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Part Two
“Fool's Gold”
By Curtis C. Comer
Edgar Newcastle peered out the bay window of Number Four Eldon Court and had the funny thought that, just as they had been the first among the current inhabitants of the Eldon Court enclave to move in, they might also be the first to leave it.
Of their own volition, that is. Their poor neighbor, Aaron Walters, had no choice, and would now rest for eternity in Wonderland, in nearby Queen's Cemetery.
Both disgusted and saddened by recent events, Edgar looked out onto the rainy street for a moment longer before letting the curtain drop from his hand, once again shutting out the meager light that somehow made its way through the clouds.
“You're pacing again.”
Edgar turned almost absently toward the sound of the voice, coming from the sofa behind him.
“Hmm?”
“I said you're pacing again.”
Edgar's partner, Jack, was sitting on the sofa, his bare feet tucked up under his body and a leather-bound book in his lap. A floor lamp behind the sofa cast an almost halo-like aura around Jack's head as he looked up from his book and their black and tan dachshund, Ollie, regarded Edgar with a mixture of confusion and anticipation. Edgar merely nodded at his partner's assessment of the situation, his face grave.
“Sorry,” he said.
The truth was Edgar wasn't sorry. He was restless, bored, tired. It was driving him crazy. And, as with everything else in his life thus far, when Edgar got bored or restless, his first instinct was to flee, to leave, to simply be gone.
But Jack was quite the opposite. Where his partner was willing to give up easily (although Edgar would disagree as to the ease with which he would capitulate), Jack was filled with a stubborn determination to never give in, to never let another person take advantage of him. Edgar, of course, knew this. You don't spend twenty years with someone without learning a little bit about them, not if you're paying attention. And it was this difference between the two men that sometimes made it impossible for Edgar to communicate his true desire to leave Wonderland and Eldon Court forever and that was part of the reason he was feeling so crazy.
“Eddy,” pressed Jack, “do you want to talk about it?”
He closed his book and placed it on and end table, and then patted the sofa next to him as an invitation. Ollie, the dachshund, scooted to the far end of the sofa in response and Edgar reluctantly took a seat next to Jack.
“Talk to me,” said Jack, placing his arm around Edgar's shoulders. “Are you thinking about Aaron?”
“Aaron, Rich, Danvers Converse. . . everything,” replied Edgar, his voice rising. “I'm just frustrated, Jack. . . I'm tired of all of the intrigue.”
Jack couldn't help but laugh and he immediately felt bad for having done so.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Since when is my intrepid investigative reporter tired of intrigue?”
Edgar knew that Jack was trying to make him feel better by recalling the days when Edgar had worked as a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle, but there was no consoling him.
“We tried,” continued Edgar. “We really did. But this time it looks like Converse wins. . . I'm not willing to sit by and watch another neighbor be killed before I realize that I'm beaten. I say we move back to the city and call it even. . . before it's too late.”
Jack was never one to anger quickly but, when backed into a corner, he had his moments. This was apparently one of them because he stood up from the sofa so quickly that Edgar nearly fell over.
“I can't believe what I'm hearing,” he said, his green eyes flashing. “You're willing to give up your home. . . our home, because some crooked business man is bullying us? Well, that is not the Edgar Newcastle that I fell in love with!”
“Jack,” replied Edgar, his voice tired and weak, “people died. Don't you get that?”
Without waiting for a response from his partner, he arose and swept his hand, gesturing to the room in which they were standing.
“Yes,” he said passionately, “I love this house. . . it's the first home we ever owned together but, Jack, there will be other homes and I'm not willing to risk losing you over a stupid house.”
He looked around their living room, so tastefully decorated with all they had amassed over the years. Nice furniture filled the cozy room, whose fireplace gave off a warm glow on an otherwise gray and damp day. Sparse yet tasteful artwork hung on the walls and photos rested on a long table behind the sofa and, to the right, a wide oaken staircase led to the upper floors and, beyond that, a large dining room and a fully stocked kitchen. Yes, they would be giving up a lot to leave this house, but what they managed to save would be far more valuable.
Jack walked over to Edgar and put his arms around him.
“But, Eddy,” he said, his voice even, “we can't let them win. Yes, I know that Aaron died but, honestly, it was his fault. He brought it on himself.”
Jack felt Edgar bristle at this suggestion but he held up a hand to silence him.
“I know that sounds awful, but let me finish,” he said. “If he hadn't brought that gun he would still be alive.”
Edgar's face turned red at the mention of the gun. . . his gun, the one that had been taken the day their house was broken into and Edgar had been knocked unconscious by an unseen assailant. But how had Aaron come to possess it? These were questions that would perhaps never be answered, although nobody even remotely suspected that Aaron had had anything to do
