Love Song(85)

A frown furrows my brow. “What are these dots?”

Wyatt gets a sheepish look. “Um. Freckles. Chocolate-sauce freckles.”

It takes every ounce of emotional restraint not to blubber like a baby and soak my breakfast with tears. But this might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.

Noticing my expression, Wyatt grumbles under his breath. “Don’t make a thing of it, Logan. It’s just a birthday breakfast.”

I can only nod, because my throat is too tight to release any words.

His gesture stays with me all morning, circling my heart in a warm, gooey aura of pure joy. And my spirits only soar higher when I’m upstairs changing into my bathing suit and a much-awaited email arrives.

1 NEW EMAIL





Dear Ms. Logan,

Attached are the documents you requested. You can also access them via this link. Please consider this ticket resolved.

For future, please deal directly with me regarding these types of requests.

Cordially,

Mary Holmes





“Holy shit,” I exclaim, racing outside.

I run to the railing and peer over it. Wyatt is on his usual lounge chair but without the usual cigarette dangling from his mouth. We haven’t been to town in a few days, and I think his pack ran out and he’s too lazy to replenish.

“Guess what!” I bound down the steps to the dock. “The records office finally sent me the documents I’ve been harassing them about.”

“Is this the office that burned down and all the records were lost?”

I grin. Half the time, I wonder if he’s actually listening to me or just making up more song-worthy situations in his own head. “It didn’t burn down. The catalog was digitized, but there was a data breach, and everything got erased.”

“Oh, right. That was it. My reason was better.”

“Your reason was fiction! Anyway, they luckily didn’t destroy any of the originals, but it’s taking them forever to redigitize, and the woman who runs the department was refusing to dig through the boxes for me, remember?”

“Right. So she finally caved?”

“Oh. No,” I say dismissively. “I convinced one of her staff to do it, and now she’s pissed. Her email was passive-aggressive to the max. She signed it cordially. But she still sent the documents. On my birthday too! It’s, like, the best present ever!”

His lips twitch. “I mean, I thought my freckle pancakes were pretty good.”

“They were also the best. But listen to this…” I pause for dramatic effect, which summons that smile he was fighting. “Raymond Loughlin did hook up with Darlie’s sister, Dolly. In fact,” I say triumphantly, “he married her!”

“No shit.”

“Yes. Their marriage certificate was filed in a county on the California side of Tahoe. They were married six months after the date on Darlie’s death certificate. Which is close enough to when Raymond was with Darlie that it stands to reason he and Dolly really were having an affair.” I’m brimming with excitement as I pace the dock. “And I also have a purchase agreement for a house in Reno, but then they sold that and listed their forwarding address as a place in Albany. Do you know what that means?”

“Do I want to know?”

“The game’s afoot!” I declare. “And it’s going to New York. Digitally anyway. I’m moving my search efforts to New York.”

“Gonna flood all those unsuspecting counties with your information requests?”

“Oh, fuck yes. I need to grab my laptop—”

I stop when I notice a familiar boat approaching. Perfect. It’s the Spencers. At least they’ll appreciate these new developments.

“Guys,” I holler. “I might’ve tracked down Dolly!”

“How the hell did you do that?” Big Spencer asks after they cut the engine ten feet from our dock, their boat bobbing in the water. “Mary at the records office refused to budge no matter how much we flirted.”

“Because you are terrible at flirting,” Little Spencer informs his partner. “Like, god-awfully bad.”

“Oh, and it worked when you tried with her? Do we have those records, Spencer?” Big Spencer lifts a hand to his forehead and mimes searching for something. “I don’t see those records anywhere.”

Little Spencer has the decency to look abashed. “Fine. We were both abysmal at wooing Mary.”

“Nobody can woo Mary,” I assure them. “I recruited her underling Kyle.”

Big Spencer heaves a sigh. “Of course it’s a Kyle. Kyles are so dumb. They’ll do anything for pussy.”

His partner snorts. “Says the gay man who has no idea what straight men will do for pussy.”

“I’d dig through a few dusty boxes for pussy,” Wyatt offers, and I turn to glare at him. “I mean, not any pussy,” he amends. “Yours, obviously.”

The Spencers howl with laughter.

I spend the next few minutes filling them in on everything I managed to uncover this week while Little Spencer gasps and oohs at the appropriate moments and Big Spencer nods along and not ironically.

As Little Spencer and I dissect the Raymond and Dolly marriage bomb, I notice Wyatt smirking at us, but there’s also an odd gleam in his eyes.