Текст книги "Stranger on the Shore "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The room smelled sharp with sex and spicy orange. Pierce’s face was grave and beautiful as he smiled down at Griff.

They shifted position on the mattress, Pierce lifting and parting Griff’s legs so that he was reclining with his exposed and vulnerable ass in Pierce’s naked lap. It was embarrassing and erotic and exciting all at the same time. He shivered as he felt the blunt head of Pierce’s cock rub over his asshole, nudge resistant muscle. Griff bit his lip and pushed down on the familiar scrape and burn—and at the same instant, Pierce groaned and shoved forward, sheathing himself.

There was a moment of overwhelming fullness, of having to accept, coalesce, or be rent in half. Griff forced open his eyes. Pierce stared back at him. There was no closing himself off from it. They were joined in the here and now. They were together in this moment. And this moment felt like forever.

Griff’s mouth curved, and Pierce smiled faintly in reply, no longer talking. He began to move, hips rocking in strong, deliberately timed thrusts, and every stroke seemed to brush across Griff’s prostate, sending hot little jolts of electricity shooting from the base of his spine to the back of his skull.

No hiding like this. No concealing what he was feeling, everything showed on his face. But everything showed on Pierce’s face too.

Griff wriggled, locked his legs around Pierce’s lean waist, and Pierce lost his rhythm for an instant, and then found it, thrusting harder, deeper, pounding to an urgent finish in short strokes. The slap of Griff’s buttocks against Pierce’s muscular thighs, the pinch and press of his balls against the moist heat of Pierce’s groin, Pierce’s soft grunts were doing it for Griff. He threw his head back and yelled, hands knotting in the bedclothes, coming in jets of creamy white, spattering Pierce’s chest and shoulders.

Pierce gave a breathless, ragged laugh, and a moment later he was coming too.

* * *

Some time later Pierce raised himself off Griff and flopped back on the stack of pillows, pulling Griff over so that his head rested on Pierce’s chest. Griff could hear the steady, reassuring beat of Pierce’s heart. Pierce’s fingertips absently traced the bones and damp hollows of Griff’s spine. “Muriel’s under sedation until further notice.”

“I’m not surprised.” His last sight of Muriel that evening had been of her staring into space, her mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.

“I have to say, I didn’t see that one coming. I’ve never known Muriel to care much about anyone other than herself.”

Griff said slowly, “This is different though. Alvin was her son.”

“What?” Pierce sat up, staring at him. “That’s a new theory.”

“I’m pretty sure of it. I don’t have any proof.”

“Of that I’m sure.”

“Everyone in the family insisted that Alvin was an Arlington, that they could feel it, that the family resemblance was too great to be coincidence. So if you start with the assumption that the family is correct and Alvin was an Arlington, you have to consider how he came into being.”

Pierce snorted. “Came into being? You mean who fathered the bastard?”

“Or mothered him. That’s where we overlooked the obvious.”

“It’s still not obvious to me.”

“Alvin has—had—five potential lines of parentage. Jarrett, Marcus, Matthew, Mike and Muriel. I’m going by Gemma’s journal because she provides a pretty good chronicle of what was happening in the family around the time that Brian would have to have been conceived.”

Pierce shook his head. “This isn’t even circumstantial.”

“Everyone seems to agree that Matthew adored Gemma, and that they stayed devoted to each other even after Brian disappeared. So I don’t think Matthew is viable. According to Gemma, Marcus was still in love with her. She and everyone else kept hoping he would move on, but he didn’t, so I think Marcus is probably a no go. Not for sure. But he’s not my first choice.”

“First choice.” Pierce groaned. “This is pure supposition. Conjecture.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not right. Mike was getting pregnant, pregnant, and recovering from her pregnancy during the crucial time period. Plus, she wouldn’t have bothered to hide another baby. Why should she? I think she’d have even enjoyed sticking it to her family with another illegitimate pregnancy.”

“Now there I agree.”

“I considered Jarrett—”

Pierce made a choked sound.

“But Jarrett is too meticulous, too much of a control freak not to be aware of any possible illegitimate offspring he might have had.”

“You think Jarrett would...” Pierce was too flabbergasted to continue.

“So that leaves Muriel. According to Gemma, Muriel left home to ‘find herself’ for about a year right around the time period we’re looking at. This is a woman who doesn’t drive.”

“Not driving doesn’t mean anything.” But Pierce sounded thoughtful. “She was gone for quite a while, that’s true. In fact, it was more like eighteen months.”

“No one seems to have known where she was or what she was doing during that time.”

“You think she was dealing with an unwanted pregnancy?”

“I do, yeah. I think she had the baby and adopted it out and then flew home to the nest. And I think that’s one reason Alvin didn’t reject the idea of a paternity test outright. I think he knew the results would be confusing in a way that might work for him. I also think that’s why Muriel was so thrilled and so happy about ‘Brian’s’ return, because from what I’ve seen of her so far, that’s not the reaction I’d have expected.”

Pierce made a noncommittal noise.

“And finally, I think that’s how Alvin came to have Tiny Teddy. I don’t think Tiny Teddy disappeared with Brian that night. I think the toy remained at Winden Hall. I think somewhere along the line Muriel came across it and hung on to it. Either because she didn’t want to upset Gemma or because in the back of her mind she thought it might come in useful at some point.”

“You think she planned this from the beginning?”

“No. But I think maybe the idea took root along the way. Maybe she looked Alvin up for other reasons or maybe she ran into him by coincidence, but I think she did come up with the idea to pass him off as Brian and thereby get her son back and inherit the entire estate—which she always believed she was entitled to as the eldest child. And I think Alvin would have been more than happy to go along with it.”

“That’s a lot of hunch and some guesswork but not much else.”

“But possible, right?”

“It’s not impossible.” Pierce considered. “Then where is Brian?”

Griff closed his eyes. “Where he’s always been. That’s what I mean about Brian’s kidnapping not being connected to Alvin’s appearance—or murder.”

“But whoever killed Alvin—”

“No.” Griff opened his eyes. “Whoever killed Alvin is not necessarily the same person who took Brian. In fact, I’m sure it’s not the same person. I think what you said is true, unfortunately. Somebody was counting on their share of the estate.”

“Not Muriel obviously.”

“Not Muriel. She had every reason to want Alvin alive and inheriting.”

Pierce was watching him closely. He said slowly, “You seem to think you know who took Brian.”

Griff looked away. “I’m not sure. I don’t have any proof and you’d think I was nuts if I told you.”

“You think you can get proof?”

There was something in Pierce’s voice. Griff threw him an uncertain look. “If it’s there, now that I know what I’m looking for. I’m not positive though. And if I can’t prove it, it’s better to stay quiet.”

“I’m not sure I agree. Other people are involved here. Including Odell Johnson.”

Griff looked up. “What happens now to Johnson?”

Pierce shook his head. “It’s complicated. If Alvin is the imposter we both believe he is, then his story of wandering away that night is bogus, and there goes Johnson’s alibi. The conviction stands and its back to square one.”

“I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

Pierce was studying him again. Griff said, “We should sleep, don’t you think?”

Pierce started to answer, stopped, cocked an eyebrow. “Well, we could,” he said. “Or maybe we could do something else to pass the time.”

Griff laughed and reached for him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“You’re okay, Griff. You’re safe here.” Pierce’s voice cut through the sadness, the aching for what was gone forever. “You’re dreaming. Open your eyes.”

Griff opened his eyes.

Pierce leaned over him, outlined in the pool of lamplight. His face was shadowed, but his touch was kind and familiar.

“Sorry,” Griff jerked out. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Pierce held up a book with his other hand.

“What time is it?”

“About three. I couldn’t sleep. What did you dream?”

Griff looked inward at the dream, and his throat closed. He pressed his face against Pierce, feeling the wiry softness of hair, the warmth of Pierce’s skin, breathing in unison with the slow, even rise and fall of Pierce’s chest. Pierce’s cologne was comforting to him now, as was the even thump of Pierce’s heart beneath his ear. He shook his head a little, his throat too tight to speak.

When Pierce rested his face against Griff’s hair, Griff felt his eyes fill with stupid, hot emotion.

“You can tell me.” He could feel the vibration of Pierce’s deep voice against his face. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

Maybe it would be easier. Maybe not. What would be worse. Being right or being wrong? The only thing he knew for sure was once the words were spoken, there was no going back. And he wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to have his line of retreat cut.

He drew back, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He shook his head. The cover of Pierce’s book registered. “You’re reading Gatsby?”

Pierce nodded

“What do you think of it so far?”

He could feel Pierce considering his words. “The writing is beautiful. It reads like a fairytale to me.”

Griff weighed that. It was a shrewd observation. There was a fairytale quality to Gatsby. A fairytale that did not end well for the prince. He liked that Pierce didn’t pretend he liked the book more than he did, but that he could appreciate what was there to appreciate.

Pierce said, “Tell me what it is you like about it so much.”

Griff grimaced. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“I thought you were trying to distract me.” Pierce brushed his knuckles against the bristle on Griff’s jaw.

“There are better ways.”

“I know. Talk to me.”

Griff joked, “Talk? Careful. That sounds like we’re getting serious.”

Pierce continued to watch him with that steady gaze. Beneath dark and curling lashes his eyes were the color of warm and sweet things—honey and amber and firelight and apricot brandy.

Griff gave in. “It’s not a romance. Everyone always thinks it’s a romance.”

“So what is it? Why does it matter to you so much?”

“It’s beautiful. The writing. It makes your heart hurt.” Griff quoted, “‘In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.’”

“Nice. But there are lots of beautifully written books out there.”

“It’s about a lot of things. It’s about dreams and what to value and when to let go. It’s about becoming whatever you want to be and about what it means to be true to yourself.” And it was about the degenerate rich, the falsity of the American dream, reckless excess, class warfare, and much else that suddenly seemed less absolute, even less important lying face-to-face with Pierce who worked with at-risk kids, drove out to do pro bono work for his elderly shut-ins, and wore a winged tattoo stamped over his tailbone.

Instead, Griff said, “And it’s like life in that it doesn’t ultimately reveal what you should believe or who was right and who was wrong. It gives you a lot to think about, to wonder about, to compare to what you know.”

“I like you,” Pierce said.

Griff laughed, not sure if Pierce was making fun of him or not. But Pierce looked perfectly serious. “I like you too,” Griff said.

“A lot. Whatever happens, I’m on your side. I mean that.”

Griff’s smile faded. “That sounds ominous. What’s going to happen?”

“I’m not sure. That’ll be up to you, I think.”

Griff didn’t have an answer, and Pierce, still sober, still serious, sat up and turned off the lamp.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly the next morning. Pierce made coffee from freshly ground beans, and there were blueberry toaster waffles with maple syrup.

“This is a real breakfast,” Griff said, and Pierce looked both amused and self-conscious.

“I think it takes sausage to be a real breakfast. Bacon at the minimum.”

“But we had sausage,” Griff said innocently.

Pierce inhaled coffee and began to cough. Griff laughed at him.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later. Pierce went to answer it and Diana strolled into the kitchen.

“Well, well. Things are moving nicely,” she observed at the sight of Griff perched at the breakfast island.

Griff hid behind his coffee cup. Pierce said, “Well, they were. Thanks.”

Diana laughed and helped herself to coffee as well. “So here’s the latest. Muriel has accused Chloe of killing Brian.”

“Where the hell did that come from?” Pierce asked.

Diana took the stool next to Griff. “Dad.”

“No, I mean where did Muriel come up with the idea that Chloe killed Brian?”

“I guess Chloe had a huge fight with Brian not long before the party. I don’t know the details. But at some point, it must have been this morning, Mike threatened to kill Muriel if she accused Chloe again. And Muriel believes she meant it.”

Pierce exhaled a long weary breath and Diana winked at Griff. “At this rate they’ll all be in jail before the day is out. Except Jarrett.” Diana’s mouth turned down. “Poor Jarrett.”

“How’s he doing this morning?” Griff was afraid to ask. He braced for the answer.

“So far, so good. That’s what Dad says anyway. He was on the phone to the hospital first thing.”

Pierce, standing on the other side of the island, took a final bite of waffle and drained his coffee cup. He put his dishes in the dishwasher. “What are you up to today?”

“I’m on my way to the office,” Diana said.

“Not you,” Pierce said. He looked at Griff. “You. What are you up to? You do know you can’t leave for Wisconsin yet, right?”

“Oh!” Diana said. “Jarrett wants to see you. That’s what he told Dad this morning.”

“Me?” Griff looked at Pierce.

Diana said, “Yes, you. He was very definite about it. He wants to see you as soon as possible.”

“I guess that’s one of the things I’m doing,” Griff said.

“Okay. Watch yourself,” Pierce said. “And don’t go around telling people you think you know who snatched Brian. Keep your mouth shut. I’m serious.”

Diana stared from Pierce to Griff. “You know who kidnapped Brian?”

“No comment,” Pierce said. “And I mean that. From either of you. To anyone outside this room.”

Diana’s mouth dropped. Pierce kissed the top of her head and then leaned over her and kissed Griff. “Hmm. Maple syrup. Nice.”

He was gone. They heard the front door slam a moment later.

Diana turned to Griff. “You’re not really planning to leave?” She seemed genuinely troubled.

“I live in Wisconsin.”

“But what about Pierce?”

He hoped she couldn’t read his expression. “Holiday romance.”

“It’s not a holiday romance, it’s a long-distance romance. Those can work.”

He forced himself to say, “Yeah, I don’t think so. We don’t really have a lot in common, you know.”

“It doesn’t take a lot of things, it takes key things. Quality not quantity.”

“You’re an expert?”

“I’m an informed observer. My parents have been blissfully happy for over fifty years. He’s a damned Dem and she’s a Republican. They argue almost constantly, they have virtually nothing in common, and they can’t bear to be away from each other for more than a day.”

Griff smiled. “That’s nice.”

“It is. You do care about Pierce, right? You look at him like you’re crazy about him.”

Griff shifted uncomfortably on the wooden stool.

“Sorry,” Diana said. “Am I out of line? Don’t answer that. Now. Do you really know who took Brian?”

“I don’t have any proof, and without it, I’m going to sound delusional. In fact, half the time I think I am delusional. Apparently it runs in the family.”

Diana chatted at him a while longer while he finished his breakfast. “I’ve got to go,” she said at last. “I’m meeting a buyer at eleven.”

“See you.” Griff rose, put his dishes and her coffee cup in the dishwasher.

“I hope so.” She continued to stand there, eyeing him speculatively.

“Something wrong?” Griff asked.

“Has Pierce told you about Roberto?”

“Who?” Griff’s stomach did a dive. He should have realized somebody like Pierce would have a complicated social life.

“Roberto was Pierce’s boyfriend in college. I thought he might have mentioned him to you.” She was still giving him that critical look.

“No.”

“Nobody mentioned Roberto?”

“No.”

Her eyes squinched shut in what appeared to be a full body wince. “God. Pierce is right. I really am a blabbermouth.” She opened her eyes. “Well, too late now. Anyway, I think you should know. I think it would help. Pierce wasn’t out in college. I mean, you’ve met him. He’s not exactly...” She gestured helplessly.

“Flamboyant?”

“Right. He’s conservative by nature. Well, he’s a lawyer. That pretty much sums it up. Anyway, he did fall in love with a boy in college. Roberto Castiglioni. And Roberto was out and he was...well, he was a Rastafarian. Which right there—”

“Wait a sec,” Griff interrupted. “Pierce used to be with a Rastafarian named Roberto?”

“Yes. He had blond dreadlocks. Bertie, not Pierce.”

“Bertie? That was his nickname?”

Diana nodded. “He was gorgeous. Truly. Blond, blue eyes...he always had this gold stubble on his jaw. Like you this morning. Anyway, Roberto wanted Pierce to come out too. And Pierce wouldn’t, and eventually they split up over it.”

“That’s understandable,” Griff said. He meant the splitting up over Pierce not being out, but actually the only part that wasn’t understandable was how Pierce had wound up dating a blond Rastafarian named Roberto. Bertie.

He was fascinated and uncomfortable. No way should he be having this conversation with Pierce’s sister.

“Yes. It is. Absolutely. Not taking sides. But Roberto held a grudge. He was really angry. Bitterly angry. And eventually he told Pierce that if he didn’t pay him ten thousand dollars, Roberto would out Pierce to our parents. Pierce refused and that’s exactly what Roberto did. He drove out here and threw a monumental scene at a big dinner party in front of our parents and a houseful of their closest friends.”

Griff tried and failed to imagine the rules of etiquette for that particular social occasion. What fork did you use for skewering your ex-boyfriend?

“And that’s the story of how my brother came out to our parents and most of the people we grew up with. Pierce has never gotten involved, really involved, with anyone since. That’s what I mean by he has trust issues.”

“I guess that would do it.”

“But in just a few days he’s managed to get more involved with you than anyone in the last ten years.”

“I...”

“I think you’re really good for him.”

Griff recovered enough to say, “I think you’re going to be late meeting your client.”

“I think you’re right.” She made a face and grabbed her purse. “Don’t tell Pierce I told you any of that. He’ll slay me.”

“Uh, I’m not sure keeping things from Pierce is the right way to help him work through his trust issues.”

Diana laughed. “See. I knew you were the right man for him!”

* * *

Overnight Jarrett Arlington had grown old. Old and frail.

Griff, uncomfortably aware of Michaela listening to every word from her chair in her father’s private hospital room, stood beside the old man’s bed watching him struggle for breath.

“I want you to find out who did this.” Jarrett’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. It wasn’t the heart attack that was going to kill him, it was grief. Would knowing the truth be better or worse? All the life was bleeding out of him. He was gray-faced and the hand feebly gripping Griff’s wrist was ice cold.

“Mr. Arlington, I’m not a detective.” Griff was being as gentle as he could, but that was the truth. He wasn’t equipped to solve a murder. He covered crime stories, he didn’t solve crimes. The fact that he held the solution to the mystery that had haunted the Arlingtons for two decades was partly luck and partly his own grotesque involvement. “I want to help, but we’ve got to let the police handle this.”

Jarrett’s fingers tightened and Griff shut up. Jarrett’s colorless lips moved. “I want the truth. I don’t care how painful. I have to know.”

“I know. I’ll help any way I can.” But Griff couldn’t help seeing that even part of the truth was liable to be too much of a shock.

Beneath half-closed eyes, Jarrett was watching him. There was a fierce spark in his drugged gaze. “You were willing to find out what happened at the beginning. There’s a reason you’re here at the end.”

Griff nodded mechanically.

Jarrett coughed and wet his lips. “It’s full circle. You wanted the story. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t want...” He stopped again at the fierce press of Jarrett’s clammy fingers.

“It’s yours. It’s your story. Find out for me what really happened.”

Griff compromised, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Good. You’re a good boy.” Jarrett closed his eyes. “You remind me...”

He was sleeping again. Griff carefully freed himself and went out into the hall. He felt shaken. That had been much harder than he expected.

The door to the private room opened and Michaela followed him into the antiseptic-smelling hall. She looked nearly as ill as her father. Her eyes were red-rimmed and there were lines carved into her face.

She said, keeping her voice low, “If you really want to be of use, tell Pierce to make sure the police don’t arrest Chloe. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Are they really looking at Chloe as a suspect?”

“Thanks to my sister, yes. Last night I thought they would arrest Marcus, but after Muriel told them Chloe threatened Brian, they seem to be focusing on Chloe.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s being questioned by Nassau P.D. Ring is with her. I can’t leave Daddy. Muriel is...” She didn’t finish the thought.

Griff watched her expression. “What do you think happened last night?”

Despite her exhaustion, anger blazed in Michaela’s eyes. “How should I know?”

“If the only thing the police have on Chloe is an argument before the party, that’s not much.”

“Of course that’s all they have! There isn’t anything else. She didn’t do it.”

Griff suggested, “Maybe the police were on the right track with Marcus?”

“Are you crazy? Marcus? What would the motive be?”

“Money?”

“Money?” She sounded like it was a foreign concept, something abstruse and absurd.

“Brian was killed for some reason,” Griff said. “There had to be some motive. Some reason.”

She stared at him as though she had only realized who she was speaking to. “I’ll tell you the reason,” she said. “This family is cursed.”

She turned and went back inside Jarrett’s room. The door closed silently behind her.