The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 9

  “Calvin!” I called out, and when a few officers looked at me, I followed up with, “I mean, Detective Winter. Could you come here?”

  Calvin got out of the display and walked toward me. “What?” he asked in a low tone.

  I held out my phone. “This is the same lady, isn’t it?”

  He looked at the article. “Yes. How did you find this?”

  I shrugged. “Seemed like she was familiar to you.”

  Calvin’s mouth formed a tight line and he gave my phone back. “It’s a cold case. Not enough evidence to convict her, but everyone knew she did it.”

  “The note said I had to prove the murder.”

  Calvin raised a hand to stop me. “No.”

  “But—”

  “No. Stop right now, Seb.”

  “But what if it leads us one step closer to who did this? You’re going to ignore that chance to stop this person?”

  “I’m not, no. But you are.”

  “Like hell.”

  Calvin took a long breath. “We’re not having this argument again. Plant your ass on your father’s couch and stay out of trouble.”

  “It seems pretty suspicious to me that one of your cold case suspects was murdered,” I said without regard to Calvin’s statement. “What about someone seeking revenge? The daughter’s father, maybe? A friend? Did the daughter have a boyfriend? Someone who would want to bring closure. Someone who clearly knew the mother was guilty.”

  “I know how to do my job,” Calvin retorted.

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I’m just trying to work this out.”

  “Sebastian, what’s your degree in?” Calvin interrupted.

  “My what?”

  “Degree.”

  “Uh… fine art.”

  “Not criminal justice?”

  “I get it,” I stated, crossing my arms.

  “No, you don’t,” he said before taking another breath. “Baby, I know you’re smart. I know you’ve got a knack for figuring this shit out. You don’t have to prove it to me.”

  “I’m not trying to—”

  “This is dangerous. Do you not remember what happened last time?”

  All too well, actually. And the guilt hit me like a truck out of control on a freeway. If Calvin ever got hurt again because of my own stupidity, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.

  It was painful to swallow. I stared at my shoes. “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “I only want you to be safe,” Calvin said after a beat. “If—if your expertise were ever required for me to solve a case, I’d call on them.”

  That made me look up. “You would?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not that you expect to ever need someone skilled in trinkets from Victorian America to solve a murder.”

  “You helped with Tamerlane,” Calvin pointed out.

  “I guess.”

  “Seb, I don’t want anyone questioning your involvement in this. You understand that, right?”

  I nodded. I was done arguing. I hated fighting with him. I really did. I loved Calvin too much to bicker, especially when he was right and I was wrong and I knew that from the start.

  But the urge to put the mystery to bed myself was still overwhelming. Maybe I did subconsciously crave some sort of way to prove I was smart. That I was clever. Useful, even. That what I did with my life made a difference, like Calvin’s.

  Jesus. I needed a hug or something.

  “Can I wait at your place tonight?” I asked.

  “I’m going to be working—”

  “Come home,” I insisted. “Please?”

  Someone from behind called my name, and we both turned.

  “N-Neil?” I heard myself stutter.

  Neil stood a few feet away, holding a forensic kit in one hand. “Why are you here?” he asked me.

  “Uh… getting into trouble. Per usual.”

  Neil looked at Calvin. “Detective Winter,” he said coolly.

  “Millett,” Calvin said with a nod.

  This wasn’t awkward at all.

  What were the chances my ex would be the CSU detective assigned to collect evidence?

  Someone roll the week back to Monday. I demand a do-over.

  I cleared my throat. “Has it gotten sufficiently uncomfortable?”

  “Yes,” Neil answered.

  “Okay, good. I’m leaving now,” I answered.

  “I’ll have an officer drive you,” Calvin said. “To my place.”

  I caught the sour look that took over Neil’s face. “Thanks,” I answered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I STOOD in front of the mirror in Calvin’s bathroom, trying to fish my contact lens out from under my eyelid.

  “Motherfucker,” I growled.

  That’s what I got for crashing hard after I had been dropped off. I guess the poor sleep from the night before finally caught up with me. It was early evening when I woke up, and I was groggy, hungry, and searching for the mystical vanishing lens—

  “Ah, finally!” I blinked a few times before putting my glasses on and checking myself in the mirror.

  Hmm. Gray, grumpy, and gay. The Holy Trinity.

  I stepped out of the tiny room and opened Calvin’s fridge only a few steps away. Beers, a package of untouched strawberries, and something covered in plastic wrap that I think had been there two weeks ago when I’d last spent the night. Calvin was a wonderful cook—when he was actually home to toss something together. I took out my cell, pulled up a delivery app, and picked the first restaurant I came across.

  Beef tongue sandwich?

  Oh, hell no.

  I kept scrolling.

  Shawarma. That wasn’t bad. I picked two, under the hopeful assumption Calvin was indeed coming home, and a few stuffed peppers before placing the order.

  I gave Pop a ring next. “Hey-o, Daddy-o,” I said when he answered.

  “Hey-o, kiddo.”

  “I think I’m staying at Calvin’s tonight. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “All right. How did the visit to the precinct go?”

  “Fine. I successfully proved my innocence to Detective Winter, but it was touch-and-go for a while.”

  “Very funny.”

  “You never know. Maybe I tried to blow myself up.”

  “Sebastian.”

  “Have you seen my student loans?”

  Pop cleared his throat.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t joke about that.”

  “It’s my default.”

  “Yes, I know. Is Calvin home with you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, you call me if you need anything.”

  I nodded to myself. “I will. And Pop? You be careful too. Not that you’re in danger!” I quickly amended. “Just… I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I said good-bye after, turned on the television, and flopped back onto the bed on the opposite wall of Calvin’s tiny studio. From the murmur of the voices, some reality Bigfoot show was playing. Super exciting stuff. I crossed my arms behind my head and glared at the ceiling.

  P.T. Barnum.

  Phineas Taylor Barnum. Died in 1891, if memory served me right. A famous showman and businessman, known not only for his hoaxes, but the curious, the bizarre, and even his role in the high culture of opera. He founded the Barnum & Bailey Circus, which was what most people likely knew his name from, but he also had a museum here in New York City—Barnum’s American Museum—until it was destroyed in a devastating fire in 1865.

  My breath caught.

  The fire.

  It started with a fire.

  I sat straight up. Barnum’s museum was a tragic loss. His actors survived, but countless animals perished, and the artifacts had all been lost, from the bizarre and worthless to significant and priceless. It was even rumored that was where the Feejee Mermaid vanished.

  “Fuck me!” I grabbed my phone and opened the web browser.

  The shit I retained. I swear to God…. r />
  I opened a page that detailed the events of July 13, quotes from newspapers of the times discussing the tragedy in their dated and extravagant language. Sure enough, after several minutes of reading and swiping through some photographs of Barnum’s advertisements, I confirmed that he actually had live whales on display in the basement of the museum. When the fire started, scared staffers broke their tanks, hoping to douse the flames.

  It didn’t work.

  And the poor whales were left to slowly die.

  He lost the whales, but not the mermaid.

  Was that what the morning’s note was in regards to? Barnum’s whales that perished in the fire? Did it imply the most famous hoax of Barnum’s career, the mermaid that was thought lost forever, was still hanging around somewhere?

  Prove the murder, win a mermaid!

  I looked away from the phone and got to my feet. “Meredith Brown was a prime suspect two years ago in the murder of her teenage daughter,” I said out loud. “But lost DNA evidence and a shaky alibi saved her.” I shrugged. “I bet she was murdered to bring closure to her daughter. How am I supposed to prove Meredith was guilty when Calvin couldn’t?”

  Well… there was one difference between Calvin and I. He had laws and legal tape to work around. I was just a nosy prick. But how could I prove she committed murder two years after the fact?

  Was my creepy new stalker going to give me the Feejee Mermaid as a reward if I managed to do just that?

  The only glaring clue I had still been overlooking was Jefferson. So like the little detective I seemed to think I was, I started searching the Internet again. I really should have done so sooner, too, because the answer was surprisingly easy to find. Some of the many lost items in Barnum’s fire had been wax figures of famous and notorious individuals—Jefferson Davis in petticoats included. Apparently someone had thought to save it by tossing it out a window. When the wax figure landed on the street, the public—for whom the Civil War was a fresh wound not hardly healed—hung it from a nearby lamppost.

  What Barnum had to do with any of these modern murders was beyond me.

  I set my phone back down and took a breath. I wish the dead guy in my apartment hadn’t been lost to the flames. His identity was important, I knew it, but what if they never found any of his remains?

  My pondering was soon left behind when the front door buzzer rang. I let the delivery guy into the building and unlocked the apartment door as he was coming up the stairs. I took the bag of food, tipped the kid, and shut and locked the door again. I walked over to the kitchenette and started rummaging through the takeout. I hadn’t gotten much further than debating whether to put Calvin’s portion in the fridge for his inevitably late arrival, when the door was unlocked and said redhead walked in.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling when I turned to greet him. “You’re home earlier than I—”

  Calvin threw the dead bolt on the door, took three powerful strides toward me, and pulled me into a fierce kiss before I could finish speaking. I bumped against the counter, take-out bag crinkling loudly as I was pushed back. Calvin’s hips pressed roughly against my own as he shoved his tongue in my mouth.

  Jesus fuck!

  I grabbed the front of his jacket and nearly tore the buttons loose while frantically trying to open it. I pushed it off his shoulders, listening to the heavy fabric fall to the floor with a quiet thump. Calvin broke the kiss, taking about half a second to remove his shoulder holster and shove the weapon onto the counter behind me. He grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me hard.

  I swear I saw stars.

  I pulled his hips forward once more, grinding against him. I had no idea what put him in this mood, because last I checked, murder wasn’t exactly a turn-on, but I was more than ready to match his enthusiasm. He wanted it hard and rough, and so did I. Right here in the kitchen, on the floor—his studio didn’t leave much to the imagination, but I wasn’t picky.

  Calvin shoved my T-shirt up, broke the kiss, and leaned down to bite and suck my nipple. I yelped and bumped back against the counter again. He grabbed me tight and held me in place, continuing to bite and suck until I couldn’t take any more.

  “C-Calvin!”

  He straightened, his large frame engulfing me. “Beg me to fuck your ass,” he whispered. Calvin wrapped a big hand around my throat.

  I managed to swallow before he tightened his grasp. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  To hell with thinking I sounded lame. “Fuck me, make me come!”

  Calvin grinned, his mouth hovering a kiss away from mine. “I’m going to shove you against the wall and pound your perfect ass until you can’t walk, baby.”

  Holy hell.

  And then we were kissing again while struggling to do away with each other’s clothes. I liked giving Calvin a fight for dominance, even if I was in fact looking to be the one dominated, because it ignited a fire in him that was so unbelievably hot. I needed the roughness of his hands on my body, craved the words he spoke, but I loved that Calvin never once stopped caring for my well-being.

  I’d lost my shirt and my jeans were unbuttoned and hanging off my hips when I was backed up against the wall beside the counter. I grabbed Calvin’s tie, yanking him forward to kiss and grinning against his mouth when he growled in response.

  He shoved my pants and boxer briefs down as we kissed, then reached behind to grab my ass firmly. “Gorgeous ass,” he murmured when we broke the kiss for breath. Calvin dropped to his knees next. “And gorgeous dick.” He took the head of my cock into his mouth, tightening his lips around me and sucking hard.

  “Oh God,” I groaned, hitting the back of my head against the wall. It was both too much and not enough. I needed more—needed Calvin fucking me, claiming me, making me hoarse from screaming as he screwed me senseless. I didn’t want it to end yet.

  Calvin’s a very intuitive sexual partner. He seems to know what I want before I do, and he can pull me back from jumping off the ledge into a mind-numbing orgasm too soon. He can draw it out, make it something to write home about every time.

  He took his mouth off me and finished helping me step out of my clothes. Then he turned me around, pushed me against the wall, spread my cheeks, and licked me.

  I shivered in response. It was a freezing-hot feel. I was burning up from the inside out. Unable to get a grip on the wall, I pounded my fist against it in vain. “Cal,” I groaned. “I can’t take it, please!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, but there was a mischievous tone in his words.

  “Stop teasing.”

  He stood behind me and smoothed his hands over my ass again, leaning in close. “You’ll take it, and like it,” he whispered in my ear before smacking one cheek hard.

  He did it again and again. My skin tingled and stung in the most erotic and delicious way imaginable. I was vaguely aware of the inarticulate words I moaned against the wall being heard by Calvin’s neighbors—but to hell with them. They could listen to me scream. I wasn’t going to be quiet. They’d probably be jealous.

  Calvin moved away, and I turned my head to look back, watching him strip out of his suit and show me the muscular body that hid underneath. Fuck, he was so goddamn stunning. Pale skin, constellations of freckles upon freckles, and just enough light-colored hair in all the places that I liked it. Not even the multiple scars of bullet wounds detracted from his beauty.

  He walked to the bed, opened the drawer of the nightstand, and rummaged about before coming back with the necessary tools. He uncapped the bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount onto his hand before setting it on the counter and getting close. Calvin pressed his body against my back while gently and thoroughly pushing his fingers into me.

  “Like that?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Use your voice,” he ordered.

  “Yes, I like it.”

  “You want more?”

  “Yes.”

  Calvin nipped my ear, sucking the lobe as his fingers prodded
deep and—holy shit!

  I cried out and bucked back against his hand.

  He laughed quietly and did it again.

  “Oh God. Fuck—Cal, please! I-I need it!”

  “You need it?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers. A brief pause was followed by the crinkle of a condom wrapper and more lube before one hand firmly took my hip. “You need any cock? Or my cock, baby?”

  “Yours!” I said, ignoring the tone of desperation in my voice. I was too worked up to give a damn about being self-conscious now, and maybe Calvin had done that on purpose. “Fuck me—God, before I go insane! No one is as good. I only want you.”

  I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck, a low laugh escaping as he pressed into me. “Sexy little minx.”

  I tensed up as Calvin pushed the head of his cock in, and I had to consciously take a few deep breaths. He kissed my neck and shoulder, free hand reaching around to stroke me slowly. He murmured a few words of encouragement while sliding in farther.

  “Doing okay?” he asked gently, always ready to break whatever rough play we were having to ensure I was feeling good. And every time, it warmed my heart.

  “Okay,” I agreed, nodding before pressing my forehead against the wall. “You’re really big.”

  He kissed my head again. “Take your time,” Calvin whispered.

  I pressed back to meet him after a few more breaths, sliding and locking into place. It felt right and perfect, overwhelming and good. “Move.”

  Calvin pulled back a bit, holding my hips firmly as he slowly thrust in and out. The burning scrape of pleasure sent a thrill from my toes to my head. I moaned in approval and reached down to stroke myself.

  Calvin grabbed my hand and pulled it away. “No touching until I say so.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m in charge,” he ordered, voice deep and gruff, and fuck—yes, God, I’d do anything he said.

  “Are you?” I asked, egging him on like he did me. “Then fuck me like you mean it.”

  Calvin groaned, gripped my hips firm enough to leave marks, and slammed into me. He fucked me with ruthless abandon, balls slapping my ass as he moved hard and fast. I screamed and swore and loved every fucking second of it. Shoved up against the wall, boyfriend’s cock buried in my ass, I couldn’t comprehend anything but how goddamn perfect the moment was.