The Paper Mirror (11 page)

I would like to talk to Collin Butler, but didn’t want to get the Burrows in any trouble until I knew more about who he was and exactly on what grounds he wanted his grandfather’s papers removed. I made a note to check back with Irving McGill and perhaps with Glen O’Banyon to see what I could find out.

And just what did all this have to do with Taylor Cates’ death? Who knows? Maybe nothing, maybe something, maybe everything. Part of the fun of being a private investigator is sorting through piles of jigsaw puzzle pieces, trying to see what pieces might fit together.

I checked my watch just as I was getting ready to leave the library and saw that I might just have time to get in touch with McGill and see what he knew about Collin Butler’s efforts to remove his grandfather’s papers from the Burrows Collection. I decided to return to the office and call him from there. I knew if I went to the Burrows, I’d be tempted to take another look at Morgan Butler’s papers, and that could wait until another time.

Even so, it was close to 3:30 by the time I dialed the Burrows and asked to speak to Irving McGill.

“Yes, Mr. Hardesty,” McGill’s deep voice said. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering,” I began, “if you could tell me a little bit about Collin Butler and on what grounds he’s trying to remove his grandfather’s papers.”

“I think you’d be better off talking with Glen O’Banyon,” McGill said. “I really don’t know all that much about it, other than that he’s claiming ownership of all the Butler materials.”

“I thought you’d told me Morgan Butler had donated them to Chester Burrows.” I said.

“I did. They were specifically bequeathed to Mr. Burrows in Morgan Butler’s will, which fairly well knocks the legal legs out from under Collin Butler’s claim,” he said.

Interesting
, I thought. And it certainly lent weight to the possibility/probability that Morgan Butler was gay.

“Morgan Butler knew Chester Burrows, then?” I asked.

“I really don’t know the circumstances of the bequest,” he replied. “Perhaps Glen O’Banyon could help you there.”

“Do you know anything more about the possibility of Morgan Butler being gay?”

There was a slight pause, then, “Other than what Taylor mentioned shortly before he died, no. It seems he’d found some evidence of it in Morgan’s papers, but I really didn’t have the time to follow up on it. There is just so very much else to be done.”

“How big a loss would it be to the Collection if Butler were to be able to withdraw his grandfather’s material?”

“The Butler papers are a very important part of the Collection, of course, but they represent only a very small portion of the total Collection. Their loss would be a great shame, but it certainly wouldn’t cripple the library in any significant way, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well, yes, I guess I was,” I said.

“So you will refer your other questions to Mr. O’Banyon, then?” he asked, obviously ready to end the conversation.

“Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you for your help.”

“You’re quite welcome. Good afternoon, then.”

“And to you,” I said, and we hung up.

I looked at my watch and decided that 3:45 on a Friday afternoon was not exactly a good time to try to call one of the city’s busiest lawyers, so I put it on my mental agenda for first thing Monday morning, did a few minutes’ puttering around the office, and left.

*

It being Friday, we’d promised Joshua we’d take him to Cap’n Rooney’s Fish Shack for dinner. Cap’n Rooney’s was right up there with macaroni and cheese and hot dogs on Joshua’s list of fine dining, and I had to admit I kind of liked it, too, especially the malt vinegar for the thickly sliced “chips.”

Jonathan did not say a word about his trip to Evan Knight’s, and I didn’t ask him. Before we left for dinner, Tim had called to verify that he and Phil would be glad to join us at Steamroller Junction the following Saturday to see T/T’s show. I hadn’t had a chance to call Bob and Mario, who were also big T/T fans, but Tim said he and Phil were going to stop by Ramón’s later that night and would ask. Our social life was definitely picking up.

*

Saturday passed as Saturdays do with by-the-numbers chores, highlighted only by Joshua’s knocking over a small plant stand while engaged in a chair-cushion battle with Jonathan. Only one African violet was seriously wounded in the melee, and Jonathan had Joshua help him carefully dip the stems of the broken leaves in roottone and place them in water to root so there could be even more African violets than we already had.

I was mildly trepidatious about Evan Knight’s party—in large part, to be honest, because we’d not been to a large private party consisting largely of guys we didn’t know for I don’t know how long, and my crotch, stubbornly refusing to accept the concept of monogamy, invariably tried to get me in trouble. That, and because of my double-standard concerns over the Evan-Jonathan dynamics. Well, we’d just have to wait and see.

Craig Richman’s mother, who had agreed to let him spend the night again, dropped him off at around six thirty so we wouldn’t have to go over and get him, and we once again called out for pizza. Craig had brought along a small duffle bag with a change of clothes in anticipation of accompanying Jonathan and Joshua to the M.C.C. in the morning. It appeared we were establishing a nice sort of routine, and I was grateful once again to the Richmans for their confidence in us.

Since it was still fairly early, we decided to take full advantage of our evening out and stop by Ramón’s…Tim had said he and Phil would be going out there...for a quick drink and to say hello to Bob Allen. It was early enough that we were able to actually talk for a bit while I had an Old Fashioned and Jonathan had a tonic and lime and fended off the sexual teasing of Jimmy, the bartender. Bob said Tim and Phil had mentioned T/T’s show, and that he was sure he and Mario could juggle their work schedules so they could go. I told him, as I’d told the rest of the gang, that I’d pick up the tickets Monday after work.

We arrived at Evan Knight’s around nine and found a place to park about three houses down. This was indeed the Briarwood area, but the homes on this particular street were somewhat smaller than the ostentatious behemoths that made up most of the area. Still, it was a pretty impressive place, and I made a point to compliment Jonathan on the really good job he and Evergreen had done on the yard.

We passed Jake’s pick-up, directly in front of the house, and went up the lighted walkway to the massive double front door. We could hear the sound of music and laughter coming from somewhere at the back of the house.

We rang the bell, and the door was opened by a spectacular number in break-away black pants, a cummerbund, no shirt—one look at him made it clear why—and a white bow tie.

Ah, that Evan Knight,
a mind-voice—my crotch, I suspected—said admiringly.
Class all the way!

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the hunk said with a smile that made me weak in the knees. “Please come in.”

He showed us through the small foyer into the large living room. There were probably a dozen guys scattered in small groups around the room, and another shirtless Chippendale should-a-been with a tray of hors d’oeuvres was approaching three guys near the window. I was rather surprised to realize I didn’t know a single one of the people in the room.

You’ve been out of circulation far too long
, a mind-voice observed wistfully.

“Mr. Knight is out by the pool,” our shirtless wonder said, gesturing with one beautifully biceped arm toward open sliding glass doors at one end of the room. “The bar is just to your left as you step onto the patio.”

The doorbell rang, and our hunk smiled and said, “Excuse me,” and turned to answer it.

We made our way through the living room, exchanging nods of greeting with a few of the other guests, and stepped out onto the large patio, where another dozen or so guys stood in small clusters or milled about. Five more were in the pool. Obviously, none had remembered to bring their bathing suits. I noted that one of the five was Jake, and from what I could see, even through the water…oh, lordy!

We turned to the left and approached the bar, which was set into a small alcove and had another gaggle of guys standing around it, admiring the bartender in a red jacket, white shirt with a red tie. I recognized him immediately as Kirk Sims, whom I’d seen bartending at several parties in my single days. As we got closer to the bar I could also see he was not wearing pants.

Jared stood just a little way to one side of the group, a fresh drink in his hand, and a bemused smile on his face. He saw us and gave a grin and a heads up nod of greeting as we walked over to him.

“Hi, guys,” he said, putting one large arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. “Glad you could make it.”

“Us too,” Jonathan said, grinning. “We just saw Jake in the pool and were wondering where you were.”

Jared took a long sip of his drink. “I’ll be going in in a few minutes. Just wanted to have another drink first.”

“Shy?” I asked, teasing.

“Oh,
sure,
Dick, sure,” he said. “You going to come join us?”

Got ‘cha there!
A mind-voice observed. “Uh, I don’t know yet. We just got here and hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well why don’t you go get you and Jonathan a drink, and think about it?”

“Tonic and lime?” Jonathan said, and I nodded and walked to the bar.

“Yes, sir?” Kirk asked, the perfect bartender.

“A beer and a tonic and lime, please,” I said.

He reached beneath the bar’s counter and pulled out a beer, then scooped some ice into a glass, smoothly opened a bottle of tonic water, filled it and garnished it with a large slice of lime. “Would you like that stirred?” he asked politely, lifting up the front of his shirt to reveal a “stirrer” of truly monumental proportions. The other guys around the bar all laughed.

“Not just now, thanks,” I said, and he just gave me a raised-eyebrow grin.

“Chicken!” one of the other guys said good-naturedly.

I just returned his smile, took a few loose bills out of my pocket to drop in the tip jar, then took our drinks and returned to Jared and Jonathan.

“Why didn’t you let him stir it?” Jonathan asked with a grin.

“Hey, you can always go back,” I said.

The three of us talked for a few minutes, moving a bit farther from the bar, which was becoming quite active.

“He’s straight, you know,” Jared said, nodding toward Kirk.

“
Straight?
” Jonathan asked, incredulous, having watched as Kirk expertly stirred a couple of drinks.

“Wife and two kids,” I said, having heard his story before.

“But then how can he…?”

“Have you seen that tip jar?” I asked. “He never does anything with anyone, but he sure knows a good thing when he’s got it.”

Jared had just verified that he and Jake would be joining us for T/T’s show when Evan Knight came over to greet us. “Jonathan!…Dick!” he said, apparently already having greeted Jared and Jake earlier. “Glad you’re here. Got everything you need? There’s a buffet table in the dining room if you’d like something to eat.”

“Thanks, Evan,” I said. “We’re fine for now.”

Someone just entering the patio called his name and he excused himself and moved off. Jared finished his drink and looked toward the pool, where Jake was in intense conversation with a crew-cut hunk, either currently or recently in the Marines, if one could believe the large ‘USMC’ tattoo on his shoulder.

“I think I’ll go join Jake,” he said. “You coming?”

“Maybe in a bit,” I said, then turned to Jonathan. “You want to go in?”

He looked slightly conflicted. “Well, yeah, I’d like to, but we don’t have our bathing suits, and…”

“…and we’d stand out like sore thumbs if we did,” I noted.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he said.

Just then Evan Knight appeared again.

“Dick,” he said, taking me by the arm. “There’s someone here really anxious to meet you. I told him you’re a P.I. and he might have some business for you.”

“Well, sure,” I said. “I…”

“And Jonathan, while Dick is talking shop, why don’t you come with me and meet a couple of my writer friends.”

Ah-hah!
I thought.
Divide and conquer!
This guy’s good. A weasel, but good.
And I couldn’t protest if I wanted to without looking like a possessive ass.

“Sure!” Jonathan said.

Knight led us into the living room and over to the fireplace, where a nice-looking guy in his early fifties was standing alone, looking at some photos on the mantle.

“Dick,” Knight said, “this is Drew Rothworth. We’ll leave you two to talk while Jonathan and I go say hello to some people.”

And like that he led Jonathan away.
Damn!
I had the distinct impression I’d somehow just been had.

I was aware that Rothworth was extending his hand, and I turned my attention to him. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

*

It turned out, not surprisingly, that Rothworth, who told me he’d seen me several times in the bars over the years but had never come up and introduced himself, was less interested in my professional services than in a discreet testing-of-the-waters cruise. Had I been single, I might well have taken him up on it, but under the circumstances I as discreetly as possible brought up Jonathan and Joshua and our monogamous relationship. He was a nice guy, though, and we ended up talking about a number of general topics: typical cocktail-party conversation.