Gregory nodded. "I'm not saying you're wrong. Everything you said is true, and last night, I was ready to investigate. But this morning, I'm wondering if it's a good idea. I don't want this to set you back. Even if we could solve the case singlehandedly, would it be worth it if it costs your mental health?"
"No." He studied the table, not meeting Gregory's eyes. "The truth is, I'm this close to selling the place and running." He did look at Gregory then and saw his chewing cease and his eyes go wide. "This area is starting to scare me. I swear, there was never so much death around in the city." Abe squared his shoulders. "But I don't want to run scared. We've been building a life here, and—I want to at least try."
Gregory relaxed a little, though tension remained in his shoulders, and he watched Abe carefully, almost warily. He swallowed at last. "Me too," he said, his voice hoarse.
Abe gave him an apologetic look. "That wasn't an ultimatum or anything about you at all. I just..." He wrung his hands, almost not caring if it made him look like a fuddy-duddy old queen. "I can't stand this. But we must—if staying is an option."
"Well, let's give it a try," said Gregory in such a calm voice that if you didn't know him, you might not read the alarmed concern in his eyes. He patted his knee. "Come here a minute. I think you need a hug."
"I always need a hug," said Abe, disgusted with himself. But he sat on his boyfriend's knee, grateful that Gregory was so sturdy and strong. It felt good to be held just now.
"We'll look into it." Gregory pressed his face against the back of Abe's neck, as if he were hiding there, as if he needed to gather strength. "There's no telling whether his death has anything to do with the neighborhood—or us. From what I've gleaned of your ex, there are probably dozens of people who wouldn't mind seeing him dead. Hundreds," he added rather maliciously.
"Can I ask a question?" Abe had been debating whether he wanted to know, but if they were really going to investigate, going to try to stick it out and get through this here, then he needed to know. He hadn't been allowed to stay and listen in while the police questioned Gregory. Maybe he couldn't have handled it even if he had been.
Gregory stilled but gave a wary nod and a bit of a tighter squeeze in reassurance. Abe swallowed. "What did you say to Lenard that made them think you were someone to talk to—a person of interest in his death? I'm not saying I have to hear the whole argument or discussion or whatever it was, because I don't," he added hastily. "But they came here for some reason, and they were more interested in you than in me." And Abe was the ex, so that seemed a bit out of order for persons of interest—unless Gregory had said something really incriminating.
Gregory didn't loosen his embrace. Abe heard him swallow. "I said..." He hesitated, and Abe tried to brace himself, telling himself it didn't matter even if it was awful, that he wasn't going to feel differently about Gregory, and that he could handle it. He dearly hoped that was the truth.
"I said if he was the sort of the sort of man to beat his husband, he didn't deserve any more chances in life. And heaven help me...I didn't say it very quietly. I'm so sorry, Abe. I lost my temper, and I wasn't paying enough attention to know who might have overheard. When I thought of that bastard hurting you..." His powerful hands squeezed open and shut a few times.
Abe nodded. He looked at the floor and didn't say anything, but his heart was beating hard. He felt sick and ashamed. That had been his secret, his awful past that he'd tried to leave behind, not something he wanted splashed around for everyone to know, everyone to judge Abe. Because of course one judged the abusive spouse most, but there was nearly always some sort of judgment for the person who hadn't left, who hadn't walked out the first time violence raised its ugly head in the relationship. When people said, "But why didn't you just leave him?" they didn't really want an answer; they were passing judgment.
And now, everyone in the neighborhood could know—and if they didn't, probably would soon. The gossip mill was always active around sordid drama, and after all, a man had died. The whole affair would be the talk of the town, and Abe's past gleefully raked over to tut about, maybe to earn him pity—but definitely not a secret anymore. He didn't know most people in the neighborhood, but without knowing who had connections with whom, he wouldn't be able to tell if the stranger glancing at him in the grocery store was someone who knew, who judged him, or just a person wanting to get past him to the tuna. He wouldn't know that at the post office, or the farmer's market, or anywhere else he went for the rest of his life here. He would be...notorious, spoken of, pitied or perhaps laughed at. It felt unbearable.
He gave Gregory's hand a reassuring squeeze and got off his lap without saying another word. He went to start cleaning up the dishes. He certainly couldn't eat another bite.
Maybe he would have to move after all—or at least become even more of a hermit than he already was. How could he face people ever again?
THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS were rough. Abe really didn't want to leave the house, much less investigate anything. When he did manage to convince himself to go grocery shopping, for instance, he felt as if everyone was staring at him, whispering the moment his back was turned.
There were no doubt networks in the neighborhood, despite its fragmented quality; people were questioned, but nobody got any real answers from the police, so it drove one wild with curiosity. Normally, he would have been asking everyone he knew what they'd heard, but this time he couldn't bear to.
Abe imagined all sorts of horrible ways for his ex to have died. The worst was when he dreamed of Lenard dead in his backyard in another patch of zinnias, a metal stake through his heart, blood everywhere. As if he were a vampire, Abe thought, waking up panting, in a cold sweat. Of course he hadn't planted any more zinnias in the backyard—and he never would again—but the image was fresh and horrible in his mind. The life-stealing energy of a vampire did fit his ex rather horribly well.
Naturally, he couldn't sleep anymore; he wrapped his dressing gown around himself and went out to the kitchen, where too much tea and a lot of work he'd put off kept him busy till dawn.
Gregory was sleeping in his own home right now, so there was no one to give him pitying looks or comforting hugs. He rather missed the latter, if not the former, but things were awkward between them right now.
Abe and Gregory didn't seem to know what to say to one another. They both threw themselves into work, and conversation between them was stilted. They still shared meals when they could, and kissed one another hello and goodbye, but Gregory had not pressed him about investigating, and he seemed to feel guilty about his part in the whole drama—as well he might.
Gregory had apologized, and Abe had said he understood. But he felt raw and wounded, knowing his private pains and shameful past had been shouted about for everyone to hear. He'd withdrawn emotionally, shutting down in a way, just to survive. He knew it wasn't helpful for their relationship, but he could barely speak at all right now, much less fix things between them.
The wind had been knocked out of him by all of this. They were actually part of an official investigation. At least Gregory was, and the officers had wanted to know both of their whereabouts...and it was Gregory's fault. Abe had certainly had cross words with the man, but he hadn't said something that could be construed as a threat on his life.
They'd both been fairly well accounted for during the entire time since that day, and were unlikely to have the murder actually pinned on either of them. But having one's name involved in a second investigation, and in such a way—well, Abe was reeling, and felt as if he might never snap out of it. This wasn't something easy to fix that he could turn on and off; he felt shaken and vulnerable. Knowing that everyone knew—and that Gregory had told them—was difficult for him to deal with on an emotional level.
It wasn't that he'd stopped loving Gregory. Goodness knew Gregory was the best man he'd ever dated, even if he wasn't actually perfect. The cruise had shown that there were times when even Gregory didn't shine. He had foibles and quirks and even fla
ws. That was as it should be; he was a real human being, and certainly if he had actually been perfect, he wouldn't have been able to bear Abe's imperfect self for long.
It was just too difficult to handle at the moment, and Abe didn't feel like himself at all. He retreated like a snail into its shell, fumbling through his days, dreading seeing anyone, uncertain of the ground he stood on or where to stand next. Investigating? That was a laugh. He was barely getting through the regular workaday nonsense and remembering to eat.
He did not go to the gardening club, because he could not bear the sideways looks and whispers that would greet him there, even if nobody was crass enough to say anything to his face. They would still look at him and know how weak he was, how pathetic.
It was fine and well to say he shouldn't feel pathetic, and anyway it was all in the past. It just didn't help. Whatever hard-won self assurance Abe had gained since the divorce seemed to have been washed away in a tide of blood. Lenard was dead, the abuse secret was out, and Gregory and Abe had been questioned about the murder. It was difficult to imagine anything worse. No doubt many things could be worse, but in his current frame of mind, that was how it felt.
As for Gregory, he attacked his garden with a vengeance, and often wore a frown on his face, and he left Abe to get on with his work and never once mentioned anything about the investigating they'd been going to do. He was very complimentary about meals, as always, and ate with gusto—the man worked hard and needed hearty meals.
But they no longer shared a bed overnight, and neither suggested they do so for any other reason, either. It was so easy to let the relationship slide into a cooling stage, to ease some distance between them. Abe did not feel he could bridge the gap, even if he had dared try.
Nor did he particularly want to. He felt so cold inside, his soul shuttered, his heart in hibernation. Right now, he just needed to survive, and that was difficult enough.
A TENTATIVE KNOCK AT the door made Abe freeze. He didn't want to see anyone. It sounded like a woman's knock to him, though—too tentative to be a salesman, or most men. As for Gregory, he would never knock. He didn't need to; he had a key and knew he was welcome (didn't he?). Ollie wouldn't have knocked like that, either. He'd be more likely to shout, "Open up in there, it's the police!" in his campiest voice, thinking silliness would cheer Abe up. Of course it wouldn't, and he was glad, really, that Ollie hadn't tried to visit. Really.
His communication with Ollie had been brief, after the shock of Lenard's death. Abe had let Ollie know he and Gregory were okay, but hadn't really spoken to him after that. He hadn't had much communication in him, to be frank.
"Abe, are you home? It's me, Winnie." She sounded tentative, even a little scared.
Abe got up immediately, went to the door, and opened it to his neighbor and friend. He held it open silently for her, and she stepped inside without a word. She hugged him gingerly and drew back, searching his face, trying to smile. "Have time for some tea?" she suggested.
Abe cleared his throat. His voice felt disused, even though he'd been on the phone with clients for ages today, not to mention yesterday and the day before. "That sounds great."
It didn't, nothing did, but talking to Winnie was not going to be hard. There was no way she didn't understand—or that she would press him for any details he didn't want to talk about. She wouldn't pity or despise him. She would simply understand; she'd lived a similar reality, and neither of them liked to talk about it.
They'd both moved on, to better lives and better men. Old nightmares didn't need to be resurrected. But they understood one another in this way on a bone-deep level, and her presence was surprisingly comforting.
They ended up sitting on the couch together watching Project Runway, sipping wine after they'd finished their tea. Well, if he couldn't let down his hair and watch some dramatic reality television with Winnie, with whom could he? It was blessedly quiet aside from the show. They didn't try to talk. And somehow, that helped most of all.
When she bade him goodbye a few hours later, with a hug, a kiss on the cheek and a sympathetic look in her eye, he felt stronger. Braver, even. His true friends wouldn't look down on him. They would simply be kind. If they weren't, he'd know never to trust them or consider them friends again. That wasn't a pleasant place to be, either, but it was honest—and easier than the reeling emptiness had been.
He would survive this. He would be okay. It would just take some time, effort, and luck. And maybe investigation.
Chapter ten
Abe started his proper investigation by reading through all the papers. He checked the older papers and the newer ones. There was frustratingly little and not much in detail. But more than he'd known before.
Lenard Benton had died in a crash on Saturday. His death had been deemed suspicious, and toxicology tests had proved he'd been poisoned.
The papers didn't say what substance (probably the police wanted to keep that a secret), but instead had a stiff, officially worded statement from the police that the circumstances were suspicious. They were investigating it as a homicide—murder. It was extremely unlikely, they said, that this was an accidental poisoning, and it had led directly to his death, meaning it would be murder or manslaughter at the least if they turned out to be right.
Obviously, they at least suspected it might have happened as recently as the bake sale, which was a concern. Could someone really have poisoned the food?
It was difficult to imagine Lenard stooping to eating home-baked goods. He'd be more likely to curl his lip and avoid them, especially since he knew Abe had baked a lot of them.
But they'd suspected Gregory for some reason, enough for him to probably be one of the first people questioned.
Abe needed more information about what had happened at the bake sale after he had left, and the best way to get it was to talk with Gregory. Of course, the second-best way was to talk with someone else he knew had been there, and he was almost cowardly enough to take this route. But in the end, he did the sensible thing and spoke with his boyfriend about it.
He cornered Gregory when Gregory was on his knees in the garden, yanking out weeds. Abe was distracted momentarily—or possibly putting the conversation off. "I thought there weren't supposed to be so many weeds in your permaculture project?"
Gregory winced. "Not once it's set up."
"You're always telling me even weeds have uses." Abe put his hands behind his back and bounced a little on the balls of his feet. From here he could see the beginning of the bald spot on Gregory's head. It made him feel warm and protective, seeing a vulnerable side of his usually invincible-seeming boyfriend. Odd that looking down on him physically felt nothing like looking down on him in other ways.
"They do," said Gregory shortly. "In this case, mulch." He laid the weeds down next to some plants he hadn't pulled up. Abe assumed they weren't weeds but was pretty certain he couldn't have identified them if he'd been told to on threat of death.
"I—I wasn't criticizing," said Abe as Gregory rose to his full height and frowned at him. It wasn't quite a glare—not quite! "I thought we ought to talk about the—the bake sale."
"Oh?" Gregory wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving patterns of dirt. It didn't matter; he did his own laundry, and these weren't his good jeans. They were old and ratty, stretching across his powerful thighs in interesting ways. He did laundry, cleaning—whatever needed to be done, if he wasn't too distracted by his garden projects. He was really quite domestic when he needed to be, as long as he didn't risk infringing on Abe's chosen sphere, cooking. Gregory unabashedly appreciated Abe's cooking and wanted him to keep doing it. He'd be very careful not to do or say anything to put him off it.
"Well, I—I think we ought to investigate after all." He quailed a little under his boyfriend's steady, disbelieving stare.
"And have you go catatonic again?" Gregory looked at him incredulously. "Babe, I think we've got to let the police handle this one. I agreed with you at first, but—this is pretty tough situati
on."
"You don't think I can handle it." He put his fists on his hips, then quickly removed them because he felt like a 1950s housewife.
"Well, no." Gregory's gaze was regretful, but he didn't even hesitate in his reply.
Brutal honesty is not what I want here. "Okay, you might be right. But we won't know unless we try."
Gregory snorted.
"Don't snort at me! I need you to tell me who all was in attendance."
"Nope," said Gregory. He bent back down and started weeding in a bullheaded sort of way. His bald spot looked much less endearing with that mulish expression attached to his face. "If you want to know, ask someone else who was there. I'm not helping you investigate anything this time."
"Gregory!" Abe was appalled. "You're not being a very good boyfriend," he said. It came out sounding weak and rather childish, but he couldn't think what else to say.
"I'm not going to make it worse. I've done enough damage." He yanked up a thistle with a particularly fierce movement, and then winced.
"Don't hurt yourself. You should be wearing gloves!" He hoped this wasn't some sort of penance. He stared down at his boyfriend, watching his shoulders slump and a defeated look appear that cost him pain to see. "Gregory, you must know, I—I love you. Nothing's ruined." He'd been wounded, but he was getting over it. At the end of the day, he'd always love and forgive Gregory.
"Isn't it?" said Gregory quietly. "You can barely even look at me these days. You were thinking about leaving me." He pulled out a big blue handkerchief and blew his nose loudly on it. He was keeping his head down so Abe wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. He looked so raw and humbled like this.
"No, no," said Abe, appalled. He made up his mind and got down on his knees beside Gregory. Hang his trousers. He could buy a new pair. He put an arm around Gregory. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Why would I leave?"
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