Toronto Tales 1 - Cop Out Read Online Free PDF Page B

the house. The dresser doubled as a linen closet, and the bed was like something out a furniture catalog. Not surprising. If Ben couldn’t even tell Kurt about his living arrangements, he sure as hell wasn’t having houseguests. Besides, houseguests were frequently messy.
    He opened the closet. Dear God, there was an eternity of bad jokes in here about gay men in the closet. The small space was packed floor to ceiling with color. Shirts, pants, blankets, even what appeared to be a handmade quilt with a riot of crazy colors. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, with bits of paper or fabric sticking out from under their poorly fastened lids. Throw pillows, games, mismatched lamps, and mementos jumbled together. Blues, reds, greens, purples, and yellows met his eyes. The colors overloaded his retinas after investigating the rest of the house.
    A single box near the door had a grubby, well-worn lid. He opened it. Photos. Why would anyone keep a box of photos, and not put a single one up in their home?
    An old Polaroid photo, complete with overexposure, sat on top. The candid shot, about ten years old, depicted Davy and Ben, laughing. He almost didn’t recognize either of them. He’d never seen Ben laugh, and Davy was a pale shadow of the happy young man in the photo. The two men weren’t touching but they were sitting close together. Kurt bit his lip against the sudden burning in his eyes.
    He quickly sifted through the other photos in the box. There wasn’t another one of Ben, but several of Davy and Sandra and other people he didn’t recognize. Sitting back on his heels, he considered the items in the closet. Going through them now would take a lot of time; Davy could awaken at any moment. No doubt, everything in here was Davy’s. Which meant the compulsion toward cleanliness and lack of personal effects had been all Ben, a carryover of his workspace at the department.
    Past experience had taught him that people kept their most prized possessions close to where they slept. This room gave that a lie; this room was the exception. Somehow, he knew this closet contained all the things dear to Davy’s heart.
    His investigation raised more questions than it answered; he needed to talk to Davy, but that wasn’t going to happen today. He took a spin through the basement, but other than awe at the incredible home gym residing there, it told him nothing new.
    After checking in on Davy, who was still sound asleep, he left a note by the Crock-Pot with his phone number and a request for Davy to call him if needed. Phone call or not, Davy needed help, and out of respect for Ben’s memory, Kurt was going to provide that help and maybe satisfy his curiosity at the same time.
Chapter Three
     
    A
SSAILED with déjà vu, Kurt got out of the taxi and made his way up to Davy’s front door. He hadn’t even been able to stay away for twenty-four hours.
    Last night, he’d been restless, snapping at his parents and pacing, wondering if Davy had eaten the stew. He couldn’t even tell his parents why he’d been out of sorts. Thinking about Davy’s empty cupboards made him do something incredibly presumptuous. Maybe he should consider going back to desk work sooner than he’d intended, keep him from thinking too much.
    He left the house while his parents were at church. He wasn’t much of a churchgoer, and even if Davy was… judging by the dust on Davy’s car, if he wasn’t going to work, he wasn’t going to church, either.
As he’d done the previous day, he used his cane to knock on the door. Again, he waited. Again, he rang the doorbell.
     
When Davy opened the door this time, there was recognition in his eyes, and a wary welcome.
    “Hi, Davy. Feeling better?” There was a hint of color in those pale cheeks, and the purple shadows under his eyes had faded a bit. He wore the same blue pajamas he had on yesterday, though.
More than a hint of color flashed into his face, and he looked down. “Yes,” Davy whispered to his feet.