For the Bite of It (12 page)

John shook his head. “Don’t come.”

He turned and strode out the bakery leaving Vince wishing he hadn’t teased. He had no intention of going to the party.

He walked back to the kitchen, a tray piled with dishes, then back to bussing the table when he heard Angelo’s voice behind him.

“Quite the family man, aren’t you? Have you lost your mind?”

No, he wanted to growl.
Just my heart.

Instead, he said, “So now you’re spying on my conversations?

John sat at his desk and reassembled his line of silver Kisses. He shuffled a pile of files then opened one, agitated in his inability to stay focused. Forcing himself to read the file, the words blurred, and again, his mind wandered. He’d been spacing out too much lately.

His cell phone rang and he nervously glanced at the number, relieved it was Julie. “Hey sis, what’s up?”

“
For the Bite of It
is a great place,” she chuckled. “The hunk of an owner will fuel my fantasies for months to come. Imagine him feeding you
Le Petite Mort
in bed, stark naked.”

“Julie!” Yet, a rash of heat warmed his neck as he visualized Vincent on his bed, naked, except for chocolate frosting on his fingers. Been there, done that, and more. If only in his fantasies.

He moistened his lips then smacked them shut. Those were damn good cupcakes but that didn’t make it right for him to pursue the baker, no matter how much he craved his cupcakes and that tasty body.

“You’re crazy,” he managed to squeeze out.

“And you’re an idiot who can’t see what’s in front of you. Vince is crazy about you.”

There she went again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, brother mine. Ask yourself one question.”

“What’s that?” he asked absently, images of Vincent and icing still crowding his traitorous thoughts.

“How come you’ve never had a relationship with a woman?”

“Julie,” he warned. “Don’t go there. Why the hell did you invite him to a family party? What will Mom and Dad think?”

“God, give them some credit.”

Julie had no idea how close he’d come to be busted by their mom. It scared the crap out of him. How would he have explained a naked man singing in his shower that day?

He massaged the headache creeping across his skull. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t forget the party.”

“When do I ever forget?” Shit. She needed to stop bugging him, already.

“Your one saving grace.”

“I live to please you,” he said, dryly.

“Yeah, right. Oh, before I forget. Pick up the cupcakes on Wednesday.”

Oh hell. No way, no how.

He wanted nothing to do with Vincent, and certainly didn’t want to go to back to the bakery. He should have kept his big mouth shut when Julie had asked him for suggestions for the party. So then why did he suggest
For the Bite of It
, and why did he feel the need to meet his sister there? Hell, if he didn’t want to see Vincent again, this wasn’t the way to go about it.

“Look, can’t you get someone else to them up? I work for a living. You know, your brother the important detective who solves murders.”

“You crack me up. Wednesday before two. I’m counting on you. You don’t want to disappoint your nephews and favorite niece.”

“Fine.” He didn’t have a choice if he wanted any peace.

“Ally can’t stop talking about your Vincent. She calls him the cupcake man.”

“He isn’t
my
Vincent. The man’s gay.”

“And you’re not?”

An icy pang shot through his heat. He lowered his voice “Why the hell would you say that?”

“Intuition. Now don’t get all bent out of shape. Think about what you want. Promise me?”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Oh, honey, no one expects you to live up to some impossible ideal. It’s all in your head.”

“I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“Go bury your head in the sand. But don’t forget to pick up my cupcakes.”

“Bye, Jule.” John slammed the receiver down, his heart in his stomach.

My God, if his sister could read him this easily, what about others? He’d been careful to keep his sex life private, non-messy and sterile. Sex with Vincent exceeded anything he had before with a man, and ruined it for him. Now he’d never be satisfied with a quick trip to Vegas for just a fuck.

Julie had called him gay. Oh God, she had read his heart. Did she first suspect when they had attended UCLA together? He’d first acted on his impulses there. Away from his hometown, it had been a safe place to experiment without the fear of being discovered. He thought he’d fooled her with the girls he’d dated back then. Maybe he hadn’t been as circumspect as he had thought.

He stared at the coffee-stain on his desk. The light brown swirl reminded him of Vincent’s milk-chocolate skin, and those slender fingers, exploring his body, knowing exactly where to touch. He had enjoyed being in bed with Vincent.

Then his thoughts flew back to Julie. She had nailed him.

She’d always been able to call him out. Was he really trying to live up to some impossible ideal? All he wanted was for his parents to be proud of him, like they were proud of Mark and Julie, who despite her nonsense was the perfect wife and mother.

Giving in to an impulse he didn’t want to examine, he dialed Julie’s number.

“Hey. Jacob, stop pulling Coco’s tail.” Her shout almost broke his eardrums.

“Bad time?” He grinned.

“Nope. You probably saved your nephew’s life.”

“What did you mean about some image I was trying to live up to?”

Her sigh would have competed with a gale-force wind. “You think Mom and Dad are disappointed you didn’t become a lawyer. But, they really just want you to be happy. Like Mark and I do. Make your choices based on what you want.”

“Did you? Make choices based on what you wanted, I mean?”

He imagined her biting her lip as she mulled over his question. At last, she broke the interminable silence. “Yes and no. Get me stinking drunk one day and I’ll tell you more. Remember, it really doesn’t pay in the end if you’re unhappy.”

He wanted to ask what choices she regretted. Instead, he took the easy way out. “I gotta run. Love you.”

John grimaced as he slipped his phone into his pocket. Man, Julie had blind-sided him today. His younger brother Mark was the family’s golden child—Harvard grad, six-figure income and living the high life in Boston. He was also married, to a nice enough woman, maybe a bit cold for John’s taste, but beneath her prickly exterior, she had a good heart.

He was the only one left without a girlfriend and no marriage prospect in sight, and he couldn’t imagine telling his parents he liked guys. It would break their Catholic hearts. If he followed his dick, he’d lose his family, his friends. It didn’t matter that gay cops were coming out from behind closed doors, there was still the stigma of being a fag.

Free shuffled through the door and sank into her chair, propping her feet on the desk. “Man, I’m pooped.”

Glad to put this disconcerting thoughts aside, John forced his mind back to their murder investigation “Find out anything?” he asked as he unwrapped a chocolate Kiss and popped it into his mouth.

“While you were out partying last night I was busy tracking down Sala’s lover. Have his address right here.” She dug out a crumpled napkin from her pants pocket. “Wanna go?”

Good, this was what he needed, a distraction. “Sure. You drive.”

Sean Cafferty lived in one of the many apartments near Arizona State University catering to the students. The complex looked like a retention center with its electronic gate and high fence.

John knocked on the third floor apartment door as Free stood behind him.

The door flew open and a look of astonishment swept across the boyish face. “You’re not the pizza guy.”

John flipped his badge open, taking in the taupe silk shirt and khaki pants. He was a snazzy dresser for a college kid waiting for pizza. “Detective Reeder. I’m looking for Sean Cafferty.”

“That’s me.”

“I need to ask you a few questions about Amado Sala.”

Sean’s hand flew to his mouth. “Yeah, I heard what happened. Crashing through a window. Was it a heart attack?”

“Murder.”

Sean gasped and his hand dropped to his side. “Murder,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

“Would you rather come down to the station?”

“Station? No!” Sean opened the door wider. “Come in. I have a few friends over. We’re watching the game.”

John didn’t ask what game but followed Sean. As he passed through the living room, he smiled at the worn mismatched furniture and empty beer bottles and wrappers on the coffee table and floor. It brought back memories of his college days.

In the kitchen, he spotted a table, the surface messed with newspapers and magazines. “This won’t take long.”

John pulled out a chair and sat, motioning for Sean to sit across from him. Free remained standing by the doorway, conveniently blocking it.

Sean tapped his ring finger on the tabletop. “Do I need a lawyer or something?”

This guy watched too much TV. John crossed his arms on the table and leaned slightly forward. “Not if you answer me truthfully and if you didn’t kill Sala.”

“No way!”

Sean wiped his hands down his shirt and the chair teetered on its two back legs as he tilted back and forth.

“How often do you go to Hank’s?”

The chair landed squarely on all four legs before Sean answered. “Mostly on the weekends, especially if I need to blow off steam.”

“By drinking?”

“Nah, dancing. I don’t drink. Much.”

The bartender had confirmed Sean was a regular and rarely drank more than a couple of beers. So far, the guy was batting hundred with the truth.

“How long have you known Mr. Sala?”

“Let’s see. We met at Hank’s few months ago. We weren’t together, you know, like dating or nothing. Just friends.”

“With benefits?”

“Sometimes.” Sean tapped the salt-shaker on the table. “What’s this leading to?”

“When’s the last time you two had sex?”

Sean rubbed the back of his nape. “Shit. That’s personal.”

“Not when it’s murder. Answer my question.”

“God, I can’t remember.”

“Try.”

Sean scratched his chin. “Let’s see. Well, I think Thursday night. I don’t usually go on a Thursdays, but it was Tighty Whitey Night and the last guy who won was a real scorcher. I wanted to see if he was there again.”

John felt his own neck grow hot. Vincent had won that night, and he wasn’t sure he appreciated the glimmer in Sean’s eyes. The baker had no sense of shame, parading around half-naked, the slut.

“We’d danced a few times. You know the drill. When it came to closing time, we hooked up. He took me to his office. He’s married and his wife’s clueless. Lot of men like him hiding from their families. The man was one hundred percent certifiably queer.”

John pushed aside a newspaper, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. “Did you threaten to oust him?”

Sean’s eyes narrowed at John. “Hell no, I don’t out people. We weren’t dating, dude. We liked to fool around, that’s all.”

“When did you leave the office that night?”

“Early morning, around two. I remember, because I wanted to go back to Hank’s and checked the time. Sala had to split, you know, because of his wife. So I came home.”

“Did anyone see you get in?”

“Sure, my roomie will vouch for me. He was watching some horror flick. Want me to call him in?”

“I’ll talk to him on the way out. Did Sala ever talk with you about his business?”

“Not why he wanted me, Detective.” Sean smiled, revealing two dimples.

After seeing that dimpled smile, John could see why Sala had taken the young man home. “Did he seem distracted? Worried?”

“Nah, he was a little buzzed. He sometimes took a toke or two, to loosen up before, you know. His wife was getting on his nerves about their daughter’s wedding. Making it a big deal, spending a lot of cash. For being rich, the guy was a tightass.”

John didn’t think Sean was a murderer and certainly not the type to use poison. He’d most likely clobber Sala with a heavy object, or shoot the man out of anger or passion, although he didn’t get the sense Sean got overly passionate about anything.

The murder was premeditated. It had to be someone calculating. Sean seemed too open and wasn’t the brightest star in the sky.

John stood. “Thanks for your time.”

“That’s it?” Sean’s chair thudded to the floor as he stood.

“Not unless you want to confess,” he said, amused to see Sean’s eyes grow round as saucers.

He handed Sean his business card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

After verifying the alibi with Sean’s roommate, they left for the office. Free got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Well, we can cross him off our list of suspects.”

“My vote is on the wife. She gets the business and life insurance. She doesn’t like queers. What about the daughter?”

“Rich spoiled kid. The mother dotes on her. She’s marrying some senator’s son she met at NYU. She wasn’t even here when Sala died. So leaves her out.”

Free pulled out of the parking lot but not before she bitched about the litter of tight silver foil balls on the floor. “Shit, John, you and your chocolate fetish. So what did Vincent tell you that warranted a date?”

Ignoring the barb, John whipped his head toward the driver’s window, hoping Free wouldn’t notice the blush creeping up his neck. “What we already knew.”

He’d hoped Free would drop it. It was too embarrassing to confess they never discussed the murder case because he was too busy humping Vincent’s beautiful mouth.

John slipped out of the office and made his way to the men’s room. It was empty. Good. He got out his cell phone and punched in Vincent’s number. He chewed his lower lip and waited.

“Vincent, here.”

“It’s John.”

“Hi. How did you like your cupcake?”

Jesus. His throat tightened, straining his voice. “What did you want to tell me at dinner?”

Vincent chuckled. “The other night was wonderful.”