Stranger Things Have Happened: An Adrien English Write Your Own Damn Story (The Adrien English Mysteries) (6 page)

“No. Should it?”

“Yeah. You went to high school with Landis. Apparently he had quite a crush on you.”

“I don’t remember anybody named Grant Landis.”

“Well, he sure remembered you. His basement was plastered with pictures of you, starting with you at age sixteen in your tennis whites and ending with you sacked out and naked in your bedroom a couple of days ago.”

You stare at Riordan. Heat floods your entire body and then drains away leaving you ice cold. You try to hide the fact that you’re shaking by drinking more whiskey.

Riordan goes on to explain that Grant Landis has been knocking off your old high school classmates due to some scandal that happened while you were out sick during your junior year. You only follow about a third of the explanation because you can’t get past the horror of realizing Bruce — Grant — killed Robert. Grant was here in your home. He could have killed you. You have no idea, in fact, what he did actually do to you — but maybe that’s as well.

“Are you all right?” Riordan asks suddenly.

You nod. You have no idea if you’re all right or not.

Riordan says he has to get back to the station, they’re still processing Green — Landis — completing the slam dunk case against him.

You walk him to the door. “Thank you.”

He seems to hesitate. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t move. You stare into his eyes and it occurs to you that if he wasn’t straight you’d think that maybe he was…well…interested.

But he is straight, right?

“Good night,” he says finally.

“Good night. And thank you again for believing me.”

He nods, but…is that a flicker of disappointment in his gaze? If he leaves now, you probably won’t see him again. Or at least, you won’t get this chance again.

“Detective,” you say quickly, as he turns away.

Riordan glances back.

“I was just wondering…you know how I write murder mysteries?”

He nods, looking slightly pained.

“Well, the thing is, I don’t have any kind of background or resource for police procedure.”

“I’ll say,” he says, abruptly energized. “I talked to your publisher, got a good look over that manuscript of yours.” He shakes his head. “Christ. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

You ignore that, forging stubbornly on. “And I was wondering if, seeing that you
are
an expert, I could maybe…I don’t know. Maybe call you sometime and, er, interview you?”

His expression lightens. “Yeah. Sure.”

“We could get together and talk. Or maybe I could take you to dinner in payment. Or something. I don’t know.”

He looks thoughtful. He’s not smiling exactly, but he does look sort of pleased. Cautiously pleased. “Yeah. Give me a call. I’ll be happy to set you straight.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I want
that
exactly,” pops out of your mouth.

He gives you a long look. He grins. “Call me Jake,” he says.

The End

I
t rains the next morning. The rain drums down on the roof and beats against the windows. The narrow, one-way streets flood, as per usual, and customers are few and far between, which is fine, given the state of the bookstore after yesterday’s break-in.

Your neighbors at the Thai restaurant helped you raise the fallen bookshelves, and you managed to carry out most of the broken glass, smashed bric-a-brac, and ruined books last night, but you can’t help but feel depressed and worried. Regardless of what the police think, you know that burglary was no coincidence.

But what could the burglar have been looking for? You remember the strange behavior of the tour group members — okay, the stranger than usual behavior of the tour group members. The lady with the frizzy dark hair and that old guy. What was his name? Henry Harrison. Could there be some connection between their wandering around your private rooms and the break-in? Could there be some connection to Rob’s death?

It seems so unlikely. But more unlikely than Rob being murdered?

Your gloomy thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of Angus Gordon, a temp sent over by the employment agency. Angus is slim and slight, with John Lennon specs and a wispy goatee. He tells you he likes to be called “Gus,” but you can’t imagine anyone calls him Gus. You can’t imagine anyone calls him much of anything.

You put him to work reshelving books.

A locksmith arrives before lunch to change all the locks, inside and out. The police did reluctantly admit that they did not find any keys on Rob’s body or in his home, but you suspect they think you carried the keys off yourself after committing murder.

As hard as it is to believe, the police really do seem to believe you’re a killer — and it’s pretty clear to you that they are going to do their best to find enough evidence to build their case and arrest you.

After Angus leaves for lunch, the reporter from
Boytimes
phones again.

“You’d better talk to somebody, Mr. English. Tell your story,” advises Bruce Green. “Your next interview with Riordan and Chan will be downtown, take my word for it. They plan to have an arrest by the end of the week.”

You try to speak calmly, but with every word he’s confirming your own fears. “What is it you think you can do for me?”

“I can get the support of the gay community behind you. Just talk to me, Mr. English. Five minutes. That’s all. Off the record.”

__________

If you decide to continue speaking to Bruce Green, click here

If you decide to keep your own counsel, click here

OR maybe you’d like another look at those pirates, in which case click here

“T
hank you, Mr. Green, but no thank you.” You disconnect and go fix yourself Cup-a-Soup for lunch.

You spend the rest of the day sorting through the dumped papers and files, and worrying about being arrested. But maybe being arrested would be preferable to…well, other things.

What those other things might be, you don’t quite dare think about.

That evening the Partners in Crime weekly writing group meets at the bookstore. Claude arrives first and again tries to persuade you to break into Robert’s apartment and search for anything that might implicate him in the murder. You point out that you’re as much a suspect as he is — and if you are caught breaking into Robert’s home you will definitely jump the queue to Suspect #1.

Does Claude realize how guilty he’s acting?

Next, Ted and Jean Finch arrive. They offer the theory that Robert fell victim to a serial killer preying on the gay community.

You understand that they’re trying to be helpful, but…really, no. Not. Helping.

The other two members of the group arrive. You remember that Max Siddons had some kind of run-in with Robert, though you don’t remember the details.

Robert had his good qualities — and that’s what you would like to focus on now — but you can’t help noticing that not many people are grieving for him. It would be horrible to find out Robert was killed by a mutual friend. Or even a mutual acquaintance.

The rest of the week passes and before you know it, it’s Friday and you’re dusting off your Hugo Boss suit to wear to Robert’s funeral.

It’s not a big funeral, but both the police and the media show up. On your way to the gravesite, Tara confronts you. She apologizes for her hysterical phone call earlier in the week. You tell her it’s okay. You understand. And in a way, you do.

No sooner do you leave Tara cleaning divots of grass and mud from her heels than you bump into a tall, rather homely man in an expensive suit. He introduces himself as Bruce Green, the reporter who keeps calling you.

Green has warm, kind brown eyes and an attractive smile. You realize maybe you’ve been too hasty brushing him off.

While you’re chatting with Green, trying to make up your mind about talking to him, Detectives Riordan and Chan show up and ask to speak to you privately. That’s one thing you know for sure you
don’t
want to do.

__________

If you decide to continue speaking to Bruce Green, click here

If you decide to break into Robert’s apartment, click here

D
espite the fact that you’re traveling at about seventy miles an hour on a crowded freeway, you start fishing around for your cell phone. I guess you figure Claude can’t wait to hear the news that the police already searched Robert’s?

Anyway, you finally find your phone. You glance away from the road just long enough to find Claude’s name in your “favorites,” but traffic is an unpredictable thing. The semi truck in front of you comes to a sudden halt. You look up in time to see the hood of your Bronco plow right into his brake lights.

Thankfully you don’t remember anything after that.

When you finally wake up in the hospital, you can’t move your legs. Or your arms. Or anything from the neck down. Your doctor regretfully informs you that you’ve suffered a C4 spinal cord injury and you’re lucky to be breathing on your own. And breathing is
all
you can do on your own. You’re completely paralyzed. It’s not even easy to speak up now when you need help. And you need help with everything. You can’t scratch your nose, let alone pick up a glass of water or push off the blankets when you’re too warm.

You’re rarely too warm, though. Mostly you’re cold. Cold and numb.

So you’ve gone from being a guy with a bad heart to a quadriplegic guy with a bad heart.

Not too long after the accident you have surgery and your spine is fused so that at least you will be able to sit erect in a wheelchair and not have to lie inert in bed all the time. No, now you can sit inert in your chair.

When you’re well enough for visitors, Detective Riordan comes to see you. He brings flowers, and seems self-conscious about it. He tells you the investigation into Robert’s death has moved in a different direction. The police are now looking into Tara’s financial situation. She was seriously in debt so being the beneficiary of Robert’s life insurance policy was a lifesaver for her. And of course she was a woman scorned, and everyone knows how that goes.

Detective Riordan clearly has you confused with someone who gives a damn. In case he hasn’t noticed, you’ve got your own problems now. You let him know this in words of one syllable, and he goes away.

You spend a month in the ICU and then a couple of months in a very expensive rehabilitation center learning how to breathe properly and swallow so you won’t strangle yourself.

It could be worse — as people can’t seem to resist telling you. You could be dead. You hear that a lot. You’re too polite to respond with what you’re actually thinking. You
are
lucky in that your family is very wealthy and you’ll have all the care you need, and since you require twenty-four-hour complete assistance with everything from bathing to eating, that’s a very good thing.

While you’re in rehab, you learn that your mother assumes you will move in with her after you’re released. She’s already handled the sale of Cloak and Dagger Books and had your belongings moved to her home in Porter Ranch. The house is being remodeled to accommodate the new and unimproved you, and she’s busily interviewing private nurses.

Your options for suicide are reduced these days, but you can’t help thinking a lot about driving your motorized wheelchair into oncoming traffic. If only your keepers will ever let you get near traffic again.

But then Claude comes to visit and suggests you move in with him. He confesses he’s always been a little in love with you, and he wants to take care of you. “Someone has to,
ma belle
.”

Tears well in your eyes when Claude says you could be his partner in the restaurant. There’s nothing wrong with your brain, and you’ve always been pretty good at business.

“We would make a good team,
non
?”

Hell. You can’t wipe your eyes, you can’t wipe your nose, crying is liable to drown you. The tears tickle their way down your face and you gulp in shuddery breaths. Claude makes a soothing sound, mops your wet face for you, holds a tissue for you to blow your nose. Welcome to the rest of your life.

As grateful as you are, you feel you have to be honest with Claude, and you tell him you’ve never thought of him as anything but a friend. A dear friend, but…a friend.

Claude just chuckles in that deep, sexy voice. He tells you love will come.

Which brings up another, though related, subject. But Claude just brushes off your concerns and repeats that love will come.

__________

If you decide to move in with your mother, click here

If you decide to move in with Claude, click here

Y
ou go to Brits Restaurant and Pub on East Colorado Boulevard. There’s a dining room, but you sit in the pub section which has a ten-seat bar — nine seats of which are empty — a small TV playing soccer, and a handful of uncomfortable little tables.

You order a Harp. Riordan orders a Bass ale.

“So what piece of incriminating evidence do you think you left at Hersey’s?” Riordan inquires. He takes a long pull on his ale.

Drinking on duty. Hm. He didn’t strike you as the type. But then you probably don’t look like an amateur burglar either.

“I told you. I thought Robert might have brought some invoices home with him.”

Riordan looks pained. “Come off it. You’re smart. Sort of. You know how it works. You know there are channels. Not to mention the fact that Hersey would no more have brought his work home with him than he’d have tried out for Father of the Year.”

“Well, let me ask you something,” you say. “Why were you hanging out at Robert’s apartment? What were
you
looking for?”

His eyes narrow, but he says mildly enough, “I was playing a hunch.”

“What hunch?”