On the Rocks

by boswifedeb

Drowning your sorrows at the bar can turn deadly – especially if your last name is Houston. When Will's fiancée suddenly leaves, he's thrown into the middle of a murder and arson case. But when cousin Matt gets drawn into the investigation things get even more complicated and tempers flare. **Immediately follows "Tribute"** Rated T.

1. Chapter 1

"On the Rocks"

**Immediately follows "Tribute"**

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,
however improbable, must be the truth."
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: Sherlock Holmes - The Sign of the Four

CHAPTER 1

Big Bear City, California

Looking down into the tumbler the same question kept running through his mind. Why? He took another sip of the whiskey sour before reaching down and pulling out the half slice of orange and nibbling on it as he looked out across the lake. Big Bear was feeling the effects of the drought of the last few years but not as bad as some of the lakes in the state. The view outside the window where he sat would be spectacular to most people. The tall pines, miles of shoreline, and the boats that dotted the lake as sunset approached had been captured in innumerable photographs. It was the picture-perfect place and he had thought so, too...until she told him that is was over and left, pulling out of the driveway with her car's trunk weighted down with more than just the luggage and boxes that she had packed. It carried his dreams as well.

He took another sip and then a longer one. How could life be so great for some people and so damnably mean to others? When he had first gotten back from "over there" as he referred to it, he had been hospitalized for a while, then went to counseling sessions, and then finally began to put his life back together. The first time she left him he had come unglued and tried to commit suicide by jumping off a skyscraper in LA. With intervention from his family, she had come back and coaxed him off of the ledge just in time. He had sought help again and after completing the treatment had eased back into life. Two weeks after his release he had traveled to Big Bear with his dad and immediately fell in love with the area. The water, the wildlife, and the woods had seemingly welcomed him as had she; they got back together and for a few years life had been good. He had learned about the area and knew all the best places to fish and where to hunt, and had opened a guide service. Then the economy had taken a nose-dive and business had dropped off and they had worried about it together. Just in the nick of time a phone call from his dad and a temporary job offer that would leave him in a much wealthier situation had saved them. The phone calls home when he was traveling around the country had been a lifeline for him. They had talked of marriage when he got back and then over the last few months things had started to change.

Two-thirds of the drink was gone now, his third one in two hours. The bartender knew him and he could tell that the man was keeping an eye on him, wondering just what had brought him there that night. Funny the things that you could know without seeing, like the fact that someone was watching you. He knew the minute that Vic had turned his attention to someone else who now sat down at the far end of the bar. The two began talking seriously, their voices lowered in a conspiratorial conversation. They needn't have worried about him overhearing them – his mind was elsewhere. Just like her – she was elsewhere and he wondered again just where she was. Another long swallow and the drink was gone. The conversation that Vic was having was throwing him off of his game. Ordinarily he was ready to serve up another drink as soon as the glass hit the bar; this time it took him a couple of minutes to notice that the glass was empty and make his way to the end of the bar. "That gonna be it?"

"Nope – I'll have another." He slid the glass over and the bartender moved down a ways and began making the new drink. Old Kentucky whiskey, simple syrup, fresh lemon juice, and some egg white went into the container with ice and was shaken, then poured on top of fresh ice and garnished with a half slice of orange and a maraschino cherry. Vic brought it to him placing it on top of a fresh napkin. "You okay? You're usually here for a few beers or a couple of shots and then you're gone."

"Yep. Just thirsty I guess." He gave the bartender a smile and picked up the fresh drink and took a sip before turning on the stool to look out at the darkening lake. Pinpoints of light could be seen from the far side of the water as Vic went back to his conversation at the other end of the bar. It was a slow night; normally the bar was full of the chatter of at least thirty or more customers at a time. Tonight there was just himself, a couple who seemed more interested in making out in a corner booth, and the man that was involved in the conversation with the bartender. There were no waitresses present that night, something that had just now slipped into his mind.

Why? There it was again. He had thought that by the third or fourth drink that three letter word wouldn't be hounding him still, but there it was. What was it that Sherlock Holmes had said? "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Alright – he knew it wasn't money. He had been very careful with the huge payday from the security installation jobs and there was plenty left. Infidelity, at least on his part, hadn't been a contributing factor. She was the only woman he had been with since his return to the states – except for the girl in Florida that had drugged him, and they hadn't actually hooked up. What was left? Another long sip didn't get him any further. Maybe the answer was in the bottom of the tumbler? He downed the rest of the sweet, sour, and silky mix, the alcohol hitting him squarely in a rush. Maybe that would do the trick and he could go back home and sleep for an entire night, for the first time since she had left over a month ago.

Home. He had loved the cabin the moment he laid eyes on it. It was nestled in the trees off of the end of Pine Oak Lane on the northern side of the western end of the lake. They had made it home together but the moment she left it was just another building. Looking down at the empty tumbler he shook his head. Four drinks hadn't been the magic number. Maybe five? A wave to Vic at the other end of the bar drew him away from his conversation. "Sure you want another?"

"Yep." He watched the process once again and when the fresh drink was presented to him the hope rose in him again. Maybe this will be the one that does it. Taking a sip, his ears noted that the conversation between the barman and the other man seemed to have gotten more serious; the angry expressions from both of them along with animated gestures led him to believe that it was far from a friendly talk. Looking at the man he couldn't place him, didn't know if he'd ever seen him before. But apparently there was a lot that he didn't know...like why.

Somewhere in the time after that fifth drink there had been more whiskey sours consumed and the bartender cut him off. He had put some bills on the bar to pay his tab and slowly made his way out to the truck, knowing even as drunk as he was that he had no business driving. Just getting the door open had been a challenge and the fact that he had entered the passenger side made it perfectly clear that he would be spending the night right where he was. Reaching behind the seat he found a jacket and covered himself, stretching out across the seat as much as possible, the thought coming to him that the bed of the truck would have actually been less cramped. It was, he thought to himself before he drifted off, a bed after all.

Sometime later he had been awakened from his alcohol-induced slumber by a noise. Carefully raising himself up he peered over the dashboard and it took a minute for him to remember exactly where he was. A man walked out of the now-darkened bar, lit a cigarette and took a few puffs, tossing it down on the sidewalk before leaving in a car. Not me – I'm still too damn drunk. Just as his head touched the seat once again there was a loud noise, the ground shook, and a bright light lit up the interior of the truck. Unsteadily rising back up once again, Will Houston saw that the bar had gone up in flames as another explosion shook him again. At least this time the question in his head wasn't why, but had been replaced by another: What the hell?

The Santa Monica Mountains

Matt Houston awoke to the phone ringing at 4:22AM. Answering as quickly as possible to keep the noise from waking the week old twin boys down the hall, he tried to keep his eyes open. "Houston."

"Mattlock, I hate to bother you so early..." The voice of Roy Houston came over the phone line and Matt immediately came awake.

"What's wrong?" Without a doubt, the elder Houston wouldn't call at that hour without a damn good reason.

"Will's in jail. Would you go with me to get him out?" Roy was sitting on the side of his own bed fumbling with socks.

"Uh, yeah..." Because of his work with the Fire Marshal's Office, Houston had taken to laying out his clothes before he went to bed and now began donning them as CJ rolled up onto her right side, wondering what had happened. "Is he okay?"

"I think so, but from what I could get out of the phone call he was drunk."

"Oh, boy. Okay, I'll pick you up ASAP. See ya." Hanging up he zipped up duty boots and fastened the velcro closure on them before picking up a ball cap and retrieving his Glock from the bedside table. "Will got arrested – Uncle Roy wants me to go help him out."

"What in the world did he do?" CJ sat up cross-legged in the bed.

"Not sure – think he was drunk." He leaned forward and kissed her. "Call you as soon as I can. Love you."

"Love you, Cowboy. Be careful." She watched as he grabbed a jacket from the closet and started through the house toward the patio and his truck. After hearing the kitchen door close and the beep of the alarm as it was reset, she lay back down. In just a minute she could hear the faint sound of the crew cab truck rolling down the driveway. Closing her eyes she rolled over and snuggled into her husband's pillow. Within seconds a cry from the nursery brought her out of the bed and by the time she reached the bedroom door another of her sons was fussing hungrily. Sheila met her in the hallway and they went in to take care of the boys.

As he drove Matt thought about his cousin. They had been close as kids. The usual result of one of their "adventures" as they liked to refer to them was that both ended up being punished by Bill, Roy, or Will's mother Flo; as often as not all three adults would lower the boom on the two boys. When they were grown and in the Army both had been thrilled to eventually be assigned to the same unit. They had celebrated the reunion but it was short-lived: within two months they were the victims of an ambush. Matt was critically wounded and Will had been taken prisoner. It had taken him years to find out that his cousin was still alive and to free him from his captors in Afghanistan.

Since his return to US soil, Will had been fighting the demons of war: depression, PTSD, and something that Matt had struggled with as well: survivor's guilt. Although he had received counseling and was far better than he had been, Roy's son hadn't been the same. He often kept to himself preferring to skip family gatherings for the most part. While Roy hadn't pushed him too hard, Matt felt that he should at least make an attempt to join the others. Since the death of his dad, the PI had felt the need to draw his family members closer, but Will didn't share the sentiment. After Roy's heart attack almost a year earlier, Matt thought that nearly losing his dad would get through to his cousin. He had been by his side at the hospital but when they returned to California after finishing a series of security installations for a chain of jewelry stores, Will had gone right back to his reclusive lifestyle. He made a living as a fishing and hunting guide around Big Bear Lake and Baldwin Lake in the San Bernardino Mountains northeast of Los Angeles.

Roy was waiting for him on the front porch of his home and quickly slid into the passenger seat of the truck. "Sorry to roust you out of the bed so early."

"Not a problem. The boys usually have us up by 4:30 anyway. I swear they eat more than Catey did." He yawned. "Mind if we stop for some coffee?"

"Not at all." The elder Houston stayed quiet as his nephew detoured into a nearby Burger Nerd and ordered not only coffee but several sausage biscuits.

Matt pulled into a parking space and opened up two of the biscuits to add mustard before pulling back out onto the road and getting on the 101 headed east. As he got settled into the early morning traffic, the PI picked up one of the biscuits and began eating. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." The older man took a bite. "I just..." He shook his head.

"Uncle Roy, just because he got a little drunk and got arrested doesn't mean that there is something wrong. I mean...well, hell – we all do stupid stuff sometimes. It isn't the end of the world."

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

"I tried to call him after the boys were born but I got his voice mail."

"He never called you back, did he?"

"No, but I just figured he was busy."

"He hasn't been busy in a while. The economy has slowed down his guide business. He still has clients but not nearly as many as in the last few years."

Nodding, Matt thought back to the security installation jobs that his cousin had worked on alongside Roy and Vince all over the country. He had made about $250,000. Surely he hasn't blown through all that dough?

The remainder of the drive was quiet and when they parked outside of the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Office it was just after 6:00AM. Once inside they were told to wait until an officer was available to speak with them. By 7:00AM Roy was beginning to lose his patience but just as the shifts changed, an officer walked over to them. "Mr. Houston?" Both men answered. "Uh, Roy Houston?"

"That would be me." He stood up as did Matt.

"Sir, I'm Sergeant Roberto Cuevas." They shook hands. "Mr. Houston, your son may have witnessed a crime earlier today. We've been trying to get him to talk but..." He looked around. "Is he under any kind of psychiatric care?"

"Not now." Roy saw the look and explained the situation with Will having been captured and held as a prisoner of war.

"That makes sense given some of the things he's said."

"Could we talk to him?" Matt knew how fragile his cousin had been when he had first returned to the US but thought that the worst of it had been behind him.

"I would appreciate it." He turned and led them down a hallway. "He isn't violent or anything like that...he seems really depressed. But he's been rambling some."

"When I received the phone call earlier I thought he had been arrested."

"Not exactly. From what I could get out of him he got drunk at the bar and decided to sleep it off in his truck. In my book that's a hell of a lot better than driving. The deputy that found him was going to arrest him for public drunkenness, but when the firemen told me that there was a body inside of the bar I heard your son talking about someone lighting a cigarette and then he heard an explosion. I took custody of him."

"I appreciate that."

"Well, the deputy meant well, but he's pretty green." Cuevas gave a small smile.

"Eager beaver, huh?" Matt nodded.

"It takes a while." Looking over at the PI as they walked along he shook his head. "Why do I get the impression that I know you?"

"Don't know." Houston didn't remember ever meeting the man before.

Once they reached the interrogation room where Will was being held both of the Houstons went to him. "Son..." Roy reached down and lightly shook him awake.

"Dad...what're you doing here?" Will rubbed his eyes and then saw his cousin. "Matt..."

"How's it going, Cuz?" The two hugged.

"Hey, I meant to call you back the other day. Congratulations." There was a twinge of guilt; Will didn't know why he hadn't called his cousin back exactly. Maybe it was because he and CJ were so happy in their life together and now with their four kids it just made his own loneliness seem more significant. "Got a picture of them?"

"I wouldn't be a good dad if I didn't." He handed over his phone as Roy had a seat next to his son.

"They look great." Handing back the phone he turned his attention to his dad. "Sorry you got called. I...did I call you?"

"Yep."

"Sorry...I kind of, uh...well, I was drinking last night."

"So I heard. I also heard that you might have seen something that might help out Sergeant Cuevas. Can you tell us about it?"

"Yeah." Will rubbed his eyes again and then rubbed the stubble on his face as he looked up at Matt who was leaning against the wall of the tiny room. "Remember how the sky would light up when we had incoming rounds?"

"Uh huh."

"Kinda looked like that." He sighed.

"How about some coffee?" The sergeant was still standing by the door.

"That would be great."

"Can I offer you two some?"

Roy nodded and Matt followed Cuevas to the door. "I'll never turn down coffee." Giving his cousin a wink he followed the cop out of the room. "Sergeant, I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes, but I work with the Fire Marshal's Office and LAPD some. Would you mind if I kind of took a look at what you've got?" They had reached the coffee pot and Cuevas stopped in mid-pour.

"I knew I knew you from somewhere." Nodding, he handed a cup to the PI. "I saw your interview on television the other night."

"Glad that's where you know me from; I've been trying to figure out if I'd ever met you." He gave a chuckle.

"I'd be glad for the help. We're stretched pretty thin around here what with the economic situation in the county. One of the Fire Department's Prevention Specialists is handling it but in my opinion another set of eyes can be real helpful." He handed a second cup to Matt and poured two more. "So you're a deputy down in Texas, right?"

"I'm a Detective-Sergeant with Harris County." They began the trip back to the room.

"Welcome aboard then, Mr. Houston."

"Most folks just call me Houston."

"Fair enough. I'm Roberto." Once inside the room, the cop handed a cup across to Will as Matt handed one to his uncle. "Mind if I call you Will?" Cuevas had a seat.

"That's fine." He took a sip of the coffee.

"So tell us about last night." Matt leaned back up against the wall. "Do you remember when you got to the bar?"

"Yeah, I remember everything." The former POW took another sip. "I got there about 5:30 and started ordering whiskey sours. It was real quiet. There are usually quite a few folks in there but there was only a couple in one of the booths and me. Until the other guy walked in."

"Is he the one that you saw light the cigarette?" Cuevas had been taking notes and now picked up his cup.

"Yeah. I don't know him. He was probably close to fifty, about five-eight, maybe one-eighty. Had graying hair with some brown in it."

"Do you remember what he was wearing?" Matt watched closely. Other than looking like he might have a hangover, his cousin seemed okay to him.

"Uh, I know he had on a tan jacket. Don't remember what else."

Cuevas nodded as he continued to write. "What was he driving?"

"A sedan...maybe a Chevy – something like an Impala. It was dark – maybe black or blue."

"Any chance you saw the tag?"

Will shook his head.

"So you were at the bar drinking whiskey sours..." The PI began moving around the small room. "Then the guy came in. What made you notice him?"

"He was distracting Vic, the bartender. Usually he's right there as soon as your glass is empty. But he and the guy were talking. After he made my third, or maybe it was the fifth...don't remember - anyway, he went back down to the other end of the bar where the guy was sitting and they started talking again, but then it got a little more intense – like they were arguing about something. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I could tell it wasn't real pleasant."

"Then what?" Matt watched his cousin closely.

"The next time I emptied my glass I had to wave Vic over. First time that's ever happened. After a few more drinks Vic cut me off, so I paid my tab and went out to the parking lot. I knew I was too drunk to drive and I just stretched out across the seat and went to sleep. Haven't been sleeping a lot lately." He took another sip. "I don't know what time it was but something woke me up and I looked out the windshield and there was the guy lighting a cigarette. He got in his car and left and then BOOM! The bar was on fire and then there was another explosion. Shook the truck. Remember how the ground used to shake, Matt?"

"Yep, I do. Did you see anything else?"

"No, I pulled out my phone and called 911."

"Have you called Holly?" Matt stopped mid-sip when he saw the look that came on his cousin's face.

"She left...about a month ago." His hands started shaking.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Houston looked at Roy who seemed surprised as well. Will hadn't mentioned her leaving to him when they had last spoken about three weeks earlier.

"Not your fault."

"Do you remember anything else?" Cuevas watched the man sitting across from him as he shook his head no. "Alright. Excuse us for just a minute, please." Motioning Matt out of the room they walked down the hall a few steps. "Guess we know now why he got drunk."

"And why he hasn't been sleeping much." Matt rubbed the back of his neck. When Holly had left the first time Will had been suicidal, something that he now told Cuevas. "I doubt we're going to get much else out of him right now. Think it would be okay to send him home with his dad?"

"I've got the address. Maybe he can catch a nap and..." He shrugged. "My brother Armando died in Iraq. Guess that was better than being captured."

"I've often wondered." Together they walked back to the room and he placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "How about I give you a lift back to your truck and y'all go to the cabin? I'll meet you there later."

"Sounds like a good idea, Mattlock." Roy and Will stood to leave.

"Thanks for your help, Will. I may have to talk to you again." Cuevas held out his hand and the two shook.

"Sure." He followed Roy outside and the other two followed.

Getting behind the wheel of his truck, Matt looked back at his cousin. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like we've been through this before." All three remembered what had happened about a year earlier in Florida when Will had been drugged by a woman and then framed for her murder. "You'd think I'd know by now."

"At least they don't think you killed anybody this time."