Free Bellingham Mysteries 3: Black Cat Ink by Nicole Kimberling Page A

work faster,” Nick said.
    “Maybe it would save us all time and aggravation if you just cut a check for the amount owed to Troy and me now.”
    Nick’s eyes narrowed in frustration. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
    “Oh come on. Surely you get that much on print royalties alone.” Bradley brushed a raindrop off his sleeve.
    Peter’s patience for this pompous jackass came to an abrupt end. “So I guess you must be hurting pretty badly for cash, huh, Bradley?”
    At this comment, both Nick and Bradley turned to stare at him, but for different reasons. Nick seemed genuinely surprised, with just the beginning of amusement lighting his face. Bradley looked like he’d been given a cold jelly enema.
    “I beg your pardon?” Bradley actually spluttered, an action that Peter had previously never seen anyone reduced to.
    “Anybody who knows anything about insurance companies would know that Nick wouldn’t have the money yet. You don’t look like a guy who knows nothing of insurance, so you clearly knew when you were driving up here that Nick wouldn’t have the payment yet. You would have known it starting out. So why come up here?”
    “To make sure—” Bradley began, but Peter cut him off.
    “That was a rhetorical question. I already know why you came up here. To squeeze some money out of a guy who’s young enough to be your son.”
    “I’m well aware of Mr. Olson’s age,” Bradley replied frostily.
    “So why are you so strapped for cash? Software business in the toilet again, or did you just spend all your savings on hookers and blow?” Peter didn’t really think that Bradley was a hookers-and-blow sort of guy, but he’d learned through countless hostile and semihostile interviews that throwing out a fatuous accusation often reaped rewards.
    “I don’t need cash. But as long as we’re all being offensively honest, I am looking out for my and my brother’s financial interests because I don’t trust Mr. Olson at all.” Bradley stated this coldly, as if Nick had forced Walter into homosexuality by trickery.
    Peter regarded him narrowly. “I don’t buy it. You came here to pressure Nick into cutting you a check. You hate him, so you must need money bad.”
    “It doesn’t matter why or if Bradley needs money. The fact is I don’t have it,” Nick said, finally relaxed enough to lean against the wall, hands in pockets, scruffy as a model in a cologne ad. “Bradley, I don’t know why you think that your father’s art is earning millions in print rights, but you are truly mistaken. I promise that I will send you what is due you just as soon as I have it. In the meantime, I’d like to get back to my guest.”
    Nick gestured toward the door.
    Bradley went without another word, too mortified or too angered by Peter’s provocations to speak. At first, Peter thought Nick angry with him as well, but as the door closed, he pulled Peter to him and pressed a whiskery kiss into Peter’s cheek.
    “You’re really something,” he whispered. “You just go for the jugular right away, every time.”
    “I can’t help it,” Peter said. “Mom says I was born without tact. Are you mad?”
    Nick laughed softly. “Not at all. Just amazed, that’s all.”
    From the kitchen came Evangeline’s voice calling, “If you guys are done with your big family scene out there, I was wondering if you could come back and tell me all the details. I couldn’t hear anything from here.”

Chapter Ten
     
    The morning of the big party, Peter woke early, too excited to sleep. As usual, Nick had already risen and doubtless was somewhere in the house creating some sort of art. That or lifting weights. On the way to the bathroom, Peter peeked into the guest room, hoping to see the spectacle of reps and curls, but Nick had already been and gone elsewhere.
    Peter found his lover sitting cross-legged on the silk rug in the living room, a long, scroll-like piece of Japanese mulberry paper unrolled in front of him. Nick held