Free The Bottle Ghosts by Dorien Grey Page A

something Bradshaw had said, I had one more question. “How do the members of the group get along? Any notable conflicts or personality clashes?”
    Kemper leaned forward in his chair, apparently also sensing that we’d covered about as much ground as we were going to. “Well… Everybody gets along pretty well. Sometimes some of the couples…well, sometimes things sort of boil to the surface in the course of the session. Carl, especially, has some real problems dealing with Jay’s drinking, and he can get downright nasty. And sometimes he directs his frustrations at other members. But Brian keeps things from getting out of hand. And after all, that’s what the whole group is about: to share experiences and to help us learn what we can from one another. And since every couple is made up of an alcoholic and a non-alcoholic, it’s pretty interesting for everybody.”
    I glanced at my watch. Definitely time.
    “Well, I really appreciate your coming in, Mr. Kemper, and again I promise that if I come across anything at all that might be helpful to you in finding Mr. Martinez, I’ll call.”
    We both got up at the same time and reached across the desk to shake hands. “Thank you, Mr. Hardesty. All I care about is finding out where Benicio is and having him come home. Soon.”
    I don’t know why these things happen, or where they come from, but I suddenly felt an all too familiar rush of deep sadness. Something inside me was telling me very definitely that Benicio Martinez would not be coming home again. Not soon. Not ever.

Chapter 4
    All the way home I couldn’t get my mind off the fact that I’d done it again: I’d stumbled on a case that I knew was going to take me a lot farther than I wanted to go. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in my mind that Jerry Shea, Benicio Martinez, and I’d bet my bottom dollar Fred DeCarlo, had not just wandered off, and that none of them would be coming back. I determined to call Marty Gresham in the morning to ask him to help me confirm what my gut told me I already knew: that the fourth missing man from the past six months…Sam…Roedel…had also been a member of the Qualicare group. Only the fact that Qualicare had not been around more than three years kept me from suspecting that the other two missing gay men in Gresham’s five-year review might also have belonged.
    But why the hell hadn’t anyone made the connection before? How could the group’s leader, Brian Oaks, not have known that four of the people he counseled had vanished? To say that something very odd was going on at Qualicare was the 800-pound gorilla of understatements and I realized, however reluctantly, that I was going to have to find out what that something was. How was quite another matter.
    *
    I arrived home to my customary (how soon we become spoiled) hug, grin, and Manhattan, though for some reason tonight it all felt particularly good, and just looking at Jonathan gave me an oddly indescribable feeling of warmth. He, of course, was oblivious to whatever was going on inside me and sat down beside me on the couch, close enough that I could put my arm around him. He looked at me and replaced his grin with a softer smile.
    “Bad day?”
    “So-so.”
    “Well, I have some good news, anyway,” he said.
    “Your ficus getting a seventh leaf?”
    He laughed and slapped my leg. “No, Chris just called again from New York; he thought you’d be home. Everything’s set and they’ll be here for positive Thursday.”
    Well, that was nice, but we’d already pretty much established that. I suspected there might be something else.
    “And?”
    He took a deep drink of his Coke, belched dramatically, made an exaggerated wide swipe of his mouth with the back of his hand and said “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Classy, huh?”
    I grinned at him. “Classy…and?”
    His eyes wandered around the room like a bird looking for a way out…a definite sign there was an “and.” Finally his eyes came back to mine.
    “Max wanted me to