by Morgan Brice
Ben stayed quiet.
Erik was afraid to turn around. He could come up with all kinds of reasons Ben wouldn’t want to stay after he heard him out. Sure, Ben had seemed cool with the ghost thing. But visions from touching objects? That was freaky. And Erik had arguably made powerful enemies on both sides of the law. Walking away certainly hadn’t made him any friends. Josh had never liked all the travel, but deep down, Erik knew that Josh hadn’t liked the job. And back then, Erik was the job. Things were different now. He was different. But did he still come with more baggage than Ben would want to deal with?
“How did you get out?”
Erik couldn’t read anything from Ben’s tone. “I got hurt on the last sting. I told my handler that I wanted out. He said that wasn’t an option. I didn’t know what to do, but I did know that I couldn’t be what they needed me to be anymore. I was desperate, and I knew Josh wouldn’t understand. We hadn’t broken up, but on some level, I knew things weren’t good. So I called my friend Simon. I had nowhere else to turn. I couldn’t tell him much—I’d signed some wicked NDAs—but we ran in some of the same circles. He didn’t know what to tell me, but he knew some people who might be able to help. I really thought the only way I’d ever leave was feet first.”
“What happened?”
Erik shook his head. “I’m still not sure. When I was ready to be discharged from the hospital, my handler came in. Looked like he had a real stick up his ass. He told me I was being let go. Didn’t give me a reason, and I didn’t ask. He wasn’t happy about it, but he had the paperwork. Told me it meant I was on my own, and I’d better watch my back. And…I was free.” He paused. “I was so excited, I came back to tell Josh that I was out, done, finished. He hated my job. And, well…you know the rest.”
Erik didn’t move. He braced himself to hear the door open and close behind Ben, hear his footsteps on the stairs for the last time. He blinked back tears. My own stupid fault for getting close to someone. I don’t do flings. I fall in love. And look what it gets me.
Ben moved up and slipped his arms around Erik’s waist. “I’m glad you got out. It’s not the same, but I knew undercover cops who never were able to quit the life. Either they died working a case, or they went dark side and became the thing they were supposed to hunt. So…different level, but…I get it.”
“It doesn’t scare you? What I said?” Erik found himself holding his breath, cherishing the feel of Ben’s arms around him, so afraid Ben was going to let him down gently. There wasn’t any “gently” possible. Erik was already in too deep.
“What part? Knowing how dangerous your job was? Hell, yeah. I hate thinking of you around those scumbags. Finding out you worked for the feds? Not your fault. Sounds like they made you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”
Ben laid his cheek against Erik’s head. “Knowing you might have some enemies out there? Baby, you do realize I busted gangs and mobsters and drug dealers and worse? Infiltrated their inner circle. Ratted them out. Hell, at one point a drug lord put a price on my head. So if you’re worried about having a target on your back, understand I’ve got one, too. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you tell me to leave.”
Erik laid his hands over Ben’s and pulled him tighter. “And my intuition? That doesn’t freak you out?”
“I don’t understand it. And I’m guessing you don’t fully, either. But it’s part of who you are. So I’m okay with it.”
After the whiplash of emotions, Erik felt a little weak in the knees. He relaxed into Ben’s hold, and Ben steered him to the couch, pulling Erik down next to him and wrapping his arms around him.
“I know you aren’t going to like it, but I think that you should keep your gun with you, until we know who’s behind this. Because that guy tonight was armed. We were lucky he ran.”
Ben stroked Erik’s hair. “I feel better, knowing you’ve got martial arts training and can handle a gun. But please don’t take any chances, Erik. Whatever’s going on, it’s a lot bigger than we thought. And they know who we are, so we can’t walk away until it’s finished.”
Erik nodded, burrowing his head against Ben’s chest. “I know. Same goes for you. Don’t get dead. I’d miss you.”
Ben leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “I’d miss you, too.”
“Stay?”
Ben chuckled. “Baby, I was going to stay one way or the other. Either in here, with you, or in my car out front. And I know which way I’d prefer.”
“Is it okay if we save dessert until tomorrow?” Oddly enough, being shot at dampened Erik’s libido.
“You know, that’s a rain check for each of us now. We’re gonna have a real good time when we cash them in.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Erik replied.
They sat up for a while, watching a cooking show because it was safe and brainless. Gentle shaking woke Erik, letting him know he’d fallen asleep against Ben.
“Come on, let’s go to bed. You’re going to have a crick in your neck if we sleep here.”
“This isn’t at all how I’d planned the night to go,” Erik mumbled, half asleep.
Ben’s low chuckle still zinged through Erik’s body. “That’s all right. We’ve got time to get it right.”
They barely managed to get cleaned up and into bed. Ben curled around Erik, his arm over Erik’s chest, pulling him close. “Go to sleep,” Ben murmured. “I’m here. And I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. You have my word.”
Erik slept better than he expected, something he felt sure was due to the handsome, inked man in his bed. He still couldn’t believe Ben had heard his confession and stuck around, but if for once fate chose to smile on him, Erik wasn’t going to turn down a gift.
He wished they could pick up with sexy times that got derailed the night before, but he’d made appointments with some of the people Susan had recommended, including Monty Clark, the medium. Ben must have felt him stir, because he opened his eyes and blinked a few times, looking adorably rumpled and sleepy.
“Going somewhere? I had plans.”
Erik leaned over and kissed him, slow and gentle. “Unfortunately, I’ve got appointments. But I also have that cream pie, and I’m hoping to entice you to come back tonight.”
“Told you, I’m staying until you throw me out,” Ben said. “Not going to leave you alone at night.” He stretched, arching his back, showing off all those muscles, and Erik had to remind his stiffening cock that they had work to do.
“I’m fine with that,” Erik replied.
“Good to know.” Ben rolled to his feet. “As it turns out, I have appointments, too. I need to find out when we can fix that closet. I can’t rent the place if it’s covered with police tape. And I really should spend some time in the office.”
“When I get back to the store, I want to have another look at the papers that were in the clock. And the stuff in Justin Kramer’s box. I think we’ve missed something. I just don’t know what.”
“I was going to work a few angles from the investigator side,” Ben said. “Good thing I kept my license.”
Much as Erik would have liked to shower together, his bathroom wasn’t designed for that. They moved around each other with an easiness that surprised Erik, like they’d been doing this for a lot longer. He liked that, and decided to take it as a good omen.
“I’m out of eggs,” Erik confessed when Ben joined him in the kitchen. “But I have frozen waffles.”
“I ate too many of those growing up. I’ll just stick with coffee.” Ben glanced at the drawer where Erik had put his gun. “I was serious about carrying, until we know who we’re up against.”
Erik nodded. “I will. I hate it, but I will.”
“It won’t be for long,” Ben said. He drank his coffee, washed out the mug, and left it on the counter. “Be careful today.”
Erik stretched up to kiss him. “You, too.” He tried to put all the feelings he wasn’t quite ready to say into the kiss. I’m worried about you. I need you. I think
I love you.
“See you for dinner,” he said, walking Ben to the door. “Text me if anything interesting happens—like you find another skeleton.”
“Believe me, if that happens, you’ll be the first to know.”
Erik’s first appointment was with Mort Jenner, a retiree in his late seventies who had been hotel security for the Commodore Wilson during the Chason and Ambrose years.
“You want my opinion? They were both scum,” Jenner said. “Cheating, lying scum. Just packaged a little different, you know what I mean? You can tell a lot about people by how they treat the little guys. Chason and Ambrose, they were all smiles and nicey-nice when the cameras were on or they had an audience. But behind the scenes, whoo-boy. Whole different story.”
“What do you mean?” Erik wasn’t taking notes. Afterward, he’d jot down the key points, a skill he’d honed in his past career. That left him free to give Jenner his full attention, which usually prompted better information.
“I mean, they grabbed the waitresses—and some of the waiters, too. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Drank too much, screamed at the staff if everything wasn’t just so.” Jenner shook his head. “And the drugs? You’da thought it was one of those fancy New York City nightclubs where the stars go. Pills, blow, pot—everything and plenty of it.”
Erik knew it was easier to get away with all that before cell phones and social media. Before the internet bypassed media gatekeepers and made whistleblowing easier. Not that it still didn’t happen, but it was harder to hide.
“So everyone knew, and no one did anything?”
Jenner shrugged. “There’s a difference between ‘knowing’ and ‘proving.’ And both guys were mobbed up. People thought twice about crossing them. They paid off the cops. Made sure their conventions brought in lots of money for the town. Folks didn’t want to rock the boat. Things were different back then.”
“What happened when Chason disappeared?”
Jenner stared off into the distance and sipped his coffee. “Chason was an odd duck. Saw Commies under every rock. Told everyone the Ruskies were coming, and that it was part of the tribulations sent by God to punish the wicked. But his flock could make sure they and theirs were protected if they just gave him enough money.”
He snorted. “And they believed that! He was so looney the feds yanked his radio license, so he bought himself an old barge and set up a station just outside of U.S. waters, where he could still broadcast, ranting and raving to his heart’s content, and they couldn’t stop him. He wanted to be a TV star, but there wasn’t any Boob Tube, or whatever the kids watch these days.”
“YouTube,” Erik supplied.
“Yeah, that. Can’t get my grandson to put down the damn phone long enough to go fishing, but he’ll watching fishing videos all day long.” Jenner’s fingers twitched, like he was itching for a cigarette. “Anyhow, Chason spent money like my ex-wife. Expensive suits. Fancy cars. Diamond rings. And he dropped a boatload on trying to fix up that old place, but it was a money pit. I guess it all caught up to him. I heard he owed taxes, and he didn’t pay his Mob construction buddies. So he skipped town. I imagine he’s been down in Argentina all these years, laughing at the chumps he left behind.”
Erik suspected Chason had stayed a lot closer to home, but he didn’t say anything. “And Ambrose?”
“Geez. That guy. Drugs. Booze. Hookers. Orgies. And then he’d go on TV and be this understanding, soft-spoken guy with all the answers, when we’d all seen him throw plates at the housekeeper and pass out drunk on the patio. Just another phony. He got away with it for a while, but when it all started to close in on him, he checked out.”
“The people Chason and Ambrose paid off—are any of them still around?”
Jenner shrugged. “I imagine some are. I’m no spring chicken, so they’d be around my age or older. I never knew who they were, just that payola had to happen, or anyone with eyes in their heads would have shut them down quick enough to make your head spin.”
He looked Erik up and down. “So what’s your game? You come to town and start digging up dirt? What for? Nothing good can come of it.”
“Just interested in local history,” Erik replied. “I’m in the antiques business. I figure pieces from the Commodore will turn up for sale sooner or later, and I want to know the story.”
Jenner looked down at his coffee. “About ten years after the Commodore closed, there was a big shake-up with the police department. Never did hear all the details, but they got rid of a lot of bad seeds. Fired ’em or made ’em retire. That was around the time the feds came down hard on the Jersey Mob. Those guys never go away, but they know how to go to ground. As far as I ever heard, the town’s been pretty clean ever since.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you for talking to me, Mr. Jenner.”
“Eh, not many people want to hear an old guy ramble on about the past. Now git. I think I feel a nap coming on.”
Erik knew when he’d been dismissed. He left a tip for the server and walked out of Crumble, carrying what remained of his latte. Jenner’s stories had squared pretty well with what Cheryl Sparks had told him earlier that morning. Cheryl had been the head of housekeeping at the Commodore during the Chason and Ambrose years. She hadn’t said anything about Mob connections, but she did talk about how both Chason and Ambrose had “rough” friends, men from the city who scared her. He’d wanted to go talk to Sherri and Jo at The Spike, but they couldn’t fit him in for a couple of days, so Erik figured he’d talk with everyone else first.
It’s been almost twenty years since the Commodore got torn down. Why is all this stuff surfacing now?
Erik glanced at his phone. Time to go see Monty Clark.
Cape May Lighthouse stood tall and proud, still a working navigational light after one hundred and fifty years. The white cylinder with its red top was a local landmark. Erik stood at the bottom and craned his neck to see the top. The wind whipped around him, stronger here at the tip of the cape, and the sea stretched toward the horizon.
Being the park ranger here wasn’t exactly as isolated as the lighthouse keepers of old had been, but in a tourist town the job was probably one of the least social. Maybe that made it perfect for a medium, someone with reason to want a break from the chatter of the living and the dead.
The parking lot had only two cars, and Erik guessed the drivers were probably locals come for their daily walk or some birdwatching. They sure weren’t here to picnic, he thought, pulling his jacket closed. The wind still had a bite to it.
He headed to the ranger station and knocked on the door. Erik wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the large man who opened the door looked more like a pro wrestler than Erik’s mental picture of a ranger or a medium. “Monty Clark?”
The man cocked his head to one side. “You’re the guy Susan Hendricks sent over?”
Erik held out his hand. “Erik Mitchell. New owner of Trinkets.”
“Come on in.” Monty led the way into the cabin-style building that consisted of a large community room with a small office to one side. Erik studied Monty as he followed him. The guy had to be at least six-foot-four and he was built like a tank. Monty had short dark hair, but if he ever decided to grow it long and rock a beard, he’d have the biker look dead to rights.
“Mrs. Hendricks is a good lady. I grew up with her oldest son. We go way back. So if she vouches for you, that counts for a lot with me.”
“Susan’s been a godsend,” Erik agreed. “I moved in and she kind of adopted me.”
Monty laughed. “Yep. I believe it. Nice to know some things never change. So…how can I help you?”
Erik wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. Would Monty mind discussing his mediumship while he was on the clock with his ranger job?
“Let me guess. You’ve got ghost trouble.”
Erik nodded, relieved that Monty spoke first. “I can see ghosts, but that’s it. I don’t get messages from them, and I don’t know if they can hear me. But I was handling
some items that came from the old Commodore Wilson Hotel, and I saw the ghost of Vincente Cafaro.”
Monty’s eyebrows rose at that. “Well, well. He gets around for a dead guy.”
“What do you mean?”
“His ghost showed up about four days ago. First time I’d seen him. Which is odd, because I thought I’d run into all of Cape May’s dead residents,” Monty replied.
“What would make a ghost suddenly appear like that?”
“Could be any number of things. An anniversary. Changing something the ghost was attached to. Handling an object that has resonance with the spirit. We’ll probably never know.”
“Did he…say…anything to you?”
Monty gave a rueful grin. “Just because I can hear some ghosts, doesn’t mean that all ghosts try to talk. Some of them can’t—there isn’t enough left of who they were. Others have been dead long enough, they don’t remember much about their lives except for the incident that caused their deaths, or whatever unfinished business binds them here. Cafaro’s been dead for what, over sixty years? A ghost can fade as the years go by. Some do, some don’t. I’ve never been able to tell what makes the difference.”
“Did you sense anything from him?”
Monty shrugged. “Besides the fact that he was pissed someone blew him sky high?” He paused. “I don’t think the apparition is dangerous. He didn’t strike me as vengeful. Maybe more of a…warning.”
“Have you had any other ghosts from the Commodore’s past show up recently?”
Monty leaned back in his chair. “Funny you say that. I was just finishing up with a scout group that was here for a hike, and I saw this ghost that I didn’t recognize. Then he turned around, and it’s that preacher, Chason, who went missing.” He chuckled. “I mean, it’s been a long time, so it’s probably not a stretch that he’s dead. But he looked just like the pictures I’ve seen. Except…”