A Body To Dye For (Stan Kraychik Book 1) by Grant Michaels & Neil S. Plakcy

Author:Grant Michaels & Neil S. Plakcy [Michaels, Grant]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Humour, Gay Men, Fiction, Stan Kraychik, Boston (Mass.), Murder Mystery
Publisher: ReQueered Tales
Published: 2019-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

11

THE LITTLE DOG THAT BITES

WHEN I STOPPED IN YOSEMITE VILLAGE for directions to Mirror Lake, I learned that there was no road to get there, only hiking trails and bike paths. I’m not exactly a Sierra Club type, but I had no choice, so I rented a bike and pedaled my way. As it turned out, riding the bike immersed me into the quiet power of the valley, which I’d missed while driving the rented red whorehouse on wheels. I got to feel the cold, clean air rush across my face, and smell the trees, and hear peaceful forest sounds.

It was after five o’clock when I found Roger’s place. It was the only dwelling on the lake, a small log cabin that was a perfect fairy-tale cottage tucked among the trees. A narrow covered porch ran along the front of the cabin and up the two sides. Each side had its own spectacular view, the names of which I learned later: Half Dome to the east, Mount Watkins to the north in front of the cabin, and Washington Column to the west. There were no police lines around the cabin, which surprised me. Perhaps the natural beauty of the valley was more important to the local officers than regulations about police lines.

I’m not sure what I expected to find in there, but I was certain of one thing—I had to get inside. I hoped to learn firsthand, with my own senses, who Roger was, and why he’d come to Boston. I stepped up onto the porch but didn’t even bother trying the front door. Instead, I went around to the back of the cabin to try a window, but was quickly foiled by a huge picture window that made up most of the back wall of the cabin. Short of smashing the whole thing, I certainly wasn’t going to get into the cabin that way. I peered through the glass, but a heavy opaque fabric hung inside, blocking any view.

I wandered around to the east-side porch, which was cast in shadow by the setting sun. Both windows there were also blocked with heavy cloth, but one had a chink through which I could see a bit of the cabins dark interior. All I could make out was a bed. The sheets and blankets were thrown back, as though someone had recently slept there. I wondered whether Roger, like me, had left on a cross-country trip without making his bed.

The west side of the cabin glowed in amber light from the sunset. That’s where I got lucky and found a window that hadn’t been locked. I wondered if the cops had forgotten to secure it after their search, or maybe they’d never even noticed. Whatever the reason, I was grateful, and though a little voice warned me not to, I climbed through the window.

Once inside, I stood quietly still a few moments while my eyes adjusted to the dimness. The furniture was simple: a bed, a small nightstand, a square pine

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