by Jade Astor
Darian tried to think of something else to talk about, but couldn’t. The mood was irretrievably broken.
He drank down the rest of his coffee and stood. “Sheriff, this was lovely, but I really should go.”
Argo followed him to his feet. “You sure?”
“Class tomorrow, remember? One of my recurring nightmares is getting up in front of a whole room of kids and having the day’s lesson plan fly right out of my head because I didn’t prepare well enough the night before. Everett says the first couple of years are the hardest. After that, you have a few canned lectures memorized that you can fall back on in a pinch. Hopefully, I’ll be around long enough to test that theory, but that means I have to be on my guard every day until my contract gets renewed.”
Argo followed him to the door as Darian pulled on his coat and stepped out into the night air. The wind tasted sharp and metallic. Winter cold was rolling in, making the temperature drop a little lower every evening. Darian felt a wave of weariness sweep through him. The week ahead, with the memorial service smack in the middle, promised to be a long one. He looked forward to getting home, pulling on his favorite sweats, and stretching out on his bed while he corrected the last few quizzes and looked over his notes for the next day’s classes.
Regret pinched at him when he realized that, if he had played his hand differently at the table, he might have scored some company to warm up the hours before dawn. But no—this was better, safer.
At the bottom of the front steps, he turned to find Argo still in the doorway, watching him. “I did have a nice time, Argo. I’m not mad at you. I hope you’re not mad at me.”
“I’m not. I get it. And you’re right. Timing’s everything, isn’t it? I’ll see you around campus this week. And thanks for the tip about the restaurant. I did appreciate it, even if I forgot to say so before.”
“No problem. My pleasure.”
Darian trudged down to his car with his mind reeling and his body aching in frustration. He could still feel a touch of razor burn on his cheek from where Argo’s face had scratched against him. What might have happened if he’d stayed longer? Imagining one possibility, in particular, seared his skin like a flame spreading over his body.
Summoning every bit of mental strength he could muster, he tamped it down and drove away.
Chapter 9
“Aaron still looks a little green around the gills,” Everett whispered. “Think he’s coming down with something? Or maybe his tie is just too tight.”
He and Darian, both dark-suited and appropriately somber, joined the throng heading into the auditorium for Timothy Pryor’s memorial service. Aaron, also in a black suit, trailed alongside Patricia and Jake, his face haggard and his gait stiff. Darian recalled his conversation with Everett about a hangover lasting three days. Maybe such things did exist.
“Some people find events like this hard to handle,” he said.
Everett raised a silver brow. “Aaron never struck me as the melodramatic sort. And he had no apparent fondness for Timothy. Must be something else gnawing at him. Too many late nights with the fiancée, perhaps? I notice she didn’t deign to put in an appearance today. Even Jake made an effort.”
Darian nodded, wondering if the lovebirds had made up, or if Caryn’s absence suggested an alternative possibility. Aaron himself had given no hint one way or the other. Since the awkward scene in the parking lot on Monday afternoon, he’d offered Darian little more than a nervous smile whenever they passed each other on campus. He seemed content to pretend Sunday night and its aftermath had never happened. Darian was equally relieved to play along. No repeat on the dinner invitation, either.
“Look over there.” Everett gestured to his left. “That’s Anderson Pryor. The father. Handling his grief well, isn’t he?”
“Seems like it,” Darian agreed. In fact, the elder Pryor, with his attractive but expressionless wife beside him, appeared to be holding court at the entrance to the auditorium. A tall man with a rigid posture, immaculate pinstriped suit, and graying hair in a conservative cut, he was busily shaking hands and chatting with the people streaming into the service. A few of them patted him supportively on the shoulder, prompting him to nod in response.
“Well, go ahead.” Everett made a shooing motion. “I can see that you’re dying to meet him. I must warn you, though. I’ve already had that dubious pleasure—several times, in fact.”
“That bad?” Darian asked when Everett pulled a face.
“I’ll let you determine that for yourself. Go ahead.”
Shrugging his jacket into place, Darian fell into the line of people heading up the steps. Soon he found himself face to face with both Pryors. He extended his right hand to each of them in turn—Timothy’s mother first, and then his father.
“Mr. and Mrs. Pryor? I’m Darian Winters from the faculty. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Winter –yes. The English teacher.” Anderson’s grip felt perfunctory to the point of reluctance. His lips twitched in a cold smile as he dropped his hand. “Good to put a name to the face. The police asked me about you.”
“Oh?”
“They wanted to know if my son had ever mentioned your name to me. I wondered why they might ask that until they told me you were the one who discovered his corpse.”
Corpse? The casual use of the term, better suited to a medical report or horror film caught Darian off guard. Even Everett, blatantly eavesdropping at his side, gaped.
“I’m afraid I didn’t know him well,” Darian managed to say. “Timothy wasn’t in any of my classes.”
Anderson scowled. “You might count yourself fortunate, then. My son was a troubled soul, though I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised at that. So many young men with his particular…affliction…tend to sew discord in the world. If there is any silver lining to this wretched business, we can at least declare an end to that sort of trouble.”
Recoiling, Darian glanced at Mrs. Pryor, hoping for at least some semblance of an outraged reaction. She stared back blankly for a moment. Then she averted her eyes. He wondered if she might be medicated.
While he fumbled for a response, Anderson resumed his tirade. “You might as well know that I urged my son to seek psychiatric help. He refused. Said it was his right to live his life the way he chose. He was, after all, eighteen.” He motioned toward the crowd milling around them. “This, I am sorry to say, is the result. Unfortunate, you will agree. But the entire incident might have been prevented.”
“I wish it had been,” Darian muttered.
“Excuse me. Vanessa and I should be getting inside.” Anderson’s face turned to stone as he reached out and seized his wife’s hand. Pivoting, he stalked up the steps and into the hall with Mrs. Pryor in tow. In their wake, the crowd started moving again. Everett and Darian followed the Pryors inside.
“Well done.” Everett spoke with forced bravado, but Darian could see that Anderson’s words had shaken him, too. “He likes you.”
“It was even worse than I expected. You weren’t kidding about him.”
“I thought he’d at least shed a few crocodile tears for the benefit of sympathy votes. I see I was mistaken about that. Silver lining, indeed.”
Inside the auditorium, the seats were filling quickly with students, staff members, and guests from outside the school. Everett pointed to the other side of the room.
“Patricia’s waving. She’s managed to save us a couple of seats. Come on.”
They made their way toward her and Jake. Aaron occupied the spot to Patricia’s left. Everett had to lean over Darian’s lap to address him. “You a bit pale, dear boy. Are you all right?”
“Functions like this depress me.” Aaron didn’t turn his head in their direction. “Too much ritualized hypocrisy for my taste.”
“That’s for sure,” Jake agreed. “I’ll bet half these people didn’t even know him or the family. They’re just here to see what they can find out.”
“Can’t blame
them for being curious,” Patricia said. “I won’t deny I am. Did you know a police car came yesterday and picked Sebastian up? He had an older man with him.”
“His lawyer,” Darian supplied. “I heard about that.”
“They kept him for most of the morning and dropped him off again right after lunch. The lawyer was still with him. Apparently they even fed him there. Wonder what that was all about?”
“Probably routine.” Everett shrugged. “He was Timothy’s roommate, after all. I’m sure they were trying to establish poor Timothy’s state of mind when he threw himself into the water. Who would know better than his closest friend if he were depressed?”
“There must be more to it,” Patricia insisted. “Sebastian’s been living at the infirmary, you know. As if they don’t want him mixing with the rest of the school. Are they afraid he’ll say too much to someone? Or do they think he might be in danger himself?”
“Don’t be dramatic, dear. He can hardly go back to the room they shared. He would surely be traumatized. Jeanette was wise to let him stay where people with mental health training can keep an eye on him.”
“Think that if you like, Everett, but you mark my words. Something else is going on.”
While they debated, Aaron began to fidget. He straightened his tie, tugged at his cuffs, and examined his fingernails. “I hope this doesn’t take all day,” he muttered.
“No worries,” Jake reassured him. “They seem to be starting now.”
Soothing classical music wafted through the auditorium, prompting stragglers to find seats and the rest of the audience to fall silent. Presently the ceremony itself got underway. A dozen men and women in dark clothing, led by Jeanette Wexler, crossed the stage and took their places in two rows of folding chairs that had been set up. The school chaplain, resplendent in a shimmering white and gold vestment, stopped at the podium and waited for the processional to end.
“Now there’s a surprise.” Everett sniffed. “Jeanette doesn’t usually pass up an opportunity to break out the cap and gown. Quin’s in his element, though. Matching tie clip and cufflinks. Platinum, I’ll bet. Monogrammed, without a doubt. Remind me to check at the reception.”
Darian searched the stage and spotted Quin, seated among a stuffy group he assumed were his fellow trustees. From there, his gaze drifted to the first few rows of the audience. There, among the prominent alumni and families with some connection to the school, he spotted Argo, seated just behind Timothy’s parents and some well-dressed men who were most likely the lawyers he had heard so much about. Argo had substituted a new dark gray suit for the cobbled-together one he’d worn at that first assembly. Eons seemed to have passed since then, though in fact it had been just under a week. The suit looked good on him, Darian had to admit. It settled nicely around the curve of his broad shoulders. Darian imagined running his palm over that smooth plane, and his stomach fluttered when he remembered their kiss.
Argo had exploded into his life like a thunderbolt, tilting his entire world on its axis. The kiss after dinner, and the promise of more, had seemed like a turning point, the sort he’d read about in angsty novels and fantasized about in the darkness of his bedroom in the middle of the night. Then, just as quickly, it had all changed again. They’d parted on ambiguous terms at best and Argo hadn’t contacted him since.
So in the end, the entire interlude had been just that—a fleeting pleasure, a passing fancy, at least on Argo’s side. Over the past few days, Darian had managed to convince himself that he shouldn’t be bitter. So he’d enjoyed a little adventure and logged some interesting memories, not to mention a pretty good dinner he didn’t need to cook himself or clean up after. There were worse things, he supposed…even if he couldn’t quite imagine anything quite as cutting as the pain in his chest when his imagination slipped its leash and raced off into a future that would never happen.
Like now.
With an effort, he tuned back in to the chaplain, who began his address. Unsurprisingly, the speech meandered down the familiar path of “so much potential, gone too soon,” followed by some suitably generic platitudes about youth, eternity, and cheerful sporting events that might take place in the hereafter. Darian gave the man credit for effort. Since Timothy wasn’t well-liked, he supposed it had been a scramble to concoct a believable eulogy. He bit back a smirk at the image of winged angels booting around a heavenly soccer ball, but apparently Timothy’s father hadn’t bothered to hide his impatience. When the chaplain glanced at the front row, where the Pryors were seated, he became slightly alarmed and fumbled his next few words.
Jeanette Wexler’s contribution followed in much the same vein, and after that Quin rose and announced the inevitable scholarship fund that would be set up in Timothy’s honor. Another enduring reminder aimed at Anderson Pryor’s future supporters at the polls, Darian supposed. Finally, just as the audience became restless, Jeanette thanked everyone for coming, invited them all to a reception in the banquet area downstairs, and brought the ceremony to a close. More music, this time slightly more upbeat, provided the soundtrack for their escape.
“From what I hear, they’ve rolled out quite a spread,” Everett commented as they made their way downstairs. “Probably expecting a large donation from future governor Pryor to pay for it all. Hope they aren’t too disappointed when they find out he actually hated his son.”
“Everett, please,” Darian said, though for once Everett wasn’t exaggerating. He wasn’t wrong about the food, either. The dining hall staff had spared no effort to prepare a buffet that wouldn’t have looked out of place at one of Mr. Pryor’s high-end corporate functions. Darian felt slightly guilty in indulging, given the circumstances, but Everett had no such qualms. He cheerfully piled his plate with stuffed mushrooms, shrimp puffs, and beef Wellington.
Jake came over while they sampled the spread. “Looks impressive from the door, but when you actually bite in, it’s just the usual,” he said, gesturing with a denuded wooden skewer. “You already know what I mean. Salty, lukewarm, dry as shoe leather. Wish they’d hired me as a consultant.”
“I’ve certainly never sampled footwear anywhere near as tasty as this.” Everett added three asparagus spears to replace the mushrooms he’d devoured. “Just curious, though. Are sour grapes on special today over at your place? Because you know they can’t hire you to cater any on-campus events, dear boy. Dining service rules. No outside vendors.”
“Fine with me. I did my time in industrial kitchen purgatory. Anyone who wants real food will have to wend their way through the ivy-covered gates and down the road to town.”
Patricia and Aaron, whose cheeks had regained some color, appeared next. Jake scowled while he watched them load their plates with shrimp.
“Nice of them to provide all this, but you’d think they could have provided some adult refreshment after making us sit through that,” Aaron grumbled.
“Oh, come on. You can last until we go back to the restaurant. Jake and I will fix you up.” Patricia laughed and nudged Aaron’s side, causing him to stagger. Darian was shocked to realize that he had already been drinking that morning, to the point that he was unsteady on his feet. Maybe he hadn’t patched things up with Caryn after all. Patricia turned to him while he stared at Aaron in disbelief. “Do you and Everett want to meet us there? We could make a little party out of it.”
“Yeah,” Aaron urged, brightening. He didn’t look at Everett. “Please come, Darian.”
“I’d better not. Even with classes canceled for today, I still have a ton of work to finish at home.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jake added his voice to the chorus. “You can always do it later. Who could possibly fault you for raising a glass in the deceased young man’s memory?”
Everett, who had been quietly but demonstratively stewing at Darian’s side, suddenly slid a hand around his arm.
“We ought to go and greet Jeanette,” he said, pointedly directing the suggestion only at Darian. “It’s just good politics f
or newbies. She’ll remember it at contract-renewal time. Trust me.”
“Good idea,” Darian agreed at once. He finished what was on his plate and placed it on a nearby bussing station.
“What was that about?” Everett demanded as they moved away as quickly as they could without seeming too obvious. “And since when is Aaron Macklin your drinking buddy?”
“I honestly have no idea why they invited me. Just being friendly, maybe.”
Everett snorted. “Or maybe they’d pegged you as the designated driver. Aaron’s well on his way to needing one already. Honestly! I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes! Practically under Jeanette’s nose, too. You’d think he’d have more sense.”
Darian recalled how Aaron had ranted about Birchwood and vowed to leave at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps he had decided to move up that deadline and no longer cared what anyone here thought of him.
When he glanced back and saw Aaron relating some dramatic tale, swinging his arm in Jake’s direction, another question occurred to him. Did Jake and Patricia know about Aaron’s binge? Worse, had they participated in it, possibly by supplying the necessary libations? Aaron never had mentioned exactly where he’d drunk himself to oblivion on Sunday night. Jake’s restaurant, which had a fully stocked bar that opened in the evening, was as good a guess as any.
While he mulled over that unsettling possibility, Everett dragged him over to where Jeanette Wexler stood, holding court with a few people Darian didn’t recognize. Without missing a beat, she wrapped up her conversation with them and turned to thank Everett and Darian for coming. The woman had charm, all right, combined with apparently effortless social skills. She even introduced everyone in the group without forgetting a single name. Everett hadn’t been kidding—she really would remember everyone who attended. She’d probably also remember Aaron’s unfortunate lapse if she got close enough to see the signs. Darian resolved to scuttle him out as soon as possible.
