Stranger on the Shore - lanyon Josh (лучшие книги читать онлайн бесплатно TXT) 📗
“I’m not sure I agree. Other people are involved here. Including Odell Johnson.”
Griff looked up. “What happens now to Johnson?”
Pierce shook his head. “It’s complicated. If Alvin is the imposter we both believe he is, then his story of wandering away that night is bogus, and there goes Johnson’s alibi. The conviction stands and its back to square one.”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
Pierce was studying him again. Griff said, “We should sleep, don’t you think?”
Pierce started to answer, stopped, cocked an eyebrow. “Well, we could,” he said. “Or maybe we could do something else to pass the time.”
Griff laughed and reached for him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You’re okay, Griff. You’re safe here.” Pierce’s voice cut through the sadness, the aching for what was gone forever. “You’re dreaming. Open your eyes.”
Griff opened his eyes.
Pierce leaned over him, outlined in the pool of lamplight. His face was shadowed, but his touch was kind and familiar.
“Sorry,” Griff jerked out. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” Pierce held up a book with his other hand.
“What time is it?”
“About three. I couldn’t sleep. What did you dream?”
Griff looked inward at the dream, and his throat closed. He pressed his face against Pierce, feeling the wiry softness of hair, the warmth of Pierce’s skin, breathing in unison with the slow, even rise and fall of Pierce’s chest. Pierce’s cologne was comforting to him now, as was the even thump of Pierce’s heart beneath his ear. He shook his head a little, his throat too tight to speak.
When Pierce rested his face against Griff’s hair, Griff felt his eyes fill with stupid, hot emotion.
“You can tell me.” He could feel the vibration of Pierce’s deep voice against his face. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”
Maybe it would be easier. Maybe not. What would be worse. Being right or being wrong? The only thing he knew for sure was once the words were spoken, there was no going back. And he wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to have his line of retreat cut.
He drew back, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He shook his head. The cover of Pierce’s book registered. “You’re reading Gatsby?”
Pierce nodded
“What do you think of it so far?”
He could feel Pierce considering his words. “The writing is beautiful. It reads like a fairytale to me.”
Griff weighed that. It was a shrewd observation. There was a fairytale quality to Gatsby. A fairytale that did not end well for the prince. He liked that Pierce didn’t pretend he liked the book more than he did, but that he could appreciate what was there to appreciate.
Pierce said, “Tell me what it is you like about it so much.”
Griff grimaced. “You’re just trying to distract me.”
“I thought you were trying to distract me.” Pierce brushed his knuckles against the bristle on Griff’s jaw.
“There are better ways.”
“I know. Talk to me.”
Griff joked, “Talk? Careful. That sounds like we’re getting serious.”
Pierce continued to watch him with that steady gaze. Beneath dark and curling lashes his eyes were the color of warm and sweet things—honey and amber and firelight and apricot brandy.
Griff gave in. “It’s not a romance. Everyone always thinks it’s a romance.”
“So what is it? Why does it matter to you so much?”
“It’s beautiful. The writing. It makes your heart hurt.” Griff quoted, “‘In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.’”
“Nice. But there are lots of beautifully written books out there.”
“It’s about a lot of things. It’s about dreams and what to value and when to let go. It’s about becoming whatever you want to be and about what it means to be true to yourself.” And it was about the degenerate rich, the falsity of the American dream, reckless excess, class warfare, and much else that suddenly seemed less absolute, even less important lying face-to-face with Pierce who worked with at-risk kids, drove out to do pro bono work for his elderly shut-ins, and wore a winged tattoo stamped over his tailbone.
Instead, Griff said, “And it’s like life in that it doesn’t ultimately reveal what you should believe or who was right and who was wrong. It gives you a lot to think about, to wonder about, to compare to what you know.”
“I like you,” Pierce said.
Griff laughed, not sure if Pierce was making fun of him or not. But Pierce looked perfectly serious. “I like you too,” Griff said.
“A lot. Whatever happens, I’m on your side. I mean that.”
Griff’s smile faded. “That sounds ominous. What’s going to happen?”
“I’m not sure. That’ll be up to you, I think.”
Griff didn’t have an answer, and Pierce, still sober, still serious, sat up and turned off the lamp.
* * *
The sun was shining brightly the next morning. Pierce made coffee from freshly ground beans, and there were blueberry toaster waffles with maple syrup.
“This is a real breakfast,” Griff said, and Pierce looked both amused and self-conscious.
“I think it takes sausage to be a real breakfast. Bacon at the minimum.”
“But we had sausage,” Griff said innocently.
Pierce inhaled coffee and began to cough. Griff laughed at him.
The doorbell rang a few minutes later. Pierce went to answer it and Diana strolled into the kitchen.
“Well, well. Things are moving nicely,” she observed at the sight of Griff perched at the breakfast island.
Griff hid behind his coffee cup. Pierce said, “Well, they were. Thanks.”
Diana laughed and helped herself to coffee as well. “So here’s the latest. Muriel has accused Chloe of killing Brian.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” Pierce asked.
Diana took the stool next to Griff. “Dad.”
“No, I mean where did Muriel come up with the idea that Chloe killed Brian?”
“I guess Chloe had a huge fight with Brian not long before the party. I don’t know the details. But at some point, it must have been this morning, Mike threatened to kill Muriel if she accused Chloe again. And Muriel believes she meant it.”
Pierce exhaled a long weary breath and Diana winked at Griff. “At this rate they’ll all be in jail before the day is out. Except Jarrett.” Diana’s mouth turned down. “Poor Jarrett.”
“How’s he doing this morning?” Griff was afraid to ask. He braced for the answer.
“So far, so good. That’s what Dad says anyway. He was on the phone to the hospital first thing.”
Pierce, standing on the other side of the island, took a final bite of waffle and drained his coffee cup. He put his dishes in the dishwasher. “What are you up to today?”
“I’m on my way to the office,” Diana said.
“Not you,” Pierce said. He looked at Griff. “You. What are you up to? You do know you can’t leave for Wisconsin yet, right?”
“Oh!” Diana said. “Jarrett wants to see you. That’s what he told Dad this morning.”
“Me?” Griff looked at Pierce.
Diana said, “Yes, you. He was very definite about it. He wants to see you as soon as possible.”
“I guess that’s one of the things I’m doing,” Griff said.
“Okay. Watch yourself,” Pierce said. “And don’t go around telling people you think you know who snatched Brian. Keep your mouth shut. I’m serious.”
Diana stared from Pierce to Griff. “You know who kidnapped Brian?”
“No comment,” Pierce said. “And I mean that. From either of you. To anyone outside this room.”
Diana’s mouth dropped. Pierce kissed the top of her head and then leaned over her and kissed Griff. “Hmm. Maple syrup. Nice.”
He was gone. They heard the front door slam a moment later.
Diana turned to Griff. “You’re not really planning to leave?” She seemed genuinely troubled.
“I live in Wisconsin.”
