by Mark McNease
“Sorry about Happy,” Kyle said, sipping his drink.
“Oh, he’ll come back,” Dave said, and Kyle saw a distress on Dave’s face that made him think the older man and the younger one had been more than co-workers. But he knew Happy and Teddy had had something going. In fact, that was what he thought Teddy wanted to talk about and why he was leaving the Lodge. Relationships get very complicated in close quarters.
“I’ll have help tomorrow night,” Dave said. “Elzbetta for some lesbian vibe, it’s always good to have, and the twins. Ricki gets the night to party, it’s his turn this year.”
Kyle marveled at the planning, execution and sheer work of keeping an operation like the Lodge going. Someone on duty almost twenty-four hours a day. Bartending, the restaurant, it really was quite a daily undertaking.
“I never expected to see her here,” Dave said, indicating someone along the wall behind Kyle. “Maybe she’s curious. It happens.”
Kyle set his drink down, turned around, and was surprised to see Detective Linda Sikorsky sitting alone on a leather loveseat under a low-lit sconce. She saw Kyle looking at her and waved slightly. Kyle took it as an invitation, whether it was or not, and headed over to her.
She looked handsome dressed in civilian clothes. Sky-blue jeans Kyle guessed had been made to look that way with some sort of stone washing; a tan blouse with just a slight frill down the buttons; brown leather loafers. Even in street clothes she projected calm and confidence, and Kyle noticed for the first time her green eyes, made more startling by their obvious intelligence and curiosity. This was a woman who did not miss anything, and he suddenly understood that that’s why she was here: the good detective was interested in what she could learn from coming closer to what could be the scene of a crime.
“Mr. Callahan,” Linda said, patting the cushion next to her. “Have a seat.”
Kyle sat down and placed his drink on a side table. “Here for an after dinner drink?” he asked.
“What else would I be here for?”
He saw she was being mischievous.
“I’m not gay, not officially,” she said. “But I’m thinking about it. Which is still not why I’m here. I wanted to get a feel for things.”
“In a piano bar full of mature patrons.”
“At Pride Lodge,” she said. “The place has quite a history. I’ve been reading about it. Did you know it was a farmhouse in the early 1800s?”
“I had no idea.”
“Yes, and the man who owned it lost two children and his wife in rapid succession. Influenza. He was heartbroken, left the farm to decay and was never heard from again.”
“That explains the whispers of haunting.”
She arched an eyebrow and reached for her glass of white wine on a coffee table in front of them.
“Ghosts on the moors, you know.”
“More recently,” she continued, “what came to be known as ‘Pride Lodge’ was sold to Sid Stanhope and Dylan Tremblay. Or more accurately sold to one of them with the money to buy it.”
“Let me guess,” Kyle said. “Sid.”
“Yes, Sid,” she answered. “Who, most astonishingly, paid cash with the explanation he’d recently inherited it.”
“Lucky man, unlucky relative. Nobody wondered about such good fortune?”
“Cash is still king. Questions have a way of never being asked when there’s a million dollars on the table. Make that a million-five.”
Kyle was as torn as he was intrigued. He considered telling her about Dylan’s aside during the pumpkin carving. But if he told her she would likely get involved, or want to somehow listen in. He thought he should wait and hear what Dylan had to tell him, then decide what to do with the information.
“You don’t think Teddy fell into the pool by accident, either,” he said, feeling a sadness as he remembered how the day had begun. “That means a lot to me.”
“As much as I’m starting to like you, my interest is in justice.”
He nodded, understanding. It wasn’t about what Kyle wanted or needed to be true, but what Teddy needed to be known.
It was then he saw Dylan in the hallway, looking at him. The two of them exchanged quick nods, as Dylan disappeared to the men’s room and Kyle got up to follow.
“Be careful, Detective Callahan,” she said.
No, Kyle thought to himself, she didn’t miss a thing.
“Isn’t meeting in a bathroom a little . . . I don’t know, B-movieish?”
Kyle was leaning against the wall while Dylan poked his head out the door a last time to make sure no one was coming.
Dylan bent down and looked under the stalls: no one there, the coast was clear.
“I can’t risk being overheard,” he said, in a voice so low and soft he assured he would not be.
“Dylan, listen —”
“I saw you with the cop lady. She shouldn’t be here.”
“You run a public establishment. Besides, she’ll be a lesbian soon and she has to start somewhere.”
“Can we not joke for the moment?” Dylan said, and Kyle realized he was truly afraid.
“What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know!” Dylan said, his voice rising. “I don’t know! That’s the problem. I think Sid stole the money to buy this place.”
“I thought he inherited the money from an aunt.”
“That’s what he said, but why is it I never met this aunt? And when I went searching . . . nothing, Kyle. If there was a rich aunt he never mentioned, she did a very good job of taking any trace of herself to the grave. No, I think he stole the money, and I think Teddy found out.”
“A fatal bit of information, so it seems.”
“Please, I so much don’t want to think that. We’ve been together for ten years. I know Sid, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Kyle waited a moment, hoping Dylan would relax enough to have a conversation that wasn’t infused with panic.
“So he wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he would steal a million dollars, or whatever the Lodge cost . . .”
“Most of it’s the land. And yes, I’m afraid he would. But I can’t say for sure he did! He told me it was an inheritance.”
“Good timing.”
“Good timing, indeed. I never questioned him. There wasn’t any reason to, and . . . no desire to. I mean, this was the chance of a lifetime, a dream come true.”
“Where would he get his hands on that kind of money if it wasn’t inherited?” Kyle asked.
“He worked at a bank,” Dylan hissed, and it was suddenly clear. If Sid had stolen the money, he had embezzled it; a large sum of it, which could not go unnoticed forever.
“You need to speak to the police,” Kyle said. “And they need to speak to the bank.”
Dylan was crestfallen, his face expressing pain and indecision. This was his partner, his husband, the man he planned to spend the rest of his life with.
“I can’t,” he said.
Suddenly Kyle knew why they were having this conversation: Dylan wanted him to be the one to go to the authorities. He’d been able to reveal his suspicions to Kyle, but not to take it further, not to put his prints on a noose that might soon be around Sid Stanhope’s neck.
“I have to tell her,” Kyle said, meaning Detective Sikorsky. “I’m not in a position to do anything else with this information.”
Dylan nodded, having accepted as much.
Kyle felt terribly for this man whom he could at best call an acquaintance. They’d never had a long conversation, never shared a meal, but he thought of what it would mean to him if Danny faced a crisis that could separate them. Danny, of course, would never commit a crime, let alone murder, but life had a way of dropping boulders on the unsuspecting.
“I don’t know why I told you this,” Dylan said, regretting his decision to speak to Kyle.
“Because you have a conscience,” Kyle said, and he started to leave.
Dylan grabbed his arm. “He’s not a killer. I don’t know how Teddy ende
d up in the pool, but Sid didn’t put him there. I refuse to believe that.”
Kyle believed him—not that Sid was incapable of killing someone (a million-five was a serious motive), but that Dylan loved him enough to deny it. He patted Dylan’s hand, gently removed it from his arm and headed back to the bar.
Pete was singing Billy Joel’s “The Piano Man,” joined in the chorus by a half dozen guests ringing the piano. Kyle walked back in and looked to the sofa, only to see it was empty. He wandered to the bar instead.
“She left with someone,” Cowboy Dave said, knowing who Kyle was looking for.
So she wasn’t such a novice after all, and while she may not have come there looking for a date, she’d had no trouble accepting one.
“That Bo chick,” Dave said, as if Kyle must know who she was. His use of the word “chick” seemed dated and quaint, given that few women at Pride Lodge would consider themselves chicks.
It struck Kyle as odd; Bo had told Sid and the others at the table she would not be going to the bar later that night. He wondered if she’d simply had a change of heart, or if perhaps she hoped to get lucky. Rural Pennsylvania can be a lonely place at night, even at Pride Lodge.
Good for her, he thought, reflecting on the detective meeting up with the loner from St. Paul. Maybe fate would treat them well, at least for a weekend.
He waved goodnight at Dave and Pete, smiled at the enjoyment everyone was having at another Halloween weekend at Pride Lodge, and headed upstairs. As he came into the great room he saw old Jeremy in his chair, alone now, watching his Dracula movie in the dark.
“Good night, Jeremy,” he said, crossing in front of the television.
“Good night, Kyle,” Jeremy replied, never taking his eyes off Christopher Lee. The vampire was just about to feed.
Chapter 19
Natural Causes
Kyle was surprised to find Danny awake first on Saturday morning. He discovered it when he reached across the bed, half asleep, and found an empty mattress next to him. He looked up, focused, and saw Danny sitting at the small table with his restaurant notes and a reading flashlight.
“Why don’t you turn the light on?” Kyle said, his voice thick with sleep.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Danny said. He was wearing just his boxer shorts and t-shirt.
Kyle rolled back, facing the ceiling. “I thought you weren’t going to work this weekend.”
“I’m not working.”
“So what’s on your mind? You’re never up at—” and he glanced at the clock on the nightstand—“six-thirty! On a weekend?”
Kyle remembered getting back to the cabin after midnight. “What’s troubling you?” he said, knowing from his years with Danny that the only thing that would have him out of bed this early was worry.
“She’s going to be eighty next week. That’s old, you know.”
Margaret Bowman was a second mother to Danny. She’d taken him under her wing and nurtured him along, and had hinted more than once to him that he was her heir apparent. With no children of her own, and no nieces or nephews who were interested in the business, even if she had been inclined to leave it to them, she worried Margaret’s Passion would die with her. Then along came Danny and it seemed fated that they would form the sort of mentor/parent bond they had. The thought of Margaret coming to the end of her years weighed on him.
“She’s sharp as a tack,” Kyle said. “And she still gets around very nicely. She comes down and talks to people in the restaurant. Why are you thinking about this?”
“I don’t know. I just feel time passing, that’s all.” And then, suddenly, “We should get married next year.”
They’d talked about marriage ever since New York passed a bill making it legal. At first Kyle had wanted to make the trip to City Hall quickly, seeing the rush of excitement and the sight of history unfolding on television. He thought their fifth anniversary, which was only a month away at the time, would be an ideal date to get married. But the thrill quickly died down and both men decided to take an informed approach: what does marriage mean, what are the legal ramifications, what is the hurry? They knew they would do it, but they would do it in their own time. And now, unexpectedly, Danny was pushing to make it official: to be husbands in more than name only.
“Well,” Kyle said, “a wedding takes time. It’s October now—November, really—so maybe next summer . . .”
“Next year, for sure,” Danny said. Then, glancing at the seating chart for Margaret’s birthday luncheon, “I’m sure she’ll make it another year. Hell, another ten. She’s a tough old bird.”
Kyle wasn’t comfortable when Danny became melancholic. He picked up the television remote from the nightstand and turned on the TV, wanting to watch the news and change the subject.
There on the local channel was a young woman reporter, dressed warmly for the weather but still television-pretty with strawberry blonde hair and a face perfectly made up at six o’clock on a Saturday morning. Her breath was coming out in clouds, which told Kyle it was colder than it had been yesterday. Wetter, too, as it appeared to have been raining where the woman was. Identified on the screen as Ellie Cameron from Philly6, she stood in a wooded area while several policemen moved around behind her.
“The body found in Chester Creek has been identified as Happy Corcoran.”
“What?!” Kyle shouted, sitting up in bed.
“A neighbor of Mr. Corcoran’s from Stockton, New Jersey, responded to our earlier report on a body found in the woods and called authorities. Apparently Mr. Corcoran has been missing for several days and the neighbor thought the description was familiar. The coroner is declining comment on a cause of death until an autopsy’s been performed. As you can see, police continue to search the area for evidence of just what happened here, and when. If you have any information about Happy Corcoran and his movements, please contact the Sheriff’s Department immediately. All calls are kept confidential. This is Ellie Cameron from Philly6, back to you, Carlton.”
Kyle hit the mute button. He and Danny both stared at the television, stunned.
“That reporter’s a long way from Philly,” Danny said. “I think. I mean, where the hell is Chester Creek?”
“Far enough from civilization that a body could lie there for days without anyone seeing it. And a body in a creek is news for a local Philadelphia station. It’s only an hour from here.”
“This isn’t going to go well,” Danny said, and Kyle knew he meant at the Lodge. “We can’t be the only people who saw this. Poor Cowboy Dave. They had a thing, you know. Before Happy and Teddy. Or maybe at the same time, kids are like that.”
“I didn’t know, but I guessed. The way Dave talked about him. So sad. And so mysterious. I mean, think about it. Happy goes missing three days ago. Teddy dies at the bottom of the pool yesterday.”
“Do you want to check out?” Danny said. “Go back to the City?”
Kyle looked at him, surprised. “God no, not now. I want to know what’s going on here. I want to talk to Detective Sikorsky.” He swung his legs around and sat up on the edge of the bed. He was wearing the red plaid pajama bottoms he always slept up. He slid his feet into the slippers Danny had given him. “And I want to do some research. Something about the exchange at dinner between Sid and that Bo woman, it was odd. And she said she wasn’t going to the bar last night but did, and left with the detective! I don’t know, I’m just curious. Please tell me you brought the laptop, I haven’t seen it out.”
“It’s in the suitcase,” Danny said. “Have I ever forgotten it?”
“Yes, in Key West.”
“And you’ll never let me forget it. All those amazing photographs that had to wait for you to post on your blog until we got home. Consider it a lesson in patience.”
Kyle got out of bed and walked over to the suitcase. He wanted his morning coffee and some time with a search engine.
“You want the sound back on?” he asked.
“Leave it off,” Danny said, sl
iding his papers to the side. “We’ve had enough excitement for now, and a lot more waiting up the hill.”
Chapter 20
Room 202
The moon was so large the sight of it took Bo’s breath away as she glanced across the bed, out past the window into the night sky. The blackness of the heavens in the Pennsylvania countryside had struck her the first night here; before that, even, as she’d driven from St. Paul along back roads, far away from city lights that stole the majesty of the stars. They were bare and innumerable here. She likened them to the beauty of the woman lying next to her, breathing gently in her sleep. She chose to ignore the irony of sleeping next to the very woman whose choices in life were her polar opposite: Linda Sikorsky, detective, seeker of facts, if not truth, justice personified as she followed and tracked and peered into puzzles, with her one goal of solving them and stopping even some small evil in the world. Bo Sweetzer, Emily Lapinsky as a child, a good person from all appearances, a woman set on revenge behind the goodness. She didn’t fool herself; while many people would say the men she’d killed had only got what they deserved, she knew she was a murderer. There were no degrees of murder and those who commit it: killing was killing, and here she was, watching someone she could so easily love, asleep and dreaming beside her, who would not hesitate to see her sentenced to a life behind bars.
What was an assassin to do? Should she slip away now, so soon after first light? Should she abandon her mission, let the old man live, and try to build a life with this policewoman? A life of secrets and lies? Or should she—and this she knew to be the answer—complete the one true objective of her life: to silence the voices that had haunted her for thirty years, to put an end to the screams of a child watching her parents be coldly, brutally murdered. For a handful of cash. A watch. She sighed, knowing what she had to do, that she would be taking one life while setting free another, and that after the coming day she would never see this woman again, this woman whose shoulders she now leaned over gently and caressed.
