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

The nurse’s face lost all color, and he slowly removed the chain holding the door closed, allowing Jack and Edgar to enter. Suddenly a shriek of terror filled the air, and Jack and Edgar shared a concerned look.

“Mr. Saunders is not well,” said the nurse, “I doubt he will be any help.”

“Could we try?” asked Edgar.

“Wait here,” replied the nurse.

He turned on his heel and disappeared down a long hallway.

The interior of George Saunders’ mansion was a testament to old wealth. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceilings and gilt sconces lined the walls. Thick Oriental rugs and runners covered the floor and silver candelabra sat next to a silver snuff boxes. Seventeenth and eighteenth century oil paintings hung in gilt frames, mostly the still life works of Dutch masters, others official family portraits. Heavy, yet tasteful oak furniture filled the enormous rooms, and a Chippendale dining table, capable of seating twenty, sat in the center of a cavernous dining room.

The art, and objets d’art, were proof of a well-traveled man.

Unfortunately, the bulbs in the chandeliers had burned out long ago and dust covered everything. The rugs, covered with dust, had lost their vibrancy and the silver, no longer polished, now appeared tarnished and lackluster. Cobwebs hung in corners, and the once grand mansion was slowly falling into disrepair. To Edgar it was like visiting the palace of a defeated dictator.

George Saunders, too, had fallen into disrepair. The nurse brought him into the room in a wheelchair. Edgar guessed Saunders to be in his late sixties or early seventies, and he sat slouched with wild, unseeing eyes, obviously insane or suffering from dementia. His gray hair stood on his head in a tangled mess, and he had little bits of food resting on his lapel where it had fallen. Oddly, he wore white gloves with his otherwise casual clothing, and he refused to shake hands with his visitors. Edgar wondered if he even knew they were there.

“What were you saying about the deed to the Wonderland home?” the nurse asked.

“I was saying that a gentleman named Parker St. John has it, and that he is claiming ownership,” Edgar replied.

“Parker, Parker, Parker…” babbled the old man.

“As I said, Mr. Newcastle,” the nurse said, “I know no one by the name of Parker St. John. And, as for the deed to the property in

Wonderland, I assume that is securely locked away in Mr. Saunders’ safety deposit box.”

“Well,” Edgar said, carefully weighing his words, “Mr. St. John at least has a copy of it.”

“And why don’t you go to the police then?” the nurse asked.

“Mr. Saunders,” Edgar pressed, ignoring the question, “St. John is backing a proposal from Converse Properties, a development company, to destroy the historic homes on Eldon Court so that they can build a new resort there. Unless we can stop Parker St. John, those homes will be destroyed.”

Saunders almost seemed to contemplate this information, his deeply lined face dark and unreadable, but the spark of recognition that flashed in his eyes was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Parker, Parker, Parker…” he repeated, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“May I ask you a question?” Edgar asked, leaning down toward the old man.

Saunders looked as if he was about to doze off but Edgar couldn’t resist the urge to press his luck.

“What happened to your son, Troy?” he asked. “And how is Parker St. John related to the Saunders family?”

At the mention of his dead son’s name, George Saunders’ face contorted into a scowl.

“Bastards!” he screamed, making his visitors jump again. He heaved forward in the wheelchair, nearly toppling to the floor before the nurse rushed forward to steady him. As he sat back in the chair, a hideous scream escaped his lips, the same scream that Edgar and Jack had heard earlier.

“I think that it’s time for you gentlemen to leave,” said the nurse, “before I call the police.”

Back outside in the fresh air and sunshine, Edgar and Jack embraced.

“That wasn’t very useful,” said Jack. “But it’s a relief to be outside that haunted place.”

Edgar frowned as if lost in thought.

“It wasn’t very useful,” he finally agreed, “but now that we know the old man’s crazy, it might explain how he could have been manipulated into turning over the deed. Hell, maybe that nurse is in on it, too.”

Jack didn’t reply and both men walked back to the car in silence.

Thankfully, there had been no need to produce the pistol.

On the drive back to Wonderland Jack and Edgar discussed the next best course of action. Although it was unfortunate that Saunders had been unable to discuss his relationship to Parker St. John, the fact that he was clearly crazy and could have been easily duped into surrendering the deed was all that really mattered. Still, the question of Parker’s provenance nagged at Edgar. Was Parker really George Saunders’ son, shunned for the mere fact that he was queer? It could have been a simple matter of disinheritance. Or was Parker a scam artist, looking to take advantage of a broken, senile old man? Or was there something else, something far more evil involved? Edgar wasn’t sure, but he hoped that the truth would all come out in the end.

As they neared Wonderland, the sun was just beginning its steady descent toward the western horizon, its rays reflected and danced on the shimmering waves far below. The rocks along the coast glowed red in the setting sun and gulls screamed in the air, as if announcing to the world that all was well in Wonderland. As Jack and Edgar passed through Down Wonder, the town center, on their way to Eldon Court, Edgar had to smile.

Sure, the Alice in Wonderland thing was corny as hell, but it wasn’t without its homespun charm. And this was their home.

Edgar wanted to stop by Lauren Healy’s art gallery to see if LeeAnn was there. It seemed that the two women were spending a lot of time together and Edgar hoped to present his evidence as soon as possible.

Jack, however, argued against it, insisting they go