Orientation (Borealis Investigations Book 1), Page 6

“Shaw, he literally calls himself the queen of the gays. He’s our best shot at identifying this guy quickly.”

  “Regina’s going to be there.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We do know that. She’s always there. She’s . . .”

  “Insatiable.”

  “I was going to say relentless.”

  “Insatiable is better,” North said. “She wants you. She wants you bad. And one day, she’s going to get you.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “Why not with Tony? I get it: Regina’s a bitch when she’s in character, but Tony might be chill. And it’s been, what, a year since you and Benny broke up?”

  “Please drop it.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  Shaw reached over and gave him a quick, brutal titty-twister, and North actually screeched and barely kept the Grand Caravan from smashing into a row of shopping carts outside the Save-A-Lot.

  “You little bitch.”

  “I asked you nicely.”

  North massaged his chest, casting patently injured looks at Shaw.

  Shaw ignored him.

  “Ok,” North said. “If that’s how you want to play this.”

  Shaw turned his gaze to the window; he spotted a broken bottle on the sidewalk and focused on it, watching it flit by.

  “Ok.” North adjusted his hands on the wheel. “Ok, ok, ok.”

  Their drive today was shorter: a quick shot north up Jefferson, past Lafayette Park, toward Teddi’s house. Lafayette Square, the neighborhood surrounding the park, was an enclave of wealth like the Central West End in some ways. But Lafayette Square was smaller. And gayer. And had less of the yuppie gentrification that the Central West End had seen. Still, the houses here were nicer, the streets cleaner, and if you lived here, you might even walk your dog at night—not something North would advise if you lived in Benton Park, where Borealis was based.

  Teddi’s house was beyond nice. It was fabulous—like Teddi. It was painted a color that Teddi insisted on calling lapis lazuli, with crisp yellow trim and an enormous, sparkling glass rainbow installation in the front swatch of lawn that might have been the single gayest object North had ever seen. Teddi had paid a fortune for it; he made sure everyone knew it.

  When they rang the bell, Teddi answered in his typical ensemble of blazer and bowtie and loafers. His head shone—North was fairly sure he used some kind of scalp grease for bald men—and he beamed a smile at Shaw and a slightly frostier one at North.

  “Boys, come in, come in. I didn’t invite you this time because you’re always so terribly busy with your murderers and your prisons and your guns, but you absolutely have to come in. Right. This. Instant.” He whirled away without waiting for an answer and over his shoulder called, “North, you look absolutely terrible. As usual.”

  That was Teddi. At some point, Teddi had probably been Teddy. And before that, he’d probably been a Ted. Maybe even a Theodore. But for as long as North had known him—senior year, an invitation to one of Teddi’s (in)famous brunches courtesy of Shaw—he had been Teddi. With an i. A very loud i that you couldn’t possibly miss.

  “This was your idea,” Shaw said, massaging his temple as they stepped into the foyer. From deeper in the house came the clink of glasses, the swell of conversation, and then peal after peal of Teddi’s high-pitched laughter. “Can I please stay in the van?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on Regina. She won’t get you alone.”

  Shaw swallowed. “I wonder if Teddi has any Alka-Seltzer.”

  “Yeah, probably put it out with the buffet.”

  “Really? That seems like—oh.”

  “Shaw?” A look of terror invaded Shaw’s face, and North knew it had to do with how their last conversation had ended. North felt bad about that, but he wasn’t willing to get into a whole long thing about it. He settled for: “I’m going to have a mimosa. Or a bellini. Or whatever Teddi has. And you are going to have?”

  Shaw actually shuddered. “Tea.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  “Maybe licorice root tea.”

  North started toward the back of the house, where Teddi’s brunch occupied a kitchen and living space combination. “Licorice root tea seems like a reach. We’re not at Teavana.”

  “Actually, North, maybe you should have some licorice root tea too. It’s very soothing, and—”

  “Do I need to be soothed?”

  “Well, Pari did throw a plate at your head. And you were doing a lot of stomping. And I know you gave up smoking, which used to be your go-to for stress, but I kind of smell—”

  “Let’s split up.”

  Snagging a bellini—Christ, North thought, fighting a surprised cough after his first sip, had Teddi stopped even pretending to put peach into these?—and then, a second thought, which was to make sure Shaw didn’t so much as breathe near the drinks because he’d likely get totally smashed just from the fumes—North moved across the room toward Teddi, who was holding court in the breakfast nook.

  As North moved, he took in the array of guests. Even on a Friday at mid-morning, Teddi always had people in his house. In the living room were Teddi’s standards: Regina Rex, drag queen extraordinaire, who probably hadn’t been home to sleep yet; Peter and Paul, who had gone to college with North and Shaw and had made some kind of tech fortune and were annoyingly gracious whenever Shaw dragged North to dinner or drinks with them—No, really, let us; Cassie Katzenstein, who looked like a Halloween mask after the last round of getting her eyes done, and her husband Eddie—he did something in stocks, which meant they lived on a whole floor of their own at the Chase, and Cassie spent most of her day sweating and stretching and toning and most of her nights spending Eddie’s money. Eddie was sitting slightly off by himself staring at one of Teddi’s throw pillows, and the throw pillow looked like it was the one with more personality.

  There were a few boys out on Teddi’s deck; the open French doors let in whiffs of fresh April air and blooming redbuds and a mixture of department store colognes. Teddi liked to keep a rotating selection of hot, young—and generally brainless—boys parading through his brunches. Right then, those boys were enjoying several pitchers of mimosas and laughing and pretending to toss one of their friends off the balcony while he screamed and splashed his mimosa everywhere and was probably having the best time of his life.

  And then there was Teddi’s breakfast nook, where he was entertaining two men. Judging by the whispers and the way Teddi’s eyes kept shooting toward North, North had a good guess what their topic of conversation was.

  “Oh, North, perfect timing. I was just going to drag you over here and introduce you because you absolutely have to meet these two. This—” He squeezed the shoulder of a slender young man. The guy was pretty in a pouty kind of way; North figured he was the kind that liked to keep you running. “—is Billy Rolker. He’s an actor, really quite good, I saw him in Streetcar at the Rep, and I knew I absolutely had to have him.” Teddi waited just long enough and then added, “For brunch. And this—” He waved a hand at the other man: older, stockier—but muscle, North thought, not fat—with grizzle in his beard. Enough daddy vibes to start a prenatal unit. “This is Tom Gerard. Aren’t they just so cute together? They’ve got the most wonderful story about how they met, you really have to hear it.”

  “Hi,” Billy offered, looking up from under long, dark lashes.

  Tom pumped North’s hand once. Hard. A warning.

  “Tell them about that horrible detective,” Teddi began, squeezing Billy’s shoulder again. Billy was going to be lucky if Teddi let him leave with his shirt on. “Tell them about how absolutely insane he was. I knew him, you know. We met on one of his cases, and he was so horribly rude to me that I—oh my God! Oh my God, North might even know him. North is a detective too, you know. Private, though. Not for the police. That’s why he always looks like something the dog dragged in. I like to think it’s a costume, yo
u know. So the bad guys can’t spot him. But really, he’s quite, quite good. And he’s married to Tucker Laguerre—you do know Tucker, don’t you?”

  Billy looked even poutier than before and shook his head.

  Tom nodded, though. “We played on the same rugby team a couple of years ago. I didn’t know he was married.”

  North didn’t miss the chilly, satisfied smile on Teddi’s face. He didn’t miss the punch at the end of Tom’s delivery. He didn’t miss the fact that, for whatever reason, Tom Gerard was going to be a belligerent asshole.

  “Teddi, I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Of course, of course. But I haven’t finished introducing you. Do you see him, over there, the one who is going through my pantry for some reason?”

  North closed his eyes and groaned.

  “That is Kingsley Shaw Wilder Aldrich.”

  Billy’s voice was richer than North had expected from that single Hi he had heard earlier. “That sounds familiar.”

  “Aldrich Acquisitions?” Tom said.

  “The very one.”

  “Jesus,” Tom said.

  “Teddi—”

  Teddi waved North to silence. “Do you remember those gruesome murders a few years ago? All those young men being sliced to pieces in the city? It was terrible, just terrible, and the police wouldn’t do anything about it.” He sniffed and looked at Billy. “Your detective, what was his name, Hazmat? That’s what I always called him anyway because he just seemed so horribly toxic. Well, your Detective Hazmat did absolutely nothing.”

  “It wasn’t his case,” Billy said quietly.

  Teddi didn’t seem to hear him. Shaw was head-and-shoulders deep in the pantry—looking for his goddamn licorice root tea, North thought with a twinge of despair—and those ridiculous hemp pants so tight that his perky little butt was a magnet for every eye in the room. Teddi tapped a finger against the air, as though marking a point, and said, “The only survivor.”

  Billy drew in a surprised breath. Tom tilted his head, as though he needed to take in Shaw—and that perky butt—from a new angle.

  “I think that’s enough, Teddi.”

  “North, sit down, please. I’m getting the worst pain in my neck looking up at you, and I want to know if you ever met that dreadful Detective Hazmat. Billy was just telling the most hilarious stories about the things he would do and say.”

  Billy ducked his head. “That was Tom.”

  “Tom, you told it better anyway, about when he called, when he was absolutely furious at the two of you. It was just divine the way you told it, I almost died laughing. North, you have to hear Tom tell it, do that impression you do—”

  “I knew him,” North said, and there must have been something in his voice because it cut through Teddi’s patter like steel. “It was nice to meet you, Tom, Billy, but I need to talk to Teddi about something important.”

  Irritation—and a glowing tracer of fear—swept through Teddi’s face, but he shrugged. Tom left, bumping into North just hard enough that it wasn’t an accident, and Billy held out his hand until a pair of heartbeats passed and North met his eyes with a dismissive shake of his head.

  When they were gone, Teddi gulped at his bellini and then fanned himself with manicured nails. “You didn’t have to be so frightfully rude. What’s gotten into you? You’re normally not quite so savage. When you get your head back on straight, I want to know how you knew that horrible Detective Hazmat. I really think Billy’s something, don’t you? I’m just going to ask him what his next show—”

  Teddi tried to rise, and North clamped a hand on his arm.

  “Shaw thinks you’re his friend.”

  “I am his friend. I told you, I absolutely would have invited you to brunch if I’d thought—”

  North held his gaze until the words dried up and Teddi’s eyes dropped.

  “It’s not a secret,” Teddi finally said in a low, rough voice. “It was in the papers.”

  “No, it’s not a secret.”

  “He’s a lovely young man. Truly. Most of them—” Teddi fluttered fingers at the boys on the deck, who were now playing some kind of drinking game that involved bananas and obscene postures and more pitchers of mimosas. “Most of them come to drink my champagne and to look for a rich daddy and to laugh at me when they leave. And that’s all right; I know the deal, and I invite them because I enjoy looking at them, and I laugh at them when they leave.” A savage hook pulled the corner of Teddi’s mouth. “Especially when they leave with an older man, drooling over him, convinced he’s going to give them everything their real daddy didn’t. And Shaw isn’t like that. He’s really quite wonderful. Quite remarkable.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Teddi managed to meet North’s eyes.

  “You won’t ever tell anyone about Shaw and the Slasher again.”

  It took a moment. Teddi’s lips moved silently, and then he jerked his head in a negative. “I won’t.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, North saw Regina Rex—wig and dress and heels, the whole getup—lingering at the buffet. A prickle of irritation ran through North; no doubt she wanted to know what all the drama was about, especially after the way Tom and Billy had left. “I guess I can’t convince you to stop inviting Regina to these things.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Teddi said, “If only I could. She’s insisting that I help her with a fundraiser to renovate the Lucky, although from what I’ve heard, she’s gotten plenty of donations, and she’s already got the permits so it’s not like she has to jump through more hoops.”

  “Too bad. If she’s going to stick around, let’s talk business so we can get out of here.” North unfolded the printed images from Allure’s security footage and placed them on the table. He pointed to the man sitting next to Matty. Then he shuffled the pictures, showing different angles of the man’s face. Teddi leaned closer, perching a pair of cheaters on his nose and flushing slightly with embarrassment as he did.

  When North had cycled through all the printouts, Teddi pocketed the cheaters and leaned back in his seat. “That’s Mark Sevcik. He’s lived here for years. He does something in finance, I think, although lots of people say that and it’s hard to know what it means.”

  “You know that already? You don’t need to show this around, ask some questions?”

  Teddi’s smile could have cut glass. “I’m queen of the gays, aren’t I?”

  “Does he have a partner?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “One of your friends?”

  “Not really. I’ve had him over a few times. Brunch, once. He’s pleasant enough, but—” Teddi frowned.

  “What?”

  “Nothing in particular. I always had the feeling he was like them.” He waved those shiny nails at the boys on the deck, who were now engaged in an ultra-erotic wrestling match which involved lots of short-shorts being dragged down and then hastily pulled back into place. “A bit older. A bit more class. But a climber.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “I sent him an invitation, didn’t I? I’m not a barbarian.”

  North waited.

  “I’ll get my address book.”

  Nodding, North let Teddi slink away, and then he glanced over at the pantry just in time to see Shaw accosted by Regina Rex.

  Chapter 7

  The rest of Teddi’s house was immaculate, but Shaw thought the pantry needed a good going over. There were wax-paper sleeves of saltine crackers, jar after jar of sun-dried tomatoes, and a shelf—an entire shelf—given over to various mixers and bitters and cocktail onions. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, Teddi lived off of—maybe the pimento-stuffed olives? Shaw burrowed a little deeper; there was a box in the back, and it might have been tea—

  A finger ran up the curve of his backside, and Shaw jerked so hard that his head cracked against the shelf above him, and a bottle of tonic water rolled toward the edge. Shaw extricated himself from the pantr
y, catching the water and stumbling free.

  “Oh. Hi.”

  Regina Rex was black and beautiful. “Hello, gorgeous. I was looking for a cool drink of water.”

  Shaw glanced at the tonic water and then at Regina.

  Regina just laughed and let her finger trace the line of Shaw’s jaw. Shaw jumped again but not as high. At least, he hoped not. “Boy, you have an ass to die for. Tell me again that North isn’t tapping that. Tell me. Please. For my health.”

  “We’re just friends, Regina.”

  “Thank Jesus.”

  “You look very nice today.”

  “What an absolutely horrible thing to say, Shaw. I look ravishing.”

  “Stunning.”

  “Magnificent.”

  “Tremendous.”

  “And I look like this every day of the week. I’m twenty-four seven, boy.”

  “You don’t get tired?”

  For a moment, irritation simmered under the sediment of makeup, and then Regina laughed again. “You really are naughty. Sometimes I think you’re trying to provoke me. Tired? That’s the price of beauty.” Regina prowled closer, and Shaw took a step back. His shoulders bumped a pantry shelf. Something—a jar of pearl onions, probably—toppled and rolled into the back of Shaw’s neck. He reached back, trying to grab it before it fell off the shelf, but he didn’t break his gaze with Regina. Things had suddenly gotten very Animal Planet.

  “Do you know who else can look this spectacular?”

  Shaw shook his head. “It must be—”

  “I’m being serious now, Shaw. I’m not fishing for compliments. This wig—it cost me forty dollars. The makeup—Kmart store line. This shirt is from Vintage Lockup. Honey, the only thing I’m wearing that I paid serious money for is these fake tits.” She strummed them like she was playing flamenco. “Regina Rex is the queen. Regina Rex is one of a kind. There’s nobody like Regina Rex, and there never will be. And boy, if tired is the price I pay, then I’ll put it on my Mastercard.”

  “Yes, well,” Shaw fumbled the jar before it rolled off the shelf—it really was pearl onions, he thought, and that made him wonder if he was psychic, and he thought he’d have to ask Master Hermes the next time he got his aura cleansed—and because things had only gotten more Animal Planet, he just clasped the pearl onions to his chest and wormed a little deeper into the pantry. “You really do look terrific, and I—”