A Case of Christmas (8 page)

through the gloom.

The couple at the table in the back began to protest. They sounded very drunk. The

bartender switched on a high-power flashlight and went to deal with them.

“Damn,” Shane said. This was a sudden and disappointing end to the evening.

Linus’s shadow said, “We could try someplace else.”

“If the power is out, won’t it be out all over the island?”

“Probably. But there are three different distribution circuits across the island. And

not all backup generators are created equal.” Linus drained his glass. “Up to you.”

“Seeing that I haven’t eaten for three days…”

Linus laughed and set his glass down. “Let’s find you something to eat.”

They left the restaurant and walked down the promenade which was eerily dark. The

rain had stopped again. Beyond the sea wall, the ocean was a black and restless bulk,

noisily rushing in and sighing as it withdrew, unsatisfied.

“I don’t think I’m going to get lucky,” Shane said. He heard the echo of that and

winced.

Linus made a noncommittal noise. He said, “That would be a first, right?”

Shane threw him a curious look. Linus was gazing out at the ocean.

It looked like the power was out everywhere. Even the casino was a sharp black

silhouette against the stormy clouds. A few boats in the harbor had lights as owners

scrambled to secure moorings.

“Let me ask you something,” Shane said.

Linus glanced at him. “Sure.”

“How much of you was Norton? How much was an act? A role?”

Linus seemed to weigh his words. “You work undercover. You know how it is.”

“No,” Shane said. “I don’t do that kind of undercover. I pretend to be a buyer or a

seller for a few hours. There’s no elaborate legend involved.”

“There wasn’t for me either.”

“Come off it.”

“No, I’m being truthful with you. After the first couple of days, I didn’t bother to

stay in character. I didn’t have to. It’s not like you were asking a lot of personal

questions. You weren’t interested in who I was. You just wanted distraction. Stress

relief.”

“What? That’s not the case.”

“Sure it was,” Linus said. His tone was easy and confident. “You had a lot on your

mind. So there really wasn’t much acting involved beyond the costume.”

“Did you really have two pit bulls named Buster and Brown when you were growing

up?”

“Yep.”

“When you’d try to have friends over, did your parents really make them sit and

listen to Hank Williams and Kitty Wells and that kind of classic country music?”

“Who would make that up?”

“And you graduated from Bakersfield College with honors?”

Linus put his hands up in mock surrender. “I take it back. You
were
paying attention.

And I really do like sailing and swimming and sex. And painting is my hob—”

At the same time Shane was saying, “What about those terrible paint—” He realized

what Linus had said and stopped.

There was a silence, and Linus said, “Hey!”

“Well, I mean they weren’t
that
bad.”

“That’s even worse. Now you’re taking pity on me.” But Linus was laughing, and

Shane laughed too. The exchange reminded him of how it had been with Norton. Relaxed

and natural. Maybe it hadn’t all been artificial.

Linus said, “Okay, I’m not Rembrandt; I know. I’m not your kind of thing.”

“I thought you were.” Shane hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It was probably the

Buffalo Milk on a very empty stomach or simply the weirdness of the night. The waves

were so high now they were crashing against the rails of the promenade. Boats rose and

slid over the heaving water.

Linus said in an easy, neutral tone—inviting Shane to laugh at what was old history,

“That was mostly injured ego, don’t you think?”

“You think so?” Shane strived for the same impersonal note.

All the same, he could sense Linus watching him, trying to read him. “At this point, I

hope so. Otherwise.”

Full stop. He didn’t finish the thought, and Shane discovered he did not have the

heart to hear another cool assessment of their former relationship or his mental and

emotional state, past or present. Let Linus believe what he liked. Easier on Shane’s pride.

It was moot anyway.

They had finally reached the end of Crescent Avenue. They stood outside a patio

enclosed by a wrought-iron fence decorated with flower baskets. The sign creaking

loudly in the sea breeze read Fiesta Inn.

“I’ve never eaten there,” Shane said to fill the lengthy, unexpected silence

developing between them. “But the bar is nice. It’s got that retro Rat Pack vibe.”

“Maybe you’d like to have dinner there sometime,” Linus said.

He had to admire the phrasing. Especially given their previous conversation. Linus

wasn’t exactly asking him to dinner, but he was throwing the idea out there. They could

start over, if Shane liked. No subterfuge this time. No hidden agenda.

“Maybe so,” Shane said.

Once again, he wondered if one reason it had been so easy with Linus was because

Linus and he were a lot alike. He had been misled, diverted by the trappings of “Norton.”

The hair, the funky clothes, the pirate earring. But if Linus had really been the kind of

guy he appeared to be, they probably wouldn’t have been so compatible. It had always

seemed to Shane like he and Linus were somehow on the same wavelength, and now he

understood that it was because they both had police issue radios. Close enough.

“Sorry to say, but we should head back.” Linus interrupted his thoughts. “If the

waves get any higher, those boats are going to end up on the promenade.”

“You’re probably right.”

“There was a bad storm two years ago around this time of year. It did a lot of

damage.” Linus sounded distracted, like his thoughts were miles away.

They were silent on the walk back to Clarissa Avenue. Shane was trying to decide if

he wanted to invite Linus in for a drink. He wasn’t sure. He was tempted—by any name,

he found Linus attractive—but he thought it might be a bad idea. His instincts where

Linus was concerned had not been good so far.

And whatever Linus was thinking, he kept to himself.

“What we could do,” Linus began as they approached Shane’s cottage. He broke off

as metal clanged on cement and a dark figure burst out of the shrubbery and ran past

them.

Shane exclaimed, “What the—? Hey!”

“Did I—? Did he just—?”

“He was trying to pry open that back window.” Shane sprinted after the black-clad

figure.

Or at least that was his intention. Two steps in, he realized—
no
. Definitely not. He

stopped, hand to his side, and Linus raced past, saying, “I’ve got him.”

Shane was assuming teenage vandals—the island did not have much of a crime

rate—but the intruder did not move like someone youthful. He scuttled up the street like a

frightened beetle, turned a sharp right, banged through a cottage gate, and scurried up the

steps. A door opened and slammed shut a moment later.

Linus stopped. He stared at the house and then walked back to meet Shane who had

paused to pick up the screwdriver his housebreaker had been using to pry the window

screen off. They met halfway.

Linus said, “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“I know who your prowler is.”

Shane studied the golf cart parked in the front garden. It had a familiar look to it.

Especially the grill. He said slowly, “Bradley Hupert?”

Linus said flatly, “That makes two hit-and-runs in one week.”

Chapter Four

I
t took long and determined presses of the doorbell before they heard the sound of

sliding locks, and the door, decorated with a folksy wreath of twigs and shells, at last

swung open.

The feeble glow of the solar lights strung through the shrubs surrounding the house

illuminated the vision of Mr. Hupert with his bathrobe tied firmly about his plump waist

and his face shiny with perspiration.

“Well, well!” Hupert exclaimed in a high, frightened voice. “It’s late for a social call,

boys.”

“It’s not a social call,” Linus said.

“I-I don’t understand.” Hupert looked from Linus to Shane.

“May we come in, Bradley?” Shane asked.

“Oh, I don’t know…” But Hupert fell back a few steps as Shane moved forward,

followed by Linus.

The house was dark, but then the power was off everywhere, so that didn’t prove that

Hupert had been out earning a place on Santa’s Naughty list.

A kerosene lantern burned on a large, black, brass-studded trunk. It cast skittish,

indeterminate light over a small living room furnished in vintage seaside style. Brass 3D

seagull wall hangings, rattan chairs and sofas, driftwood art objects. A small plastic

Christmas tree sat on a dining room table. There were a couple of Hickory Farm packages

beneath the faded boughs, and a bottle of what looked like mulled wine.

“What were you looking for, Bradley?” Shane asked.

“L-looking for?” Hupert glanced around the shadowy room as though seeking a clue

to Shane’s meaning.

“When you tried to break into my house just now.”

“Me?”
Hupert clutched his robe over his throat.

“Yes, you. I followed you,” Linus said. “From Shane’s house to yours. I never lost

sight of you.”

“There’s s-some mistake…” Hupert faltered. Even in the poor light they could see

sweat trickling down his face. Granted, part of that was due to the exertion of racing up

the street.

Linus’s eyes met Shane’s, and Shane knew they were both thinking the same thing:

not a tough nut. It would take nothing to crack him.

Shane refastened his gaze on Hupert. He’d had the smarts to remove his trousers so

that he looked like he’d been in bed. His left foot was bare, and his right foot wore one of

those dopy reindeer socks from the day before. His pale, rather spindly legs were

wobbling; his knees were probably knocking together beneath his worn, plaid bathrobe,

and as Shane studied him, he felt a sudden, inexplicable shift from offended irritation and

the familiar desire to dispense justice on the hapless head of the offender to…he wasn’t

exactly sure what.

Sympathy? Pity?

Whatever it was, it was a sea change. For God’s sake—yes, literally for God’s

sake—it was Christmas Eve, after all. This little man was already half crazy with

loneliness. What were they going to do? Have the old coot thrown into jail?

He said, “I’ll tell you what you were after. You were looking for Ed Lacey’s papers.

You were looking for his notes and dive charts and treasure maps.”

Hupert visibly jumped, as though Shane had demonstrated a terrifying feat of

perspicuity. “No! No, I—”

“What I don’t know,” Shane interrupted without heat, “is why you waited so long.

I’ve owned that cottage for four years. I’m away for months at a time. Why did you

decide tonight, in the middle of a hurricane, to break in and steal those papers?”

Hupert licked his lips. “You’ve got it all wrong. I was—I was out for a walk.” He

stopped, perhaps realizing how feeble it sounded, how useless it was to continue.

Linus shook his head as though deeply disappointed.

Hupert’s face twisted. He burst out, “I thought it was all gone! I never dreamed

everything was still sitting there. Ed died while I was back east visiting family. I was

away for six weeks, and by the time I got home, the cottage had been sold. I was told all

his things had been donated to charity or sent to his family. It never occurred to me. But

when I walked into that house yesterday, it was like I stepped into a dream.”

Yes, Shane remembered how Hupert had stared around himself, moving forward like

someone who had stepped into a dreamscape.

“All Ed’s books…the checkerboard was sitting where he’d left it the last time we

played…the throw pillows Linda embroidered with Spanish galleons. It was like they

were standing in the next room, like Ed and Linda and Betty might walk in any moment.”

Shane didn’t know what to say. He could feel Linus waiting for him to respond, but

he had nothing.

“You’re after sunken treasure?” Linus asked. A very quick adding of two and two.

“I… It isn’t… You won’t understand,” Hupert said. He was still speaking to Shane.

“You look at those papers and those photos and you see an old man’s junk. They won’t

mean anything to you.
I asked you
if I could look through them, but I could see on your

face you didn’t want to be bothered. You’ll forget about them or dump them out. I know.

I was a young man once. Busy and important.”

“Are we talking about sunken treasure?” Linus asked Shane.

“I have no idea what we’re talking about,” Shane replied. It wasn’t true.

Uncomfortably, he recalled his thoughts as he’d closed the door on Hupert. It was more

than that, though. Hupert’s comment about feeling that his long-gone wife and friends