The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh - Страница 38
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Perry took the clip from him and slapped it into the P-228. He turned, stepped into perfect firing stance, and fired off three rounds.
Nick blinked as blam, blam, blam the tin cans went flying one after another off the crumbled stone wall.
“Jesus, Foster. You’ve got a hell of an eye…”
Perry fired off four more rounds. Clean, accurate shots picking off the rest of the tin cans. He ejected the clip and handed the empty Sig Sauer to Nick. He gave him that long, unfriendly look Nick had seen once before when Perry felt he had been seriously let down.
“Where the hell --”
“I learned to shoot when I was ten. My dad thought it was important for a man to be able to handle himself, which according to him meant being able to use a gun. I can blow away tin cans all day, and we both know that it doesn’t mean anything against a live target.”
He was right. Again. It was beginning to be a habit with him.
Nick finally found his voice. “Fair enough. But at least I know you can hit something if you have to.”
Perry shook his head. “I couldn’t shoot someone. No way.”
Nick strove for patience. Perry was coming at this from a perspective alien to his. “You don’t think if your life was in danger…”
“My dad used to make me go hunting with him. He said…” Perry changed his mind about sharing whatever recollection that was. Instead, he said, “I shot a rabbit once. It screamed.”
“They do sometimes,” Nick admitted.
“I threw up.”
“Look, frankly, I don’t get a big kick out of hunting, either,” Nick said. “There’s a difference --”
“I’m going back to the truck.” Perry stalked away.
* * * * *
Miss Dembecki greeted them when they returned to the house. She looked, to Perry’s uneasy eye, like she hadn’t combed her hair for a couple of days -- or changed her clothes.
What happened to people like Miss Dembecki once they couldn’t take care of themselves? She didn’t seem to have any family.
She clutched his sleeve, saying eagerly, “Isn’t it dreadful! These secret passages run all through the house.” But her eyes were bright with excitement, not alarm.
“You’ve lived here so long,” Perry said. “Didn’t you have any idea about the secret passages?”
“Oh no! None of us knew. Not even Mrs. Mac.”
Well, that was clearly not true. Mr. Teagle had already plainly, if inadvertently, admitted to knowing about the tunnels.
Tiny might have known -- he’d been prowling the estate for decades. Certainly the back passages had served in his mysterious disappearance. He didn’t appear to have been killed in the house. It was possible, though not probable, that he could have been dragged into the passage against his will. But surely someone would have seen or heard something?
Then again, Raymond Swiss had disappeared in this house -- presumably against his will -- and no one had seen or heard anything. Except his murderer.
And that was a point right there. Surely no one was going to be willing to admit to prior knowledge of the secret passages, because it automatically made them a suspect in Tiny’s and Swiss’s killings. And the fact that Mr. Teagle’s concern had been over being caught out peeping surely meant he hadn’t been worried about being suspected of murder because he hadn’t committed murder?
As though reading his mind, Miss Dembecki said, “The police have discovered where Tiny was shot in the passageway. They think his killer must have thought he was dead and left him, and then Tiny must have dragged himself to the door that leads into Mr. Watson’s apartment. And then he was too weak to go any farther.”
Nick asked, “Do they have any leads on who might have shot him? Have they narrowed the weapon down?”
“Oh! They’ve been searching for guns in poor Mr. Teagle’s rooms.” Miss Dembecki fluttered away and then -- as Perry and Nick started up the staircase -- fluttered back. “They’ve arrested him, you know. Mr. Teagle.”
* * * * *
They ate at the kitchen table. Framed in the window over the sink, an enormous orange half moon seemed to be dissolving right out of the black night.
Nick had roasted a chicken for dinner, and he served it with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn. The food was good -- everything Nick cooked was good -- but Perry picked at his supper.
Watching him, Nick’s brows drew together. “Eat.”
They hadn’t talked since they’d returned from target practice. Nick assumed Perry was sulking, and he had no intention of giving into that, but…he missed the easy companionship. He was getting used to it, getting used to Perry being around. Perry looked up. “I can’t when I’m nervous.”
Unimpressed, Nick said, “You’re always nervous. You need to replenish your nervous energy.”
Perry nodded, picked some more at his food.
Nick sighed. “What’s on your mind?”
He thought he had a pretty good idea, so he was taken off stride when Perry said, “That was true about your wife, right? You were really married?”
“Hell yes, I was married.”
“But you…”
Nick gazed into the Bambi eyes and said harshly, “Are you asking if you were the first guy I’ve been with? Don’t be dumb.”
Perry’s eyes darkened. His mouth went soft and hurt before he managed to control his face. Stonily, he said, “I didn’t think you learned those moves by osmosis. I just wondered if you considered yourself gay or what.”
Nick nearly laughed at the osmosis comment, but he realized that if he laughed at Perry now, it could likely end here. And maybe that would be the wisest thing -- the best thing for Perry before this went any further, and the kid did something silly like convince himself he was in love -- but Nick found he couldn’t do it.
He said calmly, “Yes. I’m gay. I married when I was younger than you are now. I didn’t think I had a choice back then.”
“And then…?”
It was obvious Perry didn’t know what questions to ask, and Nick said a little more gently, “I grew up. I learned that there were other choices and other ways to live.”
Perry was watching him steadily. Nick sighed. “Marie -- my ex -- and I knew we’d made a mistake within a couple of years. She found her way of dealing with it and I found mine. I wasn’t always as careful as I should have been, and it resulted in” -- Nick took a deep breath. This was still hard to admit even to himself -- “me getting kicked out of the navy.”
“They fucking dishonorably discharged you?” Perry’s shocked outrage was unexpectedly sweet. The kid’s eyes were bright with anger -- too bright -- and Nick recognized with a jolt that for the first time in his entire life someone was about to shed tears on his behalf.
“Hey, hey.” He reached out and covered Perry’s fist where it lay on the scrubbed oak table. “Listen, I was stupid. I knew the risk. I thought it was worth it, and I’m not going to kick now.” He gave Perry’s thin hand a squeeze and let it go. He was surprised to find himself smiling. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Yeah.” Perry expelled a breath. “Bastards,” he said fiercely.
Nick laughed -- and about something he never thought he’d laugh about. “Eat your dinner, Foster. I don’t like my hard work going to waste.”
* * * * *
After dinner, Nick looked over the brochures for his training curriculum -- which included everything from courses in computer research to report writing -- and Perry went across to his apartment to get another sketchpad. He settled on the floor across from the sofa trying to watch Nick without being too obvious about it.
After a minute or two, though, Nick looked up. There was a glint in his gaze that warned Perry Nick had seen the sketch he had begun from memory at Watson’s.
“You’re wasting your talent on a mug like mine,” Nick informed him.
Perry said, “You’ve got a great face.”
Nick reddened and returned to his reading without comment. Perry sketched for a while -- it gave him the excuse to stare at Nick as much as he liked. It was clear that Nick was totally absorbed in his reading, looking forward to California and his new job -- his new life.
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