prodigal
couturier proved futile once again, I ended up going home and
trading my Nissan for my Harley Sportster. I hoped that a ride in
the hills might clear my head and give me some insight into my
case.
I wish I could say that my ride actually accomplished
something work-wise, but if I did, I’d be a damn liar. It did clear
my head, though, and it gave me an even greater appreciation for
the area I’d moved to. The world just looks different from the seat
of a bike.
I ended up dropping by my new office before heading
back to Seth’s. I returned a couple of phone calls, snooped a
little more on the internet, and tried again to call Sarah’s MIA
co-worker. Then I made an early night of it.
I went to bed early and woke in the wee hours of the
morning. My growling stomach drove me to crawl out of bed and head
downstairs. While I was standing in front of the fridge, shivering
in my nightshirt and trying to find something that looked like
food, someone came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my
waist. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I whirled around to face my molester. “Jesus, Seth!
Don’t do that!”
“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he meant
it.
Once again, he was dressed in nothing but boxers. He
was also damp from the shower, which made the boxers cling to him
like a second skin. I dragged my eyes up to find him eyeing me much
the way I’d just been eyeing him.
“Nice outfit,” he said.
“You, too.”
Seth grinned. “You find anything in there?” he asked,
gesturing toward the fridge.
“Beer. Soda. The usual.”
“You don’t believe in keeping food in the house, do
you?”
I shrugged. “It tends to slip my mind.”
Seth shook his head and reached past me to open the
freezer door. There wasn’t anything interesting in there,
either.
“You clean out the deep freeze, too?”
“What deep freeze?”
Seth looked at me like I’d sprouted an extra head.
“You haven’t been in the garage?” When I shook my head he asked,
“Where are you keeping the Harley that Elizabeth is having raptures
over?”
“The empty shed by the pool house. It’s not like I
had a garage door opener.”
“Jesus.” Seth sighed and ran a hand through his wet
curls. “I forgot that Elizabeth didn’t have any need for that when
she lived here. C’mere.”
He made a ‘follow me’ gesture and led me out of the
kitchen. We crossed the living room and headed down a hallway that
dead-ended into a wall covered by a very nice piece of abstract,
nonobjective art. Seth glanced back and smirked at me and then
reached into the painting.
He grasped a well-hidden handle and slid the door to
one side, revealing a dark, cavernous room beyond. For a few
seconds he felt around on the wall, and then lights flickered
on
I couldn’t hold back a gasp. Or the “Oh my God” that
followed.
“Welcome to my playroom,” he said. “I had to hide it
to keep out the riffraff. We’ll move your bike in tomorrow.”
I padded out into the biggest garage I’d ever seen to
inspect everything more closely. The side nearest us had been
carpeted, and in the middle of the carpet sat a regulation-sized
pool table with felt the color of the Caribbean Sea. A narrow shelf
ran the length of the nearest wall. Chalk, talc, and coasters
dotted the shelf, and a couple of barstools sat beneath it. Farther
down, a dart board hung on the wall. There was a photograph of a
smarmy-looking man taped over the dartboard at the moment, and
someone had stuck a dart in his eye.
“Charming. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Shithead from the label.”
I nodded and drifted past the half wall to the
‘business’ side of the garage which housed Seth’s Daytona Blue 1963
split-window Corvette Stingray—my dream car—and a late-model Indian
motorcycle that was a study in black and chrome. I stroked a single
finger down the car’s fender and then straddled the bike without a
thought for my current attire. The bike felt good, right. Almost
couturier proved futile once again, I ended up going home and
trading my Nissan for my Harley Sportster. I hoped that a ride in
the hills might clear my head and give me some insight into my
case.
I wish I could say that my ride actually accomplished
something work-wise, but if I did, I’d be a damn liar. It did clear
my head, though, and it gave me an even greater appreciation for
the area I’d moved to. The world just looks different from the seat
of a bike.
I ended up dropping by my new office before heading
back to Seth’s. I returned a couple of phone calls, snooped a
little more on the internet, and tried again to call Sarah’s MIA
co-worker. Then I made an early night of it.
I went to bed early and woke in the wee hours of the
morning. My growling stomach drove me to crawl out of bed and head
downstairs. While I was standing in front of the fridge, shivering
in my nightshirt and trying to find something that looked like
food, someone came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my
waist. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I whirled around to face my molester. “Jesus, Seth!
Don’t do that!”
“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he meant
it.
Once again, he was dressed in nothing but boxers. He
was also damp from the shower, which made the boxers cling to him
like a second skin. I dragged my eyes up to find him eyeing me much
the way I’d just been eyeing him.
“Nice outfit,” he said.
“You, too.”
Seth grinned. “You find anything in there?” he asked,
gesturing toward the fridge.
“Beer. Soda. The usual.”
“You don’t believe in keeping food in the house, do
you?”
I shrugged. “It tends to slip my mind.”
Seth shook his head and reached past me to open the
freezer door. There wasn’t anything interesting in there,
either.
“You clean out the deep freeze, too?”
“What deep freeze?”
Seth looked at me like I’d sprouted an extra head.
“You haven’t been in the garage?” When I shook my head he asked,
“Where are you keeping the Harley that Elizabeth is having raptures
over?”
“The empty shed by the pool house. It’s not like I
had a garage door opener.”
“Jesus.” Seth sighed and ran a hand through his wet
curls. “I forgot that Elizabeth didn’t have any need for that when
she lived here. C’mere.”
He made a ‘follow me’ gesture and led me out of the
kitchen. We crossed the living room and headed down a hallway that
dead-ended into a wall covered by a very nice piece of abstract,
nonobjective art. Seth glanced back and smirked at me and then
reached into the painting.
He grasped a well-hidden handle and slid the door to
one side, revealing a dark, cavernous room beyond. For a few
seconds he felt around on the wall, and then lights flickered
on
I couldn’t hold back a gasp. Or the “Oh my God” that
followed.
“Welcome to my playroom,” he said. “I had to hide it
to keep out the riffraff. We’ll move your bike in tomorrow.”
I padded out into the biggest garage I’d ever seen to
inspect everything more closely. The side nearest us had been
carpeted, and in the middle of the carpet sat a regulation-sized
pool table with felt the color of the Caribbean Sea. A narrow shelf
ran the length of the nearest wall. Chalk, talc, and coasters
dotted the shelf, and a couple of barstools sat beneath it. Farther
down, a dart board hung on the wall. There was a photograph of a
smarmy-looking man taped over the dartboard at the moment, and
someone had stuck a dart in his eye.
“Charming. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Shithead from the label.”
I nodded and drifted past the half wall to the
‘business’ side of the garage which housed Seth’s Daytona Blue 1963
split-window Corvette Stingray—my dream car—and a late-model Indian
motorcycle that was a study in black and chrome. I stroked a single
finger down the car’s fender and then straddled the bike without a
thought for my current attire. The bike felt good, right. Almost
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