Murder on Russian Hill (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  From there, he got a Niners t-shirt that looked too small to Peyton, a pair of socks in red and gold, a picnic blanket with the Niners logo on it, and from his parents, a Niners jacket. Abe gave her a wink. Obviously, there was a theme to the gifts and hers fit right in there.

  Finally Antonio handed over the envelope. Marco pulled out the card and opened it, then he just sat still and didn’t move for a moment. Peyton shifted nervously. She couldn’t believe how badly she wanted him to like it.

  His eyes lifted and he stared at her, but he didn’t speak.

  “Well?” said Franco, “What is it?”

  Marco held up the tickets. “Niners tickets…”

  Everyone gasped.

  “Fifty yard line…”

  “Holy shit,” said Franco.

  “Lower deck…”

  Vinnie sat forward. “There had better be two tickets there.”

  Slowly Marco separated the two tickets.

  Vinnie leaped to his feet and scrambled over all the legs to Peyton. He grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her on the cheek.

  Peyton laughed. “It’s from Abe too.”

  Abe stood up. “Yeah, where’s mine?”

  Never missing a beat, Vinnie swiveled around and planted a kiss on Abe’s cheek too. The room erupted in laughter and Abe pretended to faint.

  “And Jake,” Peyton added.

  Vinnie moved toward him, but Jake held up a hand. “I’m good. I’m good.”

  Peals of laughter filled the house, but Rosa pushed herself to her feet. “All right. Come on. It’s time for cake. Everyone back in the kitchen.”

  There was a mad scramble to follow her. Peyton waited until the room had mostly cleared, then she rose to her feet. As she turned to go, Marco grabbed her wrist. He hadn’t budged from his spot on the arm of the recliner.

  “Did you hear her? She said cake.”

  “I heard her.” He tugged Peyton back to him. “How much did this cost you?”

  “Remember that linebacker we helped a few years ago. I contacted him and he gave me a great deal. Abe and Jake also helped out.”

  He ran his thumb across her inner wrist. “You didn’t have to do this, you know?”

  She straightened his ball cap. “I did have to do it. I love you, D’Angelo,” she said and kissed his cheek. “You know that.”

  He smiled. He was so damn pretty when he smiled.

  “Did you not hear her say cake?”

  He chuckled. “I heard her.”

  She tugged him to his feet. “Then come on.”

  He didn’t budge. “Peyton?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Thank you.”

  She came back and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest and hugging him tight. He hugged her in return and bent, kissing the top of her head as he always did. She couldn’t believe how happy she felt, but it also made her ache to know she would never have this with her own family again.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Okay, now, unbutton the jeans and act as if you’re going to pull them off, so we can get a shot of the briefs.” The camera snapped frantically, flashes going off like gunfire. Joshua closed his eyes and turned away. He just couldn’t do this anymore.

  The flashes stopped. “Phil, brooding is good, but we’re getting boredom here,” said the photographer.

  “Okay, okay,” said Phil. “Give me a minute.”

  He circumvented the lights and cords, grabbing Joshua’s bare shoulder and motioning for him to follow him to the side of the studio. Joshua hooked the jeans around his waist and trailed him, wishing he could retrieve a shirt as well. He felt exposed and self-conscious walking around bare foot and bare chested.

  A table had been set up along the wall with cookies and donuts and pastries soaking in their own sugar. Phil stopped beside it and motioned to the fare. “What would you like?”

  Joshua hadn’t eaten yet today, but he just couldn’t stomach anymore sweets. “Nothing.”

  Phil poured a glass of juice, then held it out. “Drink this. You look tired and tired doesn’t sell underwear.”

  Joshua took the cup. “Why am I selling underwear? I’m a musician, Phil. The other guys don’t do this shit.”

  Phil caught him under the chin. “None of them look like this either. You are the face and body of the band. Accept it. If you sell underwear, they sell records.”

  “I hate this.” He said it through clenched teeth. “This isn’t what I agreed to do.”

  “Do you like the condo? The Mercedes?”

  Joshua set the cup down. “Not as much as you think I do.”

  “Then do it for your brother, ‘cause he sure as shit likes it, doesn’t he?”

  Joshua closed his eyes and rolled his head back.

  Phil’s fingers gripped his shoulder, digging into the muscle. “Look, I know this sucks. No one wants to parade around like a piece of meat, but that’s the business. The music doesn’t bring out the girls, but you in your briefs, that brings them in droves.”

  “I’m so tired,” he said, staring at the ground. “We play until late at night, then you have me up at dawn for this stupid shit. I’m just so damn tired.”

  “I know, but this is the life, Josh. You picked this. You said you wanted it.”

  “I wanted to play music.” He leaned against the table. “I wanted to write and sing and that’s all. I’m eighteen, Phil. I shouldn’t feel tired all the time. This shit isn’t worth it.”

  Phil looked over his shoulder. No one was paying any attention. “I know you’re tired. You’ll get a break soon. You’ll get to go home for Christmas. Four weeks off, doing nothing, sleeping in. We’ve just got to get through ‘til then.”

  Joshua frowned. “That’s weeks from now. Are you even listening to me? I’m dying here.”

  Phil glanced around again, then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a brown prescription bottle. He turned his back, so only Joshua could see what he was doing, and unscrewed the top, then he shook something into his hand.

  “Take these.” He held them out. Two little royal blue pills lay in the palm of his hand.

  Joshua backed a step away. “What is that?”

  “Nothing really. It’ll just give you some energy, make you less tired. You’ll hardly notice it, but it’ll get you through the day.”

  “I’m not taking that.”

  Phil recapped the bottle, hiding the pills in his palm, then he shoved the bottle in his pocket again. “It’s nothing. My doctor gives them to me. It’s no more than caffeine.” He picked up the juice and held it out. “Take it. We’ve got to get through this shoot and it’ll help. You won’t feel so self-conscious either.”

  Joshua leaned close to him and lowered his voice. “I don’t want your pills. I want this other shit to stop.”

  Phil sighed. “Here’s the thing, Josh. I didn’t want to say anything, but the band just isn’t that good. You aren’t going to go any farther with them. They’re holding you back.”

  “That’s bull shit.”

  “No, it’s the truth. They just don’t have that spark, but you do. You could be a megastar.”

  Joshua tilted his head. “If what you say about the band is true, then I see no reason to do this crap anymore.”

  “Except for this. You can pull them along behind you. You can make them great. You have that star quality, that brilliance. You are their only chance. I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, but it means a whole lot to your brother. You’re his ticket, his one way pass. And this…” He motioned around the studio. “This is the only way to get it for him.”

  Joshua wanted to walk away, he wanted to call his bluff, but he knew James wouldn’t understand. James did want this worse than he did.

  Phil held out the pills and juice again.

  Joshua rubbed a hand over his jaw and shifted weight. He knew this was how so many people got in trouble, how it all started. He wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t naïve, but he was tired, so
damn tired.

  And even though he knew better, he reached for them.

  * * *

  Peyton jogged up the steps and opened the door to her house. Jake was coming out of the hallway with Pickles in his arms. He stopped and took in her running attire.

  “You went jogging?”

  “Yep,” she said, bending over to untie her running shoes.

  “How could you go jogging? A marching band is hammering in my skull.” He set Pickles down and the little dog ran to Peyton.

  She picked him up as she kicked off her shoes. “I didn’t drink as much as you. I drove, remember.”

  “I was trying to keep up with the D’Angelos.”

  “They’re twice as big as you,” she said, bending over and picking up her shoes.

  “You know it’s Saturday, right?”

  “Yep.” She passed him on her way to her bedroom. He followed her and leaned against the door jamb as she settled Pickles on the bed and opened her closet, chucking her shoes inside.

  “Saturday, a day of rest. A day to sleep in.”

  She grabbed a clean pair of jeans and went to her dresser, pulling out a t-shirt. “It’s 11:00AM, Jake. You slept in.”

  He leaned forward and glanced at the alarm clock on her dresser. “Well, shit.”

  She came to him and pushed him back into the hallway. “I’m gonna take a shower now. Go take some aspirin, then eat some bread. It’ll help.”

  He stood there as she closed the door in his face.

  Twenty minutes later, she found him in the kitchen eating cereal. Going to the sofa table, she grabbed her keys, the small bi-fold that held her license and ATM card, and her lip gloss. She slipped everything but the keys in her pocket and grabbed her coat off the rack.

  “Where going?” he mumbled around a mouthful.

  “To tidy up some loose ends on this case. I should be back by dinner, but don’t wait for me.”

  “Got it. Pickles and I are gonna take a nap.”

  “You do that.” She reached for her hair, gathering it in one hand.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Tie it up. It’s better down.”

  She frowned at him, but she released it. The heavy weight settled on her shoulders, curls tickling her face. “It’s annoying.”

  “And yet you don’t cut it off.”

  “Maybe I will. Good idea.”

  He waved her away. “I’m too hung over to play today. Just leave the hair alone. It’s your only good quality right now.”

  She laughed and grabbed her gun, wrapping the shoulder strap around it. “Take a nap, Grumpy.” She pulled open the door and stepped outside. Sunlight was peeking through the clouds, and the trees were rustling in a cool ocean breeze. She unlocked the Corolla’s trunk and hid the Glock in the spare tire well, then climbed behind the steering wheel. Last time she went to the psych facility, she’d worn the gun, but she didn’t think it was a good idea. Best not to give mentally ill people an opportunity if it wasn’t necessary.

  She started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. Rolling down the window, she enjoyed the wind as it blew past the car, sending her curls to dancing.

  When she’d visited Ravensong last time, she’d let him off too easy about Terry. She needed to be firm with him today. He had to know more about the woman’s life than he let on. If she was sleeping with this preacher man like Tiffany said, wouldn’t the little girl have told her father and wouldn’t any father be concerned about a strange man around his ten year old daughter? If not, she needed to know how their marriage ended, if there had been more than words between them.

  The same receptionist waited at the front desk when she arrived. She was a large woman with man sized hands and blunt features. Her brown hair was curled tightly in a bowl cut and she wore bright red lipstick, but when she smiled, her expression seemed genuine and kind.

  “Inspector Brooks,” said Peyton, showing her the badge.

  “I remember.” She placed the book for her to sign on the edge of the desk. “Right here, dear.”

  Peyton signed her name. Like last time the woman didn’t ask if she carried a weapon. This surprised Peyton a bit, but she dismissed it. “Is he at the piano?” She pointed to the door of the common room.

  “No, I haven’t seen him today. Too bad. Listening to him makes the hours pass quicker.”

  “I bet looking at him doesn’t hurt any either.”

  The receptionist giggled. “Not going to deny that.”

  Peyton smiled at her. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Well, being Saturday, if he isn’t in the common room, he’s likely in his room. No therapy today.”

  “I see. Can you direct me to it?”

  “Take this hall behind me and go right. He’s in room 34. He’s got one of the nicer views.”

  “Thank you.” Peyton moved beyond her desk and took the first right. A man passed her in the hallway, muttering to himself. In another room, she could see a woman sitting in a chair, but as Peyton passed, she threw her hands into the air and whooped. Peyton wasn’t sure this was the place to be if you were struggling to maintain your composure.

  She came to the room marked 34 and knocked. Nothing happened. She looked down the hallway again. The man had turned around and was wandering back toward Peyton. He appeared to be having an animated conversation with someone she couldn’t see. She kept one eye on him and knocked a second time.

  “Go away.” The muffled voice came from beyond the door.

  Go away? That didn’t sound like the man she knew. Even when most stressed, Ravensong had maintained a sort of spacy charm. She reached for the doorknob and turned it. The door opened and she peered inside.

  Ravensong was sitting in a chair before the window, gripping the arms with both hands, his eyes closed. His hair was damp at the temples and the mouth of his shirt was open, sweat glistening on his chest. She crossed the room to him and knelt by the chair. He opened his eyes a slit and glared at her.

  “Not a good time, Inspector Brooks.”

  “I can see that,” she said, reaching out her hand and touching his cheek with the backs of her fingers. His flesh was feverish to the touch. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s called withdrawal,” he gritted out between his teeth. He moved his right hand from the chair arm and wrapped it around his middle, sucking in a painful breath.

  “Let me get someone.”

  “No.”

  “No? You clearly need help.”

  He reached out with his left hand and caught her wrist. “Their form of help involves a needle and drugs. I’ve had enough of that help in my life, don’t you think?”

  She covered his fingers with her own. “Okay. Let me call Elena then.”

  “No.”

  “And why no?”

  “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

  Peyton was pretty sure Elena wouldn’t agree, but she understood pride, even if it was stupid. “Okay, no help.” Gently extricating herself, she went to the bathroom and found a washcloth. It was the smallest, sorriest washcloth she’d ever seen, but she guessed it was too small to make into a noose. Turning on the water, she let it run cold, then soaked the washcloth and wrung it out. Returning to his side, she laid the cold compress over his forehead. He glared at her, but she pressed it against his temples. “This helps me when I have a migraine.”

  He closed his eyes again and clenched his teeth.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. It brought her close enough to him to touch him, but give him space. Glancing around, she found the room rather sparse and utilitarian. No decorations on the wall, no dangling light fixtures, no cabinets or closets. His clothes were stored in a tub on a shelf, and the few toiletries he was allowed amounted to shampoo, conditioner, and toothpaste. He didn’t even have a toothbrush or a comb. A shadow of stubble marred the hollows beneath his high cheekbones, and she felt certain they would definitely not give him a razor.

  Completing her l
ook around, she turned back to the window. Beyond his room was a fenced-in yard of ferns, redwoods, and baby tears – a veritable garden of Eden in green. She gave a low whistle. “The receptionist wasn’t kidding. You’ve got a great view.”

  He squinted at her beneath the washcloth. “I like to sit out there.” He gasped and tightened his hold on his stomach. Instinctively Peyton reached out and took his other hand. His fingers squeezed hers, but she didn’t let go until the spasm passed.

  “How often does this happen?”

  “Less often than it did, and this one is mild compared to the others.”

  “Great.” She knew her voice didn’t sound convinced.

  “You don’t have to stay. I’d prefer it if you left actually.”

  “Well, if you won’t let anyone else help you, I guess I’m what you get.”

  He tried to laugh, but it became a moan of pain. After a moment, he looked at her again. “How is Tiffany?”

  “She’s amazing. You know you’re going to have your hands full in a couple of years, right?”

  “Meaning?”

  “She’s a looker. You’re going to have to fight the boys off.”

  “I know. That’s why I got the dog.”

  “That’s not gonna help. I met your dog.”

  Joshua nodded stiffly. “You’re right. I named him Wolf to give him ideas, but it didn’t take.”

  “I also met the rest of your family. Well, most of them. Apparently, the twin boys and a sister didn’t come.”

  “James?” He gave her a worried look.

  She smiled, still holding on to his hand. “Oh, I met James all right.”

  “He means well.”

  “I know that. It’s just wading through all of the threats and insults that’s a bitch.”

  He gave a chuckle again, but his fingers tightened on her hand. She waited until his hold eased.

  “They love you dearly, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “That’s hard on you, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Knowing how much they love you. How much they want to protect you. Even Elena. I know you adore her, but it’s hard.”