Chapter 4

Thursday, October 31

Mike peered through the windshield and shivered. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this.”

Beside him, Ashley snorted. “It’s just a bit of rain, that’s all.”

“That’s all? Look at it out there. The only thing we’re missing is the flying cow.”

Ashley chuckled. “Loved that movie.”

The weather had been pretty dire ever since they left Boston. Ashley had taken the first shift, which was fine by Mike.

He was too distracted to drive.

He’d visited his parents the previous day to let them know of his plans. They’d appeared shocked, but he’d promised his visits would continue. What had surprised the hell out of him was when Mom handed him an envelope before he left them.

“Don’t open it now. Save it for later.”

As soon as Ashley had taken the wheel, he’d opened it.

What fell out were Christmas and birthday cards, all from Uncle Nick, dating back to about seven years ago.

Why didn’t she give these to me? That hurt.

He’d read each one, not that they differed much from the ones he’d usually received. Nick said he was thinking about him, and that Mike should look him up when he was older.

The last card was dated December 2022, and something had been crossed out. Mike switched on the flashlight on his phone and peered at it.

He could just about make out the word Provincetown.

He sent me his address. And his mom had obliterated it. But why?

Yet another question to add to the growing list.

Ashley nudged him. “We’re here. This is Commercial Street.”

They drove along what seemed to be the main road in the town, and it was deserted. What trees he could see swayed wildly in the strong wind, and the road surface glistened, mirroring the shops and lights. The sky was the color of lead, and the only bright spots to be seen were the lit windows set in dark buildings covered in gray cedar shakes, and street lighting.

Halloween was going to be a bust, that was for damn sure.

“There.” Ashley pointed. “That’s the sign for Mr. Hopkins.”

Mike pulled into the gravel driveway and switched off the engine. The building was a house, the first floor converted to offices. He pulled his hood over his head, and they climbed out of the truck and hurried over to the door.

Inside, a white-haired woman smiled at them. “Mr. O’Neill?” When he nodded, she gestured to the door on her right. “Mr. Hopkins is expecting you.”

Mike turned to Ashley. “I won’t be long.”

She chuckled. “Take your time. It’s warmer in here than in that damn truck.”

The heating had struggled all the way from Boston.

Mike went through the door, to find an elderly gentleman seated at a desk. He rose as Mike approached, his hand extended.

“Mr. O’Neill, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He indicated an empty chair. “There isn’t much paperwork for you to sign.”

Mike knew time was money, so he cut to the chase.

“Has there been any progress evicting the squatters?”

Mr. Hopkins retook his seat. “I’m afraid not. Officer Murphy has visited the house every day since I last spoke with you, but there’s been little movement. Well, none at all. But the situation is unusual.”

“What situation? Who are these people?”

Mr. Hopkins paused. “They’re drag queens. Four of them, to be exact.”

Mike blinked. “Four drag queens just decided to move into the house?”

Okay, he hadn’t expected that.

“Oh no, Mr. O’Neill. They live there—that is, they’ve been living there for the past seven years. And when your uncle died, they stayed put.”

“Why didn’t they leave when he passed?”

“You’ll have to ask them that question.” Mr. Hopkins opened a drawer and removed a large brown envelope. “This contains all the keys and the details relating to the Velvet House.”

“Excuse me? The what?”

He smiled. “That’s the name of the property. It’s located within Provincetown’s historic district, and parts of the building date back to 1858. President Ulysses S. Grant is supposed to have stayed there overnight on July 22, 1871.” Another smile. “There is some doubt as to the veracity of that claim, however, and some say that while he did visit Provincetown, he did not actually stay the night.” He gave a conspiratorial smirk. “There are rumors about why he visited, and none of them required more than a few hours at most.”

“How big is the place?”

Mr. Hopkins steepled his fingers. “The Velvet House has had many incarnations. It was at one time a thirty-three-room hotel. There are three bars located on the site. There was also a basement nightclub that used to host several gay parties per week in the summer, and even hosted experimental theater in the 1960s. There was a restaurant too, along with a commercial kitchen, but the more recent use of the space was as a playhouse.” His face fell. “Since your uncle’s death, it has been empty.”

“Apart from four drag queens,” Mike prompted.

He coughed. “Quite.” He placed a sheaf of papers in front of Mike. “Please sign where you see the marked places.”

Mike took the offered pen and signed. “Then that’s it?”

“That is it.” Mr. Hopkins handed him the envelope. “You’ll find the Velvet House on Carver Street. And… Good luck.”

It sounded as though Mike was going to need it.

He paused at the door. “I guess Halloween has been rained off.”

Mr. Hopkins chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve missed it. All the festivities took place over the weekend. That’s usually what happens here. There won’t be much happening tonight.” He followed Mike out, and stared in surprise at Ashley. “Oh. Are you the young lady with whom I spoke on the phone?”

“Yes, Mr. Hopkins. I’m Ashley Winters.”

His gaze went from Ashley to Mike, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize you had a partner.”

Mike and Ashley’s twin bursts of laughter couldn’t have been more synchronized.

“Oh, he is so not my partner,” Ashley said with a grin. “I’m his roommate.”

Mike wasn’t about to stand around indulging in small talk, not when daylight was fading, and he wasn’t sure what awaited him on Carver Street.

“Thank you again, Mr. Hopkins.” He grabbed Ashley by the elbow and tugged her toward the door. They ran to the truck, trying to dodge the heavy drops of rain that were still falling. Once he was behind the wheel again, he shook his head.

“You are not gonna believe this.” He shared what Mr. Hopkins had told him.

Ashley grinned. “Drag queens? Who lived with your uncle? Oh, this gets better and better.”

“That makes it sound as though there was something going on between them all. Maybe they were just long-term guests,” Mike suggested.

“Mm-hm. And maybe now we know why your dad broke off all contact with him.” She got her phone out. “So where are we going?”

“Carver Street.”

Ashley typed. “Okay, head back up Commercial Street. Carver Street is on your left. It’s not far.”

Mike switched on the engine and carefully backed out onto the road, the wipers going like they were possessed. Relying on street signs was useless in the heavy rain.

“Any second now,” Ashley told him.

Mike took the next turning. Carver Street was steep, and at the top of the hill, he spied an imposing building. “That must be it,” he murmured. He drove toward it and pulled into the parking lot.

The Velvet House was a four-story L-shaped building with a white-painted veranda, reached by a set of steep steps, a railing up the middle of them. On top of the railings were flower boxes filled with flowers, and skeletons in black robes hung at intervals.

There was no sign of life, and the house had a spooky feel to it.

Ashley peered through the windshield. “Not exactly homey, is it?”

He switched the engine off. “How about we take a closer look?”

She shrugged. “You can do what you like. It’s all yours.”

They got out of the truck and walked toward the steps. Mike had barely enough time to note the peeling blue paint on the treads before the door on the porch was flung open and a figure dashed out.

“You’ve got a nerve, honey.” A tall black man, the hair on top of his head dyed blond, stood at the top of the stairs, brandishing a rolling pin. “What makes you think you’re gonna get close enough to pack all our things in that itty bitty truck? Hell, I couldn’t even get all my costumes in that thing. So just get back into it, turn around, and get your ass outta here. We are not moving, y’hear?” He wore a yellow tank top, revealing muscled upper arms and broad shoulders, and jeans so tight they could have been sprayed on.

“Either I’ve caught you in the middle of baking, or you’re threatening to flatten me with that.”

The man snorted. “It was the first thing that came to hand. But I’m not afraid to use it.” He smacked it against the palm of his hand.

“In which case, you’ll get arrested.” Mike wiped the water from his face. “Do you think we could have this conversation somewhere drier?”

The man pursed his lips. “What makes you think anyone here wants to talk with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about because you’re on my property?”

He blinked. “Are you Mike? Nick’s nephew?”

“The same. So let’s take this indoors before I do my Wicked Witch of the West impression.”

The man bit his lip. “Come on up.” He lowered the rolling pin.

Mike climbed the stairs, Ashley behind him. As they drew nearer, he got a better look at his would-be assailant. The guy had cheekbones to die for, and eyes so dark, they were like ebony.

I wonder what he looks like in drag?

Then he pushed the thought aside.

I won’t get the chance, because he isn’t staying. None of them are.