Текст книги "Cards on the Table"

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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«I've been giving them evaporated milk and tiny bits of fish. They seem to be doing okay.»

After Sebastian went upstairs Peter went back to the living room to collect his gear and check on the puppies. Travis had found a cardboard box with low sides, lined it with some of the rags they kept for boot cleaning. The puppies were playing, wrestling, two tiny balls of black and white fur, and Travis, Jesse, and Phillip were on their knees next to the box, watching them. Crowd me? I could have used some crowding this winter. Being eight hundred miles apart is not exactly… Phillip looked up. «These are those sled dogs, right? That guy, he's a musher?»

«Yeah. He came in fourth in the Yukon Quest this year. That's a big long-distance dog sled race.» «I've only heard of the Iditarod,» Jesse said.

«We have dog races all winter long. Some are short, some really long, a thousand miles or more. Mostly in the interior of Alaska. That's dog country up there.» «So that guy,» Phillip continued. «He's…» «Sebastian.» «Yeah, Sebastian. He's Eskimo?»

«No. Athabascan. Listen, don't ask him if he's Eskimo. Not unless you want to have your ears chewed off about the native peoples of Alaska.» «But he's yours, Peter?»

A lifetime of memories together, like family, some really irritating, some full of love. Someone who would drop everything and come if you were in trouble. Someone who still loved you, even when you broke their heart. «Yeah,» he said, kneeling for a closer look at the puppies. «He's mine.» * * * * *

A row of apple-walnut pies was cooling on the counter, and Susan had had enough. She snatched Peter's oven mitt off his hand and pushed him roughly into a kitchen chair. «I ought to lock you up as a danger to the public, before the entire population keels over with heart disease. I think you've used every stick of butter on the island.»

Sebastian sprawled in a kitchen chair. He already had his fork in his hand. «Susan, leave him alone. Let him cook.» «Susan, can't you see Sebastian is hungry?»

She clutched her head with both hands. «If you two don't shut up and let me think…» She looked up when Casper came into the kitchen. «Casper was Military Police. He won't say anything if I duct tape your…»

«Those pies done yet? I'm feeling weak. That apple pie smell is all over the hotel. It's getting to me.» Peter crossed his arms over his chest. «See?»

Susan put her head down on the table. «I'm tired, Peter. I'm really tired. And what I need to do is hear about Jacob. So maybe you and I should go talk in private.»

Sebastian sat up. «You're not dragging him off for some sort of private interrogation, Susan.»

Susan raised her middle finger in his direction. Casper took the other chair. «Susan, how about some coffee and pie? You've been up since last night? You need to rest soon.»

She hesitated, but Peter was up before she could speak. He brought forks, set a hot pie in the middle of the table, and brought Susan a cup of coffee. Sebastian and Casper leaned forward toward the pie, but neither one seemed to want to be the first to put a fork into the perfect crust. Peter stuck a fork into the middle, made a hole, and a billow of cinnamon and spice-scented steam came out. «Dig in.»

Peter sat down and pulled up a chair. «Okay, Jacob. I don't know much, Susan. The credit card he used for his room was in his name only, Jacob Klein. He had been living in California, in one of the small towns outside San Francisco. He was moving to Montreal. I mean, he was leaving here for Canada. He wasn't going back. I know he was a cellist, but I don't know with whom. And I know he had bruises on his back.» Sebastian looked up at this, his eyes narrowing. «Older bruises, maybe a week or more. I don't really know about bruises, how they look when they're older. Nobody's ever…» Sebastian reached for him under the table, held his knee. «They looked like the marks of a fist. On his back, mostly, but also on his arms, like the forearms, and a large one on his thigh. That one…I thought somebody had kicked him.»

Susan nodded, making notes in her memo book. The way Sebastian and Casper were digging into the pie, it was a good thing he'd made four.

«He studied music in San Francisco, at that conservatory. The San Francisco Conservatory of Music. I think I heard him tell somebody, Travis, maybe. They were talking

about college.» Casper put his fork down and pushed away from the table. «If I stay in Alaska, I'm gonna get as fat as Tiny. Peter, you need to put in a treadmill and some weights. An exercise room for when the weather is bad.»

Susan studied him, then put down her pen and reached for a fork. She ate a big bite, then broke off a chunk of crust to nibble on. «That is good.» Peter stared at the pie. «My God, it looks like a wolverine's been at it.»

Susan tapped her pen on the table. «What I also need to know, Casper, is why you cancelled your reservations for June and made new reservations for April the day Jacob made his reservations to come here. Did you know him before?» The kitchen was quiet, except for the ticking of the oven as it cooled. «No, Susan. I didn't know him.»

Peter pushed away from the table, picked up the coffeepot. «Casper changed his reservations because I asked him to come early, Susan. I was worried about Travis. He seemed…stressed. I knew Casper was retired Marine Corps. I asked him to come make sure…»

«Make sure I wasn't some crazy fucking war vet? Casper was supposed to stop me if I started to climb a tree with a long-range scope on my M-16, started taking out the hotel guests?» Travis was in the doorway, his face pale as buttermilk, fists clenched against his thighs. «You think I could have put a rope around Jacob's neck and pulled on it until he was dead, Peter? Do you? Were you gonna throw me a mercy fuck, too, Casper? Or would that be above and beyond, Gunny?»

Travis wiped the tears off his cheeks with his fists, shaking with fury, then shoved his hands down in the pockets of his jeans. Casper stood slowly and turned around, and Travis stuck his chin out, tried to look tough. It didn't work. Casper picked him up, lifted him off the ground, and slammed him back against the kitchen wall. «Who the fuck are you talking to like that? You tell me right now, did you hurt that boy?» «No, Sir! I did not!»

«Why should I believe you? What do you believe in, Marine?» Casper bellowed the question, his voice as loud and deep as a foghorn, his face inches from Travis's. Peter had never heard him sound like this. Was this some bizarro Marine thing? He reached for Sebastian, held on to the fabric of his T-shirt. «Tell me what you believe in!» «Honor, Sir! Courage! Commitment!»

«Don't give me that Parris Island bullshit! Tell me the truth! Tell me what you believe!» «Honor, Sir! Courage and Commitment. The core values of a Marine.»

Travis was shouting back, his nose touching Casper's. «I'm a Marine! I'm a Marine!»

«Did you hurt that boy?» Casper's voice was quiet now, menacing, the muscles in his neck corded up. «No, Sir. I did not. You have my word.»

Casper put him down, kept his hands on his chest. Travis leaned back against the wall, shaking, as if he would keep sliding down, land on his ass without Casper's big hands holding him up. «That's all I need to hear. Your word is good with me, Marine.»

«Well, okay, that was interesting.» Susan put her fork down. She had a tiny smear of apple pie filling on her chin. «I'm gonna need something a bit more factual and a little less testosterone-fueled.» «Susan, don't be ridiculous. It's Travis.»

Susan turned to him. «Peter, I know Travis, too. And yes, I know he grew up here. But Travis was the last person who saw Jacob alive. Mike said he saw Travis run in from outside, hysterical and shouting that Jacob was dead. It appears Jacob got a phone call on the line upstairs that caused him to go outside. That phone up there is hooked into the intercom system. It could have been Travis calling from the front desk. And everyone in this town will tell you, and has been telling me, that Travis came back from Iraq and the Marine Corps screwed up and drinking like a fish. I just need to make sure, Peter.»

Peter shook his head. «Fine. But you're wasting your time. I believe you, Travis.» Casper slapped him on the chest. «I believe you, too.»

Sebastian stood up. «Kid, you want a piece of pie to go with your interrogation?»

«Sure.» Travis slumped in a chair. Sebastian poured him a glass of milk, and Peter cut a big hunk of pie.

«We're going to need more food,» Peter said. «People need to eat in a crisis.» He handed Travis the plate and went into the pantry to take inventory. * * * * *

It was after ten when Sebastian finally pulled him upstairs. Peter sat down on the side of the bed. His arms and legs felt heavy and numb. He let Sebastian pull his shoes off and the sweater over his head. «Come on, stay with me, Peter.» Sebastian unbuttoned his chambray shirt, tugged it off. «What?» «Stay with me, Peter. Stay with the program. Time for a shower.» Peter shook his head. «I'll just shower in the morning, Sebastian. I'm tired.»

«You'll sleep better after a shower. Come on, I'll help you.» Peter looked up at him, at his wild hair, the huge shoulders, that strength that almost looked like a threat. Sebastian put a rough hand against his face. His hands were always rough, nicked and callused, from taking care of the dogs or from throwing pottery. «Come on, hunny-bunny, let me help you.»

Maybe he needed help. Peter was exhausted, his thoughts scattering like dark confetti blown into a cold, pale sky. «Fine! Go ahead. Who's stopping you? I'm not…»

Sebastian jerked him up from the bed by both arms, folded him in toward his big chest and kissed him. «Hush now, baby. I'm here.» Uniquely, roughly, sweetly his own, Sebastian's kisses were a bit overpowering even to a strong man, and no one would have accused Peter of being a particularly strong man after the last couple of days.

In truth he felt a bit light-headed, so he let Sebastian hold him and cuddle him a little. But he was able to stay on his own two feet when Sebastian lifted his head, a minor victory, but one he would take.

«Shower,» Sebastian repeated. «Baby, I hate to see you so messed up over this. I don't know what to do for you.»

«Someone's got to mourn him, Sebastian. It wouldn't be right to just…let it go.» «Yeah, I got that. Come on, now.»

Sebastian pulled his clothes off and left them in a pile on the bedroom floor. He followed Peter into the bathroom. Peter stood there with the tile warm under his bare feet while Sebastian turned on the hot water and finished undressing him, then pulled him by the wrist into the big glass shower.

Peter had built this bathroom during one of the times he and Sebastian were living together. They had discovered the joys of each other's bodies slick with hot water and soap, and Peter had a shower built big enough for both of them.

And it was nice to lean back in Sebastian's arms, feel those rough hands lathering up, moving down across his chest, under his arms, down the length of his back, around to his belly, then down around his balls.

Sebastian had both arms around him, one hand slick with soap wrapped around his cock, the other deeper between his legs, his balls held in rough fingers. Peter bent his head forward, let the hot water roll across the back of his neck. Oh, that was good. He was weak enough to melt into a puddle on the tiles, but Sebastian wouldn't let him fall.

Sebastian pulled Peter's foreskin back, carefully soaped the head, dumped handfuls of warm water over Peter's cock to douse the soap.

«What are you doing? Forget it. I'm too tired to fool around.» He was half asleep already. His head was lolling back against Sebastian's chest.

«Just making sure my little Tootsie Pop is ready to taste,» and Sebastian pulled him back against his body so his rising cock was lodged against Peter's ass.

«Your little Tootsie Pop? Six months alone in a Yukon River fish camp. I'm the first ass you've come across, lucky me.» «Stop it.» «How was it, Sebastian?»

«It was lonely, Peter. I was lonely for you.» Both arms were tight around Peter's waist, and they swayed together, some quiet music Sebastian was humming in his ear. «I couldn't believe it when Susan called me. She said Peter had had a fling with some lovely young boy and now he was dead, there was trouble, and for a second I thought she meant you, that you were dead. I got so dizzy I almost passed out. Then she kept talking, how you were hurting, and I was thinking, No fucking way. Not my Peter. How could Peter fall in love with somebody else? Why didn't he tell me? Did he need me, and I wasn't there?» Peter could feel Sebastian's mouth moving down the back of his neck, palms splayed flat against his belly. «And then I thought maybe it was all just too much, too much and not enough, and you'd left me behind and moved on.»

«Too much and not enough. That sounds like us, all right. Why'd you come if you thought I had fallen in love with someone else?»

Sebastian lifted his head. «I wanted to help out. I thought you would be taking it hard if somebody was hurt here at the hotel. I wanted to help, but I wanted you, too. I thought I needed to come and remind you that you belong to me, Peter. Remind you that you don't have any fucking business touching any other man than me, not in this lifetime.» «I'm tired, Sebastian.»

Sebastian's arms tightened around Peter's waist, and he tugged him back against his broad chest. «How tired? I don't actually need you awake for this next part.»

Peter turned in his arms, but he kept his face hidden against Sebastian's chest. Sebastian stroked the wet hair out of his eyes. «It's okay, honey.» His voice was deeper than usual, almost tender. «I'll take care of you. But I'm not going away so you can lay in bed feeling miserable and alone. Are you feeling guilty? Do you feel like you would be betraying that boy?»

«I don't think so. I'm too numb to feel much of anything. Sebastian, do you mind having Jacob's cello in the bedroom?»

Sebastian shook his head. «No, I like it there. I'm not blaming him for falling for you, Peter. None of it was his fault, certainly not getting killed. That really pisses me off, that someone would murder your boy right here at the hotel.»

Peter stared up into his dark eyes. What was he thinking? Peter didn't know, and was surprised at how uneasy it made him feel. It had been a long time since he didn't know what was going through Sebastian's head. There was something complicated in Sebastian's eyes, something closed off and new. Sebastian was mad, but he wasn't mad at Jacob. So that left… «Did he play for you, Peter? He brought the cello up here to play for you?» «Yeah, he did.»

«Then let's keep it right where it is.» Sebastian reached over Peter's shoulder, turned off the water, but he kept his other arm around Peter's shoulders, holding their bodies tightly together. He pushed open the glass door of the shower and grabbed the fluffy towel from the rack. «Hey, that's warm! Did you put in heated towel racks?»

«Yes, I did. Do you like them? I wanted to spoil you a little bit. I put them in at Christmas.» The towels were hugely expensive, Egyptian cotton in a lovely deep rose color, and nothing had ever felt softer or warmer to Peter than that towel in Sebastian's hands, scrubbing gently at his hair and his back, around his neck and down his chest. Sebastian rubbed it against his own cheeks, gave his hair a quick shake, slid it across his back.

«What's with this hair?» Peter put his fingers in Sebastian's shaggy black hair, watched as the layers fell perfectly back down to his shoulders and into his eyes. «Don't even try and tell me you cut this yourself with the dog scissors.»

Sebastian laughed. «I was taking some of the yearlings into Fairbanks and I got a haircut while I was there.» He leaned down, kissed Peter next to his mouth. «Maybe I wanted to come see you. I wanted to look hot, thought I'd impress you a bit.» «I'm impressed!» «Good.» Sebastian kissed him some more. «Why were you taking the dogs to Fairbanks? Were they sick?»

«No, I sold them. I was meeting a buyer, I guy I knew from the Yukon Quest who was building up his stable. Are you gonna stop talking now?»

Peter didn't have a chance to reply, because Sebastian kissed him again, on the lips this time, kissed him like he meant business and no more fooling around. The temperature went up a few degrees, Sebastian's hands digging into his shoulders, tongue moving urgently into his mouth, his cock rising sure as the sun against Peter's belly. «I lied. I want you awake for this part.» * * * * *

Sebastian was physically strong the way very few men were anymore – strong like men who chopped their own wood, wrestled sled dogs across a thousand miles of frozen Yukon wilderness, hunted and packed a moose, butchered it for meat. His hands were rough, hard with callus, and Peter felt his knuckles. «No broken bones this year, Sebastian?»

Sebastian closed his hands into fists, opened them again. «I don't think so, but they feel a little stiffer than they used to, Peter.» He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Peter's cock, lying hard and dark against his belly. «Some things are stiffer in the morning, some things aren't.»

«Maybe there's something going around. I've noticed that, too. But you seem to be having your usual effect on me, Sebastian.»

Sebastian was a man of few words, thought action was always preferable to chatter. He bent his head over Peter's cock, wet, warm lips on the head, then Sebastian's mouth was sinking on him, sucking him in, the cut ends of his hair sliding across Peter's stomach. A slow tongue, a slow suck, hard hands, and then Peter could smell it, the familiar spicy warm scent of Sebastian making love, the way he smelled in warm, dark places. It felt like a hook and jerk in his belly, Sebastian throwing a line in the water and catching him, loving him, controlling him, and Peter gave in to him, of course, like he always did, loving the helplessness, because it was Sebastian. «Now, Peter. Give it to me now.»

And he did, coming on great crashing waves of yearning and pleasure, jerking and bucking against Sebastian's mouth, of course he did what Sebastian told him to do. He always had. * * * * * «Roll over.»

«I can't, Sebastian. I'm too tired.» His eyes were closed, and he was floating in a dreamy, cool cloud, his muscles as limp as vanilla pudding. He didn't want to move. Arms thrown above his head, legs splayed out, he was warm and tired and safe and satisfied.

Sebastian fell on him, nuzzled in his neck with a growl. «Fine. I'll take care of it. Just lay still.»

And so Peter lay still, happiness bubbling up in his throat like laughter, while Sebastian crawled across him, kissed his long throat, kissed his mouth, tongue sliding between his lips, and Sebastian raised his hips up a little, thrust against him like they were fucking, cocks dancing with each other, Oh God, Peter, please… Then he was coming, groans as dark and rich as the moonlight on his black hair, and Peter reached a lazy hand up to his ass, to hold

him in place so he wouldn't roll over and move away. Sebastian collapsed against him, head on his shoulder. «Jesus, Peter. Sometimes I think…» «You think what?»

«I think you've got my soul in your kitchen somewhere, a little jar in the spice cabinet, next to the candied ginger. I can only go so far away from you, only for so long, before I have to come back and let you fill me up again.»

«Why do you need to leave in the first place, Sebastian? You keep coming back, but for how long this time? Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing to drive you away. It's like you're just waiting for me to cut you loose.» «Yeah, right. Like you're waiting for hell to freeze over.»

Chapter Four

Peter woke with a snatch of remembered music fading from his mind. What had he heard? It was early, and the heft of the body by his side told him immediately that it was Sebastian's forearm draped across his belly. He scooted back until their bodies were spooned together, and Sebastian's warmth, the smell of him sleeping, began to lull him back to sleep.

Then the sound of a door opening, a high-pitched shout, cut off in mid yell, the thump of a body hitting the floor and footsteps pounding down the stairs. Peter was up and into a pair of boxers in seconds. Sebastian was awake, too, pulling off the down quilt. «Peter, where's my shotgun?» «The top of the closet.» «Slow down! Will you just slow down? Wait, let me get the gun first.»

«Somebody could be hurt, Sebastian!» Peter jerked open his door and ran down the hall to the guest wing. The small table that held the telephone was overturned. Mike was lying still on the carpet, but Peter could tell he was still alive. He was holding both hands up to his head, and as Peter knelt next to him, he groaned and rolled over. «Mike, what happened? Lie still. I'll call an ambulance.»

Jesse and Phillip came tumbling out of their bedroom in flannel pajama bottoms decorated with… Peter stared. What the hell? It looked like erect cocks with balls attached, flying around on fluffy white Cupid's wings. O-kay! Jesse's were purple, and Phillip's bright red.

They stared down at Mike and Peter, on their knees in the hall. Peter could hear the yip and scrabble of puppies confined to a cardboard box coming from the room behind them.

«Peter, somebody was in Jacob's room. I heard something, like someone going through the drawers…» Mike gasped, went silent, and Phillip and Jesse froze, their backs pressed against the wall. Peter could hear Sebastian's quiet tread in the hall behind him, then the unmistakable sounds of a shotgun shell being pumped into a chamber.

«Sebastian, he's hurt. I need to call an ambulance.» The rapidly swelling lump and abrasion on Mike's forehead looked like a concussion in the making. Peter could picture his liability insurance skyrocketing by the minute.

«Is anyone still in the house? I mean, anyone who isn't supposed to be?» Sebastian's voice was deeper than normal in the quiet of the hall.

«Like who?» Phillip asked, gazing frankly over every inch of Sebastian, who had not wasted time on boxers. His pubic hair still showed the unmistakable signs of dried semen.

«Like the bad guy,» he explained, patiently. «Do I hear those puppies in your room?» «Uh…»

«Mike heard someone in Jacob's room,» Peter reported. «He came out to investigate, and he got hit on the head. Where did the man go, Mike?» «Down the stairs.»

Sebastian turned and ran down the staircase, the shotgun up and ready for action. Mike sat up, and Phillip and Jesse turned around and watched Sebastian. Phillip nudged Jesse with an elbow. «Athabascan, baby!» His whisper wasn't quiet enough, and he turned around and glanced at Peter. «Sorry, Peter, it's just that, you know…»

«He's gorgeous. Yes, I know. Can one of you get a washcloth wet with cool water for Mike's forehead?» Peter turned to Mike, who was staring down the staircase. «Did you see who it was that hit you?»

Mike shook his head. «Someone big, dressed in those brown canvas things everyone here seems to wear. Black ski mask. I think a man, but that was more an impression of size, Peter. Those ugly rubber boots. I don't…» He closed his eyes, rubbed across his forehead. «I don't know what else.»

Sebastian was back a few minutes later, and he moved past his admiring fans in the hall, went down Peter's wing and came back with a pair of faded old Levi's, minus the shotgun.

«The back kitchen door was open,» he said. «I did a quick look-see, and I think whoever was up here is gone now. But Travis isn't at his post, and it doesn't look like Casper has joined this party.» He looked over at Jesse and Phillip, hands on his hips. «Didn't I tell you two to let the puppies spend the night in the garden? These two are going to be working sled dogs. They're not going to freeze outside.»

«But, Sebastian…» Jesse looked close to tears all of the sudden. «It was out in the garden that…»

They were all quiet for a moment. «Yeah, okay.» Sebastian turned away. «Take them to the kitchen, then.» He watched as they went back to their room, emerged holding the cardboard box. «Peter, I called Susan from downstairs. She's on the way.»

Mike stood up. «Peter, I'm okay, but let me get dressed before the cops get here.» His nose was as red as the bump on his forehead.

«Of course, Mike. And, while Susan is a friend of mine, she would not be able to overlook blatant signs of illegality.»

«Like your bong on the dresser, man.» Sebastian nodded at the open doorway of Mike's room. «You're not supposed to be smoking up here.» «Mike, can I help? Help you find a rehab, or…»

Mike's voice was brittle. «Actually, Peter, I was just hoping to get some rest here. That's why I came to Alaska. But I wouldn't say the events of the last few days have been very restful. And now I've been attacked. Peter, your hotel may be the most dangerous place I've been in some time.» Mike walked into his room, holding the door frame for support, closed and locked the door behind him with a sharp click.

«Blatant signs of illegality,» Sebastian repeated. «You just talk like that because you know it turns me on.» * * * * *

Susan studied the lock on the kitchen door, inside and out, and stated the obvious: «Doesn't look like anyone had to break in. Are you sure you locked it?»

Peter ran a hand across his aching forehead. «No, I'm not really sure about anything. I usually lock the door, Susan. But my routine has been unusually disrupted this week.» Peter could hear the brittle politeness in his voice.

Sebastian glanced at him. «Sit down, Peter.» He brought the coffeepot to the table and started refilling cups. «Just take some Tylenol. Why are you being so stubborn?»

Peter pressed a hand to his queasy stomach. He needed food, not Tylenol. He was up and out of the chair before Sebastian sat back down. Peter could see Susan exchange a look with Sebastian, some brother-sister communication that Peter interpreted as just ignore him, he's overwrought from Susan and let him cook, I'm hungry from Sebastian.

Waffles. Thick, golden brown Belgian waffles with bacon and blueberries. He glanced at the kitchen door. Was Nelson going to bring him some blueberries, or was he going to

have to go outside and pick them himself? His nerve reared up and shied away from going into the garden. Not yet. He wasn't ready.

Susan put both hands down flat on the table. «We've got to consider two possibilities, and we need to figure this out pretty quickly. Either this had something to do with Jacob, or it didn't.»

«What, you mean his killing was something random?» Sebastian's voice was skeptical. «The bad guy went into Jacob's room last night, was pulling drawers open. He was looking for something Jacob had. That makes it not random.»

«Agreed. So then we narrow it down to this: was this trouble waiting for him here, or did this trouble follow him from California?»

Peter sprayed butter-flavored Pam over the big griddles, set them heating. «Sebastian, how many waffles do you want?» «Four.»

Peter turned back to the fridge and pulled out the bacon. «Four. Right.» Sebastian knew these waffles were as big as plates. Was he just trying to piss him off? «Why don't you just eat what I give you?»

«Why don't you stop asking me, then, if you don't want to hear what I think? Just give me what you want to give me, Peter.»

Clashing dirty looks. Peter started laying out strips of bacon. «Susan, Jacob had been hurt before. Somebody hurt him, we already know that. Why would we look for someone else, besides the bastard who already hurt him?» The burn of tears in his eyes was unexpected. Peter kept his face turned away from the table.

«Peter, we found his lover. The man he was living with before. He's a cop. And he hasn't left San Francisco. He said they split up two weeks ago, and that things have been rocky for a couple of months. He admitted the bruises, said Jacob put a few on him, too.»

«That is such bullshit!» Peter was furious all of a sudden, nearly threw the spatula across the kitchen. «How big is this shit-heel? Jacob was small, Susan. What was he, five-eight? And the bruises were…» He stopped suddenly and closed his eyes. «I know, Peter.» Susan's voice was gentle. «What's the man's name?» «I'm not going to tell you.»

Sebastian stood up, joined him at the griddle. He picked up a fork and started turning bacon. «What are you doing, Sebastian?» «I'm just standing here, Peter. Don't bite my head off.»

«Okay, so the abusive ex-lover is a dead end,» Susan said. «He didn't know Jacob was here, thought he was in Canada somewhere, wasn't expecting to hear from him again. And his alibi held. He was at work during the time in question, and he never left California. So it's something about Jacob and this place. Someone here. He must have seen something, recognized someone. Or something happened after he got here, or…»

Peter looked at her. «Yeah, something happened after he got here. I happened. I let something happen.»

The satellite phone started ringing, and Peter stared at it for a moment as if he couldn't understand what it was. It was his line to Sebastian, and Sebastian was standing next to him. He picked up the heavy receiver. «Hello?» «Sebastian, is that you?»

Peter passed the phone over. It was a young girl's voice, upset. Didn't Sebastian say something about letting a couple of teenagers stay in his place?

«Charlie, calm down, what's… Anything left? Okay, are you safe? Where? He did what?»

Peter started separating the egg whites for the waffle batter. Whatever was happening, they were on a roll, a roll of disasters. They needed to just keep on their toes, keep limber, ready to dodge the next blow. But even he wasn't expecting to hear Elvis, the lyrics to 'Suspicious Minds,' not sung exactly, more of a slurred shout by someone too drunk to remember the words, but who had taken the idea of the song to heart. Peter suspected Travis hadn't liked being questioned in a murder investigation, even if it was only by Susan.