Ewan laughed. That’s when he noticed his cock was finally beginning to subside. He went to the bathroom, taking Autumn’s place in there as she exited. There was a lot to think about.
He supposed he should be thinking mostly about the Freestyle Murderer. Ewan had hooked up with a criminal prosecutor in Autumn, so more than likely there were more vengeful Freestyles floating around out there, too. Instead, his mind of course kept drifting back to the excellent scene they’d just played out. Things were progressing just fine. Noel’s deal to purchase forty acres from Devin Jonas had just closed, and Noel had shown Ewan and Autumn the plans for the new home construction.
They’d be breaking ground within the next month, so Noel was setting down roots in Hell’s Delight. The new Craftsman style house had five bedrooms and horse stables, but Ewan hadn’t presumed to ask about his—or Autumn’s—role in any of this.
When he exited the bathroom, Noel and Autumn had their heads together over by the front room window, so Ewan drifted to the coffee table where Autumn had spread out some of the Golden files she’d had sent over. Sitting on the couch, Ewan idly picked up some of the documents and photos. There was a morbid photo of a body being pulled from a swimming pool. It hardly looked like a body with the spine missing and gaping valleys where organs had been.
He put that photo down and read a page of John Tremaine’s trial transcript. Apparently “THE COURT,” probably Autumn, was examining some guy named MR. CHAVEZ. Ewan swelled with pride at the fancy legalese Autumn dazzled the witness with. “It’s very essential and important for justice,” she said at one point. Another time she “had no objection if it becomes the property of the Court.” Seeing her in this new light just enhanced his love for her.
Then he picked up a strange photo of a chopper emblazoned with a red cross on a white background, the international symbol for medic. “WHY” was painted above the cross. He assumed it was much like World War II vets painting sexy women on their planes, only not as cheerful.
“What are you thinking?” Autumn asked softly, sitting down next to Ewan.
“This Vietnam photo.”
“How’d you know it was a Vietnam photo?”
“I don’t know. It has that old-timey color. Too old to be Iraq or Afghanistan.”
“You’re right. It is a Vietnam war chopper.”
“Just reminded me of something, this ‘why’ painted on it. I overheard that guy, Burt or whoever he pretended to be, saying some things to you and Katrina at the baseball field. He said something like ‘I don’t understand why you’d leave your job. Why? Find out why.’ He kept saying ‘why.’”
“Yes, I remember. I thought it was weird how he put so much emphasis on the why—” Autumn stopped short and gulped loudly. “Oh,” she whispered, and pointed to the chopper.
“Yes. And remember when we were at your friend Mia’s house and Alex showed us that e-mail the Freestyle sent to him? It said something like ‘how I carved up those bags and why I did what I did with those cartridges.’”
Autumn nodded. “Yes. He called the bodies ‘bags.’ The emphasis was on the why.”
They both looked at the chopper. Ewan asked, “Could he have been referring to body bags? Why do you have this chopper photo?”
Autumn shrugged. “It’s a photo of the chopper John Tremaine’s father flew in Vietnam. He was a medic.”
Ewan put the photo down respectfully. “Well, there you have part of your motive, anyway. Tremaine probably heard some war stories from his dad, then he goes and enlists in the army too. Gets blown to smithereens in Iraq.”
“Oh, yes. Post-traumatic stress is definitely the main factor in these murders. It’s frightening that we put away Tremaine based upon his confession and the mountain of evidence at his house, but with the lingering knowledge there was obviously someone else involved. For a while things were quiet. We were hoping at least we’d scared the actual killer into submission, or he’d gotten locked up for something else, or…died.”
Ewan took her hand. “I guess the pathetic conflicted murderer is wondering ‘why,’ too. Many times, for many years after my son’s murder I wondered why, Autumn. Believe me, if I’d have caught the kidnapper I’d have pulverized him with my bare hands.”
“So your son was definitely murdered?” Autumn had the bold yet sensitive tone of the professional interrogator. “Or did you just assume that?”
He wasn’t used to talking about this. All Noel and Autumn knew was that his son had been kidnapped and never found. “Yes, they found his body.” His voice came out all strangled, as though he himself was being choked. “Just three days later, they found him in a dumpster.”
Autumn scooted closer on the couch. They were silent for a while and Noel came and perched on the edge of the coffee table, hands clasped between his knees. At last Autumn said, “Words can’t describe how awful I feel, Ewan. After so many years dealing with murder, I no longer believe it’s God’s plan.”
Ewan could agree heatedly with her there. “I don’t either. No God could be that cruel to allow things like that to happen.”
Noel frowned, as expected from the Irishman. “He’s got a design you don’t know about. You guys are just two cynical peas in a skeptical pod.”
Ewan managed to grin a little as he looked into Autumn’s eyes. He knew Noel was trying to rile them into cheering up, and it was working. “I can’t believe that, can you?”
“Absolutely not. My eyes can’t unsee the things I’ve seen, and lots of it isn’t God’s handiwork.”
Noel waved a disgusted hand. “Oh, just stop it with your sappy, adoring looks. Ewan, why don’t you just admit you’re in love with Autumn and be done with it?”
Was that all Noel was irked about? Ewan would gladly admit it, especially since he could later claim Noel had forced his hand. He smiled at Autumn. “It’s true. I love you, you gorgeous little strawberry.” He stroked her high cheekbone with the backs of his fingers. She purred against his hand like a cat.
“I’m glad,” she said. “I love you, too.” Scooting even closer, she put her head against his bare shoulder, snuggling into the crook of his neck. Ewan had no choice but to put his arm around her.
He felt all kinds of awkward and strange, holding a woman for the first time in seven years. All that time, submitting to those rough bear Doms, Ewan had known he might find his way back to another woman, if the right one could just find him. He couldn’t really blame Leah completely for their divorce—they had both acted like betrayed, grieving assholes. Still, Ewan was bitter enough from the experience that he’d sought a change at the hands of the rough trade Doms, and some of those hands had turned abusive. Because of his injured, traumatized psyche, he hadn’t readily recognized the difference between domination and abuse. It had taken him a while to say “enough,” and that’s around the time Noel came into his life.
Autumn sat up straight. “Why don’t we go stake out the House of Pain? After all, I’m the only one—besides Katrina and Earl Goggins—who knows what Burt Chance looks like.”
Noel shook his head decisively. “No, no, no. That’s the FBI’s business. I’m not going there.”
Autumn protested. “Just don’t let them see us. What harm can it do? Then if we see Burt going into the gym, we’ll notify the agent sitting in the Blendin Mobile Pet Grooming van, or whatever van the FBI has chosen.”
“I agree with Noel,” said Ewan.
Noel said as he took his phone from his back pocket, “Listen. I have another idea. Mia just got back to me. She’s ready to start her kitchen remodel, and needs our help.”
Ewan was confused. “Why would we help her remodel her kitchen? We’re hardly experts at that.”
But Autumn had jumped up happily at Noel’s command. “Great idea, cher Maître! Let me put on some shittier shoes, though.”
While Autumn scurried off to the bedroom, Noel stuck out calming hands. “Just trust me, gaucho. This sort of renovation, Autumn and I are experts at.”
Chapter Fourteen
“All right, Noel. I’ll let you do the honors.”
Mia Montag brandished the sledgehammer as everyone in her kitchen cheered. They had pulled out her refrigerator and cleaned out the cobwebs, and Autumn’s eyes were actually tearing up. It seemed like a lifetime ago she and Noel had put the “time capsule” behind the sheetrock, but here they were again. Noel’s guitarist Clayton had flown in to discuss Noel’s plan to build a recording studio on his brand new forty acres. The drummer Lars Lindstrom and the bass player Oso had shown up to lend their support and opinions. With the addition of Devin Jonas and a few hangers-on from Lars’s mother’s garage, it was like 1999 all over again.
“Yeah, Noel,” yelled Clayton, “just pretend you’re onstage in Berlin.”
Autumn knew that Clayton referred to some showy political performance art thing Noel had done onstage several years back. With a sledgehammer, he had symbolically smashed a fake wall of some kind to make a statement—about Korea or the Sudan, Autumn couldn’t recall which. She had avidly followed Noel’s career, quickly skipping past the photos of him partying with beach bimbos or London waif models. Now she put her hands on Lars’s shoulder, using him for a crutch, and yelled, “Tear it down! Tear it down!”
The others took up the refrain, fueled on by a pony keg of Guinness beer. Noel accepted the hammer from Mia and made a few practice swings as though warming up in the batting cage.
“Feels like yesterday we put that tube in there,” said Lars with glowing eyes. Lars had taken Noel’s coming out well—so well, in fact, he’d come out himself. His pouty boyfriend stood alongside him now. Autumn could swear he wore eye makeup.
“Tear it down!” yelled Rick Chamberlain. “Tear it down!” Autumn had busted her dad out of the joint for the day, assisted by Mary Lee, and he was having a blast. He lucidly recalled all sorts of band antics, such as Oso passing out drunk on his living room couch. The band members had carried Oso and the couch onto the front lawn, then arranged other living room furniture around the slumbering bass player, recreating the room outdoors, down to the eighties glass coffee table and the pastel armchairs.
But Rick still didn’t recognize Autumn.
So Autumn clung to Lars’s shoulder, casting occasional sideways glances at her dad. Rick sure recalled Noel, and wanted to know who Noel’s beautiful girlfriend was. Noel gamely tried to remind Rick that she was his daughter, but even reminding Rick they were a nineties couple didn’t help. Rick looked right over Autumn’s shoulder and laughed at the strand of puka shells Clayton was putting around his own neck.
“Those are so nineties!” shouted Rick.
Clayton said, “They’re also so seventies, Rick!”
Autumn sighed, and watched Noel take a swing at the wall.
“Tear it down! Tear it down!”
One, two, three swings and the drywall crumbled away. They had placed the pneumatic tube at about waist level on top of a horizontal two by four. When the top of it was revealed, Noel dropped the hammer and grabbed Autumn by the arm so stridently her head rolled.
Noel’s eyes were shining as he gestured grandly at the tube. He was actually excited about this. It was true—Autumn couldn’t wait to hear the “Red Daisies” demo tape, or to see the photos of the hair band that The Friday Experience had been. There were photos on the net, of course, of the four men with their side-parted curtained hair flopping in their eyes. But Autumn knew there was at least one photo in there of her and Noel. She probably had the “Rachel” cut and wore jelly sandals, but it was the only photo of them together.
“My precious? Do the honors, please.”
Autumn couldn’t believe how thrilled she was to reach in the grab the tube. Lars beat a rapid tattoo of a drumroll using utensils against the kitchen counter. The tube was musty—someone hadn’t done a good job at insulating the wall—but when she flipped the tube’s lid aside, the CD in its paper jacket was the first thing to roll out.
She shoved the CD at Noel, more interested in the photos. Noel raced to the CD player to slide it in, bringing half the room excitedly with him. Back then, someone had even had a Kodak envelope to protect the home-printed photos. Autumn distractedly shoved the pneumatic tube at someone while taking the envelope to the window for better light.
Her friends were laughing at the hair mascara, the Leonardo diCaprio Titanic poster, and the Spice Girl action figure they had crammed into the tube. Autumn only had eyes for the photos, and she quickly shuffled through them as party sounds started to come from the speakers, things clinking, people murmuring.
“Can’t wait to mix this,” Clayton shouted jovially. “Lars, it sounds like you’re washing the dishes.”
“You guys were such slobs,” said Lars. “And Noel was just noodling around by himself on his guitar. He never could play. How was I supposed to know this tape would be worth something one day?”
“Because you believed in us?” asked Noel. “Shut up, you wankers. This part is savage.”
Autumn shivered to hear the young Noel’s clear, high voice. “Covering up, you live your life in luxury while you don’t live but you foresee…What’s going to happen if you cast off your image of shining armor…”
The lyrics were still bad, but the song was good. More than that, it was heartfelt, one thing no one could accuse The Friday Experience of not being. Their heartfelt sincerity had propelled them to the top. Now a young, sexy, immature Noel wailed away earnestly.
“Insecurity…It’s there in both you and me. But with you it’s gone to your head and ruled your life instead of just being something to overcome.”
There was the photo. Yes, Autumn had the Jennifer Aniston haircut. She had had to straighten her naturally wavy hair every damned time she shampooed. Her wrist that sported a big plastic pink watch was draped casually over Noel’s shoulders as they posed backstage at a Pearl Jam concert, the coolest of the cool. Back then, Noel didn’t even have the tinted glasses. Autumn knew he couldn’t see anything much farther than his aquiline nose, probably where he got the “cooler than thou” faraway look in his eyes.
She actually sighed, the picture warmed her heart so. She even pressed it to her belly and breathed in the goodness—the coolness.
“Will I turn to stone if I gaze on the supercouple?” Ewan was at her side, nudging her with his elbow.
“Of course not.”
Ewan laughed at the photo. “Oh my God. I know it’s only fourteen years ago, but you two look like some bad fashion example of what not to do.”
“Excuse the fuck out of me?” Autumn snatched the photo back from her lover and held it to her chest. “We were the epitome of ultra-cool back then.”
Ewan kissed her cheek. “You still are. You may have become a little unhip by hanging out in Golden, but you can catch up with the times. Maybe some of Noel’s hipness will rub off on you.”
“I beg your pardon!” Autumn barely noticed when her dad ambled by and took the picture from her. She faced Ewan squarely, hands clenched at her sides. “I don’t need Noel to make me hip! I know what hipness is, thank you very much.”
Ewan couldn’t contain his laughter. “Judging from that photo, you had a lot to learn.”
“Hey!”
Autumn spun around to see her father waving the photo about. He said, “Hey, you cowboy. My daughter knows her stuff. She chose Noel Butler, didn’t she? And I think this hairstyle looks just fine. ‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair…’”
Wait. Autumn shared a panicked look with Ewan. Was her father having one of his rare lucid moments when he remembered she was his daughter? Autumn approached her father and pointed at the photo.
“Right, dad. That’s me with Noel. You remember those days, don’t you?”
Rick chuckled. “Of course I do. It wasn’t that long ago! In fact, I gave you that watch. You were just working at Nikki’s Food Spot bagging groceries, so I even paid for your beauty parlor appointment to get this beautiful hair.” Rick sighed, looking at the photo. “The two of you were such a dre
am couple.”
“Are such a dream couple, Dad!” Autumn said excitedly, causing Rick to look up at her. “Are! We still are! Noel and I have gotten back together—okay, we’re with this cowboy, too, so it’s sort of complicated—but he’s still your son-in-law, Dad!”
Autumn’s excitement was short-lived. When Rick looked at her, all sense of recognition went out of his eyes. It was eerie how palpable it was, how obviously the awareness that she was his daughter was just extinguished like a light. His face fell with uncertainty, and he even looked to Ewan for help. “Cowboy? Who is this woman?” He looked around. “Where am I?”
“Get Noel,” whispered Autumn to Ewan, and she tried to take her dad’s arm. He whipped it away from her and looked around fearfully. “Mary Lee!” she called.
He didn’t recognize Mary Lee either, so her efforts at calming him did no good. He was beginning to wear that panicked look that Autumn knew so well. It almost seemed as though the haze and the ensuing panic came on more severely after a lucid moment, just to drive the knife in deeper. The few times he recognized Autumn, for example, we always followed by murky episodes of panic.
It wasn’t until Ewan brought Noel over that Rick calmed. He seemed to always recognize Noel. He patted Noel’s arm while the man led him to a chair. “Noel, good boy. Were you singing that song about the red daisies just now?”
Autumn didn’t know it was possible to fall more in love with Noel as he soothed her father. He didn’t condescend to the older man or treat him like a child. He treated him just as he had fourteen years ago when Rick had practically twisted his arm to sing Peter, Paul and Mary songs with him.
“Aye, I was, Rick. Do you remember the time we took Mrs. Lindstrom’s station wagon without asking her and crashed it along Snail Gulch Road? You had to come pick us up in your Ford Cortina.”
“Of course!” said Rick, now jovial. “I knew Mrs. Lindstrom would be mad enough at you, so I didn’t get mad. I took you to get hamburgers instead.”
“Autumn?” Mia was at Autumn’s side. She didn’t seem to notice the tears that sheened Autumn’s eyes as she said, “I just wanted to thank you hugely for this party. I’m so glad to be part of anything to do with Noel and his band. It just brings back such good memories.”
Three Times a Lady [Hell's Delight 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 14