Read Online The Secret Keeper by Dorien Grey - Free Book Online

opinion.” 
    *
    Jonathan and Joshua left a little early Thursday morning so Jonathan could tell the Bronson sisters of the trip. I took the bus to work so I could pick up Jonathan’s truck on my way home.
    Promptly at ten o’clock, a knock at the door pulled my eyes up to the silhouette of a male figure on the opaque glass. I got up from my desk and walked over to open it.
    I try not to think in stereotypes, but if the stereotype of a male flight attendant was of a strikingly handsome hunk all but radiating gay vibes, Mel Fowler was it. Not nelly, not fem, but unmistakably gay.
    Jonathan’s brief but glowing physical description hadn’t done Mel justice. If he ever decided to hang up his airline steward’s uniform, he could instantly get a job as resident hunk on any soap opera on TV.
    He was about Jonathan’s height and build, with a cover-model face and the kind of light-blue eyes that, in my single days, would have made me melt. (Okay, so they still made me thaw a little.) He was wearing a bright-blue sport shirt, white chinos, and dark brown loafers, all of which did nothing to lessen his overall sex appeal. I also caught the slight scent of a cologne I’d given Jonathan for our anniversary and which always drove me to distraction. It took quite a bit of will power to push my libido back into its little box and close the lid.
    “Come in,” I said, a little unnecessarily, extending my hand.
    His grip was strong and warm, and the thaw factor rose by several degrees. Whatever American was paying him wasn’t enough. But then I realized that, as Clarence Bement’s grandson, he probably didn’t need the money.
    I showed him to a chair in front of my desk.
    “Coffee?” I asked, having just made a fresh pot in anticipation.
    “No, thanks,” he said. His voice would make a great topping for an ice-cream sundae, I decided. “I had a late breakfast.” And again, while most straights probably wouldn’t immediately pick up on it, if I had my eyes closed and heard his voice across a crowded room, I’d have known he was gay. It’s a gift we have.
    I moved around to my chair and sat down.
    “So what can I do for you, Mr. Fowler?” I always used a client’s last name until otherwise advised.
    “It’s Mel…Mr. Hardesty,” he said, grinning. Nice grin.
    “Fair enough,” I replied, returning the grin and noticing the lid had come off of my libido box. I forced it back in. “And it’s Dick.”
    “See? We’re making progress already.”
    “I must admit I was a little surprised to get your call.”
    He sat back in his chair. “You shouldn’t be. Grandpa B became really very fond of Jonathan in the short time he knew him, and Jonathan talked about you several times. He’s very proud of you, and you’re really lucky to have him.”
    “Believe me, I know,” I said. “But why do you suppose your grandfather would have mentioned all this to you?”
    “Well, at first I thought it was just his casual way of letting me know he knew I’m gay—we’d never talked about it, but how could he not know? Anyway, because he knew Jonathan was, he was probably just letting me know he was okay with it.”
    He smiled, and I realized I’d been staring at him. He was truly hot.
    Hardesty! a chorus of my mind-voices cautioned in unison.
    “Your grandfather sounds like he was pretty sharp, even at ninety,” I said, pulling myself back to the moment.
    “Oh, he was! Which is one of the reasons I’m here.”
    “So, what can I do for you, Mel?” I repeated.
    “You can find who killed him.” 
    “Have you talked to the police?” 
    “Briefly. They seem pretty convinced it was suicide. When I tried to tell them Grandpa B would never do that, they were very nice but pointed out that reaction is pretty standard in families of people who kill themselves.”
    “Okay,” I said, as conversationally as I could manage. “And what makes you think his death was not a suicide?” I did not want to tell him that I’d already