by Anne Tenino
“Yup.” Seth’s tone was a bit irritated. “I told you that already.”
“Just checking. Now take a look at some of these lost-and-found ads.”
Seth squinted at the monitor. “Are you shitting me? They include missing wives and servants in the same list as lost dogs and watches?”
“Let’s just say white male privilege—especially straight, Christian, white male privilege—isn’t exactly a new thing.” Nate pulled up the next document. “Take a look at our friend EGM. Over the course of the five months leading up to the murder, he advertised for lost stuff thirteen times. A coat. A watch. A horse.”
“A horse? How could he lose his horse? The guy was way too careless with his shit.”
“But in all those ads—and thirteen seems pretty excessive—you know what was interesting? He never advertised for the lost knife.”
Seth tilted his head, looking over at Nate. “Something’s not lost if—”
“You know where it is,” they said simultaneously.
“Asshole,” Seth muttered, then blinked rapidly. “Not you. That guy.”
“Wait. There’s more.”
“What are you, an infomercial host?” Seth lifted one eyebrow and lowered the other, the picture of fake skepticism. “If you’re hawking cubic zirconia, I’m not buying.”
Nate forced a chuckle, but his hand on the mouse was a little clammy anyway. Seth might say he wasn’t invested in keeping his ancestors’ reputations intact, but when push came to shove, they were still his family. “While I was digging through the records, I found the notice of your great-great-grandmother’s second marriage. Guess who the groom was.”
Seth’s eyes widened. “No way—Monteith?” Nate nodded, waiting for anger and denial, but instead, Seth cackled evilly, rubbing his hands together. “This is fantastic. Uncle Kirk is gonna rupture a blood vessel. What else have you got?”
Heaving a relieved sigh, Nate turned back to the monitor. “Well, the anti-Chinese sentiment began to appear in the newspaper ads almost immediately after Fennimore’s death. See?” He brought up the screenshots of the yellowed ads of local businesses touting their goods and services. “Before the murder, they’re this weird combination of outrageous and self-deprecating—like they’re trying to boast about how great their stuff is, but don’t want to draw down the wrath of God for hubris or something.” He pointed to the ads from the week after the murder. “Here, she hadn’t even been convicted yet, but it’s already starting.” Each ad had a tiny line at the bottom: No Orientals. “They go on like that for about two months. Then they peter out.”
Seth snorted. “What, Bluewater Bay suddenly grew a social conscience?”
“Hardly. Look—after the exclusion ads start to disappear, we also see these.” Nate pointed to a whole line of ads for servants. “In the months before the murder, there were virtually none. Combine the sudden need for servants with the disappearance of the exclusion language—”
“The Chinese had all left town?” Seth reared back in his chair. “Unbelievable. The bastards fucking drove them out.”
“That’s what I think, and Bluewater Bay wouldn’t be the first or only community to do it.”
“If they—”
Quack. Tarkus nudged Seth’s knee, his duck in his mouth. He quacked it again, then laid it at Seth’s feet.
“Hey, boy. Whatcha got there?”
“I think he’s offering it to you. You should be honored. He guards that thing like it’s a Holy Grail made out of bacon.”
Seth picked it up and gave it an experimental squeeze, activating the squeaker this time. He stood, waggling it in front of Tarkus, who crouched down, tail swishing madly.
“Oh yeah. Somebody wants to play. Somebody wants his squeaky duck, yes he does.” Seth feinted to the right, then left, Tarkus matching his moves and ruffing in excitement. “Uh-oh. I think it—yes, it’s going to flyyy.” He launched the duck over the half wall to the living room below. Tarkus lunged after it. “Oh my God. No—”
But Tarkus just put his paws on the top of the wall and peered down, whining a little. He cast Seth a reproachful look and headed down the stairs.
Seth collapsed in his chair. “Holy shit, Nate. I’m sorry. I thought he was gonna jump.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Nate rubbed a circle on Seth’s back. “He’s got some impulse-control issues, and his depth perception isn’t great, but he’s got this place figured out.”
“That’s a relief. Now where were we?”
“Well, we know that the entire Chinese population decamped after the whole sorry episode. We can see some specific evidence of how they were treated here. The newspaper accounts of the arrest and trial mention Adeline’s mother, Mei, being hysterical and having to be removed from the room. They barred her from the jail too. She wasn’t allowed to see her daughter before the execution.”
“Which means Adeline couldn’t see the baby either.”
“No.” Nate’s throat tightened, thinking about that poor girl, abandoned, falsely accused, isolated from even a last sight of her child. “Probably not.” He swallowed. “But look here. The day of the execution, Mei was taken away by two women that the reporter obviously loathed almost as much as he did Adeline. Harriet Bunson and Mamie Rose Keeler.”
“Who are they?”
“He wrote about them a few other times—apparently they were suffragists, and a major pain in the ass for the fine, upstanding men of the town, your illustrious and not-very-lamented ancestor included.”
“Figures.” Seth snorted, crossing his arms, and his obvious indignation warmed Nate’s heart. “Well, good for them.”
“Yeah. And check this out. They wrote this totally insulting letter to the town leaders that got published in the paper—”
“Wait. If it was insulting, why did the editor run it? He was one of Fennimore’s poker buddies too.”
Nate grinned. “Because he wanted to gloat. The women wrote it as they were leaving town.”
“Okaaay. That’s kind of patronizing, but I’m assuming it’s significant?”
“They moved to San Francisco—and took Adeline’s baby and Mei with them.”
Seth grabbed Nate’s arm. “Really? We found them?” He looked at his hand and immediately released his hold.
No. Put it back. Being touched—Nate missed it like crazy. “But you’re right. We’ve got a firm lead, because Harriet and Mamie Rose weren’t exactly shrinking violets. In fact, they were totally badass. I’ve found mentions of them—letters to the editors, articles about protests—in newspapers from San Francisco to Santa Barbara to Hollywood. If Mei and the baby were still with them when they hit Hollywood, we have a chance of locating them. My friend—”
“The Hollywood expert?”
“Yup. He’s got that town nailed. Now if—”
A whine from the top of the stairs interrupted them. Tarkus limped toward them, favoring his left hind leg.
“Jesus, Nate. He’s hurt.” Seth jumped up and rushed over to Tarkus, running his hands over the dog’s flank. “Is that my fault? Did he—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Nate followed him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. He’s faking.”
“Faking?” Seth looked up. “Seriously? He does that?”
“Yup. He had to alter his gait when he was in casts after he was hurt, and he had so much practice that it’s like a self-taught trick. He pulls it out whenever he wants to make me feel guilty for ignoring him.”
“Yeah?” He grinned. “Maybe it’s time we took a break, then. But I’m sure no poor, injured puppy would want to play Frisbee on the beach.”
Tarkus immediately bounced to his feet, and Seth laughed, his shoulder vibrating under Nate’s hand. This feels good. Warm. Comfortable. Seth hadn’t complained about the length of time they’d spent on research. He played with Nate’s dog. He didn’t seem to mind that sex wasn’t really on the table. He was a good guy.
God help me, I really like him. Now what am I supposed t
o do about that?
Before taking Tarkus and Nate to his favorite beach, Seth stopped by his place to get his Death Star kite. The day was partly clear, and judging by the way the clouds were booking across the sky, the winds aloft were strong. Nothing looked more unominous on such a nice day than a planet-killing battle station swooping around in the blue. Nate would appreciate it.
As he turned into the driveway, his whole world twisted sideways with the car for one disorienting second. Déjà vu and vertigo all rolled up into the sudden realization that he never brought guys home with him except for sex.
It was stupid, but he couldn’t quite overcome the feeling that Nate would somehow know that and interpret Seth inviting him up as a come-on.
“Um.” He turned the key in the ignition, shutting off the engine, brain whirling. He reached back to pat the muzzle currently snuffling in his ear. Tark had shoved his head between them as soon as the car stopped, his blue Frisbee clamped in his jaws—he hadn’t let go of the thing since they’d left Nate’s place. “I’ll just run up and grab my kite, okay? It’ll only take a second. You guys can stay here.”
Nate shrugged. “Sure. Take your time.”
Well, that hadn’t been a big deal, had it? Except for him.
So he left Nate in the car as he bounded up the stairs to his place. It took him long seconds of emptying his front closet onto the floor before he found the kite, still in its original packaging, but he was back out the door in less than three minutes, he’d guess.
Unfortunately, a danger he hadn’t anticipated had reared its head—Grandma was standing next to the passenger side of the car, smiling and chatting with Nate, who’d clearly gotten out to talk to her. Tarkus refused to be ignored, of course, hanging his head through the open window, watching attentively—although he still hadn’t dropped the Frisbee.
Damn it.
“Hello, dear,” she called when Seth reached the bottom of the stairs and was walking toward them. He had to pass by her before getting back in the driver’s seat, so he did what had recently become normal for them—kissed her on the cheek.
“Hey, Grandma.” Then he snuck a look at Nate, relieved that he was smiling naturally and seemed relaxed. “Um, you two have met, I take it?”
Nate murmured something affirmative.
Grandma beamed. “I love to get to know your friends.”
Yeah, he bet she did. Thank God she didn’t know he usually only brought guys here for sex.
“I was just telling Pearl what we’re doing—”
An alarm wailed in Seth’s head—he was waiting for a good time to reveal the existence of the knife, but what if she already knew? If Nate had said something first . . . Well, it’d be fixable, just, he didn’t like upsetting her. Okay, yeah, and he felt guilty for not saying anything yet.
“—and she asked me if we’re going to your beach.”
Seth laughed, partly in relief. The gleam of mischief in Nate’s eye reassured him. “Yeah, it’s called Larson Beach Wayside. Another family heirloom. When Grandpa—” Seth nodded his head in Grandma’s direction, to indicate he meant her husband “—sold all the timber land, he set that parcel aside and donated it to the county for parkland.” He squinted at his grandmother in a faux-annoyed way.
She lifted her chin and pursed her lips, but it didn’t hide her smirk. “With the amount of time you spend there, one would think your grandfather had donated it to you.”
A snort slipped out. “It’s too bad he didn’t.”
Amusement bled from her expression, and she looked past Seth, over his shoulder at the main house. “Yes, it is too bad.”
Stupid thing to say. It had to have reminded her of the millstone Grandpa had left around her neck. “We’ve gotta get going, Grandma.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek again. “Don’t worry, I’m working on something about the house,” he whispered in her ear. Not that he couldn’t tell her now, but he’d rather do it later. Right now he wanted to go to his beach and hang out. Absorb what they’d found out and really think over what he wanted Shannon to say.
Not to mention fill Nate in on the parts of the situation the dude knew nothing about. Seth hadn’t even brought up getting Sentinel House ready to sell. Damn it, he’d have to explain it. Today, he promised himself.
Nate lifted a brow, as if he realized Seth wasn’t being completely up front about something, but he said good-bye to Grandma and got back into the car when Seth did.
“Um, thanks.” Using the excuse of watching the road as he drove, Seth avoided Nate’s gaze. “For not telling her about the knife. I haven’t had a chance to, yet, but I will before Shannon prints anything.”
“No problem.” Nate’s tone was perfectly normal.
“Listen, there’s stuff I need to tell you,” Seth began, but then he didn’t say anything else for a minute, half concentrating on getting them through the first couple of intersections.
“If you aren’t comfortable—”
“I am. I mean . . .” He twisted his grip around the steering wheel for no reason other than stress. “Okay, the thing is, Grandma wants to sell the house.”
After too many seconds of silence, he glanced over to see a frown on Nate’s face. The same one he wore when he was thinking. The guy didn’t often speak before thinking, and Seth appreciated that more than he would have expected.
“Shannon’s story won’t kill any deal, will it?” So sweet, that he looked concerned. “She’s running it by you before it goes to press, right?”
“Yeah, and I’ll have some veto power.” They’d discussed only a few of those details last night, and planned to get together for coffee tomorrow to iron things out. “Also, she needs to know what we found today.” He sighed, wondering if he really was the slacker most of his family claimed he was. “I should have told Grandma already, and I should have emailed Shannon—I mean, I should be doing those things right now, but I’m doing this, instead.” He struggled not to add the obvious, but the words wouldn’t stay inside. “With you.”
“Hey, I get it,” Nate said after a few moments of silence. “People underestimate the effect history has on them, especially personal history. You probably need some time to process it.” When Seth glanced over, he smiled slightly.
“Thanks. Um, there’s more.”
“Wait until we’re at the beach,” Nate said just loud enough for Seth to hear over the sound of tires on pavement. “We can talk about it there.”
For a split second, Seth closed his eyes, but only that long. He was driving after all.
They pulled into the small, roadside lot for “his” beach, driving past the sign, half-hidden behind overgrown salal, but still legible. Larson Beach Wayside.
Nate didn’t say anything more about the name, though, and Seth consciously let go of his discomfort and worry as he climbed out of the driver’s side. “I totally need this right now.”
Tarkus interrupted whatever Nate was about to say in response, scrambling through the front seats across the guy’s lap to shoot out of his open door. They both laughed, and then Nate went after the dog, wrestling the Frisbee away from him and tossing it toward the water. Tarkus took off after it while Seth got his kite out, opening the package for the first time and putting the plastic in the garbage can at the access point between the lot and the beach. Sometimes when he came out here, he spent the first hour picking up trash that other people had left or that had washed ashore, so he’d be damned if he’d contribute to it.
It was perfect weather, at least for the Pacific Northwest. Too windy for shirtsleeves, but perfect for a kite. Nate took a walk, following the shoreline to the east end of the little crescent of sand.
Meanwhile Tarkus actually dropped the Frisbee to lunge at the Death Star, then barked like crazy at it as Seth ran west, trying to get the kite to catch the breeze. It didn’t take much before it lifted off. “Good boy. Ravage the Dark Side.” While Seth couldn’t help praising Tark’s instincts, he wanted to keep the thing intact until he’d flown it at
least once. It looked as ridiculous as he’d hoped it would with the sun-washed fluffy clouds and bits of blue as a backdrop.
After he’d played out most of the string and the kite was at altitude—close enough to make out some detail, but far enough away that it just might really be a space station orbiting the planet—Nate wandered up, a couple of smooth stones in his hands and telltale grains of sand around the pockets of his coat.
“Damn, young Skywalker.” Nate squinted up into the sky. “Think they have TIE fighter kites too? Because that would be epic.”
When he turned his grin on Seth, blood rushed to Seth’s head. The guy was so amazingly attractive, to the point that just looking at him made Seth as high as his kite. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, not with the way the muted teal of Nate’s jacket made his eyes pop, and the intensity of his smile. Seth was trapped by him; worse, he was drawn toward him, being pulled forward as if Nate had him on a string and was reeling him in.
Fortunately, before Seth did anything dumb like press his lips against Nate’s, Tarkus dropped the Frisbee at their feet and barked, ending the moment of enchantment.
Seth got his head back in the game, searching the sand for a rock big enough to anchor the kite with. “Definitely better than my Strawberry Shortcake one. That’s best for stormy days.”
Nate laughed, then threw another of what would be many Frisbee tosses for Tarkus. Although Nate had said the blue Frisbee was a poor second to the treed red one in the dog’s eyes, it didn’t seem to matter: he looked as happy as Seth felt.
Seth was working up to explaining the rest of the situation with his family when Nate asked him about work. Specifically, about the “unadvertised special” Mary Pickford Seth had made for him when he’d dropped by the night before to talk about the knife. So now, Seth ended up explaining his drinking vinegars—after the prerequisite amount of time repeating “a shrubbery” in silly British accents—and his other plans for the bar. “It’s awesome, more than I expected. I feel like a mad scientist. Dude!” He whipped his head around to catch Nate’s eye. “You think they’d let me wear a lab coat?”