Read Online The Pride Trilogy: Kyle Callahan 1-3 by Mark McNease - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark McNease
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pool . . . that’s another story. Even if it is the fall, if some new information comes up, the boyfriend confesses or we find another body, then that’s a different ballgame. As mundane as it sounds, an intoxicated fall into a swimming pool may be the final explanation as well as the simplest one, we’ll have to wait and see.”
Detective Linda Sikorsky then gathered her notebook and pen, about to leave the resort she had driven past many times but never been to. “By the way,” she said, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “How much do you suppose a place like this costs? To buy, I mean.”
Kyle thought it was an odd question and wondered if she might be looking for an investment opportunity at a most inappropriate time.
“I’ve never bought property, I wouldn’t have any idea. Dylan and Sid could tell you, they bought it two years ago. Maybe a couple million?”
“Around that,” she said, as if she had the figure in mind all along. “Anyway, thank you,” and this time she reached out to shake his hand. “Enjoy your stay.”
She left him sitting at the table with his coffee and his thoughts. Her parting words, “enjoy your stay,” seemed off the mark, given the circumstances, but the situation was awkward all around. Everything about the morning had been either awful, confusing or awkward. What does one say at the end of a brief police interrogation that could hardly be called an interview? And now, the weekend was ahead of them. The ultimate in awkward: a man had died here, in the pool just below the window Kyle was looking out now. Someone known and loved by all (although, if Kyle’s instinct was correct, seriously un-loved by someone). What would Sid and Dylan do? Would they send everyone home? Would they cover the front porch in a black mourning sash, or lower the rainbow flag to half-mast? What would they tell people? Surely they would tell people, surely they would cancel the Halloween festivities in honor of Teddy? The one thing Kyle knew for certain was that he and Danny would not be leaving for the City. They would stay here as planned, and Kyle would not rest until he could prove to others what he knew for himself: Teddy Pembroke had been murdered.
Chapter 8
Room 202
B o Sweetzer had wondered about the detective during their interview. Linda Sikorsky was a looker by anyone’s standards, what might have been referred to as Amazonian in less politically self-conscious times. Bo had tried to drop hints, mentioning a local lesbian hangout she’d read about in the New Hope Gay Guide. There had been no reaction from Sikorsky, no tell-tale glance. Maybe people were so much more open now that code between gay people was a lost language. Or, more likely, Sikorsky was straight and didn’t know she was being tested. She acknowledged having heard of the bar but never having been there, and she suggested to Bo that an inquiry at the front desk would be more informative. No nonsense, that one, Bo thought, standing at her window and watching the unmarked car drive away.
She had never had a real relationship, including the one that had gotten her from California to Minnesota. That had been puppy love with fangs and had finished the job of hardening her heart. She knew from a few years of therapy in her twenties that her inability to feel was a direct consequence of the trauma she’d experienced watching her parents killed in cold blood. Not the least of it was survivor’s guilt: why should she be allowed to go on living when her parents had been brutally murdered? Indeed, she wondered, turning from the window and heading to the clothes closet, exactly who would have allowed it or disallowed it? God? She snorted derisively at the thought. She did not believe in God and had little use for those who did. God had ceased to exist for little Emily the moment that trigger was pulled and she glimpsed her father flying back on the bed. God went silent at the sound of her mother’s sudden scream, cut
Detective Linda Sikorsky then gathered her notebook and pen, about to leave the resort she had driven past many times but never been to. “By the way,” she said, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “How much do you suppose a place like this costs? To buy, I mean.”
Kyle thought it was an odd question and wondered if she might be looking for an investment opportunity at a most inappropriate time.
“I’ve never bought property, I wouldn’t have any idea. Dylan and Sid could tell you, they bought it two years ago. Maybe a couple million?”
“Around that,” she said, as if she had the figure in mind all along. “Anyway, thank you,” and this time she reached out to shake his hand. “Enjoy your stay.”
She left him sitting at the table with his coffee and his thoughts. Her parting words, “enjoy your stay,” seemed off the mark, given the circumstances, but the situation was awkward all around. Everything about the morning had been either awful, confusing or awkward. What does one say at the end of a brief police interrogation that could hardly be called an interview? And now, the weekend was ahead of them. The ultimate in awkward: a man had died here, in the pool just below the window Kyle was looking out now. Someone known and loved by all (although, if Kyle’s instinct was correct, seriously un-loved by someone). What would Sid and Dylan do? Would they send everyone home? Would they cover the front porch in a black mourning sash, or lower the rainbow flag to half-mast? What would they tell people? Surely they would tell people, surely they would cancel the Halloween festivities in honor of Teddy? The one thing Kyle knew for certain was that he and Danny would not be leaving for the City. They would stay here as planned, and Kyle would not rest until he could prove to others what he knew for himself: Teddy Pembroke had been murdered.
Chapter 8
Room 202
B o Sweetzer had wondered about the detective during their interview. Linda Sikorsky was a looker by anyone’s standards, what might have been referred to as Amazonian in less politically self-conscious times. Bo had tried to drop hints, mentioning a local lesbian hangout she’d read about in the New Hope Gay Guide. There had been no reaction from Sikorsky, no tell-tale glance. Maybe people were so much more open now that code between gay people was a lost language. Or, more likely, Sikorsky was straight and didn’t know she was being tested. She acknowledged having heard of the bar but never having been there, and she suggested to Bo that an inquiry at the front desk would be more informative. No nonsense, that one, Bo thought, standing at her window and watching the unmarked car drive away.
She had never had a real relationship, including the one that had gotten her from California to Minnesota. That had been puppy love with fangs and had finished the job of hardening her heart. She knew from a few years of therapy in her twenties that her inability to feel was a direct consequence of the trauma she’d experienced watching her parents killed in cold blood. Not the least of it was survivor’s guilt: why should she be allowed to go on living when her parents had been brutally murdered? Indeed, she wondered, turning from the window and heading to the clothes closet, exactly who would have allowed it or disallowed it? God? She snorted derisively at the thought. She did not believe in God and had little use for those who did. God had ceased to exist for little Emily the moment that trigger was pulled and she glimpsed her father flying back on the bed. God went silent at the sound of her mother’s sudden scream, cut
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