The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 2

  “That’s more or less what I figured,” I replied. “Still. It’s… weird.”

  “I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” Calvin said. “Check in and see if he’s had any visitors.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “Of course, sweetie.” Calvin resumed eating again before he asked, “Promise me one thing?”

  I leaned over to grab my food from the table, but paused and looked sideways at Calvin. “What’s that?”

  “You won’t take it upon yourself to investigate, if something else were to happen.”

  “Very funny,” I muttered, taking my carton.

  “I’m being serious, Seb.”

  “I’m well aware of who the detective is in this relationship.”

  Calvin grunted.

  The only murders I was trying to solve these days were in the paperbacks I’d read a dozen times already. I admit that hunting for clues and piecing a real-life mystery together was a thrill I could easily become addicted to, but in the end, I wasn’t one for violence. The thought of firing another gun in my lifetime was more than enough to rein me in.

  We all have our strengths and should stick to what best suits us. Calvin was made to fight bad guys. It was in his DNA to be a hero, to save people, to solve crimes. Me? I’m a hoarder of information. I know the history of picture buttons and of Victorian mourning clothes. I know how to spot fake tin types. And I liked what I did.

  Antiques suited my temperament just fine.

  Besides. Solving crimes Calvin-style meant being extremely fit, and I was more of the second-slice-of-cake sort of guy.

  After Sherlock Jr., we watched Buster Keaton’s Cops, which got quite a number of laughs from Calvin. We were about halfway through Steamboat Bill, Jr. when the effects of greasy food, beers, and a dark room began to get the best of me. I felt Calvin pet my head and I opened my eyes.

  “Want to go to bed?”

  “Did I fall asleep?” I asked in return, yawning.

  “Dozed off.”

  I blinked a few times and sat up from where I had been leaning against Calvin’s shoulder. The sound of heavy rain could be heard over the slapstick music.

  Calvin reached for the remote and turned the film off. “Come on.”

  I nodded, got to my feet, and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take out my contacts. When I came out again, Calvin had already turned off the lights and locked up for the night. I went into my bedroom and changed for bed while he took his turn in the bathroom.

  We definitely weren’t living together, but Calvin did prefer to spend what little time he had at my place instead of vice versa. My apartment was bigger, for one, but I think, more importantly, it had a homey feel. My place was well lived-in, whereas Calvin’s felt like a glorified hotel room. And because he tried to spend at least an evening or two a week with me, a few extra garments had found their way into my closet.

  It was always a bit exciting to see one of his suits hung up beside my crappy sweaters. It was an ever-present reminder that Calvin wasn’t a vivid hallucination. He was real, he was wonderful, and he wanted to be with me.

  I yawned again, plugging my phone into the charger and beginning to set the alarm clock when Calvin walked in. I glanced over, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it into my dirty laundry. Strong muscles flexed as he continued undressing, and I realized it’d been nearly a week since I’d gotten to dig my fingers into his back and arms.

  Calvin sat on the right side of the bed—his side—before leaning over and kissing the back of my neck. “Lay down,” he whispered.

  “What time do you need to be up?” I countered, hand still on the alarm clock.

  “Worry about it later,” Calvin said, trailing a hand down my back and under the ratty T-shirt I’d thrown on.

  “Copy that, Major,” I answered, hastily setting my glasses aside and turning to face him.

  He rolled onto his back, wrapped a hand around my neck, and tugged me toward him. I climbed on top, legs on either side of Calvin’s hips, and leaned down to kiss his mouth. I moved my hands up and down his bare chest, fingertips practically buzzing as they caressed warm skin and hair. Calvin’s own hands moved along my back as he kissed me, then slid down to cup my ass.

  “I want to suck your cock,” Calvin growled.

  “Yeah?” I whispered.

  He grinned against my mouth. “Yeah, baby. Come up here.”

  I nodded and sat up, letting Calvin help me out of my pajama pants and toss them somewhere in the dark. I moved to rest my knees on either side of Calvin’s chest, leaning over him. “Like this?”

  He hummed in contentment, reaching up to stroke me slowly. “Look at how big and beautiful. I want your entire dick down my throat.”

  It was a good thing it was dark, otherwise Calvin was sure to see I was blushing like an idiot. He was so sexy, everything he said and did turned me on to no end, but he’d been trying to get me to reciprocate with the dirty talk lately and I failed miserably at it. When a hot and horny mountain of a cop tells you to beg for his cock, you beg. But really, what exactly was he begging for when I tried?

  “Sebastian?”

  I shook my head. “What?”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “You’re getting soft.”

  God, this was embarrassing. “N-Nothing, really. I… just… feel stupid trying to talk like you.”

  Calvin scooted up a bit, resting on his elbows. “Sebastian, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  “It’s just talking, though,” I said lamely.

  “That doesn’t matter. Do you want me to stop?”

  “What? No. I love it when you do it,” I said, feeling my entire face heat up. I took his hand and guided it back to my cock. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Can we try again?”

  In the faint gray light that came in through the bedroom window, Calvin appeared to be nodding before he lay back down. “Come here.”

  I leaned over him, the head of my cock bumping his lips. Calvin’s tongue darted out, warm and wet, and I sighed and closed my eyes, rocking my hips gently.

  “That’s right,” Calvin whispered. “Come here. Fuck my face.” His hands came around to cup my ass again, pulling me toward him. He opened his mouth and took my cock, sucking eagerly.

  “Shit,” I swore quietly.

  Reaching back to grab his hands, I yanked them up above his head and held them firmly. I rolled my hips again, a bit more enthusiastically when Calvin moaned in response. Watching him work my length with his throat was so goddamn hot.

  I let go of one hand and wrapped mine around the back of his head, holding him in place. Even though I felt insecure as hell, I knew Calvin wanted me to talk. He got off on it, and sex was a two-way street. He couldn’t do all the work and let me have all the fun.

  So I manned up and told Calvin, “Take it all.” I shoved in rougher, and he groaned loudly around my dick.

  He reached down with his free hand to stroke himself quickly in time with my thrusts.

  The wet, tight heat of Calvin’s mouth after a week of not touching him was enough to send me over the edge like an inexperienced teenager. A prickle of sweat broke out across my body, and my stomach muscles tightened as I felt my orgasm coming.

  “Oh God…. Cal…!” I let go of his other hand and gripped his hair in both hands, fucking his face hard and fast, like my very life depended on coming down his throat. “Fuck! I’m gonna—!”

  I lost all capability to form thoughts at that point. It was too much. Calvin’s mouth, his tongue, the heat between our bodies, but then a fingertip pressed gently into me, and I came with his name on my lips. My entire body shuddered as Calvin swallowed, and when I managed to pull free from his thoroughly fucked mouth, he tensed and came in his hand.

  Moving down his body, I slid my arms under his, holding Calvin close as we both came down from tha
t incredible high. “Jesus,” I muttered. “I think I forgot my middle name.”

  His deep voice rumbled in his chest. “Speaking of, did you ever notice your initials spell SAS?”

  “What are you trying to say?” I raised my head to look at him, brushing damp hair from Calvin’s forehead.

  “Aptly named. You’re always a bit sassy,” he teased.

  “Uh-huh.” I rolled off, taking a few deep breaths.

  Calvin chuckled as he leaned over me, kissed my chest, and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table. He wiped himself clean before settling onto his side.

  I rolled over and pressed up against his back, snaking an arm around his waist. I fell asleep like that. Blissful and content.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “YOU SHOULD have let me set the alarm last night.”

  “I can’t believe I overslept.”

  “Your suit’s in the closet.”

  “Max is calling you.”

  “Fuck.” I grabbed my cell and walked out of the bedroom. “Are you at the shop already?”

  “Already? It’s nine. Where are you, boss?”

  “I’m so sorry. I overslept,” I said, wedging the phone against my ear and shoulder so I could crouch to tug my shoes on.

  “Geez, that’s a first.”

  “I know. I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.”

  “I’m going to go grab some coffee.”

  “No problem.”

  I said good-bye, hung up, and stuffed my cell into my slacks. I bumped into Calvin in the bedroom doorway. “Want breakfast?” I asked, running in to fetch my sweater.

  “No time,” he called, knotting his tie and walking into the living room.

  Calvin was already standing at the front door and buttoning his coat when I came back out of the bedroom. I joined him, threw on my jacket and scarf, grabbed my shoulder bag, and barely had time to put my sunglasses on before following him out. I locked the door, and we raced down the rickety stairs to the ground floor.

  It was beginning to rain when we stepped outside. Not a lot, but enough to guarantee another cold, not entirely winter, but not quite spring day ahead.

  Calvin surprised me when he took my face with one hand, tilted my head up, and kissed my mouth lightly. “Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  He smiled and pulled his car keys from his pocket before hurrying down the sidewalk.

  I dug my umbrella out of my bag and headed in the opposite direction. I was lucky to live so close to the Emporium that it was within easy walking distance, and I had no need for cabs or the subway. And thank God for that. With the way the MTA hiked up fares, who could justify the expense of a monthly pass these days? As for cabs… let’s be honest—who actually thinks they’ll get to work on time during morning rush hour by taking a taxi? Walking around folks who strolled, those attempting to text and walk, and early rising tourists was definitely the lesser of the evils.

  On the Emporium’s block was a man named Henry, who was standing under a large umbrella and doling out free newspapers to the passing crowds with the same chipper attitude and smile he’d had for the three years I’d been working here. I knew he was a native New Yorker because Henry was a talker and always had lots to tell me.

  “Mr. Snow,” Henry said with a big grin. “You’re late!”

  “Tell me about it.” I accepted the folded newspaper he offered.

  “No boyfriend today?” Henry had met Calvin exactly one time and had since asked me about him just about every day. I swear he was more smitten than I was.

  “He’s late for work as well,” I clarified, already inching away.

  Henry made a tsk-tsk sound and shook his head. “Don’t work too hard.”

  “Yeah, you too!” I said, waving the paper at him before hurrying toward the Emporium.

  I stopped at the shop, closed my umbrella, and froze in place before I had a chance to open the woven metal gate. Right there, on the sidewalk, was a brick. Just like the one thrown through my window yesterday.

  “Hey, it’s about time,” Max called.

  I turned around to see him rushing across the street with a take-out tray of coffee. He pulled his hood back as he reached me. “Morning,” I said distractedly.

  “Morning to you. Must have been some night you had.”

  “What?” I glanced back up at Max.

  He grinned lopsidedly. “Was there a certain redhead involved?”

  I looked back down at the ground.

  “Are you okay?”

  I pointed at the brick. “Was this here when you first showed up?”

  Max looked down. “Uh… I don’t think so.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t remember seeing it.”

  I crouched, rain pattering on the cement. I picked up the brick—it was dry underneath. “When did it start raining?” I squinted, looking up at Max.

  “Maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Not when you got here, though?”

  “No,” Max clarified. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you sure nothing creepy is going on?”

  “Positive,” I lied as I stood, brick still in my hand. I offered it to Max, who held it like it was going to bite him, and I hurried to raise the gate.

  So someone had left it there after Max called me and went for coffee, but before I’d hardly gotten out of my apartment when the rain started….

  I unlocked the front door and pushed it—only for it to resist opening. I could hear the beeping of the security system and swore. I only had a few seconds to turn it off before it began wailing. I gave the door another serious shove and heard the strange sound of bricks clatter together.

  After managing enough space to squeeze into the shop, I nearly tripped when the floor was higher than it was yesterday.

  That was mighty strange.

  I grabbed the wall, leaned in close to the security system, punched in the code, and waited for the light to flash a gray shade I’d been told was green before letting out a breath.

  “What the hell is going on?” Max asked.

  “I don’t know.” I wiggled back out of the small opening, then shoved the door hard. More loud scraping and scratching across my antique wood floor. I reached in and switched on the rarely used overhead lights, wincing and looking away.

  Max muttered, “This is so messed up.”

  I cracked open one eye and looked back into the shop. Still wearing my sunglasses helped me see the bricks that were everywhere. “The hell…?” I whispered.

  Max slowly crouched and set the brick in his hand back on the ground. He stood again, and I could hear him swallow. He laughed nervously. “If only they were yellow.”

  “Huh?”

  “Follow the yellow brick road.”

  “Where does the gray road lead?” I asked before taking a step inside.

  “Seb, wait. Maybe we should call the cops.”

  The bricks shifted under my feet as I walked across the floor. I paused in front of the first display and glanced around to either side. The bricks kept going toward the far end of the shop, where the maps and back door was. I took the right aisle, moving to the counter. Sure enough, there were bricks on the steps and on the elevated floor.

  “Seb?” Max called, still standing at the open door.

  “Yeah? Hold on.” I tiptoed around bricks as I went to the counter.

  One brick sat beside the brass register, a rubber band around it.

  Carefully, I picked it up, turned it around, and tugged free a slip of paper from its corner. I unfolded it, heart racing as I did. It looked like regular, lined notebook paper. Nothing fancy and nothing unique. And written in the middle was one word.

  Curious?

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” I whispered in agreement.

  “YOU’RE SUCH a Luddite, Seb,” Max said as he leaned over me at the computer in my office.

  “Calvin had this all set up for me. I never thought I’d seriously have to go through security footage t
o capture the mad bricklayer.”

  After it had been learned in December that Duncan Andrews had somehow swiped my keys and made copies to sneak in and out of the Emporium and my apartment, Calvin had been… firm that my security cameras be fixed and upgraded. They recorded and dumped footage wirelessly, and I could go through it all at my leisure. There were two angles: one was on the register from behind, to have a view of both the customers and who was handling money; the other on the front door at an angle to include some of the more expensive displays.

  Max had the footage on fast-forward throughout the night, both of us watching the screen intently and waiting for the intruder to appear. At just after four in the morning, one of the cameras went black. Then the second.

  “Whoa, wait,” I said, waving a hand. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Max paused and went back. “It’s hard to—what is that—are they painted over?”

  I stood from the computer desk and went to the register, stumbling over bricks. I grabbed a stepladder from the nearby corner, and after making some space on the floor, climbed up to examine the camera. I reached out to touch the lens, then scraped gently at it with my nail.

  “So?” Max called from the doorway.

  I held my finger close, squinting at the little flakes that came away. “Spray paint maybe?”

  “Are you shitting me? That’s so Hollywood.”

  I wiped my hand on my sweater and climbed down. “No one came in the front, so they must have broken through the back door.” I put my hands on my hips, frowning. “But why wasn’t the alarm tripped?”

  Max shrugged. “How long do they have to turn it off before it notifies the company?”

  “Not long enough to climb ladders and spray-paint the cameras.” I looked back at Max and pulled my phone free. “Just after four, right?”

  He nodded.

  I gave my security company a call, but the man on the other line insisted that nothing had triggered the alarm.