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a redwood deck with bright lawn furniture. The kitchen was spotless, artfully arranged. I reflected that it would fit with Collins' personality to be compulsively neat.
The suspicion was borne out by the precision with which he set the table, lining up red stoneware and Danish flatware on geometrically patterned placemats. He motioned for me to sit while he busied himself with teakettle, scones, and jam.
"How long have you lived in San Francisco?" I asked.
He poured tea and sat opposite me. "Four years, almost. I came out with David a couple of years after I graduated from college."
"Where did you meet him?"
"In New York. I'd inherited some money and gone there because I was interested in the theater, but I was having a hard time breaking in. I don't know how familiar you are with the gay scene."
"Reasonably."
"Then you know it can get pretty, well… rough. I'm a conservative guy, and the kinkier side of it isn't for me. And it can get lonely, too. It's hard to meet people. I guess it's the same for any single person, but…"
I nodded. I'd had my fair share of difficulty meeting men, although my work brought me into contact with more of them than the average job.
"Well, I was about to give up and go home when I met David. He was ten years older than me, an engineer, with a good job. I could look up to him, depend on him. And David… well, I guess he needed a home."
I looked around the spotless kitchen. Indeed Collins provided that. My eyes lit on a large portable TV set rolled into a corner. When I looked at Collins, he was blushing.
"My vice," he admitted. "I like to watch TV while I cook, especially crime shows. That was why I wanted to talk to you—it fascinates me, meeting a private eye."
I grinned. "If only you knew how boring it can be. Some of our clients find the most humdrum reasons for taking legal action. And, speaking of clients, what's David like? I haven't talked with him enough to know."
Collins tilted back his chair, brown eyes thoughtful. "I'd describe him first of all as intense. He gets wrapped up in his projects, he can't sit down, he zips around burning up these fantastic amounts of energy. You should see him on a job site. He's always peering over the workmen's shoulders, crawling on the scaffolding, pitching in to help. It tires me out to watch him."
"Was he close to his father?"
The non sequitur startled Collins. "Why do you ask?"
"He mentioned his father this morning."
"Oh." Collins studied his plump hands. "I'd say it was an ambivalent relationship."
"How so?"
"Mr. Wintringham was a very controlling person. Don't get me wrong, he was also a nice man. I liked him, but—David was already a grown man in his thirties when we came back from New York, but his father tried to dominate his life."
"Did David resist?"
"To a certain extent. You can probably guess his father wasn't too happy about us. When David and I got here, we lived separately for a while, but we started restoring this house right away, and David made it clear that we would move in here together. And Mr. Wintringham didn't approve when David started Wintringham and Associates, but he went ahead with it anyway. All in all, he resisted pretty well, but I know it was hard for him. Deep down, he loved his father and felt guilty because he hadn't lived up to his expectations."
"What were they, besides being heterosexual?"
Collins crumbled a piece of scone on his plate. "He wanted David to become an architect like him, but instead he studied engineering and even preferred construction work to that. When he became a general contractor, his father considered it… well, tacky, and…" The sound of footsteps distracted him.
The swinging door from the dining room burst open, and Charmaine confronted us. Her bell-like hair was disarrayed, her face contorted in fury. "Where is that son-of-a-bitch?" she demanded.
Collins' hands clenched. "Charmaine, what is wrong? Where is
who
?"
"You know damn well who! That slimy little
The suspicion was borne out by the precision with which he set the table, lining up red stoneware and Danish flatware on geometrically patterned placemats. He motioned for me to sit while he busied himself with teakettle, scones, and jam.
"How long have you lived in San Francisco?" I asked.
He poured tea and sat opposite me. "Four years, almost. I came out with David a couple of years after I graduated from college."
"Where did you meet him?"
"In New York. I'd inherited some money and gone there because I was interested in the theater, but I was having a hard time breaking in. I don't know how familiar you are with the gay scene."
"Reasonably."
"Then you know it can get pretty, well… rough. I'm a conservative guy, and the kinkier side of it isn't for me. And it can get lonely, too. It's hard to meet people. I guess it's the same for any single person, but…"
I nodded. I'd had my fair share of difficulty meeting men, although my work brought me into contact with more of them than the average job.
"Well, I was about to give up and go home when I met David. He was ten years older than me, an engineer, with a good job. I could look up to him, depend on him. And David… well, I guess he needed a home."
I looked around the spotless kitchen. Indeed Collins provided that. My eyes lit on a large portable TV set rolled into a corner. When I looked at Collins, he was blushing.
"My vice," he admitted. "I like to watch TV while I cook, especially crime shows. That was why I wanted to talk to you—it fascinates me, meeting a private eye."
I grinned. "If only you knew how boring it can be. Some of our clients find the most humdrum reasons for taking legal action. And, speaking of clients, what's David like? I haven't talked with him enough to know."
Collins tilted back his chair, brown eyes thoughtful. "I'd describe him first of all as intense. He gets wrapped up in his projects, he can't sit down, he zips around burning up these fantastic amounts of energy. You should see him on a job site. He's always peering over the workmen's shoulders, crawling on the scaffolding, pitching in to help. It tires me out to watch him."
"Was he close to his father?"
The non sequitur startled Collins. "Why do you ask?"
"He mentioned his father this morning."
"Oh." Collins studied his plump hands. "I'd say it was an ambivalent relationship."
"How so?"
"Mr. Wintringham was a very controlling person. Don't get me wrong, he was also a nice man. I liked him, but—David was already a grown man in his thirties when we came back from New York, but his father tried to dominate his life."
"Did David resist?"
"To a certain extent. You can probably guess his father wasn't too happy about us. When David and I got here, we lived separately for a while, but we started restoring this house right away, and David made it clear that we would move in here together. And Mr. Wintringham didn't approve when David started Wintringham and Associates, but he went ahead with it anyway. All in all, he resisted pretty well, but I know it was hard for him. Deep down, he loved his father and felt guilty because he hadn't lived up to his expectations."
"What were they, besides being heterosexual?"
Collins crumbled a piece of scone on his plate. "He wanted David to become an architect like him, but instead he studied engineering and even preferred construction work to that. When he became a general contractor, his father considered it… well, tacky, and…" The sound of footsteps distracted him.
The swinging door from the dining room burst open, and Charmaine confronted us. Her bell-like hair was disarrayed, her face contorted in fury. "Where is that son-of-a-bitch?" she demanded.
Collins' hands clenched. "Charmaine, what is wrong? Where is
who
?"
"You know damn well who! That slimy little
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