Page 82 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

There was a black-and-white one that probably dated to the midsixties. They sat on a stoop next to each other, but not touching. Another one of them smoking on the boardwalk, wearing tragically hip sunglasses and flared jeans. Early seventies, for sure. And the one of two white-haired old men, Mr. G in his signature cravat and David wearing a beautifully tailored navy sport coat.

It was a treasure trove, and I had a feeling this was the tip of the iceberg.

“It’s so…”

“Amazing,” I supplied, turning to Pierce with a manic grin.

“Or creepy. I mean, he’s older than me in this one, but…yeah. Eerie.”

“This is a cool slice of your history. A queer cousin’s life revealed in lovingly framed photos. When he was a young adult, a man in his prime, a silver fox…”

“No perving over a dead man, weirdo,” he admonished, returning a frame to the shelf. “C’mon, let’s put the groceries away and check out the rest of the place. We can poke through pictures later.”

The kitchen was bright and airy with white-tiled countertops, well-preserved cabinets, and a large window overlooking a massive backyard with a wood deck. We put the groceries away and moved on to tour the rest of the house. It didn’t take long. There were two small bedrooms, one bathroom, and a closet in the hallway.

The bedrooms were about the same size, but we put our bags in the one with fewer photos ’cause it had more of a guest-room vibe.

Enid had notified the housekeeping staff that Mr. G was expecting visitors and asked for fresh linens and towels. They’d done their job, for sure. Every corner was dusted and nothing seemed out of place. It was…lovely.

We made turkey sandwiches and a fruit salad and brought our lunch and a bottle of Pinot Grigio outside. The deck was shielded from the wind by a copse of eucalyptus trees on either side. And if you walked to the end of the grassy area beyond a row of lemon trees, you could see the Pacific.

We found a weather-worn wooden bench at the edge of the property, grabbed a throw blanket from the living room, and leaned against each other for warmth as we sipped wine and took in the view.

“Beautiful,” Pierce murmured reverently, his gaze fixed on the ocean.

I breathed in the sea with a contented sigh. “I understand why they loved this place. The air feels…healing.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I guess it does.”

“What are you thinking?”

He sighed. “I’m thinking that a tiny bungalow like this is worth a lot of money.”

I lifted my wineglass to my lips. “How much?”

“Many, many millions.”

I almost spit my wine out. “How? It’s not on the water, and I think most investors would tear the house down.”

Pierce wrapped his arm around me when I shivered. “They’d for sure demolish the house and probably all of the trees, build a designer spec home, and sell it for ten million or more.”

My jaw dropped. “No fucking way.”

“Way. My brother knows it too.”

“Your brother?”

“He wants to meet Jasper.”

I frowned. “What are you gonna do?”

“What can I do? I’m not Jasper’s keeper. Enid can refuse visitors, I suppose, but Phil thinks he’s on to something. He’ll eventually learn that David was Mom’s cousin and…you can probably figure out how that will go.”

“You think he’d sue Mr. Gowan?”

“No. I think he wants to screw with me.” Pierce swiped his hand through his hair and sighed. “Phil wouldn’t have known about Jasper if the studio hadn’t gone for the ‘family values’ angle to shore up my reputation. And he sure as fuck wouldn’t have cared if he hadn’t found out the old man is wealthy. Now he can claim that my mom was close to her deceased cousin and that Jasper is playing favorites or anything, really. Any bullshit story will do. Doesn’t matter what it is. Seb won’t want my name involved.”

“So the studio would pay your brother to keep his mouth shut.”