A Secret to Die For Read online

  “Good boy.” Brian scratched the top of Sir K’s head. The bird ruffled his feathers in pleasure, so Brian did it again once he’d put the bird on a tree branch.

  “More,” Sir K said.

  Brian rolled his eyes. “I could probably spend all afternoon doing this and you still wouldn’t be happy.” He did it one more time then left the solarium to the bird’s indignant squawking.

  * * * *

  Brian was sitting on the patio, deeply engrossed in his book when he thought he heard a sound coming through the open doors behind him. He was on his feet seconds later, tiptoeing into the house.

  He made it to the living room doorway when he saw a man, his back to him as he walked toward the study.

  “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house,” Brian said with as much bravado as he could muster.

  “Your house?” The man turned, one red eyebrow arched. “If it is yours, then you must be Brian.”

  “Yeah. And? Answer my question.”

  “A little politeness will get you farther than your present high-handed attitude,” the man replied with more than a trace of contempt, before he continued on to the study.

  “Do not tell me how to act,” Brian growled, going after him. Then the penny dropped. “You must be Conley. Didn’t Mr. Johnson tell you that you were supposed to let me know before coming in here?”

  “And? I have a job to do. Two of them in point of fact. They won’t get done if I have to wait for your permission—” he made finger quotes, “—to do them. Your grandfather hired me. Your lawyer told me to finish with the books since I’m only half way through cataloguing them. The yard? I’ll keep taking care of it. I doubt you have a clue about what it takes to maintain it, other than mowing the grass, if that.”

  Brian was about to tell him where to go, and what to do when he got there. The sneer on Conley’s admittedly very handsome face made him rethink that. If I let him stick around I can mess with him, which might be amusing. Bring him down a peg or three, imperious SOB.

  “All right,” Brian said. “Have at it. But—” he held up one finger, “—you don’t come around when I’m not here, like you did yesterday. I’ve got the feeling you waited this late today because you wanted to avoid me and thought I’d be at work. Another thing, you do not tell me what to do. If I want to move some of the books around to make room for mine, deal. If I decide to…to put in a vegetable garden, it’s my choice so don’t mess with it if I do.”

  A brief smile flickered over Conley’s lips. “I take it you haven’t checked. There already is one, in the far corner of the yard Feel free to pick any vegetables you want. The same with the flowers. After all, as you so succinctly put it, this is your house.” Now he grinned. “Until you decide you’re tired of living here. If that happens before the year is up, you stand to lose a lot more than a place to live.”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Your grandfather and I were more than employer and employee. We were friends as well. Hell, I gave him Sir Kenith, a couple of years ago. He was mine, but when I had to move into a new place? Well, I’m sure you’ve already been subject to his screeching a time or two. My neighbors complained, which was understandable. I wasn’t about to sound-proof my condo, given the cost, and when I told Alistair about the problem he offered to turn the solarium into a place for him to live.”

  Brian almost felt sort of sorry for Conley, not that he’d show it. “Now Sir K is mine,” he replied somewhat maliciously.

  Conley shrugged. “I suppose he is, since he belonged to Alistair. It doesn’t mean I won’t visit him when I’m around.”

  “With my permission.”

  Conley ignored him, going to the desk. He took a thick pad from one of the drawers, flipping it open. “If you don’t mind, or even if you do, I have a job that I’d like to finish sometime in the next millennium.”

  “Be my guest,” Brian muttered, leaving the study. What an ass. I hope he gets done and out of my hair a lot sooner than that.

  * * * *

  Conley smiled as he watched the good-looking, dark-haired young man walk away. “It’s working perfectly so far, Alistair,” he said softly.

  No, he wasn’t talking to a ghost, but to the memory of the man he had known and even loved, if only platonically, for more than fifty years. Then Alistair had learned that his cancer was terminal and he had only months to live—something even Conley could do nothing about. Soon after the diagnosis, Alistair had confided in his friend that he was worried about his grandson.

  “He seems to have no ambition. No drive to do anything more than work a menial job, go home, and…Well, who knows what he does when he’s there. For certain he doesn’t go out and meet people or make friends, at least as far as I can tell.”

  “Perhaps you should connect with him?” Conley had replied. “Let him know you exist and try to motivate him into doing more with his life. Maybe pay for him to go to college to start with?”

  “Perhaps,” Alistair had said, “although that would run the risk of my son learning about me. I’ve stayed out of his life for a reason. He had a father who loved him and did his best for him, despite not being his birth father. I won’t let him know at this late date that it was all a lie. It could destroy him.”

  Conley had disagreed, but it wasn’t his place to try to change Alistair’s mind. Instead he’d come up with a suggestion concerning Brian. A suggestion which, after a great deal of fine-tuning on both his and Alistair’s parts, they had put into motion.

  Alistair had only worry. As he’d put it more than once, “Be very careful that you don’t let him get emotionally involved with you beyond friendship, and vice versa, until the time is right.”

  “You never did,” Conley had replied.

  “Ah, but I’m not gay. He is.” Alistair had chuckled. “I believe the fact I was married and have a son points to that. All right, not an entirely logical, I agree, but you know it’s the truth.”

  “Much to my dismay,” Conley had said, giving Alistair a hug. “If you were gay. Well, who knows what might have happened.”

  “We’d have had to move often, which would have played hell with my getting where I am today. It would have been difficult to explain why I had a lover who never seemed to age. Or why I never aged, if I’d taken you up on your offer. You’re a good man, my friend, but you know as well as I do it wouldn’t have worked.”

  “And now it’s too late,” Conley had replied sadly.

  “Everyone dies sometime. You know that as well as I. You’re just luckier than most. For you it generally happens only once every five hundred years.”

  “Barring unexpected problems. If you hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Conley had taken his hand, squeezing it. “At least I had your friendship, once you accepted what I am. For that I will always be grateful.”

  “It’s what true friends do.”

  You were a true friend, Alistair. Now I’m going to repay you by helping your grandson find his real potential. He shook his head. If I can figure out what that is. At least one of your worries has been taken care of. After the way I acted with him just now, there’s no way he’d ever consider me as…Hell, maybe I overplayed it? I’m supposed to become his friend. Someone he can talk to. But his attitude sucked and I responded in kind. I’ll have to do something about that, but not too fast. I doubt he’d believe I’ve had a complete change of heart in less than ten minutes, or even in ten days. Slow and easy will be my watchword for now.

  Chapter 3

  For a couple of days after Brian had met Conley the two men lived a tense co-existence when Brian was at home and Conley was there working with the books—which he did every day. Brian wondered if he had nothing else to do to fill his life.

  Sunday morning Conley took a break to go up and visit Sir K, after letting Brian know he was going to.

  The macaw was, to put it mildly, ecstatic to see Conley. As Brian watched from just inside the doorway, the man and bird h
eld an animated conversation—if two or three squawky words from Sir K compared to full sentences from Conley could be considered real conversation.

  It sure sounds like Sir K understands him and is replying. Who knows, maybe he does.

  At one point, Sir K hopped from Conley’s shoulder to a tree branch, then on to another, saying, “Catch me.”

  Conley took after him and they played tag through the room. Suddenly, the macaw was on Brian’s shoulder long enough to say “Catch me” again before taking off.

  “Go for it,” Conley said when Brian didn’t move. “He loves this game.”

  “How come he never asked me to play?” Brian muttered before going after Sir K.

  “He will, now that he knows you’re willing to.”

  Ten minutes later, laughing, the men dropped into two of the chairs in the center of the room. Sir K landed on Conley’s shoulder before hopping to Brian’s, and back again to Conley’s.

  “He never wears out,” Conley said fondly, scratching the macaw’s head.

  “He’s great. I’m glad he’s here. It gives me someone to talk to.”

  “You can talk with me.”

  Brian shot him a sour look. “I’d rather get three friendly words from him than your rants.”

  “Pardon me? I don’t rant. I call things the way I see them.”

  “And you see me as a useless waste of space,” Brian retorted, getting to his feet. He left the room before Conley could reply.

  He does, not that it’s true. I’m not. I have a job, a life. He knew the latter wasn’t really true. He didn’t have that many friends and all of them were people at work.

  “I have one thing going for me, maybe,” he said under his breath, heading downstairs to what had been Alistair’s studio. He had found a half-empty cabinet on one wall, the day he’d moved in, and stashed his drawing pads, pens, and pencils in it. Now he took out an almost empty pad, grabbed a couple of pencils, and went out to the patio. He would have returned to the solarium, as he wanted to do some drawings of Sir K but was afraid Conley might still be there.

  I don’t need him sneering at my work, telling me I might be a semi-talented amateur at best.

  He looked around the yard, studying it, which he never had before. He was impressed by what he saw and wondered how much of the landscaping had been done by Conley. A path made up of very large flat stones curved to a flower garden in the center. At one side of it was a small pond surrounded by rocks and more flowers. Around the edge of the yard were several flower beds and, as Conley had said, one devoted to various vegetables. There were three tall oak trees shading the area, a pine tree by the pond, and quite a lot of lawn as well—which needed mowing. He wondered if Conley actually expected him to do that, given the fact Conley was supposed to be in charge of the yard as one of his duties.

  He decided not to worry about it. Opening the pad, he began to draw the pond.

  * * * *

  Conley got that he’d pissed Brian off. He hadn’t intended to. He thought their playing with Sir Kenith might ease the tension between them. Tension he’d initiated to get Brian’s attention. It had worked, but not the way he’d hoped. “Because I was stupid.”

  “Stupid,” the macaw said. “Con stupid.”

  “Yeah, yeah, rub it in.”

  “Rub.” Sir Kenith pushed his head against Conley’s hand.

  “Later, bird. I have to see if I can fix things.” He set the macaw on a branch and made his escape before the bird could follow him.

  It took him a few minutes to find out where Brian had gone. Then he saw him sitting on the patio. He was doing something, but from his viewpoint through the open patio doors Conley couldn’t tell what, so he moved closer. Apparently, Brian was so engrossed in it that he didn’t hear him approach, which gave Conley a chance to look at the drawing he was creating.

  He inherited Alistair’s talent, if this is any indication. The drawing wasn’t complete, but what Brian had done so far was detailed and yet had an abstract feel to it in the play of light and shadow. How often did I try to get Alistair to do more than hang his paintings here, or on the walls at his company? Too often, with no success. He chuckled softly.

  Brian must have heard him because he glanced up before quickly closing the pad. “Prying?” he asked.

  “Not in the least.” Needing an excuse to be there, Conley added, “I have to mow the lawn. It’s beginning to look like a jungle.” He took a couple of steps toward the edge of the patio and paused. “Were you sketching something?”

  “Yes. I find it relaxes me.” Brian smiled briefly. “Of course now I have to head to work, which will have the opposite effect.”

  “May I see,” Conley asked, holding out his hand. Brian hesitated before giving him the pad. There were only three drawings. The two completed ones were, in Conley’s opinion, very well done and he said so.

  “I’m an amateur, nothing more,” Brian protested, ducking his head at Conley’s praise as he took back the drawing pad.

  “I disagree. I think you have talent. As much talent as Alistair did. Of course when I told him so he demurred, the same way you are. ‘It’s a hobby, nothing more’ he’d insist and I couldn’t convince him differently.”

  Brian worried his lip between his teeth. “I sometimes dream of taking art classes.”

  “Well, now you can afford to.”

  “In a year, maybe, when I’ve fulfilled the provisions of Grandpa’s will.”

  Conley decided now was not the time to argue the point, when Brian was finally starting to open up a bit. “Until then,” he said instead, “keep on drawing, and maybe try your hand at painting. I know for a fact Alistair has a ton of supplies in his studio. I’m sure he’d rather you use them than have to toss them because they…Do oils and acrylics have an expiration date?”

  “Probably.” Brian stood, starting to the door. “I might do that, but right now—”

  “You need to get to work, and I have a lawn to mow.”

  Conley watched him until he was out of view inside the house. Take it slow and easy. Don’t ruffle his feathers again. I’ve got almost a year to do what Alistair and I planned. If I don’t succeed by then…He sighed bleakly as he went to the garden shed to get the lawnmower.

  * * * *

  It was very late the following Sunday evening when Brian finally got home, after missing his normal bus. When will people learn the sign saying we close at nine does not mean come through the door at nine and then spend half an hour with your friends drinking coffee? If he’d been the manager, he would have politely asked them to leave. But he wasn’t, so he had to do the normal clean-up and then twiddle his thumbs while he waited for the customers to get their butts out of the shop. Since it was just him and the manager, he had no choice. Rules said no employee was left alone in there after dark.

  “Maybe it’s time to think about finding a new job,” he grumbled as he stood under the hot water in the shower, trying to unwind. The problem, and he knew it, was he had no skills other than waiting on people. He’d worked in a fast-food place while in high school, and then at various diners and small restaurants when he’d decided to leave home after graduation to make a life of his own. When he’d made up his mind that he liked Denver well enough to stay, he’d taken a couple of jobs as a counter waiter until he fell into the one at the coffee shop. He discovered he liked working there and hadn’t really considered quitting—until tonight.

  I’m being stupid. One late night and a missed bus does not mean I should start all over again. Stupid—or spoiled. Technically, I don’t have to work because everything’s being paid for. But without something to do other than sitting around on my ass all day, I’d go crazy. Yeah, spoiled works, or it would if I quit.

  He thought about what Conley had said when he’d seen his drawings. “I could go to college or art school. I wasn’t kidding him about that being a dream of mine. But am I good enough? He seems to think so, but what does he know? He was Grandpa’s hired help, and now the law fi
rm pays him to continue doing what he was before, I guess.”

  He got out of the shower and dried off, wondering as he did how long it took to catalogue books. Yeah, there’s a ton of them but from what it sounds like, from what he said, he and Grandpa had been friends for at least two years. Has he been doing it all that time? Not that he’d ask. It was none of his business. The man was here and doing it now, and after getting past his initial mistrust of Conley, he found he sort of liked having him around.

  Over the past few days, he and Conley had gotten into the habit of spending time with Sir K after Conley had arrived at the house. The macaw was a great distraction, and surprisingly, also helped the two men become something close to friends. Hardly bosom buddies, but not at loggerheads anymore.

  “Maybe, since I’m off tomorrow, I should ask him if he needs help with his cataloguing.” Or not, he decided. He figured he’d probably be more of a bother than anything else, since he had no idea what it involved. A lot, as long as he’s been at it, I suspect.

  He went to the bedroom window, looking out at the back yard. I could ask him to stay for supper. Maybe make a stew with some of the vegetables from the garden. The idea appealed to him. He liked to cook but rarely did, given that he worked evenings. Sandwiches are me, most of the time. So, yeah, tomorrow I’ll make stew and he’d damned well better join me for supper or I’ll be eating it for lunch for the next week.

  * * * *

  “You’re sure?” Conley asked as they left the solarium after their morning playtime with Sir Kenith.

  “No, I asked to hear myself talk,” Brian replied testily. “Yes, I’m sure I’d like you to stay for supper.”

  “Then I will. Stew, you said? That sounds good. The only thing is, I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Okay. It’s about time I used some of the vegetables from the garden before they go to seed, or whatever they do when they’re old. So it’ll be vegetable stew.”

  Conley laughed. “Generally when they get old, the beans and peas get tough and stringy, or in the case of tomatoes, over-ripe. The flavor goes…”