Murder Above Fourth PDF
Preview Murder Above Fourth
MLR P A Ress uthoRs Featuring a roll call of some of the best writers of gay erotica and mysteries today! M. Jules Aedin Wayne Gunn Maura Anderson Samantha Kane Victor J. Banis Kiernan Kelly Jeanne Barrack J.L. Langley Laura Baumbach Josh Lanyon Alex Beecroft Clare London Sarah Black William Maltese Ally Blue Gary Martine J.P. Bowie Z.A. Maxfield Michael Breyette Patric Michael P.A. Brown Jet Mykles Brenda Bryce Willa Okati Jade Buchanan L. Picaro James Buchanan Neil Plakcy Charlie Cochrane Jordan Castillo Price Gary Cramer Luisa Prieto Kirby Crow Rick R. Reed Dick D. A.M. Riley Ethan Day George Seaton Jason Edding Jardonn Smith Angela Fiddler Caro Soles Dakota Flint JoAnne Soper-Cook S.J. Frost Richard Stevenson Kimberly Gardner Clare Thompson Storm Grant Lex Valentine Amber Green Stevie Woods LB Gregg Kit Zheng Check out titles, both available and forthcoming, at www.mlrpress.com M uRdeR A F bove ouRth A Nick Fallon Investigation J.P. b owie mlrpress This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright 2009 by J. P. Bowie All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Published by MLR Press, LLC 3052 Gaines Waterport Rd. Albion, NY 14411 Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet: www.mlrpress.com Cover Art by Deana C. Jamroz Editing by Kris Jacen Printed in the United States of America. ISBN# 978-1-60820-120-4 Issued 2009 A cknowLedgMents Thanks to Laura Baumbach, my publisher, and Kris Jacen, my editor at MLR Press. Thanks also to the owners of Martinis Above Fourth in San Diego, Chaz, Dale and John,who very kindly allowed me to use a fictionalized version of their fabulous restaurant - and who of course bear no resemblance whatsoever to the crazy people I invented for this story! And for Phil, who came up with the idea in the first place. Love always, JP c o hAPteR ne Eric Jamieson looked down the length of the art gallery, at the polished wood floor, at the paintings hanging in neat rows on both walls, at the green fern plants strategically placed here and there among the pieces of sculpture. He swiped a hand over his short brown hair, his light blue eyes gleamed, and he exhaled a long, satisfied breath of completion. Yes, he had done it, given the gallery the facelift he’d promised Peter Brandon, the gallery owner, and all before Peter was due back from his vacation. Actually, he’d been due back this morning, but he’d called to say he and Jeff Stevens, his lover, were running just a tad late and he’d see Eric in the afternoon. Perfect, Eric had thought, that’d give him time to take lunch over to Nick’s office so they could spend the hour together— something they hadn’t had enough of recently, what with Jeff and Peter away on a two week vacation. Jeff was Nick’s business partner in the investigative business—Stevens and Fallon. Their office was within easy walking distance of the gallery. Eric could be there and back within the space of an hour or so. He picked up his cell phone from the desk at the back of the gallery and speed- dialed Nick’s number. “Stevens and Fallon, Private Investigations. How can I help you?” “Hi, Monica, it’s Eric. Is he there?” “He sure is.” Monica sounded edgy. “And I sure hope you can put him in a better mood than I can. He is Mr. Grump today.” “Sorry.” Eric knew a bad-tempered Nick could be worse than a threat of weapons of mass destruction—and just as loud. “What’s he mad about?” “Heck if I know. He arrived this way and hasn’t snapped out of it so far. His door is closed, and that’s always a bad sign. Did you cut him off or something?” 2 J.P. Bowie Eric chuckled. “No, but we’ve been real busy with both Peter and Jeff away. Maybe he just found the pressure too much.” “Well, thank goodness Jeff ’s back today,” Monica said with a sigh. “Maybe he can straighten Nick out—oh sorry…” She giggled. “Wrong terminology.” “Tell me.” Eric laughed. “A grumpy and straight Nick would send me running for the hills.” Laughing, Monica said, “I’ll put you through.” After a few beeping sounds, Eric was greeted by an almost churlish, “Nick Fallon.” “Hi. You sound mad.” “Hey, Eric…” Nick blew out a long sigh of frustration. “Not mad at you, just some asshole trying to make my life more difficult than it need be.” “Who’s that?” “Remember that LAPD cop I had a run in with some time back—Bob Morales?” “Yeah, I remember. What about him?” “He’s tryin’ to get my license pulled. The son-of-a-bitch filed a complaint against me.” “After all this time?” Eric frowned. “On what grounds?” “On the grounds I withheld evidence in the John Hammond case. He’s saying they could have solved the case with no loose ends still attached if I had been ‘more forthcoming.’ My guess is the jerk’s in trouble with the bosses and he’s looking for a scapegoat—me.” “How serious is this?” “Serious enough. Jeff ’s not going to be too pleased when I give him the news. I got a call in to Joe French to see if he can help any.” “Good idea. Listen, I was going to bring you lunch.” “Sounds good, babe. How about a meat sandwich?” MuRdeR Above FouRth 3 “A meat sandwich. What kind of meat?” “You, between my thighs.” Eric roared. Nick might be in a bad mood, but he could still come up with some good ideas. “I’m flattered,” Eric purred. “After six years together you still want me at lunchtime.” “Want you all the time,” Nick growled. “When you comin’ over?” “Let’s see…” Eric looked at his watch. “In about an hour.” “Terrific. See you then.” “Bye, lover. Keep those thighs warm for me.” Oops. He hadn’t seen the man enter the gallery, and there was no doubt he’d heard Eric’s last comment. “Good morning,” Eric sang out, trying not to look embarrassed. “If you have any questions, just let me know.” “Actually, I do have a few questions.” The man approached Eric, smiling. He was about forty, in good shape, wearing cream- colored slacks and a navy blazer Eric guessed was an Armani. A receding hairline did nothing to detract from his overall good looks. “Are you the owner?” the man asked. “No, that would be Peter Brandon, the owner and the artist.” Eric held out his hand. “Eric Jamieson. I manage the gallery for Peter.” “Chad Glover.” His handshake was warm and firm. “I own a nightclub and restaurant in San Diego, and I’m looking for some nice art pieces for the reception area. A couple of these New York cityscapes look interesting.” “Yes, that one looking across Central Park Lake in winter is a favorite of mine,” Eric said. Glover nodded, his eyes narrowing as he studied the painting. “I also like the one of Brooklyn Bridge. He’s got an incredible talent, hasn’t he? I mean, that looks like real metal.” “Yes, Peter has an eye for detail, Mr. Glover, and he has a photographic memory.” 4 J.P. Bowie “Chad, please. Gene, one of my partners, and myself are originally from New York,” Glover remarked. “We’ve given the club a kind of New York feel—you know, a bit more formal than Californians are used to. So far it’s paid off in the amount of return clients we’ve had. I’d like to continue the theme in the artwork.” “Both of these are good choices,” Eric murmured, stepping back slightly so as not to crowd the other man. Eric had always believed in the ‘soft sell’ approach. He hated it when sales people were too pushy, especially on a high end item, like one of Peter Brandon’s paintings. If he bought just one, Eric would have made his commission for the week—two, and Nick was going to get much more than a meat sandwich. “You’re right. It’s hard to choose between them.” Chad’s eyes skimmed over the two framed canvases. “So much strength in the one, and serenity in the other. I guess I’ll just have to take them both. Yippee! Eric gave a silent cheer. Peter would love this news when he got back. “Will you take a check, and can you deliver? I’d take them with me, but I’m driving a two-seater, so space is limited.” Eric smiled. “Yes, on both counts. We have this new fangled machine that will clear your check immediately, and I can drive down to San Diego tomorrow, if that’s all right?” “Excellent.” Chad pulled his checkbook from his blazer’s inside pocket. “There should be enough in the business account to cover this,” he said as he formed the final zero then signed his name. “Here’s the address.” He handed Eric a business card. “Above Fourth,” Eric read aloud. “Great name—presuming you are above Fourth Street?” “We are. The outside bar for the smokers overlooks Fourth.” He smiled at Eric. “Bring a friend with you, stay for lunch. We have an excellent menu, and a chef to do it justice.”
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