2nd Fiddle Read online

  2nd Fiddle

  Chapter One

  Sheets of rain pounded the windows, battering the glass in deafening waves. Douglas fir and cedar thrashed and bowed in the blustery wind, and the usually glassy lake had whitecaps rolling across the surface. I put another log on the fire. Even my cats, Panic and Gammon, had taken refuge from the raging storm, curled together in a single ball of spotted fur by the hearth. The lake had already risen several feet, and there was no sign of the rain letting up any time soon. Luckily, my cupboards were well stocked, so there was no danger of starving to death.

  On the other hand, I might well die of sheer boredom if I couldn't get outside soon. It was almost June, and I was ready for summer.

  Through the rain-streaked windows I could make out the shape of an approaching boat. Curious, I watched as it bobbed along the choppy surface, fighting its way through the rough water. The red cabin cruiser made several tentative passes before finally pulling up to my dock. I didn't recognize the boat, nor the two men draped in yellow rain slickers who struggled to secure it to the metal cleats on my dock. Through my binoculars, I could see them peering through the driving rain at my house. When they started to make their way up the ramp, I decided to check on my gun, which hung next to my purse in the clothes closet.

  I carried the gun about as often as I did the purse, which was hardly ever. I'm not normally an alarmist, but the sight of two strange men approaching my house where I live alone, secluded in the woods, with no access road, made me a little nervous. The fact that we were in the middle of a raging storm, with the phone lines already down, made me think that this might be a good time to make sure the thing was loaded. It was.

  "Can I help you?" I asked, opening the sliding glass door just far enough to stick my head out. My right hand was wrapped tightly around the butt of my .38, just out of view.

  "We're looking for Cassidy James, the private investigator," the taller one shouted. They were both sopping wet, despite their slickers, and looked fairly harmless up close. Still, you never knew.

  "And who are you?" I asked, eyeing them. The taller one looked to be in his forties, the other one, who was shivering, seemed somewhat younger.

  "We live here on the lake," the tall one said. "Over on Cedar Ridge. We need your help."

  I'm a sucker for anyone who says they need me. Sure they could have been cold-blooded killers for all I knew, but one little mention of needing my help and I threw open the door and let them in.

  "Thank you," the younger one said, stepping into the entryway. "I was afraid you weren't going to let us in. Is that a gun?" His blue eyes widened with alarm.

  "Uh, just a precaution," I said, feeling ridiculous. Now that I could see their faces, I felt sure they were not out to harm me. Still, that's probably what people had said when Jeffrey Dahmer had invited them over for drinks. I stashed the gun in the closest drawer and showed them where to hang their wet coats.

  The taller one, who looked as if he had stock in Nautilus, smiled warmly. "I'm Towne Meyers," he said, combing his black hair back with his fingers before extending his hand. "And this is Rick." I shook hands and was glad to note that both of them had nice, firm grips. Not the killer grip that some men insist upon, but no wimpy dead-fish grip either. I like to think I can tell a lot about a guy by his handshake. Sometimes, I'm right.

  "We're sorry to barge in on you like this without calling or anything, but the phones are down, and we needed to talk to you right away. We found you in the phone book. You are a private investigator, aren't you?" Rick spoke rapidly, his soft voice strained with worry.

  "Yes, I am," I answered. "Why don't you gentlemen come on in and get warm by the fire. I'll put some water on the stove, and then you can tell me all about it. You look like you could both use something hot."

  They followed me into the living area which was really one big room. The kitchen opened into the dining room which opened into the living room. There were no dividing walls, making conversation from room to room possible. I filled the copper kettle from the faucet and got down three cups. "Tea or coffee?" I asked. "Or something stronger?"

  When I turned around, Rick had kneeled down by the fire and was stroking the cats awake.

  "Oh, my God!" he said. "They are too cute. I love them. What kind are they?"

  "Their daddy was a Bengal and their mother was an Egyptian Mau," I told him. "They were bred for their spots. The portly one is Gammon. That's Panic with the loud purr. Usually they're running around tearing up the house. Today they're hiding from the storm."

  Rick lifted Panic onto his shoulder and began stroking her long, silky tail. I could hear the purr all the way across the room.

  "Oh, dear," Towne said, playing with his moustache. "Now he'll want one."

  "Feel her fur," Rick demanded, turning his shoulder so Towne could stroke Panic's back. "Have you ever felt anything so luxurious in all your life?"

  'You see?" Towne said to me, laughing. "I knew it. I just hope you don't have a cow out back. Soon he'll be wanting one of those, too."

  Rick feigned a pout and walked over to the kitchen. "Tea for me, and since you offered, I will have just a splash of something in it. Brandy? Or whiskey. Whatever you have. It's not just the cold. This whole thing has got me all jittery."

  I dug in the cupboard and found a bottle of Jim Beam. "For you too?" I asked Towne.

  "Oh, why not?" he said. "I've already taken the day off work. I don't make a habit of drinking before five, but this hasn't been an ordinary day — or week, for that matter. Just a dollop."

  I poured a splash of whiskey in all three cups, squeezed a bit of lemon in each, and poured in steaming hot water, letting the tea bags steep until the water was a deep, rich brown. While we were waiting, I studied the two men, who in turn walked around examining my house. Towne was the larger of the two, with a weight lifter's body and a face that had been ravaged by childhood acne. His eyes were warm and intelligent, and he had a lopsided smile that saved his face from being homely.

  Rick was Towne's physical opposite. Slender to the point of almost being frail, Rick was light-complected with sandy blond hair and blue eyes. If he hadn't been so pretty, he could have been my twin brother. His eyes sparkled, and his smile was contagious. He had no trouble making himself at home as he toured my living room. Like a child, he seemed to find delight in even the smallest objects. Clearly, Panic was smitten, and even Gammon had begun following Rick around, swatting at his heels until he hefted her up too and carried her on his other shoulder. I don't always trust my own instincts but I've never known a cat to be wrong.

  I gave the men their mugs and sat down in my favorite blue swivel chair. They settled onto the couch and the cats snuggled onto Rick's lap. It felt like one big, happy family even though I had no idea who these men were or what they wanted. The rain continued to pelt the window, and the fire crackled comfortingly. I waited for one of them to speak up and finally Towne blurted, "We're being blackmailed."

  "I see."

  "We have no idea who it is!" Rick added. "It's obviously someone in town. But we've been so careful!"

  "What Rick's trying to say," Towne interrupted, "is that we've tried very hard to conceal the nature of our relationship. Our particular lifestyle might be frowned upon by some people, especially in a place like Cedar Hills. And now someone has not only found us out but has threatened to expose us publicly."

  "What Towne's trying to say," Rick said, mimicking his friend with a wry grin, "is that we're gay. I hope that doesn't offend you. I know some people can't stand the thought of being in the same room with a couple of queers. Afraid it's contagious or something. You're not like that, are you?"

  I laughed at his worried expression. "I think you're safe with me," I said, adding, "I'm a lesbian."
r />   The look of relief and surprise on both their faces was almost comical.

  "Thank God," Towne said, taking a shallow sip of his tea. "At least we don't have to tiptoe around that subject."

  "Can you believe it?" Rick said, clearly pleased.

  "The only private investigator in the book turns out to be one of us."

  "So tell me about the blackmail," I said, smiling at their reactions, "and start from the beginning."

  The two of them talked, interrupting each other often, which didn't seem to bother either of them. It was like listening to a duet, impossible at times to separate the melody from the harmony.

  Towne worked as an accountant in Kings Harbor, about ten miles south of Cedar Hills. Rick was a fairly successful artist. The two of them had been together sixteen years, a minor miracle for gay men in the Nineties. That they were both alive in this decade was itself a miracle. Their early commitment to monogamy may have not only saved their marriage, but probably their lives as well.

  They'd finally earned enough money to buy their house on the lake two summers ago. The house had belonged to Towne's uncle, who'd sold it to Towne. He'd had better offers but he'd wanted to keep it in the family. Rick and Towne still had their house in Kings Harbor and during the rainy season they sometimes stayed in town, but whenever they could, they spent their time at the lake.

  A week ago, they'd received a threatening letter. Rick had gone down to the dock to get the mail and found among the bills an envelope addressed "Queers." With a sick feeling, he opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter.

  "It's right here if you want to read it," he said, handing me the typed sheet.

  The first thing I noticed was that it appeared to have been done on a word processor, which I doubted very many people in Cedar Hills owned. On the other hand, the local library had recently purchased a few Macintosh computers, so anyone now had access to one. The message was brief and to the point:

  "Get out of town. Now. If we wanted to live with faggots, we'd move to San Francisco. Don't wait for this to get ugly. It will be your loss. I'm sure your boss at MacIntyre's Accounting Services would be very interested in some of the stories I could tell him. And it sure would be a shame if something happened to those pretty little pictures you fruit loops like to paint. Can I make myself clearer? Scram!"

  The letter wasn't signed.

  "You said this was in your mailbox. But there's no stamp or address." I turned the letter over. There were no stains or smudges.

  "I guess it's safe to assume that someone drove by the boat dock and put it in our mailbox. We get our mail by boat like almost everyone else without road access," Towne said. "Obviously it's someone close by, but that's what's so baffling. Absolutely no one knows us in town. We do our shopping and banking in Kings Harbor. Even Gus Townsend, the marina owner, doesn't know where I work. How could someone know so much about us when no one really knows us?" His intelligent eyes were troubled, and he took a long drink of his tea.

  "We try hard not to offend anyone," Rick said, using his finger to swirl the lemon in his cup. "The reason we love living out here is because our house is so private. We certainly don't hold hands or anything in public. I don't see how anyone could even know we're gay, let alone that I'm an artist. It's downright spooky."

  This may have been true, but the way gossip traveled in Cedar Hills, if even one person knew, there was a good chance half the town did too.

  As the storm continued to rage outside, I took notes, asking anything I could think of that might turn out to be useful, but there really wasn't much to go on. In addition to the letter, they'd received two calls, the most recent coming that morning just a few hours before the phones on the lake went dead. In both cases the message was simple: "Get out of town, fags," the voice had warned. It had been male, but beyond that, the voice was unremarkable. Even before the most recent call, they had talked about going to the police but finally agreed to hire a private investigator.

  I found myself totally charmed by these two men. Towne seemed so strong and sensible, and Rick was funny and sensitive. They complemented each other beautifully, and it was clear they were a good match. Unfortunately, someone in Cedar Hills didn't seem to agree.

  "Have you seen anyone following you? Noticed a car or boat hanging around?"

  "Believe me, ever since we got the letter, we've been looking over our shoulders. Neither of us has noticed anything strange," Towne said.

  "Have you considered changing your number?"

  "What would be the point?" Rick asked. "They'd just send another letter. Or worse, pay a visit." He had a point.

  "What strikes me as unusual," I said, "is that they're not asking for money. And the letter does say 'we' so I'm assuming there is more than one person involved. Usually, blackmail is used for profit. But whoever this is doesn't ask for money to keep your secret. They simply want you to leave town. Which is strange since, as you say, people hardly ever see you together. I think once we figure out why they want you to leave, we should be able to get to the bottom of this."

  I didn't tell them that I had absolutely no idea where to start. I wasn't too worried though, because these things usually came to me at odd times, like in the shower or cooking dinner. In the last year, I'd begun to trust my instincts and to not panic when I didn't have any. Things would fall into place once I started nosing around, I told myself, and smiled at them reassuringly so they wouldn't detect my own self-doubts.

  We made arrangements for me to meet Rick at their house the next day after I'd had a chance to draw up an estimate and some sort of plan. The rain had finally begun to let up and off to the west, just over Cedar Hills Ridge, a few patches of aqua could be seen between the steely clouds. Rick took this as a good omen.

  "Look!" he said as they got their coats. "It's starting to clear. I feel better already. I'm so glad we decided to go with a private detective. Especially you. It's the first time in a week I've felt this good."

  "That's probably just the whiskey," Towne teased.

  Even though we'd just met, I felt as if I'd known the men for ages. And what surprised me more was that I really liked them. I tended to be pretty picky about who I called friends, but I had a good feeling about both Rick and Towne.

  Donning my rain jacket I walked them down to the dock and helped them shove off. It was barely drizzling but the wind was still fierce and quite nippy. I hugged my jacket closer as I watched their red boat battle the choppy waves across the cove and disappear from view.

  Back in the house, I threw another log on the fire and decided it really wasn't too early for a glass of wine. I had a few bottles left of a good Oregon Pinot Gris I'd discovered, and I figured getting new clients was good enough reason to celebrate. In truth, I was more excited about the prospect of two new friends than the case itself. I sat by the fire, sipping my wine, with Panic and Gammon for company.

  I'd only been a licensed detective for less than a year, but after solving my first case, it seemed everyone in town knew who I was and what I did for a living. And surprisingly enough, I'd been kept busy through the winter. A couple of my clients had been wealthy lake-house owners on the verge of divorce, but some were the relatively poor town folk. I'd spent two whole weeks following a man whose wife was sure he was cheating on her, only to discover that he was actually building her a cabin on the lake as a surprise. I'd helped track down a run-away teen who'd made it all the way to Gold Beach, and most recently, I'd discovered which employee at McGregor's was pilfering small change from the cash drawer. Most of the locals tended to pay me in barter, which was fine with me since in reality I wasn't hurting financially, thanks to a generous insurance policy from my first lover's death. In fact, I sometimes preferred the barter system. I'd gotten my dock and decks pressure-washed and enough firewood chopped for the next winter that way. And I knew that if it weren't for the barter system, I might not be in business at all. My clients came to me by word of mouth, but every now and then someone found me through the Ye
llow Pages as Rick and Towne had done.

  All in all, it was a satisfactory way to make a living and had I not been pining away for the woman of my dreams, who had spent the winter and now the spring in Southern California, it might have been a nice year.

  As always, thinking of Erica made my heart ache. My first client, Erica Trinidad, was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever known. She awakened feelings in me I thought had long since died along with my first lover some three years earlier. That Erica could bring me to such depths of passion both terrified and excited me. From the very first kiss we had been intense and passionate lovers. Just when I was beginning to think I'd found a second lifetime partner, she slipped away.

  "It's something I have to pursue, Cass," she'd said that morning, her piercing blue eyes alive with excitement. "A chance to have one of my novels on screen! And she wants me to co-write the screenplay. I'll be working directly with probably the best female producer in the business. It's not about the money. It's a chance to break into a whole new field!" Erica's face was even more beautiful than usual, as she went on and on about her new career opportunities. I sat at the kitchen table, nodding, smiling, listening, waiting for her to get to the part where she asked me to come with her. Nine months later, I was still waiting for that part.

  At first, she called regularly, and we'd made plans for when we'd next see each other. But she never directly invited me to visit, and the calls had become less frequent. When she did call, there wasn't much to talk about. The truth was, our time together had been spent mostly in bed, and we hadn't had enough time to build common experiences.

  But it was the experiences we did share that were driving me crazy. Having managed to repress whatever sexual feelings I'd had after Diane died, I'd been completely unprepared for the way my body responded to Erica. She had waltzed into my life, ignited a raging fire and then left me to deal with the smoldering coals. They'd begun to die down some, but I feared the slightest breeze would fan them right back to life. I was a walking sexual time bomb. I had sex on the brain. Face it, I told myself as I got up to pour another glass of wine, I was horny.