Transposition by Gregory Ashe

Author:Gregory Ashe [Ashe, Gregory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gregory Ashe
Published: 2018-01-17T06:00:00+00:00

IN THE HALLWAY, THE LIGHT from the windows had turned blue, and it gave everything a marine aspect, as though the house were sinking into dark waters. The dying light and its oceanic color fit their situation, Hazard thought: it papered the house in the right shade of morbid futility. In contrast, though, the smell of hot mozzarella and the bubbling zing of tomato sauce came from the kitchen, and nobody on a sinking ship, Hazard was pretty certain, had ever stuffed themselves with hot lasagne.

“This really isn’t right,” Somers muttered.

“Yeah, the whole thing has been screwed up from the start.”

“What? No, I mean—lasagne? On Thanksgiving?”

Hazard managed to swallow what he wanted to say, but only barely.

“What now?” Somers asked as they moved down the hallway. “Do we confront Adaline about her lie?”

“If it was a lie,” Hazard said. “Nobody seems to be keen on details here. Lots of vague times and vague itineraries. Leza might be wrong. Or she might be lying.”

Somers didn’t respond, but he shook his head slightly.

Although Hazard saw the gesture, he refused to engage. He had tried employing—and complimenting—Somers’s intuition earlier, and it had blown up in his face. He wasn’t going to try it again.

“Let’s talk to Benny and Meryl first,” Hazard said. “Get the first version of the story from everyone before we go at them again.”

They found Benny upstairs, in his room, stretched out on a chaise longue with his slippered feet propped on a pillow. He wasn’t reading or using a phone or iPad. He just lay there, staring into the darkened corner of the room. The slightly stinging aroma of pot lingered in the room.

“That’s smart,” Hazard said from the doorway. “Use drugs with two detectives trying to find a murderer in the house.”

“Blow me,” Benny said in a voice so loose that the vowels sounded like they were going to slide out from between the consonants.

“Let’s talk, Benny.”

“Blow me,” he repeated, and then a grin stole across his face.

Hazard and Somers took up position on either side of Benny’s chaise, and Somers began. “What were you doing yesterday, Benny?”

“Lots of stuff. Got something particular in mind?”

“The whole day. Tell us about it.”

“Woke up, got my role, had breakfast. Conservatory, trust games, nature walk, shooting range, murder.” The same grin stole across his face again. “The first murder, I mean. The fun one.”

“And after that?”

“Spent most of the afternoon at the murder site trying to find clues. That’s the game.” He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Such a stupid game, now that I’m living it.”

“And after working the murder scene?”

“Is that what you call it? Working a scene?” He threw an arm over his eyes, as though there were still too much light getting through his closed lids. “Back here for dinner. Then you two showed up, and everything got ruined.”

“You seemed upset to hear that Ran had been killed.”

“Upset? Jesus Christ, this kid thinks I’m upset. Yeah, good work, Detective. You figured it out. I’m upset.

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