“Son of a bitch!” He looked back at the doorframe, where the blade glittered evilly. What the hell was going on? How had the razor blade come to be stuck in the door?
Someone had to be in the house. He turned back around, intending to go back into the garage and leave. He grabbed the doorknob, but the assembly fell apart in his hand. Exasperated, he threw the knob aside and made his way into the living room, light from the mercury vapor streetlamp filtering through the windows. He went to the study, knowing his gun was in the top drawer of his desk. He flung open the drawer, but it was gone. He began pawing through the other drawers.
Then he heard the growling.
Reed Longhoffer froze in place, slowly turning around to the source of the deep-throated growl. Looking through the study door and out into the shadows of the vast living room, he could see nothing, save for the lump of the sofa and the hulking mass of the television set. In the pit of shadows leading from the living room into the dining room, he thought he saw something shifting in the darkness.
“Who’s there?” he called out, angry with himself at the quiver in his voice. “I’m not afraid of you! I—I have a gun!”
The growl deepened, and this time Reed caught sight of glaring yellow eyes. He suddenly realized that his home had not been invaded by a human—or at least none that was still around. Whoever had been in here had left him a very unhappy present, which was now homing in on the smell of the blood running down his leg.
But he was wrong on that score. As he turned to move into the living room, he heard a single word breathed out in a harsh whisper:
“Kill!”
Even as he turned and ran he knew he’d never make it. The beast darted from the darkness and knocked him flat. The animal began attacking Reed Longhoffer, its jaws tearing into his flesh. Reed screamed, trying to claw his way to the front door, but the heavy animal kept biting.
All at once, the heavy beast was gone. Reed pushed himself up, looking for the nearest available weapon. He grabbed the spike on his desk he kept for paid bills. He was just able to grasp it when the animal was back, tearing at his neck. Finally the jaws clamped on his throat, and Longhoffer knew he was done for. With the last ounce of his strength, he began stabbing the animal with the spike. The beast leapt away, yelping, watching warily as the life flowed out of Reed Longhoffer.
The last thing Reed saw were the yellow eyes closing in on him again. With one last ounce of strength, he lashed out with the spike and landed a lucky blow, jamming the spike up through the ribs of the animal and into its heart.
The beast died seconds before Longhoffer, whose last thought on earth was, I’ll get the son of a bitch who did this…
* * *
“Where does one start with a story like this?” asked Jason, flipping through the images he had taken from the meeting the two days before.
“I don’t know,” said Derek, leaning back against the couch.
Jake set aside the crossword puzzle he was doing, and went to get something to drink out of the kitchen. He was feeling tired and not particularly social, and all Derek and Jason had done over the last three hours was look through the photos of the last town meeting and discuss how they were going to cover the story. It had all become very wearing.
In the kitchen, he poured himself a tall glass of cranberry juice and decided against putting a shot of vodka in it. He then clomped down the basement steps to check his email and mindlessly surf the Internet.
Jake booted up his computer, and brought up his email flipping through the junk or things he didn’t intend to answer right away, smiling at once when he saw an email from Rachel was in the box.
Hi Handsome!
Finishing up here in D.C. What a mess! Condo sold and all the furniture with it. I’ve packed up the electronics and photos and am having them shipped to Mom and Dad’s in Port Jefferson for easy access. You would not believe the amount of junk from high school I still have. We’ll have to go through it and have some laughs.
Tony managed to get my phone number. Has left three messages but I’ve not called him back yet. Not sure I will. Arrogant S.O.B. Swedish God has also left messages, which I’ve also ignored. He and his rabbit-faced wife can both go to hell.
Love you—R.
Jake laughed at the last line, quickly hitting reply, telling her the upstairs guest room would be ready for her when she arrived and updating her on the events that had been happening in town.
He sent the reply off and noticed an email labeled P.S. from Rachel a few emails more down. He jumped to that and opened the two-line message.
Gavin says you had better call him as you are pulling a ‘me’ on you. I told him what he could do with that assessment.
Jake smiled, but realized Gavin was right. He hadn’t talked to his old friend in quite a while with the recent events happening in the town. He picked the phone up and dialed the San Francisco number from memory, Gavin answering on the second ring.
“Ashworth-Gilmore Burlesque House.”
“You’ve cleaned the place up then. Last time you were a house of sin and opium den.”
“Turns out we weren’t zoned for that,” said Gavin. “Rachel tells me you’re into bumping off the neighbors now.”
“I really must have a talk with that woman about her choice of words. Particularly when there’s an active murder investigation going on.”
“So someone murdered the old bat, eh? Wow. I bet property values have jumped by thirty or forty percent.”
Jake shook his head, Gavin’s face looming in his mind’s eye. Of Portuguese decent, Gavin Ashworth stood six feet in height and had wavy black hair squashed under a baseball cap, a thick, black beard he kept neatly trimmed, and soulful, nearly black eyes. He was a grad student when they had met in college, and they’d become lovers, then exes, both pairing off with different mates over the years. Gavin and his husband, Jeff, had often gone on vacations with Jake and Sam and made a point of getting together with them twice a year.
“I don’t think such a statement does much for your karma as a practicing Buddhist.”
“Ha! Whaddya think whacked the old lady? Her karma came back around and got her, mark my words.”
“Yeah, well, pity it hasn’t rounded out on Jeff’s mother,” said Jake.
“No shit,” said Gavin. “Wait until I tell you what she did this week.”
“Oh? What?”
“Oh, no you don’t, Gobo. You’re not derailing me that easily. C’mon, give me the details about the old bat that once charmingly referred to me as ‘a degenerate Hell’s Angel.’”
“You were on your Harley. You’re covered in tattoos, and you and Jeff were in full biker leathers, I might add.”
“I’m an English professor and poet. I’m about as close to a Hell’s Angel as Bob Dole.”
“You look the part. At least until you get close and see all your tats are all literature related,” said Jake.
“You’re trying to derail me again.”
Jake wished for about the hundredth time his friends lived closer. “There’s no mystery. Someone poisoned her.”
“Oh,” said Gavin. There was a crash on the other end of the line, followed by Gavin giggling. Jake heard Jeff cursing a blue streak.
“What happened to Salt?” asked Jake, referring to Jeff by his old nickname. He may have sported the same look as Gavin, minus the tattoos, but he was Gavin’s polar opposite in appearance—blonde hair, blonde beard, and pale blue eyes. Not long after they’d gotten together, Rachel had remarked that they’d looked like salt and pepper shakers together, and the nickname had stuck.
“He’s trying to put together some IKEA shelving. He may be a brilliant landscaper, but when it comes to building stuff…”
“You can get over here and put your shelf together any time, Mr. I’m-Heir-to-a-Furniture-Store-Empire,” Jeff called out to him. “And one more word and I’m telling your mother you bought furniture at IKEA.”
“Carry on, you’re doing great, sweetie,” s
aid Gavin.
“That’s a fair point—why are you buying shelving from IKEA?”
“It’s simple and functional, and we don’t carry anything like it, though Dad tells me that will be changing. And you’re doing it again.”
“Jeff did it that time,” Jake pointed out. “And that’s all I know. She was dead for about three days when we found her.”
“You found her? Oh, Jake, are you okay?”
“It wasn’t as bad as last year,” said Jake, trying to dismiss images of the corpse of Susan Crane from his head. “Although I did see one purple, bloated hand,” he said. “With fake red fingernails. They looked like Chiclets jammed into plums.”
“Ugh. That was…vivid. Seriously, that’s scary shit, Jacob. You know that poisoning someone requires a lot of thought. It’s deliberate and calculating.”
“After last year I’m not so hot on the true crime, but you’re right, and, believe me, it’s the first thing I thought of. We’re not dealing with someone stupid. From what I’ve been able to read between the hieroglyphics the police are throwing out, there’s not a trace of evidence, either.”
“Wonder what kind of poison?”
“I don’t know, and you’ll forgive me if I don’t run right out and ask Detective Hides-in-a-Bush what it was.”
“Repeat that last bit?”
Jake brought Gavin up to speed on all the latest events.
“Jesus, I thought you moving out of Seattle was a good thing. I didn’t realize you were going to move into Twin Peaks.”
“I have to admit I’m worried. If this is all somehow tied up with the SuperLoMart controversy…well, then it has an unfinished feel to it, Prof.”
“You think it’ll happen again?”
“I hope not. The town’s on the edge of panic, what with this alleged convicted criminal coming here to roost.”
“You left out that bit.”
“For your benefit, I’m telling you I’m rolling my eyes so you can get that in your head before I regale you with the tale of Misty Snipes and the last town meeting.”
It took Gavin nearly five minutes to stop laughing.
“I really hope you took notes, Tiger, I really do,” said Gavin. “Or better yet, filmed it.”
“The cable access channel cameras were there, but someone cut them off early.”
“Oh, too bad!”
“All kidding aside, Gav, I’m worried.”
“I have an easy solution for that.”
“What’s that?”
“Stay the hell out of it. Don’t make me come up there and tie you to a chair. After last year and the two of you nearly getting killed… You scared us half to death, Jake. Don’t stick your neck out again.”
“He’s not getting involved in police investigations again, is he?” Jeff called out from across the room. “Tell him to knock that shit off.”
“I’m not, I’m not! I swear. It’s just unfortunate proximity, is all. Sam and I have no interest in getting involved with the police on this one,” said Jake, knowing it wasn’t quite the truth.
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” said Gavin. “And I will come up there, though it won’t be for Christmas.”
“Huh? You’re missing Christmas?”
“That’s courtesy of Queen Gilmore,” said Gavin. “Who’s dragging us all to some family house in Carmel. Or I should say dragging Jeff. She doesn’t want me to come, which is of course why—”
“—you’re going. Well, you’ve attended enough Finnigan family gatherings. You’ve had plenty of training in the Art of Uncomfortable Holidays.”
“Jeff knew you’d say that,” said Gavin. “Jesus, I’d rather be anywhere on Earth but there, but goddamn it, I’m not going to let her win on this one.”
“Stick to your Colts, Prof.”
“On a lighter note, it was delightful to see Rachel. She’s tired, too thin, and she needs you, Jake. I’m glad she’s leaving D.C.”
“I’ve missed her. And every time I work on the book, I miss her more.”
“How’s that going?”
“Pretty well, now that I have the time. I may finish it before I turn fifty.”
“I’m glad you’re writing full time again. Your voice needs to be out in the world, Jake. I mean that.”
“I know you do.”
“And I mean it about Rachel. She needs you right now.”
“I know. We’ve got a lot to talk about,” said Jake, wincing, as there was a thump and some laughter from upstairs.
“What was that?”
“J.D. and his friend, Derek Brauer.”
“The reporter?”
“Yep. You got my email on that whole thing.”
“Yeah, well, watch your back around Brauer. I have a few friends down here with his size twelve prints on their spine. He may be lying low for now, but don’t expect that to last.”
“Duly noted, Prof,” said Jake, as another unholy crash on the other end of the line was followed by Gavin’s uproarious laughter.
“Look, hot stuff, I gotta go before Jeff takes the whole damn house down. Keep me posted, will you? And I mean email me or call me daily, kid. If you don’t, I’m gonna call your esteemed Detective…Uh…Hardy?”
“Haggerty.”
“I’ll call him up and have him do a wellness check on you, got it?”
“Got it, Prof.”
He paused for a moment before saying, “If you do turn up anything, let me know that, too.”
“I thought you said stay out of it?”
“I did. And I mean it.”
“However…”
“Yeah, yeah, you know I want to find out who topped the old cow too. Just be fucking careful, okay? Both of you. And keep your eye on Brauer.”
“I’m gonna miss you guys at Christmas.”
“We’ll come up for New Year’s. Promise.”
“Love you, Prof.”
“You too. And give that handsome man of yours a big, sloppy wet kiss from us both,” said Gavin, ringing off.
Chapter Twenty-one
Jake replaced the receiver back on the cradle, a small ache in his heart. Christmas without Gavin and Jeff was not going to be the same. Sighing, he turned back to his computer and brought up the latest chapter to the novel he’d been hammering on for nearly a decade.
Soon, however, Jake flipped over to the Internet, idly looking over the Seattle Times online, thinking about Rachel’s arrival and how Jason’s room/his future office needed painting. Jake thought that something blue-green would be nice, something that inspired tying a rock to his legs and jumping off the end of the Central Avenue dock.
Huh? Jake shook his head. He looked up at Sam. “What?”
“I said I could continue talking to you and not having you hear a word I say or I could tie a boulder to my legs and jump off the dock on Central Avenue.”
“You wouldn’t get far. You’d end up on the deck of the Chinook,” said Jake, sticking his tongue out at Sam. “What’s up?”
“I was just seeing if you’d like some dinner at some point or would you rather continue hiding from Woodward and Bernstein upstairs.”
“Neither one of them was a photographer.”
“I couldn’t think of an appropriate photographer-reporter combo.”
“The only combos I know of are all literate. And nearly all of them tragedies. Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde. I can’t think of any that don’t come to a horrible end.”
“How about Newman and Woodward?” Sam asked, kissing Jake with passion.
“That’s good for a start. Oh, and before I forget,” he said, kissing Sam deeply and wetly, “that’s from the Boys from the Bay.”
“Salt and Pepper? Aww, how are they?”
“Not coming for Christmas. Jeff’s mother is being a diva and Gavin is crashing the family gathering she doesn’t want him to come to.”
“Well, he’s been to enough of your family’s holiday gatherings to steel his courage.”
“Funny, that’s ex
actly what I told him,” said Jake, kissing Sam and patting his lap. “Sit down.”
“No, no. Too late. Work to do, work to do…”
“You’re a cad, Samuel O’Conner.”
“Insulting me archaically will earn you no points, man. And to think I was going to massage your sore shoulders.”
“They wouldn’t have been so sore if you hadn’t…” Jake stopped, watching Sam laugh loudly. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re blushing. It’s really endearing.”
Jake stared at his boots, scowling.
“Oh, knock it off. Come on, let’s go to the Bitter End. I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
When they got upstairs, Derek was jamming his arms into his jacket while Jason was frantically replacing camera equipment into the scuffed brown camera bag. Derek began tugging on his boots, cursing the laces, which were laced too tightly to slip the boot over his ankle.
“Where’s the fire?” asked Jake.
“Probably not the best thing to ask a reporter,” said Sam. “There may be a fire.”
“Not a fire,” said Derek. “Another body.”
“What?” asked Jake breathlessly.
“Sky Heights Road.”
“Boulevard. Whose body?”
“Marion didn’t know. It just came over the scanner. What’s the quickest way to get there?”
“Sky Heights is just on the other side of the hill here,” said Sam. “Well, down the ravine, at any rate. But to get there by car, you’ll have to go clear down Dawson, then up Enetai Avenue.”
“Damn.”
In another flurry of movement and a slam of the front door, they were gone, Barnaby standing in the foyer letting out several woofs of dissent in their wake. Jake looked at Sam, grimacing.
“We’re not even going to think about it. We’re going to the Bitter End and having a nice quiet meal.”
* * *
Sinister Justice Page 17