HARBOR: Beards & Bondage Read online

  “You live close by?”

  “Back Bay.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, stick around town. We might want to talk to you again. Stalking adds a different element to a murder. So does hiring a hitman. Especially a young one.” More confusion clouds my face. How the fuck old was Ryan Morgan?

  “How young and what are you talking about a hitman?”

  “Eighteen,” The short one chimes in.

  “Ryan Morgan was eighteen? An eighteen-year-old did this?”

  “An eighteen-year-old who’s been pretty interested in Corrine Johnson and her love life and you for some time. He was really keeping tabs on her, which seems pretty strange. Would make more sense if a jealous lover put him up to it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I ask. I know why. Nathan probably waited until the last minute to tell his mother he knew Corrine was still seeing us. He probably waited ’til the last minute to tell the cops Shaw and I existed.

  “We didn’t know about you, Mr. Coleman. We just discovered the emails ourselves. Did you get any suspicious emails about you and Miss Johnson?”

  I wrack my brain, trying to think of anything, but nothing comes to mind. “No.”

  “Well, we might have some more questions for you. What’s the best way for us to contact you?”

  “Just reaching for my business card,” I tell them before I even slip my hand into my breast pocket. “Do you mind telling me your names?” I ask. Wouldn’t hurt to look into these two jerk-offs myself.

  “Where are our manners? I’m Detective Catan and this is Detective Jansen,” the short one says, as Jansen studies my business card.

  “What kind of mother wouldn’t want her daughter to date a… patent attorney? Sounds fancy. Explains the car.”

  I take my keys out of my pocket, ready to end this fucking conversation already.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Catan says with a nod of his head. I just nod and climb into my car. I slowly pull away from the curb as they step back, watching me like I’m the killer they’ve been looking for this whole time. I catch Security-guard Cousin watching me in my mirror as I turn down the street. When they are out of sight, I realize how fucking hard my heart is beating.

  I pull into the first Dunkins I see and try to calm the hell down. It doesn’t work. Who the fuck is Ryan Morgan? Who the fuck is Josh Delinksy? And why…

  I stop myself from asking that question. There’s nothing I can do about this now. My phone chiming in my pocket snaps me out of it. I check it and see a text from Nathan.

  I told you not to come.

  I know. I’m sorry.

  Let’s talk soon.

  Just not now.

  Okay, man.

  Sorry.

  I toss my phone on the passenger seat and slam my head against the headrest. This is all too fucking much. My girl is dead. My girl was cheating on me and Shaw. She had a stalker that she never mentioned to me or Shaw. An eighteen year old stalker who was the one to pull the trigger and her mother thinks this is all my fault. I open my eyes, trying to blink back rage-filled tears. I don’t blame her. I would have married Corrine. I would have given her children. I would have done anything for her. And I knew down to the bottom of my soul that Shaw would have done the same. We checked in with her constantly. She was the center of our world.

  Clearly Mrs. Johnson was right about something. Clearly I dropped the ball somewhere. I fucked something up, did something to make my Corrine turn to this Josh Delinksy dude. I did something that made her feel like she couldn’t tell us she had a damn stalker. Whatever fantasy world Shaw and I were living in, Corrine wasn’t there with us. How the hell do I explain any of this to Shaw? How do I tell him that we were somehow the last to know?

  I know I need to take a step back and process this new information without the what ifs. I need to grieve. I need to take care of Shaw. I need to let Shaw take care of me in the way only he can. I need to work through more than one level of heartbreak. I need to chill the fuck out before the detectives start to think I really did have something to do with this. Or worse.

  But first I need more information. I need to know more about Ryan Morgan and those emails. And I need to know everything about Josh Delinsky.

  Two

  Brooklyn

  I should have stayed my ass at home.

  When they found my fiancé's body—and the body of the woman he was fucking while he was supposed to be on a snowboarding trip to Vermont—I had about twenty minutes to process the news before I had to decide whether or not I was going to nope the fuck out of this whole situation. I saw it, the complete nervous breakdown that’s still waiting for me. I saw the moment Josh and I met at a birthday party in Brooklyn. The moment he asked me out. The moment I decided to give this cute white boy who seemed to be the only decent human working on Wall Street a chance.

  That moment. That stupid moment, I actually worried what his family would think of me as we drove up to New Hampshire. Would they want their son with an orphan-turned-special-victims A.D.A. from the Bronx? What would they think of their son wanting to make a life and possibly have children with a Black woman? I had my come-to-Jesus moment. Talked to my sister about her own husband and the trauma of not having a father to walk us down the aisle. Or a mother to become a full pain in the ass while shopping for dresses.

  I saw the moment when I realized it was going to be okay because his parents are cool. Total hippie, sci-fi geeks who just want to nerd out and have a good time. One sister, Kelsey, is an Instagram model, who is even more beautiful in person. The other, Meredith, is a tree-hugging, animal rights activist that just wants to know that I care about climate change. I do. I’m more confused about how their financial analyst brother came from such earthy folk. They are proud of Josh. They love him and in nearly no time, they loved me too.

  Pattie started to call me her daughter as we were getting closer to the big day. George asked for my opinions for proper Thanksgiving sides. Kelsey and Meredith added me to our own group chat. They are actually pretty good with the memes. None of it is what teen me pictured for in-laws, mostly because I’m not on a yacht being fed grapes by Omar Epps, but I saw that moment. I took a step back, let that deep breath in and accepted the fact that Josh loved me. We were going to get married in the late Spring on my sister’s farm and eventually we were going to have kids. And maybe a cute dog.

  But none of that is going to happen ’cause as it turns out this motherfucker was cheating on me. Me. Brooklyn Lewis. The baddest bitch from the Boogie Down Bronx and I can’t even take this giant diamond ring off my finger and throw it in his face, because he’s dead.

  “Brooklyn?”

  I look up at the sound of Pattie’s voice. I force a semblance of a smile as I walk to the other side of the grave site. Mourners are starting to disperse. There will be food at his grandmother’s house and more small talk and condolences than I can stand. I should have stayed home. I considered it, but every time I tried to make the call, or worse, send the text, I’d hear Pattie’s voice. I’d hear her voice breaking when she finally called me back after I called her twenty times ’cause I couldn’t find my fucking fiancé. I’d hear the way she fell apart when she told me he was gone.

  She’s standing near the edge of the canopy with an older white woman with curly salt-and-pepper hair and tortoise-shell glasses. She’s holding the hand of a younger man. Pattie waves me over.

  “This is Josh’s best friend, John Dipper, and his mom, Lori.”

  Lori takes my hand. The gesture is overly familiar, even for this moment of communal grieving and it pisses me off even more as I realize who her son is.

  “The Dipper?” I ask. He swallows and nods. “He told me he was with you.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I want to regret them, for Pattie’s sake, but it’s been a long couple of weeks. It’s been a painful twenty-four hours, pretending I’m not crying for my own awful reason that no one but Josh’s sister Kelsey even pretends to understand. I don’t want to
take it back. Especially with the way John is looking at me. There’s something he’s not saying.

  “I know. I—”

  “You know?”

  The blood drains from John’s face. Phew boy, do I want to know what the hell he’s thinking. I dredge up the smile I only use for that asshole Judge Benson and every ounce of home training I have left in my body.

  “Lori and John. It was so nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me.” I know I shouldn’t, but I turn and walk away. I’m not going to stand there next to Josh’s fucking mother and let his childhood best friend tell me to my face that he knew Josh was cheating. I make it halfway down the long incline that brings you back to the cemetery drive before I hear John calling my name. Of course he’s done the stupid thing and chased after me.

  “Brook! Wait up!”

  I turn on Dipper and try my best to light him on fire with my eyes. “Please. Go back and tell Pattie how sorry you are.”

  “I—”

  “I mean it. I know Josh was your friend. Pattie needs this right now, your comfort and your condolences. But I don’t.”

  “’Kay. For what it’s worth, I told him to stop. Pattie couldn’t stop talking about you and my mom couldn’t stop talking about the wedding. I never met this Corrine chick.” Hearing her name makes my eyelid twitch. “But I told him to stop and I told him to stop using me as a cover. He was blowing me off to hang out with her too.”

  “For how long?”

  John swallows. That tells me what I need to know. “Seven months.” I do the mental math. Right after he proposed.

  “I appreciate that. Thank you.” I have nothing else to say. I need to process this shit and I can’t do it around Josh’s people. People who love him and knew he was cheating on me and… I let the air between me and John grow extra frosty and when he still doesn’t take the hint, I turn and start making my way to a small copse of trees breaking up the expanse of green and headstones. I can’t hide, but I can’t participate in this at the moment.

  I rethink leaning against the trunk of a sturdy pine tree as I take my phone out of my pocket. I pull up my text conversation with my sister, then rethink all of that. Liz is the best, but if I thought she was busy when she had one kid, two have eaten up all her time. Between her husband, the demands of their whole ass farm, Liz’s bakery and settling in with a new baby, I’d be lucky to hear back from her within a few hours. I open my group chat, which Liz will get to later, and start to type. Something catches my eye.

  A man.

  A tall-as-fuck Black man with hair shaved close to his head, the beginnings of a full beard and glasses. There’s a hint of authority about him, but he’s not a cop. I know cops. He doesn’t have that way about him. Also, cops don’t wear glasses. I saw him earlier, when we first arrived at the cemetery, but I figured he was here to visit a loved one. I’m wrong. He’s here for this. Or to check all of this out.

  This dude does not blend in. Still, I’m almost positive that’s the last thing he’s trying to do. I watch him standing in the road next to the row of town cars. Josh’s uncle is heading back to his car and I see him stare at the man. We’re in the middle of New Hampshire and I’m the only other Black person here. This dude is gonna draw more attention the more people start to leave. I know I should go back over to Pattie, but I don’t.

  I walk down the small incline and cross the road. He watches me the whole way and for some reason I feel like he’s here for me. As I get closer, I see that he’s not just tall. He’s fine as fuck, not that that matters. He’s also dressed way better than a cop. His dark wool coat is tailored to perfection.

  “Are you looking for someone?” I ask him. He’s looking at me intently. I know what he sees. I’m plus size by definition, but my overall appearance isn’t what grabs the attention. My breasts are fighting to get out of my coat. My nickname’s been Big Boobie Brook since the sixth grade. Most people notice, not just men.

  “I’m sorry to show up like this. Is this the service for Josh Delinsky?” he asks.

  “Yup.”

  His eyebrow arches at my flippant tone. I should have kept my ass home.

  “I—uh, I’m looking for Brooklyn Lewis.”

  “You found her. You have more bad news for me?”

  He holds out his hand for me to shake, like we weren’t standing a few feet from a hearse. I know nothing about this man, but I want to know why he seems so hesitant, like he didn’t just come looking for me at a funeral. Something like that takes confidence. “I’m Vaughn Coleman. My partner was Corrine Johnson. She was with—”

  “I know. I know who she is. Or was. I’m sorry you lost your business partner. This isn’t the best time though. Maybe later this week—”

  “No. Not my business partner. She was my partner. She was… mine.”

  “Oh. Oh!” I blink, hard, the reality of what he’s saying dawning on me. I scoff and stop myself before I smear my eye shadow. The only thing I can do is breathe. I glance over my shoulder and see that Pattie and George seem to be wrapping things up with friends, family and well-wishers. Meredith has found those same pine trees. She’s dashing her own tears away as she looks at her phone. There’s more. Hours more. I have to keep it together to get through this and then I can fall apart. Then I can deal with Vaughn Coleman. Another deep breath. “Okay.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have come. Her family didn’t want me at her funeral. Showing up at her lover’s funeral is probably the definition of bad form.”

  “Well, I just met the guy who was covering for them if you wanna talk about bad form.” He looks over my head and I consider pointing John Dipper out to him. Let Vaughn Coleman give him a piece of his mind, maybe a fist to the face, but I don’t. “I should get back.”

  “Right.”

  “But I do want to talk to you. This is some completely wild Random Hearts shit and you might be the only one who understands how fucked up it is that I decided to even come to this funeral. We won’t talk about the fact that I’m still wearing that asshole’s ring. We should definitely talk.”

  “There’s someone else. My other partner, Shaw.”

  My heart drops. How many people was Josh fucking? “Excuse me?”

  He swallows, then straightens his shoulders. “Corrine was in a long term, polyamorous relationship with me and another man, Christopher Shaw. We both loved her very much.”

  “Wow. Okay. Yeah, I can’t do this right now.” My vision blurs for a moment, but something in me refuses to pass out. Vaughn reaches out and takes my elbow. His touch brings things back into focus.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.”

  “Here. You can text me at that bottom number.” He hands me a business card. I take it.

  Vaughn Coleman

  Leeds, Parker & Coleman Patents|Trademarks|Litigation.

  Boston, MA.

  “You drove up here from Boston?”

  “Yeah. I need to talk to you.” I hear it then in his voice. He needs exactly what I need. And he’s hoping I’m the one who can give it to him.

  “Okay, thanks. You should go.”

  He nods with a tight smile before he turns and walks back to the black Escalade parked near the cemetery gates.

  “Who was that, honey?” I turn as Pattie comes up beside me. A wave of exhaustion hits me then. I’m so sick of being polite. I miss my parents. I miss my mom. I miss my sister and my friends. I see that moment again, a moment that almost was, the moment where Josh’s people nearly became my people. But they aren’t my people, because my people would know how unfair this is for me. My people would have given me options instead of insisting I come to the service to keep up the lie. To tell them that Josh did nothing wrong because, even in death shrouded in infidelity, I forgive him. My people wouldn't look at me with big watery eyes and tell me to keep wearing my ring.

  “Oh, it was no one,” I say. “He was here to visit someone, but he’s going to come back.”

  “We’re gonna head back to Josh’s Nana and
Pop-pop’s house.”

  “’Kay.” I follow her back to the family limo. As we drive back down the pine-covered road toward Josh’s grandparents’ house, I make up my mind. I never want to see the Delinskys again.

  I groan as I hike Iona higher in my arms. It’s only been three weeks since I last saw my sister and her family, but this little one is growing faster than a weed. “What are you feeding this kid?”

  “Only the finest breast milk, but don’t look at me. That is pure bone density. Blame her big-ass father. Why didn’t I marry a short man?” Liz says, letting out a fake cry as she turns off the sink. My sister got all the tall genes our dad’s side had to offer. She’s five eleven and I feel short beside her at five eight. Her husband is six five and built like a broadside of one of their barns. Small children were not in the cards for them, but damn.

  “Some woman asked me if Palila was in the second grade the other day. Puberty is going to be hell for her,” Liz sighs.

  “No one better to help her through it.”

  “True. So?”

  “So.” It’s been a month. I’m back at work, in body and mind at least. Being the District Attorney’s Special Victims Bureau Chief for the Bronx gives me plenty to keep me busy, but my heart is still broken. I won’t say that out loud though. I refuse. Josh doesn’t deserve it. Whenever I can, I leave the city. Friends don’t know what to do with me and I don’t know how to react to them.

  I don’t want to just sit in my apartment alone, so I go upstate in the car that Josh taught me how to drive after I kept complaining about how annoying it is to close the ninety-minute distance between myself and my sister and her husband’s apple farm. I thought my sister was crazy for leaving Manhattan behind, but after her life was almost taken away thanks to an honest-to-god hit attempt in her own apartment, I can see why things were never the same.