The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 10
“You want me to come in your tight hole?” Calvin asked.
It was a question I was not meant to disagree with. Not that I wanted to answer to the contrary.
“Yes, yes! C-Calvin! Let me come too!”
“You hard?” He grunted, and I could barely hear him over the cussing, and moaning, and slapping of skin on skin.
“Yes!”
Calvin moved one hand from my hip, pulling me back against him so we could manage a kiss. “You’re mine. Hear that? You belong to me. Say it.”
“I-I’m yours,” I panted. “Calvin—!”
“Touch yourself. Come on your hand.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. I reached down, stroked my cock quickly, and cried out a hell of a lot louder than I intended when I finally was able to come. Calvin gripped me in his arms, shoving in hard a few more times against my tightening muscles before I felt his orgasm rip through his body.
“Holy shit,” I swore, wincing as Calvin pulled out. I turned so I could lean back against the wall for support.
Calvin raised my hand, licking my fingers clean.
I smiled weakly when he looked at me after finishing. “Welcome home.”
He laughed. “Yeah. One second.” Calvin went to the bathroom to toss out the condom.
Legs shaky and uncoordinated as my body still hummed with postsex bliss, I managed to get to the bed and collapse on my back. I tilted my head to watch Calvin walk across the room. He joined me, sliding up against me and putting his head on my chest.
“I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Hmm? What did you say that was bad?”
“That you belong to me.” Calvin lifted his head to stare at me. “You’re not an object. You don’t belong to anyone.”
“Oh. Hey, come on, sexy talk in the moment. I know what you mean. You belong to me too, in that ‘you’re-not-a-possession’ kind of way.”
Calvin sort of smiled, like he was unsure. “I want to be a good partner for you.”
“You are,” I said. “You’re—my knight, remember? What’s wrong?”
Calvin put his hand on my chest, rubbing gently. There was a struggle going on, one I could see in his eyes. “I’m not in any position to complain about your ex.”
“Neil?”
He looked down, tracing abstract shapes across my skin. “Considering the sort of unorthodox way we ended up together, it seems cruel of me.”
“What happened, Calvin?”
“Nothing—very little,” he corrected. “Except that he’s not over you.”
That was a surprise to me. Which maybe was cruel of me as well to think. But after meeting Calvin, it had become apparent to me that I had fallen out of love—at least what I had thought was love—with Neil a long time ago. We had been going through the motions, nothing more. What happened, happened. I couldn’t and wouldn’t change the decisions I’d made in December.
I put my hand on Calvin’s cheek, caressing his strong features with my thumb. “Did he say something to you?”
“No. He didn’t have to say anything.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe he was the forensic guy sent, of all possible people. It didn’t turn into some kind of pissing contest, did it? I know I’m all that and a bag of chips, but no need to mark territory.”
Calvin snorted. “Funny.”
“I’m a bag of expired chips. Stale and kind of funky.”
Calvin rolled his eyes. “I kept it in my pants.”
“Until you got home. Not complaining. That was fucking amazing.” I stroked Calvin’s cheek some more, touching my fingertip to individual freckles. “I only mean… I’m sorry I made your job uncomfortable. And I’m sorry that Neil hasn’t found closure, but I don’t regret choosing you. Not for a minute.”
Calvin finally smiled honestly.
“You don’t hide me from the world, and that matters. Neil liked having a boyfriend so long as there was no trouble and no drama. Maybe in love with the idea of a boyfriend—not the actual person.”
“Did you really feel that way?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Afterward. Meeting you made me put my love life under a magnifying glass to figure out what the fuck was wrong with it.”
Calvin leaned close and kissed me gently. “I love you, Sebastian.”
I smiled. “Aw, shucks.”
He stared at me for a beat before sitting up. “What’s that smell?”
“The sex or the shawarma?”
“Shawarma?” Calvin repeated as he got off the bed. He stretched his arms as he walked to the kitchen counter to investigate the bags.
I dragged my ass off the bed as well, making for the bathroom. “I have to shower. I’m covered in lube.”
“Can I join you?”
“Sure. As long as you’re not planning to take advantage of me.”
I heard Calvin snort as he followed behind me. “Says the man who was just begging for my cock ten minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t begging.”
Calvin shut the door behind us. He got close, slid his arms under my own, and pressed up against my back. “I know you don’t like talking during sex. So thank you for that.”
I felt the tips of my ears burn and rubbed Calvin’s muscular arms briefly. “It’s not that I don’t like it,” I answered. “I just feel lame as hell.”
“You were hot,” Calvin murmured, kissing the back of my head before letting go. He moved around me and turned the shower on before getting in.
We bumped about, fought over the hot water, and rinsed off the mess of sex. I got dressed after and was watching Calvin put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t see many of those clothes, simply due to the fact the man was always working.
Calvin Winter’s ass in a pair of jeans was a gift from God.
“Is it my birthday?” I asked, glancing back at him while finally pulling out dinner from the bag.
“Hmm?”
“Nice butt.”
Calvin chuckled. “Thanks.”
“So,” I started, putting the food on two plates. “I’ve been thinking….”
“Hold on.” Calvin went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. He set one down and popped the top off another. He took a swig and then said, “Okay, continue.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“I think whoever is behind the notes and the murders—it’s someone I know.”
Calvin’s expression grew stern, and he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Go on.”
“It’s the thing about the bricks in the Emporium. I told you about the cameras?”
“Yes.”
“If they had never been in the shop before, they couldn’t have sneaked around the cameras so expertly before blacking them out.”
Calvin took the plate I handed him. “You believe that?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know who it would be—the usual suspects in my life are good people. Plus, there has to be a connection to your cold case, let alone this weird P.T. Barnum stuff going on.”
“Seb—”
“What’s the story behind Meredith?” I continued, popping open my beer and looking up at Calvin while taking a sip.
He stared. “I’d rather not discuss it now.”
“Why?”
“We’re eating.”
“I can handle it.”
Calvin shook his head. “I don’t want to bring this kind of negativity home. Not to you.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’m sort of involved at this point.”
“You don’t know how to take a hint, do you?” Calvin asked, but he had a funny little smile on his face. Not entirely amused, but not wholly annoyed either.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have gotten you,” I tried, wiggling my eyebrows. “Come on, Detective. Humor me.”
Calvin leaned against the counter and took a big bite of his dinner.
I pulled up a nearby barstool and sat, waiting with as much patience as someone like me has
, watching Calvin inhale his food, per usual.
“Meredith’s daughter was found dead in her bedroom by her boyfriend, who called 911. The girl’s bag had been packed and the boyfriend said she was planning to move out after too many fights with her mother. The girl’s skull had been broken in several places—medical examiner ruled the weapon was likely a hammer.”
“Let me guess. No hammer was found?”
Calvin nodded. “Meredith owned a complete and well-used toolkit, with the hammer missing. She claimed to not know where it had vanished.”
“What about her alibi?”
“She had been working. Her boss agreed.”
“Why was it not believed?”
“Because no one remembered seeing her the night of the murder,” Calvin said. “The bouncer said she never worked Tuesdays. The other dancers were shady, to say the least.”
“Afraid to speak up?”
“Likely.”
“Was there any surveillance pulled from the club?”
Calvin shook his head. “It was a shithole. No recording and backing up to drives or online storage. And the physical tape, the boss recorded over.”
“Convenient.”
“Yeah.”
“Did the investigation end there?”
Calvin nodded again. “No one would come forward, we couldn’t find the murder weapon, and the only DNA we found was mishandled by a rookie with CSU who forgot how to do their job.” He popped the last piece of food in his mouth and turned to set the plate in the sink. “Anyway,” he said around chewing. “The crime got a lot of press until the Harrison case.” He turned to me. “Do you remember that?”
“That was the nutcase who murdered his family in their penthouse apartment and tossed the bodies off the balcony. I guess people would stop caring about a poor, nobody girl after that.”
“New York,” Calvin muttered, shaking his head.
“Hey,” I said, prodding him in the side. “We’re not all crazy.”
“You’re a little crazy, sweetie. But I think it’s in the water.”
“Then you’re crazy too.”
“You’ve been drinking the water longer.”
“Let’s see,” I said, resting my plate on my lap so I could do some math on my fingers. “When did you move to New York—after college?”
Calvin nodded. “To apply to the police academy.”
“Twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“I was… oh God, I was only twelve?” Calvin made a face, and I started laughing. “You cradle-robber.”
WHEN I woke up the next morning, I was alone. I groaned into my pillow and rolled over more, grabbing Calvin’s and pressing it against my face. It smelled like him, but it was cool to the touch. Cracking an eye open, I looked toward the window to see brightness behind the closed blinds.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up without an alarm. Even on my one day off a week, I always got up early. Between owning a business and having bills and an assistant to pay, I had family obligations, boyfriend duties, and shitty errands, like, you know, grocery shopping on occasion. I never slept late.
“Ten o’clock?” I asked myself in disbelief after putting on my glasses and checking my phone. I also had five text messages. God, had I slept through a tornado and aliens landing in Central Park too?
One from Max. Hey, boss, did your landlord call you?
One from Pop. Good morning, kiddo. Give me a call today. Love you.
One from Beth. Max visited and told me what happened! If you need anything, call me!
Two from Calvin. Don’t do anything today that involves me finding you at a murder scene.
And lastly: You drooled on me last night. Buy me a beer at O’Neil’s Pub and I won’t tell anyone.
Damn it! I’d been awake for thirty seconds and already I was being threatened and blackmailed.
I chose Max as the best person to respond to first and typed a message while climbing out of bed. No. Ehy?
I walked over to the kitchenette and started a pot of coffee. My phone dinged as the heavenly beverage was bubbling, breaking the quiet of Calvin’s tiny studio. I picked it up, bringing it close to read.
I bumped into him outside the Emporium. He’s kind of a jerk for real.
I snorted. To say the least. Luther was an okay landlord, so long as I never needed anything and paid my rent the first of the month, preferably first thing in the morning or I’d start getting reminder texts. That and his snide, I’m-not-judging-your-gayness-but-I-really-totally-am comments now and then. I typically ignored them. I wasn’t going to waste my breath arguing with someone like Luther. But maybe the next time he had some “but I never understand which one is the woman,” comment, I’d let him direct that at Calvin and see how well it goes over.
Ignore iit. I wll call hum.
I set the phone aside, poured cream into a mug, and filled it with fresh coffee. I wished Calvin had woken me before he left, but it was typical of him. Maybe it was because he had dated so little before meeting me that it was simply something he wasn’t used to—or perhaps he didn’t realize I wanted to say good-bye? But then again, I liked the way we worked. I know some don’t get it, but I don’t enjoy mushy declarations of love at every corner. Stretching them out into little intimate moments was much more pleasing, and Calvin functioned on the same wavelength.
Except… Valentine’s Day. I think I really did want to try having one super romantic date, with flowers and holding hands and kissing and all the corny stuff. And if I grew a pair and told Calvin to go out with me in a few days, I knew he would, but would he be as into it as me?
I wanted him to genuinely enjoy it, and I wasn’t so sure he would.
But I had more important things to mull over while drinking my first cup of the morning.
Like murder.
I hummed quietly. Calvin had given me a little to work with last night. There didn’t seem to be a reason to suspect the boyfriend who found Meredith’s daughter, and the unanimous yet unspoken agreement appeared to be that Meredith’s boss knew and was covering for her. The physical evidence that would likely be the case-breaker was the missing hammer. But it could be anywhere. A dumpster, the Hudson River—fucking Staten Island, for all I and anyone else knew.
But I wondered if it wasn’t that complex. It didn’t sound premeditated. A hammer was intimate, brutal, and like a crime of sudden and uncontrollable rage. What if Meredith panicked and hid the hammer? What if she didn’t know how to dispose of it?
And her boss—Ricky, I was assuming. Why would she go out of her way to tell him? Maybe they had been an item. Or maybe she knew he could help… what… hide the weapon? From what Calvin had told me last night, the mess-up with DNA evidence had hurt his case. Had he never gotten legal warrants to search Ricky’s club?
That would explain why the case went cold.
I took a big gulp of the remaining coffee. “But I’m not a cop.”
And I don’t need a warrant.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU WANT me to what?” Max asked, his voice on loudspeaker and the phone on the bed as I moved around the apartment, getting dressed.
“Look someone up on Facebook.”
“Who am I Face-stalking and why?”
“His name is Roger Trim,” I called before pulling on yesterday’s T-shirt. “And you’re not stalking.”
“Sorta, yeah, I am. Tell me why.”
“Because I don’t know how.”
“You’re the best-looking ninety-year-old man I know,” Max replied. “I mean, why are you curious?”
“I’m a cat—I can’t resist.”
“You’re full of it this morning.”
I sat on the bed to put my shoes on. Roger Trim was the name of the boyfriend. Specifically, Wendy Brown’s—the deceased daughter of the more recently deceased Meredith Brown, so said the articles I’d checked that morning. “I want to know where he works. People put that on Facebook, don’t they?”
“Some
times. But he might not even have a public account.”
“Are you checking?”
“You’re so pushy. Hold on,” Max grumbled. “Who is this guy? You swinging now?”
“What? No,” I said forcefully while looking down at the phone. “I am not. Thank you.”
“Good. You’re way too monogamous to enjoy playing around,” Max replied, and I could hear the clicking of computer keys just under his voice.
“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’m not. I mean, you know, you’re so domestic and cute and shit with Calvin.”
“Domestic and cute and shit?” I repeated slowly.
“Yeah. When’s the wedding?”
“Hilarious.”
“I’m assuming I’m hunting for Roger Trims in New York City?”
“Yup.”
“Whoa. Uh, how old is this dude?”
“I don’t know—maybe around twenty by now?”
“Oh, okay.”
“Why?” I asked, standing once more and grabbing my sweater.
“Silver fox.”
I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother replying. I tugged on a sort of threadbare and frumpy-looking thing, buttoned it, and patted my magnifying glass in the front pocket. After Max had been quiet for another minute, I asked, “So?”
“There are a few Roger Trims. Do you know what he looks like?”
“Nope.”
“Helpful. I’ll just go with the younger guys.” He sighed. “So one of the Rogers lists his hometown as Brooklyn, twenty-eight, and works at Taylor & Taylor International Tax Firm.”
I frowned, slowly shaking my head as I returned to the phone on the bed. “I don’t think so. I get the impression he’s not a six-figure-a-year sort of guy.”
“Hold on—here’s the other. Says he’s twenty-one and works at Tall, Dark, and Bitter.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No, it’s a coffee shop.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, in Midtown on the East Side. You’ve never been there?”
“Apparently not.”