11. Sekani Aelor

Chapter 11

Sekani Aelor

I headed straight to the hospital upon leaving the coffee shop. Maybe it was all my years as a detective, or maybe it was the freaky gut feeling Barnet accused me of having, but I didn’t trust Luke.

I didn’t like him as a person either.

He was supposed to be Callum’s best friend, but he hadn’t had a positive word to say about him. That struck me as odd. Nor had he been particularly helpful, considering Callum was in a coma and the guy who put him there hadn’t been caught.

Luke should’ve been tripping over himself to be of use. Instead, he was just a massive shitstain. At least he’d brought Jason along. His information had been enlightening—at least, more so than Luke’s.

I knocked on Callum’s hospital door before gently pushing it open. Mrs. Maslow looked up and started to smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Maslow.” I crossed to her and extended a coffee. It was black but I pulled some creamer and sugar packets out of my pocket in case she wanted to doctor it. I pulled a chair from the corner. “How’s Callum today?”

She looked down at her son and shook her head. Her smile was sad as I sat down beside her. “Still sleeping.”

I reached out and squeezed her arm. “I spoke to Luke. He couldn’t help much with my client’s memory but after speaking to him I have some questions about the night of Callum’s accident, if you don’t mind answering.”

She turned towards me, her fingers tightening around her cup. “How can I help?”

“Luke mentioned that Callum thought someone was trying to steal his work. Did he say anything to you about that?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. Callum was so busy it was hard to get more than a minute of his time. I hadn’t spoken to him in days when—” She choked a little as her eyes grew wet. “His professor might know something.”

I nodded. “Professor O’Donnole. I’m going to make an appointment with her.”

She looked at Callum again and reached out, grabbing his hand. “Do you know if that police detective ever found his bag?”

“I’m sorry—” I shook my head. What bag?

“He took it with him everywhere. It was old as hell, paint stained and falling apart. The strap was mostly duct tape but he loved it. I can’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t with him when they—” she inhaled sharply, “—when they brought him to the hospital. I searched his apartment but it wasn’t there either.” She set her coffee to the side and dug in her bag for a pack of tissues.

“How about I give his apartment a second look for you?” It was the perfect excuse to get in there, maybe trigger a memory. “I’m sure, as his mother, there are some places you didn’t feel comfortable looking.”

Her lips tipped up. “A couple. I learned my lesson when he was a teenager. Life is never the same after you find your sixteen-year-old with a rainbow dildo.”

I choked on a laugh before I lifted my coffee and took a swallow.

“Please change the topic,” Callum whined behind me.

Mrs. Maslow dug in her bag, pulling out a set of keys. “Uh . . . sorry. He was always a character.” She held them out and I looked down at a couple of rainbow dicks along with assorted keys. “He’s a good boy though,” she whispered, grabbing Callum’s hand again. “He can be obsessive, but what twenty-two-year-old isn’t?”

I squeezed her arm. “I’ll let you know if I find his bag. Is there anything else missing? Or something I can bring from his apartment for you?”

She shook her head. “Just his bag. He’s going to want it when he wakes up.”

I sat back in the chair and kicked my legs out, resting my cup on my knee. “I keep hearing he’s a damn good artist. Is he?”

Her whole face lit up as she reached for her phone. “Since he was pre-teen. He took an art class at summer camp one year and that was it for him.” She snapped her fingers before she unlocked her phone and leaned closer.

“He was fourteen when he won the Scholastic Art and Writing Award. It was a big deal. They put his painting in an exhibit and he got a ten-thousand-dollar educational scholarship. I was so proud. Here. This is it.”

She turned the phone a little more and I looked down.

I didn’t know shit about art.

But I knew when I was looking at good art.

“At seventeen he won the Congressional Art Competition.” She flicked to another picture. Somehow, it was better than the first. He really was fucking talented. I was in awe. “They put his painting up at the Capitol for a year and honored him and several others with an awards show in D.C.”

“Gee, I’m such an overachiever,” Callum said as he leaned over my shoulder, but I could hear in his voice how proud he was, how excited knowing he was a good—a great —artist made him.

“He was going to enter the Chelsea International Fine Arts Competition this year but . . .” Her gaze shifted to Callum in his hospital bed, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was resting peacefully. “The deadline is in October. I don’t—” Her voice cracked and she wiped at her eyes.

“There’s still time,” I told her.

She offered me a watery smile. “Yeah.”

“So, should I tell you if I run across his rainbow dildo?” I asked.

She cracked out a laugh. “God. No!”

“Sekani!” Callum gasped behind me.

“Throw it away. I can’t imagine his dad finding it if—” She sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head. “He wouldn’t care— doesn’t care. But finding your son’s sex toy . . . just no.” She shivered and looked a little green.

I laughed softly. “Does he have any siblings?” I asked.

She nodded. “One sister. She lives in California.”

“So I’m not an only child,” Callum said, a happy inflection in his voice. “I was worried I’d have brothers like yours.”

My lips tipped up, but I ignored him. “Do they get along?”

Clare brushed hair off Callum’s face. “Have you ever seen The Aristocats ?”

“A long time ago.” I took a sip of my coffee.

She smiled, as if remembering. “Aysha was Marie all the way. And Callum was Berlioz with just enough Toulouse to drive her absolutely batshit crazy. They never got violent, but I can’t remember the number of times I had to tell them to stop bickering.”

“I’ve got two brothers,” I told her and shook my head. “The years and . . . events have driven us apart but I like to think if I was ever hurt, they’d be there for me.”

River would show up. And Waylin, even with history standing between us, wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t either. Even if I couldn’t stand the sight of Waylin, I would always be there for him when he needed me, same as River.

“She wanted to stay,” Clare said, her voice soft and cracking. “But she’s in her last year of medical school and quite frankly she was stressing me out. I sent her home.”

I chuckled. “What about your husband?”

“Here.” A man breezed into the room, shrugged out of his suit coat and set a briefcase down at the end of the bed. “You must be Mr. Aelor.” He folded his coat over the edge of the bed and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I stood and shook. “Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Maslow.”

He released my hand and tugged on his necktie, pulling it over his head. It was . . . uncanny, how like his son he looked. He was about the same height, rail thin with bright blonde hair and matching eyes.

Had Callum got any of his features from his mother? Maybe her cheekbones—his were high and more pronounced than his father’s—but you only had to look at his father to know what Callum would look like in twenty or thirty years.

“You’re helping a friend of Callum, correct?” Mr. Maslow asked.

“My client lost his memory. I’m trying to help him find it,” I said. “But I’m sure Mrs. Maslow told you I’m looking into what happened to Callum now, as well.”

“Do you think the two are connected?” he asked as he stepped behind his wife and grasped her shoulder. “The detective on the case was less than helpful.”

“I’m familiar with Detective Rayner, from the time I spent working for the NYPD. Callum’s case is being reassigned to my former partner and I’m sure she’ll do everything she can to find out what happened.” Or I would do it for her and she’d play it off as if she did all the work, which was only fair.

“Anything we can do to help, just let us know.” Mr. Maslow smiled down at his wife before looking up. “Clare told me you run your own business so if you need your fees paid, we’ll gladly pay them.”

“Told you,” Callum muttered.

I laughed under my breath and shook my head. They owed me nothing. But Callum, when we got him back in his body, owed me a coffee because God help me, I liked him—I really fucking liked him.

“Consider this a freebie.”