Dan Sharp Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Jeffrey Round

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      Dan shrugged. “I guess it can’t be easy for them to accept, coming from a Catholic country.”

      Trevor pursed his lips. “Well, they’ve got to learn sometime. They don’t own the world,” he said softly. “Or morality either, for that matter.”

      “Cheers to that,” Dan said, finishing his drink. He looked over. “Can I get you a refill?”

      “No, I’m good, thanks.”

      Trevor’s voice made Dan think of a particular breed of man — confident and content without needing to show it. Men who knew when they needed drinks and when they didn’t. Men who smiled and made others around them feel at ease without giving the least suggestion it was at their behest that they felt so.

      In the kitchen, Ted leaned against the range. He still wore his shades, even indoors. “Ah — the sleuth!” He lifted his glass as Dan entered. “Guard your secrets, everyone,” he called out to the empty room.

      Dan thought he seemed buzzed, though maybe it was just party energy. Ted followed Dan’s movements as he retrieved a beer and popped the top off, a painter examining a subject for a study or a director blocking moves for a scene.

      “So what has my brother told you about our illustrious family?”

      He was being ironic, Dan knew. It amused him that both brothers seemed to think themselves important enough to be talked about. “Nothing, really.”

      “What?” Ted feigned surprise. “You mean you haven’t heard about the family crest with six emasculated dragons, the silverware rotting in the cupboards, the skeletons in the basement…?”

      “I did hear something about your father having disappeared.”

      “Oh.” Ted waved a disparaging hand. “Oh, that. Yes, it’s true. The old man up and left us one night, never to be heard from again. It’s old news. It would be a comfort to know he’s actually dead, but what can you do?”

      “Well, there are a number of avenues you can follow,” Dan said. “If you’re seriously asking.”

      Ted eyed him keenly. “That’s right! You would know. What can you do to find a son-of-a-bitch who upped and left his family? You would know these things, wouldn’t you? Tell me.”

      “What have you tried?” Dan said.

      Boredom returned to Ted’s face. “The police, of course. The local ones first, then later the Toronto force and even the RCMP, because you can never get what you want from small town cops, can you?” He smiled as though he’d said something amusing then looked at Dan with exaggerated chagrin. “Sorry! Are you a cop? I didn’t mean to offend you.”

      Dan shook his head. “I’m not a cop. I’m a missing persons investigator.”

      Ted looked confused. “But it’s the same thing, yeah? I mean, you’re practically a cop or something.”

      “We’re a totally different breed.”

      “Well, good — that’s good,” Ted insisted, without specifying why it was good.

      The door opened and Thom came through. He looked from Ted to Dan. “Am I interrupting?”

      “Not at all, dear brother,” Ted replied.

      “We were just discussing your father,” Dan said.

      “Ah!” Thom removed a beer from the fridge. He kissed Ted’s cheek and patted his shoulder. “My good brother,” he said patronizingly. “Please stay out of trouble, just for this weekend.”

      “Of course, dear brother of mine.” Ted snaked an arm around Thom’s shoulder, grinning. One small and dark, the other broad and blond. Seeing them together, Dan would never have suspected they were siblings.

      Thom looked at Dan and shrugged. “Brothers — you have to look after them. What can you do?”

      Ted nuzzled Thom’s neck. “I am deeply indebted to my brother Thom for … everything. If it weren’t for him, why I’d have nothing at all.” He looked around, taking in the kitchen. “Though by rights this place should be mine. I am the oldest.” He nodded to Dan. “It’s been in the family for about a hundred years. Did you know that?”

      “No,” Dan said. “I didn’t.”

      Thom shot Ted a hard glance. “Just be careful you don’t end up in the lake again, all right, Teddy?”

      Ted laughed. “Never fear, I won’t do anything to embarrass you on your wedding weekend.”

      “Thank you.”

      Ted left. Thom waited a beat and said, “Excuse my brother’s atrocious behaviour.”

      “Not at all. He’s been quite amusing. What’s he done, by the way?”

      “To embarrass me?”

      “No.” Dan laughed. “I meant, what films has he made?”

      “Oh, that! He made a few little films — nothing important. He went to some prestigious film school in New York years ago, but he hasn’t really done anything. He starts things but never finishes them.” He paused and sipped his beer meditatively. “My brother’s a drug addict, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”

      Which explained the buzz and the shades, Dan thought.

      “I suppose since I give him his money it’s up to me to make him stop. There’s nothing like a junkie with money to burn.” He looked off in the distance, a pained expression on his face. “My poor, poor mother — a drug addict and a homosexual for sons, and a philandering husband who ran off with another woman. Bad luck for her. She should have stayed a virgin.”

      Thom laughed softly and took a long pull on his beer. Dan’s gaze lingered on his profile, the perfectly formed chin and brow. Thom had rolled his sleeves up, exposing his rower’s biceps. It was impossible not to find this man attractive. Dan felt sweat gathering between his pectorals, the skin beneath his shirt. He lifted his beer and went out.

      A hazy sunset had accrued by the time Dan returned to the gathering by the lake. Over the mountain, the underbellies of clouds were flecked with pink. He looked up at the house framed against the dying light. He couldn’t recall ever having been in a house owned by the same family for a hundred years. All along the reach were similar places with intricate histories, family secrets — homes with the names and birthdates of forebears embedded in family bibles going back generations. Dan knew its legacy of Protestant industriousness: the women in long dresses with their hair in tidy buns as they worked in the kitchens, the men in black serge over stiff-collars, diligent clerks and tradesmen and day labourers, and the children, seen but not heard, and unsettled by looks that discouraged frivolity. All living life in a way that precluded any indulgence in pleasure, straining after the little that might be allowed them, and looking for salvation in all that was hard-hearted and plain of manner.

      It was this same Presbyterian industriousness that had carved a nation out of wood and stone and given thanks to God, grateful for the newfound flag of freedom as they set up gristmills and established schools and churches across СКАЧАТЬ