Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  Jeffrey seemed surprised. “You didn’t tell me that happened. Why not?”

  “Because I can handle it, Dad.” Embarrassed, Joshua hung his head. A tiny diamond stud winked in his earlobe.

  “What did he say to you, Joshua? Do you remember?” Paul extracted his memo pad from his pocket and clicked his pen open.

  “Oh yeah, I remember.” Angry blue eyes spit fire as he met Paul’s gaze. “He said, ‘I’m not gonna let no queer Jew boy tell me my watch is fake.’ ” Defiant now, he lifted his chin with pride. “I told him to get out and not come back.”

  His mother gasped and put her hand on his arm. “Joshua, you should’ve told us.”

  “I didn’t want you and Dad to worry or think I can’t deal with trouble. He left, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Nerves tingling, Paul scribbled in his pad, while Rob asked the next question. “What did the guy look like?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Joshua scrunched up his forehead. “About six feet. Shaved head on the sides with dark hair on top, bushy beard, and he was kind of skinny. He wore a plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Tattoos on his neck, one which I won’t forget. It was an Iron Cross with a skull in the center.”

  A chill ran through Paul, and he and Rob exchanged glances. “You’re sure that’s what it was?”

  “Trust me, Detective.” Joshua met his eyes grimly. “I know what I saw.”

  “Have you ever experienced any other instances like that before?”

  “No. Everyone’s been very welcoming and friendly. One of the reasons I was happy to make the move to Thornwood Park was the town’s acceptance of gay rights. I took it for granted in New York, but here I wasn’t so sure.”

  “Every year it gets better,” Paul spoke quietly. “But it’s not there yet.” He directed his gaze to Elana. “Have you had any problems with anyone, Mrs. Rothstein?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Thank you for your time, and if you remember anything else, or if you see something that looks or feels strange, please call us right away. Here are our cards.” He and Rob handed out one to each of the Rothsteins and left. On their way to the Curry Spot, only a few doors down, he and Rob discussed their impressions.

  “Could be a hate crime, except for all the other robberies in the neighborhood,” Rob mused. “What’re you thinking?”

  “Too soon to tell. The guy could’ve just been an arrogant prick, but yeah, that tat makes me wonder. Let’s go talk to Mr. Singh.”

  The Curry Spot was fragrant with warm spices, and Paul’s stomach growled. He barely remembered the yogurt he’d eaten in two bites for lunch earlier while reading through case files.

  Rob grinned. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that. I offered you half my chicken-parmesan hero.”

  “I’ll live. I told Cliff I’d pick up Maria’s tonight.”

  “Gentlemen?” A thin man with dark hair and limpid eyes stood before them, the overhead light of the chandeliers shining off his mahogany skin. “Are you the detectives?”

  Paul raised his brows and smiled. “What gave us away?”

  The man waved his hands. “Just a feeling. Come and have a seat and some tea.”

  “Thank you.” With Rob next to him, Paul sat across from Mr. Singh. Several candles flickered between them on the round table. “We’d like to talk to you about the threat you received last night. Would you mind going through what happened? If there’s anything you might’ve forgotten to tell the responding officers, even if you think it’s too small a detail to mention, please let us know.”

  A woman holding a teapot, her hair tucked under a headscarf, joined them at the table. “Good afternoon. May I offer you some jasmine tea?”

  “Thank you.” Paul waited until she’d poured them the fragrant beverage and took a sip, enjoying the floral taste. “Are you Mrs. Singh?”

  “Yes.” She laced her long fingers together on the tabletop.

  “I’m Detective Paul Monroe and this is my partner, Detective Rob Gormley. We’re working the cases of the break-ins along Main Street. We’d like to hear from you as well about the threat you received, and as we said to your husband, any detail, no matter how small, please let us know.”

  They glanced at each other, and Mr. Singh nodded. “Very well. We weren’t going to say anything, but…” His hand tightened around his cup. “We left India because our families didn’t approve of our marriage.”

  “Why is that?” Rob asked.

  “I am Hindu, and Rana is Muslim. It is frowned upon by the elders in our families. So we came to America and made a life for ourselves.” He smiled. “The American dream, no? We lived in Newark, New Jersey, but when we were robbed for the third time, Rana said to me, ‘Mandeep, enough is enough. I want to live in one of those small towns like we see on television. A house with a picket fence where our children can play in the yard and we wouldn’t have to be afraid.’ So we looked and planned and decided Thornwood Park was perfect. And for the past five years it has been.”

  “But something’s changed?”

  Singh nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. We’ve had phone calls here at the restaurant, telling us to go back where we came from. My tires have been flattened and paint thrown on our front door.”

  “Have you reported it?”

  Mrs. Singh spoke up. “No. I told him not to. We cleaned up the messes and went on with our business. At first we thought it was silly mischief and they’d get tired of it.”

  A deepening anger filled Paul’s chest. “But that didn’t happen?”

  “No.” She met his gaze, and Paul saw her strength in those dark eyes. “We aren’t going to run, Detective Monroe. We belong here as much as anyone. After last night, we decided we can’t let this happen anymore.”

  “We found this under the door.” Singh slid a piece of paper across the table.

  With little hope of finding fingerprints on the note, Paul took it from him and blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest. Without speaking, he handed it to Rob.

  “Jesus,” Rob whispered, and his hand shook. He set the note on the table, and Paul couldn’t keep from shooting glances at it.

  A crude drawing of an Iron Cross with a grinning skull inside it stared up at them.

  Chapter Six

  “Mom, I swear everything’s okay. You’re talking to me, right?”

  A headache throbbed at Cliff’s temple as he lay sprawled on the sofa, where he’d been on the phone, attempting to relieve his mother of the idea that she needed to rush to his side and take care of him. He wasn’t a child any longer, and the bubble of resentment that still lived inside him over their long estrangement popped to the surface. He’d needed her when he was twenty-one and alone. In his thirties now, he was perfectly capable of handling himself.

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. The news is making more of it than they should. Yeah, someone fired through the window, but the police are on it. In fact, Paul is the detective on the case, so I’m sure, knowing him, it’ll be solved by the end of the day. Most likely it was some random, stupid idiot taking potshots.”

  “That’s not exactly comforting to hear. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Of course,” he responded automatically. “We’ll stop by to see you this week, when Paul lets me know his schedule. You’re feeling all right?”

  “Yes. Stronger every day. Tomorrow I’m going to do some planting in the backyard and try to start up my vegetable garden. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to do it, and I can’t wait.”

  “That’s great. Maybe I’ll do that too. I think I have some seeds. I’ll talk to you later, Mom. Say hi to Dad.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  He disconnected with renewed purpose to get off his ass and, contrary to what he’d told his mother, stop dwelling on the shots, Cliff rummaged around in the mudroom until he found packages of seeds and, armed with his trowel and a watering can filled to the brim, he spent the rest of the afternoon happily mucking around in
the dirt. At six thirty, he stood and surveyed the neatly turned rows, where hopefully in a few months he and Paul would have a nice crop of vegetables to use for their meals.

  “Maybe tomorrow I’ll stop by the nursery and pick up tomato plants. Oh, and strawberries.” Cliff conversed with himself as he shucked off his clothes and walked into the bathroom to take a shower.

  Mud and grass stains sluiced down the drain as he soaped himself up, and he sighed, letting the hot water pound over his sore muscles. He flexed his shoulders, hoping to draw out the kinks from the afternoon of bending and digging.

  “Need some help?”

  Cliff opened his eyes. Paul stood in the doorway, eyes weary, jaw dark with stubble, a bit rumpled, and always incredibly desirable. A slow smile broke over his handsome face, and Cliff returned it.

  “If you’re offering…”

  “Be right there.”

  In two minutes, Paul’s very hard, muscled body pressed him into the cool tiled wall, the weight of his erection thrusting against Cliff’s stomach.

  “And a good evening to you.” Cliff smiled into Paul’s shoulder.

  “It’s about to get even better.” Paul gazed into his eyes. “Do you know how good it feels to know you’re here when I get home? All the shit I see every day, all the terrible things people do to each other, it all fades away for a little while.”

  At those intensely personal words, Cliff’s heart pounded. Paul wasn’t the type to open up often. “I know. It means everything to have you here with me.”

  Paul cupped his chin, dark-blue eyes blazing, and Cliff held his breath. “I love you. When you told me about someone shooting through the window, my only thought was, ‘What if I lost you?’ And I knew I’d be lost too.”

  “You’ll never lose me.”

  Their lips met, and with the water cascading over them, Cliff poured all his love into their kiss. Their movements grew frantic and needy, and Paul reached behind him to shut the water off.

  “Come on.” Naked, wet, and hard, he left the shower, and Cliff allowed his gaze to roam hungrily over Paul as they dried themselves. “Enjoying the view?” Paul asked, quirking a brow.

  “I prefer a personal inspection, Detective. You’ve taught me never to rely on only what I see, so I intend to use all my senses.”

  Paul’s nostrils flared, and a wicked grin gleamed. “Do you, now?”

  They entered the bedroom, where Cliff pushed him onto the mattress. “Spread them.”

  “Isn’t that my line?” But he lay back, and Cliff stood over him, his gaze feasting on the thick ridge of Paul’s cock rising from the dark nest of hair, the heavy balls resting between his muscled thighs.

  “Do you want it to be mine tonight?”

  They didn’t often switch, but Paul had no hesitation when Cliff grabbed the lube and slicked his fingers. He bit his lip and opened his legs.

  “You’re mine. Any way you want it.”

  “You.” Cliff slid one slick finger into Paul’s snug heat. He loved hearing him gasp and tighten around him. “I want you. Only you. Always.” He added a second finger, delving deeper and crooking them upward.

  Paul arched into his fingers. “Ahh, yeah. Me too. Yeah.” He flailed for a second before grasping his cock and beginning the up-and-down motion.

  Cliff loved watching him lose control. It was one of the rare times Paul gave himself permission to be totally free and in the moment, and Cliff ached to take away all the pain he knew Paul carried within. So when he removed his fingers and slid inside Paul, he rested there for a second, allowing them to become part of each other.

  He kissed Paul. “I love you. You don’t ever have to worry about losing me.”

  Paul crooked up one corner of his mouth. “I think I found what I was looking for.” He contracted his muscles, and a streak of electricity raced through Cliff, spreading its fire further, entangling him in an ever-tightening web of desire.

  “You have.” He gasped and began to move, slowly at first, withdrawing to almost the point of slipping out, then pushing inside even deeper. Paul met his thrusts with hard rolls of his hips until they were soon caught up in a rhythm of lust and love and desire.

  “Fuck, Cliff, God.” Paul flung his head back, thick neck veins bulging, and Cliff drove deeper into his fiery hold. He’d entered that point of no return where his blood boiled hot and strong and he couldn’t stop pumping hard into Paul. The man consumed him.

  “Oh, God.” Cliff tensed, gave one final push and came, and a moment later Paul’s release spilled between them, coating their stomachs. Cliff buried his neck against the strong cords of Paul’s neck, and he kissed and licked Paul’s sweaty skin, feeling the strength of his beating pulse.

  A heavy arm clamped down on him. “Don’t move.”

  “Mmm. You got it, Detective. That’s an order I’m following willingly.”

  Cliff closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Two hours later, after another shower and a delicious dinner of chicken piccata, gnocchi, and broccoli rabe, Cliff reclined on the couch in his favorite position: head in Paul’s lap, snuggled up to his side. They each had their drink, Paul opting for a whiskey soda while Cliff enjoyed a glass of white wine.

  “How was the rest of your shift?” Drowsy from the abundance of food, good wine, and amazing sex, Cliff barely paid attention to the movie. Perfection was found right there, with Paul’s fingers playing in his hair and their bodies nestled together.

  “Not what I expected.” Paul sighed and paused the movie.

  Cliff glanced up to see tension marring his handsome features. “Why do I feel like that’s not a good thing?”

  “Because it’s not. This afternoon Rob and I checked out the break-in at the jewelry store. We now think there might be a pattern, possibly connected with what happened here today.”

  “Here?” Cliff struggled to sit up, and swung his legs over the side of the couch. “What’re you talking about? What can they possibly have to do with each other?”

  Paul frowned into his glass. “Nothing that I can say right now. But we all need to be on our guard. I’m sensing something happening here, in Thornwood Park, I never thought I’d see.”

  “I’m not liking the way this sounds. Are you in danger?”

  Paul slid an arm around his shoulder. “None of us are safe.” He kissed Cliff’s hair. “And I’m glad you and I are here. Together.”

  “As much as you worry about me, you know I worry a hell of a lot about you. Every day when you leave I think about how I’d feel if I got a call you’d been hurt. Or worse.”

  Paul picked up his drink and took a deep swallow. “I became a cop because I wanted to see justice done, and after Harley died, it was the only way I felt I could make sense of his death. When they told us what happened…” His fingers tightened around the glass. “I went crazy. I put a fist through the wall and contemplated putting a bullet through my head. The pain…the agony of losing my little brother…I can’t explain it. I always thought we’d have time. Time when he came home to become the friends we always should’ve been. But time ran out, and I blame myself.”

  “You can’t.” Cliff put his hand on Paul’s back and felt the sweat-dampened skin. “Harley wanted to see the world and to enlist. It had nothing to do with you. He did love you, you know.”

  “He did?” The hopeful note in Paul’s voice broke Cliff’s heart. “You aren’t saying that to make me feel good, are you?”

  “Babe, I have better ways of making you feel good.” Cliff brushed the hair off his temple and kissed him. “No. Before he left, we talked. When he came home, his plan was to get closer to you. But he also said that even though you might not have had time for him then, when you were younger, he remembered you teaching him how to swim in the lake and how you never got mad when he’d follow you to the tree house in the yard. He said you were the best big brother he could’ve wanted.”

  “I used to go there when it all got too much. Even when I was a kid, I knew I was differ
ent from the other boys I played with.”

  “Maybe Harley knew.”

  “What?” Paul stiffened and faced him, eyes wide with shock. “H-how? Why do you say that?”

  “Our last dinner together, he told me how much he loved you and that he sensed something eating away inside you. He said it was like that since you were kids, keeping you tied up in knots. You think you’re the strong, silent type, but everyone needs someone to lean on.” Cliff took his hand. “He said when he came home, he planned on being that person for you.”

  “Dammit.” Paul wiped his eyes, and Cliff slid his arms around Paul’s shoulders.

  “I’ll be your person now.”

  With a rough, almost desperate grab, Paul hugged him close. “You already are.”

  Paul held him a few moments longer, then let him go and rubbed his face. “I’m glad you told me. All I ever wanted was to be sure he knew I cared and loved him.”

  “He did.”

  The tension lines around Paul’s mouth and eyes smoothed, and he looked younger and freer than he ever had before. “I avoided talking about him for so long because I was afraid to open all the old wounds. But you sharing that history you have with my brother gives me some peace.” He shook his head. “Not completely, because deep down, I’ll still be missing him and what we could’ve had together. That’ll never go away. But thank you, not only for this, but for believing there was something more to me than only Detective Paul Monroe.”

  “Loving you is easy. Life makes everything else so complicated.”

  Once again they lay on the sofa, Paul’s hand in his hair. The movie finished, and Paul took his empty glass of wine and went to the kitchen. Outside, Cliff heard the screech of tires on the street and music blaring; then it faded. Travis on his way to God knows where, he thought.

  Paul returned with refills for them both. “Want to catch the news?”

  Cliff sipped his wine. “Sure.”

  Paul flicked the remote, and while waiting for the eleven o’clock news to come on, they watched the second half of a crime show.

  Paul rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the police work on the show. “Look at that.” He gestured in disgust. “They arrest the guy, and in two days he’s at trial. What a crock of shit.”