Bellingham Mysteries 3: Black Cat Ink by Nicole Kimberling Page B

him, you know.”
    Peter blinked again, as if by doing so he could replay what he thought Nick had just said to make sure he’d heard correctly. Because that’s not how conversations work, he was forced to ask, “Come again?”
    “I was going to leave Walter. I’d gone to an artist’s retreat to work and just to try and get some perspective on my life. While I was there I made up my mind to break it off. I realized that even though he loved me, he was never going to see me as his equal, and I needed that.”
    “Everyone needs that.”
    Nick cracked a crooked smile. “Not really. But I did, and so I had made my decision. Then when I came back, he told me that he had been diagnosed and had about a year to live.” Nick stared at the blank wall in front of him. “He was afraid. I think he knew that I wasn’t happy and that if I left, he’d die alone. He told me he’d changed his will to leave me his artistic estate. Essentially, he bought me.”
    “I don’t want to seem insensitive here, but again I’d like to point out that he could have gone home to his wife. You know, the one who signed on for till death us do part .” Peter tried not to sound callous, but journalistic training took over, as it often did when he was confronted by blatant illogic. “And what about the sons? Didn’t they want to spend time with him?”
    “No, they didn’t want to see him. Especially not after the family lawyer leaked the information about the change in the will.” Nick kept his eyes fixed on the wall, as if he were revealing his darkest secret. And Peter supposed that for a person like Nick, admitting that he had been bought qualified as his darkest secret. Or if not actually darkest, certainly the one he was most ashamed of.
    “So the wife and kids didn’t get anything?”
    “Not from Walter. After he died there was a lawsuit. We eventually came to the agreement that I would remain the executor but all monies coming from the sale of Walter’s art had to be split evenly between me, Bradley, and Troy. Those are Walter’s sons.”
    Understanding dawned across Peter’s foggy and shifting thoughts. “So the Bradley who almost ran over me was Walter’s son?”
    “That’s right.”
    “He must be fifty, at least.” Peter knew he sounded slightly stupid stating the obvious as he was doing, but couldn’t help himself.
    “Walter was in his seventies when he died.” Nick finally looked at him, as if perplexed by Peter’s inability to draw the conclusion that a septuagenarian could have children half a century old. “But yeah, you can see how Bradley and Troy would have reacted to meeting me. He called me a gold-digging little faggot on more than one occasion. Today he wanted to make sure he and Troy get their share of the insurance money from Untitled Five .”
    “Asshole,” Peter murmured.
    Nick shrugged. “It’s not like he was wrong. I did fit all the criteria to be considered a gold digger…and a faggot.”
    Fury welled up in Peter. “You know, Nick, I think he was wrong. I don’t think you stayed for the money.”
    “Don’t you?” Nick asked drily. “Were you there?”
    “No, but I’ve lived with you for three fucking years now, and you’ve never done anything even slightly underhanded, let alone outright dishonorable. I think you would have stayed with him that last year even if he didn’t give you a dime, because that’s just the kind of man you are.” Peter paused for a breath and made another next logical leap. “Although I can see how if the whole thing ended with assisted suicide, that would have looked suspicious to everybody.”
    Nick smiled grimly. “Can you also see how this business with the statue is dredging up a lot of things I don’t really want to think or talk about?”
    “I can, but…I’m probably going to keep asking.” Peter held up his hands helplessly. “It’s just how I am.”
    “Could you not ask me anything more about it today at least?”
    “Sure.” Peter laid