Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  Things were getting out of hand and it was past time he did something about it. He’d had enough of feeling like an outsider. He’d had enough of simply standing by and watching while everything he wanted slipped away from him. He still considered the three of them his family, no matter how little they seemed to return the feeling at the moment. If something was bothering one of them, he figured it was his job to find out what that something was.

  He hoped the Buena Vista Bar and Grill, with its high booths, anonymous atmosphere and sweeping ocean views would be the perfect place to get the boys to open up. Situated several miles out of town on the old Coast Road, it was unlikely they’d run into too many people they knew there. Perhaps the distance would make them feel like they could speak more freely. But it had another, even bigger advantage, as far as he was concerned. Even if things turned bad, which they might well do, he knew they wouldn’t just get up and leave.

  He had his bases covered, he assured himself again as he turned the Jaguar into the diner’s parking lot. He was very good at keeping his bases covered. And at negotiating tricky deals with recalcitrant clients, as well. Certainly two thirteen year old boys were nothing he couldn’t handle. He could make this work. He was almost sure of it.

  Sam observed the boys as they placed their orders. Whatever was going on with them, at least it didn’t appear to be affecting their appetites. He still didn’t know if plying them with hamburgers and milkshakes would be enough to get them to start talking, but he figured it was a good first shot.

  And if that didn’t work, he’d sweeten the deal. Maybe throw in the offer of driving lessons.

  “So. Who wants to tell me what’s wrong?” he began, after the waitress had taken their orders and left. He looked at them expectantly.

  Two pairs of blue eyes stared back at him, but neither boy said anything.

  Finally Frank shrugged. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.” He picked up his fork and began to scratch designs into the tabletop with one of the tines.

  Jesse just snorted disgustedly and turned to stare out the window.

  “Jess?” Sam pressed, but he refused to even look at him.

  “I don’t know, Frank,” Sam said, after a couple of minutes had passed. “It really doesn’t look like it’s nothing to me.”

  Frank glanced up from his artwork, and Sam thought he was about to speak. Just then their waitress reappeared with the pot of tea he’d ordered. Frank ducked his head back down, the moment lost.

  Sam sighed. “Look, if you two are in some kind of trouble... I might be able to help, you know. But I can’t do anything unless you—”

  “Trouble?” Frank looked up again, mouth gaping in surprise. “We’re not in trouble. Why would you think that?”

  “Well, something’s obviously bothering you,” Sam replied in the most reasonable tone he could manage, dunking his tea bag up and down in the little stainless steel pot he’d been given and trying hard not to scowl. “But if you’re not gonna tell me what it is, I suppose I’ll just have to keep guessing. Does this have something to do with your father, maybe? Or the new baby?”

  “No,” Frank said, shooting a quick look at his brother. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just...”

  “It’s you, okay?” Jesse spoke up suddenly, his voice low, hollow and angry. “You’re what’s wrong. You and, and- Jasmine was right, wasn’t she? About... you’re just using her. Aren’t you?”

  This was about him? Sam’s hand froze. Something cold twisted in his gut. He’d thought they were pals, obviously he’d been fooling himself. For just a few seconds he thought about asking the boy who he meant by her, but there was really not much point in that.

  “Shut up, Jess!” Frank shoved his twin hard against the side of the booth. Then he turned to look at Sam, with so hopeful an expression in his normally guarded eyes that Sam felt his heart sink even lower. “You’re not... right?”

  He had a pretty good idea what this was about now. But what the hell was he supposed to tell them? He was pretty sure Marsha wouldn’t thank him for discussing their sex life with her sons. No matter how he chose to handle it. But on the other hand, he couldn’t just ignore the question. “Look... whatever your mother and I do when we’re together is our own business,” he spoke slowly, very well aware that he was skating over some exceptionally thin ice. “But... well, I can promise you that no one is using anyone. Okay?”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he said nothing. When he did speak his voice was so low that the words were barely audible. “So, d’you love her?”

  At last. Sam breathed a small sigh of relief. Finally, a question for which he actually had an answer. “Yes, Frank, I do. Very much.”

  “Yeah? So, you gonna marry her?” Jesse challenged, just as their food arrived. Sam ignored the startled glance given him by the waitress, and waited until after they’d been served before replying.

  “I’d like to, Jess,” he said, allowing himself a small smile. “The thing is, I’m not certain she’ll have me.” But apparently neither boy was particularly concerned about that eventuality, Sam realized ruefully. He watched them attack their food with close to their usual gusto, as he tried to assimilate the disappointment he was feeling. It was only natural that they would be more concerned about their mother’s feelings, than his. He should have expected as much.

  “So, is that what the ring’s for?” Frank paused in the act of pouring ketchup on his burger to inquire.

  Sam looked at him in surprise. “How’d you know about that?”

  “We found it.” Jesse popped a French fry into his mouth. “So, is it?”

  “You found it,” Sam repeated after him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jesse grabbed the ketchup bottle away from his brother. “It was the night you fell asleep watching movies. You had it in your coat pocket.”

  They’d found the ring. In his pocket. Sam thought about that. What else might they have found, he wondered. He considered having a brief, very pointed discussion with them about eavesdropping and snooping, but quickly decided that this was neither the time nor the place for that. Not with two pairs of anxious blue eyes trained on his face.

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out the little box he was still carrying around with him. The blue velvet was starting to look a little scuffed he realized, as he placed the box on the table. For a long moment they all just stared at it. “Yeah,” he told them, at last. “That’s what it’s for.”

  Frank pushed his milkshake to the side and picked up the box.

  “So, have you asked her yet?” Jesse demanded, craning his neck to see as his brother flipped open the lid.

  Sam sighed. “No. Not yet.”

  “Well, how come?” Jesse asked, reaching impatiently for the box.

  “Maybe you could ask her on Friday,” Frank suggested, as he handed it over reluctantly. “It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? That’d be a good time to ask.”

  “Yeah, that’d be perfect. You should do that.” Jesse took the ring out and held it up to the light for a minute. The stone sparkled between his fingers. “It’s a nice ring, Sam,” he announced, as he put it away and then pushed the box back across the table. “I think she’ll like it.”

  Sam nodded agreement. He’d thought so, too. A six-carat sapphire, round cut, candy-pink, surrounded by diamonds, on a wide band of beaten gold, he’d had it designed especially for Marsha on his last trip to New York.

  And if she didn’t want it? Or didn’t want him as a husband? What was he supposed to do then? For a brief moment he wondered whether that fear might not have had something to do with his inability to find the right time to ask her. But he quickly dismissed the idea. How absurd. It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to ask her, after all.

  He just hadn’t wanted to hear her say no.

  “Well?” Jesse prompted, again. Sam looked at both boys. Faint traces of apprehension and doubt still lingered in their eyes. It struck him that he wasn’t the only one here
who needed an answer. He could only pray that the answer they got would be the right one. For all of them.

  “All right,” he said, as he slowly returned the box to his pocket. “I’ll ask her Friday.”

  * * * *

  Nick drove home from work in a lousy mood – even considering that it was a Monday. The windshield wipers slapped noisily, and almost uselessly, at the rain that pounded on the glass. More rain sleeted in from the side window, which he’d cracked open to vent the smoke from his cigarette.

  They’d had a few nice days last week and he’d really thought that spring was on its way, obviously he’d been mistaken. It had been a long, lousy winter and it wasn’t over yet.

  It had also been a long and lousy day. But that at least, thank God, was mostly over. He flicked his cigarette butt out the window and shook another from the pack. He felt a little guilty about his smoking, knowing Scout would almost certainly pick up the scent of it. But not guilty enough to keep from punching in the lighter, just the same. He thought some more about Scout, about how she’d be waiting for him and he pressed down harder on the gas. Water sheeted up around the car as he plowed through a puddle. He pressed on the gas even more. After the kind of day he’d had, he couldn’t get home soon enough.

  First there’d been the call from his mother. Nick felt himself growing angry all over again as he thought about it. If she hadn’t wanted him ticked off at his cousin, she should never have mentioned what Joey had said in the first place. Not that he wasn’t already pissed off at his cousin, anyway. The jerk had tried to talk Scout out of marrying him – on their wedding day, for Christ’s sake! Didn’t anybody else remember that? And now... well, there was no way that Nick was going to make the first move to reconcile with his cousin. And that, as he’d told his mother yet again today, was final.

  Then there’d been the second call. The one from his ex-wife. He really had to hand it to Lauren, he thought, as he felt tension tighten the back of his neck. Even though they’d been divorced for several years now, she still hadn’t lost her touch. She’d always had an uncanny ability to rub him exactly the wrong way. And at exactly the wrong time, too.

  He couldn’t even fault her this time for nagging him about the money he’d promised to come up with. Money she needed to pay for Kate’s summer camp. He’d known it was coming due soon. Lucy had reminded him about it only yesterday. And though there was no way for either of them to have known it, having to spend any more money – on anything, right now – was just about the last thing he wanted to do.

  He thought about the speculative look he’d seen on Scout’s face yesterday, as she’d listened to his conversation with Lucy. He’d bet anything that she knew something was up. He’d never been very good at keeping secrets, especially not from her. But this time she could have no idea what he’d been planning.

  Thank God he wouldn’t have to keep the deception up for too much longer. Just four more days and then... he thought about how her face would light up, her eyes would sparkle and she’d smile. He’d always loved her smile. It was the only thing that made it worthwhile keeping secrets from her.

  Secrets. His thoughts turned sour again as he contemplated the subject. He’d never known what it was that drew people to confide in him, but he’d always been privy to far too many secrets. And now, he had a new one.

  From the moment Ryan had appeared in his office this morning, Nick had known something was wrong. He was wearing the kind of carefully neutral expression Nick had seen on his own face far too many times.

  “Hey, Ryan,” he’d said, reaching automatically for his cigarettes, not at all reassured when the other man fished his own pack out of his pocket. Last he’d heard, they’d both been trying to quit. “So, what brings you down here today?”

  It took him awhile to answer, but Nick knew when not to press. “It’s Siobhan,” Ryan said, breaking his silence. “She’s having some problems down at the center. I think there’s a possibility she’s being stalked.”

  Nick felt his expression freeze. He inhaled a lungful of smoke as he thought about it. The idea sounded pretty farfetched, given everything he knew about Siobhan. But he’d had a few chances to observe Ryan in action. There was nothing wrong with the man’s instincts. If he thought there was a stalker then, sonofabitch, could be he was right.

  “There’ve been a few... incidents, lately,” Ryan continued slowly. “Too many. Some of them could’ve been meant as pranks, I suppose, but I don’t know, Nick. Something about that doesn’t feel right to me.”

  Nick looked at him curiously. “What does Siobhan have to say about it?”

  “Well,” Ryan took a deep, deep drag, and then blew it out. “So far, she’s been inclined to shrug them off as accidents. Or weird coincidences. Or, uh, as figments of my imagination.”

  “Oh.” Nick was careful to keep any inflection from his voice. He could guess how little Ryan must have liked that one. She could hardly have said anything too much more insulting, now could she? They were trained to observe, after all. To look objectively at facts, to register details. Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t have a very healthy respect for intuition.

  Instinct, intuition, hunches – whatever you wanted to call it; even psychic impressions, they all had their place in police work. But your run-of-the-mill imagination? That’s what got you into trouble. Every time. “Any chance she might be right?”

  This time, Ryan took an even longer time answering. “No,” he said, at last. His voice sounded both grim and tired. “No, I’m not imagining any of this. A few coincidences... yeah, I guess that’s possible. But accidents? No way. There’s intent here. Either someone’s out to sabotage her operation, or else...” His voice trailed away. Nick waited. Finally, with a shrug, Ryan continued. “Or else, she may be doing some of it herself.”

  Siobhan? Nick gazed at him in surprise. That didn’t seem real likely, either. But then again, he reminded himself, how well did you ever really know anyone? That was one lesson he’d learned the hard way.

  “So what’re you going to do?” he asked, although he could pretty much predict what the other man was going to say. He knew what he would do in his place, after all.

  Ryan shrugged again, and reached across the desk to stub his cigarette out in Nick’s ashtray. He sighed reluctantly. “Only one thing I can do. I’m gonna have to check into it. Find out what’s going on.”

  Nick considered that. He could understand the reluctance. It was easy to say you were going to find out what was going on. It might even be easy to do so. It was pretty hard to keep secrets in this little town, after all. Once you started looking for answers, you generally found them. But then what?

  “Well, of course she’d want to know.” Ryan had frowned at him, when he’d suggested otherwise. “If someone is out to cause her harm? Who wouldn’t want to know about something like that? I sure as hell would. Wouldn’t you?”

  Nick flicked at his lighter, holding the flame to the tip of a new cigarette for a little longer than necessary. There were a few things he’d learned over the years about the truth. The truth was seldom black and white. It was seldom clean or pretty. It could be messy, or ugly, but it was almost never simple. A lot of people lived their whole lives in a state of denial for one very good reason: it was often a much more comfortable place to be. “Tell me again what she thinks about all this stuff you’ve mentioned? The dead fish and the bobcat. And the pictures. Did she sound to you like she was curious? Worried? Even the slightest bit interested in knowing why it was happening?”

  Ryan shifted restlessly. “She just hasn’t thought about it, that’s all.”

  Nick leaned back, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling as he tried not to smile. Oh, he seriously doubted that could be the case. He knew Siobhan. He knew how her mind worked. It had probably been running rings around the subject, like a squirrel on a wheel. And God only knew what kind of crazy ideas she’d come up with to explain things this time.

  It might not be denial that was
keeping her quiet, either. Could be she knew more than she was letting on, but she hadn’t felt like sharing that fact. That wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest. In fact, it sounded exactly like the Siobhan he’d always known and once thought he loved. He did smile then, thinking about what a disaster that might have been. Christ Almighty. Her temper had always been almost as bad as his own. Although she did tend to get over things faster than he did. Like a sudden shower her fury would come and go, while he was still seething.

  He sat up in his chair aware that the other man was regarding him suspiciously. “Look, Ry, I’m not saying I won’t help you with this, you know. But well, think about it. It’s not like a crime’s been committed. At least, not so far as we know. And it’s not like she’s asked for your help, either. If you look into this... well, you’ll probably turn up a lot of shit that’s totally unrelated to it, as well. You need to think about how she’s gonna react when you tell her what you’ve been doing. You need to be prepared for the fact that she probably won’t be too happy with you.”

  “I’ve thought about it.” Ryan’s eyes were bleak. “And I still don’t understand why she wouldn’t want to hear the truth. But it really doesn’t matter. It’s like I said, before. What other choice is there?”

  Nick shook his head. He had no answer to that one. To say what he thought or to keep his mouth shut—he’d been chewing on that one himself for quite a while, now. And it was proving to be a real bitch to work out, too. After all this time, he was still no closer to an answer than he’d been the day he started.

  “I don’t know, bud.” He shook his head wearily. “But it’s no joke, you know. People sometimes do wanna kill the messenger.”

  Especially in this case.

  Siobhan had always been real particular about her privacy. A reaction to having grown up in such a large family, he’d often thought. And having a psychic for a sister probably hadn’t helped, either.