Snowball in Hell - lanyon Josh (читать книги без TXT) 📗
He opened his eyes, staring into Nathan's, and after a dizzy moment Nathan began to laugh, very softly. And Matt laughed too, tasting Nathan's palm clamped against his lips.
«Merry Christmas,» Nathan said softly, taking his hand away.
«Merry Christmas,» Matt told him.
* * * *
They had breakfast in their room, the window wide open and the crackling December air clearing out the smell of sex.
Nathan's suit had been brushed and pressed, his shirt and underwear laundered. The late Mr. Hubbard graciously supplied socks. Nathan dressed while Matt stared out the window at the pine trees and distant snowy mountains. He wanted to watch Nathan. He thought his body was beautiful, but he realized Nathan was self-conscious when he stared at him too long.
After breakfast they went for a walk in the woods, not touching beyond the occasional brush of arms or shoulders, but together nonetheless.
«Why do you suppose the kidnappers scheduled things the way they did?» Nathan asked when they stopped to rest on a fallen log. A meadow lark sang in the chilly sunshine. A lone bee zipped past Matt's ear like a miniature Jap Zero.
He answered, «They had to wait until the banks were open on Monday.»
«But why was there such a long delay before contacting the Arlens? And then why was there such a long delay between when the ransom was paid and Phil was supposed to be released?»
«Well, that last might have been because they wanted to make sure the police hadn't been notified-assuming the intention from the start wasn't to murder young Arlen.»
Nathan shook his head. «It still doesn't make sense to me. It's like … they needed time.»
«Well, they would, wouldn't they? What's unusual about that?»
«Why'd they wait so long to let the family know he'd been kidnapped?»
Matt knew the answer to that one. «So they'd have no doubt that he really was missing. Apparently Arlen spent more than an occasional night away from home.»
Nathan looked unconvinced. «It seems to me that each stage of the kidnapping was spaced so that there was plenty of time in-between for the kidnappers to work on some plan they had.»
Matt examined Nathan's serious face. He enjoyed watching him, and he enjoyed listening to him. Liked the way his brain worked, liked the easy back and forth between them, liked him. Liked him a lot. Maybe too much. Maybe. But he'd never had this before, this effortless give and take of equals, not having to guard what he said, not having to sweeten it or soften it because Nathan wasn't someone frightened by the truth-any truth. He said, «Okay, if he wasn't kidnapped, what happened to him? The coroner says he wasn't killed until Monday night. So the kidnapping wasn't faked to cover a murder.»
«Maybe not to cover a murder,» Nathan agreed. «But it could have been faked.»
Mathew stared. «You think Arlen faked his own kidnapping?»
Nathan continued to gaze out over the meadow. His cheek creased in a faint smile. «It'd be nice to talk to Pearl Jarvis, wouldn't it?»
They were following a trail up one of the hillsides when Matt noticed Nathan had gotten very quiet. He looked over at him, and he was pale, his jaw very tight. One arm was unobtrusively clamped against his side. Matt put his hand on his arm, and said, «Let's stop a minute.»
Nathan slid out from under his touch, and Matt said, «There's no one around. Relax.»
He was surprised when Nathan bit out, «You seem to be taking this very much in stride.» He eased himself down on a flat-topped rock, breathing heavily.
Matt dropped down beside him. «Would you be happier if I wasn't?»
«I'd feel like-hell. Skip it.»
«What?»
Nathan didn't reply, leaning forward, resting his forehead in his hands, breathing fast and shallowly.
«Okay?»
Nathan ignored him.
It was hard not to put his arm around those thin shoulders. «Look,» he said. «This is new to me. I guess I have a lot to learn, but one thing I have learned is … it's not what I expected. What I was afraid of. You're not-you're what I used to hope-« It was too difficult to put into words. Too embarrassing. He cut that off. «I wasn't raised by Jesuits or anything, but I don't think God makes mistakes.»
«No?» From behind his hands, Nathan's voice was bitter. «What about two-headed calves? What about Siamese twins? You think homosexuality is some kind of deliberate flaw in the design?»
«What?»
«Skip it.»
Neither of them spoke for a time. A hawk sailed through the blue silence and vanished-along with the lark song. The wind whispered through the pines around them.
At last Nathan said, «I went to a doctor-in London. I wanted help. Wanted to stop feeling like this. Wanted to be normal.» He raised his head and his eyes met Matt's. «I thought I wanted it more than anything.»
«What happened?»
Nathan's smile was wry. «He said he could help me. I would have to go into a hospital-be committed, actually. They would give me electroshocks and cold baths and eventually I'd get better. But it would probably take years.»
Matt could feel the hair on the top of his head prickling. «What-did you agree?»
«I did. But then I chickened out.» Nathan's grin was sheepish. «I'd used a false name, but I was terrified he'd find me and lock me up. Luckily we were mobilized a couple of weeks later. I wasn't nearly as frightened of Jerry as I was of the witchdoctor.»
«An asylum would be about right,» Matt said. «Christ, you need a keeper, Doyle.»
«It'd be nice,» Nathan said. He looked away, but there was something in his funny, almost wistful smile that caught at Mathew's heart.
* * * *
When they got back to the lodge they had a drink in the hotel bar with the other guests-there were only a handful, and most of them had been coming to the lodge to celebrate Christmas for years. They were a pleasant enough bunch.
Matt excused himself after a while and commandeered Mrs. Hubbard's office to make a few phone calls.
Nathan finished his drink, made small talk with some of the other guests, and then they all went to eat Christmas dinner served in the dining room. Several tables had been pushed together and covered with red tablecloths. There were
candles in polished brass holders and a basket of holly with bright red berries for a centerpiece.
Matt joined them about the time they were all finishing up their soup. He sat across from Nathan in the wide square of tables. Nathan tried hard not to watch Matt too much, but when he wasn't watching Matt he could feel Matt looking at him.
The food was as good as anything before the war: real turkey, stuffing with chestnuts, mashed potatoes and gravy. The yams, corn, green beans, and pumpkin for the pie probably came from the hotel victory garden, but Nathan couldn't imagine how they'd managed to come up with the rest of the feast. Hoarded ration books? Black market? He ate more in one go than he could remember consuming in years.
Listening to the others talking about the war, for the first time he was aware of being grateful that he was home and safe-that Matt had made it home safely. And the next time he looked across the linen and candles and met Matt's eyes, he didn't look away, he smiled-and Matt smiled back.
After Christmas dinner they managed to avoid being press-ganged into playing cards, and went upstairs where Matt gave him the bad news that there was still no sign of Pearl. «There's been one development though.»
Nathan was resting on the bed. He felt ready to explode from eating too much, but he raised an inquiring head.
«We searched Phil Arlen's apartment and found a wad of five-hundred dollar bills in Claire Arlen's purse.»
Nathan dropped his head back on the pillow. He didn't say what he was thinking-that he thought it was a hell of thing
the cops were searching women's purses, that none of them had a right to privacy these days.
