Late Fees (Pinx Video Mysteries Book 3) by Marshall Thornton

Finalist – Gay Mystery, Lambda Literary Awards



Excerpt:

“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Joanne said, as we drove down
Sunset toward Silver Lake. “You should have just left me there.”

“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

It was broad daylight and it wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but
still, I wasn’t going to leave a seventy-year-old woman to fend for herself
outside an apartment building in Hollywood. 

“It’ll be fine, Joanne. When we get to Noah’s you can call Rod
and leave a message, tell him where you are and he’ll call when he wakes up.”

“I wish I could say this wasn’t like him. He’s never been the
most reliable boy. But then he never had to be, he’s always been one of those
people—charm, I guess it is. He’ll do something irresponsible and then the
minute he shows up and smiles at you, well, it’s hard to remember why you were
mad.”

“I’m sure he’s a wonderful boy, and I’m sure he was just having
fun and it got out of hand. Noah, why did you ask if he was at that party? She
didn’t seem to like Rod.”

“I don’t know, it just seemed logical. She said he was sleeping
it off, so he got drunk somewhere and she knew it. Why she wouldn’t want to
admit he was at the party, that I don’t know.”

“I’ll bet you’re right. He was there,” Joanne said. “Rod is so
fun at parties. That girl probably didn’t like that he got all the attention.
Is that the Capitol Records building?” 

It wasn’t. Not even close.

“No. It’s the Cinerama Dome,” I said about the large, white,
dome-shaped movie theater.

“Oh, I’ve never heard of that,” Joanne said, sounding
disappointed. 

“It’s an interesting building,” my mother said. And a moment
later she asked, “Is this where the riots were?”

“Some things happened up here, but most of it was a couple miles
south.”

“I was so worried about you.”

“I was fine.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know that. How was Rod during the riots?” my
mother asked, turning around in her seat.

“He saved a woman’s life. She was just walking down Hollywood
Boulevard and some black men attacked her. He scared them off.”

“Was that on the news?” my mother asked. 

“Oh no. Rod hates publicity.”

I didn’t say anything because the story sounded like a lie.
Beating off ‘some’ black men in the middle of the L.A. riots seemed very
unlikely. I knew that some buildings were looted on Hollywood Boulevard, but I
hadn’t heard of anyone being physically assaulted up that far.  

“I don’t know why everyone always says traffic is so bad in L.A.
This is really not bad at all.”

“Mom, it’s a holiday. Everyone is at home or out of town.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that’s true. I’m starting to get a
headache.”

“Hangover,” I corrected.

“Noah, dear, there’s no reason to be quite so accurate.”

Click to purchase

A few minutes and a couple of turns later, we arrived in front
of my apartment. A small, boxy L-shaped building of two floors sitting on a
hill about thirty feet above the street. A steep, red-painted concrete
staircase led up one side of the property to the courtyard. I parked, got out
of the car, and opened the metal mesh gate to my carport. Then got back in and
drove my car into its space. 

I was out before my mom and Joanne, opening the trunk. I lifted
my mother’s two bags out and set them on the ground.

“Joanne, do you need anything from your bags?”

“I’ll just take the makeup case, I think.”

As I took Joanne’s smaller case out of the trunk, my mother
grabbed both of hers.

“Mom, I’ll take those.”

“Noah, how do you think they got from the house to the car and
from the car to the terminal in Grand Rapids?”

“Skycap?”

“No, I carried them. I can do it again.”

I scowled at her. “Just one.”

She picked up the bigger one and her bulky winter coat. It had
warmed up and was now almost seventy, so she’d finally taken it off. I shut the
trunk. Joanne didn’t move to take any bags. We stepped out of the carport, and
I shut the gate behind my car and locked it. Then I picked up my mom’s smaller
bag and Joanne’s makeup case.

On the stairs, Joanne said, “You mother tells me you own a video
store.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you think my Rod rents movies from you?”

“Um, he’s a little out of the area. He might come by for
something he couldn’t find anywhere else, but other—” 

“I’ll have him take me by and show me.”

“Well, we’ll be open tomorrow.”

“Does Rod have a lot planned for you?” My mother was right. She
wasn’t having any problems carrying her bag. I, however, was already
winded. 

“Oh yes. He has quite a lot planned. We’re going to the
Observatory, and the Hollywood sign, and Universal Studios for the tour, and
the Chinese Theater for a movie—oh, and we have reservations at Spago for
Thanksgiving dinner late this afternoon.”

“That’s a lot,” I said. I’d barely planned anything for my
mother. “How long are you staying?”

“Until Saturday morning.”

Forty-eight hours? They were doing all of that in forty-eight hours? And he
was starting off by oversleeping? Wow.

Joanne started to ask what we had planned for Mom’s visit, but
luckily we’d reached the top of the stairs, and as soon as we did I smelled
bacon. I turned and saw my downstairs neighbors, Marc and Louis, sitting at the
metal table outside their apartment right in front of a giant bird of paradise.
There was a tablecloth over the table and it was set for four.

Louis was near forty, while Marc was about ten years younger.
Louis looked a tiny bit like a frog and Marc was round everywhere. Both wore
big welcoming smiles and their pajamas. Louis’ PJs were a traditional red plaid
while Marc’s were baby blue with a floating pattern of black-and-white cows.

“Hello stranger,” Louis called out. “We expected you more than
an hour ago. Where have you been?”

“Louis, shush,” Marc said. “You know how air travel can be. On a
holiday no less.”

“Guys, you shouldn’t have done this.”

“Don’t worry, Louis was up doing prep for dinner anyway.” We
were having Thanksgiving dinner with them later. I wouldn’t have been able to
get reservations at Spago if my life depended on it.

“Well, this is my mom.”

Marc and Louis stood up and came over. “Hello Mrs. Valentine.”

“Angie, please.”

“Angie,” they both said.

“And this is Joanne,” I said. “Mom and Joanne met at O’Hare
while they were waiting for their flight.”

“We figured out we were both coming to L.A. for Thanksgiving
with our gay sons. What are the chances?” Joanne said, her voice loud and
coarse. “My son was supposed to pick me up, but apparently he’s fast asleep in
his apartment. That boy. He’s the life of the party and sometimes I wonder it
doesn’t kill him.”

31st Annual Lambda Literary Nominees

“We stopped at his apartment on the way,” I explained.

“He’s dead to the world,” Joanne said. “We couldn’t wake him up
even though we made a real ruckus.”

“Well, sit down,” Louis said. “We’ll get another chair and some
coffee.”

“And plates. I’ll get plates.”

“We do need to make a phone call,” Joanne said.

“Yes, we need to go upstairs and make a call,” I said.

“All right. Fine. Put on your PJs if you want and come back
down.” Louis disappeared into their apartment while Marc went to find a chair.

We climbed the wooden stairs to my apartment, which was directly
above theirs. My apartment was small, not even six hundred square feet. Walking
in, the tiny living room was in front of us, boasting a fabric wrapped
loveseat, a black leather chair from IKEA, an antique armoire holding my
13-inch TV/VCR combo, my video collection (or at least part of it), a compact
stereo and a stack of CDs I’d gotten from a record club. Usually, a Hockney
poster hung on one wall, but I’d taken it down and put up a photo from my
parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

To our left was a Danish modern dinette set in front of the window.
Beyond that, in what was meant to be the dining area, was an old metal desk
under the corner windows. 

“It’s just darling,” Joanne said. “Absolutely darling.”

“Where am I going to sleep?” my mom asked.

“I thought I’d give you the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Noah, that couch is too short even for you.” She was right even
though I’m not exactly tall. I was planning to put the cushions on the floor
and sleep on them there.

“You raised a gentleman, Angie. Giving his mom the better bed.
Such a sweet boy.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” I said. “Joanne, the phone’s right
here. You can call Rod.” I pointed out the cordless phone sitting on the black
Parsons-style table I’d bought at IKEA. I think it was called LACK. 

“Oh thank you,” she said, making herself comfortable on the
loveseat and picking up the phone. 

I glanced at my mother. She was eyeing her anniversary picture.
“Noah, can we get you something else for this spot? I mean, it’s sweet of you,
but you can’t want to look at this all the time? I don’t even have this picture
up.”

“Um, sure,” I said, planning to completely forget she’d said
anything since I didn’t need a picture to hang there. “Why don’t we take your
bags into the bedroom?”

Joanne left her message for Rod while we walked past her into
the bedroom. There wasn’t much in there except for my queen-sized bed with a
set of shelves behind it, creating a sort of headboard out of planks and
concrete blocks. There was a window, a wall of closets and a built-in set of
drawers next to the bathroom. There wasn’t anywhere to put my mother’s luggage
but on the bed.

“It really is a sweet apartment, Noah. Very economical.” She
leaned in close and added, “You didn’t need all that space anyway,” referring
to the three-bedroom house I’d shared with Jeffer.

“Thanks, Mom. Oh, I cleared out a drawer for you and there are
some hangers in the closet so you can hang things up.”

“Should I put my pajamas on?”

“You don’t need to—”

“What’s the number here?”’ Joanne asked.

I gave it to her. She repeated it into the phone.

“Isn’t that funny?” my mother said. “It used to be everyone had
their phone number right on their phone. Now no one does. It’s funny how much
changes. Anyway, I don’t mind wearing my pajamas, they’re very modest.”

“You know, we don’t even have to go back down. You’ve been up
all night—”

“Oh no, your friends seem so nice. And I am a little hungry.”

“Oh, this room is adorable. I love the built-ins,” Joanne said,
standing next to us and peeking in. “Noah, my pajamas are in my bag downstairs
in your car.”

“That’s all right. I have an extra pair.”

“We really don’t need to—” I started.

“Go away, we need to change,” my mother said, pushing me out of
the room and closing the door. I stood there a moment wondering why my mother
brought two pairs of pajamas for a four-night stay and then yelled through the
door, “I’m going downstairs.”

“All right, dear.”

When I got down to the courtyard, Louis handed me a mug of
coffee. “Well, well, you went to get one mother and came back with two.”

I just rolled my eyes at that. “You didn’t have to do this,
Louis. How long have you been up?”

“A couple of hours. But don’t worry, I wanted to check the
turkey anyway.”

The turkey sat just outside his front door in a giant pot
soaking in brine. And, just to make things more complicated, the giant pot was
in the center of a galvanized washtub filled with ice. They would have kept it
inside, but there wasn’t any room in their apartment, which had the exact floor
plan as mine. 

“So does your mother always pick up strange women?” he asked,
unable to not tease me.

“No, she does not. They had a good time on the plane and then
Joanne’s son didn’t show up, so we couldn’t just leave her.”

“Because there’s no such thing as a taxi at the airport?”

Actually, it was the one place in Los Angeles where you could
reliably find a cab. 

“Louis, be nice,” Marc said, coming out of the apartment with an
extra place setting.

“It is strange that you couldn’t wake the guy up.”

“Maybe not. We met his neighbor. She had some kind of party last
night. She wouldn’t say, but I think he was there.”

“Drugs or booze? What do you think?””

“One or the other.”

“I drank a lot in my twenties,” Louis admitted. “And I do mean a
lot. I always woke up.”

“Well, maybe it’s both?” Marc suggested.

“They’re welcome to dinner. When he wakes up.”

“Thank you, Louis, but she’s been promised Spago.”

“Are you implying my dinner isn’t going to be world class?”
Louis said with mock-offense.

“No, but you’ve never been on Tonight’s Entertainment
News.”

“Well, there is that.”

And then my mother and Joanne were coming down the stairs. My
mother had changed into lavender silk pajamas with cream-colored slippers while
Joanne wore a very similar pink pair with her sensible walking shoes. Each of
them carried a purse in the crook of an arm. Clearly, I was odd man out in my
black jeans, red-and-white Rugby shirt and jean jacket. 

Marc poured coffee for my mom and Joanne. “There’s cream and
sugar if you want.”

“Thank you,” Joanne said, diving into her purse and coming out
with a tiny bottle of Jack Daniel’s. She poured it into her coffee. “Angie?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“It will help you sleep.”

“Well, maybe half.”

As my mother poured Jack Daniel’s into her coffee, Louis came
out of his apartment with a large platter. Setting it down in the center of the
table, he said, “Fresh biscuits with gravy, scrambled eggs, uncured bacon.”

“Oh, it all looks lovely,” Joanne said. “My doctor would kill
me, but he’s not here, so who cares.” She grabbed the serving spoon and scooped
out a pile of biscuits.

“I see we’re being festive.” Louis nodded at the Jack Daniel’s
bottles. “Marc—”

“On my way.” And he scurried back into their apartment.

“So, Spago?” Louis said to Joanne.

She set down the serving spoon, her plate already stacked, and
said, “Yes. I’m so excited. Rod said it’s impossible to get reservations.”

“Almost impossible; you got in.”

I handed the serving spoon to my mother and she took some eggs,
a single biscuit with gravy and a strip of bacon. 

“What does your son do?” Louis asked.

“Script coordinator. Monumental Studios,” I explained, knowing
Joanne would be vague. Then I put some eggs and a strip of bacon onto my plate.

“Monumental, huh?” Louis said, raising an eyebrow. Monumental
Studios was one of the Gower Gulch studios that had a few sound stages, an
office building or two and a handful of bungalows. Never one of the original
big five, they now made the occasional low-budget, direct-to-video feature, but
mainly rented out their soundstages to TV shows. And, yes, it was very unlikely
that one of their script coordinators would be able to get a reservation at
Spago on Thanksgiving.

“You can’t only have that,” my mother said, as she scooped a
giant biscuit onto my plate. 

I decided to be gracious and say thank you.

Marc popped out of the apartment saying, “Who wants a mimosa?”
He had a bottle of champagne in one hand, with champagne glasses tucked between
his fingers, and a pitcher of orange juice in his other hand.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Irish coffee is enough for me,” said my mom.

“Well, I’ll have one,” said Joanne.

I took a bite of a biscuit slathered in gravy. It was really
much better than I’d expected. I was eating more than I had been for the last
few months, though I still didn’t have what you’d call a healthy appetite.

“So, Louis,” my mother said. “Noah says you’re the cook today.
What are your turkey tricks?”

“This year I’m soaking the turkey in brine.”

“Oh, I’ve read about that.”

“Last year he deep-fried it and nearly burned down the
building,” Marc explained. “It’s a relief that this year we’re only facing
possible flooding.”

“I didn’t nearly burn down the building. I scorched a banana
tree. A little.”

“Is there a grocery store open? Noah and I still have time to
make something, you know.”

“Oh my God,” Marc said. “Don’t even say that. We have so much
food in our place it’s ridiculous. Plus, Louis has everything timed to the
second. Adding or subtracting another dish will just throw everything off.”

Sensing he needed to change the subject, Louis asked, “Do you
plan to do a lot of sightseeing while you’re here, Angie?”

“Oh no, I just want to spend time with Noah. And, of course, I
want to get over to see the video store.”

“You haven’t seen it before?”

“I’ve seen it once, but that was years ago. I know he’s done a
lot to it since then.”

“Not that much, really,” I said. Renovation was one of the
excuses I’d used to keep her away once it was clear that Jeffer was sick and
that he’d lied to me about, well, so much. 

“What do you boys do for work?” Joanne asked.

Marc lit a cigarette, allowing Louis to answer first. “I’m in
charge of accounts receivable for Eagle Rock Surgical Center.”

“Is that a hospital?”

“Sort of. Not really. We don’t have a trauma center and you need
to schedule your procedure. We do a lot of plastic surgery and other electives.
Fertility procedures that can’t be accommodated in an office. Things like
that.”

“And what do you—” Joanne stopped cold and said, “Oh my God, you
were on Kapowie!”

Marc’s mouth fell open. “I was. How on earth did you know that?”

“I used to babysit my grandson, Bucky. My daughter’s boy. He
loved that show. You look just the same.”

That was a strange comment since Marc looked like a guy in his
mid-thirties even though he was still in his twenties. Did he look like a guy
in his mid-thirties when he was on the show? As a teenager?

“Of course, Bucky’s twenty-four now. He’ll be out of prison in
about nine months.” No one asked why her grandson was in prison. It seemed
impolite; and possibly something we didn’t want to know.

Joanne turned to my mother and asked, “Are you sorry you won’t
be having grandchildren?”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Louis said. “There’s a guy at
work, he and his boyfriend are having twins with a surrogate.”

“Really?” I said, a little surprised. I hadn’t known guys were
doing that.

“Oh yeah, they’re very excited.”

Of course, I had not even thought about children. I was really
much more focused on surviving until my thirtieth birthday. Which reminded me,
it was time for my AZT. I’d have to run upstairs after breakfast and take it.

The conversation turned back to Marc’s career as a child actor.
Joanne rattled off a list of famous actors asking if he’d met them. As though
there were a clubhouse somewhere for everyone who appeared on TV where they got
together and mingled. Talk then turned to politics. Joanne missed Reagan, which
was awkward as the rest of us did not. 

Upstairs, my phone began ringing.

“Oh thank God!” Joanne said. “That’s Rod. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll get it,” I said, getting up.

“But he’ll want to talk to me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give him the address. He’ll be here in half
an hour.” I left the table and hurried up the stairs. 

I got into my apartment and picked up the phone on its eighth
ring. I continued into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m trying to reach Mrs. Brusco.”

“Uh-huh. Is this Rod?” I took my prescriptions out of the
medicine cabinet and shook the pills into my palm one by one. 

“No, it’s not Rod. This is Detective Amberson, Hollywood
Division.”

“Uh-huh?” A chill tickled the back of my neck. This might not be
good.

“Who am I speaking to?”

“This is Noah Valentine.”

“Are you related to Mrs. Brusco?”

“No, I’m just a family friend.” And barely even that.

There was glass on the sink for brushing my teeth. I rinsed it
out and filled it with some water while cradling the phone—

“Is Mrs. Brusco there?”

I swallowed my pills.

“Um, yes, she’s downstairs. Did something happen?”

“I’m afraid I can only talk to Mrs. Brusco.”

“All right. Hold on.”

I walked out onto the balcony that ran along my apartment. 

“Joanne, could you come up here?” I called down to the
courtyard. I watched as she got up from the table and hurried up the stairs.
This was bad. We’d left Rod’s apartment building a little more than an hour
ago. Best case scenario, he woke up, stumbled out into his courtyard and got
arrested for drunk and disorderly. Worst case scenario—

“Rod wants to talk to me?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t Rod. Wordlessly, I
handed her the cordless phone.

“Rod, I hope you know I’m just livid—what? No, this isn’t Mrs.
Brusco. I don’t use that name. Who is this?” She listened. “Yes, yes I am Rod’s
mother.”

She listened again. 

“No, no, he’s sleeping. He had a little too much fun last night
and he’s sleeping it off.”

Her mouth worked as she tried to say something more, then she
took a ragged breath and let go of the phone. It bounced against her body and
landed on the red tile of my balcony. She crumpled into a ball. I could hear my
mother rushing up the stairs.

I snatched up the phone and said, “Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” said the detective.

“Joanne just dropped the phone. She’s very upset. Is he dead?”

“I can’t tell you that. She’ll have to tell you.”

And that told me he was.

“I understand she was at her son’s apartment earlier this
morning?”

“Yes, she was. I was with her. And so was my mother.”

“We’re going to need to talk to her.”

Blurb:

It’s Thanksgiving, 1992 and Noah Valentine is late picking his mother up from the airport. When he arrives he discovers that she’s made a friend on the flight whose also waiting for her son. When the woman’s son doesn’t show up, they eventually take her home for breakfast with neighbor’s Marc and Louis. Soon after, they learn that her son has overdosed—or has he? Noah and his motley crew investigate over the holiday weekend; which includes a fabulous dinner, a chat with a male stripper, a tiny little burglary and some help from Detective Tall, Dark, and Delicious.

More about award-winning author, Marshall Thornton:



Click for website

Marshall Thornton writes two popular mystery series, the Boystown Mysteries and the Pinx Video Mysteries. He has won the Lambda Award for Gay Mystery twice, once for each series. His romantic comedy, Femme was also a 2016 Lambda finalist for Best Gay Romance. Other books include My Favorite Uncle, The Ghost Slept Over and Masc, the sequel to Femme. He is a member of Mystery Writers of America.

Sign-up for his newsletter at marshallthorntonauthor.com