The moment Dannel rushed into the flat. Osian had known something was wrong. His gaze immediately turned to Myron when he stepped into their living room.
“Myron.”
“Osian.”
Osian reminded himself that getting into a fistfight with Dannel’s dad probably wouldn’t solve anything. “A little late to be chasing your son to his bedroom.”
“If he’d learn how to handle conflict, I wouldn’t be following him down the street.” Myron stepped further into the living room. “He’s a grown man.”
“What did you do?”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I like my tone just fine. You storm into our home when you’ve obviously upset Dannel—not sure you get to comment on how I speak to you.” Osian had once been scared of Myron York, but he wasn’t a little kid or a punk of a teenager anymore. “What did you want with him anyway?”
“You were arrested.”
“No, no, I wasn’t.” Osian lifted both arms up. “See? No handcuffs. I was simply helping the detectives by answering a few questions.”
The conversation danced around for several minutes. Myron asked questions. Osian artfully avoided answering them.
Their chat bordered on a hostile interrogation from both sides. They’d never gotten along. Myron had taken an instant dislike to him and never changed his mind.
He’d completely tuned out the man when something caught his attention. “What did you say?”
“You’re coddling him.”
“And you hate how he loves and respects me more than he’s ever done you.” Osian thought if he’d been an attack dog, he’d have gone for Myron’s throat. He despised the way the man treated his son. “So, you’ve overstayed your welcome. The door is behind you. Why don’t you see yourself out of it?”
Myron’s jaw practically hit the floor. He didn’t seem to be able to put together a response. His fists clenched tightly at his side, and Osian prepared himself for a fight.
Crossing his arms, Osian stared down the taller and larger man. He had no desire to play the polite game. Family might be family, but Dannel would always come first for him.
Always.
After several long minutes of uneasy staring, Myron backed off and stepped out of the flat. He slammed the door behind him, not unlike his son had done earlier. Osian dropped onto the couch with a tired groan.
Save me from overly dramatic men who slam doors and won’t talk about their feelings.
At the heart of it, Osian knew Myron cared deeply for his son. He simply didn’t appear to know how to express his love. It left the two at odds more often than not.
Heading to the kitchen, Osian fixed two mugs of tea and grabbed an opened packet of biscuits. He tucked the latter under his arm, managing the cups in his hands. With a little deft work, he got the door open.
It wasn’t a surprise to find Dannel listening to one of his favourite albums. Osian set the mugs on one of the nightstands. He tossed the packet onto the bed and flopped down beside it.
“He gone?”
“Yep.” Osian twisted on his side. He plucked the biscuits up before he crushed them. “Hungry?”
“Tired. I could manage a biscuit.” Dannel snagged a couple and sat up to eat. “Or an entire tin.”
“We’ve got a packet.” He was relieved to see some of the tension gone from Dannel’s shoulders. “Almost a tin.”
Shifting further, Osian rested his head against Dannel’s thigh. He brushed at the stray crumbs dropping on his forehead with a chuckle. Dannel grabbed his phone to adjust the volume of the music playing.
“So, how many lectures am I getting about being nicer to Myron?” Dannel spoke after inhaling his fourth Bourbon biscuit. “Your tea’s getting cold.”
Osian gave an exaggerated groan before pushing himself up into a seated position. He snagged his mug and handed the second one to Dannel. “Who’s going to lecture you? Not me. Probably not your mum. Roland? If he actually runs to his youngest son to whinge about my telling him off, I’d be genuinely surprised. Your baby brother doesn’t pick sides.”
It had always surprised Osian how Roland managed to avoid all family drama. He never chose sides. It was irritating at times when he didn’t step in to defend his brother.
Then again, Osian had a rather skewed perspective. He’d fight any number of people on his sister’s behalf. They were fiercely protective of each other.
Holding his mug carefully in his left hand, Osian stretched out his right to gently grasp Dannel by the back of his neck. He tugged him forward into a kiss. They separated after several minutes.
“Love you.” Osian took a sip of his tea and snagged one of the last Bourbons to dip into it. “Are you feeling better?”
“Always with you.”
“Remember your podcast suggestion?” Osian switched subjects, pausing to let Dannel process the change. They’d dealt with family nonsense enough for the rest of the month. “Investigating Gemma’s death?”
“I don’t think I suggested investigating.” Dannel repeatedly coughed to clear his throat of the biscuit that he’d clearly inhaled. “Ossie.”
“What?”
“We’re not shoving our noses all the way in the police’s business,” Dannel warned.
“Better to investigate and find answers than have them dragging me in for questioning repeatedly because I was the last person in the room.” Osian didn’t quite believe he was completely off the police’s radar. “At the very least, I want to chat with Ethan. Isn’t it odd how he vanished?”
“Very.” Dannel finally nodded his agreement. “Fine. I’ve got the next few days off. How about we pay a little visit to Ethan?”
Ethan. And track down Noah, Gemma’s ex, to see if he’s returned from his extended self-imposed exile.
A jealous ex-lover wouldn’t be a complete stretch as a potential murder suspect if he were in the city.
“We can stop by on the way to Olivia’s.” Osian glanced over when he didn’t get a response. Dannel had slumped over and already begun to snore. “Sleep well, love.”
Lifting the packet of biscuits, Osian tossed the last one in his mouth and dropped the plastic into the rubbish bin. He made sure both of their mugs were safely out of reach. They’d knocked over too many glasses over the years; he didn’t want a rude awakening with broken mugs and tea everywhere.
Again.
Despite the soothing music and the familiar rhythm of Dannel’s breathing, Osian found sleep difficult. He’d covered them both loosely with a blanket. His head rested on Dannel’s chest while he contemplated the mystery of Gemma’s death.
The broken defibrillator kept popping into his mind. It had been an older model—one they’d been able to easily afford for their group. While it had safety precautions to prevent accidental discharge, anyone with the right knowledge could circumvent those and overcharge the equipment.
It wouldn’t be outside of the realm of possibility for someone to use it to stop Gemma’s heart.
But why? Why Gemma? What could she have possibly done?
The question stayed on his mind even as he drifted to sleep.
The following morning, Osian snuck out of bed. He left Dannel still sleeping. His eyes kept trying to close on him while he brewed a fresh cup of coffee.
Midway through his second cup, a sharp whistle outside caught his attention. Osian stepped over to the window and stuck his head outside. He frowned at his brother-in-law, who was waving enthusiastically up at him.
Morning people.
“Why don’t you come up?” Osian rolled his eyes when Drystan waved him down instead. “Fine. Hold on a second.”
Glancing down at his T-shirt and sweatpants, Osian decided Drystan could deal with him in his sleepwear. He took the steps two at a time. By the time he reached the ground floor, Ian Barrett, their seventy-six-year-old neighbour and infamous rogue who worked as a consultant for a local theatre troupe, was chatting up his brother-in-law.
“Ahh, Osian, who’s this lovely dish whistling up at your window like a young Romeo?” Ian draped a lanky arm across Osian’s shoulders. “You must introduce me.”
“He’s married, Ian.”
“I’ve had married men.”
“He’s married to my sister.” Osian tried not to laugh at the look on Drystan’s face. “Aren’t you late for the morning rehearsal?”
Ian tapped the side of his nose and shrugged elegantly. “Fair enough. You two misbehave. I always do.”
“Drys.” Osian turned to him once Ian was out of sight. “Shouldn’t you be fighting fires or throwing rose petals in front of my sister while she’s walking?”
“I’m on my way home. Your darling sister wanted me to make sure you two were doing alright.” Drystan sounded genuinely concerned, so Osian held back his sarcastic response. “Are you two okay?”
“You could’ve texted me to ask.”
“You’re well versed in the art of lying via text. But you don’t have a poker face to save your life. So asking in person seemed the best option.” Drystan held a hand up to stop Osian from responding. “I can see you’re at least not eating your way through every chocolate biscuit in the shop. And we wanted to make sure you’re coming over for Sunday roast.”
“On Monday. Why don’t we call it Monday roast?”
“Osian.”
“Mum,” he teased.
“Don’t be a prat.” Drystan shoved him away. “We’ll see you this evening, then. Try not to get yourself arrested in the meantime.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“I promise we’ll have cake. We can hide in the corner, eating it while Olivia, your mum, and Dannel’s mum argue about whether cereal constitutes soup.” Drystan grinned with him. “Wait? Are you wearing pyjamas? Honestly.”
“Tell your wife that we’re fine.” Osian dragged his brother-in-law into a hug, then sent him on his way. “And quit hanging out under my window. Someone might get the wrong idea.”
“Prat.”