As they turned into the compound—Ham had started thinking of it as such, since Charlie, Lindsey, Blake and Russ all used the term with abandon—Ham’s eyes strained to make sense of the scenery so perfectly shrouded in moonlit darkness. Though the sky was clear and the moon intense, the shadows were large and demanding beyond the narrow bands of dancing light, and the mysteries they concealed lay entombed in their protective custody. More than any real visual sense of imagery, Ham felt a sense of awe, a wave of beauty, a cocoon of magnificence that even the shadows of obscurity could not entirely conceal.
Over the soft purr of the powerful and perfectly tuned engine, Ham could discern the muted hum of the gates as they welcomed their arrival. To his surprise, then great amusement, he realized that the gates, as they opened, hummed the opening bars to Truckee River’s mega hit, “Nevada Moon.” Had he not gotten the opportunity to spend the past few days with Blake, to interact on a level that was perhaps more personal than most of the casual friends he’d had in his life, he might have—make that “absolutely would have”—assumed Blake was an egotistical, megalomaniacal, rock and roll aristocratic ass. Instead, knowing the man at least somewhat—well, more than somewhat, he admitted, given that The Legend expected to be dead soon—he’d bet that mega-check he carried in his wallet that, to Blake, this was an inside joke, a subtle gibe at the fickleness of fate.
Ham’s eyes widened in self disgust and shock, and if he hadn’t finished his coffee he would have spit it out.
Boy, what in the hell has come over you, he demanded of his weakened and lethargic mind. “The fickleness of fate??” Are you serious? What kind of pretentious nonsensical claptrap is that, you freaking nit? Fickleness of fate, indeed. Good lord, man, get a life, why don’t you. Or at least get laid.
He glanced guiltily at Drew, an inward drool well hidden from his once and maybe future partner. Embarrassingly, even she was starting to look good. Embarrassing because it made him a complete and total pervert. He may as well date the sister he never had.
“That’s it,” he sighed as tired eyes drooped shut once more. “Time to go to bed. Alone.”
Except, right, he wouldn’t be alone. Because he’d meant what he’d demanded of Blake. The Superstar was not to be out of his sight until this thing was over, one way or the other, for better or for worse—and it had damn well be for better. Because if not for better, somebody, some stupid, miserable, unsuspecting perp, whoever was behind this, whoever was the threat to Blake, that man was going to die at Ham’s hands. And very, very slowly. He swore that with every ounce of determination and grit he could muster. That man, whoever he was, wherever he ran, he would be a dead perp walking—though he wouldn’t be walking for long, not even long enough to rue his wasted life.
Ham’s eyes snapped back open and he shook his head, rapidly, harshly, impatient with his anger. Fatigue was forcing its way into his weary brain, he realized, leading him down paths that should not be tread. Pay attention to the now, that was the key, that was the way forward. Relax, take a few breaths, and return to the moment. Take slow, deliberate, deep inhalations of serenity, of mind easing clarification. Just do it.
Several deep breaths and a few self castigations later, they passed through the massive gates, the iron bars slowly, imposingly closing behind them, and headed up the long and winding driveway to the main…what, Ham wondered. Lodge? House? Hotel? Castle?
It might have been any of these, all of these, anywhere here, in Europe, around the globe. Or so Ham thought, so his imagination told him, since his mind had no ready reference at all. What he saw, or thought he might be dreaming, simply and totally exceeded any and all boundaries of experience he’d encountered in his apparently wholly limited and imaginary view of the world.
If Ham expected merely palatial, he was to be severely disappointed. Jaw-dropping, awe inspiring, fantasmagorical…none of these did justice to the majesty of the sight unfolding before his disbelieving eyes. Though the compound was relatively well lit, with spotlights both white and blazing, soft and fuzzy, green and red and blue and violet, an aurora borealis of showiness, despite all this deliberate magnificence and intrusiveness, they failed, in all their conspiratorial design of excess, to rob the night of its wondrous splendor. Even the massive and innumerable pine trees, resplendent in their greedy reach for the sky, eager and demanding in their lusty quest to caress the moon within their sensuous, aromatic limbs of pine scented enticement, failed to dominate the grounds, the scenery, the surroundings, the…aura…of God’s design. The lights dancing upon the snowy depths, the shadows chasing the inky depths into complete oblivion, these were his first impressions of a beauty and splendor beyond his imaginings. More than merely that, it swirled into an excess of incomprehension, an incredulity that left him not just speechless, but dumbfounded.
The gasp that escaped him was entirely involuntary, but the cough that he tried to cover it with was not. Unfortunately, and to his embarrassment, the cough convinced about as much as his unspoken protestation of ambivalence.
“You’re trying too hard,” Charlie whispered. “Just go with it. Everybody feels that way when they first see this place. I did, too,” she confided.
Ham smiled into the darkness of the limo’s muted lighting, appreciative of Charlie’s—this time—truly helpful instruction. She could be such a love, he sighed. A love, a pain, flippant or fervent, depending upon a mood that might be impish or straight, light or dark, easy or firm. In other words, depending on Charlie.
The big car pulled into the circular drive that fronted the hotel-like structure that loomed before them. At their arrival, massive banks of lights cut through the darkness, turning the entrance area into a burst of sunlight that stabbed the eyes nearly as much as had the Hawaiian midday sun.
Any comparison to Hawaii that Ham may have conjured up shattered the very second that the big limo door slid aside. The almost cloying sweetness of humidity that emanated from those huge mounds of freshly fallen snow attacked his nostrils even as the frigid night rushed in to suck every ounce of warmth out of the once cozy interior. Parka or no, Ham realized there would be no hiding from what could only be described as Arctic environs. If it wasn’t actually sub zero, the weather was performing such a perfect imitation of it that there could be no way to differentiate it from the original.
Ham hustled into the welcoming foyer, chasing the others into the hospitality of the vast expanse of walls and floors that stretched out before him. Dominating his immediate attention was a set of majestic spiral staircases, one on each side, that wound their way to the second floor beyond and out of sight of a fifteen foot ceiling height that merged into the cathedral ceiling that was supported and framed by massive windows on every one of three sides. Though all were blackened by the inky depths of the outside frigid sky, reflections from inside emboldened them with a sumptuous glory that Ham found light years beyond merely stunning. Incomprehensible better described what he would not have been able to put into words.
“Indescribable, isn’t it?” Russ asked. “I think Blake had this damn place built just to one up me.” With an easy laugh and a friendly jab into Blake’s ribs, he added, “Go ahead, man, admit it. You just gotta be number one, don’t you?”
Blake’s grin appeared a bit lopsided, almost as if he’d smiled his way through that particular jibe a few too many times. “Don’t let him kid you,” he responded as he shrugged out of his parka and picked the ski cap off his head of still very full hair. “Mine may be bigger, but his is just as nice, I guarantee it. And his wine cellar is a lot larger and a lot better stocked than mine, too.”
“That’s because you prefer beer,” Russ reminded him.
“Yeah, well, there is that,” Blake grinned, this time with a look of true amusement.
Drew and Charlie had neither, to this point, had any response, both being busy with shedding excess bulk and snow. But Ham was not at all surprised when Drew turned to Charlie and stage whispered, “You ever noticed you can’t get two
or more men together for even a minute without them playing ‘whose is bigger’?”
Charlie nodded thoughtfully before turning innocent eyes on Ham. “What? You’re not going to play? Aren’t you man enough?”
Blake’s own eyes danced as he rescued Ham from embarrassment and Russ’ snorting response. “Ham is a guest in our house, Charlie. Let’s try to treat him with some respect.”
“Of course, Popster. It was only a question.”
“And a good one, too,” Drew added. “One that needed to be asked.”
Nodding his head toward Drew, Russ proclaimed to Blake, “By god, I do like that girl. Huh? What d’ya think? You agree?”
“Okay,” Ham sighed, “if we’re through with our little games, I’d like to get settled here. Blake, where is your room, and where do I sleep? Remembering that I’m not leaving you alone even for that.”
“Up the stairs and to the right,” Blake told him. “Leave your stuff here for now and let’s go settle in a bit. I could use a beer after that flight.”
Dutifully, they trudged behind as Blake and Russ led them into the massive living room, situated below the cathedral ceiling and surrounded by wall to wall windows that were interrupted only by a fireplace of enormous proportions and life giving heat. Apparently, the fire had been set before hand and was now roaring its welcome to the master and his guests, offering comfort in place of chilly reception.
Which might have been just fine, may have been a respite from the literal storm, had his heart not just stopped, had he not just blanched whiter than the winter snow, and had not a chill nearly as cold as any blizzard shivered its way up his spine. “Well, well, well,” he sighed. “What a surprise.”
“Hello, all,” Martina replied. “Welcome home. And you,” she added, shaking an accusing finger at Ham that was belied by a sly wink, “under the circumstances you should have expected this. I’m going to be very disappointed if I find out you truly are surprised.”
“No, no, not at all. I can’t say I expected it, but now that I see it I can claim I am not shocked. I’m just surprised your trainee’s not with you.”
Carson popped out from behind the corner. “Of course I’m here,” he replied. “Where else would I be?”
15
HOTEL CALIFORNIA
Ham, ever the gentleman, gestured for Drew to be the first. Drew, ever the lady, accepted his invitation with feminine and demure grace. She delicately pulled her gun and rammed it upside Carson’s head.
Grinding it into his ear, she snarled, “You got one minute to explain yourself, jerkoff. And I hope it’s a good one, I really do. I’d hate to ruin this beautiful hardwood floor and all these exquisite and no doubt very expensive rugs by blowing bits of brain all over and throughout the room.”
Drew clicked back the hammer, unnecessary for use but perfect for show. “But I most assuredly will do exactly that if needed. You should very much bet your dimwit surfer life on that. Of course, either way you lose, so whatever.”
Russ sprang in front of Drew, careful not to grab her arm but very much intent on grabbing her attention. “Knock it the hell off,” he growled. “Use the sense God gave you, how about. I sent them over here. This afternoon. So if you want to come after somebody for it, come after me.” Though he didn’t actually articulate it, the word “idiot” hung plainly and loudly in the air.
“You did what?” Blake blinked with confusion. “What the hell, Russ? Why did you send Carson out here, out to my house? And without telling me. I mean, Martina, okay, fine, I can understand that, I guess, but…all right, what is this all about?”
“Turns out my new and good friend here has an inside source,” Russ smiled. “Tell him about it,” he instructed Carson.
Carson proffered Blake a manila folder. “What I have here is a report on your handyman, Mr. Garrett. This is information I received shortly after I left your place in Oahu. I would have called you, or Ham, actually, but Drew happened by, I told her about it, she called Russ, and he told me what he wanted. It’s as simple as that. As for how Martina came to accompany me, well,” he grinned, “it’s the norm. She just appeared, as she always does, while I was talking to Russ and…” He shrugged, the rest, being unnecessary, remained unsaid.
Martina piped up and filled in the blanks. “I’m the eternal uninvited guest,” she jested. “And I do mean eternal. But then, you all already knew that, on both counts. Didn’t you, dears.”
Ham futilely rubbed at his forehead, every bit the man with a pain impossible to massage away. “Martina,” he sighed, “we really need to talk.” Spreading his fingers inches apart, he announced, “I’m about this far away from blowing everybody in this room into the next dimension. I just can’t…I just will not…I won’t play these games any longer. So let’s just do a truth thing, shall we?” Jerking his pistol from behind his back and chambering a round with a resounding click, he announced, “In fact, me and Mr. Browning, we insist on that.”
“Come on, people,” Blake demanded. “Let’s quit playing Hawaii Five-0. Everybody put your freaking guns away and let’s go get settled in. Meantime,” Blake indicated to Lindsey, “maybe you ought to go wake up your husband and ask him to join us.”
“No need,” a voice boomed from the door, a blast of bass that battled the wind for bluster, if not for coolness. “Who did you think laid the fire, hmm?”
Lindsey ran to the giant as he slammed shut the heavy door and busied himself with stamping big boots of snow covered leather. “Hello, darlin’ girl.”
Gordo swept Lindsey up and around, twirling and dangling her a good foot or two off the ground, as he seemed determined to squeeze the breath out of her in welcome. “How’s Hawaii?”
“All sunshine and beaches, bikinis and booze. You should have been there.”
“Somebody had to build and keep the home fires burning.” Stretching a big paw in welcome, Gordo offered, “How you doing, Blake? Good to have you back. You’re looking a bit more tanned than when I last saw you. I take it Charlie and Lindsey here got you out of the house and onto the beach, huh?” Though he offered a hand and shook with Russ, he neither acknowledged nor asked about Blake’s newest guests. Instead, after a quick peck to Charlie’s cheek, a chaste welcome as it were, Gordo merely hefted Blake’s bags—apparently he knew exactly which were which—and announced that he’d tend to unpacking while Blake and company sought warmth within the deeper and more beautiful confines of the oversized lodge.
Lindsey bounded after her luggage laden husband, obviously too selfishly reunited with Gordo to lose together time wasting it with aiding Blake in his return—even if Garrett was the boss and master of the palace. And just as obviously, Blake was neither surprised nor irritated. He simply grinned over his shoulder at the departing, hustling figure flying up the stairs.
“Charlie, would you be so kind as to bring us something to warm our insides?” Blake asked as he parked himself in front of a massive brick and stone fireplace that popped and raged with pine scented greeting. Rubbing his hands, twisting the chill from within, his face fell as if, in all seriousness, he meant it when he proclaimed, “I’m getting way too old for this crap. I may have to finally say to hell with it, to give in and sell this place. I’d hate to do it but…”
“Give it a rest, Blake,” Russ shot back, “you do this every time you drag your ass back here from Hawaii. Why don’t you just move there for the winter, summer here, if it bothers you so much anymore. You don’t need to sell the place, for god’s sake. Besides,” he added, “maybe we don’t snow ski anymore, but hanging out at the bars at the ski slopes is still a ton of fun, right? Am I right, or am I right?”
“That it is,” Blake laughed, “and yes you are. But I keep thinking, in a few more years, we’re going to need wheelchairs, or walkers or something, and somebody to escort us up to a barstool that he or she will have to help us crawl up onto. That might make it hard to pick up women, mightn’t it?”
“Quit your whining, Garrett. You’re still T
ruckee River…we’re still Truckee River…we’ll have our pick of the oldest geezers in the place, or any other place we chose to go for that matter.”
Blake’s laugh died in his throat. “You really don’t prefer Hawaii? You want to stay here, in this…this…Siberian hell hole?”
Russ’s demeanor turned serious just as quickly as his friend’s had. “This ‘Siberian Hell Hole’ is the most beautiful spot on earth. No way I can leave here, Blake, you know that. At least I can’t in the summers. Still, I don’t know, you may be onto something. Maybe it is time to spend eight months a year in Hawaii. But then we’d have to build a studio over there, I mean if we’re really going to record again, which I am all for doing.”
“I don’t know,” Blake shrugged. “I’m not big on doing the new studio bit, to spend that kind of time and money when we’ve got a beauty right here at this place, all set up, all perfect, broken in, no hassles, no surprises, no bullshit like that. Like you know there always is with a new setup.” He shook his head, apparently firm now. “No, I don’t think so, at least not until we really and truly do retire and…you know what? I agree with you. I don’t think I’m ready for social security. Unless,” he grinned sourly, “this tour turns to crap. I reserve the right to change my mind if that’s the case. Or unless…well, if…you know. But then, if that’s the case, it won’t be a choice so…”
Ham felt a nudge at his side and turned to find Carson. With raised eyebrows and a subtle nod toward Blake, he whispered, “Maybe this is a good time for the envelope. He really ought to take a look at it. Preferably before Gordon returns.”
“Okay, I’ll…” Ham spun slowly around, surprise showing on his face, as he noticed the absence of people about him. “Where’s Martina? And Drew?”
“Martina? She is where she is. As for Drew, she went with Charlie, to help with the drinks I would suppose. I could go check if you’d like.”
The Ghost of Truckee River (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 1) Page 21