The anxious light in Edward's eyes died down, and he looked relieved.
"Gregory really is a good man," said Abe.
"I didn't mean to imply otherwise," said Edward. "Well, I'll finish my drink. If you're willing to come with me, I'd certainly appreciate it." He gave Abe a winning, hopeful smile that looked impossibly young and eager to please. There was a softness about him, and a sweetness, that Lenard hadn't been able to destroy.
For a single moment, Abe found himself glad that Lenard was dead, so he could never hurt this young gay man again. Lenard could never win him back and lie to him and gaslight him and leave him bruised and shaken and blaming himself and hiding it...
Abe had to shake himself out of the dark mood. "Yes, I'll accompany you. Let me just text Gregory so he knows I'll be a little bit."
Gregory texted back almost immediately. Be safe, babe. I'm here if you need me. Abe appreciated both Gregory's trust in him—not demanding he change his plan—and his offer of help. It was always possible that Abe would find this harder than he thought and might need Gregory's support in some way. If so, he knew he'd have it.
They finished their drinks and drove to the apartment building where Lenard had lived, and, up until recently, Edward had lived with him. They met at the front door, Edward looking self-conscious. "I hate coming back here," he admitted. "But I've got to clear things out before the apartment can be sold, and, well, there's too much valuable stuff here to just shovel it all out." He looked self-conscious.
He seemed to feel guilty, caring about wasting things, but Abe could understand. He'd never been one for the willful destruction of property, even of someone he didn't particularly like.
"Whatever one wants to say about him, Lenard had good taste," remarked Abe as they headed inside.
There were no awful memories for Abe, since he'd never been in this place before. He looked around curiously, a little nervous that something random would immediately trigger a bad memory for him, but instead it just looked like someone's apartment, rather messy because they were in the process of packing. Stacks of this and that cluttered every surface. Seeing how much there was to do, Edward sighed and ran hands back over his head with an expression close to despair.
"Don't worry," said Abe. "I can help at least a bit. If we get things boxed up, they'll be easier to sell or give away."
"Thank you." Edward looked pathetically grateful.
"Are you staying here while you get it ready?"
"No, I finally found a place. And...I finally left this one behind. Now I'm back every day, but I certainly will not sleep here."
Good for you, thought Abe. The young man was strong, even if he didn't think so.
"Plus, I've got my cat at home," admitted Edward. "I'm sure I could ask someone to feed her. But I don't want to palm off her care on someone else, now that I've finally got her back. And I'd never bring her back here. Never." He shuddered as if even the thought was repulsive.
Did the cat have bad memories of the place too? Or maybe he had bad memories of her being here...
Lenard and Abe hadn't had a pet while they were married, so Abe had never actually seen his ex husband interacting with animals at home. Lenard had never been particularly fond of them from what Abe knew...and knowing Lenard, he wouldn't be above manipulating someone through their pet, or perhaps even threatening said animal. Abe shuddered at the thought of Lenard deliberately stepping on a cat's soft tail, or shoving his booted toe into a dog's ribs when no one was watching. Maybe Lenard wouldn't have—maybe.
Edward loaded a collection of glass-encased ceremonial knives into a box with an expression of distaste. "I know it's my responsibility, and it's too important to throw anything away, but I wish I didn't have to look at any of this ever again."
"Did you try contacting his family? Hinting that they might want to help?" suggested Abe.
"They didn't want anything to do with me," said Edward. "I can't blame them, since I never got to spend any time with them. But they don't seem to want anything to do with his things, either. I wonder if the police were questioning them, and that's why they want to stay away? He caused them trouble in life, and now in death..." He let his words trail off, looking philosophical. "How long have we been working? It feels like hours. Like days."
Abe grinned at the dramatic words. "I know what you mean, but it's only been ten minutes." How did I become the calm one with words of wisdom?
Edward sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. Had Abe ever been this young?
"Let's put on some music," suggested Abe. "Everything goes faster with some background music."
"Good idea," said Edward, and he spent the next several minutes fiddling with technology and finding something he liked to listen to.
Abe assured him that he didn't care, he was open to all genres of music and would enjoy trying something new if it wasn't music he already liked. He was pretty open-minded about music, although not up with all the latest tunes. Mostly, he just wanted Edward to be as comfortable as possible. This was obviously extremely challenging for him.
There were almost certainly people one could hire to simply clear out a house and put everything up for sale or auction. But Abe suspected the young man felt a responsibility to look through things, just in case there was a clue to Lenard's death. Even though he hadn't been in a good place with Lenard. Even though he didn't want to be here; it was probably the last place he wanted to be. But he felt he ought to. There might be something the police would miss, and it might matter. Even if it didn't, even if nothing here mattered, he felt like he owed his abusive boyfriend some kind of goodbye—for leaving him something in his will, if nothing else.
Well, Abe felt like he owed Lenard as well, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe he also needed to say goodbye. And if there were any clues, he needed to help find them.
The business of boxing and sorting things was boring, even with the music soon churning through the apartment. They danced around a little at the best parts of the songs, and he got a few grins out of Edward, but for the most part, it was not a fun chore. There wasn't much dust—Lenard had been a neat freak, and it hadn't been long enough for things to get really messy. But there was so much stuff. Sure, it was mostly valuable or interesting stuff, but Abe couldn't say he shared Lenard's taste for macabre collectibles and objets d'art. He shuddered at the probably-fake shrunken skulls and cringed at the big painted African shields. If they were real, were they really supposed to be in someone's apartment, rather than a museum or cultural center?
"Some of this stuff will have to be evaluated by a museum," observed Abe. "Just in case it's real."
Edward nodded thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you know someone?" He looked at Abe with puppy eyes. Anything he could offload onto Abe, he'd be glad to. He was so obviously out of his depth and overwhelmed, Abe couldn't take offense.
"Sure, I'll call a friend who will be sure to know someone we can contact."
Edward looked impressed. "Just like that? Wow!"
Abe smiled, enjoying the air of mystery he seemed to be exuding. Ollie knew everybody, that was all. But Abe was glad to let Edward think he was part of some exclusive older gay man network, if it impressed him.
He made a quick call, left Ollie a voicemail when he wasn't available to answer at the moment, and got back to work. It was high time to start his cautious and sensitive questioning, and he thought by now Edward seemed comfortable enough with him that he wouldn't freak out if casual conversation veered in that direction. They were both obviously thinking about the murder, probably running crazy theories through their heads. There was no reason not to talk about it, right?
"If you had to pick one of his coworkers as the guilty party, who would you pick?"
Edward stared at him, blinking. Oh dear, did I not ask that casually enough? Or perhaps I made it sound too much like a party game: pick the coworker who wanted him dead! Extra points for inventiveness!
"Well, I—I don't know," said Edward. "He—he didn't really like me to be around
his coworkers. Except if he had to bring me to a Christmas party or something. But even then, he didn't like me—well, talking to them. Making conversation or friends." A soft lisp had entered his voice with his distress, and Abe felt sorry for the young man. Obviously, Lenard had kept him on a short leash.
Abe hadn't thought of it, since he and Lenard had worked for the same company when they were together, but of course Lenard would isolate his boyfriend from his coworkers if he possibly could. He'd wanted to isolate Abe from as many people as he could, and that was when he was younger and with someone his own age, before he'd reached his greatest level of abusiveness, with a younger, even easier to control boyfriend—whom he was probably even more paranoid about controlling. There was no doubt that he hadn't wanted Edward to leave him, unless it was on his terms. He certainly wouldn't want Edward to make any allies or even friendly acquaintances among people he worked with, who might form a bad opinion of Lenard or be able to take Edward's side.
This young man had been through the wringer, perhaps even more than Abe had.
"Oh, well," said Abe, trying for casual, trying to move past the topic casually and without upsetting Edward any further. "I'm sure the police will question all of them. Especially any enemies he might have had! Rivals, at the least. I'm not sure anyone will admit to being his enemy now!"
Edward looked even more alarmed and flighty after those words. Abe wondered what he could possibly have said wrong. His casual questioning technique was not working well. Perhaps he was bumbling everything. Or more likely, Edward was just so jumpy, there was no right way to go about it.
But if Edward didn't know any of the coworkers, that clearly eliminated them from people he knew, cared about, and worried might have done it. That was an answer in itself.
Edward suspected someone else. Not Lenard's family, either, because he'd been disappointed they didn't want to come and help him out here, and he'd already said he never really got to talk to them, so he wouldn't know them well enough to be worried it was them, either.
So it's someone he knows, someone connected to him—when he's been so isolated by Lenard that there's almost no one left in his life. He wouldn't be doing this alone—or rather, with only Abe's help if he had a lot of people he could count on and trust.
Did that mean his family? Edward suspected one of his family members? Abe was going to have to find a way to discreetly investigate the possibility. It would certainly make sense for a relative to be enraged when they finally found out how Lenard had been treating him, and maybe do something rash.
But a poisoning wasn't rash. Having a yelling match or throwing a punch was rash. Slashing tires was rash. Even breaking a window. But poisoning someone? No, that was premeditated.
Edward thought someone in his life had premeditated a murder.
No wonder the poor kid was jumpy. He not only had to deal with all of this more or less on his own, but he had to go through the agony of suspecting that someone he cared about had done it—premeditated murder because of him.
Perhaps the poison—whatever it was—had been intended to merely sicken Lenard and make him suffer. Would that mean it was only manslaughter? Lenard had died in a car wreck, and the poison was a contributing factor, but would it have been enough for him to die of alone? His death was clearly at least manslaughter, but it still might be a case of revenge gone too far. Obviously, it was never okay to poison someone, but Abe could see a case being made in someone's mind for making him sick as revenge.
Did that mean Edward was back to being a suspect after all? Sure, he'd said he didn't know about his cat being at the pound due to Lenard's machinations until after the man was dead, but he could have lied about that. And even if he hadn't, even if that was the exact timeline, he'd had plenty of motive to wish Lenard to suffer a little bit, if only to keep him preoccupied as Edward tried to move on with life and extricate himself more fully from Lenard's control.
It made a certain kind of horrible sense—and it would explain his jumpiness and nerves, at least as well as being worried that someone else was guilty.
Chapter thirteen
Abe shook himself. Edward would still have to have the opportunity to poison Lenard, and that obviously hadn't happened if the police had eliminated him. It also didn't make sense for him to involve Abe if he was guilty. He seemed like way too much of an emotional mess to be involving people unnecessarily or doing any double-bluff things. Of course, anything was possible, and he should keep an open mind. It was just difficult to suspect Edward for more than a random second.
The things that needed to be cleared out of the apartment were truly overwhelming in scope and scale of complexity. Abe rolled up his sleeves and tried to be very businesslike and matter-of-fact. Both of them didn't need to be emotional about this, and it was obvious that Edward was barely handling it.
What did I get myself into? wondered Abe as he unloaded a bookshelf filled with expensive items. He checked one or two carefully, and sure enough, they were first editions, signed copies, and probably rare and expensive things that he likely shouldn't be touching without gloves. Apparently, Lenard had gotten into rare books after all. He really had been interested in that signed edition at the auction. It made Abe feel both better and a little bit worse to know that Lenard probably hadn't actually been stalking him that day, as he'd suspected. As usual, his feelings about Lenard were complicated and painful...
"We'll need to be careful with these," Abe told Edward. "They're worth money."
"I know," said Edward with a sign. "I wasn't allowed to touch any of them."
Abe couldn't help it; a little tsk escaped him. Edward looked ashamed of himself, but he was still avoiding the shelf. Perhaps old habits died hard.
"You'll need to take them to an expert," Abe said. Then, thinking of how timid and easily intimidated Edward would likely be around someone like that, he added, "Perhaps I'll go with you."
"Oh, would you?" Edward looked pleased, then ashamed of himself. "Really, you shouldn't have to do everything for me. Although—if you're willing to handle the books—you could keep the money? Is that okay?" He drew his brows together worriedly.
Abe felt odd about the thought of keeping money from his ex, as if it would be dirty. He understood Edward's ambivalence a little better now. He made an impulsive decision. "I'll tell you what. If you'd like, we could use the money from them to donate to a gay organization. I know of several good ones."
Edward looked relieved. "Oh. That would be kind and fitting."
Abe shrugged modestly, feeling proud of himself. He felt very grown up and clever at the moment—a rare feeling. Perhaps he ought to hang out around younger people often. Most of his friends right now were his age or older.
Maybe I need to change that.
As he was thinking about these things, the doorbell rang. Edward jumped and dropped an old dagger. He swore in a whisper, hands flying to his mouth, eyes huge. He looked at the dagger, and then at Abe, helplessly frightened. Then, visibly, he forced himself to relax, and bent to pick up the dropped item.
"It's okay, you didn't hurt anything," Abe found himself reassuring the younger man. "It's not hurt, see? Do you want me to answer the door?"
"Maybe if we don't answer, they'll just go away." Edward looked hunted.
"Or maybe it's a package that needs to be signed for," countered Abe. "Or someone who has a clue for us."
Edward bounced on the balls of his feet and gnawed his lip. "Will you get it, then?"
Abe smiled slightly. He was already on his way to the door.
The tall Asian-looking man at the door was raising a fist to knock, looking indecisive. He'd already rung the doorbell and was perhaps wondering if it had been heard. He was built, with the large, buff arms and narrow waist that proclaimed him a regular gym frequenter, or someone who did a lot of manual labor for a living. He had regular, slightly flattened features, neat dark hair, and surprisingly pale green eyes. He was an attractive-looking young man, strong and handsome enou
gh to turn heads in almost any bar.
He looked almost as nervous as Edward. He had no visible reason to be there. Perhaps he wasn't sure where he meant to go, and had the wrong door.
"Hello?" said Abe. "Can I help you?"
"Er, I thought Ed lived here. Is he down the hall? I can go." He motioned awkwardly down the hallway. He had a "bro" accent, like a straight guy who loved his fraternity, but something about how nervous he was to face Edward—how tentative—set off klaxons on Abe's gaydar.
Behind Abe, Edward let out a sound embarrassingly like a squeak. "Here! I'm here!" He scrambled closer, fixing his hair with his fingers, even more visibly nervous and awkward than the young man at the door.
Abe moved aside to let him at the doorway, but instead of saying anything or inviting the visitor in, he stood there awkwardly. They were just staring at each other.
Abe hid his smile. "Would you like to come in? We were doing some packing."
Relief so great it was impossible to hide flashed across the green-eyed young man's face. "Oh, you are leaving him, then. I'm—" He cleared his throat. "That is, congrats, bro. I think it's the right call."
Edward swallowed hard and turned several shades of red. "I'm—I'm—" He turned to Abe with a look of despairing helplessness.
"Hello," said Abe, moving forward to offer his hand to the guest. "I'm Abe. And you are?"
"Uh...Fred," said the bro, shaking his hand uncertainly. Abe could tell he had a strong grip, but he didn't try to hurt Abe with it. In fact, Abe thought he shook his hand rather carefully, as if he were afraid Abe was a fragile old guy he could accidentally hurt.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Fred. Edward did leave his boyfriend recently, but unfortunately he's had to return to clear up some...matters. The man is dead. It's rather shocking, actually."
Before he could get into any of the shocking details, Fred's expression changed from concern to genuine shock, even horror. "He's dead? Dude, did he have a heart attack because you left him?" He looked like he felt guilty about that possibility.
Poison at the Bake Sale Page 12
