Desperate Lovers by Adam Carpenter (good beach reads TXT) 📕

1848-1990, the book lambasted every mayor and politician from the days of the Gold Rush up until the very recent past. Not surprisingly, the history of the “Paris of the Pacific” was a dark, twisted tale, and Edgar was putting it all down on paper. The idea had come to Edgar when he was still a staff writer at the San Francisco Chronicle, documenting everything from the displacement of poor immigrants for land, to the monopoly of public works, to the illegal crack down on labor unions. Nobody was spared, from the mayor who turned a blind eye as unsuspecting men were “Shanghaied” into service on the schooners that traveled from San Francisco, to China to the more recent mayor—now a U.S. senator—who had no problem “gentrifying” poor neighborhoods as long as the process benefited Big Business. Not many people, especially the U.S. senator, were going to be happy with his book.

Fortunately, because of his contacts at the Chronicle, there was a publisher who had shown interest. Emboldened by this, Edgar plugged right along in his research, often having to rely on the help of less than scrupulous individuals—many of them ex-convicts—in his quest for the truth. Fearing for his safety among men who seemed capable of anything, Edgar had resorted to something he never thought that he would do: he’d purchased a handgun.

It was, after all, only a few days after a boulder had mysteriously crashed onto the beach below Eldon Court, narrowly missing him and Jack as they sunbathed. And there was the arsonist who had tried to burn down one of the houses. Jack, of course, could never know that Edgar had purchased the gun; aside from being a vocal opponent of guns, the fact that Edgar had bought one would no doubt prompt him to dissuade his partner from any further research.

It had been during his research for the book that he’d kept coming across the name of Parker Saunders. Knowing that the son of Drew Saunders—one of the founders of Wonderland—had been named Parker,

Edgar had dug deeper. One afternoon, while perusing old documents at City Hall, he’d been shocked to discover that the Judge Parker Saunders that he kept reading about in his research was indeed the son of Drew Parker. While he’d owned a mansion on Nob Hill among the other “Robber Barons” of the day, his summer home had been listed as right here in Wonderland. Further digging revealed that Parker’s son, Nathaniel, also became a San Francisco circuit judge, and that both father and son had amassed great wealth through shady land deals and bribes.

Edgar documented it all, but the real surprise regarding the Saunders family appeared in an archived newspaper story dating from 1998, set within the walls of the present day Number Two Eldon Court. The owner, one George Saunders—the wealthy descendant of Drew Saunders—had called authorities to report an “accident” on the premises.

The story was virtually a non-story but was fascinating for what it did not tell; inexplicably, George Saunders’ eighteen-year-old son, Troy, seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth, and—shortly thereafter—the elder Saunders embarked on a long stint in Europe, leaving the house empty.

Although George Saunders remained one of the wealthiest men in

California and was reported to own a home in nearby Hillsborough. But actually locating the man had proved nearly impossible for Edgar, despite his well-placed sources. Then, a call from a source that Edgar only knew by “Stokes,” providing him with a telephone number for a supposed heir to the Saunders fortune, a young man named Parker St. John.

Under the pretense of writing a biography of Judge Parker Saunders, Edgar had phoned Parker St. John. Far from being standoffish, Parker St. John had seemed all too eager to discuss the Saunders family, and kindly consented to a telephone interview. To Edgar’s disappointment, however, Parker denied any knowledge of what had happened to Troy Saunders back in 1998, saying only that he had heard that he had mysteriously disappeared. As to the whereabouts of George Saunders, Parker had been more direct.

“He’s probably holed up at his mansion in Hillsborough,” he said.

“He wants nothing to do with me, so I wouldn’t know for sure.”

“Why is that?” Edgar had asked, diplomatically.

“You’d have to ask him,” was the curt reply.

In the end, Edgar’s phone interview had failed to shed any light on the circumstances at Number Two Eldon Court, and only served to bolster Parker’s claim to the Saunders estate. Then, two weeks later and shortly after the boulder incident, Parker had phoned Edgar at home to insist they meet in Down Wonder. Jack had recently found Parker’s number on a piece of paper that Edgar had absently left on a table. He had, of course, been suspicious and Edgar hadn’t wanted to repeat his mistake. Pressed by Parker, however, Edgar had acquiesced and met him at the Mad Hatter.

Edgar couldn’t help but notice that Parker St. John was incredibly good looking—an understatement really—but Edgar reminded himself why he was really there, to find George Saunders. It was during this meeting that a surprisingly sexy Parker St. John had first hinted about the plan for Wonderland Palaces.

“But what makes you think that anyone on Eldon Court will want to give up their home?” Edgar had asked, amused by the suggestion.

“Listen, Edgar,” Parker said, his voice low, not wanting his words to be heard by anyone else, “Anybody who helps us out will be rewarded handsomely. And I don’t just mean stock in the venture.”

Edgar regarded the handsome, younger man in silence, carefully weighing his words. If he said the wrong thing, his chances at finding George Saunders were greatly diminished. If he said what Parker wanted to hear he stood a better chance of solving the mystery of Number Two Eldon Court.

“What makes you think I can convince any of my neighbors to do anything they don’t want to do?”

“You’ve lived there the longest,” replied Parker, his smile laced with charm. “You don’t have to do anything…not until we need you to.”

Edgar nodded. It was the vaguest reply he