by A. C. Katt
“Hi, I’m Liam. I’m supposed to meet Milo down here for breakfast. You must be Conchita. Your coffee smells divine.”
“You are late. Milo is in the courtyard, under the pergola. He said you are to get the works, and I can see the works is what you need. Now come here to Conchita and let her take a look at you.”
Liam obediently stepped forward. The tiny woman looked him up, down, and sideways. “Hmm, I can see why Milo missed you, but you make him unhappy again and Conchita will chase you with her fat wooden spoon. ¿Si?”
“Si, er, yes ma’am. I’ll go out to Milo now, ma’am. Thank you for offering breakfast.”
“Silly boy, frightened of the cook,” Conchita beamed, then reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’ve passed. You can stay. Just be very good to him and I’ll make sure he’s good to you. My wooden spoon swings both ways, eh?” Conchita still chuckled at her own wit when Liam joined Milo in the courtyard.
“Morning, baby. It’s about time you got your ass down here. Time is a-wasting.”
“It’s ten thirty. Since when is that late?”
“This is New Mexico, where everyone gets up before dawn and does a day’s work before noon. From noon until four, it’s too hot. Life goes at a more natural rhythm here.”
“You have air-conditioning, Milo.”
“Yes, baby, I do. But I try not to use it. There’s no humidity, so the heat isn’t as draining as it is in New Jersey. You’ll find we’re a bunch of tree huggers out here. We do our best to conserve our water, electricity, and even the propane. I have solar panels and a wind turbine on the roof. I have rain barrels to collect water. I recycle water from the washer and the bath to use on the grounds. In short, I act like there isn’t enough to go around, because there isn’t.”
Conchita came out and placed four huge platters on the wrought-iron table, one filled with eggs, peppers, onions, and salsa. Without a word, she headed back inside. “That,” Milo said as he pointed to the first platter, “is Conchita’s famous huevos rancheros.”
The second platter held crispy potato slices mixed with sausage and bacon. The third platter carried the largest sweet rolls that Liam ever laid eyes on. They dripped with cinnamon and cream. The fourth platter held fresh fruit: mangos, melons, oranges, blueberries, and some berries Liam didn’t recognize.
Liam watched Milo watch him. He knew what came next. Milo looked at the platters and then at Liam. “No fruit or buns until I see you eat a fair portion of eggs and potatoes.”
Liam laughed out loud. “For Christ’s sake, Milo, I keep telling you I’m twenty-seven years old. Maybe one of these days, you’ll actually listen and register that fact in your brain.”
“Baby, you could be a hundred and twenty-seven and I’d still want to make sure you ate right. And you haven’t been eating right. Is there more to this situation then you’ve told me already?”
“Been talking to Sam?” Liam asked as he nearly shoveled forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. “Fuck, these are great. You aren’t going to have to bribe me into eating these babies,” Liam said, helping himself to another portion.
“I’m glad you like them, but you’re not going to change the subject,” Milo countered, trying to sound stern.
“I intended to give you the details anyway. Last night wasn’t the time. It’s obvious you haven’t done stern papa in a long time.”
“All I have done since you left is stern papa. I’m just so damn happy to have you here next to me that stern papa isn’t what I want to be doing.” Milo sighed.
“And what do you want to be doing?” Liam purred.
“Stop that. You know damn well I want to pound your gorgeous ass into the mattress, but we’re not up to that yet. When I take you this time, it’s forever. No running away, ever again, for either of us,” Milo said, looking dead serious.
Conchita made her way out to the terrace with a coffee pot.
Liam blushed bright red. “Conchita will hear you.”
She said, “I have four brothers, some of whom work for Milo. Paco, the youngest, is gay and has a partner.” She shrugged her shoulders. “There’s not much that I haven’t heard. Love is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Liam blushed again and then answered Milo’s unspoken question. “No, Milo, no more running. That is why we have to talk as soon as we do justice to Conchita’s efforts. Maybe in the music room, with some of that coffee that smells like cinnamon?”
“Okay. I’ll wait for the coffee. Nevertheless, we don’t have much time. Sam wants to see you.”
“Please, go and wait for me. I have a few things I need to get from my room to show you.” With that said, Liam bounded up the stairs, leaving Milo to wonder.
* * * *
Milo sat in the music room waiting. Although Liam seemed playful and carefree at breakfast, Milo had known him long enough to read between the lines. He didn’t seem as worn down as he had yesterday, but Liam had something on his mind. This time, Milo was determined to listen to every word.
Liam entered the room, holding what seemed to be a pile of letters. Liam handed him the first envelope.
“Baby,” Milo said, as he stood up and pulled Liam into his arms. “Sit here with me and we will look at this together.”
They sat on the leather chaise, Liam folded between Milo’s long legs and leaning against his chest.
“Now, what do you have here?”
“It isn’t anything good. As a matter of fact, I should have taken them to either Sam or the police a long time ago. I just couldn’t bring myself to hang Shattered Glass’ dirty linen out for the world to salivate over. I knew you didn’t come out of the closet for business reasons, and I also knew that Bart didn’t admit to being bisexual. Most everyone knew Rick had a drug problem, but the stalker said he had evidence Rick was dealing. Anything I said about these letters would have sent the whole thing tumbling like a house of cards.”
“Let me see them,” Milo demanded. He read through the stack of ten letters, then asked sharply, “How many more are there, Liam? I need to know, now.”
“I have a few drawers full of these at home, and then there are the packages.”
“Packages?” Milo roared. “The ones you told me about last night. What the fuck was in those packages?”
“Dead things usually. The last one came yesterday at the rental counter, held two dead kittens, they looked like Minor and Major. I went to the bathroom to vomit when I saw their pathetic broken necks and noticed someone tortured them to death. I asked the rental agent to file a report and I threw a few hundred on the table to have them properly buried.”
“Do you think someone bribed the security team?” Milo asked.
“I thought that at first. I finally fired the security and stopped asking Sam’s assistant to arrange my travel. I thought if I arranged it myself and stayed in cheap motels, no one would know where to look for me. When I toured, who would expect to find Liam O’Shea in a no-tell motel? It even worked for a while.”
“When did he pick up your trail again, baby? I know it’s hard to talk about, but I need to know.”
“On this last tour, I gave Sam my itinerary because he needed to stay in touch about Rick. He was also trying to arrange this thing with you. When I got dead roses in New Jersey, and the two kittens in Albuquerque, I figured my luck ran out. I know I was being selfish, but you did want me to come. I’ve been so afraid, and now you know what a coward I really am. I brought my shit straight to your door.”
Milo grabbed Liam’s shoulders and hugged him tight to his chest. “Baby, you have the heart of a lion and I’ll take any shit you bring so long as it brings you with it. Haven’t you got it? If something happened to you before I got a chance to tell you how much I love you, it would have meant the end of me.”
“I should have tried harder to get to you,” Liam mumbled into Milo’s T-shirt.
“And I should have realized someone set us up. Sam arrived early this morning. We talked when he got in and, I told him everything
you told me. I hope that you don’t feel I betrayed you somehow, but last night scared me. Whoever this is, he’s upping the ante. Sam should be in my office, setting things up for us. Let me give him a heads-up so he has his ducks in order.” He picked up the intercom.
“It’s me. We’re coming up.”
Milo led Liam through the house and knocked lightly on the office door before they entered. Liam followed him in and greeted Sam with a hug. They sat together on the couch in front of the desk. Milo got straight to the point.
“Do you have a disgruntled employee at the office, or someone who left suddenly? Liam said the stalker stopped when he handled his own travel, and began again when he gave you his hotel itinerary for this tour.”
“Fuck, Margot’s assistant. She was murdered, and I know a few years ago, she dated Rick. When did this all start?”
They both looked at Liam.
Liam blushed, but answered, “As soon as I walked out. I got the first letter the next day. For the first year, they all described in graphic detail your relationship to Bart. They read so real, I went a bit crazy. I needed to do to you what those letters did to me. I thought you did it because you got so angry about…you know…what you thought happened with Danny, that you got someone to send them to me. After I would get one, I’d feel like I was drowning, and then just when I could breathe again, I’d get another.”
Milo grabbed Liam’s hand.
“It’s all right, baby.”
“Was there ever a break between the letters?” Sam stood and began to pace behind the desk.
“I got two a week like clockwork for the first six months, then I went to the hospital,” Liam replied.
“What did Patricia say about this?” Sam asked. “Didn’t she tell you to contact the police?”
“I did call the police at first, they claimed it was a disgruntled fan. After that I didn’t pursue it. If I told Milo and made a stink, too much of our lives would be exposed, and I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Liam,” Sam said, “you could have called me. I’m damn mad that you didn’t. I’m supposed to be your fucking agent, manager, and lawyer, to say nothing of practically being your goddamned big brother. I can see why you wouldn’t call that shithead standing next to you, but why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I’m afraid Rick is involved.” Liam looked over at Milo, but Sam didn’t react the way they thought he would.
Sam simply said, “I’m afraid you might be right.”
* * * *
Liam sat at the large desk in his Ocean Suite, as Milo named it. Only two hours had passed since they’d talked with Sam, and the house was under siege. Several burly security men patrolled the garden. Liam noticed their nice asses, but when Milo saw him looking, he winked and stopped ogling at once.
How could he be this content? Their whole world seemed to be falling around their ears, and he wanted to whistle a happy tune. There could only be one reason—Milo. Every fifteen minutes or so, Milo would pop his head in the door, blow him a kiss, or just stand there and stare. Amidst all the chaos and fear, they seemed to be feeling their way back to where they belonged. It didn’t feel the same as before. He likened it to taking a second trip to Paris. They’d been there once already, so the second time they weren’t in a big rush to hit the high spots. They took time to explore the smaller shops and museums, to begin to love the city as a resident, not a tourist.
This time with Milo, he felt a part of everything, not an outsider looking in. He belonged here. Both Sam and Milo made decisions with him, not for him. They were all in this together. Somehow, they needed to save Rick and, at the same time, catch Bart red-handed.
By the time they all sat down to lunch—Sam, the security people, Milo, and himself—they’d agreed no one else could access the information on Liam’s whereabouts, both before and after the incident that caused the breakup. It must have been someone connected to Sam’s office. Sam’s friend, J.B., the owner of the security firm, thought there was no one else with either the motive or the opportunity, except Bart. J.B. once worked with some hush-hush government organization where he served as both an operative and an analyst.
What stopped them all in their tracks was J.B.’s announcement that Rick possessed ample motive besides his addiction.
“Look,” J.B. said, “Rick has been the outsider in this little love fest for years. I worked security for Shattered Glass when the band started out, before I got my own outfit. I haven’t forgotten those years. You would send the kid—pardon me Liam, but you were a kid back then—to bed and then discuss the group’s business as if Rick wasn’t in the room. When he tried to say something, you two slapped him down.”
Sam started to bluster, but Milo raised his hand. “He’s right, Sam. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about everything these past few days. Liam said the same thing to me. We steamrolled over both him and Rick. When you left and Bart came on board, I did no better.”
J.B. looked straight at Sam. His muscled arms flexed as he gripped the counter’s edge. “For a man who is so book smart, you can be pretty people stupid. Rick had just cause to resent the way you treated him. He founded the band, same as you and Milo, yet the two of you rolled right over both him and the kid. It seemed obvious to me why the kid didn’t holler, but I never understood why Rick didn’t.”
J.B. pushed away from the counter, grabbed a mug, and poured himself another cup of coffee. The clock didn’t read that much past noon and J.B. already sported a five o’clock shadow. He had the demeanor, Liam thought, of a sleepy red bear just out of hibernation, lazy, but deadly when stirred. Liam felt Milo’s breath on his neck followed by the low rumble of his voice.
“Do you think Rick did this without Bart’s help?” Milo asked. “You can’t believe Rick acted alone. He may have been both resentful and jealous, I can see that, but I can’t believe Rick would be deliberately cruel. It just isn’t in his character.”
“I don’t believe anything at the moment. It’s too early in the investigation and I don’t have the facts. But it is possible. To be frank, any one of you could have done this, including Sam and you. I wouldn’t even exonerate Liam, except it continued while he sat in the hospital. If you remember, my firm picked up his mail and sorted through his packages. My people saw the first dead one, with Liam ensconced in a hospital bed, clinging to his life. They found the rat in the mail.”
“There isn’t much about that six-month period that I remember. When sober, I wrote melodies and tried to find lyrics. I wanted to forget everything except the music. Unfortunately, the drugs and the alcohol didn’t help me forget Milo, they combined to make me forget that I was still a human being. I began to think of myself as a discarded toy. Do we have to talk about this now? I do enough talking about it with Patricia,” Liam said.
“Patricia did you a world of good, Liam,” Sam said, and J.B. nodded in agreement.
Liam glanced at Milo and continued, “The point is that neither you, nor Sam, saw Rick or me as human beings. Sam, to you we were automatons that played and wrote music, pieces to move from one venue to another. Milo, you avoided me so often that you trained yourself not to see me when you looked. Rick, I know, felt as invisible as I felt, and he resented me,” Liam finished.
“Why would he resent you?” Sam asked. “You took nothing away from him.”
“But I did,” Liam said solemnly.
“What?” Sam asked in blunt fascination.
“You, Milo, both your time and attention. Once I joined the band, the dynamics went askew. I became the baby. Before I arrived, Rick held that position.”
“We didn’t spoil Rick,” Sam said.
Milo, who Liam thought looked very serious throughout the whole discussion, said, “No, we didn’t, so it follows that he must have hated watching us trying to spoil Liam. Rick did the occasional vocal with me before Liam came. After Liam, he did none. Of course, we made that decision for the ultimate good of the band. Liam had a much better voice.”
; “But that didn’t make being passed over any better for Rick, did it?” J.B. asked.
Liam shook his head. “Originally, he gave me the most support. Even though I belonged to Milo, Rick formed my cheering section. I think he did it because someone held a lower position on the totem pole than he did.”
“When did Rick’s attitude toward you change?” Milo asked in a gentle voice.
“After my eighteenth birthday.”
“You mean after we made love and became a couple,” Milo confirmed.
“Yes, it came right after that. We started spending most of our time together. You saw me. Rick didn’t become hostile until after Bart arrived and became so obnoxious. And come to think of it, he seemed to gain more knowledge about our personal life as well as our business and he used that information to torment me.”
J.B. interrupted. “Either Bart or Rick, or the two together, are responsible for the harassment. The question is which one took charge. I tend to think that Bart pumped Rick for information when Rick was high. Rick didn’t want to see Liam dead. If he did, he wouldn’t have called Sam the night he found him in the tub.”
“For the first time since I got your phone call last night,” Sam said to Milo, “I have a bit of hope that my brother is not a sociopath as well as a fucking addict.”
“Sam, you know as well as I that there are no guarantees,” J.B. interjected. “It could as easily be Rick as Bart. I called in a few favors. We should be able to pinpoint Bart Hedge’s whereabouts by this evening. Sam, call the rehab facility and find out if Rick has signed himself out.”
“Why would he do that?” Sam asked.
“Because,” Milo answered with exasperation, “if someone’s been blackmailing him about his drug habit to get him to give up inside information on the band, the fact that’s he’s in rehab is not something that will stop them. Rick can sign himself out at any time since it was a voluntary commitment, and he is allowed to have visitors, isn’t he?”
