Jesse and Phillip piled through the door, and Casper was right behind them. «You've been raided by the cops!» They both had their laptops. «Can we plug in and work in here, Peter?» «Of course.»
«The Gestapo, man.» Phillip shivered. «He looks like he could be taking names and rounding us up for the camps!» «Phillip, that's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?»
Phillip and Jesse both shook their heads. «They sent gays to the camps once before, Peter. It could happen again. That cop, he's got those cold eyes.» «He's got intolerant written all over his face, Peter.»
«Jesse, Phillip, I'm so sorry this has happened during your stay here. It's the last thing I…» Peter heard his voice break, and he turned away. Casper wandered over to the stove. «Something smells good. We having Italian?»
«I've got lasagna,» Peter said. «We have a really delicious Italian sausage lasagna, and a low fat veggie lasagna for our two healthy lads here.» He nodded toward Jesse and Phillip. «The veggies came from our own greenhouses – delicious roasted eggplant and peppers.»
«I want the sausage,» Sebastian said. «I'll eat a salad if that will make you happy, and maybe one piece of the eggplant. But don't push it. How many eggplant seedlings have you got out in the greenhouse? It looks like they're ready to take over the planet.»
Casper peeked into the oven. «Yeah, sausage for me, too. And salad sounds good.» He slapped a hand against his rock-hard Marine Corps belly. «You're feeding me too good, Peter.»
«You think Mike will be hungry enough to eat? I'm going to just have a bite of each myself. I really overdid it at tea.»
«Yes, thank you. I'll just have a bite as well, Peter.» Mike pushed open the kitchen door and joined them, his cheeks flushed with color and his hair windblown. Lawyering must make him happy. He looked better than he had all week. «Are you busy?»
«No, of course not, Mike. Would you like something to drink? Maybe some tea?» Mike nodded. «I'm feeling rather thirsty myself. Chamomile? Something soothing. I think we could all use some soothing tea.» «Tea or bourbon,» Casper agreed. «But I'll settle for a beer.» «Any other takers? Who wants tea?»
Casper grabbed a beer from the fridge, leaned back against the pantry door, tilted the bottle up to his mouth. Mike strolled over to him, hands in his pockets, drawn as irresistibly as if Casper had him on a fishing line and was reeling him in.
Jesse and Phillip wired up and plugged in, settled at the kitchen table. Sebastian pulled some carrots and green onions out of the crisper. «Peter, I'll start on the salad. Can you get Nelson to bring in some fresh lettuce? We got any cherry tomatoes ready to eat?»
«Maybe in the greenhouse,» Peter said. He picked up the phone and punched two, the line out to the garden shed. All the telephones had intercoms built in, so they could talk to each other. Nelson picked up with a grunt. «Yeah?»
«Nelson, can you bring in a couple of heads of butter lettuce, some of that mesclun, a pint or so of cherry tomatoes from the greenhouse? What else, some parsley. I think there're some scallions or green onions. Maybe some of that Italian basil.» Peter tapped his forehead, eyes closed. He couldn't think right. He was so tired, and his mind felt like it was filled with fuzz. Oh, Jacob. It fell over him suddenly, the sorrow. Jacob's happy young face filled his mind, his hands moving over the cello, the sounds of the music in his mind, and Peter felt such heartache, such pure golden sorrow, that he thought the crack of his heart breaking in his chest could be heard by everyone in the room. He opened his eyes and hung up the phone, and Sebastian crossed the room and pulled him into his arms.
Chapter Seven
He stayed there, eyes closed, resting his forehead against Sebastian's chest, until Susan came into the room, leaned back as if barring the kitchen door. «I never thought I'd say this, but that man is more annoying than the twins. Do I smell garlic? Maybe you can drug him with Italian food, Peter. Just keep feeding him until he gives up and goes away.» She crossed the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. «You have any ginger ale? My stomach's kind of upset.»
Nelson came in the back door with the basket of salad fixings, the herbs in a couple of little bundles on top of the lettuce. The little garden shears were sticking out of the basket, a beautiful split oak basket with a wide, curved handle. Peter always thought of it as the Little Red Riding Hood basket. He'd paid a fortune for it at a craft fair years earlier.
Susan looked up from the refrigerator and narrowed her eyes. «Nelson. Don't even think about moving. I've been trying for days to get your fingerprints! Why didn't you come in? I know you got the messages.»
Nelson held very still, staring at Susan, then he reached for her, jerked her head back by the hair, grabbed the garden shears as he dropped the basket on the kitchen floor. Peter
watched the tiny jewel red cherry tomatoes bounce in slow motion across the floor as Nelson pressed the sharp point of the scissors into Susan's throat.
Jesse gasped, and Peter saw Phillip reach over and take his hand, squeeze it. No one else moved.
Nelson's hands were grimy, nails dirty and ragged. Peter stared at those hands, pressing in so brutally against Susan's smooth, clean throat. Nelson looked just the same as he always did, acne-scarred face, muddy brown eyes, but those eyes were wheeling in his head like a panicked horse's and he was squeezing Susan's neck with those filthy hands.
«Nelson, what are you doing? Let her go! That's Susan.» Peter sounded like he was talking down a wind tunnel, his voice echoing in his ears.
«Back the fuck away,» Nelson said, looking at Sebastian. Sebastian was crouching, ready to spring. Peter met Susan's eyes. She was breathing fast, her face shading to red, and Nelson was squeezing her throat, tighter and tighter. She looked straight at Peter, then dropped her eyes to his belt, and he felt the weight of the EMS radio. Peter put both hands on his hips, casually dropped his fingers until he could reach for the emergency call button on the top of the radio.
Mulligan jerked open the kitchen door. «Where did everybody… Holy shit!» He stopped, reached for his gun. Nelson snarled and jerked the tip of the scissors into Susan's throat. She closed her eyes, her breathing sharp and jerky, and a trickle of bright blood slid down her pale skin. «Bring the gun over here, cop. Don't be stupid.»
Mulligan lifted the gun, passed it over with two fingers, the way they did it in the movies. «Okay, now, everybody just stay calm here, we all need to just stay calm…»
Nelson kept the scissors pressed into Susan's throat, reached for the gun. «Get on your knees,» he said, gesturing, and Mulligan awkwardly groaned and creaked until he was down on his knees. His face was the color of a bowl of oatmeal.
Nelson was looking wildly around the room, and his gaze fell on Mike. The point of the scissors was gouging her skin. His voice pitched high, skittering with nerves, and Peter could see that he was close to losing it. «That kid, he told you, didn't he? He told you he saw me? I saw him talking to you. He knew who I was. I could tell by the way he looked at me at the airport…»
Mike's face was colorless down to his lips, except for the purple bruise on his forehead, and Peter was afraid he was going to pass out. «Nobody saw anything! I don't even know what you're talking about! Did you kill Jacob, you cowardly son of a bitch? Did you? Why? What did…»