P'town Murders: A Bradford Fairfax Murder Mystery by Jeffrey Round Page B
Authors: Jeffrey Round
Ads: Link
his desk and picking up a cigar.
Brad retrieved a match and lit it for him. Rosengarten puffed several times, and then looked over at Brad. "How are you enjoying your evening so far? I trust you're having a memorable time?"
"Very memorable, thank you.Interesting guests, tantalizing food, and delectable service."
Brad looked around, quickly taking in the room—filing cabinets, bookshelves, a standing lamp. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
"And then there's the house itself," he continued. "I'll bet the history is fascinating. Am I correct in thinking the hedge outside is belladonna?"
"Quite correct!" Hayden said, breathing a cloud of smoke. "You're not only handsome, but observant as well."
"Don't you worry about, uh, poisoning your guests?"
Hayden shrugged. "There are things inside this house that are far more deadly," he said. "Not to mention tempting. It's amazing what money can buy."
Brad nodded. "I'm no stranger to the things money can buy," he said. "And I know all pleasures have their price."
"Of course! As do all men. But I pride myself on offering the things that money can't buy."
"Such as?" Brad asked, alert to the answer.
Rosengarten fixed his gaze on Brad. "Discretion, for one," he replied simply. "It can be a priceless commodity when you have need for it. Personally, I find it a necessary complement to both the deadly and the tempting. You must have recognized the good senator sitting in our midst?"
"Of course."
"How do you think he'd feel if word got out that he was seen frequenting a resort like this?"
"Not very happy, I'm sure," Brad said.
"Exactly! Especially as he has plans to run for the presidency in the near future. And we are also graced with the presence of a very big star this evening. He has some highly irregular tastes, to say the least."
"'To each his own,' as they say. I'm sure you must get all types here," Brad said.
"All types, yes indeed. Politicians, movie stars, religious figures... even Mafia heads."
And all in good company, Brad mused.
"Why, just two nights ago we were host to a very queer fish indeed..."
Rosengarten brought the cigar to his lips and seemed to ponder the memory, as though it disturbed him.
Two nights ago was when Ross was murdered, Brad realized. Just how queer was this fish and what did it have to do with Ross's death, if anything?
"That's why these men spend thousands coming here instead of going elsewhere. Absolute discretion," Hayden continued, punctuating the air with his cigar, "is my guarantee when they walk through this door. Why, the names I could name..."
Brad leaned forward.
Hayden pulled back. "But I would never," he said. "I'm not free to disclose trade secrets. If anyone thought I was trying to blacken his reputation, I'd be putting myself in a very dangerous position, indeed."
"My lips are sealed, Mr. Rosengarten."
"And such lovely lips they are," Hayden said, tapping ash into the palm of his hand.
Brad looked directly into Rosengarten's eyes. I'm flirting with my ex-lover's murderer to entice evidence out of him, he thought. How obscene is that?
Keep your mind on the job, he could hear Grace say. Brad's eyes lit on a paperweight on Hayden's desk, an ugly obelisk with a starfish embedded at its center. He reached over and picked it up.
"That was a present from an admirer on my fortieth birthday," Hayden said. "The late Andy Warhol threw a party in my honor."
"Sounds like a great time."
"The only thing that marred it was the music. He was going through a lesbian phase at the time and hired all women singers. It was one depressing wailer after another..."
Rosengarten shuddered.
"But why are we talking about this, Mr. O'Shaughnessy? What would make this night memorable for you? A blowjob from James Dean? Montgomery Clift in a sling? These things can be arranged. A little makeup, the right wardrobe and lighting, and presto! You can have anyone you've ever wanted. With muscles, even."
"Now that you mention it, I've always
Brad retrieved a match and lit it for him. Rosengarten puffed several times, and then looked over at Brad. "How are you enjoying your evening so far? I trust you're having a memorable time?"
"Very memorable, thank you.Interesting guests, tantalizing food, and delectable service."
Brad looked around, quickly taking in the room—filing cabinets, bookshelves, a standing lamp. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
"And then there's the house itself," he continued. "I'll bet the history is fascinating. Am I correct in thinking the hedge outside is belladonna?"
"Quite correct!" Hayden said, breathing a cloud of smoke. "You're not only handsome, but observant as well."
"Don't you worry about, uh, poisoning your guests?"
Hayden shrugged. "There are things inside this house that are far more deadly," he said. "Not to mention tempting. It's amazing what money can buy."
Brad nodded. "I'm no stranger to the things money can buy," he said. "And I know all pleasures have their price."
"Of course! As do all men. But I pride myself on offering the things that money can't buy."
"Such as?" Brad asked, alert to the answer.
Rosengarten fixed his gaze on Brad. "Discretion, for one," he replied simply. "It can be a priceless commodity when you have need for it. Personally, I find it a necessary complement to both the deadly and the tempting. You must have recognized the good senator sitting in our midst?"
"Of course."
"How do you think he'd feel if word got out that he was seen frequenting a resort like this?"
"Not very happy, I'm sure," Brad said.
"Exactly! Especially as he has plans to run for the presidency in the near future. And we are also graced with the presence of a very big star this evening. He has some highly irregular tastes, to say the least."
"'To each his own,' as they say. I'm sure you must get all types here," Brad said.
"All types, yes indeed. Politicians, movie stars, religious figures... even Mafia heads."
And all in good company, Brad mused.
"Why, just two nights ago we were host to a very queer fish indeed..."
Rosengarten brought the cigar to his lips and seemed to ponder the memory, as though it disturbed him.
Two nights ago was when Ross was murdered, Brad realized. Just how queer was this fish and what did it have to do with Ross's death, if anything?
"That's why these men spend thousands coming here instead of going elsewhere. Absolute discretion," Hayden continued, punctuating the air with his cigar, "is my guarantee when they walk through this door. Why, the names I could name..."
Brad leaned forward.
Hayden pulled back. "But I would never," he said. "I'm not free to disclose trade secrets. If anyone thought I was trying to blacken his reputation, I'd be putting myself in a very dangerous position, indeed."
"My lips are sealed, Mr. Rosengarten."
"And such lovely lips they are," Hayden said, tapping ash into the palm of his hand.
Brad looked directly into Rosengarten's eyes. I'm flirting with my ex-lover's murderer to entice evidence out of him, he thought. How obscene is that?
Keep your mind on the job, he could hear Grace say. Brad's eyes lit on a paperweight on Hayden's desk, an ugly obelisk with a starfish embedded at its center. He reached over and picked it up.
"That was a present from an admirer on my fortieth birthday," Hayden said. "The late Andy Warhol threw a party in my honor."
"Sounds like a great time."
"The only thing that marred it was the music. He was going through a lesbian phase at the time and hired all women singers. It was one depressing wailer after another..."
Rosengarten shuddered.
"But why are we talking about this, Mr. O'Shaughnessy? What would make this night memorable for you? A blowjob from James Dean? Montgomery Clift in a sling? These things can be arranged. A little makeup, the right wardrobe and lighting, and presto! You can have anyone you've ever wanted. With muscles, even."
"Now that you mention it, I've always
Similar Books
