by Gregory Ashe
“Where are you?”
“Halfway to Nebraska. We’re spending Thanksgiving on the farm if you can believe that. Where are you?”
“Windsor.”
“What?”
“That big house near the Petty Philadelph.”
“I know what Windsor is. Why are you there?” Then Swinney groaned. “Lord, this doesn’t have to do with Mrs. Ferrell does it?”
“Pretty much. Bridge is out.”
“You all right?”
“We’re alive.”
“But you’re stuck at Windsor?”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“Hold on.”
Swinney was silent for almost a full minute, and then Hazard heard the line ringing. For a moment, he thought the call had disconnected, and then a man’s voice picked up. “Swinney? What’s up?”
“Lender, I’ve got Hazard on the line. Bridge is out at Windsor, and he and Somers—that’s right, isn’t it, you’ve got Somers with you?”
Hazard grunted.
“He and Somers are stuck there. You know another way out? Backroads?”
“Geez, you guys picked a bad time to go to Windsor.”
Hazard didn’t bother to reply.
“Windsor’s land stretches a long way. There used to be a service road that met up with some of it.”
“Used to be?”
“Gone. It was a dirt road, and it washed out years ago.”
“Maybe we could still find it.”
On the other end of the line, Lender snorted. “Nothing left to find. You could walk right past it and see nothing but the last ten year’s growth.”
Hazard decided now wasn’t the best time to tell them about the car being lost to the Petty Philadelph. Instead, he said, “So we’re stuck here.”
“Until the rain dies down at least.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“That all? I’ve got to get back to my kids.”
“Thanks, Lender,” Swinney said.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” A click marked Lender’s disconnection.
“You’ve got somewhere you can hole up?” Swinney asked. “I can call the company that owns Windsor, see if they have a place you can stay.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“You want me to call Cravens?”
“No, I’ll do it.”
“You want me to drive back there and see what I can do?”
“Keep driving to Nebraska, Swinney. Somebody deserves a vacation.”
“Give me a call if I can help.”
“Bye, Swinney.”
Hazard disconnected the call. He was surprised that the pins-and-needles in his hands had faded and the terrible cold gripping him had eased. The smell of roast turkey made his stomach grumble, and Hazard dragged himself out of the chair and over to the table. Using a leftover dinner roll, he made a sandwich of turkey and stuffing. Meryl approached with the towels, but Hazard waved her away.
“Yeah?” Hazard asked, holding the sandwich towards Somers.
Somers nodded and took the sandwich, which he devoured in three bites. Hazard made a plateful of sandwiches, carried them back to the fire, and shared them with Somers.
“You don’t want to dry off?” Meryl asked as she hovered near the table, a towel outstretched.
“Not until I’m out of these clothes,” Hazard said. “Laundry?”
“They said—” Meryl gestured towards the back of the house. “In case we had an emergency, there’s a machine back there.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to do it,” Hazard said, fixing a glower on Somers.
Somers must have been feeling better because he managed a weak grin. “I’ll just hang everything up to dry.”
“Fucking barbarian,” Hazard said, stuffing the last of the sandwich in his mouth. He dialed his phone again, and this time, the call picked up on the first ring.
“Cravens.”
“We’ve got a problem, Chief.”
“What’s going on?”
Hazard told her everything, starting with Mrs. Ferrell and ending with Lender’s pronouncement that there was no way to leave Windsor. When he’d finished, he said, “You want to send a chopper for us?”
“I hope you’re joking, Detective.”
“Not really. I’m not planning on spending Thanksgiving at this place, and Somers and I are on duty tomorrow.”
“We’ll find someone to cover.”
“Swinney and Lender are—”
“I know where my detectives are, thank you very much. Let me think.” After a moment, Cravens said, “There’s nothing to do about it. You stay there until the weather clears up. I’ll start making phone calls about getting a temporary bridge; we’ll have to evacuate everyone as soon as it’s safe to do so. Are you and Detective Somerset all right?”
“We’re doing better than the department vehicle.”
“We’ll talk about that later. You’ve got food, you’ve got a roof, you’ve got heat. For now, plant yourselves and try not to cause any trouble. I don’t need you giving the mayor another reason to stretch my neck on the block.”
What did the mayor have to do with any of it? Before Hazard could ask, though, Cravens said goodbye and disconnected the call, and Hazard was left staring at the phone in his hand. Then, not quite ready to face Nico’s anger, Hazard sent a quick text: Grab the shuttle, we’re stuck. Call later.
“Well?” Somers said. The color had come back into his face, and aside from the occasional shiver, he looked like he could have splashed off the set for a commercial—cologne, maybe, or a fancy watch, something high-end and very expensive.
“We stay until they can put in a temporary bridge and evacuate us.”
“Evacuate us?” Meryl dropped into a chair at the table. “You’re kidding, right? We’re stuck here?”
“Sorry.”
“Boy, I have all the luck.” She blew out a breath, shaking back her fiery hair to expose a pale neck and an even paler decolletage. Somers was noticing that decolletage, and Hazard noticed him noticing, and he hated the fact that he was noticing Somers’s noticing.
“Extra toothbrush?” Hazard said abruptly, getting to his feet to break the moment. “Soap? Shampoo?”
“What? Oh, yes. It’s like a hotel, see? They have all of that in the bathrooms.”
“How about a place for us to stay?”
“Let me—Ran, don’t try to sneak away. I saw you.”
Ran, his acne shining in the firelight, slunk into the dining room. “I wasn’t sneaking,” he said in his high, whiny voice.
“The detectives need a place to stay.”
“Why?”
“Because they just do, all right?” Meryl got to her feet, still clutching the towels and blankets. “Do you still have that stupid map?”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Do you have it?”
“If it were stupid, you wouldn’t want it.” Ran gave a nasally giggle at this. “But you do want it.”
“Ran—” Meryl began.
“A room with two beds,” Hazard said. “Either take us there or give me the goddamn map, right now.”
Ran swallowed the rest of his giggle, wrapping his arms around his thin chest, his eyes sullen as he said, “There’s only one room left.”
“Then let’s see it.”
Hazard and Somers followed the acne-spattered young man through the entry hall and up to the second floor. Meryl trailed behind them. At the top of the landing, Hazard noticed the light shining under the door where Adaline had delivered Thomas Strong’s dinner. When Hazard looked up, Meryl was watching him.
“Working late,” Hazard said.
In a whisper, Meryl said, “He hasn’t come out all night, and you saw what happened to poor Adaline when she disturbed him. He’s all in a frenzy about the stock price. It went rock-bottom today, that’s what Benny says, and Thomas quite literally might go mad if he can’t get it back up.”
They continued down the hallway. Electric s
conces were dimmed to provide only the faintest glow, and the wood paneling glimmered at odd angles. The air was colder here, Hazard noticed, and another shiver ran through him. Up here, the smell of wax polish and a dry, stone scent, which made Hazard think of a museum, filled the air. Ran led them past a series of doors, all closed and dark, and stopped at the bottom of a crooked, winding staircase. Cold air rushed down the stairs, and Hazard shivered again.
“It’s the only room left,” Ran said in his sniveling voice, but there was a look of dark satisfaction in his eyes, the look of a man who thinks he’s very clever and enjoys the last laugh.
“Fine,” Hazard said.
“And the bathroom?” Somers said.
“There’s one.”
“You’ll want these, I guess,” Meryl said, her voice still pitched low as she passed the bundled blankets to Hazard.
Ran didn’t wait to be dismissed; he scurried down the hallway and disappeared into one of the rooms they had passed. The sound of the lock turning echoed down the hallway.
Her extraordinary features set with grim amusement, Meryl said, “And then there was one. I suppose I’ll go to bed too. Benny was right, you know? The whole game was ruined. Everybody’s pitching a fit in their own way, and,” her voice dropped so low that Hazard could barely hear her, “Thomas is the worst of them, the old bully.” Without a goodbye, Meryl strode down the hallway, the hem of her gown sweeping the floor. In the wan light, with the opals of her dress glowing, she looked like royalty, like an ancient and eternal queen, and then she pressed a switch and the hall went dark.
“Upstairs, I guess,” Somers said, jostling Hazard as he mounted the steps. “They’re crazy. You get that, right?”
Hazard followed. “I don’t know. Meryl seems all right.”
“She’s the worst one.”
“What does that mean? She’s the only one that’s been decent.”
“I don’t know,” Somers said. “I’m too tired to care. It’s fucking freezing up here. Did they leave the window open? And look at the dust. Here we are, half-icicles, stuck in this house full of crazy people, and I don’t know how it could—”
“Don’t say it,” Hazard said.
“—get any worse.”
At that moment, Somers opened the door at the top of the stairs and flicked on the light. Hazard felt like the floor had opened up beneath him; his stomach dropped and just kept dropping, past his knees, past his ankles, and he doubted it would hit bottom for another mile or so.
There was just one bed.
HAZARD STARED AT THE BED. It wasn’t a king. It wasn’t even a queen. It looked like a full, and it had been crammed under the eaves of the roof. A full-sized bed, and Hazard was supposed to share it with John-Henry Somerset.
“No way.” Hazard shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Come on,” Somers said, spinning towards him with a smile like slow-catching fire. He brought his hands up and took hold of Hazard’s limp, wet collar. “It’ll be fun.”
“You’re insane.”
Somers gave a soft tug, and his smile could have melted stone. It could have started a fire in the Antarctic. It was definitely starting a fire somewhere deep inside Emery Hazard. In a mock-solemn tone, Somers said, “It’s very cold up here. We’ll probably have to sleep naked. Body heat, you know.”
Hazard knocked his hands away. “Stop screwing around.”
Somers laughed and turned his attention to the room. Hazard, after a shaky moment, followed. The room was small, and as Somers had pointed out, it was freezing. Two dormer windows faced out onto the darkness, but the glass was shut and the gauzy white curtains hung still, giving no sign of a draft. The overhead light gave a gentle golden shimmer to everything, and Hazard realized that, in its own way, the room was rather charming: period furniture from the early twentieth century, all well-maintained, all matching.
Against the far wall, Hazard spotted a radiator. He found the valve and opened it all the way. After a moment, the radiator began to click and thrum.
“You think that’s going to work?”
“It’ll be better than nothing.”
“Looks pretty old. No way that thing’s electric.”
“There’s probably a boiler here. In the basement, I’d guess. It might have been coal-fired at one point.”
“All right,” Somers said, giving the room one final examination before opening a door that led into the bathroom. After a single glance, Somers nodded and began undoing the buttons of his shirt.
“You can do that inside the bathroom.”
“What? And spare you the show?”
“Fuck off.”
“I assume you’re going to wash your clothes tonight.”
Hazard glared at the middle distance. He couldn’t ignore the sight of Somers’s well-toned muscle, his skin smooth with its dark ink and only a scattering of golden down along his arms and under his belly button. But he also wasn’t going to give Somers the satisfaction of staring.
“Well, partner,” Somers said, grinning as he shucked his pants and stood there in a pair of baby-blue flannel boxers, “would you mind throwing mine in?”
“You’re manipulative.”
Somers crossed his arms, and it looked good on him. It looked really good. The muscles in his chest and arms popped. And then Hazard realized that for the first time since he had known John-Henry he could see the tattoos in decent lighting.
Hazard had seen the tattoos before: they covered Somers’s arms and chest and back in a single, intricate design. But before, he’d only had glimpses when Somers’s shirt had slipped and exposed the ink. Once, in Somers’s unlit apartment, Hazard had ripped off Somers’s shirt, but then Hazard had been focused on other things, and the darkness had hidden the details.
Somers, for his part, seemed suddenly uncomfortable with Hazard’s attention. His posture became defensive. Then he threw back his shoulders and walked straight towards Hazard
“Hold on—” Hazard tried to say.
It was too little, too late. Somers took hold of Hazard’s collar again, gave it a small jerk, and began unbuttoning the garment.
“You can’t—I’m not—”
“You,” Somers said, “aren’t going to be able to unbutton the shirt.”
“I know how to unbutton my shirt.”
“You hurt your shoulder. Again. Because you were being stupid.” Somers’s warm fingers brushed Hazard’s bare skin, and Hazard tried and failed to repress a shiver of pleasure. “If you think I can’t see how you’re standing, how you’re favoring your arm, then you’re an idiot.”
Hazard felt a wash of surprise; he’d been so caught up in the immediate problems of their situation that he hadn’t noticed how stiff and sore his shoulder had become. He was, as Somers had pointed out, favoring it, and he winced as Somers peeled back the shirt. Blood darkened the bandage, and Somers let out a string of curses.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you—”
“You didn’t let me do anything.” Hazard shied away from the heat of Somers’s touch; more than anything, it scared Hazard how much he liked it. As gently as he could, he pried the clothing from Somers’s fingers and stepped away. They each studied the other for a moment, and then Hazard heard himself say, “But thank you.”
A smile quirked across Somers’s mouth, and he nodded. Then, turning his back to Hazard, he slid out of his boxers and walked naked into the bathroom. Hazard’s last sight of his partner was of his perfect, golden ass.
“Fuck you,” Hazard called through the closed door.
The spray of the shower started a moment later, and over the water, Somers called back, “You wish.”
Hazard tried, for a moment, to construct a comeback. Then he realized that the best answer was probably silence. Scooping up a dry towel and Somers’s discarded clothing, he let himself out into the stairwell. He descended to the darkened hallway, his shoes squishing with every step, and fumbled towards the landing. The only light came in a pale, gray s
lash under the door to Thomas Strong’s room. Hazard paused for a moment, listening, but he heard nothing. Then there was a creak, like the sound of a man standing up from a chair, and Hazard moved down the hallway.
Following Meryl’s directions from earlier that evening, Hazard navigated Windsor’s downstairs maze, passing through a kitchen full of gleaming copper and polished granite and into the laundry room. In contrast with the rest of the house, the laundry room looked cheap: linoleum peeled away from one corner of the floor, and the washer and dryer looked like they’d come third-hand from a garage sale—someone, hopefully a child, had magic-markered one side of the dryer with drawings of what might charitably have been taken for dogs. A bare lightbulb hung overhead, and it buzzed irritably when Hazard flipped the switch. A single door led off the laundry room; Hazard examined it and found that it led down to the basement.
After dumping Somers’s clothes into the washer, Hazard stripped off his own garments, dropped them in with the soap, and started the washer.
“Not quite what I was expecting,” a husky voice drawled from the doorway, “but a girl can’t afford to be choosy these days.”
The woman named Columbia Squire stood in the doorway, wearing a powdery pink bathrobe and enormous, fuzzy slippers. She was pumping off some sort of perfume, a thick, sugary smell that made Hazard feel like his head was jammed in a cotton candy machine. Naked, Hazard met her gaze for a full minute before shaking out the towel and wrapping it around his waist.
Columbia made a disappointed noise and pouted. Then her eyes widened, and she said, “You’re hurt.”
Hazard glanced at the bandage. Rust-brown stains darkened the cloth, some fresher than others. He laid a hand over the wound, testing the pain. It still hurt like hell.
“It’s old.”
“Were you shot?” There was a thrill in Columbia’s voice. She took a step forward. One hand—a raw-boned hand—stretched out towards Hazard’s bare chest, stopping just short. “I have such regard for men in uniform. I really, honestly believe they deserve to have whatever they want.” Columbia cleared her throat, and her husky voice rasped, “Or whoever they want.”