Page 20 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

Mr. Gowan shrugged. The effort brought his shoulders around his ears and made them cling for a moment until slowly lowering.

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? We’re so brave when we’re young. The biggest monsters are the ones we imagine hiding under our beds. We grow up and slowly let fear leak into our lives. And eventually, we learn thatwe’rethe monsters we should fear most.”

That was…bleak. And it was a strange non sequitur. Maybe he sensed I was on to him.

I dabbed at the corner of my mouth with my napkin and sat back in my chair. “That’s probably true.”

“Oh, it certainly is.” He patted my hand conspiratorially. “One nice perk of being ancient…nothing much frightens me now.”

“You’re not ancient, Mr. Gowan,” I argued.

His snort-laugh morphed into a full-body cough that jostled his bones and made him look closer to one hundred.

“God bless. I’m old as the hills, dah-ling.” He patted my hand again and sighed. “And please…call me Jasper.”

“Jasper.”

“Yes, it’s the name I chose when I migrated west in the swinging sixties.”

Oh.Time to start circling him like a shark in shallow water.

“What’s your real name?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a dismissive wave. “That boy has been gone for decades. Gone since the first moment I arrived in Hollywood, eighteen-years-old and green as a boy could be. I stood on the corner of Hollywood and Vine, lit a cigarette like I was Humphrey Bogart, and waited to be discovered in between shifts at the diner. Never happened. I met some famous gents and had my share of illicit affairs in those early years, but magical discovery was never in the cards.”

“You wanted to be an actor?” Lorenzo asked.

“I wanted to be famous. I hoped I could survive on my looks till that fine day arrived, but a wise man told me looks fade and unless I learned how to invest my meager earnings, I’d end up a pauper. In a fortunate twist, he took a shine to me and encouraged me to attend college and—”

Lorenzo gasped theatrically and covered his mouth. “You had a paramour? Do tell all!”

“No, no. I’ll keep that story mum for now.” Jasper closed his eyes briefly, then tapped a finger on the table and leaned forward. “But did I ever tell you about my dalliance with a prince? The year was 1961 and…”

Okay. This was not what I came here for.

I pushed my chair out, intending to go in for the kill, but I got caught up in Jasper’s tale about a game of strip poker on a yacht in the French Riviera and golfing with the cast from a TV series in the ’70s I’d never heard of. I had to admit, he was…very entertaining. It took more patience than I was known for to get through his longer stories, though. His voice was weak, and the longer he spoke, the more it quavered.

My gaze drifted from the paper-thin layer of skin covering the bulging blue veins over his bony fingers to the pink paisley cravat around his neck. He was persnickety in a charming way—fussy and fastidious. He had a strong jawline and a distinguished nose. I wondered what he looked like as a young man. Weird thought, and it jarred me from my reverie in a flash.

I set my napkin on the table and leaned forward. “I appreciate your time. It’s been very nice getting to know you, sir.”

“You too. And please…call me…Jasper.”

“Jasper,” I repeated. “Look, I enjoyed listening to your stories…about my mom, but the thing is…I know we’re not related.”

Lorenzo gasped in outrage. “I told you not to—”

“Shh. It’s okay, Lo. He’s…” Jasper’s eyes clouded ominously. “He’s right.”

“I knew it.” I smacked my palm on the table and pointed at Lorenzo, barely holding back an adolescent fist pump and an “I told you so.”

Lorenzo scowled at me, twisting in his chair to address Jasper in a gentle tone. “So you’re not related to Pierce Allen?”

“I am,” he wheezed. “Through David. I’d like to tell you about him and explain—”

“Explain what?”

“Family…David would—” Jasper broke into a wicked coughing jag and went from ghostly white to a pale shade of gray.