Murder in Pastel by Josh Lanyon

think about it a lot. But in high school I finally noticed what was different about me.”
    I hadn’t had a chance to do anything about it, assuming I’d had the nerve or opportunity to act on my inclination.
    She didn’t say anything. I couldn’t offer her any insight because I’d no idea what was going on in Vince’s head. They had always seemed happy to me, but I hadn’t experience at long-term relationships, homosexual or otherwise. Jenny continued to gaze up at me, her skin pale in the glow of the Chinese lanterns, her eyes huge and black as though she were on opium.
    “Kiss me, Kyle,” she whispered.
    I kissed her. Somehow it seemed easier than explaining why it wouldn’t solve anything. Jenny’s lips were soft and cool. She tasted like orange bitters and she smelled of rain and flowers. It was nice.
    “You son of a bitch! I thought you were supposed to be gay!” Vince’s indignant voice behind us broke the spell.
    I let go of Jen. She didn’t let go of me. “I am gay.” I tried to untangle my hands from Jenny’s. She clung.
    Brett, standing behind Vince in the French doors, exclaimed, “Adam, Kyle’s making out with Jenny Wren on the verandah!”
    The verandah spots came on like the lights in a police raid.
    “How could you do this to me!” Vince yelled at Jenny, starting toward her.
    She dived behind me. “You should talk!” she shot back from around my shoulder. “You’re fucking him!” She pointed to Brett.
    “Jenny!” gasped Vince. I think it was her language more than anything that struck him speechless. He glared at me, his hands clenching and unclenching.
    By now the verandah was full of people. The entire party seemed to have moved outdoors. A pitchfork of lightning flashed above the black ocean like old Poseidon himself waking up. It started to sprinkle.
    Adam maneuvered between the deliciously horror-stricken Cobbs, and put a hand on Vince’s arm speaking under-voiced.
    Vince shook him off and lunged at me. But now Joel had his other arm. Vince wriggled to get free. Jenny made alarmed squeaking noises, clutching me.
    “Fisticuffs! I love it!” Brett was laughing so hard he had to hang on to the doorframe to keep upright. “Kyle, you slut.”
    “Shut up, Brett,” Adam snapped, struggling with Vince.
    That wiped the smile off Brett’s face. He let go of the doorframe and charged at Adam. Adam stood his ground, but had to let go of Vince who shoved Joel with all his strength. Joel was not cut out for the bouncer gig. He and Vince shuffled a few feet in an awkward foxtrot.
    “Now boys. Boys!” Norman Cobb expostulated, detaching himself from the other spectators. His leather dress shoes slid on the wet deck.
    Brett swung at Adam.
    It was at this point that the power went off.

Chapter Seven
     
    I mmediate chaos.
    It was like a scene in one of John Wayne’s early Republic flicks when someone throws a punch and then chairs start flying. Somebody slammed into me, and I staggered back knocking Jenny down. Jenny, her nerves raw, screamed. Loudly. There was scuffling and grunting over to my left. Adam and Brett?
    Someone else started forward and crashed into the patio furniture. The table scraped forward a couple of feet and Jenny screamed again. Someone inside the house, Irene, I think, screamed too. Possibly out of sympathy, I felt like screaming myself.
    “Jenny, would you shut up?” I requested, trying to get her back on her feet. She had decided to go in for the vapors or something and was a dead weight.
    “Folks, would everyone stay where they are?” Adam called out exasperatedly. “Brett, get some candles.”
    “Get them yourself,” Brett’s muffled voice reached us from inside the house where he had retreated.
    The heat of battle was over, but Vince was still seething.
    “Get your goddamned hands off her!” He bore down on us, nearly falling over Jenny as I stepped aside with unheroic haste.
    From inside the cottage came a crash and the sound of glass breaking.