Secrets and High Spirits: Secrets, Book 4 (6 page)

“You all right?” Dylan asked.

“Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dylan schooled his face into a false expression of innocence. “You seem flushed.”

“You’re imagining things.” Teag stared daggers of warning at his friend. Dylan said nothing in reply but still managed to annoy. Olly and Jem were watching the exchange with undisguised curiosity. Teag turned his back to their gaggle and fixed a pointed gaze on Bruce. “You may proceed.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” He limped to the wall Igor-style—or perhaps as a one-legged sailor—oblivious of Teag’s glare. In a just world, it would’ve burned a hole between his shoulder blades. Unsinged, he set to work but had a hard start. “Someone nailed these on tight,” he said, stating the obvious. At last, he managed to pry an edge loose, wrenched, pulled, and a sizable section of the panel tumbled to the ground. “Shiver me timbers.” He stepped back.

“Arrgh,” Dylan agreed.

Jem added, “Blimey.”

“What the hell’s that?” Teag cut in before their pirate gibberish could go overboard. The exposed piece of wall showed multiple shades of green paint applied in irregular patches.

Bruce rapped his knuckles on the surface. “It’s solid wood.” He proceeded with the panel removal much more gingerly. It took him a good twenty minutes to complete the job, and when he did, the five of them stood in a semicircle to take in the view.

From about waist height all the way to the ceiling, a painted jungle scene covered the wall. In the middle of lush green foliage perched a huge blue bird. Yellow letters above announced: The Blue Parrot. Someone, a long time ago, had scrawled a few lines underneath in chalk:
Bar but no lounge
.

“Hah.” Dylan cocked his head and voiced their collective reaction. “Interesting. So this place was a bar once before.”

“We’re keeping the painting,” Teag declared.

“I think it’s a good sign,” Dylan added cheerfully.

Jem was the only one not sharing the overall jubilation. He frowned, turning from the painting to take in the whole space. “There’s something creepy down here. You should have the whole building cleansed.”

Even Bruce was baffled by this. “We’ll be cleaning up several times before—”

“No. I mean to cleanse it from bad energies. I know a witch,” he added with the matter-of-fact self-possession of a crazy person.

Teag glared at Olly—Jem was Olly’s friend, after all, Teag barely knew the guy—but to his disbelief, Olly knowingly nudged Jem. “Mme. Layla, right? She’s good,” he added for the benefit of the rest of them. And Teag had thought Olly was the sensible one.

Teag stifled a groan and an urge to roll his eyes. “We won’t hire a witch to do some overpriced mumbo jumbo. It’s not in the budget,” he said swiftly, to preempt possible objections. He smelled the spirit of mutiny rising, so he added, “I think we’re done for today. You guys are free. Thanks for the help. Anyone need a ride?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Dylan replied, grabbing Olly by the arm and dragging him toward the door. The boys waved good-bye and left, conferring in hushed tones as they filed out the rear exit.

“They’re up to something,” Bruce commented.

Teag shook his head, looking after the departing bunch. “Imagine living with them.” He turned back to the painting. “It’s in pretty good shape. Lucky it was paneled over and not painted.”

Bruce tapped the wood with the curved part of the crowbar. It made a dull sound. “Seems to me the panels were screwed straight onto the brick. No wires, no pipes behind. Which means we can leave the whole thing as it is, as long as we cover it up to protect it while the rest of the work is going on.”

Teag stared at the painting with a rapturous expression. “The Blue Parrot,” he said slowly, rolling the words on his tongue, tasting them. “We should name this place the Blue Parrot. Don’t you think?” He turned to Bruce and caught the guy staring at him with an odd expression. Unlike Teag, Bruce appeared to have mastered the power stare, guessing from the flare of heat over Teag’s face.

“As you wish,” Bruce rasped.

Teag realized they were alone for the first time since that night in Bruce’s office, when he made his crazy and possibly ill-advised offer. He took a step backward. “Uhm, I should go. See you tomorrow.” He spun around and beat a retreat as hasty as he could manage without losing his dignity.

The next day started much the same as the one before. Bruce got there first and finished prying up the rest of the old tiles by the time Teag arrived. He hoped to have a moment alone with Teag, before the Boys swept in, though for no other reason than to torture himself. It was a sweet torture.

To his great dismay, Teag didn’t come alone. That real estate doofus, Leo, was tagging along, God knows why—the guy was as useful as a case of beer at an AA meeting. And about as welcome, by Bruce, at any rate. He didn’t care for Leo’s casually smart suit or superficially handsome face.

“I rented a floor sander,” Teag announced. “Leo helped me to get it here.”

Bruce knew Teag only had a moped for transportation, but he could’ve just called Bruce for help, or simply had Bruce take care of the matter. They were partners, after all. Bruce was about to make a comment along those lines, but Teag was already off, escorting pretty boy upstairs for a guided tour.

Bruce was left alone to wrestle the rented sander out of the trunk of Leo’s BMW and into the building. A few minutes later, Teag and Leo reappeared. Bruce was happy to see the latter’s once-shiny leather loafers now covered in dust. Leo strutted around like he owned the place. He kept yammering on about the wiring. Apparently, being the son of an electrician had made him an expert on everything electric. He was like a smaller and wimpier version of Walter, Bruce thought.

The realization made Bruce like Leo even less. The feeling must’ve been mutual, because past initial niceties, Leo pretty much ignored Bruce and turned all his schmoozy attention to Teag. Bruce hated the presumptuous way he acted toward Teag—casual touches, shoulder squeeze, standing too close and talking to Teag as if there was more between them.
Is there?
No, not according to Teag’s body language—he kept finding a reason to pull away every time Leo invaded his personal space.

“I can recommend a contractor,” Leo said, self-importantly, while stepping too close to Teag again.

“We have the contractors sorted out already,” Bruce cut in. He’d done most of the sorting—with Teag’s approval, of course. “Erik will be here on Saturday to take care of the electrical stuff. He’s a buddy of mine.” As a matter of fact, they’d been friends growing up, though Erik was a few years older. They’d lost touch after high school, but ran into each other years later. Bruce had persuaded Erik to give Ren Faire a try, and now Erik went every year dressed as a Viking. A real Viking—he gave a lecture on the historical inaccuracy of horned helmets at the drop of a Tudor bonnet.

Leo frowned. “You need a professional—”

“Erik’s a licensed electrician with ten years in the business,” Bruce said more brusquely than necessary, but Leo assuming he’d hire anyone less than professional pissed him off.

Leo glared back, and for a long moment, it seemed they may come to verbal blows, but just then, Dylan and Olly blew in like the El Niño. Jem arrived a few minutes later. Bruce set them to work to clear the room of the remains of the broken tiles and other rubbish. How three skinny young guys could completely fill a large, empty room was a mystery. Maybe it was their constant banter. Their happy chattering soothed Bruce’s ruffled mind, like listening to a flock of birds.

Not so much Leo’s, apparently, because Pretty Boy finally fucked off. Bruce’s mood improved at once. “What are you three scheming about?” he yelled merrily as he spotted the Boys all clumped up and whispering.

They quieted at once and turned toward him. Jem looked sheepish, and Olly turned the color of a cosmopolitan—the cocktail, not the magazine. Dylan was the only one returning Bruce’s questioning gaze with an open and guileless one. Which, of course, convinced Bruce that they really were up to something.

“We’re done cleaning up. What do you want us do next?” Dylan asked with suspicious eagerness.

Oh hell,
I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, nor do I play one at Ren Faire
, Bruce thought. He probably didn’t want to know what the Boys were up to, anyway. “Grab some tarp and tape and cover up the parrot. Make sure you do it right, or the boss man will have your head,” he added, glancing sideways at Teag, who’d just joined the party.

Dylan snickered. “You said
head
!”

Bruce put on his sternest expression. “Less chat, more scamper.”

Chastised, Dylan and Olly scurried off, and Bruce wrapped himself into his mantle of gruffness, all the while his thoughts were whirling around blowjobs. He needed to get laid.

O
nce the parrot painting was safely under wraps, Bruce handed the Boys over to Teag to keep busy and supervise. He only asked that they stay upstairs so he could sand the floor in peace. There really wasn’t much for them to do until after the wiring was done, and it was time to put on the drywall, paint, etcetera. The major thing right now was to finish the floor down there.

They trumped up the stairs, but only out of sight. With the first-floor ceiling gone, every naughty joke and laughter was easy to hear. He made a mental note to talk to Teag about soundproofing.

However, once he turned the sander on, its steady buzz wrapped him in a cocoon. He was only peripherally aware of Teag and the Boys stomping around, tossing crap out the back windows into the Dumpster parked right below. From time to time, they poked their head through the door, checking on his progress, but otherwise left him alone. It was not a bad way to spend the morning.

As Bruce predicted, even after its top layer had been removed, the hardwood showed its past history. He turned off the machine and paced the room, keeping his eyes down, inspecting the boards. Aside from some lighter and darker patches, the hardwood was in good shape—no water damage, no rot. He found only one spot where the floor had a fist-size hole, filled with a plaster-like substance. Odd.

He heard footsteps and knew they were Teag’s even before looking up. Teag was the only one in the bunch—aside from Bruce—who wore boots. They made him so mouthwateringly butch. Bruce tucked all those thoughts away. “This is where the bar used to be.” He motioned at the long, curved path in the wood that was much lighter than its surroundings.

Teag stopped close enough for Bruce to get a whiff of his scent—sweat and soap with a pint of paint thinner. Teag was the only person Bruce knew who could make the combination smell sexy. “About the same place we’re putting ours. How cool is that?” He beamed, unaware of Bruce’s sudden preoccupation.

“Serendipity.” He offered up the first word floating to mind. He took a few steps sideways, out of sniffing range.

“Fate,” Jem interjected. The Boys joined the party, taking in the sight of the newly stripped floor. Bruce felt gratitude for their diverting presence.

“What’s this?” Teag asked, tapping the toe of his boot at the spot Bruce had just been wondering about too.

“Not sure,” Bruce replied. He stepped closer and got on his knees for a better look. “Looks like someone replaced this part once upon a time.” He traced his fingers over two parallel cuts about a foot apart.

“And left the hole there?” Teag asked doubtfully.

“Maybe the hole happened later. Maybe when the first idiot tiled over the hardwood.” The section in question sat smack-dab in the middle of the light patch marking the long-ago bar, so it must’ve been left undisturbed as long as the Blue Parrot had been in business. “Hm, can I have that?” Bruce reached for the scraper in Jem’s hand. Once he had it, he jabbed the pointed corner of the tool into the material filling the hole. It gave with some reluctance, crumbling like dry plaster.

Teag, Olly and Jem got down on their haunches and watched Bruce digging and chipping at the thing. He didn’t have to dig long—he uncovered a sturdy metal ring no more than an inch deep. The ring seemed secured to the wood itself.

“A handgrip?” Teag asked, voicing their shared bafflement.

The Boys buzzed like an excited beehive. Words like
secret
and
treasure
flew around, along with repeated requests that he pull the damn thing already.

Bruce dallied just to wind them up, but finally he caved in. “Here goes nothing.” He stood, took a wide stance and, bending down, got hold of the ring. His first couple of tugs proved fruitless, and it seemed he was more likely to rip the handle out of the wood. But at his third try, something else gave, and a rectangular section of the floor inched up like a cork from a bottle. A few more tugs, and it popped out all the way.

“What the…” Teag reached inside and pulled out an object covered in dirt. He grabbed the rag hanging from his back pocket and started wiping. “It’s a cocktail shaker,” he said in disbelief.

“A strange one,” Olly noted.

And it was. Shiny as silver where Teag had wiped the dirt off, dirt caked into a strange design of circles and squiggly lines crudely etched into its surface. Red wax covered the seal where the top and bottom parts joined.

A French shaker, Bruce noted. “How fucking bizarre.”

“The owners of the Blue Parrot must’ve made a time capsule,” Olly suggested sensibly. “Open it!”

Everyone thought this was an excellent idea, except Jem, who thought they should wait. “Wait for what?” Teag asked.

Olly and Dylan both shot Jem pointed glares, and Jem shrugged in surrender.

The wax had kept the joining parts of the shaker from rusting, and once Bruce scraped it off, they twisted apart quite easily. The contents, however, proved disappointing. Aside from some brownish substance caked to the bottom, the shaker was completely empty.

“I told you so!” Jem crowed.

“You told nothing,” Olly snapped back.

They kept bickering till Dylan yelled, “Shut up, both of you!” The bickering split three ways.

Teag listed for only a short while before his expression turned stormy and he ordered the Boys outside.