He tried to shake off the thought. Get a grip, he told himself. A simple conversation did not a sexual relationship make, even in Gay. And even so, he reminded himself, he hadn't married Zach or asked whether he was seeing anyone else. What right had he to be jealous? If Brad got possessive over every man he slept with he'd have no time for anything.
Brad crept quietly back up the stairs and sat at the bar in a seat obscured by an overgrown fern whose leaves trailed to the floor. His suspicions continued to plague him. Every few seconds he turned to look over his shoulder at the doorway. What on earth was Zach doing here? Were he and Perry both somehow connected with the deaths of Ross and Hayden?
He shook his head at his own stupidity. How could he have been so blind? He didn't know a thing about Zach! The first rule in his work was to trust no one. It had been drilled into his head repeatedly. Anything could be arranged to look like an accidental meeting: find a lonely young agent, discover his weakness for attractive men and set a trap. Zach had been a sexy duck decoy just waiting for him to light on the pond.
Another godlike bartender flirted with Brad as he took his order. Brad ignored his overtures. Other customers came in and the man turned his attention elsewhere.
Twenty minutes passed. Brad's curiosity was killing him. Finally, Zach came up the stairs and left without looking around. Brad finished his drink and went downstairs. He leaned on the bar.
Perry looked up. "G and T, my friend?"
Brad nodded. "You've got a good memory."
"Only for the good-looking ones," Perry said as he reached for a glass and filled it with ice.
Still flirting, Brad noted, but there wasn't much sense in asking for a date now.
"So how's the invention business?" Perry asked.
"Thriving, thanks. How are the boys?"
"Getting cuter and cuter," the barkeep replied with what might have been a smirk.
Brad's paranoia returned with a jolt. Was Perry taunting him? Did he know Brad had been seeing Zach? Even if Zach had mentioned him, would Perry connect Bradford the golf pro with Frank the inventor? Only if Perry had already seen him with Zach, Brad realized. And in this tiny town that was highly probable!
"I heard there was a little excitement down by the harbor this morning," Brad said, watching Perry fill his glass with tonic.
Perry whistled. "The murder? News must travel fast when tourists hear about such things the day they happen."
"I gather the gentleman in question was well known around town."
Perry gave a small laugh. "Well known, yes, but not much of a gentleman," he said, placing the drink in front of him.
Brad flipped him a bill. "If you knew Hayden Rosengarten, then you must have heard of his guesthouse."
Perry smiled innocently. "Is that the place you were asking about the other day?"
"That's it."
"Ah! Of course I knew about it. I wouldn't call it a guesthouse, though. It's more of a whorehouse."
"Really?"
Perry's smile vanished. "I should know—I worked there."
Brad leaned forward.
"But not for long," Perry went on. "Just long enough to regret it. I have that bastard to thank for the fact that I'll be stuck on meds for the rest of my life." He caught Brad's look. "Yeah—I'm positive."
"Sorry to hear it."
"Whatever." Perry shrugged. "I should've known better, but they filled my head with all sorts of crap about how beautiful I was. What they meant was how 'fuckable.' Those rich bastards didn't give a goddamn about me."
Brad sipped his drink. The mix was just right. Perry had remembered even that.
"Funny you don't recall a guy named Ross Pretty. He worked there, too."
Perry shot Brad a look. "Can I assume you were a friend of Ross's?"
Brad nodded. "I'm his ex-lover. I've come to claim his body."
Perry looked at him appraisingly, as though suddenly seeing him in a different light. "I warned Ross to get out of there before something happened," he said. "Something bad like what happened to me. Now it's too late. The only consolation is that he won't have to suffer a long miserable death like the rest of us."
Brad considered this. "You ever argue with Ross?"
"Argue about what?"
He shrugged. "Anything."
Perry looked at him long and hard. "You're not really an inventor, are you?"
Brad shook his head. "No, I'm not." He thought for a moment that would end the conversation, but it didn't.
"Yeah, we argued. More than once, for what it's worth. Ross didn't know what he'd got himself into. He wouldn't believe me when I told him Rosengarten was using him."
"Were you in love with Rosengarten?"
Perry looked at him scornfully. "I'm not into daddies. Not even the sweet type. I prefer good-looking guys like you."
"Did you and Rosengarten ever have sex?"
Perry shrugged. "Everyone did. It was part of the hiring policy. Anyway, the bastard's dead and gone. And I say 'good riddance.'"
"Do you know who killed him?"
Perry leaned forward over the bar. "Could've been me," he said. "But then again, it could have been a hundred guys in this town. If anyone confesses to it, I'll buy him a drink. Hell, I'll buy him ten drinks!"
"I take it you won't be at the funeral tomorrow?"
Perry smirked. "Oh, I'll be there," he said. "I want to see them put him in the ground and cover him over. That's the only way I'll believe the bastard's really dead."
"Harsh words," Brad said.
Perry's face twisted into an unpleasant snarl. "Man, you have no idea. That man was a monster! He didn't care for anyone."
"And what about you?"
"What about me what?"
"Do you care for anyone?" Brad said. "All these cute guys who come in here and drool over you day after day. You ever take any of them home and coax them into a little bareback?"
Perry slammed his fist on the bar. "No one should live with what I've got! I'd never do that to anyone!"
"Not even if you didn't like the guy? What about that cute kid with blue hair who left a few minutes ago? Maybe he's a younger version of those rich bastards you despise. Would you infect him to get back at the rest of them?"
. Perry released his grip on the counter and leaned back. His eyes narrowed. He seemed to be calculating something.
"Hey! Life's rough," he said with a shrug. "What a boy does with his body is his concern, not mine."
In that moment, Bradford hated the handsome barkeep more than he'd ever hated anyone. He downed his drink and stood.
"Thanks for the drink," he said, turning.
"Nice to see you again, Frank. Come back any time."
25
Brad didn't hear from Zach that evening. He hadn't really expected to after seeing him chatting with Perry, but some part of him still hoped Zach would call. Brad's visit to the Gifford House and his angry accusations to Perry hadn't allayed his fears any, though he knew he shouldn't have asked those questions. All the more reason why someone in his position should never have personal connections, he reminded himself. It only upset him to think about it now.
He ate on the veranda and watched the sun set. The once-promising bottle of Chateau de Beaucastel did nothing to assuage his feelings. He barely tasted it. Afterward he flung the empty bottle into the darkness of the marsh where it disappeared without a sound.
At ten o'clock he took a shower and went to bed, tossing on the mattress as the clock's luminous dial changed slowly: 10:30... 11:50... 12:45. Zach's face hovered in the air before him. Kids like that thought they were invulnerable because everybody loved them, Brad knew. And then one day they ended up in bed with the wrong guy, and a promising life was compromised.
He had nightmares that night. Zach turned up in most of them. Together they were running from someone they couldn't see. Whenever Brad looked over his shoulder, all he could make out was a dark car. As it got closer, he saw that it was a Porsche.A rich man's car.
&
nbsp; At one point they were running downhill when the rim flew off one of the wheels, rolling after them like a saw blade threatening to cut them to bits. Losing sight of Zach, Brad jumped out of the way just in time to avoid its jagged teeth.
He fell face down, finding himself staring at a large red gem. That's a very big ruby, he told himself, picking it up. As it lay in his palm, the stone twinkled and dissolved into a drop of blood.
Brad woke with his heart palpitating. It was just past 2 a.m. He tried to recall the car that almost hit him the night he'd met Ruby. Had it been a Porsche? He couldn't be sure.
Outside, wind buffeted the house. He walked naked out onto the veranda, the cool wind whipping his body. Waves crashed in the distance. He shivered. Was this solitude or loneliness? One was a cool drink of water, the other an attack of sciatica. It shouldn't be' that hard to know the difference.
Suddenly he tensed. Was that a shadow or had someone just slipped into his yard? He couldn't make anything out in the darkness. He withdrew silently inside, grabbing his shorts and racing down the stairs. Out in the yard, everything was in motion—the trees, the marsh grass, and even the street signs wobbling on their posts. He waited ten minutes, then gave up and went back up to bed.
He lay awake for another hour listening to the wind and the distant surf. He remembered his dream of the Porsche. Had it been a warning for him not to trust Ruby? He hoped not. He still couldn't believe she'd hurt anyone.
Images of Zach drifted through his mind, plaguing him with the memory of how perfectly their bodies had merged. Yet the very next day he'd discovered Zach secretly meeting with Perry. Perry, who was a possible suspect in Ross's murder. Perry, who was an even more likely suspect in Rosengarten's murder. Just how much did Zach know and what exactly was his involvement in P'Town's ugly little secret? It made Brad doubt everything Zach had said, including his claim that when they'd met a year and a half earlier he was a sexual novice. Bullshit! Brad thought. That kid had all the right moves, and you don't pick those up overnight!
He fell into a fitful slumber just before dawn.
The morning was overcast. The sky and the dunes stretched in an unbroken line of gray as far as the eye could see. Provincetown in the rain was a dismal place. It was fitting weather for the funeral of a man who'd been despised by so many people.
In the mirror, Brad saw the dark circles beneath his eyes. He let out a sigh. He was definitely becoming a candidate for early wrinkles. He deliberated over his wardrobe for some time before deciding what to wear. He wanted something that would seem suitably solemn, yet with a hint of casual elegance. What exactly was that? he wondered. A priest with a sprig of lilac in his hair?
It wasn't till he was leaving that he discovered the note pinned to his door. He'd missed it in the darkness last night. It was from Zach. So he had seen someone after all! Why had Zach come by at two o'clock in the morning? Fearing he'd be late, Brad tucked the note into his pocket to read later.
From a distance, the grave markers looked like giant chess pieces. Your bishop may take my queen, Bradford mused, but my knight definitely prefers your king. Check and mate, Mr. Hayden Rosengarten, entrepreneur.
He was surprised to see several dozen people standing around the open grave. They weren't the people he'd expected to see. For the most part, they looked like regular townsfolk. There were no hard-ass mobster types come to pay their last respects to a fellow criminal. By all appearances, this would seem to be the funeral of an ordinary and fairly popular man.
Perry stood off to one side, under a tree. The barkeep paid Brad no attention. A few minutes later, Fred rolled up in his wheelchair without his canine escorts. He looked surprised to see Brad there. Brad watched as Perry walked over to the drug dealer and the two spoke briefly. All the pieces were connecting.
A tall shapely blonde wept quietly into her handkerchief. There was something familiar about her, Brad thought. She looked like Cybill Shepherd. What on earth would Cybill Shepherd have to do with an ex-drug lord and brothel owner?
Brad recognized another familiar face, that of Hayden's spectacular bodyguard, Johnny K. He remembered how Rosengarten had pointed him out at dinner, claiming the stud had his name tattooed on his penis. Would that be Sebastian O'Shaughnessy or Bradford Fairfax?
At Johnny K.'s side was the cheerless Jeremiah, whose eyes roved icily over the crowd. The thin man caught Brad's glance. He nudged his companion, who glared at him across the grave.
Brad nodded and smiled. Bet you thought I was dead, he mused. He watched to see if the pair would acknowledge Perry or Fred, but no one gave anything away. Maybe Johnny K. wasn't the cop who assaulted Fred on the highway outside of town, after all. Then again, a man would look pretty different dressed in a uniform.
Two Asian men in burgundy robes, heads shaved, stood to one side of the gathering. Every few minutes they raised conch shells and blew a mournful sound over the gathering. There were other people in colorful costumes as well. These people were all Buddhists, Brad realized with a shock.
A short bespectacled man in a saffron gown began to chant. Brad stood listening to what sounded like a Tibetan funeral ceremony. He looked up to see Cybill Shepherd standing beside him in tears.
"I'm so sorry," Brad said. "Were you related to him?"
"No, you silly goose. It's me—Cinder."
Brad did a double take.
"Don't be so obvious," Cinder chided.
Bradford resumed his stare at the coffin.
Cinder sighed. "Funerals are wonderful, don't you think? There's something about them I just can't resist. Thank God for waterproof mascara!"
"Who are all these people?" Brad asked, surveying the crowd.
"Buddhists," Cinder replied, as though it were obvious to everyone but Brad.
"Yes, I know they're Buddhists, but why are they here?"
"Hayden was a Buddhist. Didn't you know that?" "No!"
"Oh, yes! Big time! He even willed himself his own estate when he's reincarnated. I think the big boys are still working on that one."
"I noticed some of his bitterest enemies among the mourners," Brad said, glancing across at Fred and Perry.
"I wouldn't doubt it. They want to be sure it's really him going into that hole. Wouldn't you?"
"I'd rest contented with whatever the coroner's report said."
"It didn't do Ross much good," Cinder reminded him.
Brad noticed a man in a brown suit standing quietly off to one side. He was Asian Ivy League, if there was such a thing. For a moment, Brad felt he knew him. Then he recognized the face—it was the visiting Tibetan spiritual leader in the poster he'd seen in town. Hayden must have been a very big deal to Buddhists, Brad realized.
Cinder looked over to see what Brad was watching.
"Oooh! Isn't he nummy?" Cinder gushed.
The ceremony appeared to be coming to an end. The shell-blowers emitted one long final gasp as the coffin slowly sank into the ground. At the last moment the winch slipped. The box jerked and dropped the remaining few inches, landing with a thud. Perry smirked. Fred pulled an oversized joint from his pocket and threw it in after the box.
"Cheers, you bastard!" Brad heard him yell. "Here's something to keep you company while you roast in hell!"
"What a waste," Cinder declared through tears.
It seemed like half the town had come to the funeral of a man everyone hated. The only one crying was Cinder. For a moment Brad imagined the murder might have been a group conspiracy, but that was just small-town America getting to him, he reasoned. Pull into a gets station in rural Georgia, and you'd think Stephen King had dreamed the place up. Surely an entire town wouldn't conspire to kill one of its own citizens, no matter how hated he was? Still, Hayden Rosengarten was a blemish on Provincetown's fair complexion. More than one person had thought so.
Brad had almost convinced himself his conspiracy theories were downright loony when he turned and saw a figure in purple trudging toward them with a small white dog trailing behind.
The missing piece!
Ruby came over and planted herself beside him. "I was afraid I'd missed it," she said.
"Hi Ruby," Brad said. "You're the last person I expected to see here today."
Ruby looked sheepish. "I know," she said. "I'm the last person I expected to see here today, too."
"Hiya, hon," Cinder said, bending to kiss Ruby on the cheek and reaching down to pat Bill, who licked his hand affectionately. "Love the dress."
"Thanks. Only one I own. I keep it for funerals and weddings."
"I didn't realize you two knew each other," Brad said, surprised.
"Honey, the whole town knows each other," Cinder replied. "There's not a soul here today who doesn't know everyone else."
"My Rinpoche talked me into coming," Ruby told him. "He said it would be good for my Karma if I could forgive Rosiegarters as he leaves the earth plane."
"That's a noble sentiment," Brad said.
She smiled. "Isn't it? That and the fact that the bastard's in the bardo right now. When a soul dies, it contemplates the light for four days. If it enters into the light, it never returns. If it doesn't enter, it gets reborn as something else. I'm going to try to stand between his soul and the light. In his case, I think he'll come back on a lower rung of the ladder."
Brad cocked his head inquisitively.
Ruby winked. "I wanna make sure he gets reborn as a cockroach so I can step on him when we meet again. Come to think of it, he already was one in this life. I'll try for an ant."
She nodded toward the handsome Asian in the brown suit Brad and Cinder had noticed earlier. "That's my guy over there. My Reluctant Rinpoche."
Brad had always thought of religious devotees as physical blobs, but here was one who positively radiated a hearty sexiness. Then again, he reasoned, both Ross and Zach could hardly be called slackers in the physical fitness department, even if they were just trainees. Maybe it was a Buddhist thing.
The Rinpoche walked over to greet them exuding power and well-being. Brad extended his hand. The man had a handshake like a trucker's. Brad felt his hormones twitch. He looked forty, tops. Perfect daddy age, Brad thought, as he stared into the man's deep-set eyes. Here was major sex appeal.
P'town Murders: A Bradford Fairfax Murder Mystery Page 15