Sandra: Tom? We have returned mail from your address. What gives?
Sandra: I’m worried about you. Please call.
Sandra: Call me, Tom!
Sandra: Don’t make me track you down.
Sandra: Tom, they’re talking debt collection. Please call me.
After reading Sandra’s last text, Tom silenced his phone and tucked it under a pile of papers on the edge of the desk. The slight lump kept drawing his attention, though, and every time he glanced over, invisible hands squeezed his stomach and rolled it.
He looked back at the laptop screen, but failed to immerse himself in Brian’s preliminary proposal. He checked the time. Maybe an hour in the cellar would clear his head. He had two albums to assemble and cell signal was spotty down there. And he could start compiling a list of what he had to sell to make up what he owed Mountain Manor.
The printer wouldn’t get him much, and he did need that for the proofs. Maybe the camera he kept in the car? He could get a couple hundred for that. Use his phone for “life happens” shots for a while. He had to keep the car; the bus didn’t stop anywhere convenient and how would he get to weddings otherwise? Could he trade it in for an older model?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Tom jumped half a mile—or half a foot—landing with a whoosh of breath and a curious burn of guilt, as though Frank had caught him listing Bossen Hill property to sell. Or figuring out how long he could coast on his hospitality—not that Frank knew he was keeping Tom at the moment. Tom checked the laptop screen and the pile of papers covering his phone and then looked up, reaching for a Wednesday morning sort of expression. What that might be, he truly didn’t know.
Frank stood over him, smiling laconically. “Maybe those thoughts need more. A silver dollar, perhaps?”
Four thousand of them would do nicely. Then you can tell me where I can get another two for next month.
He should just ask Frank for a paycheck. One wouldn’t make much of a difference, but he’d at least be able to stop the calls from Mountain Manor. Of greater concern was what he was going to do for money if they went ahead with this project. Maybe he could introduce the subject by hinting at how many hours he could put in beside any contractors.
Of course, if Frank was anything like him, he’d see their time as a bill they didn’t have to pay. Then there was the complicated ball of crap involved with asking the man he was sleeping with—
“Tom?”
“Sorry. I was reading over Brian’s proposal and daydreaming.”
Frank smiled. “Yeah? Has he given us a figure yet?”
“He’s waiting on Simon for that. Right now we’re building stages, so we can price out each one in case we don’t want to do everything all at once. Like, obviously the house itself is the first stage.” Tom turned back to the laptop and scrolled down a little. “He’s divided the garden into three other stages: barn renovation, patio refurbishment, and the guest cottages. We need to prioritize those.”
Frank grabbed a chair. “Okay, so let’s talk it out.”
They did that for about half an hour, and finally had a rough plan based on the season each stage could be complete.
While Tom made notes for Brian, Frank pulled out his phone. “I have to go to Jersey for a couple of days. If I go tomorrow, I can be home by the weekend.”
Home. Tom smiled.
“Want to come with?”
Tom glanced up. “To New Jersey? Why would I do that?”
“You could see my place. I’ve got a great view of Manhattan.” Frank grinned. “You can tell me if I’ve hung your prints well. See that I actually have hung them. We could have sex in a bed that doesn’t threaten to collapse beneath us at every turn.”
Tom laughed. Then he shrugged. “I dunno. I . . .” He looked around the cozy office, oddly reluctant to leave. Would the lodge collapse the moment he stepped away? Obviously not: he left nearly every day.
Would he collapse without the lodge to . . . what? Without this project?
“Everything okay over there?” Frank’s pale-ginger eyebrows were drawn down and together. He touched Tom’s hand. “You’ve been quiet the past couple of days. Anything you want to talk about?”
Shaking his head was automatic. “No.” Tom forced a smile. “We’ve been busy at night, is all.”
“And most mornings, I know. My balls are working overtime to keep up. I even found myself researching sperm production to see if there was something I could eat or drink to refill the well.”
Tom laughed again. “Only you, Frank.”
“Tell me you’re not interested in this elixir of youth I’m researching.”
“I can’t say that, but I am hoping we remember that we’re not eighteen sometime soon. Even my legs are sore this morning.”
“I can think of worse ways to go.”
“Mmm.”
The familiar crunch of gravel distracted them. Frank glanced toward the office window. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I hope it’s not that annoying Nolan woman again. She managed to get my cell phone number. Did I tell you?”
“You did not.”
Frank stood, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’m not above suing her for harassment if she doesn’t stop leaving messages.”
“You should.” Tom leaned forward to peer through the window. His pulse jerked up at the outline of the car approaching the circle. “It’s the police.”
“Huh?” Frank looked up from his phone. “Did you say police?”
“Yeah.” Tom stood.
They opened the door before the officer knocked, and Tom eased the scowl away from his face before it could lay permanent lines. The police force had always seemed like a weird choice for Neil Crook. Then again, the guy was weird. And stalkerish. After learning that Tom and Gerry were no longer dating, Neil had pursued him with single-minded purpose for nearly two years. Sandra had found it amusing. Tom, not so much.
Neil’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline as he spotted Frank. “Franklin Tern! Long time no see.”
Frank plainly didn’t recognize Neil, so Tom made introductions. “Frank, you remember Neil Crook?”
Frank’s mouth dropped open. He hurriedly shut it, only to open it again as he stuck out a hand. “Neil! It’s great to see you.”
They exchanged a quick shake with Neil smiling and bobbing his head. “Likewise. I didn’t realize you were back. We were all wondering what might become of this place with Robert gone.” Neil cleared his throat. “Ah, and my condolences.”
“Thank you. What brings you out?”
Neil pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Oh, a complaint, actually.”
“A complaint?” Tom glanced at Frank only to meet a flirtatious wink. Were they both thinking of bedsprings and creaky posts? Had to be.
Neil traced a finger across his notepad. “Suspicious activity, people in the woods, coming and going.”
“I walk the trails regularly,” Tom said. “For maintenance and just when the weather is nice.”
“At night?”
“What? No.” Had someone else seen that kid ducking through the woods after skulking around the cottages? “Who’s complaining?”
“I don’t have that information.” Neil closed his pad. “Mind if I take a look around?”
“For what?” Frank asked.
“Intruders. Vagrants. Squatters. A cache of illegal substances. Have you been up here for long?”
“Close to a month and I’ve seen no sign of any—” Frank’s brow furrowed. “Wait, the first week I was here someone came into the house. Right through the front door. I thought it was Tom, but he was still in the garage, I think.”
Ghostly fingers crept across the back of Tom’s neck. “And there was the kid that crossed the back lawn one afternoon. A couple of weeks ago. And the raccoons, Frank.”
“I’m hardly likely to forget those.”
“Raccoons?” Neil asked.
“Three dead and badly decomposed raccoons dumped in the pool,” Tom said.
“And you didn’t report them?”
“They were just dead raccoons.”
“We supposed it was a prank,” Frank put in. His expression suggested he thought it was something more now, however.
“Is it possible you have someone squatting out back somewhere? Kids using the barn or old guest cottages as a hideout?” Neil asked.
“I don’t—” Tom began.
“Could we?” Frank interrupted, directing his furrowed brow at Tom.
Tom quickly shook his head, even though he didn’t know for sure. Not about the barn, anyway. What he did know was that if they started going through the guest cottages, they’d find his stuff and he’d have a lot to explain.
“I’d be happy to check them out for you, since I’m here,” Neil said. He smiled and it was not a disarming expression. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up some more.”
“I’m sure we can take a look ourselves,” Frank said.
“Not sure if you’re aware, Frank, but we’ve got a lot of problems up here with the younger generation. Heroin, crack cocaine. It’s not just weed anymore.”
“Was it ever?” Frank murmured.
“Well, you see, with reports of young people running back and forth through your property, I could insist on taking a look at your outbuildings. Seeing as we’re all old friends, I figured we could do this . . . friendly-like.”
Frank seemed to consider this a moment, then nodded. “Oh, fine. Let’s get it over with. Tom?”
Tom pressed his hands to his sides to prevent them from betraying the panic building in his chest. “I’ll get the keys to the cottages.”
“We’ll meet you there. I’ll take Neil through the garage first.”
Damn it. He wouldn’t manage to shift more than a box or two before Frank and Neil were finished in the garage, so he might as well stop thinking about it. The idea was tempting, though. As was just disappearing down the driveway. Or misplacing the keys. But making Neil come back out here with a warrant probably wasn’t the friendly thing to do, and causing difficulties now would only reflect badly on him once Frank got an eyeful of the boxes stacked in cottage number one.
Shit.
Tom went to get the keys and then met them in the garage, where Neil was inspecting every corner, and finding nothing—until he checked Tom’s car.
“Could someone be living in here?” he asked, indicating the blanket and pillow on the back seat.
Tom’s pulse thrummed in his throat. “I use them to cover my camera bags.”
Frank gave him an odd look.
Neil took his time poking through the rear garden, all the while explaining where these kids were hiding their drugs. Tom formed the impression that he didn’t often have a captive audience and was taking full advantage. They inspected the barn next and even Neil agreed that the roof was in such poor condition that no one would risk sleeping in there. Finally, they came to the pair of intact cottages.
Tom unlocked the doors for One and Two and gestured toward Three and Four. “The doors are locked, but with the state of the roofs”—it was always the roofs—“I’m not sure I need to bother.”
“Agreed.” Neil opened the door to Cottage Number Two and poked his head in. “Lights?” he asked.
“Just flip the switch. These two are still powered. No water, though.” Tom cracked open the door to Number One. “I’ll check in here.”
Frank’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, scowling. His expression cleared when he looked at the screen, though. Accepting the call, he lifted the phone to his ear. “What’s up, Lucas?
His PA. Tom ducked into the cottage and stood there, scrutinizing the three stacks of boxes that represented his life up to this point. What was he going to tell Frank? That his apartment was being fumigated? No, he’d have mentioned that before now. That he’d made an arrangement with Robert would be better. That he was just using the place as storage.
Frank pushed through the door, pocketing his phone. “How is Neil Crook with the police?” He eyed the stacked boxes and frowned. “What’s all this?”
“I can explain.”
“Eureka!” came a curiously joyful shout from the cottage next door.
Tom scrambled outside where Neil met them, holding up a tackle box.
“Paraphernalia,” he explained.
“Para-what?” Frank asked.
Neil flipped open the box to reveal a bong, a small pipe, empty baggies, not empty baggies, and a small supply of white powder.
Well, hell.