Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (41 page)

“I'll do whatever I can to help, but I'm not a cop.”

“No. But you're a good man. I can see that. That's why I know you will help.” She let go of his arm, but her eyes held him. “Please?”

He nodded. “I'll do what I can.”

He knew he shouldn't have promised. His mind was already on the other files on his desk upstairs in the calm study, the living who still needed him. His interest wasn't in the dead, however sad their story.

Dan got in his car. He glanced in the mirror, watching the house move away in reverse. All he saw was a beige bungalow, as small and unexceptional as its owner.

Darryl Hillary's savaged features stayed with him all the way back to town, racing toward the cityscape with its sweeping waterfront high rises, the Rogers sports dome, the CN Tower dominating everything. He wondered if Darryl had begged for his life in his final moments and whether the killer had enjoyed watching him grovel in the ash-filled slaughterhouse. The location was as gruesome and ironic a place for a death as any he could imagine. It was in keeping with the cruel imagery of nursery rhymes and fairy tales: hideous witches, vicious wolves, poisoned apples, haunted castles, and all the terrible things lurking in the shadows and waiting for disobedient children.

What had gone through Darryl's mind when he learned his father had turned him in to the authorities for having sex with his underage girlfriend? Laws were meant to protect the weak and the unwilling. By the sounds of it, the girlfriend had been more than willing. Where was the crime in two people wanting pleasure from each other, even if one was younger than the law deemed acceptable? The real crime lay beneath a sheet in the Toronto morgue — a man beaten to death because he'd loved someone younger than himself.

Dan had wanted to ask Darlene if their father was still alive, but he stopped himself. What would the old man think now of his handiwork? Would he be pleased to know his son had had a final comeuppance for his youthful recklessness? How much in love did you have to be for it to be all right to have sex with someone younger? Darryl's sister had said the girlfriend hadn't been allowed to speak in Darryl's defence during the trial. The law dealt with technicalities, but it couldn't measure human emotion. Or the urge for revenge. But that was getting ahead of things a bit, assuming Darryl's death had anything to do with his criminal record.

He turned off the Gardiner and headed for home. Dan doubted there was much he could do for Darlene or Darryl at this point. He had his contacts and he could ask around to see if anyone knew anything, but the case was now in the hands of the police. Any overt activity on Dan's part could be construed as unlawful interference. That was a problem Dan didn't need or want.

What remained was to go back to the sort of humdrum tedium that marked most of his cases. He thought of the numerous Internet bookmarks he'd amassed over the past few years. The Help Us Find websites listing absconding debtors and child support payment defaulters. Much of it was dreary work and he detested it, but it was what he did best.

At four o'clock, he headed over to the downtown YMCA. He parked and waited for his son to emerge from his basketball game. Dan stayed in the car. The heat outside had swelled unbearably. Ked wasn't a great player, but he was dedicated and made up for his lack of skill in enthusiasm. He was one of the few kids Dan knew who played for the love of the sport, not out of any sort of bloodlust and competitive instinct. When he finally appeared, Dan was surprised to see a blonde girl hanging onto his arm as he came down the steps. Her hold was friendly, not possessive. Still, she could be twelve or thirteen, where Ked was about to turn fifteen in a month. What happened once he was sixteen and she was only thirteen?

Dan waited and watched. The pair exchanged a few words then the girl laughed and ran off to join two other girls by the bike rack. Ked waved at them and turned to look for his father's car.

As far as Dan knew, Ked hadn't started dating, but they'd had several talks about the topic. The previous month, Ked had surprised him by being forthright on the topic of his own sexuality.

“Would you be disappointed if I turned out to be straight?” he asked.

It was all Dan could do not to laugh. He mustered a serious expression before answering. “Not at all,” he said. “I'm counting on you to give me grandchildren to look after me in my dotage.”

He hadn't even thought of the possibility, but now that he said it he liked the thought of a continuance of his line.

“Seriously, Dad?”

Dan nodded. “Seriously. I just hope you're not disappointed that your father is gay.”

Ked looked dismayed. “No, Dad. I don't care about that. I love you for whatever you are.”

“And the same holds true for me. You wouldn't disappoint me by being yourself. In fact, I expect you to do just that.”

Ked had seemed satisfied with that answer.

He ran over to the car now. Dan popped the lock and his son got in, looking relaxed and tanned. Just another handsome fourteen-year-old, happy to be alive and living in a land where certain freedoms were a given.

“Good game?” Dan asked.

“Awesome!” Ked said.

Fifteen minutes later, they were outside Ked's mother's house in the Annex. Dan gazed over the yard. Kendra eschewed flowers as being too fussy, but she had a neatly maintained lawn. Wide-leafed vines climbed the red brick, massing around the chimney. It always amazed Dan to think the mother of his child lived here, a woman who under other circumstances or in different times would have been his wife. They'd barely dated — nothing more than a casual affair in his second year at university.
That little courtship had come about as a result of Dan's having a crush on her older brother. It was Arman who Dan had fantasized sleeping with. When Kendra showed up, she intrigued him enough to let her seduce him once.

She waved from the window. She'd been watching for Ked's arrival. Dan waved back.

“Say a big ‘hello' to your mother for me.”

“I will. You and Trevor are going to Uncle Donny's tonight for supper, right?”

“Right.”

“Say ‘hi' to Uncle Donny for me. Tell him to tell Lester he owes me a movie pass when he gets back.”

Dan looked over. “Gets back from where?”

The look on Ked's face was priceless. He suddenly seemed to realize he'd said something he shouldn't have.

“Oh, that. Never mind. Maybe Uncle Donny will tell you.”

He slipped out and closed the door with a quick wave.

Dan reversed the car and drove off. He checked his phone messages. Trevor had picked up “something special” for their evening out. Despite his misgivings about city living, Trevor seemed to be adapting to Dan's life fairly well. He'd charmed nearly everyone Dan introduced him to. He knew their favourite drinks, their favourite flowers. He had the right touch. Then again, Dan realized he shouldn't be surprised — the magic had worked on him from the start.

He left a message for Trevor to say he'd be by to pick him up. Donny had called as well. His message promised a “surprise guest” at dinner that evening but gave no clue who it might be. Dan drove on, intrigued.

Molly Wood's Bush

Church Street runs through the heart of Toronto's gay community. Bounded by Jarvis on the east and Yonge to the west, with College at the south end and Bloor at its upper reaches, the gaybourhood contains four square city blocks of Prideful Living. The area was known as a cruising spot as far back as the early 1800s. Then it was owned by one Alexander Wood, merchant and magistrate, whose sexual proclivities landed him in hot water. Acting on behalf of an anonymous rape victim, Wood demanded to examine the genitals of several local men while in search of a supposed scratch the woman had imparted to her attacker. Some took exception to Wood's meticulous scrutiny of their privates, however, and griping gave way to suspicion. Eventually, it was alleged that Wood had invented the rape story to gain access to the men's particulars. He was nicknamed “Molly” and his estate dubbed Molly Wood's Bush. Nearly two centuries later, it was officially proclaimed Toronto's gay neighbourhood.

That night the heat wave was in full swing. The evening sun lit up the cafés where patrons were draped over patio chairs, limp as melted candles, waiting for a night in the ghetto to begin. Heads swivelled to regard the passing traffic before turning leisurely back to deliver the next
bon mot
to their companions. Here life was fun, relaxed. With a little luck and the price of a beer or six, no one needed to be alone for long.

It was just past eight when Dan and Trevor arrived at the Jarvis Street condo. Donny met them in the foyer dressed in impeccable summer wear: cool linens, muted colours set against deep earth tones. Donny was African-Canadian
haute couture
.

He brought them upstairs and ushered them inside. Cool air enveloped them as they entered the apartment. Soft jazz burbled in the background. It was something Dan thought he recognized, but couldn't name. A new piece of art adorned the hallway, frenzied colours merging in anarchic intensity, but with no discernible subject matter. Donny's
zeitgeist
, Dan knew, was 1950s New York, with its reams of Abstract Expressionist painters and the glory days of cool East Coast jazz. (“Before it made the mistake of going west,” Donny always reminded him.) A golden glow met their eyes, emitted by dozens of candles, each smokeless and dripless, according to their host's exacting standards.

“Welcome to
Casa delle Candele
,” he intoned with a bow.

Dan presented him with a bottle of Chartreuse. Donny took it with an expression of admiration and disbelief. He turned to Trevor.

“I'm sure I have your civilizing influence to thank for this. Before meeting you, the only thing he ever brought over was a two-four of beer and an occasional litre of Scotch when things weren't going so well. So, to you, I say a heartfelt thank-you.”

“You're most welcome,” Trevor replied.

Dan shook his head. “We can't all afford your standards,” he said. “But just this once.”

He looked past Donny's shoulder into the condo.

“I'm dying to know who the mystery guest is.” He lowered his voice. “I hope it's not some old trick of yours.”

Donny smiled mysteriously. “Speak friend and enter.”

He led them down the hallway to the sitting room, where a woman bedecked in a sequined pantsuit and feather boa sat waiting. Her skin was burnished bronze, her lips pomegranate red and her hair a white Amazonian flag thrust straight up. On seeing Dan,
she smiled and stood.

“Hello, Daniel.” The voice was throaty, warm.

Dan's mouth fell open in a clichéd expression of surprise.

“Domingo Rhodes,” he managed at last.

“You haven't forgotten.”

“No, of course not.” Dan turned apologetically to Trevor. “Domingo, this is my partner, Trevor James.”

“Delighted.” Domingo took Trevor's hand and held it, gazing coolly into his eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you, Domingo,” Trevor said, sensing heightened emotion in the room but not recognizing the reason for it.

“Domingo's an old friend,” Dan said after a moment.

“And former neighbour,” she added with a laugh, finally releasing Trevor's hand. “We go back a long way. Way before your time.” She glanced up at Donny. “Or his.”

“Always proprietary,” Donny chided. “Have a seat.” He turned to Trevor. “What'll you have? Domingo's drinking a crantini. I've also got lychee and mango, if that's of interest. Gin or vodka. Otherwise, there are the usual pernicious concoctions.”

“Summertime and the living's fine,” Trevor said. “I'll try a lychee martini. Gin, please.”

“Excellent,” Donny replied, before turning to Dan. “
Et pour monsieur?
”

Dan's mouth twitched but nothing came out.

Donny rolled his eyes. “Right — you'll have a beer, as per usual. I'll see what I've got in the back of my fridge.”

He left the room.

Domingo looked at Dan, sizing him up in a series of visual snapshots. “It's been a long time, Dan. It's really good to see you again.”

“And you,” Dan said, hoping he didn't sound as stilted as he felt. “It must be what … four, five years since you moved?”

“More than that. We last celebrated Ked's eighth birthday together.”

“Seven, then. He turns fifteen next month.”

“There you are then.” Domingo's eyes sparkled, as though everything were a source of merriment for her.

“Are you still with…?”

“Adele, yes. We're still together. It'll be twenty years next summer.”

“Congratulations. And the hair looks terrific, by the way,” Dan added, gazing at her white ruff. “When did you start dyeing it?”

Domingo gave him a wistful smile. “Not dyed, but thanks anyway. It's the chemo, hon. It grew back like this.”

Dan made a little noise of helpless acknowledgment. “I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I hadn't heard.”

“It's all right. I didn't tell anyone.”

Donny returned with Trevor's martini and a beer bottle with a napkin tied deftly around its neck for Dan.

He picked up his own glass, raising it to the room with a nod. “To friends, old and new!”

Dinner was going well. The flames wavered and glowed brighter as evening came on. Donny leapt up from time to time to check on something or stir a pot, managing to perform both chef and host duties to perfection. A bocconcini and basil salad followed the
gnochetti in brodo
, a light, flavourful soup. They'd just started in on the
risotto ai funghi
— it was a decidedly Italian-themed evening — when Domingo asked about Lester.

“He's gone home,” Donny said, matter-of-factly, though the forlorn look on his face told another side of the story.

Dan suddenly flashed back to Ked's comment. He sat up in his chair. “Wait a minute. By ‘home' do you mean he went back to his family in Oshawa?”

“Yes, he left yesterday. I haven't told anyone yet.” He turned to Domingo. “I keep secrets too.”

Dan was floored by the news. “How did this
happen? Because this” — he looked around him — “
this
is his real home. I thought he knew that by now.”

Donny shrugged, avoiding eye contact with the others around the table. He would not betray his real feelings.

“Lester knows he's always welcome here, but he's turning sixteen next month and he misses his mother. Cow that she is.”

“Children always miss their mothers,” Domingo said sympathetically. “No matter who else we have in our lives, no matter how fortunate and blessed we may be, we have just one birth mother, and it's important to get that relationship right.”

Donny's eyes flickered. “Lester said something like that, only not quite so articulately. It turns out he phoned her on Mother's Day. They've been in touch every other week.” He shrugged. “He misses her and wants to reconnect. It's as simple as that.”

“Are you saying he's gone back to live with them for good?” Dan asked, still struggling with the news.

Donny twirled his glass, looked away. “I am. He has.”

“What about the stepfather?” Dan asked. “Won't he be a problem?”

Donny sighed and set the glass down. He gestured helplessly, as though to say there was nothing he could do. “I have no doubt you're right,” he said, “but it's not up to me.”

Dan recalled the garishly dressed, crudely spoken couple he'd met the previous year while working on a missing persons case involving a young man named Richard Philips. He hadn't been at all impressed with the mother or stepfather, but the real dilemma came when he located the fifteen-year-old, rechristened Lester and working in the city's porn industry with falsified ID. Dan was forced to choose between returning him to what was surely a terrifying and destructive life for a young gay man and finding a better place for him. Donny had stepped in to fill the breach, offering Lester temporary sanctuary, but ended up taking him in as a surrogate son, albeit covertly. The law was not on the side of runaways and their keepers, however well-meaning.

Dan looked at Donny. “What will he say about where he's been living for the past year? Aren't you afraid this might bring a lot of trouble for you?”

Donny shook his head. “He told her he's been living with friends, but he kept it vague. It could have legal ramifications for me for helping him hide, but on the other hand I know the kid well enough by now. He's not going to give them my name or address. He's anxious to get back to school and not miss another year. He knows he's falling behind. And in another month he'll be legal, so he can return here any time to visit.”

“Your tutoring is probably far more valuable than anything he'll learn in high school,” Dan snorted.

“Well, yes, I agree that everyone should know about Lennie Tristano and the history of jazz, but it's not exactly going to guarantee him a job when all is said and done, is it?”

Dan put down his drink. “I don't like it,” he said. “I met those people. They were horrible. As much as I might feel for a mother and child who've been separated, it was doing him no good to be living with them. That stepfather was a homophobic monster. The way he talked about Lester made me cringe and I hadn't even met the boy then.”

“I know, I know,” Donny said. “I don't like it either, but I have no choice.”

Trevor spoke up. “Maybe once he turns sixteen he can mention you. It might help his case with the parents if they know he has you standing behind him.”

“Probably not,” Donny said. “The truth is, they're having a hard enough time dealing with the fact their kid is gay. He's not going to back down on that one. I doubt it would improve matters by telling them he's been living with a ‘person of colour.'”

Dan turned to Domingo. “What do you think?”

“I've met Lester a few times. He's a very nice boy. But like any kid, he has to make his own mistakes. Live and learn.”

“That's right,” Donny said. “I won't be the surrogate dad who kept him apart from his blood family. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm his chosen family. I told him he's welcome back here any time, even if it's just for a weekend stay-over.”

They sat there silently contemplating this.

Donny stood. “Time for dessert,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

“Seems kind of hard,” Trevor ventured when Donny had gone. “Donny's looked after the boy for a year and now he just wants to leave.”

“It's ingratitude,” Dan said, colouring. “I don't like it.”

Domingo looked at him sympathetically. “It's not ingratitude, Dan. It's a fifteen-year-old boy wanting to be a part of his family before it's too late. Don't judge him for it. Time will tell if it's the right thing or not.”

Trevor put a hand on Dan's. “In any case, Donny has been both generous and courageous in having Lester here with him this past year. Let's hope it works out for the best.”

“Oh, it will,” Donny said, flouncing back into the room with a tray of tiramisu. “Anyway, that's me — social issues galore. But having that boy here has given me a new lease on life. No regrets — and I have you to thank for it, of course,” he said, looking at Dan. “Anyway, I'd rather not talk about it any more, if you don't mind.”

Domingo excused herself to use the bathroom. When she was gone, Dan turned and hissed at Donny. “What is she doing here?”

Donny gave him a baleful look. “She called me up last week and said she wanted to get in touch with you. I thought it was time you two talked, so I offered her your phone number. Then I remembered you were coming over this evening, so I invited her to join us. And here you both are.”

Dan shook his head. “I didn't even know you'd kept in touch with her.”

“I've kept in touch with all your cast-offs.” He affected a mock-shiver. “There were so many of them I thought at one point I'd have to open a shelter.”

Trevor grinned but turned away so Dan wouldn't see.

“There's nothing for you to worry about,” Donny told Trevor. “You're one of the few he's met who were worth keeping. Apart from moi, of course.”

Domingo returned. Donny refreshed everyone's drink.

Trevor looked over at Donny. “Dan said you'd started a new job.”

Donny's face lit up. “Yes! You are looking at the official buyer for Mondo Beautique. It's a very upscale specialty chain where they purposely price things higher than necessary to discourage non-exclusive clientele.
I fit right in.”

Glasses were raised all around the table.

“Are you still in the private investigation business?” Domingo asked Dan.

“More or less. I've been on my own for the past year, though. It's been tough.”

Donny looked over. “But not so tough that he would ever reconsider the offer to go back to his old firm.”