"Oh, honey, I'm home!" Gregory entered the kitchen, out of his beekeeper suit now, holding up a bowl with some gleaming bits of honeycomb in it. He grinned at his terrible joke. At least he didn't look like he'd been stung. He set the bowl down on the counter. "Our own honey, at last!"
Abe hurried over to him and kissed him impulsively, taking hold of his face with his hands, studying him for a moment to be sure he was okay. He'd survived a bout with the bees. Though he never seemed to think of it as dangerous. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Of course I'm okay. They're only bees." His arms settled, warm and strong and possessive, at Abe's waist. It felt good to be held, and made the world seem a bit less unnerving and huge. "Besides, I think they're getting used to me. Heh. Bee-sides."
Abe groaned and buried his face against Gregory's chest. He smelled just slightly of sweat, mostly of smoke, and something else pervasive and hard to pinpoint, which Abe had begun to think of as the scent of bees. Abe held on to him and breathed. Gregory didn't ask questions, just held him close. He was such a comfort.
Eventually, he drew back and smiled. "I need your help with some garden things. I keep forgetting to plant up those herbs I promised Rick."
"Rick?" Gregory frowned. "Oh, yes, for the auction. I didn't know it was him who asked. I thought somehow it was Hannibal."
"I think he got roped into it. Anyway, will you help? It'll get done faster." He really wanted Gregory to do most of it, at least any part that might put them into contact with the fuzzy little pollinators. But he felt it would be cowardly to come out and say that.
"Things for the auction...a ton of baking...and something special for your friend. For someone who didn't want it to happen in the first place, you've gotten awfully involved with this fundraiser."
"Oh, I love a good fundraiser! You know that. It was the contest part that worried me."
"Well, I'm sure your part in it will be a wonderful success." He kissed Abe, then added hopefully, "Any of it for me?"
Abe laughed, because of course it was. "A hearty casserole just out of the oven, and some scones for dessert. You can even put some of your honey on them if you wish."
"Mm. You're the best." He received another kiss in reward before Gregory hurried off, a bundle of energy, to find some pots for the herbs.
Abe took his time, fiddling with his gardening gloves (a trim, neatly fashionable pair that almost never got dirty) before following Gregory.
"Which ones did you want to donate?" asked Gregory, looking up at him from beside the herb garden, with several little pots beside him already half-filled with potting mix and a garden trowel in his hand. He looked so perfect there, his dark eyes, his dark hair that had not yet been touched by gray, his sturdy and athletic build, his confidence—and the kindness in his eyes. For a moment, Abe lost his breath.
"Oh," he managed at last, "whatever you think there's too much of. I know you said those mint plants were taking over." He sank down on the bench beside the herb garden, then wondered if he should stay on his feet, at least pretending to help.
But Gregory had already started and seemed not to resent the fact that he alone wielded a trowel. "That's true, they've really gone for it. But mint's like that. It's nice, having enough for lots of tea. Well, not that I drink much tea—you know me—but it's nice to know it's there if it's needed."
Abe wondered if that was the reason behind some of Gregory's planting choices in his permaculture experiment. He'd planted things that Abe knew for certain Gregory didn't like to eat. Was it a case of 'just in case' and 'nice to know it's there?' Did he feel more secure somehow, knowing there'd be plenty of okra, which he didn't even eat?
Abe studied him. "I wonder if I could make something you'd like out of it. Mint jelly, perhaps. I've never really made jelly, but it might be interesting."
He loved the look of jellies, and store-bought mint was such a particularly translucent green in a glass jar. Would it be the same homemade, or better? Did one have to add coloring to get that lovely green color, or were the leaves enough?
He knew Gregory wouldn't approve of anything artificial. He tried not to judge Abe's choices, but he didn't like eating 'fake things' himself, and really, if Abe made mint jelly, it would be whatever the natural color was, because it would be for Gregory. So much of his cooking was.
"Hey, that's a good idea. You come up with the best ideas." He grinned up at Abe, so open, so generous in his appreciation.
Abe had to resist the urge to squirm or field the compliment. He was learning to be gracious instead. "You're so nice to me. Thanks."
They shared the smile of two people who really did understand each other and like each other, for all their flaws.
HE BROUGHT ALL OF THE baked goods over to the fire hall that evening as the sun was going down. The library event was being held there this year. Gregory had taken the plants over earlier, but Abe had wanted to bake just a few more things and had been delayed.
Now he'd done all he could. Well, except for the things that needed to be kept cold; he'd bring them in the morning. Part of him wished he could skip the sale entirely, but he felt it would be cowardly, and he was frightened of enough things in life already.
Henrietta Heaton was there, her husband not in tow today, surprisingly. Abe bade her a cautious hello. He been hoping to get in and out, and hoped she wouldn't offer him any of her blackberry wine. (Gregory had just started a blackberry patch; Abe was begging him in advance not to make wine. Henrietta's was always far, far too strong.)
"Baked goods delivery," he announced, trying not to sound nervous. He'd thought the plan was to hold the sale at the library, but apparently it had changed at some point. Henrietta, who was on the firemen's fundraising committee as well as the library committee and several others, no doubt, was waiting for him.
He put the pies he was carrying down in the small kitchen area Henrietta let him into, but there were more things in the car. He felt very out of place even in an empty fire hall kitchen. The place felt eerie and strange to him. What if a fireman walked in and demanded to know what he was doing here?
It would take at least another two trips to get everything in here. He wished he'd brought Gregory along. Gregory was good with people. He could have talked to Henrietta while Abe scurried to and fro, and would have faced any unexpected firefighters with equanimity.
When have I become such a curmudgeon that I don't even want to talk to my neighbors? He was appalled at himself. He used to long for more people to talk to so he wouldn't feel so terribly alone in a deserted suburb. But that was before Gregory—and, probably more importantly, before the murder investigation had ratcheted his anxiety and distrust up a lot higher than it had been before. And it had always been higher than he'd have liked.
Still, Henrietta was a good neighbor, and not a murderer (though he had suspected her once). Maybe that was part of the reason he didn't want to talk to her now—guilt. But he'd suspected nearly everyone once, even Mary, and he still liked talking to her. But no one had told him Henrietta was a coordinator or prepared him for having to talk with the wine maker.
"Oh, you've made a lot. That's great," said Henrietta. She approached with a smile. "Did you need some help with that?"
"No, thanks. Just two more loads and I'm through!" He smiled nervously, hoping he didn't look as awkward as he felt. Was she going to offer him wine?
"And you baked all of this yourself? My, how industrious." She gave him a rather affectionate look. What had he ever done to get into her good graces? Perhaps she'd been sampling the wine and everyone was her good friend at present. It was an ignoble thought, and he was ashamed of it—but then there was nothing particularly noble about Abe in the first place.
"Thanks." He hurried back outside, stumbling on a curb in his haste. Outdoors, birds were calling a sleepy summer evening reminder to everyone that they existed and this was their home. He looked around, unaccountably nervous with the falling darkness. A few bats were swooping overhead, catching things
to eat. It was just dark enough to not see as far as in daylight hours. He suddenly wanted to be home, and safe, behind closed curtains, away from all atmosphere and humanity, bar Gregory. And yet there was nothing to be afraid of; he knew he was being foolish. He knew it, and yet he still felt this way.
"Did you hear about the surprise donation we got for the auction?" asked Henrietta, behind him.
He jumped at the sound of her voice, banging his hand against the car door. He had to suck on his teeth quite hard not to swear. He shook out and then rubbed his hand and cast her a reproachful look. "What?"
"Oh, you hurt yourself. You should be more careful." She tsked and shook her head, gently reproving. "Anyway, it was a last-minute donation for the auction—an actual diamond necklace!"
"What?" As the pain receded, he found himself interested in spite of his wishes to avoid conversation. "Valuable jewelry...for this?" That seemed extremely foolish to him. After all, it would only go for what it was auctioned off at, and would probably sell for more through a different venue. People didn't tend to pay for jewelry unless they liked it or it was a lot under value.
How many people in this neighborhood had diamond necklace money to blow on a whim? Well, he didn't really know; perhaps they did. It just didn't seem plausible. It seemed more like the sort of thing someone would do for one of Ollie's fundraisers, the sort where people wore black ties and drank champagne. All a great deal of fun, of course, if you could afford it—but really not a library-in-the-suburbs budget.
"I know," said Henrietta. "I thought everyone would bring homemade things, like wine, or those potted plants someone donated."
Abe flushed. It had been a good donation, or so he'd thought. Now it seemed cheap and foolish, nothing anyone would really want. "Well, I'm not sure wine is the wisest choice, either," he said a bit sharply.
She waved it away. "Don't be silly. Everyone likes wine."
She was probably right. Her wine would go for a great deal more than a few silly herbs dug from a backyard patch. Probably to a secret alcoholic, he thought viciously, because it took so little of that potent brew to get you drunk.
She held out her hands, offering to help him carry. Feeling bad for resenting her words, he meekly handed her a large Tupperware container of brownies. It was the sort of thing people brought to big reunions or fundraisers. He'd bought it especially for this. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. He knew very well he was going to stupidly hurt if people didn't like or buy his desserts. If he'd made too many, that was one thing—but if he'd just made unappetizing things, it would really hurt.
I shouldn't be so sensitive all the time. It's not as though it means something! I was just helping out Mary.
He brought his attention back to the actual conversation topic. "So, who donated the necklace?"
"That's the thing—we don't know. How mysterious! I bet you'd like to investigate." She gave him a knowing look and a little dig with her elbow, which he didn't quite manage to dodge.
He gritted his teeth. He was carrying things and didn't dare move too fast, or he might drop something or trip himself again. He'd never been athletically graceful like Gregory, who was good at everything, or even his friend Ollie, who could play tennis. Abe had been a child who cringed from balls, and didn't like any game where he could get muddy (or be exposed to bees).
Then her words registered, and he felt his face flushing hot. She was implying that he had the cute and silly hobby of investigating everything mysterious in the neighborhood—basically, that he was a nosy wannabe amateur detective. And sure, he'd done all of that around the time of the last murder—nosiness, as well as investigating everything he could—but that didn't mean it was a habit.
She chuckled self-indulgently. "Well, it would be good publicity for the event, if we had time to convince the paper to write about it. Wouldn't that be fun? A mysterious donation of real value for the auction tomorrow?"
Abe's irritation faded a little as he thought about that. It was true, it could be good publicity. And a small-time event like this could probably use any extra nudge. "Call the local paper, ask them if they'll run something—even on their website, if they don't want to put it in the paper. It can't hurt to ask. That is, if you pass it by Hannibal first." He'd be angry if he thought they went around him.
Perhaps the necklace wasn't an anonymous gift at all, and she'd gotten her wires crossed. She didn't necessarily know who had given what, and she probably hadn't done any of the collecting herself. Why, she hadn't even known Abe and Gregory had donated the potted herbs! If she had, she wouldn't have said anything so rude...right?
Or am I just being sensitive again?
Abe bit his lip and wished once again that he was home. A bat swooped particularly close to them as they reached the door. Henrietta didn't notice, but Abe flinched, and the cookies he was carrying rumbled ominously in their plastic carrier.
"What a good idea!" Henrietta was saying. "I'll do that as soon as I get home."
They put the baked goods inside on the table and regarded them. His earlier thoughts about poison and grudges and madness returned with reverberating vengeance. He took a step back. Maybe he shouldn't have brought them so early; maybe he shouldn't have let them out of his sight.
"You have the best ideas." Henrietta patted his arm. She clearly meant to be friendly; her smile showed she was being sincere. He stared at her, heart pounding. He didn't particularly like being startled, then touched unexpectedly. And he knew he was being a nervous wreck for no reason, but he stared at her face for a moment, feeling as if he were looking at a stranger, someone he'd never met before.
"I have to go. These doors are locked at night, aren't they?"
"Of course they are. Don't worry, no one will steal your contribution!"
"Okay," said Abe, and fled.
GREGORY KISSED ABE's shoulder and sighed, collapsing back to the bed, a big, warm, strong, comforting man beside Abe. He turned towards Gregory as a plant turns towards the sun, wanting the warmth of him, craving closeness whether it led to sex or not.
He didn't know why he'd been so shaken by a simple trip to deliver some baked goods, and he felt ashamed of rushing home that way, just wanting to feel safely indoors and near Gregory. Near Gregory, the world didn't seem so twisted and grotesque, with horrible possibilities lurking around every corner.
Am I going to be messed up forever from that experience with the murder? Maybe it was the house. After all, the murdered man had been discovered in his very own backyard, although he hadn't been murdered there. Would that leave some sort of psychic print on reality, making it a stressful place to live? Or was being neurotic a much more realistic explanation?
"It really is silly not to share a home," said Gregory. "We're mostly together anyway."
"I know." Abe sighed. It hurt to admit it; the truth was, even if Gregory left him tomorrow, keeping his home wasn't a guarantee for making it out unscathed.
Living next door to Gregory after a relationship had ended would be pain beyond compare. He'd never be able to stay, brokenhearted, next door to the man he'd loved and lost. He'd end up moving anyway, so why hold back now? It was true he liked the way his home was set up, finally more or less how he wanted it, but that didn't matter more than Gregory. Especially if staying in separate houses might lead to the breakup sooner than necessary.
Gregory wouldn't be moving; he liked it where he lived. He'd put hundreds of hours into his permaculture project. He wouldn't be likely to abandon that for any reason, even if he abandoned Abe.
Abe gave Gregory a distracted kiss and sighed again. "I'll talk to my real estate agent tomorrow about putting the place on the market."
"Hey. Hey. I'm not trying to pressure you, just thinking out loud." He ran his hand down Abe's side, stroking, soothing him as if he was particularly skittish and needed special care. Abe supposed that wasn't too far off the mark sometimes.
"I know. But you're right."
"Well, maybe I am. But it's s
till a big decision—and a lot of work for you. We spend most of our time here, and even though it's next door, there's a lot of crap involved in moving, not to mention selling a house."
"True," conceded Abe, more than willing to be talked into taking things slowly. He studied Gregory's face, trying to memorize it, enjoying the expression there of patience and trust.
"What are you thinking?" asked Gregory. "I can't tell."
"Well, I'm glad you don't read my mind sometimes. I think you'd leave me all the sooner if you did." As soon as he said those words, he realized his mistake.
Gregory looked as though he'd been smacked. "Leave you? I'm not leaving you. You don't think just because I—" He sat up, swallowing visibly, and looked at Abe with concern. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
Gregory was bi, and the stereotype that he would leave, or cheat, or 'make up his mind' one way or another was a hurtful one for him that had caused him enough problems in his life already. Of course he would be hurt if he thought that Abe believed him untrustworthy, inherently unlikely to stick around.
Abe sat up quickly too. "No, it's not you. I—I have doubts sometimes. I'm such a..." He swallowed back the hateful words that came to mind far too easily, echoes of past tormenters that he'd somehow internalized. He settled instead on, "I don't know what you see in me sometimes."
Gregory's gaze softened, and most of the hurt left his eyes. He put a hand against Abe's cheek and searched his expression. "I see the man I'm nuts about. The man I love. You don't have to be perfect to be perfect for me." He kissed Abe.
When they drew apart, both smiling now, he added ruefully, "Besides, you put up with me and my obsessions, don't you? You don't even get in any snide digs the way some people would. You like and accept me as I am, warts and all."
Poison at the Bake Sale Page 4