The Case of the Waterlogged Violinist

Chapter 2

Plane ride to California—monotonous. I took a few pills to kill the pain and boredom. My stomach lurched when the jet's wheels hit the tarmac. A few moments passed, then I eased out of my seat, making my way towards the exit where the pilot stood. It feels like the bloody plane is still moving. I winked at him, then made my way to the door. "Lovely, flight," I said.

I gripped the handrail, swaying when the sun's rays assailed my eyes. "Jesus," I swore aloud, "where the hell are my sunglasses?" I grasped inside my pocket, wondering if I had forgotten them. The pilot held out his. "Here, sir, take mine."

My eyes watered and I wondered. Does he feel sorry for me or is he flirting? The simple, social nuances that the average person understands are still a mystery to me. I could analyze him, from the musky scent that lingered on the arms of the glasses he handed me down to the cropped hair and no-nonsense suit that screamed MI-6. Oh, what the hell? I'm too tired. I smiled, taking the sunglasses, then thanked him, hoping he wouldn't get into trouble when Mycroft found out I'd commandeered the plane without authorization. I must be getting soft in my old age. In my younger years, I wouldn't have given a thought to the consequences that might befall him, but I'd lost too much. Loss or aging, now there's the rub. Both are one and the same, aren't they?

A self-driven limo awaited me at the end of the ramp. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that I wouldn't have to put up with idle conversation. Once inside, Irene's virtual face appeared before me. "Dear boy, did you have a good flight?"

I reached up to remove sunglasses, then stopped. "His majesty provides the very best of travel accommodations."

She smiled. "Up to your old tricks?"

"Of course."

"See you soon, darling boy."

I nodded, relieved that I could be alone with my thoughts. Blue sky, ocean views, and other travelers whisked around me. I closed my eyes, letting the cool interior of the limo and its engine's soft hum lull me to sleep. A slight tilting of the vehicle woke me. I looked out the window, glancing down at the small ships that dotted the water's surface. A few more turns and the bridge I traveled on faded into the background. We stopped in front of an estate that reflected status and power. Its red roof and white columned pillars demanded approval.

I ordered the limo to drive me closer to the curb and ventured out. Irene stood there, wearing a thin beach cover up. I raised an eyebrow. "What? Am I not worthy of battle dress?"

She laughed, her expression sobering after she studied my face. "You look done in. Freshen up, then join me in the hot tub. Do you want to have a lie down first?"

I felt my face grow warm. "For god's sake I'm not a baby that needs his nappies changed. I feel fine, ready for action. However, I didn't pack a swimsuit."

"Hmm," she purred. "I won't be wearing one either."

I frowned. "Umm, Irene..."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, relax dear boy. I'm still gay."

I ducked my head, then looked down, then up again. "And I'm still asexual, so we're good then?"

"Perfectly, dear boy. I'll have someone show you to your room, then come join me."

I unpacked, showered, then put on the black, silk robe that shimmered on a hanger. It fluttered in the breeze, like a bat, struggling to get free. I watched it bang against the square, glass planes of the balcony doors. Reaching my hand out, I stilled its motion, then wrapped it around me. Its smooth folds slid over my cooling skin. Why am I so cold? I rubbed the chill bumps down that dotted my arms, then re-traced my steps to the front of the house. The hum of a hot tub guided me outside.