Murder in Pastel by Josh Lanyon Read Free Book Online Page B

Adam had kicked his shoes off and was running for the water.
    I ran after, stopping only to remove my own shoes. The others were calling out “What’s happening? Who is it? Is it Brett?”
    Adam plunged into the water and disappeared.
    Wading out to my waist, I stood beside Vince who said grimly, “I told him not to swim so far out.”
    “Where are they? Can you see them?” Micky demanded from the other side of Vince. “It’s as black as pitch out there.”
    “Where the hell’s Jenny?” Vince questioned suddenly. He waded out hollering for Jenny.
    She answered distantly. I saw her white face materialize a few yards down.
    “Do you see them?” Micky asked me, moving in. Her teeth were chattering.
    “No.” My eyes strained to see. The surf was deafening, the moonlight deceptive. A piece of wood looked like a body tumbling over and over in the surf.
    “There!” Micky grabbed my arm.
    “No, look!” I pointed the other direction.
    “Oh, thank God. Is it both of them?”
    “I can’t tell.” I could discern Adam. It looked like he had his arm locked around Brett’s shoulders as he struck out toward the shore. “Yes, he’s got him.”
    Lunging through the water to meet Adam halfway, I draped Brett’s other arm over my shoulders. Between us we half dragged, half carried him up to the beach and dropped him in the sand.
    Adam rolled Brett onto his side and proceeded to empty water out of him like an old-fashioned pump. I knelt at Brett’s feet as the others grouped round, hushed. I was conscious of my soaked, stiff Levi’s and the wind biting through my clammy T-shirt. My hair dripped down my nose, an annoying distraction to the drama before me.
    Brett started to come around, choking and coughing even before Adam eased him onto his back. His eyes flew open and he gazed up at the circle around him.
    “Brett, are you okay?” Adam urged.
    Brett stared blankly and suddenly jack-knifed up, clutching Adam who locked his arms around him.
    I didn’t hear what he said, distracted by the pain of watching them, but I felt the shock wave that rippled through the ring around us.
    “What?” Adam demanded.
    Brett pushed back in his arms. “I said, someone tried to kill me! Someone grabbed my feet and pulled me under. Someone tried to drown me!”
    There were assorted gasps and gurgles before Micky said harshly, “He’s in shock. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
    “You must have caught your foot in some rocks,” Adam said.
    Brett scrubbed his wet face. “There aren’t any rocks that far out. You think I don’t know the difference between rocks and hands!”
    “What’s going on?” Joel inquired, coming up behind us.
    “Brett swam out too far,” Jen said. “Now he claims someone tried to kill him.”
    Everyone began to talk at once. Brett clutched at Adam and spoke tensely, his profile pale and saint-like in the moonlight. I couldn’t hear what he said, but Adam was frowning.
    “Okay, lover, calm down,” he said finally. “Let’s get you home and warm.”
    He helped Brett stand. Hastily everyone gathered their belongings. Joel dumped the ice from the metal tub into the fire and kicked sand over it. There was a strange hush as we packed up. I think we all tried not to watch the lumbering two-headed figure of Adam guiding Brett up the cliff.
    “He’s lying,” Jen said finally.
    No one replied.
    When I got back to my cottage, I followed a scalding shower with a cup of chamomile tea, and wrapped myself in the heavy terry robe I usually saved for cold winter mornings.
    The light on my answering machine was blinking. I pressed Play. Brett’s hoarse voice filled the room.
    “You and Adam screwed up your big chance to be together.” Raspy laughter. “Meet me tomorrow for breakfast. I’ve got something to show you.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    That morning I could hear the music clear across the meadow as I started over to meet Brett: Sonny Stitt playing “Bebop in Pastel.”
    He was kicked back on the