The Case of the Sexy Shakespearean

by Tara Lain

Blaise walked toward the kitchen, and Llewellyn looked at the woman. “I g-gather you’re Miranda.”

  “Sure. Who’d you think?”

  Interesting question. “Y-your brother and s-sister have b-been trying to contact you.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I heard about Anne on the news, and I didn’t want to hear their bullshit, so I didn’t call back.”

  “Did you talk to the p-police?”

  “Nope. They’ve been calling too. I’ll go turn myself in.”

  What? He snapped a gaze at her face.

  “For questioning. Jesus, you’re intense.”

  Blaise walked in with three beer bottles and handed one to Miranda and one to Llewellyn, keeping the third. He sat next to her on the couch and across from Llewellyn in the chair. “So what do you want to know?”

  “How the fuck did this happen? I mean, the most boring woman on the planet comes to the most boring university and the most boring historian on earth, and somebody murders her for it? How the fuck does that work?”

  He had to admit, it was a damned good question.

  Blaise cut in. “She was throwing around promises of five million dollars, which is motive for murder in a lot of people’s books.”

  “Jesus, that stupid bitch. Who’d have thought insanity could infect half of a set of twins? I mean, our father had a screw loose, and Anne’s was falling out. She thought of herself as some crusader for justice or something. I mean, who the hell cares if Shakespeare was Mickey Mouse, much less Edward de Vere?”

  “A l-lot of p-people.” Llewellyn took a sip of beer and glanced up at her. “Including y-you, I th-think. Y-you called and threatened m-me, didn’t you?”

  “What?” She looked totally—and interestingly—shocked.

  Blaise also looked startled. Llewellyn had told Blaise that Anne’s sister had called him, but he realized he’d never said which one. He sipped his beer and provided no information.

  Miranda frowned. “Uh, jeez, I don’t remember that. Why do you think it was me?”

  “You said your name.”

  She swallowed. “Hell, maybe I was drunk.” A big swig of beer seemed to support that theory. “Or maybe Jane called and used my name. She likes to play the gracious lady, but she can be damned mean when she wants something.” She drank down most of the rest of the contents of her bottle in a few pulls, then set the beer on the table. “So tell me about it.”

  Llewellyn gave Blaise a look, but they settled down and between the two of them told her about Anne’s offer, Llewellyn being attacked, and the associated robbery. Then finally Llewellyn took over and described the horror in his office.

  “Shit, man, that’s intense.” Clouds of some dark emotion drifted across her face; then she looked up at him with laser eyes. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

  His mouth opened and closed while Blaise laughed. Blaise said, “You do have a way with words. No, Dr. Lewis didn’t kill your sister. After all, he was in line to make five million bucks if he could prove that de Vere was Shakespeare.”

  “But he didn’t want to take the case, right? That’s what I heard.”

  “Fr-from whom?” Llewellyn frowned.

  “Hey, man, you can walk across that campus and that’s all people are talking about. The money, the murder, and how Lewis didn’t want to take it, but Van-what’s-his-name made you do it.”

  Blaise glanced at Llewellyn. “Trust me, Dr. Lewis had the least motivation to kill your sister.”

  “So who had the most?”

  Now there was a challenging question.

  Llewellyn shook his head. “W-we don’t know.”

  Blaise leaned forward. “I, uh, happened to be in San Francisco, so I called on your brother and sister to express my condolences. I noticed Roscoe’s in a wheelchair. Do you know what his ailment is?” He sipped at his beer casually.

  She gave him a sideways look with an appraising smile. “What? You think it’s odd that he’s in a wheelchair but still looks healthy as a friggin’ horse? Is that your issue, bucko?” She laughed.

  He wrinkled his nose charmingly. “Must confess, it did cross my mind.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one. About two years ago, Roscoe started complaining about weakness and not feeling well. The doctors couldn’t find anything and suggested it was a stress problem. Man, he didn’t wanna hear that. Shortly thereafter, he confined himself to a wheelchair. End of story.”

  “S-sounds like you d-don’t believe him.” Llewellyn watched her face as intently as he could without staring.

  She shrugged. “Hey, she who’s without sin and all that shit, but my father had died and Roscoe faced having to support Jane. Maybe he thought he’d get stuck with all of us. I think he didn’t want to be the grown-up, so he sat down and checked out.” She spread her hands. “That’s my theory. That’ll be a buck fifty for my doctor’s fee.”

  Blaise said, “They’d certainly have reason to want to stop Anne from giving away the five million. Obviously they need it and felt it was theirs.”

  “That’s crap. My father left money to each of us. Not a ton, but some. Then he earmarked the five mil for his fantasyland project and assigned Anne to take care of it. They’re going to have one uphill legal battle trying to crack that will. He was pretty clear about how he wanted the money used.”

  “But there’s no one on the side of the investigation anymore. Obviously you think it’s foolishness and Jane and Roscoe hate it, so who’s going to stop your siblings from challenging the will?”

  “I guess you could say my father is. He was smarter than either of them, if slightly wacko. I’m betting he made that will airtight.”

  “Y-you don’t s-sound upset.”

  She shrugged. “I never thought I had the money, so I’m not out anything.”

  “S-so you don’t b-believe the things y-you said on the phone?”

  Her eyes dropped, then flicked back up. “I don’t remember making a call like that, and I can’t imagine why I’d threaten you for helping my sister. Hell, no skin off my ass.”

  “Would your sister and brother have killed her for it?”

  “Holy crap, that’s to the point. Nah. You saw them. A couple losers. I read she died by strangulation. That’s way too hard and too personal for them. Poison? Maybe. But they would’ve had to be around for that.”

  “So you don’t think they did it?”

  She had her head bent down, and she raised her eyes suddenly. “Do you?”

  Blaise shrugged. “No idea. I just noticed Roscoe seemed to take her quest and the loss of the money pretty personally.”

  “Yeah. It would get him out from under Jane, I guess. Still, I doubt he had the balls.”

  Llewellyn drank the last of his beer. “S-so you and Anne weren’t c-close.”

  A frown wrinkled her brow for just a flash; then she shook her head. “No. Sad. A lot of twins don’t really like each other, but they’re still inseparable. Not me and Anne. We just never got along. I think we resented each other in the womb and never got over it.”

  Blaise glanced past Miranda at Llewellyn, then said, “So you didn’t think she was robbing the family by spending your father’s money on a frivolous pursuit?”

  “Nah. Like I said, it was Father’s money. I thought they were both wacked, but I never expected him to give me the money.”

  Llewellyn spoke carefully. “Wh-what do you think will b-become of the money now that she’s g-gone?”

  “I’m betting my father made his wishes airtight, so maybe he appointed somebody else to take over if she dropped the ball. He was really cracked on the subject of de Vere. I doubt he’d leave it to chance.”

  Blaise nodded. “Interesting.”

  She looked at Llewellyn with narrowed eyes. “Would you still do it, even though she’s dead?”

  “I h-haven’t th-thought.”

  Blaise seemed to pick up the thread. “But it seems like someone must have believed that Dr. Lewis might actually succeed in proving the Shakespea
re connection. That’s quite intriguing, don’t you think?”

  “Could be.” She stared at her bottle on the table. “Yeah.”

  “At the same time, they must have had reason to believe that the search for de Vere’s identity would not go forward if Anne wasn’t here to drive it.”

  She made a sideways smirk. “That leaves out my greedy sibs. They know Father’s will gave that money to research, not to Anne.”

  “Maybe they think they can break the will without her to fight for it.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Miranda stood. “Okay, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  Blaise and Llewellyn both got up. Blaise asked, “Are you going to the police?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call that Holiday dude and go see him. Probably tomorrow. Call me if you think of anything. I’ll be interested to see if you still want to take the case, Dr. Lewis.” She walked across the room, and before they could follow, she turned and looked back. “I understand your point of view. I’d agree somebody believed this Shakespeare shit so much, they killed her.” She walked out the front door.

  Llewellyn plopped back in his chair and tried to close his mouth. “H-holy shit.”

  Blaise barked a laughed. “My sentiments exactly.” He sat slowly. “What do you make of this whole thing?”

  Llewellyn shook his head. “I b-barely know.” Sitting back slowly, he forced the air from his lungs. “S-so much isn’t w-what it seems.”

  A frown flickered across Blaise’s face, but he said, “Yeah. I’m glad you see that too. I mean, the brother, Roscoe, obviously being able to stand, if not walk, is bizarre. And this woman. There’s something—” He shrugged. “—I don’t know.”

  “F-forced.”

  “What?”

  “Something f-forced.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. She seems over-the-top.”

  Llewellyn nodded.

  “So what’s next, oh master sleuth?”

  “The Echev-varrias, I think.”

  “Oh, those donors.”

  “Yes. They d-didn’t want me to investigate de V-vere.”

  “Not enough to kill Anne, surely.”

  “P-probably n-not. Must look into it, though.” He stifled a yawn. He wouldn’t mention George Stanley. That was such a long shot. But he still needed to nose around George’s motivations.

  Blaise rose and crossed to him, taking his hand. “Hey, it’s been a bitch of a day. Time for bed.”

  “Y-you did m-most of the work.”

  “Not true.” His dimples popped. “Hiding in the seat well took the flexibility of a contortionist.”

  Llewellyn laughed but yawned again.

  “Come on.” Blaise pulled him to his feet, and they met nearly eye-to-eye. Damn, he’d slept through one whole night with Blaise. He didn’t want to waste another. Guys like him didn’t get those kinds of chances very often.

  Hand in hand, they walked to the bedroom. Inside the bedroom door, Blaise turned to him. “May I stay?”

  Llewellyn let out his breath slowly. “I h-hate to get you in deeper.”

  “Uh, deeper was, I must confess, exactly what I had in mind.” His dimples flashed, and the streak of white-hot desire that shot into Llewellyn’s groin could have forged the Sword in the Stone.

  He gritted his teeth. “I w-wish I didn’t want you so much.”

  Blaise nodded, and a ripple of pain crossed his face. “I completely understand.”

  Llewellyn glanced into Blaise’s wide eyes, then stared at his own feet. The war of suspicion and desire raged on in his gut. Why was Blaise even there? He sure didn’t seem dedicated to his job. “W-why didn’t you have to t-teach today?”

  Blaise looked startled. “Uh, I told them I had an emergency and needed to go home.”

  “Why? Aren’t y-you jeopardizing y-your new position?”

  He frowned. “Truthfully, I wanted to help you investigate more than I wanted to work.” He shrugged in that charming way. “I’m not sure I want to be a teacher, so this position may not be for me anyway.” He looked up. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

  “I f-find your m-motivations hard to comprehend.”

  “I know I must seem flighty compared to you, but what’s hard to get about me?”

  “S-simple. Why the f-fuck would you want me?”

  Blaise cocked his head and his lips parted. “Seriously? That’s your question.”

  “It’s h-hard to b-believe.”

  Blaise pushed at the center of Llewellyn’s chest, and he sat on the edge of the bed. Blaise knelt and started taking off Llewellyn’s shoes. “If it was anyone else, I’d think you were just fishing for compliments, but I believe you’re serious, so I’ll answer seriously.”

  He set Llewellyn’s tan walking shoes aside and plopped on his butt on the patterned rug. Marie crawled on his lap, and he petted her idly. “I love your curiosity, the fire that drives you to solve the unsolvable, and I envy and covet the fierce intelligence that makes it possible for you to solve those problems. I like that you’re so shy and that you stutter, throwing the world off guard and making people think you’re weak or vulnerable, right before you pounce on them and eat them up.” He chuckled, his eyes glassy as he stared at some vision only he could see.

  Llewellyn stared in disbelief. How could anyone see him that way?

  Blaise ran a finger under Marie’s chin, and she stretched out her neck. “I really like that you have cats and you stoop to greet them whenever you come home, and that you drink tea and craft beer, and that lurking somewhere beneath the surface is a huge mystery waiting to be solved if only someone has the will and the persistence to uncover it.” He set Marie aside and reared up onto his knees in front of Llewellyn like a cobra in a basket. “And I love that beneath those hopelessly homely khakis, you have the world’s greatest ass.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  HALF OF Llewellyn’s heart didn’t believe a word of what Blaise said. That half lost. He reached down and pulled both his sweater and shirt over his head in one move, then shivered as the air and Blaise’s eyes touched his skin.

  Blaise slid his hands up Llewellyn’s legs and undid his khakis, pulling them down his legs. At least he’d worn his coolest boxer briefs, but the things were challenged by a rising erection that wanted to poke through the front and reach out to Blaise.

  Blaise grinned, leaned forward, and gently kissed the intruder peeking over the top of Llewellyn’s waistband. “Hi there. You look happy to see me.” He continued his gentle caress as his hands ran up Llewellyn’s chest. Blaise pecked against each nipple, then pressed his fingers on Llewellyn’s pecs. “These are lovely. You’re so surprisingly muscular, all external appearances to the contrary. Why is that?”

  “Exercise. I-I run and other things.”

  “Maybe we can add a few ‘other things’ tonight.” He rose up to his feet, toed off his sneakers, squatted, and pressed a soft kiss on Llewellyn’s lips. “Tell me what you like. I’ve tried to guess and find I’ve got no idea.”

  Llewellyn looked down at his folded hands. “I-I barely know.”

  “Hmm. I doubt that. Tell me what you dream of.” Llewellyn’s expression must have looked horrified, because Blaise laughed. “Okay, too big a step. So let’s play truth or dare. When we were together before, you chose bottom. Is that your preference or what you thought I’d want?”

  “W-what d-do you like?”

  “Nope. You first.” He held Llewellyn’s forearms, his body bobbing a bit in his squatting position. “But let’s get more comfortable.” He stood, sat on the edge of the bed beside Llewellyn, and pulled him down onto his back, with Blaise beside him resting on his forearm and gazing into Llewellyn’s face. “Better. Now, back to the question. Which is your fave, bottom or top?”

  Llewellyn took a deep breath. “B-bottom.”

  “Good.” He smiled and kissed Llewellyn’s nose, then ran a finger across Llewellyn’s cheekbone. “Cute. Tell me all the naughty things you do to stretch.”

  “
N-no.” But he smiled so he wouldn’t sound too harsh.

  “Aw, come on. Dildos? Butt plugs? Anal beads?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Blaise’s laugh exploded. “Oh man, that’s hot.”

  “It i-is?” His cheeks flamed again.

  “Yeah.” He framed his groin with his hands, emphasizing the bulge, then slid over and opened the bedside drawer. “You weren’t kidding.” He held up a large pink dildo—Llewellyn’s favorite. “Impressive.” He pulled out a giant tube of lube and a box of condoms. “Wow, you took me seriously. This is economy-size.” He scooted back across the bedspread and reached for Llewellyn’s boxer briefs.

  “N-no.” Llewellyn stopped Blaise’s hand.

  “No?”

  “Y-you undress f-first.” Although that was kind of dumb, because he’d seen Blaise’s body. Who wouldn’t suffer by comparison?

  “Deal.” He dropped the tube on the bed and slid off, unfastened his jeans, and slid them to the floor. His long-sleeved T-shirt came off in one move, and he reached for his briefs, then grinned. “Okay, together, one, two, three!” He pulled his own pale blue shorts to his knees, then kicked them off as his penis sprang up and slapped against his belly. There he stood in all his nude glory, and glory was no overstatement. Wide shoulders, a long torso with beautifully defined muscle, leading to strong thighs and lean legs. The grace he’d displayed on the dance floor that night in San Jose revealed itself in every curve and arc of his body as he stood, smiling at Llewellyn. “You got stuck.”

  “What?”

  He nodded toward Llewellyn’s hands, with the thumbs hooked in his briefs but stopped halfway down, hung up on a very erect cock. Llewellyn smiled. “Y-you’re very distracting.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He sat on the bed again, his erection rising between his strong thighs; then he hooked Llewellyn’s shorts with a thumb and had them off in seconds.

  Llewellyn’s instincts won, and his hands crossed over his crotch.

  Blaise mimicked him and did the same. “Here we are. Adam and Adam.”

  “Adam and St-Steve?”

  “Right.” Gazing into Llewellyn’s eyes, Blaise slid a condom on himself and lubed it up.