Hoarded to Death (A Jamie Brodie Mystery) (14 page)

I nodded. I felt like I might faint. “This is why you don’t bottom. Or like to be touched from behind.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at me weakly. “Do you want to hear about it?”

I did and I didn’t. But…“If you want to tell me, yeah.”

“I need to tell you.” Pete leaned back and took a deep breath. “My dad wasn’t religious; my mom was the one that had been raised Catholic and wanted us to be as well. My brother and I were altar boys, we went through catechism, the whole bit.” He took a drink and paused for a minute. “When I was thirteen, a new priest came to the parish. He was a young guy, energetic, upbeat. And he was very good looking. I developed a major crush on him. I hadn’t really known until then that…that I was attracted to guys. I knew I was different, but I’d never had the words for what I felt. You know what that was like.”

I did. I remembered being seven years old, sitting at the top of the jungle gym at recess, watching my male classmates chase the girls around the playground. I knew I was different, but yeah, I hadn’t had the words to describe it until much later.

Pete continued. “The priest was friendly with all the altar boys, asking us about school and sports, wearing jeans and t-shirts, acting cool. I know now that he spotted me a mile away, the kid with the crush on him. He’d ask me to help him with stuff, moving books around in his office and polishing candlesticks. I’d do anything he asked, just so I could hang out with him.” Pete closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “The first time he felt me up was about six months after he came to the parish. I’d helped him carry some stuff into his office from his car. He turned around and said, ‘I want to thank you for all your help. I want to give you something special.’ Then he put his hand on my crotch and rubbed. He said, ‘Doesn’t that feel good? I want to make you feel good.’” Pete finished his beer, set the bottle on the floor, and rubbed his face. “And of course it did feel good. It felt great. The next time, he went a little further. And then a little further the time after that. And then...you get the picture.”

I closed my eyes, trying to get the picture out of my head. “I need another drink. And my inhaler.”

Pete jumped to his feet. “Oh, shit. Are you okay? I…”

I stood up and stopped him. “I’m fine. I just need a drink, and I’m a little short of breath. I’m fine.” I tried to give him a smile. “No worries.”

I went upstairs and used my inhaler in the bedroom, then came back down, got another beer, and rejoined Pete in the living room. “Okay. All fixed.”

“You’re sure?” Pete looked distressed.”

“I’m sure. One hundred percent.” I swallowed. “Go ahead.”

Pete leaned forward again, looking at the floor. “It wasn’t...awful. He took his time, and he wore a condom. I knew it was bad, that he shouldn’t be doing this, but…I had this crazy crush on him, and I would do anything to spend time with him. So I let him do what he wanted.”

“How long did it go on?”

“Six months.”

“How did it end?”

“The church was in between school and home, and I’d stop there on the way home every day. By that time I wanted to stop, but he said no. He said we couldn’t tell anyone, we’d both be in big trouble. Of course I wouldn’t have been in any trouble, but he made me think I would. And by this time I’d figured out I was gay, and…it still felt good, you know? It was consensual, I mean as consensual as a fourteen year old is capable of being. But…my brother was getting suspicious. And one day he followed me into the church, and he saw us. You know Steve, he’s a big guy…well he was nearly that big at 16, and he put the priest up against the wall and told him if he ever touched me again, that Steve would kill him. And I think he would have. On the way home I told Steve everything. We got home and Steve told my mother, and she said I was lying, that Steve was lying about what he’d seen, that the priest was a man of God and he would never do such a thing, blah blah blah. She completely took the priest’s side and called us liars. And my sister was saying the same things. I was crying in my room, and my mom and Christine and Steve are screaming at each other out in the kitchen. It was terrible. Then my mom had to go somewhere, to some kind of meeting at the church, and while she was gone Steve called my dad. And he came and got us. He packed all our stuff in the car, and waited for my mom to get back, and then he told her that he was taking us, and if she tried to do anything about it he’d make sure that everyone in Barstow knew that she’d let the priest repeatedly commit statutory rape on her son, and both she and the priest would be ruined in the town. So she let us go. She chose the priest and her reputation over me. Over both of her sons. So we packed everything we owned, and right in the middle of the school year moved to Lancaster.” He got up for another beer.

That explained a lot.

It explained his reaction to what I’d said yesterday. It explained why he'd only have sex face-to-face. It explained everything.

Pete came back to the sofa with his fourth beer and handed me my third. He'd be the one with the hangover in the morning. He took a drink, then leaned back in his seat and looked at me. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm horrified. And I want to kill somebody on your behalf. Did you get any counseling after it happened?"

"Yeah. My dad found a woman in Palmdale who specialized in sexual abuse. By the time I graduated from high school, she had gotten me to see that it wasn't my fault, and that I shouldn't feel guilty about it, and that there wasn't anything wrong with my attraction to men. But it took a lot longer - years longer - before I was ready to let anyone even touch me, much less actually go to bed with a guy."

"Was Luke the first guy you went to bed with?"

"Yeah. And even once I started seeing him, it took another couple of years before I could work my way up to anal sex with him. Fortunately he wasn't a big fan of it anyway, so he didn't think anything was strange about it."

"You never told him what happened to you?"

"No."

"You were together four years, and you never told him?"

"No." Pete took a long drink from his beer. "Anyway, the point is, I’ve been in counseling since I was 14, and it's taken me this long to be completely comfortable with having the kind of sex life that we have now. I know you want more, but...I can't. I don't think I'll ever be able to."

My heart sank. I'd thought that, eventually, I'd be able to talk Pete into taking turns. I’d been
counting
on that.

Pete slumped back against the loveseat cushions. "You look like your dog just died. What we have isn't going to be enough for you, is it?"

I slumped back too. "I...I promised you last night that it would be."

"But now you don't know if you can keep that promise."

"I'm going to keep it."

Pete leaned forward again. "The first time we dated, we were together for eight months, and you never said anything about it."

"Yeah, but we weren't living together then. We only spent a couple of nights a week together. Now here we are, together every night…"

"Yeah. Okay." He suddenly looked exhausted. And older.

I stood up and held out my hand. "C'mon. Let's go get some sleep."

He took my hand and I pulled him up. He staggered a little. "Whoa. The beer's hitting me."

"Yeah." I slid my arm around his waist and slung his arm across my shoulders. "Here. Let me drag you upstairs."

He laughed a little. "Usually this is the other way around."

"Hey. What are you saying?" I poked him in the ribs a little.

He just shook his head. We staggered up the stairs. Pete passed out pretty quickly, but it took me a lot longer to fall asleep.

I wasn’t going to be able to adapt to this without some help. I had to learn how to deal with the frustration I felt without taking it out on Pete. When I got back to work after the holidays, I was going to find a counselor of my own.

Christmas morning, I wanted to be on the road by eight, so we had to get up early. Pete was hung over and grouchy. I set out the aspirin bottle and otherwise left him alone while I loaded the Jeep. He finally rallied enough to take a shower, get dressed and get in the car. By the time we got to Irvine, he’d drunk a bottle of Coke and taken a couple more aspirin, and was apparently starting to feel somewhat human again. He reached over and patted my leg. “Merry Christmas.”

I glanced at him and smiled. “Merry Christmas.” I’d let him take the lead in the conversation.

He didn’t say anything else for a minute. Then, “Do you realize, this is our first real Christmas together?”

When we’d dated before, we’d only been together a couple of months at Christmas, and we’d agreed to spend the holidays separately, with our respective families. “Yeah, you’re right. First one we’re spending together.”

He suddenly jerked upright, then winced. Probably jarred his head. “Oh,
shit
.”

“What?”

“I forgot your presents.
Shit!
”

We were spending a couple of nights at my dad’s, since there was no rush to get back. Neither of us had to go back to work until January 2. We’d planned to exchange our own gifts last night, but that plan kind of got swept away by Pete’s revelation. “Were they all under the tree? Because if they were, I got them.”

He gazed at me in adoration. “Yeah. They were. Oh my God, thank you.”

I shrugged, and gave him a sideways smile. “I was getting yours, so I figured I’d pick mine up at the same time.”

“
God
. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being hung over. Drinking so much last night. Being such a shitty person that I didn’t even remember your presents.”

“Don’t apologize. That’s why we have two brains, right? So when one of us forgets something, the other one remembers. And you’re not a shitty person.”

“Yeah, well.” He lapsed into silence again.

By the time we got to Jeff’s, my nephews Colin and Gabe had opened all their presents from Santa, their parents, and Grampa Dave, aka my dad. Val’s parents were farmers in the Central Valley and could never get away; every odd year, Jeff and Val went there, but in even years Jeff was on call for his veterinary practice and they stayed home. The boys had opened presents from Val’s parents and all of the uncles - Val’s three brothers, Kevin, and me - last night. Kevin and Abby were spending Christmas with Abby’s family, since they’d had Thanksgiving with us. We had their gifts for the grownups with us – I’d remembered them, too.

Jeff and Colin were putting coats on as we came in the door. “Merry Christmas. Gotta go deliver some very expensive puppies.”

Colin was practically jumping up and down. “I’m gonna help!”

“Great!” I raised my eyebrows at Jeff.

Jeff shrugged. “Yeah, he can hand me stuff. He’s seen goats born, so French bulldogs should be no biggie, right?”

“One would think.”

Jeff gave me a look and shepherded Colin out the door.

Pete and I went inside. Dad and Val were sitting in the floor of the family room, deeply involved in a construction project, and my younger nephew Gabe was closely supervising. He saw me and launched himself at me. “Uncle Jamie!” I caught him in mid-leap and flipped him upside down, with him squealing and giggling. It was our routine. He was taller at this age than his brother had been; we wouldn’t be able to keep doing that much longer.

I deposited Gabe back on the floor and leaned over Val’s back. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re building a bulldozer.”

“Of course. How silly of me.”

Val reached back and tried to smack me, but I maneuvered out of the way. She and Dad clearly had the task in hand, so I went to the kitchen and came back with Cokes for Pete and me. Pete had settled on the sofa; I set our Cokes down and went back to the kitchen, returning with a garbage bag, and started gathering bits of paper and plastic wrapping. By the time the kid-size bulldozer was complete, I pretty much had the place cleaned up. Dad got to his feet and hugged me hello. “Thanks, sport. We hadn’t gotten around to that yet.”

“You’re welcome.” I nodded to the bulldozer. “Whatcha gonna do with that?”

Gabe answered. “We’re gonna go dig some holes for bushes! C’mon, Grampa Dave!”

Grampa Dave went. He and Gabe took the bulldozer out to the back yard, and pretty soon I could hear it running. Val went to the kitchen for a drink and came back into the living room, flopping down beside me on the sofa. “So, tell me what’s going on with the murder case.”

We filled her in on all we knew, including my undercover operation with Eckhoff. She was appropriately impressed.

I ended by saying, “So now we just have to wait and see if anyone takes the bait.”

Val mused. “You know, I figured from the start that Jennifer’s old lady friend must have told someone else about what was in those boxes. I’m sure the cops have looked into that, right?”

I shrugged. “I guess, although I don’t know how thorough they’ve been. Eckhoff said that the old lady’s lawyer checked out, because he was dead, and she had no family at all. But he didn’t say anything about other friends. Although, it looks like if she would have told anyone about something valuable, it would have been Jennifer, and not someone else.”

“Maybe.” Val was quiet. Pete said, “What are you thinking?”

“I hate to say this, but…are we absolutely sure that Jennifer didn’t know exactly what was in those boxes?”

“Well, all we have to go on is her word that she didn’t. You suspect otherwise?”

“I don’t know. What I suspect is that Jennifer wouldn’t tell us if she had. She’d feel stupid for doing it, and she doesn’t want us to think she’s stupid.”

“But if she didn’t tell the police, and they found out, she’d be in big trouble.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s just kind of a feeling I have. I can’t explain it, and I have no factual basis for it.” Val got to her feet. "Okay, I've gotta hit the kitchen if we're going to eat today."

I said, "Can I help?"

"Nah, there's really not that much to do. Your dad is going to make the sweet potatoes, and Jeff will mash the potatoes when he gets back. The chicken's in and the veggies are prepped. So we're in good shape."