Read Played to Death for Free Online Page B

said, “When I’m done for the summer, I can be here to wait for deliveries once he starts getting furniture.”
    “One more week, right?”
    “Yep. Graduation is a week from Tuesday.”
    “Good.” I looked around, satisfied that we’d done everything we could, then texted Kevin. Got you unpacked, bought some groceries. Leaving your place now.
    He didn’t answer immediately. Probably still interviewing people.

 
    Scott
    When Kevin and his partner left, Scott cleaned up his breakfast mess then started going through the refrigerator, throwing out everything that had been Brent’s. He looked through the cabinets and removed every nonperishable thing that was there because Brent liked it and tossed it all into a box. He took the box to the front door then went to the bedroom with a roll of garbage bags and started bagging up Brent’s clothes.
    It took a while. Brent worked at Neiman-Marcus; he had a lot of clothes. He’d be unhappy because Scott had more or less wadded them up into the bags, but Scott didn’t give a shit. He returned to the bathroom and found a few more bottles of hair and skin product that were Brent’s. Once he was sure he’d found everything, he piled it all by the front door then got the elevator. He held the elevator door open with the box from the kitchen and loaded everything else, then rode downstairs with it and reversed the process.
    The concierge’s eyebrows went up, but the guy was nothing if not discreet. “Is someone moving out, Mr. Deering?”
    “Yes. My now ex-boyfriend, Brent Fogerty. He’ll be coming by for these things. Make him show ID. If he hasn’t come in a week, donate it to your favorite charity.”
    The concierge didn’t blink an eye. “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”
    “Thank you.” Scott made a mental note to tip the concierge well at the end of the month. He went back to his condo, leaning back against the door after he closed it behind him and blew out a long breath.
    Hard to believe it had been less than twenty-four hours since everything went to hell. He pushed away from the door and climbed the stairs to his music loft.
    Scott had begun cello lessons at age three, on a child-sized cello that he could barely reach around. He didn’t remember the first time he’d drawn a bow across strings. He didn’t remember a time when the cello didn’t feel like an extension of himself. Without it, he always felt incomplete and exposed.
    He played every day. He didn’t consider it practice. It was as necessary to him as breathing.
    He found the score for Benjamin Britten’s Cello Suite No. 1, Op. 72 , and began to play.

 
    Jamie
    Pete and I left Kevin’s, picked up Thai takeout and went home. It was getting on towards evening when Kevin finally returned my text. Thanks. You home now?
    Yep. Coming over?
    Just for a few.
    K .
    He arrived about twenty minutes later, rumpled and exhausted. When Pete let him in he flopped onto the loveseat and laid his head back on the top. “God, what a day.”
    I took him a bottle of water. “Beginning with Scott, I understand.”
    “Yeah.” Kevin took the bottle, cracked it open and drained half of it. “Thanks. Scott couldn’t help much.”
    “He didn’t know those kids.”
    “No.” Kevin snorted softly. “Yesterday when I asked him what the kids were like, he told me how well they played. Or not.”
    “That’s how he thinks. You know that.”
    “Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t entirely useless. Everyone else we’ve talked to has told us what a wonderful young woman the vic was, what a talent, blah blah. Scott said she was a mediocre player with a bad attitude.”
    “The unvarnished truth.”
    “Yep. He’s also the only person who remembered what her bag looked like.”
    “Her bag? Like a purse?”
    “More like a beach tote bag is how he described it. We didn’t find it with her. The other two kids vaguely remembered a bag. Scott remembered it was a Hello Kitty design.”
    Pete said, “This wasn’t a