois. Normally David could get a pretty clear image of someone from talking to them, but Joel Cameron’s picture wouldn’t come.

  He was as enigmatic as he had been when David first learned of his existence. He wanted to ask who are you, but he knew he wouldn’t get the answers he needed. Not over the phone.

  “Yes, I got it.” Again he and Chris traded looks. “Just today in fact.”

  “You must have a thousand questions. I know I do. I know my daughter Imani can be impetuous, but I agree with her. I’d like you to come and visit us.”

  BeRMudA heAt 13

  Imani. David swallowed in a throat gone dry. His half-sister.

  Did he have half-brothers, too? A whole, ready-made family. The idea was unnerving.

  “Well, I don’t know, Mr. Cameron—”

  “No, no, you must call me Joel. It’s altogether too odd to have you call me Mr. Cameron.”

  David tried it out. “Joel. Ah, I don’t know if we can get away right now—”

  Chris punched his arm at the same time Joel protested. “You must come. It’s already been too long. I’m sorry if you’re angry that I left you, but I thought… I never would have left if I’d known.”

  Known what? That I was still alive? That my mother lied about so many things I can’t keep track of them anymore?

  Before he could think of what to say, Chris snatched the phone out of his hand. He pushed David’s hand away when he tried to retrieve the handset. “Mr. Cameron, this is Christopher.

  Chris. We’d love to come out and visit. Yes, sir, we’ll let you know—”

  Grinning, he handed the phone back to David. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “You will come then?” Joel sounded a lot more enthusiastic than David would have liked. But what could he do?

  “I guess we’ll be coming.”

  “Excellent. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  David disconnected the phone and turned a cold stare at Chris. “Don’t even start,” he said.

  Chris gave him his patented “who, me?” look. Then his smile faded. “So who were you talking to?”

  “Joel—”

  “No, before that. When you gave your name.”

  14 P.A. Brown

  “Imani,” David said.

  “Imani?”

  “My sister.”

  ChAPteR thRee

  Saturday, 6:20pm, Cove Avenue, Silverlake, Los Angeles David left to go back to the Northeast Station after saying he’d be back around nine. Chris didn’t waste any time, he went online with Delta and upgraded their tickets to BusinessElite. Now at least they’d be comfortable for the long twelve hour flight. He didn’t want to be crammed into economy, no matter how much they might save. David, with his long legs, would appreciate it, even if he bellyached about the price.

  He hoped he’d convinced David he was well enough for this trip. He never let on that he still got tired easily and sometimes in the afternoon, when he knew David wouldn’t be home unexpectedly, he would lie down for an hour or two, always careful to remove all signs of his siesta before David did come home.

  This really would be a vacation; a good place to rest and get all his strength back. For the first time in years the two of them would have no work demands pulling them away. How could that not be restful?

  Back in his office, he logged online and took care of the business he had abandoned earlier. After he checked his email and attended to the important stuff, he picked up his BlackBerry and speed dialed Becky. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hey boss, how do you feel? Better, I hope.”

  “I feel fine. Really, you’re as bad as David. What do you two think? That I’m some invalid on the verge of imminent collapse?”

  “Of course not, but David told me how sick you were. He made me promise not to pester you about work for at least a week.”

  “Oh did he?” Chris felt both irritated and warm at the news.

  David cared. David was a meddling busybody, but he cared. He 16 P.A. Brown

  shook the feelings off along with the strange lassitude that he’d been feeling ever since his bout with that nasty virus left him on his back for nearly two weeks. He couldn’t afford to be sick anymore. No matter what David might want, he had a business to attend to. And now he had this.

  “What’s your week look like, say…” He pulled out his BlackBerry and checked his calendar entries for around two weeks from today. “Let’s say starting the twentieth.” That would give him time to play catch up before he left again and put Becky in charge.

  “So what’s up?” she asked.

  “David and I are going to Bermuda. Call it a rest-cure-vacation.” It was better than calling it what it was; finding out the truth about David’s past. That was David’s call to explain if he wanted to in the future.

  “Bermuda?” she asked. “I am so jealous.”

  “I’ll send you a postcard.”

  “Gee, no T-shirt?”

  “Okay, I’ll splurge. A postcard and a T-shirt.” While he talked he opened Google and looked up Joel Cameron, not expecting much. He wasn’t surprised to see hits. He was disheartened when he saw there were over four million. Even narrowing it with the addition of Bermuda, there were still too many hits to sift through.

  “Lucky me,” Becky said, breaking his concentration. Chris frowned at his laptop screen.

  “You won’t have a problem taking over my clients, right?”

  “Just send me what you need. I could use the excitement.”

  “Well, try not to make it too exciting,” Chris said. “My clients are delicate souls.”

  “Not likely, if they hire you.”

  He disconnected and went back to reading. It was no good.

  He could spend all day scrolling through all the names and never BeRMudA heAt 17

  know if he had hit the right one. Instead, he Googled the history of the place. All he knew of Bermuda were pink sands and expensive living. It turned out there was a lot more.

  First discovered in the early sixteenth century it proved the bane of sailors for centuries. More than five hundred ships lay wrecked on reefs guarding the island’s shores more effectively than most navies managed. A fleet of ships on their way to the Virginia colonies were separated in a storm and the Sea Venture foundered on the reef. All 150 on board survived. Eventually, two replacement ships were built and the castaways finished their voyage to Virginia.

  People kept returning to the islands and a British colony was set up. It was still a part of the British Empire; all efforts to have true independence had been defeated to date.

  All very interesting, b
ut it didn’t get him or David any closer to understanding what had happened forty-one years ago. He shut down his laptop and reached for his BlackBerry again.

  He had one more call to make, to Desmond Hayward, his best friend. He needed someone to look after the cat and dog while they were gone and Des was one of his few friends who tolerated animals. Des wasn’t as impressed as Becky had been.

  “I’ve heard about that place. They are not nice to our kind of people.”

  “Our kind of people? You mean Democrats? Library card holders? Spelunkers?”

  “You—” Des stopped, momentarily silenced, “You’ve never been spelunking in your life.”

  “Okay, forget spelunking, stamp collectors then—and before you say anything, I did collect stamps,” Chris said with a barely suppressed laugh which quickly became a jaw splitting yawn. He blinked, but the tiredness wouldn’t go away. “When I was a kid, knee-high to a grasshopper.”

  Des snorted. “Well, you know what I mean,” he sniffed.

  “It’s a holiday, Des. Let’s not make it into something more.

  18 P.A. Brown

  Can you watch the animals for us?”

  “Yes, I’ll watch them. Trev loves the mangy mutt so he’ll be happy to take him out for a run. You have to promise you’ll be careful. You know what you’re like; you just can’t stay out of trouble. And don’t forget how sick you were just last week.”

  “Like anyone will let me forget.”

  “Hey, we all love your stubborn, self-destructive, pretty little tush. Just don’t do anything too strenuous. Really, how hard is that? Miss Trouble.”

  “I am not—never mind, I can’t win with you guys.” Chris yawned again. “I’ll take care, really I will, hon. I’ll send you a postcard.”

  “Forget that. Bring me a juicy twenty-something beach boy.

  That would be yummy.”

  “Trevor ought to love that.”

  “Sure he would. You don’t know bad boy Trevor. You tell Fido not to shed all over my Hugo Boss.”

  Chris laughed and hung up, after promising to talk to Des before they left. He went upstairs, set the alarm for four-thirty so David wouldn’t catch him in bed, and crawled between the covers. A sympathetic Sergeant leaped up beside him.