A Fatal Stain (28 page)

I nodded, because I knew it actually was a selling point, though Ben would rather be cut into ribbons before admitting it.

We stopped in front of the flea market and went in. This time I got lucky, as there was a tall and elegant china cabinet, in pretty bad shape, cheap enough. I got it for under thirty dollars because one of the sides was scorched, clearly having been in a fire.

“Isn’t that going to be hard to cover?” Ben asked, as we loaded it into the back of the car.

“Not really. I can either apply a veneer to it—and the other side is mahogany veneer, so that’s okay—or I can put a sealant and then build layers of stain to imitate the wood. Which is how you fake a wood, with stain.”

“Unlike that table?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and because it was on my mind, I told him what Cas had said.

“Um,” he said. “Do you have some chemicals to buy?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because I figured we could go to the home-improvement place around the corner from the Ashtons, and then we could…go to Collin and Peter and ask them a few questions.”

“No!” I said. “They told Sebastian Dimas.”

“I don’t think they did,” he said. “But we can ask them that, too, if you wish. And if you’re hell-bent on revenge,” he said, with a smile, “I will point out there’s a philharmonic rehearsal on Tuesday night, and it usually goes on till eleven or so, plus they usually go out afterward, and I suspect Peter didn’t get to bed till two or three in the morning, so visiting them by nine is evil.”

“And Collin?”

“What?”

“Does Collin also play at the symphony?”

Ben shook his head. “No, he’s a lecturer of classics at CUG.”

He didn’t look old enough to be that, but I’d gathered from their conversation that he was in fact old enough. I just had trouble reconciling the sunny blond and classics.

In perfect harmony, we went by Do It Now Hardware and Lumber, where I bought some basic stains, plus mineral spirits, turpentine, and a no-fume remover that would work on everything including polyurethane, mostly because I had no idea if the green trunk had been finished with stain, paint, or Martian rocks. I also got half a dozen generic brushes, because it was easier to use and discard them than to try cleaning the really expensive brushes, particularly while I was working out of my mom’s garage. On impulse, I got a small can of gold paint from the
discount rack. And I grabbed assorted rags and a scraper and half a dozen other little things.

With them safely packaged and on tarps on the floor between the front and the back seats, I allowed Ben to drive me to the Ashtons’ and park across from their house. Then we crossed the street and rang Collin and Peter’s doorbell.

It took a while, and when the door was opened, it was by Peter, in a pitch-black silk robe. All tall and lanky and pale, with curly black hair, in that robe, he looked like he’d made a deal with Faust once upon a time. Not helped by the fact that he looked from one to the other of us with his eyebrows arched high. “Ben and…ah…Dyce. How nice of you to drop by,” he said. But his expression said,
Do you two juvenile delinquents know what time it is?
“Collin is at the college. He had some conference or something, but…if you come in…I’m fairly sure I know how to operate the coffeemaker.” His expression said,
But not at this time in the morning, when I’m more asleep than not. Do you two juvenile delinquents REALLY not know what time it is?

To be absolutely honest, even though I thought that he had told on me to Sebastian and probably started the whole thing that had culminated in someone putting a bomb—a bomb!—in my shed and forcing me out of house and home, I felt embarrassed enough to just turn around and go away. But Ben, who is normally the socially sensitive one of the two of us, seemed completely tone deaf. “Yeah, that will be fine, Peter. And I’ll make the coffee.”

And then, he more or less herded Peter into his own kitchen. The fact that he knew where things were in the kitchen didn’t surprise me. I had a feeling that when Ben
had been with his ex, who was also with the symphony, they’d often ended up coming here to dinner or to hang out. Also, I knew that in that particular breakup, Ben had got the friends, or at least all the friends he cared to keep. I suspected he still often came over to hang out or talk, mostly because Peter and Collin normally threw his birthday party. That was probably going to change. Unless I was completely wrong, Nick would insist on doing it this year. Then I suddenly remembered the veiled questions about Nick and wondered how they felt about Nick and if that was why or part of the reason why Ben was so hesitant about the whole thing.

But mostly, as I saw Ben make coffee, and then get into the freezer and grab a pack of frozen waffles, which he thawed in the oven, all without Peter complaining—though it was entirely possible Peter was asleep—I wondered if Peter had told Sebastian I was investigating and why.

I asked the question as soon as it was socially possible. What this meant is that first Ben served waffles, with syrup. That Peter didn’t act surprised Ben had just helped himself and served me a waffle meant that he was either more asleep than I thought or that Ben spent a lot more time here than I thought, which begged the question of why he hadn’t imitated a mummy on their sofa.

But perhaps Peter had looked at Ben funny, because Ben said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just help myself, but we stayed at Dyce’s parents’ last night, and you have no idea what her mom thinks constitutes breakfast food. Celery sticks. Jalapeño cheese. Candy corn!”

Peter smiled. “Absolutely my pleasure. Why did you stay at her parents’ house? Still running away?”

Ben frowned. “Yeah, but it’s no use. I think I’m going to give it a try.”

Peter nodded. “Expected it, really. It seems like that sort of thing.” He didn’t seem upset and might have been vaguely worried, or just half asleep. “I’d have said he wasn’t…but you know…These things are never like you expect them. Collin is not at all my type, either. But…this stuff ends up surprising you. So is that why you came over? For my blessing?”

Ben grinned. “No, not really…It’s just that…”

And then he told Peter. About Sebastian visiting me. Twice. And about the explosion. And about all of it. All of it except the description of the guy who had sold the table to the garage sale. The guy who seemed to have either scared or confused my dad—the two not always being easily distinguishable when it came to Dad.

That was left to me. This after Peter had said, “I didn’t tell him anything, of course, but I think he might have been babysitting the kids when you were here, and it only takes a second to snap a picture of a license plate. And if you have friends in the department, even a receptionist, or a traffic cop, it is not that difficult to get the person’s name and address.”

That had not occurred to me. “But if Sebastian…I mean…If he came over to threaten me, surely he’s involved.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. He seemed to be thinking. “I don’t want to be telling tales out of school…I mean, these things are not my business, but…the Ashtons are very sweet and giving people. Until I saw…well…until I saw Sebastian in the bathroom with Maria, while Jason was gone, I never assumed there was anything
untoward. Because they tend to adopt everyone who needs it. They have this huge Thanksgiving dinner, you know, with everyone who doesn’t have any other place to go, and I understand from what Sebastian has said that he was living on the streets when they met him. He had a drug habit or something, and anyway, they took him and rehabilitated him.”

While he was talking, I realized something. If she had been taking meds, and a narcoleptic…Jason had said something about her resenting having to be babysat. “He might have been helping her in the shower for health reasons,” I blurted out.

And as they both stared at me, I sighed. “It’s also not my secret to tell, but she was taking meds…She has a health condition that had just been diagnosed and that I understand could cause her to lose balance or worse.”

For a moment Peter stared at me, then nodded, once. “Oh, that makes sense. Because, you know, though they were in there together…well, he didn’t seem to be touching her, not
that
way, just…just sort of watching over her. It had that feel. And before you ask, we don’t as a rule spy; it’s just that the houses are so close together that sometimes you can’t avoid a glimpse.”

“I know,” I said. “Ben used to play this game with the person who lived next door for a few months and who was…well…short and round. Ben used to try to guess whether it was a guy or a woman. When he caught an accidental glimpse.”

“The weird thing is that I accidentally saw this person naked half a dozen times, and I still didn’t know,” he said. “My best guess was hobbit.”

Peter smiled. “So you can see that if she had this
condition, whatever it is, it would make Sebastian even more protective. He says he’ll be renting the house when Jason leaves, and he hopes Maria comes back…” He shrugged. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he treats them both as if they were his parents, though he’s probably their age or older.”

“Yes, but…” I said, and then decided to rush it. “You say they have a lot of…protges?”

“A half dozen probably,” he said. “Though I’ve noticed fewer recently, before Maria disappeared, and now I wonder if it was because she was trying to keep her condition a secret.”

“Probably,” I said. “She seemed to be embarrassed by it. Or afraid people would think she was mentally ill.”

Peter drank his coffee. “I can see that.”

“But among their protges, did they have a blond, with pop eyes and…”

“Oh, of course. Winston de Leon.”

“Beg your pardon?” I said.

“Winston de Leon. Yeah, he was by the other day, after you guys left. I think he lives somewhere nearby. Weird. I just realized he’s been at the Ashtons a lot less since Maria disappeared, which is strange because…” He stopped, frowning. “Did you say something about a table? The first time you were here?”

I nodded.

“How odd. Because I’m sure that Winston was here and loading a table into the back of the car either the day that Maria disappeared or…around there. It’s hard to tell, really, because of course we didn’t know she had disappeared or that there was anything special about that day.”

We got out of there as soon as we could politely do
so, and got in Ben’s car. I’d trained Ben well. I didn’t even need to tell him to call directory assistance. He did it himself. Of course, it occurred to me that it might not get us anything, since there was a good chance that de Leon had a mobile phone only.

But we were in luck, and Ben jotted down an address. Which happened to be a couple of streets away, in the sort of place where the Victorians were not only still subdivided into five or six apartments apiece, but also still very much owned by slumlords. Porches sagged and balconies looked like toothless mouths, favoring passersby with gaping smiles. Windows were covered in plastic, front yards grew mostly parts of plastic toys, the fences were chain link, and the dogs were snarling.

We found the address, mercifully dog free but
looking like it had needed a paint job since the Jurassic period, and went up and knocked at the door. No one answered. We knocked again. No one answered.

After a while, as we were about to give up, a guy came to the door. He was skinny and looked like he’d slept in his clothes, but he was neither blond nor bug eyed. He looked at us out of red-rimmed eyes, seemed to have trouble deciding whether we were one person or two, and said, “Dude!”

“We were looking for Winston de Leon,” Ben said in his best
I’m here to serve a process
voice.

The young man in the doorway, who had either black hair or very dirty brown hair, made a heroic effort to focus his gaze, failed, and said, “Dude.” And when that didn’t seem to serve his purpose, he gathered himself up against the door frame to pull himself upright. “Dude,” he said after some thought. “Dude is not here.”

“Right. Could you please tell me where to find him?” Ben asked.

The man made yet one more manful attempt to focus on this
object
in front of him, from which words emerged. “Uh…” he said. “He doesn’t have the stuff, you know? It’s no use coming and trying to buy from him now, because he hasn’t been able to make it. There was an…uh…accident.”

“Thank you so much,” Ben said, and grabbed my arm in a viselike grip and herded me down the steps and all the way into the car. I was in the car before he gave me time to talk. Not that what I had to say was that damaging, because mostly I was confused. “Stuff?” I said.

“I think, my dear,” Ben said, “that Mr. de Leon has been doing a burgeoning business in…er… over-the-counter
pharmaceuticals.” He started the car in controlled haste and drove away as though he expected someone to jump us, possibly with a chain saw.

But I was thinking. Drugs. An accident. Okay. I know that meth cooking is volatile, and I imagine there are hundreds of accidents a day. Okay, possibly a few less in Goldport, simply because it is a small town. On the other hand, such accidents are probably not rare. To link the “accident” to the guy who had died in the condo would be fanciful. It would be a matter of thinking that something must be linked to something else simply because the two were presented together. Having grown up in mystery fandom, I knew that readers often imagined romances between two completely unrelated characters simply because they were thrown together a lot.