The Pride Trilogy: Kyle Callahan 1-3 by Mark McNease Page B

Kyle said playfully, his plate empty.
    Elzbetta gave him a weary smile and headed off again, her arm piled with dishes.
    “Will we see you at the pumpkin carving?” Eileen asked. “I’m told it’s the official start of the Halloween fun.”
    Kyle wondered what fun there could be, considering the day had begun with a man’s death. He started to say as much, thought better of it, and just said yes, they would be there that afternoon for the pumpkins, they wouldn’t miss it.
    You’re welcome to buy me a resort . An offhand remark, a few words, information Kyle would probably never have known without that chance encounter. He gave up any hope of taking a nap and turned to Danny, who’d been reading the current issue of New York magazine in bed next to him.
    “It’s funny . . . ” he said.
    “I’m waiting,” Danny replied, not taking his eyes off an article on the slate of Oscar hopefuls opening in December.
    “The detective asked me an odd question, about how much I thought this place would cost. I didn’t give it any thought until lunch, when they said Sid paid cash for it.”
    “That he inherited from an extremely generous aunt just when Pucky was selling the Lodge. Timing’s everything, they say. I imagine Linus Hern would concur. The man has the most uncanny timing—he gets out with the money just in time. Whatever sap he sold the restaurant to goes out of business three months later, and it’s nothing to Linus, he’s on to the next venture. You’d think investors would have learned by now.”
    “You’re not listening to me,” Kyle said. “You’re fantasizing a terrible end to a man you shouldn’t be wasting your resentment on.”
    “He’s had his eye on Margaret’s Passion for some time, you know. He circles, like a vulture.”
    “What if there was no rich aunt? What if the money came from somewhere else?”
    “And Teddy found out and was about to blow the whistle, so they silenced him.”
    “Yes, exactly!”
    “You should take that nap. Your brain’s tired. It’s got you imagining things.”
    “Should I call her?”
    “Who?”
    “Detective Sikorsky.”
    “I imagine she’s pretty good at finding these things out on her own,” Danny said. “For that matter, she may already know. After all, she didn’t ask how someone could afford to buy Pride Lodge, just how much it might cost.”
    “Ah, but that’s the question, isn’t it? How could someone who worked as a bank manager save up a couple million dollars to buy property? And why make up a relative who gave you the money?”
    Danny tossed his magazine aside and swung his legs around off the bed. “You could ask them yourself in about twenty minutes. It’s almost pumpkin carving time.”
    Kyle glanced at the dresser clock. Almost two hours had passed since lunch. He would not be taking a nap this afternoon. He sighed and slid off the bed, hoping for answers but still not certain what the questions were.

Chapter 11
    A Table for One
    F or a moment she thought the man staring at her knew who she was, then she realized it was impossible. She was a stranger to everyone here, and everyone here a stranger to her. It must be the way she dressed, common enough in a resort filled with gay men and lesbians; or, more likely, she reminded him of someone he knew. That happened a lot. She’d been born with one of those faces that could serve as a template for at least one person in everyone’s life. It had happened to her as a girl in Santa Barbara, and again in St. Paul. Anywhere she went, really. Every few months someone would stop her and say, “Don’t I know you?” She was the spitting image of their cousin or an old classmate. Once in a great while they actually did know her, and she would lie. “No, sorry, my name’s Bo,” she would say after they insisted she reminded them of an old acquaintance named Emily. “Bo Sweetzer.” She liked the name. Bo. One syllable. Gender-neutral. She knew people assumed it was a nickname, some