Everyone's Dead But Us

Everyone’s
Dead
But Us

By Mark Richard Zubro

The Tom and Scott Mysteries

A Simple Suburban Murder

Why Isn’t Becky Twitchell Dead?

The Only Good Priest

The Principal Cause of Death

An Echo of Death

Rust on the Razor

Are You Nuts?

One Dead Drag Queen

Here Comes the Corpse

File Under Dead

The Paul Turner Mysteries

Sorry Now?

Political Poison

Another Dead Teenager

The Truth Can Get You Killed

Drop Dead

Sex and murder.com

Dead Egotistical Morons

Nerds Who Kill

EVERYONE’S DEAD BUT US
. Copyright © 2006 by Mark Richard Zubro. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Zubro, Mark Richard.

      Everyone’s dead but us / Mark Richard Zubro.

          p. cm.

      ISBN-13: 978-0-312-34345-3

      ISBN-10: 0-312-34345-0

      1. Carpenter, Scott (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Mason, Tom (Fictitious character)—Fiction.  3. Gay men—Fiction.  4. Baseball players—Fiction.  5. High school teachers—Fiction.  6. Resorts—Fiction. 7. Storms—Fiction.  8 Aegean Islands (Greece and Turkey)—Fiction.  I. Title.

PS3576.U225E94  2006

813’.54—dc22

2006041717

First Edition: July 2006

10    9    8    7    6    5    4    3    2    1

Thanks for your help and support

Pam Kohlbacher

Paula Miller

Kathy Pakieser-Reed

Jeanne Dams

Barbara D’Amato

Bob Beran

Adam Zubro

Tony Mulvaney

Everyone’s
Dead
But Us

I gazed from the headland toward the moon rising over the swelling waves, then shut my eyes and listened to the sea crashing on the rocks far below. I smelled the salt water and felt the coolness of the night through my polyester-padded leather jacket. The gusting east wind ruffled my hair. I stuck my hands into my jacket pockets, and reopened my eyes to gaze at the sky. It was possible to see the stars blaze as I never could over the city of Chicago. I’d rarely seen the moon so enormous and orange and close, near enough in the darkness to dare to touch. Only a few clouds from the predicted storm lay on the horizon, and I thought I caught glimpses of far distant lightning.

I turned away from the sea toward the rest of the island. The gently rising land in front of me hid the few lights that might have escaped from the buildings. Scott was only about two hundred feet away. I had been told to give him an hour so I had taken my time strolling the east way around the island. I loved the cool wind and the lack of human noise. Waves and wind, spray and smell, everything draped in moonlight and surrounded by stars. That’s why we come here every year. Total quiet and relaxation.

I took the path down to the secluded cavern where Scott waited. Neither the anticipation nor the pleasure was lessened by the familiarity with which I approached the scene. Love, and warmth, and a hot man. Nothing wrong with that picture even after numerous viewings.

It was the day before New Year’s Eve. As a present for our wedding, I’d given him annual trips to Korkasi, an island in the Aegean Sea. Korkasi was the most exclusive and expensive gay resort in the world. We’d already been coming to this idyllic spot off and on for years before our marriage. It was one place where Scott would not be pestered by fans.

The guest list on Korkasi included some of the wealthiest gay men on the planet. Many of them were the kind who’d listened to too much opera as children, attended too many operas as adults, and felt a need to tell you about those experiences. They funded more opera productions than you could shake a tenor at. Another common type is the rich sugar daddy trying to show off his latest boy-toy At times these people overlapped each other, making us even more inclined to keep to ourselves.

Scott would have candlelight and blankets and pillows, and cheeses and exotic fruits and confections and some form of chocolate that I’d never had before. Scott would have taken the time to make it romantic and intimate and perfect. As I entered the cavern, I saw the glow of light around the bend. The wind abated considerably after the first few steps into the cave, and was but a puff of freshness after I turned the first corner.

Scott had lit a fire, a necessity. It was winter and the island was cool. The red, blue, and yellow of the quiet flames provided welcome warmth. Smoke curled out through a small hole high up in the far wall. The shield of loose rocks built around the fire had been heated by the flames. He had votive candles on rock-hewn shelves stretching above our heads. He sat cross-legged on a blanket in front of a mound of pillows. A simple feast was laid out between him and the fire. Since I was a kid, I’ve been afflicted with a sappy, romantic streak. Yeah, it was cheap sentiment, but I love cheap sentiment. And as a wise, old mentor once said to me, “Cheap sentiment? So what? Dickens made a career out of it.”

I snuggled up close to Scott. He draped an arm around me. “This is perfect,” I said. Then both his arms encircled me, and he nuzzled my ear. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you, too,” I said. We kissed. Then we kissed a lot more. And for quite a while the fire was not necessary to keep us warm.

Some time later, wrapped in blankets, having stirred the fire and added scented wood to its fading embers, Scott reached behind the mound of pillows. “I have something for you.” For some reason we nearly always whispered when we were in the cavern. Neither of us wished to break the magic of the spell created by these moments of perfection.

Scott handed me a flat, burgundy box with gold lettering. It was tied with a silk, red ribbon, which fell away easily. The box said Kinder with other words in German that I could not translate. I opened it and took a bite of the chocolate inside. It was heavenly.

Eventually reality does intrude. The fire did die down. The damp and cold did seep in. I was pleasantly drowsy, but it would be good to get indoors.