Secrets and Charms

by Lou Harper

  “Thanks!” Remembering Mme. Layla’s warning, Olly swiftly put the thing back around his neck, fumbling with the clasp. Nick watched but said nothing, so Olly had to. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on, or will I have to learn it from the six o’clock news?”

  Nick didn’t hurry with the reply, but he opened his mouth at last. “I can tell you what will be on the news anyway. The shit will hit the fan soon, if it hasn’t already.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Nick started with a bombshell. “Willard Keats killed Chester Kane.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “He made a full confession, and there’s corroborating evidence. He and Kane were in an extortion business together but had a falling-out. It happened right after you and your idiot friend paid a visit to Kane. Your idiot friend—”

  “His name is Rich,” Olly interjected.

  Nick showed no sign of having heard. “He returned that night, found the body, didn’t report it, swiped a few pieces of evidence and left. Sometime early in the morning, James Boyd arrived. He also didn’t report the crime, but instead saw it as an opportunity to take over the extortion racket.”

  “He took the envelopes.”

  “Correct. The rest the police pieced together from Boyd’s mother and physical evidence.”

  “Wait a minute, who called in the murder, then?”

  “Mrs. Boyd. She and Kane were romantically involved once—that’s how her son and Kane knew each other.”

  “What about the gunshot the neighbor heard?” Olly asked, remembering what Nick had told him.

  “There was no gunshot. The old lady must’ve imagined it. Or heard a neighbor’s television.”

  “Oh, okay. So what happened next?”

  “It seems Boyd didn’t have Kane’s subtlety and went directly to Kat Fontaine’s house for a shakedown. We’ll never know what transpired exactly, but after leaving, Boyd continued onto Mulholland Drive, where he lost control of his car and plunged two hundred feet off a cliff. There were no witnesses, but Boyd’s Camaro was spotted by a bicyclist. Boyd was dead by the time the rescue team got to him.”

  “Kat Fontaine’s car had deep gashes on the passenger side.” Olly remember this part clearly.

  “Indeed it does. The crime lab is working overtime to learn if there’s a connection.”

  Olly would eat his hospital gown if there wasn’t. “So it means Kane had something on Kat Fontaine. But what?”

  “Her car was involved in a hit-and-run years ago.” Nick measured out his words with great care. “It was reported stolen. There were no arrests made.”

  The dots were easy to connect. “But Kane had something putting her in the car?”

  “No comment.”

  Olly knew not to push. “I must’ve arrived to Kat’s house right after she came back from taking care of Jimmy.”

  “God knows what she had in that crazy head of hers, or what she planned for you, but probably nothing good.”

  Olly instinctively reached for the charm around his neck. As he touched the fang, jumbled images of Kat Fontaine’s face full of hatred and loathing emerged from the darkness of his memory. He heard an echo of her voice too—something about taking a ride. A crash. “Yeah, probably not.”

  “It’s a good thing your idiot friend had enough brains to call Detective Cooper before riding to your rescue.” Nick ignored Olly’s grumble. “Apparently, he got a strange text message from you just as he spotted your car down-street from Kat Fontaine’s house. It persuaded him to climb the gate.”

  “He came to my rescue?”

  “Uh-huh. Nearly got himself killed. Fucking civilians.”

  Olly ignored the last comment. “How did Rich know I needed rescuing, and how did he find me?”

  “According to him, a voice message on his phone, sixth sense and a star map. He was on his way to FTP when you called him.”

  You could buy those maps to the homes of celebrities up and down on Hollywood Boulevard. The important part was Rich not only figured out what to do, but most of all he was worried enough to do it. Olly felt warm and melty inside. “Rich is resourceful, isn’t he?”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “You both could’ve been killed if Cooper hadn’t arrived just in time. Fontaine tried to shoot him, but Cooper is a better shot.”

  “Huh? So I wasn’t dreaming the shooting? She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “Uh-huh.” Nick straightened up in his chair and stretched his back. “Your idiot friend—”

  “Rich.”

  “He slipped away from the scene to have a little chat with Willard Keats.”

  Olly’s heart leapt. “Is Rich okay?” If Willard killed Kane—

  “He’s fine. Unlike Fontaine, Keats didn’t try to reenact the O.K. Corral.”

  Olly’s pulse slowed down. “How is he? I mean, Keats?” He liked the old guy. Or used to. It was hard to tell now.

  “Rather cheerful, looking forward to the trial, as I understand. He got himself one of those celebrity lawyers already.”

  “How can he afford it?”

  “How would I know? Maybe the lawyer’s doing it for the publicity. Maybe they worked out a deal on the TV and movie rights.” Nick shook his head. “Crazy Hollywood shit. Oh, that reminds me—your pretty actress friend and the redheaded idiot are here to see you.”

  “Rich is here?”

  Nick stood up with the expression of someone too tired to bicker. “I’m going to go home and catch a couple of hours of sleep before I have to get up and go back to work. I’ll send them in on my way out.”

  Nick left, and Rich was playing with his charm, thinking he’d need to pay Mme. Layla a visit as soon as he got out of here.

  Sandy and Rich didn’t look as if they’d gotten much sleep recently either, but their faces lit up as soon as they stepped into the room.

  “You dummy,” Sandy cried out and squished Olly in an awkward hug.

  Rich said nothing, just took Olly’s face into his hands and pressed their lips together.

  Olly would’ve liked to explore this motion, but not with Sandy standing right there. So when Rich let him go, he said, “You’re here to take me home, right?”

  Sandy swayed her head. “Bad news, kiddo—the men in the white coats want to keep you for a few more days for observation.”

  Olly groaned. He liked hospitals as much as the average person—not at all.

  “At least you have good insurance,” Rich said and sat on the chair next to the bed. He took Olly’s hand into his own.

  Olly liked the physical contact very much, but he tried to hide it. “Roger will kill me.”

  Rich was brushing his thumb back and forth over Olly’s knuckles. “I’m sure Fred’s Trade Post will carry on for a few days without you.”

  “Now you’re just being mean,” Olly grumbled, but his lips kept twitching into a smile. Their eyes locked, and Rich leaned forward.

  Sandy cleared her throat. “Ehrm, I just remembered I need to call my agent. I’ll be out in the hallway.”

  The door hadn’t had a chance to fully close before Rich moved all the way in and kissed Olly again, this time with tongue.

  It felt good. Too good. Olly broke the kiss. “You better stop. I’m pretty sure I have a catheter in my nether parts.”

  Rich sat back. “Oops, sorry.”

  “S’okay.”

  “Just glad you’re all right. I was worried sick about you.”

  “You were?” Olly knew he was grinning like a loon but didn’t care.

  “Of course. I’ve been thinking…”

  “Don’t strain yourself.” Olly was too thrilled not to make a quip.

  Rich poked Olly in the ribs. “Hush, you. Sitting there at the police station, going out of my mind not knowing how you were, I came to an understanding. My sister’s right, I’ve been an idiot. Don’t tell her I said that—I’ll never hear the end of it. The heart of the matter is, I don’t want to end up like Willard, or be a miserable old bastard like
my father.” Rich’s cheeks donned a rosy glow. “I really, really like you, and you, uhm, made me feel things I haven’t before.”

  Olly waggled his eyebrows as lewdly as he could. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.”

  “I don’t just mean in bed. Although that was nice too. So anyway, if it’s okay with you, I’d like us to spend more time together.”

  “You mean dating?”

  “Yeah.” Rich breathed the word. “Dating. I decided I don’t care if it makes me gay.”

  “Well, you could be bi,” Olly said.

  “I don’t think it would matter for someone like my father.”

  “No, probably not. You’re a big old fruit either way.”

  Rich laughed.

  In the end, Willard Keats’s heart decided it didn’t want the limelight of the trial and gave out. Willard got his fame posthumously, and a month later, the media frenzy was just starting to lighten up. Some of the attention splashed over Kat Fontaine and her family and a few other Hollywood hotshots, thanks to revelations from Chester Kane’s blackmail files. There were investigations and even a couple of arrests.

  Olly’s name popped up a few times at the beginning, but it soon faded out of view. Rich’s, on the other hand, got dragged around time and time again, no matter how hard he tried to keep his head down. His relation to Sandy—whom the journalists started calling a “promising new star”—made him a point of interest. His dubious Chicago history only added to the appeal. Rich spent most of his days in Sandy’s garage, working on furniture and avoiding reporters.

  Unlike Rich, Sandy bloomed under the glare of the media. It not only didn’t hurt her chances for getting the movie role but outright clinched it. The script was about a family with more skeletons than closets to keep them in. The real-life drama served as a welcome tie-in and free publicity. Weeks before shooting was to begin, the writers were slaving away to make certain parallels between fiction and the actual events more prominent.

  Sandy played the media like a pro, giving interviews, plugging the movie they hadn’t even started shooting yet, and her TV show too, and being fabulous in the process. Appreciative of her cooperation, the press stopped hounding her, and by the time the housewarming party came around, there wasn’t a single one of their vans parked out on the street—to the neighbors’ relief.

  The weather was perfect for a garden gathering—warm but not hot, light breeze spreading the scent of honeysuckle through the air. They had set up out back with food and booze. Sandy had hired caterers—it was no surprise party, after all. Rich came inside only to mix up another pitcher of margaritas when the doorbell rang. Expecting a late guest he opened the door with a polite smile. His face fell when he saw Julie.

  “Hey,” he said with unease.

  “Richard,” she replied just as stiffly. “How are you doing?”

  “Good, good.”

  “I saw you on the news.”

  He groaned. “Don’t believe everything you see or read. What are you doing in town?”

  She adjusted her purse on her shoulder as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Conference. I couldn’t decide if I should come to see you or not. I called your sister, and she said to come by.”

  The situation was awkward, but Rich didn’t want her to feel unwelcome. “Come in. The party is out back.”

  “Nah, I can’t. Just stopped by on my way to the airport.” She motioned toward the curb, and Rich noticed the waiting cab. “Richard, your sister made it sound like you decided to settle down here. Is it true you’re not planning on coming back to the business? It sounds crazy, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It was never my dream but my father’s. I did it to please him. I spent most of my life trying to please him, and in the end, it was all for naught. I need to move on, make some changes in my life.”

  Something in her eyes softened, and her lips parted for a reply, but Olly chose that very moment to skid up to Rich. He bumped into Rich with an unmistakably intimate motion, his hip touching Rich’s in a way lovers’ do. “There you are! I was looking—” He noticed Julie. “Oh, hi!”

  “Olly, this is Julie, my ex from Chicago,” Rich explained.

  Olly immediately pulled away. “Oh, right. Sorry. I…uh…should leave you to it.” He dashed off.

  “Quite a change, Richard, but at least some things are starting to make sense now.” There was an edge to her voice.

  “Jules—” he started, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

  She squeezed her eyes together for the length of taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s your life, and I didn’t come to rehash old grievances.” She rooted around in her purse, pulled out a piece of paper and pushed it under his nose. “I came to give you this.”

  Rich took it. It was a check for seventy-five thousand dollars. “What’s this?”

  “The condo sold. It’s your cut. I know, not much, but the market is what it is, and after paying the bank back, there was only so much left. I’ve been paying the mortgage by myself for the last year, and calculated it in too.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Yes, I did, Richard. For me, not for you. I should go.” She unexpectedly stumbled forward and gave him a hug. “Good-bye, Richard.” She spun around and headed down toward the curb.

  “Take care, Jules,” he called after her.

  She waved a hand without looking back and hopped into the cab. As Rich watched it roll down the street, it was like saying good-bye to a piece of his past. It was a bittersweet feeling.

  Rich tucked the folded-up check into his back pocket, and plans for a furniture shop started shaping up in the back of his mind—he’d have to talk them over with Olly and Sandy.

  Shelving the plans for later, he finished making the pitcher of margaritas and went back outside. He put it down on a table and looked around for his…uhm…boyfriend. The term still sounded weird to him, and he had a hard time using it in a sentence, out loud. Olly had borne this and his other hang-ups with patience so far, but Rich wasn’t so boneheaded as not to be aware. Especially in front of others, Olly treated him with a certain caution reserved for skittish wildlife, even though there was nothing skittish about either of them when they were alone.

  Yes, Rich was aware he needed to grow a pair if he wanted to be worthy of his boyfriend, and he wanted it very much. Just watching Olly standing with a group of people chatting and laughing woke a sweet ache in his chest. As if sensing being observed, Olly turned toward him and dimpled. The ache burrowed deeper. Rich swiftly closed the distance between them and put an arm around Olly’s waist. Olly looked at him with surprise in those gray-green eyes. Rich leaned in and smacked a kiss on Olly’s lips. Right there in front of everyone.

  Olly smiled, happy as a lark. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “Everything’s good,” Rich replied and pulled Olly closer.

  About the Author

  Under a prickly, cynical surface, Lou Harper is an incorrigible romantic. Her love affair with the written word started at a tender age. There was never a time when stories weren’t romping around in her head. She is currently embroiled in a ruinous romance with adjectives. In her free time Lou stalks deviant words and feral narratives.

  Lou’s favorite animal is the hedgehog. She likes nature, books, movies, photography, and good food. She has a temper and mood swings.

  Lou has misspent most of her life in parts of Europe and the US, but is now firmly settled in Los Angeles and worships the sun. However, she thinks the ocean smells funny. Lou is a loner, a misfit, and a happy drunk.

  Web site: www.louharper.com

  Blog: louharper.blogspot.com

  Look for these titles by Lou Harper

  Now Available:

  Last Stop

  Secrets and Ink

  Secrets and Charms

  Sanguine

  Temper Sanguine

  Spirit Sanguine

  Coming Soon:

  Secrets and Bow Ties<
br />
  Secrets and High Spirits

  When Karma writes you a ticket, pay up or else…

  Secrets and Ink

  © 2013 Lou Harper

  If life was like the movies, Jem Mitchell’s wouldn’t be such a mess. In LA’s glittering world of dreams, he works an unglamorous job at a gourmet grocery store. His past is so deep and dark, the details are lost even to him. All he knows is he was once cursed by a meter maid, and ever since, his love life has sucked.

  When Detective Nick Davies becomes a regular at the store, Jem dares to hope he’s un-hexed at last. He should have known that sex with a remarkably normal guy, devoid of weird fetishes and fatal personality flaws, was too good to be true.

  During a post-encounter cuddle, Nick recognizes the tattoo on Jem’s back—and remembers him as a young hustler he arrested nine years past.

  As Jem’s memories come crashing back, he flees from Nick, but fate contrives to keep pushing them back together. And when Jem’s old partner in crime is found murdered, the stakes are raised for life, for love, and a dangerous drama with no guarantee of a Hollywood ending.

  Warning: Stars a mild-mannered store clerk with a shady past, a hunky cop whose passion in the bedroom is as big as his passion for justice, and celebrity sightings you won’t see on TMZ.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Secrets and Ink:

  Karma cursed me because I called her a bitch.

  Ms. Karma Jones worked for the Los Angeles Department of Transportation, and she’d had my car towed because of unpaid parking tickets. She’d only been doing her job, but I’d seen her actions as a personal fuck-you. I’d been too full of myself—and several legal and illegal substances—at the time. I’d said some very rude things to her, and in response, she put a curse on me. I should’ve known not to mess with a woman wearing a uniform and magenta hair—such an ominous color.

  Ever since I could remember, I’d had a thing about colors. They talked to me—not literally; that would’ve been crazy, and I was not a fruitcake. A bit superstitious, but who could blame me? Colors had moods and personalities that changed shade by shade. For example, black was the color of secrets and mystery. I used to be the black sheep of my family, but these days I got to be as beige as the next guy—except for the black mark I carried on my skin, hidden out of sight. Everybody hides something, stuff they’d rather not have others know about. I was no different.