1. Prologue

Prologue

Mosby Leslie

February 2023

A ringing phone at four in the morning had never brought good news to anyone. "Hel— ahem . Hello?" My voice was gone from staying up for three days straight, soaking myself in coffee to finish a commission for the West Hollywood Men's Chorus Annual Gala and Fundraiser. It was my own fault for putting Alistaire's book tour ahead of my own obligations, and I was paying the piper.

"Is this Mosby Leslie?" The unfamiliar voice sounded very formal.

I sat up in bed, bracing for something. My parents had died when I was in art school, and I was the only child of two only children. I'd already gone through some of the worst times in my life as I'd tried to figure out things at the tender age of twenty.

Was this an art buyer who didn't have a clock? It was six in the fucking morning, for god's sake. If it was, I vowed not to sell their client the toilet paper I wiped my ass on. People had no common sense these days.

"Yes. This is Mosby Leslie, and let me tell you that if you're calling to try to set up—"

"Mr. Leslie, are you the emergency contact for Alistaire Scott?"

That stopped me cold. "Yes."

"Mr. Leslie, this is Lieutenant Joe Norman from Chicago PD. I'm afraid I have some bad news, sir."

One-Mississippi... two-Mississippi... I was savoring the seconds before my world was blown apart.

"What's wrong with Alistaire?" My heart pounded. I could only assume the news was bad because of the hour of the call.

"I'm afraid Mr. Scott has drowned. His body was found at 31 st Street Beach this morning. There was a note with your name and phone number inside a plastic bag in his coat pocket."

I glanced out the window next to our bed to see the sun was coming up, so I wasn't having a nightmare. Alistaire couldn't swim, which was why he never went to the cabin with me because he hated being near the water, and there was a small lake a little farther up the mountain. He wouldn't even go with me to the beach when I went to catch the sunrise.

"That makes no sense. Alistaire can't swim. What was he doing in the water in Chicago in March? Don't you people still have snow and ice on the ground?"

Spring had sprung in Southern California, but from what Alistaire had said when I'd spoken to him the previous night, lake-effect snows were coming overnight on the shores of Lake Michigan. It was why I'd returned to California after spending Valentine's Day in New York. I had no desire to feel the cold winds coming off the lake as they swept through Chicago during Alistaire's book-signing event in Wicker Park.

"That's the part we're hoping you can clear up for us, Mr. Leslie. You live in southern California, correct?"

Clearly, they'd looked me up before they'd called. What the fuck was going on?

"I do. I live here with Alistaire. He was on a book tour for his latest release. I just spoke to him last night. He was going to dinner with his agent, and then they were going to a jazz club. How the hell did he end up in the water?" It was more me thinking out loud than addressing the man's questions .

"The Coast Guard received a report of someone stealing a boat at Navy Pier. One of the security guards called it in, saying they believed some kids had stolen a vessel docked there. The owner was notorious for leaving an extra set of keys onboard, and the guard had seen the pontoon boat leaving the marina. It was heading east on Lake Michigan during a terrible windstorm. The Coast Guard went to look for the boat and found it abandoned. This morning, Mr. Scott's body washed up on 31 st Street Beach, which is when we got the call."

Nothing was fitting together in my mind. "Are you telling me my partner stole a pontoon boat, took it for a joy ride on Lake Michigan at night during a windstorm, and ended up dead?"

"Yes."

Cut and dried.

My world was shattered.