Monsters Under the Bed (2 page)

“He’s the next of kin?”

“Yes, indeed. The only surviving relative that we know of. He is staying at the manor house. Here is the address.” Mr. Niedermayer handed me a slip of paper with an address pointing to an outlandishly fancy residential neighborhood, Sea Cliff, up in the hills. The prices of estates there went up from several millions, and the crime rate was nearly nonexistent.
Swanky
. “The others mentioned in the will inherit the rest. The second of them is Giulia Capello, Mr. Chance’s nanny.”

“Mo’s nanny?” Wealthy folk had their own eccentricities, so it wasn’t shock speaking, you understand. The question of family was always on the top of my list.

“Yes, an Italian woman, lovely. A real lady.” Mr. Niedermayer sounded smitten, and I wondered what the story there was. “I have met her, of course. Briefly but…. A fine woman indeed. Of the highest order.” Yup, definitely enamored.

“Where is she now?”

“Hmm. I believe Ms. Capello is staying at a five-star hotel in the city. A moment, if you please.” The lawyer rummaged through two stacks of papers, with a frown, until he found what he was after. He gave me the information. The Ritz-Carlton. Couldn’t get much higher than that, but on a nanny’s salary?

“Is she rich?”

“I believe her family has money, yes. Independently wealthy, I believe, is the correct way of putting it. I am under the impression the Capello family might actually be… aristocratic.”

“Why take a job as a nanny?”

“The two families are friends, from what I gathered. And Ms. Capello adored little Mo down to her very soul, of that I have no doubt.” The little lawyer’s chin lifted in defiance, as if he were challenging me to refute him. I didn’t know enough, so I had no reply to offer. When he saw I wasn’t going to speak, he continued more neutrally again. “Third, Luther Lovell, Mo’s chauffeur and personal bodyguard. He owns his own private security company, Strike A Peace, if I remember correctly. Oh, here.” Digging through his papers, Mr. Niedermayer produced a thin folder with the necessary private and corporate information on Mr. Lovell. “I don’t know where he lives, but that is where you can find him most of the time.” He pointed at the folder. “He spends most of his time at work. He’s a very dedicated man.”

“Ex-military?”

“Former Navy Seal, I believe.” Mr. Niedermayer leaned forward, giving a noticeably surreptitious look around, and then whispered loudly, “And other secret, clandestine, and dangerous things too, I’m sure, but I have no proof.” Clearing his throat, he pulled back to his former leisurely stance. “Nonetheless, a fine fellow when I met him. Always on guard, you understand. Never let Mr. Chance out of his sight. Not once.”

“True dedication and loyalty are hard to come by,” I said, noncommittally.

“Ah, yes, well, indeed,” Mr. Niedermayer muttered, and I suspected he in fact didn’t hold soldiers in high regard. “And fourth, but not least, Norbert Parkinson, Mr. Chance’s butler and cook. He’s of fine British stock, trained professionally as a butler, the way they did in the days of yore. Upstanding fellow, though a bit, um, stiff. Anyway, he resides in the manor house as well, for the time being anyway. I do not know what his plans for the future are, but the authorities have requested everyone mentioned in the will stay put where they are, naturally.”

“Of course.” Due to my perfect recall, I hadn’t missed what he had said earlier. “But you mentioned a fifth person, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, indeed.” Mr. Niedermayer offered an apologetic smirk before delving into his records yet again. “The fifth name was the latest to be added to the will. All the others have been in the will for over a decade, but this new person only for five years.” He studied the document in front of him. I had assumed he would know the files by heart, but perhaps he was one of those perfectionists who always wanted to get everything right. “Ah yes, here we are. Rex Ford, a former member of the SFPD.”

I believe at that moment my blood ran colder than ice.

N
OT
showing Mr. Niedermayer what a mess I was inside was the hardest thing I’d had to do in a long while. I continued asking him questions, though for the moment I had gotten all I was going to get out of him. Finally, I gave him my farewell, returned to my car, and drove straight home.

The plump lawyer had given me a copy of the codicil from five years ago, with my Ford’s name on it. After I parked in our driveway, I held it tightly in my hands, trying to decide the best course of action. Mr. Niedermayer had admitted it was unlikely all the inheritors had been contacted by the authorities as yet, as he himself had been instructed not to, pending the outcome of the autopsy and police investigation.

So it was possible Ford knew nothing about the whole affair.

And Mo had referenced Ford’s shooting five years ago in his hiring letter to me. But why would Mo Chance give anything to Ford, a man he had never met, for all I knew?

With loads of questions buzzing inside my head, I got out of the car. I was more than a little dazed, I admit, as I made my way to the front door. The house was relatively quiet, but when I reached the back of the house, the sitting room was filled with soft jazz. The terrace doors were open, and I could see Ford outside in the back garden, by the flowerbed, digging happily away, humming along and swaying a bit to the music.

To me, he looked divine. Always had.

Did I seriously suspect he might have had something to do with Mo Chance’s untimely demise? No, I didn’t. But questions were raised by this curious coincidence.

“Hey, babe,” I called out.

Ford practically jumped out of his skin, his broad chest heaving as he turned to look at me. “Fuck, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” I sauntered over, looking at the flowers he had planted. I couldn’t identify them, as I had zero knowledge of botany, but the specks of color made me happy for some reason. Ford loved flowers and animals, so he couldn’t be a villain, could he? “Looks great.”

“Really?” Ford beamed, pleased I had noticed the fruits of his hard labor. “What brings you back so early? I thought you’d be gone all day.”

“You busy?”

Ford checked his wristwatch. “I have a garden consultation at four thirty, so not yet. Free as a bird. What’s up?”

I hedged. “Have you been following this Chance business on the news?”

Ford touched my thigh, squeezing gently, reassuringly. “It’s a big case. You know, if you were on the case, no one would have anything to worry about. You’re the best. If there’s something fishy going on anywhere, you always figure it out.”

His compliment felt super sweet, and I hated that I had doubts about him in my head. “What do you think happened to him?”

Ford’s eyes widened. “Mo Chance?” I don’t know why he seemed so surprised. Was it because I’d asked about Mo or because I’d asked for his opinion? It’s not like we never talked about my cases. Sure, I kept particulars and details out of our conversations, but he was smart, and he had an uncanny ability to tell what people were all about. “Do I think he killed himself? No, I don’t.”

That
did
throw me off a bit. “You don’t?”

“No.” Ford’s tone was adamant, decisive. “I never told you this, but… I met him once, when I was in the hospital after the shooting. He brought me flowers and gave me his well-wishes. He seemed so very young and alone somehow, like he desperately needed someone but didn’t have anyone. He was only thirteen at the time. I was the one shot, but he was the one I felt sorry for.”

Why had Mo been at the hospital? “How come you never told me?”

Ford shrugged. “Guess it never came up. Why?”

I hope I didn’t sound as pissed as I felt, for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely. “I’m investigating the circumstances of his death, you’ve met him, and you didn’t bother telling me.”

Ford straightened up, and he was getting angry too. “When you left this morning, you didn’t tell me it was
his
death you were investigating. Don’t bite my head off.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I knelt down next to him while he remained on his knees, and I kissed him lightly on the lips. He didn’t respond. “I’m sorry, Ford. It’s just that….” I couldn’t tell him he was inheriting from Mo Chance. The contents of the will weren’t on public record yet and were not accessible even to the heirs themselves at this juncture.

Ford’s face softened. “Jeez, Sam. You haven’t been on the case for a single whole day, and you’re already in full-out panic mode? How uncharacteristic of you.”

Trying to defuse the situation, I said, “Maybe I just missed you.”

Now Ford was definitely pleased, and he preened a little but tried to downplay it. “You just saw me this morning. And did we or did we not have some one-on-one time in the shower?”

I played dumb. “Did we? I forget. Maybe we should do a refresher course.”

Ford freaking snickered. “Now?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied in the affirmative.

By way of the shower, we found ourselves back in our bed. It wasn’t even noon yet, and here I was, slacking off from the case to have a private assignation with my significant other.

But when Ford pushed me down on the bed and swallowed my cock whole, I honestly wouldn’t have cared if Mo Chance himself stood in the room, frowning and shaking his finger at me.

From the start of our relationship, this was how it had been. What Ford wanted, he got. Right now, he seemed to desire a taste of my dick, so with equal enthusiasm, I let him have it. All too soon, he flipped me over onto my stomach and began a merciless onslaught over my exposed taint. His rough hands pulled my ass cheeks apart while his mouth did heavenly things to me.

With efficient expertise, he prepped me, slicked his cock up, and thrust into me.

I wanted it like this today, an almost bruising claiming. I wanted his truth inside of me. And his love and passion were undeniable truths to me. I would never doubt them.

At first, Ford thrust into me leisurely, taking his time, yanking me up by my hips until I was on my hands and knees with my face buried in the sheets. But then, after a while, he shoved me back down on the mattress with his hand on my upper back, and his weight came down on me, and then he was really pounding the shit out of me.

And I loved it. Anal sex wasn’t something I had always enjoyed. I don’t know why it was different with him, considering the basic act hadn’t changed. I could only attribute my feelings for him as the cause.

Ford bit my neck below the ear, hard enough to leave a mark. It would show over my collar.

I snaked my hand underneath me to fist my cock, and I started stroking as fast and hard as I could. But then Ford inched his hand onto my dick, too, and took over, and I was forced to yield to his mastery over me and my body.

He felt like an animal today, but then again, so did I. It was pure sexual gratification, a need roaring through our veins, pumping inside our hearts and groins.

Our climax, mutual by a few seconds difference, reflected that. I came so hard I must have passed out for a split second. When Ford stilled and groaned loudly, his cock buried deep, I felt his wet heat spilling inside of me, filling me like an overflowing cup.

As we came down together, he slipped out of me and onto his side next to me with a thud. Grinning, he brushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes. “Great as always, Sam. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ford.” I closed my eyes, relaxing, intent on taking a wee nap.

But Ford shoved me on the shoulder brusquely while laughing. “Get up, lazy. You’ve got work to do. But shower first. No need to upset the clientele with smells of sex.”

Cursing my protesting, popping joints, I made my way back to the job at hand.

M
Y
FIRST
stop after a quick washup and change of clothes was Mo Chance’s manor house in Sea Cliff, one of the most luxurious neighborhoods in San Francisco, known for its vast ocean views and large, opulent estates. It didn’t surprise me his property was situated there, but it did surprise me to actually see it in person.

After a lush, scenic drive up into the hills, I found myself at the address Mr. Niedermayer had given me. I was ready to encounter cops and press there, right along with nosy busybodies and crime buffs. But the place was vacant and looked practically devoid of all signs of life.

The wooden structure with two imposing conical towers on each wing reminded me of old-fashioned horror movies, reminiscent of a Gothic castle à la Dracula. Despite the noon sunshine, I shivered at the unnerving vibe running up and down my spine. If the building had once had a colorful paint job, it was long gone now. The house appeared gray and lifeless, and the half-dead vines growing everywhere only enhanced the dead ambience. San Fran had a lot of old wooden buildings that had been conserved, but I hadn’t expected one out here. Huge oak trees framed the manor house, but even they looked inanimate and barren, their skeletal limbs reaching for the house itself.

I suppressed another shudder and made my way to the front door.

After I’d rung the bell—with a cord, no less—it took a while for anyone to answer. When the door finally opened, I saw an incredibly tall and awfully thin man standing in the foyer. He was dressed in an immaculate dark suit. He had a thin white moustache and a remarkably thick head of white hair. Yet his skin belied the illusion of old age as he could not have been older than forty. Or was he perhaps a well-groomed fifty or even a very well-preserved sixty? Surely not…? Maybe?

“Yes?” he asked. I was reminded of Lurch from
The Addams Family
as I took in his appearance.

“My name is Sam Garrett,” I said, offering him my calling card. “I’m here to see Cecil Chance.”

“Mr. Garrett, yes. Mr. Niedermayer has kindly informed the family in advance of your arrival. Come in, please.” His voice was deep and slow but extremely polite. I wondered what it would take for a man like this to raise his voice or show any undue emotion.