The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh - Страница 22
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Last night he’d been too tired to tell him what he’d learned about the house’s history -- last night none of it had seemed relevant -- but this morning he couldn’t wait to hear Nick’s thoughts.
Pouring himself a cup of cocoa, he sat down at the table and glanced over the notes he’d made at the library the day before. He was still reading when Nick padded in.
Unshaven, bleary eyed, he stalked over to the gas range. “’Morning,” he growled.
“Good morning,” Perry said cheerfully. “There’s hot water.”
“I see that. I take coffee with my hot water.” He scowled at Perry’s mug. “Tell me those are not bunny-shaped marshmallows.”
Perry blushed.
“Don’t you drink coffee?” Nick sounded disbelieving. “Couldn’t you at least make coffee for those of us who don’t like bunnies in our morning beverage.”
“I don’t know how to make coffee,” Perry admitted.
Nick turned that red-rimmed gaze on Perry. “You’re not kidding,” he said at last.
“No. I don’t drink it, so I never learned.”
Nick shuddered. He turned on the taps and filled the stainless coffeepot. “How’d you sleep?” he asked over the rush of water.
“Okay,” Perry said, trying to repress a grin. He enjoyed Nick’s company -- even when Nick was feeling grouchy.
Nick finished filling the coffeepot and sat down at the table. He nodded at Perry’s notes. “What are you doing?”
“I was at the newspaper morgue yesterday. I learned some things about the house.”
“Like what?”
“Well, it is supposed to be haunted…” At Nick’s expression he added hastily, “But that’s not the interesting part.”
Nick scrubbed his face with his hands. “Give me the interesting part.”
He had square, capable hands. They were tanned -- Nick was tanned everywhere as far as Perry could see even though it was late autumn now. He’d have liked to see if Nick was brown under those flannel shirts and jeans; he’d have liked to feel those square, capable hands on his body. He brought his thoughts up short, a little shocked at his own shallowness. Here he was, just two days after losing the love of his life, and he was fantasizing about another man.
A straight man at that.
Although…sometimes the way Nick looked at him made him wonder. Perry wasn’t vastly experienced, but he did know what that certain alertness, that awareness, meant in another person’s stare. It started in kindergarten and never stopped as far as he could tell.
He realized that Nick was now looking at him, waiting to be brought up to speed, and said hastily, “Back in the thirties there was a big robbery on the estate, and a bunch of jewels and money were stolen from guests by a gangster by the name of Shane Moran. No one ever found the loot.”
“So what…the ghosts of the robbed guests are haunting the halls of Alston Manor?”
“No. Shane Moran is supposed to haunt the grounds. He was killed in a shoot-out in Witch Hollow Woods.”
Nick groaned. “Lemme guess. He was shot for wearing a loud yellow sports jacket?”
Perry laughed. “Maybe. But the guy in my bathtub was not wearing costume dress. That coat came from Big and Tall World, I’m betting.”
“The Sopranos Collection,” Nick said.
“Hey.” Perry looked thoughtful. “He did look like a gangster, sort of.”
“Not everyone with a taste for checks and plaids is actually a criminal, although I can see why you might think so.”
Perry laughed.
“Jesus, you’re chipper in the morning,” Nick complained, but he didn’t seem unduly upset about it. He rose. “Eggs and bacon okay?”
Perry was considering Nick’s first comment. His mother used to say he was “sunny natured,” and he guessed that was true. The last few days had been spent in a fog of misery after the fiasco with Marcel, but his natural optimism was beginning to reassert itself. He was amazed to realize he had barely thought of Marcel today until this very moment.
“I guess I’m kind of a morning person,” he informed Nick.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Nick said. “Scrambled or fried?”
“I think I’ll just have cereal.”
“I don’t think so,” Nick said. “You need to eat real food. No wonder you have asthma.”
“Asthma doesn’t have anything to do with eating.” Perry was slightly amused, slightly defensive.
“No? Well, I’m not a doctor, but it seems like the better shape you’re in, the fewer problems you’d have with your breathing. Do you ever work out?”
“I hike a lot. In the woods.”
“You need to work out,” Nick informed him. “Weights. Build your muscles. You have to be able to take care of yourself in this world.”
While Nick delivered his lecture on fitness, he cracked eggs, chopped onions, grated cheese. Bacon popped on the stove. Coffee perked. It was homey. Cozy. Perry warned himself not to enjoy it too much.
“Did you tell the cops about this stuff?” Nick asked.
“I didn’t think of the secret passage till I was talking with you.”
“Not that,” Nick brushed aside the notion of a secret passage. “I mean the stuff about the missing jewels. That’s what you think is going on here, right? Someone is looking for Shane Moran’s missing loot.”
He raised his eyebrows at whatever he read in Perry’s face. “Kid, it wasn’t that hard to follow where you were heading.”
Perry couldn’t help it. Nick was so damned sharp and savvy. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be someone like that. Someone who always knew what to do -- and the best way to do it.
“I tried,” Perry said. “The sheriff kept interrupting me and asking about Tiny.”
Nick put the plate in front of Perry. “Eat up.”
Perry shoved his notes aside and picked up his fork. “You’re a good cook.”
“My grandmother taught me to cook. She thought it was important for a man to be able to make himself a home-cooked meal when he wanted it. Thank God she did. My wife was the worst cook ever born. She made MR rations seem appetizing.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“Divorced.” Nick added curtly, “Got the papers Saturday.”
“How long were you married?”
“Too long.” His tone indicated that this topic was now off-limits.
Perry ate his breakfast silently while Nick stared out the window. The phone rang and Nick went to answer it. Perry heard him pick up, and then after a moment of silence, say curtly, “We’ll be right over.”
Nick stuck his head in the kitchen.
“That was Stein. He said he heard someone walking overhead in your apartment so he tried ringing. No one answered. He called here to find out if you’d moved back or not. I said we’d meet him over there.”
“Why didn’t he tell the deputy?”
“He said the deputy is gone.”
“He’s probably in my apartment.” Perry’s eyes widened as he watched Nick squat down, open the cupboard beneath the sink, and pull out a pistol. Nick shoved the pistol in the back waistband of his Levi’s with the casualness that bespoke great familiarity with weapons. Perry’s father had handled his weapons the same way.
Nick glanced at him, the lines of his face hard and businesslike. “Why would he be?”
It took Perry a second to remember his comment about the deputy. “I’m probably a suspect.”
“I give the police more credit than that.” And with that Nick was on his feet and out the door.
Perry pushed away from the table to follow reluctantly.
Chapter Eight
The trip from Nick’s tower room to Perry’s took about a minute. Reaching Perry’s apartment, they found the door slightly open.
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