Every House Has a Secret - 22

 

"Here's what I found out," Brady told Rand Monday evening after they had finished supper. He'd refused to say anything until then, "Because first we need downtime that has nothing to do with the house or Hodges."

 

Brady sat at the desk, booting up his laptop, then went online to print out a file in his email that he'd sent himself from work. Handing it to Rand, he said, "As we know, Hodges and his first wife, Emila, had two sons. The elder son, Dennis Junior, has two daughters. The younger, George, has two sons, Colin and Frank. They'd be thirty-four and thirty-three respectively."

 

Rand lifted an eyebrow. "That puts them in the age range the realtor said the Thatchers were.

 

"Definitely. Hodges sons by his second marriage to Irene are indeed Alan and Steven Thatcher. They'd be, well are, forty-one and forty-two. Unless they look very young for their ages, they can't be the men who owned the house and abandoned it in twenty-twelve for whatever reason."

 

"Well, at the time the realtor probably met them, if it was them, to put the house on the market, they would have been six years younger."

 

"True. And Colin and Frank would have been twenty-eight and twenty-nine. That is closer in age to what the realtor thought the two men calling themselves Thatcher were."

 

"So you're figuring it was Hodges's grandsons, posing as the Thatchers, who gained access to the house, rather than the Thatchers themselves?"

 

"It does make sense. We have to talk to the real Thatchers, though, to make certain."

 

"Do you have a clue where to find them?" Rand asked.

 

"No, but I will. Give me a few minutes."

 

Brady began running a search for both Alan and Steven Thatcher by their birth dates, using both that last name and Hodges. He found their birth certificates, which listed their parents as Irene Long Hodges and Dennis Winthrop Hodges. Digging deeper, he located copies of adoption papers for them, naming Patrick Thatcher as the adopter. That happened the same year Hodges second wife had remarried.

 

With that information, Brady was able to find where the two men were now.

 

"Alan Thatcher is living in New York City, working for a financial firm. Married. One daughter, one son."

 

Rand chuckled. "It sounds like the Hodges family, from Dennis on down, have a thing for two kids and no more. Well, four for him I guess. Two with each wife."

 

"Not quite true. Steven Thatcher is unmarried and living in Toronto, Canada."

 

Every House Has a Secret - 21

 

 

By the time Sunday evening rolled around, Brady and Rand were beginning to wonder if it was all worth it. They knew it was, although their aching muscles and blistered hands seemed to say otherwise.

 

"With luck," Brady said, once they were seated at a table in one of their favorite restaurants and had beers in front of them, "the floors will be dry by Tuesday night. At least enough to walk on them in our socks, like the guy at the rental place said."

 

"Then, we paint, and paint, and paint." Rand yawned, getting a grin of amusement from his husband. "Did you let Nick know the cabinets and tiles have been delivered?"

 

"Yes. I called him when we broke for supper last night." Brady patted Rand's back. "I guess you weren't paying attention."

 

"I was eating, before the slave driver—" Rand shot him a look, "—said it was time to get back to work."

 

"Me?" Brady looked at him in horror.

 

"Yes, you, love. You were subtle, but you still made it clear we needed to finish the sanding before we could go home and crash."

 

Brady shrugged. "It had to be done. Anyway, there's nothing we can do tomorrow night, because of the floors. Nick will hopefully have the kitchen finished by then, and the floor tiled."

 

"A day off." Rand fist-pumped, much to Brady's amusement.

 

"Yep. I'll do what research I can fit in at work tomorrow on Hodges and his family."

 

"So tomorrow night we can start putting the information together to see what we come up with. I need something to write on." Rand flagged down the waitress, asking if he could borrow a pencil and paper. She disappeared, coming back with what he needed a moment later. "Okay. We have to find out what happened to all of Hodges kids."

 

"We know the first pair went to live with his wife's family after he was dismissed from the force," Brady replied. "I wonder why."

 

"Maybe he wasn't in any shape to take care of two young boys," Rand speculated. "Or having them around reminded him of his wife's murder and everything that happened afterward."

 

"Possibly. We can presume the second Mrs. Hodges, umm, Irene, got custody of the two boys from the marriage, after she divorced him. When she remarried, Lawrence Thatcher probably adopted them."

 

"I wonder if either of Hodges first two sons got married and had sons of their own."

 

"Now that's a good question," Brady replied. "If so, it might be possible that they posed as Alan and Steven Thatcher in order to have legitimate access to Hodges's house after he died."

 

"For what reason?" Rand asked.

 

"To find the gun, although how they'd know about it is a question."

 

"We have to find out if the burglars who killed Hodges's wife were ever arrested for the crime." Rand added that to his list.

 

"If they were, that would have made the papers, I think," Brady replied. "But…" He nodded. "Okay. Say they were never caught, but somehow Hodges found out who they were and took things into his own hands."

 

"Using the gun to kill them, and then hiding it in the house, along with the photos. That could work. But how did the phony Thatchers find out about it?"

 

"We'll have to ask when we find them," Brady said.

 

"If we do."

 

"Between us, we'll make it happen," Brady stated firmly. "For now, let's eat." A logical suggestion since the waitress had arrived with their meals.

Out today. 'The House'!

 The House

https://www.jms-books.com/edward-kendrick-c-224_229/the-house-p-3880.html 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B097CWM642

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-house-edward-kendrick/1139711314?ean=9781646568260

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-house-73

https://www.fantasticfiction.com/k/edward-kendrick/house.htm

 

GENRE: Gay Mystery Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 41,610 words
RATING:

Recently divorced and retired, Neil moves to a new house that needs a great deal of work to make it truly a home. When Marshall, his neighbor, offers a helping hand, a friendship develops between them, aided by Marshall's two dogs and Neil's stray cat.

That Marshall is gay and thinks Neil is straight could keep them just friends, despite Marshall's developing interest in Neil.

Then a shocking discovery beneath a trapdoor, and Pattie, a sweet, meddling neighbor, change everything. As they try to solve the mystery of the bones, the question becomes, can Pattie convince Neil to reveal his growing feelings for Marshall? Or will he deny them and lose Marshall in the process?

(This is a reissue of a previously published book which has been reedited.)

EXCERPT:

There was a small set of shelves along one wall of the studio that held several of Marshall's sculptures. Neil immediately gravitated to them. One especially caught his attention. Again, like the one of the man he'd purchased, it was quite surreal. In this case it was two men, bodies entwined in what appeared to be a passionate kiss.

"This one is wonderful," he said softly, running a finger along the delicately curved line of one man's back.

"Thank you. It's the one I was working on. I finished it earlier today."

"You're very talented." Neil grimaced. "That sounded a bit condescending didn't it?"

Marshall smiled. "No, it sounded as if you meant it -- and like what I do."

Neil studied the other works as well but his gaze kept returning to the two entwined men. He sensed Marshall come up beside him and turned his way.

"If you really like it, it's yours."

"I do, but I couldn't. It should be in some gallery or --" he smiled at Marshall, "-- in a museum even."

Marshall cocked one eyebrow. "It's hardly museum quality. Besides, can you see a parent trying to explain to their kids why two men are kissing?"

"In this day and age, I don't think that would be a problem. When we were kids, maybe, but not now."

Moving away, Marshall sat on the stool beside his work table, gazing at Neil without saying a word.

Neil began to get nervous under the intensity of his stare. "What?" he asked finally.

"I'm trying to figure you out."

"Meaning?"

"You're a middle-aged, straight guy who was probably -- and this is just presumption -- raised in a nice middle-class community where being gay was looked on as something strange and fairly intolerable. Then you got married after what? High-school or college?"

"I was twenty-six, actually, with a new wife I thought I loved and a new business I knew I did."

"So between college and then you learned the ropes during the day so you could start your business and played hard at night searching for the perfect mate."

Neil shook his head, trying not to laugh. "You are full of presumptions, most of them wrong. I was raised by my mother and my grandparents since my father pulled a vanishing act soon after I was born. That was in New York, the city, not the state, so I was well aware of the gay movement in the seventies."

"When you were what ...?" Marshall paused for a second. "Ten to fifteen years old?"

"I was ten in seventy-four, fifteen in seventy-nine." Neil frowned, remembering. "By the time the AIDS epidemic began, I was eighteen and scared."

"Of what? Straight boys didn't ... get AIDS ..." Marshall's eyes widened. "You're trying to tell me you're gay?"

"No." Neil smiled slightly. "Bi, though it's been forever since I've been with a man."

"I don't believe you," Marshall said with a trace of anger, although his expression said otherwise as he looked ... hopeful was Neil's take on it.

"About which, that it's been forever or that I'm bi?"

"That you're bi. You don't act ... Okay, that would be a very bad thing to say."

Neil barely smiled as he said, "Oh yeah, definitely. And you're hardly one to talk on that score. The young woman at the gallery has a thing for you for starters, so you definitely come off as straight as I do, at least to some people."

"I know," Marshall shot back. "But at least I don't hide what I am when it counts, the way you do."

"You're not hiding it from her?"

"She knows. She just ... hopes?"

"And you do nothing to discourage her."

"That's not true, damn it. And how did I suddenly become the bad guy here? I was up front with you, which is more than I can say about you when it came to me."

"I suppose. But then I had no reason to be. We barely know each other."

"And as far as you're concerned, you'd like it to stay that way."

Neil lifted an eyebrow. "Did I say that?"

"No." Marshall sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I should never have pushed the issue in the first place. It's obvious it makes you uneasy."

Neil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to decide what he could say in reply that would make sense.

 

Every House Has a Secret – 20

 

"Now we know that the Thatcher boys probably did inherit the house like they told the realtor," Brady said Friday evening, after relating what he'd found out.

 

"They weren't the ones she talked to," Rand replied. "The men calling themselves Alan and Steven Thatcher were too young to be them, unless the realtor was really bad at judging ages."

 

"True. So who the hell were they?"

 

"You're asking me?" Rand shook his head. "Also, what about his sons from his first marriage? Why didn't they inherit the house? They'd be…" He did a quick mental calculation, "in their sixties by now."

 

"My chore for Sunday—no, Monday when I get to work."

 

"Why wait until then?"

 

"Because as interesting as all this is, we have to go rent a sander and whatever comes with it tonight. Also, we need to choose kitchen cabinets and tiles for the kitchen floor to replace the linoleum. We want them delivered in the morning for Nick and his crew so he can start putting them in on Monday. Tomorrow, since it's Saturday we'll work on the other floors. That's going to be an all day job. Sunday, we varnish everything."

 

"I don't wanna," Rand pouted before relenting. "Yeah, we do. The sooner we get finished, the sooner we can move in."

 

"That, my dear man, is the idea." Brady started toward the door and stopped. "She, Mrs. Hodges, was murdered in the house. Our house," he said, looking at Rand.

 

Rand nodded. "I get that. Are you asking if I can handle living there, now that we know?"

 

"I guess I'm wondering if we both can. I know it happened a long time ago but…"

 

Rand took Brady's hands. "It was a tragedy which obviously affected Hodges in more ways than one, if you're right about why he went off the deep end, which I think you are. That said, yes it was well in the past. Are we going walk around the house wondering if this or that room is where she died? Maybe, for a while, although we'll probably never know for certain." He smiled, adding, "I'm not sure I want to. It's a beautiful house, Brady, or it will be when we're finished with it. We're making it ours, just as she made it hers when she lived there. I think she'd want us to love it as much as she did."

 

"You're right." Brady hugged him tightly. "If she's up there, watching, she'll be proud of what we've accomplished. But that won't happen if we don't get moving. We have shopping to do, floors to sand, walls to paint—"

 

Rand stopped his ramblings with a kiss and a laugh. "If you keep talking about what we still have to do, I'm going to get discouraged and give up."

 

"No you won't. You want this as much as I do."

 

"Probably more. Now I'll have room for all my books. The ones I own, and the ones I plan on buying."

 

"God help us both," Brady replied with a grin.

 

Every House Has a Secret - 19

 

 

Brady didn't get back to the office until late afternoon. As he said to Faith when he arrived, "The things I do to make a client happy. At least this time he will be. The guy I was following was about as injured as…as you."

 

"Meaning you caught him doing things he shouldn't have physically been able to."

 

"Yep, on camera, so he won't be able to deny it."

 

Going into his office, he downloaded the photos and sent them to the insurance company, along with the bill for his time. Then, he set to work looking for information on the Dennis Hodges in the story Rand had found and emailed to him.

 

He was able to confirm the details of the story, but then he'd expected to. What he didn't expect was to find out that Hodges's wife Emila had been murdered in a similar incident a month prior to his going off the deep-end.

 

That should have been a mitigating factor when he came up before the review board. Not that it would have cleared him of any blame for his actions, but still.

 

Next, he searched for other stories about Hodges and the man he had shot, after beating him within an inch of his life. What he found was a grainy booking photo of the man in one of the articles, as well as a good photo of Hodges. The accompanying story went into Hodges life in some detail. He had had an exemplary career as a police officer, with two citations for bravery, until the death of his wife. It mentioned that he had two sons, eight and eleven who had been placed in the care of their maternal grandparents after he had been put on suspension. We were off by a year on the older kid's age.

 

The interest in Hodges had apparently died out right after he left the police department. The next thing Brady found was a wedding announcement from five years later when Hodges married Irene Long. Of course, newspapers being what they were, the story began with 'Disgraced police office to wed daughter of local baker'. Brady wondered if Hodges could have sued them for defamation of character. Probably not, since it skirted the edge of truth.

 

Moving on, he found a birth announcement for Alan Hodges, and one from a year later—nineteen-seventy-seven—for Steven Hodges. That was the last time Hodges or any of his family made it into the papers.

 

Hitting a dead end with that, Brady went to the website for the Office of the Clerk and Records, moved to divorce records, and ran a search. Hodges and his second wife, Irene, had divorced in nineteen-eighty. A follow-up search revealed she had married one Lawrence Thatcher a year and a half later.

Every House Has a Secret - 18

 

Friday morning Rand stopped by the house long enough to let Nick and his crew in so they could start to work on tearing out the kitchen cabinets and taking up the linoleum. Then he went to the Register's offices to finish his weekly column and turn it in. Once he had, he began searching the paper's archives for any possible stories on Dennis Hodges. He found one, written by a reporter who had retired two years previously. The headline on the story was 'When Good Cops Go Bad'.

 

"That sounds like something from a tabloid," Rand muttered as he began to read. Fifteen minutes later, he was on the phone with Brady.

 

"If this is our Dennis Hodges, he was a police officer accused of using undue force during an arrest. The victim was a man suspected of being involved in a burglary during which the wife of the home owner was beaten and raped."

 

"How much force?" Brady asked.

 

"The suspect ended up in the hospital with a concussion, broken bones, and a gunshot wound to the abdomen. He survived, Hodges career didn't. This happened in nineteen-sixty-nine." 

 

"Were there any other instances of his being violent during an arrest?"

 

"Not that the article mentioned."

 

"Okay. I'll do more research on him if you send me a copy of the article. It won't happen until after I get finished with what I'm doing at the moment."

 

"Which is?"

 

"Following a man who might be trying to pull an insurance scam."

 

"Lucky you. Not."

 

Brady sighed. "Not is right, but…"

 

"It helps our bottom line. Got it. Love you. Call if you find out anything."

 

"Will do. Love you, too."

 

Every House Has a Secret - 17

 

 

"This fits our theory," Brady told Rand that evening, showing him the obituary.

 

"It's got to be the shortest one on record," Rand replied. "It doesn't even say what he did for a living."

 

Brady smiled briefly. "You noticed that, huh? If this is our man, at least we've got a middle name for him, now. Winthrop."

 

"With a name like that…" Rand shuddered. "Have you had a chance to look for any more information on him?"

 

"Not yet. I also have to check the serial number for the gun, to see who the registered owner is."

 

"Or owners," Rand pointed out, getting a nod from his husband. "I can search the Register's archives tomorrow, to see if we did any stories on Hodges."

 

"Go for it," Brady replied as he got up from the dinner table, going to their desk to get the box from the bottom drawer. He took out the gun, checked the butt of the grip, and wrote down the numbers engraved on the ID plate. "Why don't you do the dishes while I see what I can find out," he said, turning on his laptop.

 

"Hell of a way to get out of cleaning up," Rand retorted.

 

Brady grinned. "Whatever works." He went to the site he needed and input the numbers. "I think we're SOL," he muttered.

 

"What's wrong?" Rand asked.

 

"The serial number's not legit. Well the first three digits are, but not the rest. My guess is the gun was stolen, the serial number changed, and then it was sold under the table to Hodges or whoever he got it from."

 

"Well, hell. What about fingerprints?"

 

"If it was used in a crime, I suspect it was wiped clean. Even an amateur knows enough to do that, and to wear gloves when it comes down to it." Brady set the gun back in the box, put it away, and turned off the laptop. "Ready to go?"

 

"You're not going to do anymore searching?"

 

"We have a living room to plaster," Brady replied. "It won't get done if we play around here."

 

"But… Yeah, you're right." Rand got their coveralls from the dryer and they took off.

 

* * * *

 

"Finally," Rand said a couple of hours later, looking at the wall beside the fireplace. "When it's painted no one will be able to tell there was any damage."

 

"That is the idea." Brady gave him a hug. "Now, what's next?"

 

"Getting rid of the throw rugs in the library."

 

That took all of ten minutes. 

 

"Do we want to start cleaning the woodwork tonight?" Brady asked.

 

"You might, I don't. I want to go home and—"

 

"We are not doing any more research on Hodges tonight."

 

Rand grinned. "I was thinking more along the lines of researching your body."

 

"Well, if you insist, although I think you know every inch of it by now."

 

"Yeah, but I should double-check, just in case."

 

Brady laughed. "That's you story and you're sticking to it."

 

Rand did 'research' Brady's body; from head to toe, outside and in, before they spooned together and fell to sleep.

Every House Has a Secret – 16

 

 

The first thing Brady did when he got to his office Thursday, after saying "Good morning" to Faith, his receptionist slash secretary, was to gather up what he needed to upgrade the security on the building housing Nick's construction business. It took him several hours to complete the job and then show Nick what was what. Before Brady left, Nick gave him the dimensions he'd need in order to buy replacement cabinets for the kitchen, promising to take out the old ones on Friday.

 

On his way back to the office, he picked up lunch, which he ate while doing background checks for another client and tracking down the whereabouts of a missing husband who had decided the grass would be greener with a younger woman. Then he called his client to tell her what he'd found out—that the man was living in a city on the East Coast, and his address—so she could file for divorce.

 

With that taken care of, he set to work looking for information on Dennis Hodges and the Thatchers. The first thing he did was call the realtor to ask her how old she thought the Thatchers were.

 

"I'm a lousy judge of ages," she replied. "Still, I'd say late twenties to early thirties."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yes. Why?"

 

"Oh, nothing. I guess I figured they'd be much younger since they were so casual about walking away from the house the way they did," he lied.

 

She chuckled. "They did seem to be a bit young, but they had proof they had inherited the house so who was I to argue. I handed over the keys and reminded them it was now up to them to keep paying the property taxes if they didn't want to lose it. They did, and they have kept up with them, from what's on my files for the house."

 

"Did you ever meet Mr. Hodges?"

 

"No. He was before my time. I did wonder why their last name was different from his, but figured maybe he'd gotten divorced, his wife remarried, and they took her new husband's name."

 

"Makes sense to me. Thank you."

 

So the Thatchers can't be the kids in the photos. Then who are they, and where are the other kids? Maybe she's right about the Thatchers. If so, Hodges must have had bad luck in wives, presuming the boys in the photos are from a first marriage.

 

Using what information he'd gotten from the tax records, which consisted of Hodges name and the year he'd bought the house—nineteen fifty-four—Brady began to search for Dennis Hodges, starting with obituaries for anyone with that name who had died in or around twenty-ten, when the Thatchers had begun paying the property taxes.

 

That netted him three men in the area. One had died without leaving any family behind. A confirmed bachelor, Brady presumed, who had out-lived any siblings. The second one had three daughters and only one wife, which let him out. The third Hodges was a possibility. The obituary was short, saying only that he was predeceased by his first wife, Emila Hodges, and survived by a second wife, Irene. If he had children by either woman, they weren't named.

Every House Has a Secret - 15

 

 

"So?" Rand said, looking at the website Brady had brought up on his laptop.

 

"The previous owners are listed as Alan and Stephen Thatcher." Brady frowned. "If they were the sons of the man who owned it before them, they changed their last names. He was one Dennis Hodges. He bought it in nineteen fifty-four, meaning if he was in his twenties then, he'd be in his eighties now."

 

"If he isn't dead," Rand pointed out. "When did the Thatchers buy it, or take it over? Does it say?"

 

"They started paying property taxes in twenty-ten, so we can presume Hodges died soon before that, which would put him in his early to mid seventies when it happened."

 

"They'd be a bit older than us then, if they're the kids in the photos."

 

"Yeah," Brady agreed. "I'd say mid-forties. We should ask the realtor if they were."

 

"Have they been paying the property taxes, even though they abandoned the house in, what did the realtor say, twenty-twelve?"

 

"They have."

 

"Very weird." Rand shrugged. "I guess if they grew up in the house it held memories for them."

 

"Could be. Then they finally decided they weren't going to come back permanently and wanted to get rid of it. Ken said they were only here on the weekends."

 

Rand tapped his fingers together. "If they really were Hodges's kids, and not someone else who knew about the gun."

 

Brady leaned back, looking at him. "You want to turn this into one of the mysteries you read."

 

"Well, we have a gun, the photos of the men with 'X's' over two of their faces, the 'kids', with a different last name from Hodges, who abandoned the house soon after they inherited it, if they did." He nodded. "Prime mystery material. We have to find out more about Hodges."

 

"That would be a good place to start," Brady agreed. "But not right now. We need to get to bed."

 

"An excellent idea." Rand dropped a swift kiss on Brady's lips. "You'll get more after we shower."

 

"Or while we shower?"

 

Rand grinned. "Perhaps, if you're good."

 

"Love, you know I’m always—" Brady paused a beat, "—very good."

Every House Has a Secret - 14

 

 

The first thing Brady took out was obviously a pistol, wrapped in cotton batting. He unwrapped it carefully, laying it on the batting. "S&W, Model Ten."

 

"If you say so," Rand said.

 

Brady nodded. "I do. They were popular with cops back in the sixties and early seventies. Not to say this one belonged to a cop."

 

Next he took out an envelope. Inside there were several photos. Two were of four men. "I'd say they didn't know someone was taking their picture since this was shot from outside a restaurant window," he commented. "If I were to guess, probably from across the street." The men were sitting in a booth. One shot was of two of them on one side of the booth, the other photo was of the men seated across from them. An 'X' had been marked over two of the faces.

 

"That doesn't bode well," Rand said. "A killer's targets?"

 

"Maybe." Brady handed him the next photo. It showed a woman kneeling, her arms around two boys who Rand estimated were eight and ten. She was looking at one of them, leaving her face in profile. The last photo was of the boys, alone. Turning it over, he saw a barely legible date handwritten on the back—1968.

 

"Nice looking kids," Rand commented. "Are they the sons of the man who owned the gun, and maybe the house?"

 

"I'd say yes to the first, and who knows to the second."

 

Rand nodded. "It makes me wonder if something happened to them, and to their mother, because of something the men in the photos did. If so, maybe whoever this belonged to decided to take things into his own hands and kill them."

 

"It would make a good story."

 

"Ah, but is it the truth?" Rand settled back on his heels. "We have to find out who owned the house when these were taken."

 

"It's possible the boys—" Brady tapped the photo, "—were the ones who, according to the realtor, inherited the house from their father and then walked away, abandoning it."

 

"Meaning they're still alive. We need names to start with."

 

"Easily done, but not until we get home."

 

"So what are we waiting for?" Rand said, getting up. "We can plaster tomorrow night."

 

Brady laughed. "Your reporter gene kicking in?"

 

"Your detective one isn't?"

 

"It is." Brady put everything back in the box. "Re-cover the hole, just in case."

 

It took Rand a second to get what he meant. "In case whoever did own the house before us weren't telling the truth about inheriting it, and was looking for this?"

 

"Yeah. It's possible the plaster fell off after they left."

 

"If it didn't, and they'd fixed it, or tried to, they would have found the hidey-hole, and we wouldn't have."

 

"Yep. Probably."

 

They turned off the overhead light, and the others they'd turned on when they arrived, locked up, and then drove back to their apartment.

Every House Has a Secret - 13

 

 

That evening, as planned, Brady and Rand got ready to tackle the cracks in the plaster beside the fireplace in the living room.

 

"This is more than a crack," Rand pointed out, looking at a place right above the baseboard that was missing a wide swath of plaster. Enough that he could see the boards behind it.

 

"The inspector didn't seem worried about it, so we're good. We'll just replaster it in thin layers."

 

"Okay. That should work." Rand got one of the stiff-bristled brushes the man at the home improvement store had told them they needed and set to work cleaning off the accumulated dirt and whatever from the boards. He frowned when he though he felt one of the boards move. "We may have a problem."

 

Brady knelt beside him to see. "What?"

 

"This." Rand pushed the palm of his hand against the board, which was much shorter than the others. It was definitely loose. "Hand me something to pry with."

 

Brady gave him a small putty knife, which Rand carefully slid between the end of the board and the one next to it. When he put pressure on the handle, the board popped out.

 

"A hiding place?" Brady said.

 

"Looks like it. We need a flashlight."

 

"I'm not driving home to get one," Brady replied. He turned on the flashlight on his phone, aiming it at the hole. "Anything?"

 

Rand reached in cautiously. "Feels like something hard, wrapped in plastic." He eased it out. The plastic was dark—so they figured it was probably from a trash bag—sealed with duct tape. Whatever was inside was about the size of a cigar box.

 

"Let me have your knife, please." When Brady handed it to him, Rand carefully sliced through the tape and plastic at one end of the package then across the top, which allowed him to pull out a metal box, about ten inches by six by three, with a hinged top. "It's locked," Rand said.

 

"Let me see." When Rand gave it to him, Brady smiled. "There's locked and locked." He took a paperclip from his wallet, straightened it then bent the tip. "Never leave home with one," he said when, a minute later, he'd unlocked the box. "Well, this is interesting," he commented after opening it.

Every House Has a Secret - 12

 

 

Monday morning Rand met Nick, the contractor, at the house to tell him exactly what they wanted him to do. When Rand kidded that he could stick around to supervise, Nick told him that would be fine, but it would add to the cost of the job. "Or the amount of security Brady puts on my building."

 

"Um, I'm leaving…now," Rand replied, and did.

 

That evening, Brady and Rand installed new clothes bars in the closet, after painting the interior. Then they set to work painting the bedroom—which they finished Tuesday evening.

 

"We probably should have sanded the floor first," Brady pointed out halfway through.

 

"With what? We haven't rented the sander yet. By the time we get to that point the paint will be dry enough in here we won't have to worry."

 

"You're right. So tomorrow night we tackle the cracked plaster in the living room."

 

Rand twirled a finger, getting a grin from his husband as he replied, "Like you said, the hard stuff first. We'll save the sanding until the weekend."

 

They were just crossing the back yard to the garage when Ken came to the fence. "Your contractors are doing a fantastic job on your porch."

 

Rand looked at Brady, then they hurried around to the front of the house. Ken joined them, grinning. "You haven't seen it yet, I take it."

 

"Nope. We've been using the alley," Brady admitted as he stared at what now looked like a whole new porch. "Damn, it's great."

 

The bricks had been sandblasted clean of the flaking white paint. The wooden porch pillars, and the framework around the top of the porch and the door and window frames, had been cleaned of the brown paint and sanded. Two of the pillars were already varnished.

 

Brady lifted a corner of the tarp covering the stairs and saw that the crack in the concrete between two of  them was gone, filled with fresh concrete which matched what was already there.

 

"I'm going to have to give him a top-of-the-line security system," Brady said. He'd planned on doing that, but now he'd add all the bells and whistles to boot.

 

"Have you talked with Nick about the kitchen?" Rand asked.

 

"No. That's on my agenda for tomorrow."

 

* * * *

 

Wednesday morning, Brady took some time from work to return to the house to talk with Nick.

 

"Have you chosen new cupboards, yet?" Nick asked when Brady showed him the kitchen.

 

"Nope, but we will. I figure we can take down the old ones ourselves, to save time."

 

Nick shook his head. "Let us do it all. It works better that way. What are we bartering for, for this?"

 

"Free background checks?"

 

"Works for me. Let me know when you've picked what you want installed. I'll take measurements and email them to you, so you get the right sizes."

 

"Great. I hate to admit it but that didn't occur to us."

 

"It would have, once you were trying to decide." Nick grinned. "Then you'd have been back here with a tape measure. I'm saving you the extra drive."

 

 

Every House Has a Secret – 11

 

 

Brady and Rand were dressed in coveralls and at the house early Sunday morning to begin their renovations.

 

"Start with the hard things and work up, or down I guess, from there?" Rand asked.

 

"Sounds good to me."

 

They collected the tools they'd need to turn the two bedroom closets into one, putting them into two large plastic trash bins, and went upstairs. After donning masks, they each took a bin into a closet and set to work on the wall separating them. It only took a few blows from his sledge hammer for Rand to realize they should have bought earplugs because the noise was deafening is such a small space.

 

Brady must have had the same idea. He stopped pounding and a moment later came into Rand's closet to suggest they had large enough holes in the plaster that they could physically pull off pieces until they were down to the two studs.

 

It worked, much to Rand's relief. Once the plaster was gone, they sawed the studs free, setting them in the bedroom to be disposed of later. The next part of the project was making one central doorway, after which they would remove the framework on the old ones and fill the empty spaces with drywall.

 

"I say we use one of the door frames on the new doorway," Brady said.

 

Rand nodded. "A good idea, since we didn't buy what we'd need to make a new one. Besides, that way it'll match the rest of the woodwork in here perfectly."

 

After taking a break for lunch, they hauled up one piece of drywall and set to work. What they didn't need to fill the existing holes, they cut into pieces to fill the gaps inside the closet where the interior wall abutted the front and back ones. It took them most of the afternoon, with a lot of swearing and sweating, but by the end of the day they had the drywall installed, taped, and mudded, and a frame around the new doorway.

 

"I'm about ready to fall on my face," Rand said as he dragged one of the trash bins to the top of the stairs.

 

"You and me both," Brady replied. "But we got it done. Now we have to put in the clothes bars—"

 

"Tomorrow night," Rand stated firmly. "It's not like we have to do it all today."

 

Brand hugged him. "I know, I know. I was just planning ahead."

 

"Uh-huh. I know you. You want it done as fast as possible."

 

"Well…"

 

Rand laughed tiredly. "Right now, we get this crap—" he tapped the trash bins, "—out to the alley, along with the studs, and then go home. Got it?"

 

"Got it."

'A Cure for Boredom' is out today!

 A Cure for Boredom

A 'Wrong Side of the Law' story

https://www.jms-books.com/edward-kendrick-c-224_229/a-cure-for-boredom-p-3865.html

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B095Y46RGD

 

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-cure-for-boredom-edward-kendrick/1139584846?ean=9781646567454

 

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-cure-for-boredom

 

GENRE: Gay Mystery Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 49,820 words
RATING:

Sequel to Wrong Side of the Law

Bored with the repetitiveness of his job as an actor, Dante Hathaway comes up with what he thinks is the perfect solution. He and his lover, Kade Benton, should rob a jewelry store. After all, with his theatrical training and Kade's makeup proficiency, they ought to be able to carry it off with no problems. They do, and elated by their success, they decide to hit up a gallery next.

They are stopped in the nick of time by Dirk Steele and Maverick, who point out that they know a good deal less than they think about what it takes to pull off a successful caper. That might have been the end of their criminal careers if Dirk and Maverick hadn't decided their theatrical skills could be useful to their team of topnotch thieves.

When they're offered a place on the team, Dante and Kade accept, and soon discover that boredom might have been the least of their worries.

EXCERPT:

"You might want to reconsider what you're doing, Mr. Benton," a man said in a voice barely above a whisper. "There's more security than you think."

Kade swallowed hard as he turned to look at the man. He was about Kade's height, give or take an inch, with dark hair and a nose that had been broken at some point. "I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered in reply.

The man smiled. "I think you do. You and your ... boyfriend?" he phrased it as a question, "-- did a good job at the jewelry store, but this place? No, you'll be caught before you make it to the back door with what you intend on stealing. Trust me on that. I know what I'm talking about. So does my friend." He glanced toward the front of the gallery.

Kade took a panicked look and saw a good-looking blond man deep in conversation with Dante as they stood by the front door. Whatever the man was saying, Dante seemed to take in stride, but then he was an actor and knew how to school his expression.

"Are you a cop?"

"Nope. Not even close. I don't work for the gallery's security company, either." He released Kade's shoulder with the suggestion that they join Dante and the other man, who were just leaving the gallery.

With no choice for the moment, Kade agreed.

When the four men were on the sidewalk, the blond said, "Why don't we go to the park down the street. I'm sure we can find a quiet spot there to talk."

"What if we don't want to?" Dante replied defiantly.

"Then you'll miss out on an offer that might interest you, all things considered," the dark-haired man told him.

Dante looked at Kade. "What do you think?"

"Hell if I know. Right now, we're can't do what we planned, so let's hear them out, I guess."

"Smart man," the blond commented as he began walking toward the park.

Kade moved to Dante's side as they followed, with the dark-haired man right behind them. "They know my name," Kade said.

"Mine, too, which doesn't make me happy. Blondie said they aren't cops but how do we know for sure."

"I guess because, if they were, they'd have waited until after the gallery closed and we'd taken the raku, then they'd have arrested us."

"He's right," the dark-haired man said as they veered right to walk into the park. "Why don't we go over there?" He pointed to a vacant picnic table standing a few yards away.

When they got there, Dante and Kade hesitantly sat on one of the benches while the other men took the one across the table from them.

"Now, down to business," the dark-haired man said. "My name is Dirk. My friend here is Maverick. We know who you are, Dante Hathaway -- " he nodded toward Dante, " -- and Kade Benton. You work at one of the theaters in Portland, and live together. I'm presuming, although I may be wrong, that you're more than roommates."

"We are," Dante replied. "Are those your real names?"

Maverick chuckled. "Let's say they're the names we're known by and leave it at that for now. Is Dante your real name, or a stage name?"

"Real as they come, thanks to my father. He was a great admirer of Dante Alighieri's works."

"More power to him, I guess. Not my choice when I'm reading but hey."

"What do you read?"

"Guys," Dirk broke in. "Can we hold off on the literary discussion for another time. We have other things to talk about."

"Like why you knew what we were planning today," Kade said dryly.

"Yes. The first time we saw you, you were casing the jewelry store you robbed. It was obvious to us what you were doing, which piqued our interest, so when you drove away I took some shots of your car, Kade. That gave me the license plate number which I used to find out who you were, and your address. When we heard about the robbery on the news ..." He went on to explain what happened after that.

"Hang on, you had someone watching our place?" Dante said. "Why didn't we see them?"

"Because they're good at it," Dirk replied. "Just like they're good at everything we do. Anyway, when they followed you the first time you came here, they were pretty certain what you were doing and let us know. Maverick and I came down to replace them and followed you when you went back to find out what the gallery had in the way of security."

Dante frowned. "We didn't see you there."

"Of course not. The place was busy, which made it easy for us to stay on the down low while we kept an eye on you. Oh, by the way, you did see one of our team the first time you were there. The young woman who came over when you were looking at the raku."

"You have a woman on this team, as you call it? Not that there's any reason you shouldn't of course." Dante added quickly. Then, he looked hard at Dirk and Maverick. "Would I be wrong in presuming this team deals in various kinds of theft?"

Maverick smiled slowly, saying to Dirk, "He's pretty perceptive, for an amateur."