Played to Death (10 page)

Scott

One of Scott's favorite writers, Juanita Ortega, was doing a reading from her new book at an indie mystery bookstore in Pasadena on Saturday morning. Scott was determined to keep his mind off Elena’s death and the missing piece of music. He hoped to temporarily lose himself in someone else's problems - even if they were fictional problems.

When he got to Pasadena, he was pleased to see a good turnout for the reading. He liked the guy that owned the bookstore. It was good to see an independent bookstore of any kind prospering. It crossed his mind that Jamie had brought him here the first time and introduced him to the owner. He put that out of his mind as well. To think about Jamie was to think about his own murder mystery. He’d prefer to forget that.

He took a seat in the center of the back row just as another man took the seat beside him. Scott glanced his way and was temporarily stunned. The guy was
beautiful
. Longish dark hair, fine features, broad shoulders, flat abs, and the most incredible blue-gray eyes Scott had ever seen. Those eyes locked with Scott's for a moment and held his gaze, then the guy cocked an eyebrow. “Hi.”

Scott found his voice somehow. “Hi.” Could the guy possibly be gay?

The guy flashed a grin, and Scott's knees got a little weak. This guy was fucking
stunning
. Scott tried to remember the last time when meeting a new guy had produced this kind of reaction in him. He couldn't.

Gorgeous said, “Have you heard Ortega read before?”

Scott swallowed hard. “A couple of times. Have you?”

“Yes, but not here.” The guy looked around the bookstore. “This is nice. Good to see an independent bookstore slugging it out with the big dogs.”

“The owner’s worked hard to make this place successful. It's paying off.”

“How long has he been open?”

“Around ten years, I think.”
Might as well get the gay thing out in the open. See what happens
. “An old boyfriend first brought me here a few years ago, and I was taken with the place.”

At the words old boyfriend, Gorgeous flashed another one of those impossibly beautiful grins, and hope surged in Scott's chest.
Good God
. He was acting like a hormone-addled sixteen year old. Gorgeous started to say something, but the moment was lost when Ortega began reading.

Scott tried to concentrate on the reading, but it was difficult with Gorgeous in such close proximity. He took a deep breath and tried to use the mental calming exercises he always ran through before a concert. Maybe that worked, maybe the book excerpt finally gripped his imagination. Whatever the cause, when Ortega finished and everyone applauded, Scott felt much calmer. Maybe even calm enough to chat this guy up and ask him out.

Ortega moved from the microphone to the table where she'd be signing books, and Scott got in line with Gorgeous right behind him. Ortega was taking her time, talking to people as she signed. Good. More time to talk to Gorgeous. But what to say? Talk about the bookstore. Scott turned to say something when Gorgeous said, “Is the turnout always this good?”

Oh, thank God
. “Generally. The owner does a good job of promotion, and he has an email newsletter. You can sign up if you want, and you'll get notifications for all the readings.”

“I'll do that.” Gorgeous smiled, and Scott felt his knees weaken a little again. “So an old boyfriend brought you here.”

“Yeah.”

“It was an old boyfriend that convinced me to begin reading mysteries back in grad school. I ended up writing my dissertation on the place of the mystery in medieval literature.”

“So your degree is in literature?”

Gorgeous nodded. “I'm in the English department at USC. Or, I should say, I will be come fall. I just moved to LA three weeks ago.”

“Oh. Where did you move from?”

“Boston.”

“Ah. I love Boston. One of my favorite cities.”

“You've been there?”

“Several times. I'm from the east coast originally. Near Philadelphia.”

Gorgeous nodded. “I'm from the west coast originally - just north of San Francisco.” He grinned. Scott found that he was learning to control the weakness in his knees. “This is such a lame question, but what do you do?”

“I play with the LA Philharmonic. Cello.”

Gorgeous was impressed. “Wow. Where did you study music?”

“Juilliard and Eastman.”

Gorgeous gave a low whistle. “You're a superstar.”

Scott was appalled to feel himself blushing - which embarrassed him even further. “No -” But they had made it to the signing table. Scott got his book signed and thanked the owner. Gorgeous came to where they were standing and gave his email address to be added to the newsletter mailing list.

Gorgeous's email address didn't give a hint as to what his name might be. Scott was trying to decide whether to ask the guy to go for a coffee when they got to the door. Gorgeous put his hand on the door and paused. “Is there a good independent coffee shop around here?”

“Yeah, just a couple of blocks down.”

“Would you like to get a coffee?”

Scott fought to keep his voice steady. “Yeah. That sounds good.” He held out his hand. “By the way, I'm Scott Deering.”

Gorgeous took his hand - nice firm grip - and held it for a second. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Scott. I'm Ethan Williams.”

Monday, June 15

Jamie

I got to work early so I could take care of email before Scott, Donna, Kevin and Jon arrived. I was deleting junk mail when Liz stuck her head in the door. “What’s going on with Kevin and Kristen?”

“Nothing, as far as I know.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “I think they’d be
perfect
together.”

Liz had a habit of matchmaking that sometimes ended well and sometimes didn’t. I said, “They might be, but they need to figure that out for themselves. No input from the cheering section.”

She huffed in indignation. “Fine.”

“Do you know Jon’s coming here this morning?”

“Yes, and so is Scott. It’s like old home week. I haven’t seen Scott since you and he broke up.”

I laughed. “I’ll send him over when we’re done.”

Scott arrived first, looking unhappy. I said, “Oh, cheer up. It won’t be that bad.”

He grunted. “It’s just that I had an incredible weekend. This is depressing me.”

“Incredible, huh?”

“Yeah, I went to -”

Kevin appeared in the doorway. “Good, you’re both here.”

I said, “Hello to you too. We’re fine, thank you.”

He glowered. “Stuff it. Let’s get started.”

It occurred to me that Kevin needed to get laid. Jon stuck his head in the door, his usual smiling self, Donna right behind him. “Room for two more?”

I opened my bookmarked web pages and let Scott sit behind my computer to read through them. He discarded the first few. “This one’s a fan site. This one’s not specific to cellists. This one’s more about musicians who have died of AIDS than about cellists.” He flipped through a couple more. “Hm - no.” He stopped at one and studied the screen, then leaned forward, chin resting on his hand, and began scrolling.

Jon said, “A candidate?”

“Maybe. Let me look.”

Kevin and Donna looked over his shoulder, waiting. Finally Scott looked up. “This is the one I’d choose. It’s for serious cello connoisseurs only, but it’s not all musicians. Looks like there are several patrons of the arts here too. And there are people posting nearly every hour.”

Jon asked, “Do you have to identify yourself by name?”

“No. They’re using screen names.”

“What do you have to do to join?”

Scott clicked a couple of times. “Looks like you just join.” He read for a minute. “Here’s the code of conduct. Anyone can join, but if you post something the admin deems inappropriate, you get booted.”

“Fair enough.” Kevin waved his hand at my computer. “Go ahead.”

“I have to give an email address. I don’t want to use my real one.”

I said, “Set up a separate email account just for this.”

Scott set up a quick account -
[email protected]
- then joined the site using juilliardgrad as his screen name. “Okay, I’m in.”

Donna said, “Post something. Introduce yourself without identifying yourself.”

Scott thought for a few seconds, then typed.

Hello,

New member here, cellist with west coast orchestra. Off for the summer, looking for people to chat with about cello music. Hope this is the right spot.

Donna nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect.”

Scott said, “Let me write down this web address.”

“Here.” I handed him a sticky note and a pen.

He neatly printed the URL. “How often do you want me to check this?”

Jon said, “A couple of times a day should be plenty. Don’t look too eager.”

“No, I… Hey, I’ve got a response already.”

We crowded around the monitor.

Welcome, juilliardgrad. You have come to the right place. Feel free to join any of our discussions, but the forum on music for cello is probably the one you’d prefer. Just curious, when were you at Juilliard?

“Ack. What do I tell him?”

Kevin said, “Don’t make anything up. It’ll be hard to remember what you said if it’s not the truth.”

Scott sighed. “Okay.” He typed,
1996-2000.

There was a pause, then a reply popped up.
Ah. Know several grads, but all were there earlier
.

“Good.” Jon rubbed his hands together. “An older crowd. More likely to know someone with the money to be a rare music collector.”

Scott stood up. “I feel like I’m on parole. How often do you want me to check in?”

Kevin smirked. Jon said, “Send Donna and me a text once a day, if nothing’s happening. If something looks interesting, let us know immediately.”

“Even if it’s the middle of the night?”

“Even if.” Jon nudged Kevin with an elbow. “Come on, paperwork awaits.”

The cops left; Scott went next door and I heard Liz greet him. A few minutes later, he left as well, waving to me as he walked past.

Hoping that my involvement in both cases was over, I got to work. Spring quarter had ended, and with it my adjunct teaching career. I’d been spending so much time working on the music theft case, though, that I’d been eating lunch at my desk to get caught up.

I’d just opened my pasta salad with someone darkened my door. I looked up and nearly dropped my fork.

Ethan.

The corner of his mouth quirked up at my discomfiture. “Hey.”

“
Hey?
What the hell are you
doing
here?”

“I came to see if I could buy you lunch.” He nodded at my container. “Looks like I’m too late.”

“Um - I can take this with me, if you want to go downstairs and get a sandwich.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

I found a free table at Cafe 451 while Ethan got his food. When he returned, I said, “What I meant by what are you doing here was, what are you doing in LA?”

Ethan swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d taken and lifted an eyebrow at me. “I'm moving here. More precisely, I’ve moved here. Three weeks ago.”

I stared at him for a minute, mouth open. “Um - okaaaay...”

He looked amused. “Don't worry. You'll never see me. I've been hired onto the faculty at USC.”

“
Oh
.” This was so far out of the realm of possibility I could barely form words. “Where are you staying?”

“I’ve bought a house in Hancock Park.”

“That's convenient.”

“Yep, to work and to West Hollywood.” He grinned.

“Uh huh. You look better than you did the last time I saw you.” The last time, Ethan had been on a stretcher, bleeding from a stab wound. “How's your abdomen?”

“Fine, except for the lovely scar, but it's getting less noticeable. How's Pete?”

“He's fine. We're getting married in three weeks.”

“
Whoa
.” Ethan was surprised; I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. “Like in a church and everything?”

“No. Outside at the top of a mountain, in our hiking boots. Neil got his minister-for-a-day credentials, and he's going to marry us.”

“You and Pete have been together how long now?”

“Three years. It’s time.” I leaned back and regarded him. “You need to get out and meet people.”

“Oh, I know. I've already joined the Los Angeles Rowing Club.”

“Ah. I didn't even know there was one.”

“Yeah, they row down at Marina Del Rey on the canals there. Flat water.”

“Had you been rowing in Boston?”

“Three days a week. And I went to a book signing on Saturday, at a mystery bookstore in Pasadena. I'm sure you've been there.”

“I have. Several times. I'd go more often if it wasn't so far away.”

“Yeah, it's not so far for me.”

“So you're still reading mysteries?”

“Mm hm. You got me hooked.”

“I take full responsibility.”

Ethan grinned. “And - I have a date this afternoon with a guy I met at the signing.”

Thank God
. “Ha! You work fast.”

Ethan shrugged. He actually looked a little embarrassed. “It was him as much as me. We sat next to each other at the reading. We went for a coffee afterwards and talked for about three hours, then we had brunch yesterday and had another long conversation. We have a lot in common. And he lives in West Hollywood, so it's convenient.”

“That's great, Ethan. Really.”

“Thank you. And look at you, getting married - I'm happy for you.” Although his tone was - noncommittal.

“Thank you.”

We sat there for a minute, looking at each other. I snorted and shook my head. “I can't believe you've moved here.”

He shrugged. “It's where the best job was. English professors are widely available these days, you know. I'm lucky to get this. Having experience and publications helped. The Oxford degree helped too. A couple of the other faculty in the department had Oxford degrees.”

“Yeah. That's what got me my job, too.”

“I have you to thank for that. I'd never have gone to Oxford otherwise.”

I shrugged. “You'd have gone someplace equally prestigious.”

Ethan laughed. “Not possible! There is no place as prestigious!”

I laughed too. “True. Why did you decide to leave MIT?”

“Two reasons. I was tired of teaching engineering majors who only see English as a required class. And I missed California. I hadn't lived here since we moved to Oxford. I'm a California boy. What can I say?”

“Oh, believe me, I understand. I can't imagine living out my life anywhere else.”

Ethan looked up as someone approached our table. It was Liz, carrying her bag. “Hey, I thought you were eating in your office.” She looked curiously at Ethan.

“I was. Have a seat.”

“I don't want to interrupt.”

“You're not interrupting anything.” I dragged a chair over from another table and held it out for Liz.

She sat and held out her hand to Ethan. “Liz Nguyen.”

Ethan took her hand. “Ethan Williams.”

Liz shot a look at me, then back to Ethan. “
The
Ethan?”

Ethan groaned and I laughed. “Yes, the Ethan. He's going to be teaching English at USC.”

“No kidding.” Liz was giving Ethan a mild case of the stink eye.

Ethan grinned at her. “It's okay, really. After today, I'll stay well away from Westwood.”

“Hm.” Liz opened her lunch bag. “It's only because you're new that we've allowed a Trojan to set foot on campus, you know. After today - no way.”

“Oh, I know. I wouldn't even attempt it.”

Liz asked, “So you left - back east, wherever it was?”

“Boston. Yeah. I was just telling Jamie, I was tired of teaching engineering students. USC made me the best offer.”

“Well. Congratulations. I understand USC's English department is very good.”

“Yeah, that's my understanding too. I hope it's true.”

I walked Ethan out of the building, and we stopped at the foot of the steps. I turned to him. “Congratulations on your job. I hope you like it there.”

“I think I will. Congratulations on your wedding. And tell Pete that too.”

“I will.”

Ethan studied me for a minute, and I felt the faint echoes of the laser beams that had shot between us when we first met. I said, “I hope it works out with this new guy.”

That broke the spell. Ethan’s face relaxed, and he grinned. “Yeah. I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Good.” I held out my hand; he took it and pulled me into a bro-style, backslapping hug.

He stepped back and lifted his hand to me as he turned to walk away. I waved back then turned and walked into the library.

As usual, when I got home, Pete was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. I stopped inside the front door and inhaled. I wasn’t sure what it was but it smelled delicious.

Ethan would never have learned to cook. If we’d stayed together, that would have been my job. More likely, we would have eaten out most of the time.

I climbed the stairs and kissed Pete hello. “That smells great, whatever it is.”

“Leek and cheese pie. Remember the recipe I got from Cat in Oxford?”

“I do.” Cat was married to Pete’s distant cousin, Duncan Thomson. “We’re eating a lot of leeks lately.”

“They’re good for us. Go wash up, it’s almost ready.”

When I came back downstairs, Pete was dishing up a huge chunk of pie. He said, “There’s a salad in the fridge. Want to get that and the dressing?”

I did, and we dug in. I took my first bite and rolled my eyes. “Oh, my God. I think this is even better than Cat’s.”

“I put some dill in it.”

“Mm. That’s it.” I laid my fork down for a second so I wouldn’t inhale my pie too quickly. “Can I tell you something?”