Murder Most Deserving

by Hank Edwards

  Jazz pushed up to all fours again as the sound of sweaty skin slapping quickened. He was close, and from the speed of his thrusts, Michael might be as well.

  How long had it been since Jazz had felt so in tune with a partner? Had he ever felt this much in sync? He closed his eyes and let Michael take control of him, riding his ass like a rodeo cowboy, his hair the reins. When he brought the flat of his hand down on Jazz’s other cheek, Jazz gave up, collapsing onto one shoulder, exposing himself to Michael in every way, body and heart.

  “Oh God,” Michael gasped, strong hand gripping Jazz’s heated ass and pounding harder. “I’m close. So close.”

  Barely propped up, face pressed into the bedding and Michael still holding his hair, Jazz reached down to stroke himself, the sticky-slick precum allowing his hand to glide along himself. “Me too. Just fuck me! Don’t stop!”

  Michael’s hips sped up even more, banging against him. The fingers tightened in his hair and sent tingles of pain across his scalp, but Jazz didn’t care. The pain kept him focused on the moment, his mind firmly rooted in the present with Michael.

  “I’m there, oh God,” Michael practically screamed, and hammered at Jazz as he grunted through his orgasm.

  Jazz felt Michael’s hot load filling him deep, and he came a moment later, eyes rolled up and cum splashing onto the sheets. He collapsed on top of his spunk, and Michael slipped out and dropped down on his back beside him.

  “Oh my God,” Michael said between panting breaths. “I’m seeing stars.” He turned his head to look at him. “Was it okay for you? It wasn’t too much, was it?”

  Jazz smiled. “It was great.”

  A bright smile was his reward, and Jazz cherished it.

  For all the light Michael had brought into Jazz’s life, he wished he knew what Michael got in return. Other than amazing sex, of course, Jazz had gotten Michael tangled up in a twisted murder scenario, his cat abducted, and both of them nearly killed. Not to mention all the police statements.

  And now with Norbert stomping around the festival and Dylan’s relatives showing up, it was like a recurring nightmare they couldn’t awaken from. Michael had made him forget in the moment, but now it all came flooding back to the fore.

  “Hey, you all right?” The sweet concern in Michael’s voice sent a shot of guilt straight into Jazz’s gut. “Your expression got kind of sad there. You sure I wasn’t too rough?”

  Jazz rolled onto his back and took Michael’s hand. The fingers of his injured hand had gone quiet during sex, but now they were aching something fierce. And his mind kept running in a loop, trying to think up something good he had done for Michael but coming up empty. What exactly was Michael getting out of this relationship? Jazz brought a lot of baggage from his time with Russell. That made it sound like past tense, though, and it wasn’t even close. With the goddamn divorce papers he’d received today, Jazz was going to be “involved” with Russell for months to come. And that didn’t even take into account what roles they might play in the trial.

  Was that fair to Michael?

  And why the hell was his brain doing this to him when all Jazz really wanted was to bask with his man in the afterglow of some hot sex? Especially after such an important first step of ditching the condoms. Was there any possible way his brain would be able to switch the channel away from thoughts of Russell?

  “Jazz?” Michael’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “You haven’t said anything.”

  Michael rolled on his side and propped himself up on an elbow. His expression was serious and concerned, and Jazz’s heart fluttered a bit at the sight.

  Russell had never looked at him that way.

  Not once.

  For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about Russell! You’re here with Michael. Enjoy it.

  But there was no turning back now. Memories of them walking in on Russell trying to drown Dylan’s uncle—Ally’s dad—in the tub came roaring back, along with the brutal fight afterward that nearly got them killed. And then the memories morphed into seeing the panicked agony on Michael’s face as they searched for Mr. Pickles, who had disappeared while they’d been having sex for the first time.

  I’m ruining our honeymoon phase….

  “Jazz? Did I hurt you?”

  The tremor in Michael’s voice brought Jazz back, and he managed to smile as inside his head every bad thing he’d brought upon this sweet man played on a loop.

  “You could never hurt me. But I do need to get back to my own apartment. Tomorrow’s an early day and I want to settle in with another glass of wine and ice my hand. You understand, don’t you?”

  The smile looked genuine, but Jazz could see concern in the tiny crease between Michael’s eyebrows. “Yeah. Of course. Have you had enough to eat?”

  “Everything was perfect.” Jazz rolled onto his side and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. “Just like you. I hate to fuck and run, but I really do need to get home. It’s been the longest day.”

  “Yeah, sure, sure.”

  They got off the bed and dressed in awkward silence. It was so different from how things usually ended between them, but Jazz had no idea what to say to make Michael feel better. Losing the rubbers was a big step, one they’d made so easily, but what did Jazz really have to offer Michael? He wanted to say something, but what could he say that might return the ease they’d shared earlier that day when Michael brought him a coffee?

  Shit, had they lost that?

  Jazz didn’t know.

  At that moment he needed some space to get his head on right.

  As Jazz zipped his jeans, Michael stepped up and slid his arms around his waist. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you? The whole… you know?”

  It was cute how Michael couldn’t voice his actions when the heat of the moment was over. Jazz wanted to tell Michael he had done quite the opposite: opened up his closed and tired heart. But that would lead to more questions and more conversation, and Jazz had too many thoughts of Russell barging through his mind to be able to pull off any of that the way he needed to. The way Michael deserved for him to.

  “I’m positive, sweetie.” Another quick kiss and Jazz slipped from Michael’s arms to head for the bedroom door. “I just need to get home and get settled and ice my hand. It’s been a strange evening.”

  “To say the least,” Michael said and followed him out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

  Jazz gathered his house keys and cell phone that he’d casually tossed on the kitchen table and pocketed them. A hardcover book lying open caught his eye. “Is that…?” Jazz had to catch his breath.

  “What?” Michael came over and quickly looked like he’d been caught in a lie. “Oh, yes, um….”

  “You’re reading Russell’s books again?” Jazz wasn’t really surprised. Michael was a longtime fan, after all, but Jazz was… disappointed.

  “Yes, I’m searching them for clues to help the prosecution build a case that Dylan’s death was premeditated,” Michael said in his mortician’s voice, making Jazz flinch.

  Might as well have been saying I’m sorry for your loss.

  “Did you know that Russell is pleading insanity, claiming amnesia?” Michael told him.

  “No, no, I didn’t know.” Jazz shook his head, trying to shake loose all thoughts of his murdering, lying, soon-to-be-official ex-husband. Michael’s words were perfectly logical, and looking in Russell’s books for clues was very intelligent. But still….

  Why the hell couldn’t Russell just disappear? Why was he ruining things between Jazz and Michael?

  And why was Jazz letting him do it?

  Michael touched his arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought it would upset you. I know you say that you’re okay, but everything that happened, what Russell tried to do… just know that I’m here to talk when you’re ready.”

  Sweet, thoughtful Michael. If I tell you everything in my head, you’ll realize how badly I’m ruining your life and you’ll drop me like a hot potato. But I’m selfish, and I want
to keep you for as long as I can.

  Of course he didn’t say that out loud.

  Instead, Jazz smiled up at him, grateful to see Michael’s real smile, not the mortician one, and hear his real voice. Michael cared for Jazz—though Lord only knew why—and Jazz had to stop letting Russell fuck with his head. Russell was in prison, out of his life.

  He pulled all of his strength to give Michael a genuine smile. “Thanks, sweetie.” He gestured airily to Russell’s book. “And I get it. Makes total sense. Gotta build a case. Did you find anything good in those pages that’ll keep his ass in jail and away from me forever?”

  He tried to make that sound like a joke, and judging by Michael’s pitying look, he’d failed epically.

  “Quite a few things, yes.”

  “Cool, cool.”

  Jazz tried to make everything seem normal after that, and crouched down to bid Mr. Pickles goodbye and give him some pets. But nothing felt normal about this. It felt like Jazz had fucked something up, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

  Fucking Russell.

  Stop thinking about Russell!

  He rose and kissed Michael once again, then took a moment to meet his gaze. “Sleep well, sweetie.”

  “You too. I’ll talk with you tomorrow?”

  “It’s a date.” After a final kiss, Jazz turned away and slipped out the sliding door into the humid night.

  He walked quickly along the streets, wanting nothing more than to be back in his apartment. His ass was tender from that hard fucking, asscheeks still alive from Michael’s slaps, and he could feel the slickness of Michael’s cum leaking out of him. The sensations should have made him smile, or at the very least urged him to send a naughty text to Michael about it, but he couldn’t shake off the toxicity—the dark, noxious waves, Trish had called it. A few people were walking down Main Street, couples mostly, all hand in hand, and Jazz looked away from them. He seemed to bring darkness to those closest to him.

  That sounded way more dramatic than he’d intended, even in his own mind, and he chastised himself for being such a drama queen as he approached the chandlery building, which housed Misty’s Makeover Palace, the Robichaux Bakery, and Yvette’s Haberdashery on the ground level, and Holland Harbor Lofts above. Jazz’s apartment was right above the bakery, and he loved waking up every morning to the smell of their baked goods.

  The only thing better was waking up beside Michael.

  But maybe he needed a bit of a break from that. Nothing too long, of course, merely enough to allow him to clear his head of the troubling memories of Russell. And let him read through the divorce papers or hire a lawyer to do it, and make sure he wasn’t going to be fucked by Russell one more time. Michael deserved Jazz at 100 percent, not this current state of negative, distracted, hot mess.

  He rounded the corner of the building to the back parking lot and headed for the residential entrance. When he was a yard or so from the door, movement in the shadows down by the back entrance of the salon made him stop. A chill went through him, and he reached for his phone in his back pocket.

  A figure moved into view beneath the parking lot lights, the motion tripping the sensor for the light over the back door.

  Ally Roberts!

  She must’ve finished giving her statement over at the police station. Was it a coincidence that she was hanging around outside the salon, or was there something more sinister afoot? Jazz thought about calling out, but Ally scurried away, maybe scared off by the sudden flood of light, and he lost sight of her in the surrounding darkness.

  Well, that was interesting.

  Jazz approached the back door of the salon and tried the knob. Still locked. Maybe she’d just been looking for a place to smoke a joint or something, get some time to herself. Jazz could more than understand that. He had a key, but he didn’t see a need to let himself in. He’d be there soon enough for his 8:00 a.m. client, Kevin Raines, the director at the Bluffs at Lake View retirement community. Since Kevin got kinda pissy if Jazz ran late, he always made sure Kevin was first on his schedule—which made a craptastic start for the day—and never at the end of his day. Not only would Kevin be disgruntled when Jazz was inevitably running late after a full day of clients, but if Kevin was last on the schedule, Jazz had a hard time ending the appointment politely since Kevin was always trying to flirt and ask him out, no matter how many times Jazz insisted he did not date his clients and that…

  He. Had. A. Boyfriend.

  Whatever, Jazz thought. At least Kevin was a good tipper.

  He returned to the residential entrance and keyed in the entry code. Once inside, he climbed the steps and drew up short when he saw a tall man in a yellow hawaiian shirt step out of Kurt and Sarah’s apartment. It was the man he’d seen at the festival earlier, the one who’d been watching Misty’s cousins perform.

  Suspicious, Jazz asked, “Oh, hi. You a friend of Kurt and Sarah?”

  The man shook his head of thick blond hair. “No, I found the room on Airbnb. Great place. I’ll be giving it a five star.”

  A tourist, then. Jazz fought a frown. “Yeah, we like it here.”

  Those millennial twits. They were gonna get themselves kicked out when the landlord discovered they were renting out their loft. It was a direct violation of their lease.

  Jazz was really too tired to give too many fucks about it at this point. Waving at the tourist, he let himself into his apartment. It felt familiar, but not as warm and inviting as Michael’s place. Jazz had become spoiled being with Michael. He hoped it hadn’t clouded his judgment. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to losing the condoms tonight. That was a big step, and Michael deserved a lot more connection than what Jazz had been able to provide him tonight.

  Maybe Michael deserved someone better than Jazz overall.

  A sigh slipped out before he realized it, and Jazz switched on the television, then headed for the kitchen to get an ice pack for his hand and a glass of wine for his troubled mind.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “STUPID FUCKING sheriff,” Ally groused, throwing her wallet on the motel bed.

  “He’s doing his job, trying to find who killed Bill,” Sonya said as she followed Ally into the room and closed the door. A forgotten box with a slice of vegan pizza, discarded paper plates, and napkins littered the small hotel table, and their instrument cases and suitcases took up much of the floor space in the cheap room.

  Ally glared at her new bandmate. “You know who killed him. We both sat here and watched Bill pace this floor and talk about that fucking Norbert all afternoon and evening. And then he went out for a ‘walk,’ which we both know is code for him getting on Grindr and finding a hookup.”

  “You don’t know that.” Sonya sat on the end of the bed, facing away from Ally, shoulders defeated. She looked tired, used up, and Ally knew she was grieving deeply. Sonya and Bill had toured together a long time.

  Ally snorted. “I asked him where he was going, and he acted guilty. He went for a hookup. I know it, and you know it. Then he never came back.”

  If the damn sheriff had found Bill’s phone, they’d know for sure.

  Sonya turned toward her, tears in her eyes and a fierce expression on her drawn and pale face. “And you barely know us. You only joined the band a few weeks ago. You don’t know what it was like all those years ago when we were playing with Norbert. To see him again after all this time. It was quite shocking for me, and I’m sure even more so for Bill.”

  Sonya placed a hand on the pillow where Bill had slept two nights before. A tear ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away before getting to her feet. “Anyway, we need to let the sheriff and his deputies do their job. They’ll figure out what happened to Bill.”

  “I know what happened to him,” Ally said with a sneer. “That fucker Norbert killed him, just like he helped that fucking hack writer kill my cousin.”

  “I can’t believe that you know Norbert too,” Sonya said. “What a small, cruel, cruel world.”

  Not such a small world,
but definitely cruel.

  A ball of grief wedged in Ally’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. Losing Bill had brought all the pain of losing Dylan rushing back, like she was learning about his murder for the first time all over again.

  “I can see you’re upset,” Sonya said, tears flowing freely now. She wiped them away and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to that bar down the street for a drink. Care to join me?”

  Ally was crying as well, and she vehemently shook her head, unable to speak for fear the word “no” would come out as a sob.

  “I think we both need some time on our own,” Sonya said and left the room.

  Ally fell onto the bed, burying her face in her arms as she wept.

  Dylan had only wanted a chance to show the world what he was capable of, to prove his talent as a writer. When Russell Withingham had started hitting on him, Dylan had confided to Ally that he intended to make the most of the relationship while it lasted. Poor Dylan wasn’t used to staying with a guy for longer than six weeks.

  But the six weeks had come and gone, and they’d still been together. Then once Russell had separated from his husband, he’d asked Dylan to move in with him. Dylan had been pretty much head over heels by then, and although Ally had warned him to take things slow, he’d jumped at the chance for a happily ever after.

  And now he was dead. No more writing, no more dancing, no more late night phone calls and video chats. No more listening to podcasts about cold cases and brainstorming as she helped Dylan plot his mystery novel. A novel stolen as swiftly as his life. All of that was over with, and all because Russell had wanted Dylan’s book.

  And Norbert had helped.

  Ally concocted her plan for revenge weeks ago. Using her meager savings, she’d paid a private investigator to dig into Norbert’s life. She’d seen Norbert’s post on Instagram that he was headed to the Acoustic Music Festival—only forty-six followers. Pretty sad. Her ex-girlfriend’s hamster Puffball had two thousand. The PI had told her about Norbert’s old band, The Lanky Balladeers, and as luck would have it, they’d posted on Facebook they needed a new guitarist. It hadn’t taken much for her to be hired. She’d always been good at guitar. Ally had casually mentioned the festival to Bill and Sonya over dinner one evening, and when Bill got excited about the idea, she almost felt guilty about not mentioning Norbert would be there. The poor guy still had feelings for Norbert, no matter what Sonya tried to tell Ally after the run-in at that greasy diner. The foolish woman had been pining for Bill. It was more obvious than the nose on her face.