Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  Argo’s mouth thinned, and Darian realized he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you of anything. I just…”

  “No worries. You’re trying to help, and I appreciate your input, even if I don’t always act like it. After all, you know Birchwood better than I do or ever will—better than I want to, for sure. But we’re talking apples and oranges here.”

  The vehemence in his tone surprised Darian. “How can you be so sure? You were just a kid yourself when it happened.”

  “When I first got this job, I went through all the files at the station. Found some older guys who were around when it happened. Naturally I was curious. Roderick’s death was big news around here at the time.”

  “Really? You’d never know it from the newspaper accounts. Both the town and the school seem to have gone to great pains to pretend it was just a run-of-the-mill accident, no more worthy of comment than if the old guy had died peacefully in his bed.”

  “That’s the Birchwood publicity machine in action. Or maybe I should say the Birchwood censorship brigade. Places like this know how to protect their own.”

  “You’re probably right. The scandal would have been disastrous for Birchwood. Some of the parents might have pulled their kids out and made trouble for the school. They’d probably do the same today. That’s why Jeanette sent Aaron away, too. To avoid scandal.”

  “I can see her reasoning,” Argo said. “Jeanette was around twenty years ago, you know. Her name is in some of the reports.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. But she didn’t provide any useful information. She wasn’t a big shot then. Just one of the teachers. Her power grab came later.”

  “After Quin Fisher’s father retired as headmaster.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you know what happened to the old g—er, to Mr. Talbott? The newspaper implied that he slipped in the mud and sank like a stone. Everett thinks he walked into the water purposely.”

  “There were no witnesses, so it was written off as an accident. That made it easier on the family, too, though I suspect the Birchwood crowd didn’t give much thought to them. But yeah, the secret consensus is that it was suicide. Apparently Roderick wanted to die on the Birchwood campus. He loved it there.” Argo cleared his throat. “I mean, that’s what I gleaned from the stuff in the files. Anyway, Roderick Talbott took his life for a specific reason—he knew his reputation was about to be ruined, his career trashed, his livelihood taken away from him. He didn’t think he had a choice, even if he was innocent of wrongdoing.”

  “That’s one explanation. Or he knew he was guilty of inappropriate conduct and couldn’t live with himself.”

  “I don’t think he was. Here’s the thing. No one the cops interviewed at the time knew about any specific accusation. And no students ever came forward to complain.”

  “That’s not so unusual, isn’t it? The victims sometimes don’t speak out. And he left a note. Everett told me.”

  “Yeah. True enough. I don’t know what to make of it, and at this point no one except you has ever asked me my opinion. Everyone who knew what really happened is apparently satisfied to let things lie and move on. As you should.”

  Darian looked down at his hands, folded on the table. “I knew someone who killed himself,” he said quietly. “We weren’t good friends or anything. He went to my high school. He did it in his family’s garage. Used his father’s hunting gun.”

  “Damn.” Argo blinked. “I’m sorry, Darian. I didn’t know.”

  “Later, it came out that he was being bullied mercilessly just for being who he was. Not just in school, but in his home and even his family’s church. It must have been hell for him. And yet he never reached out to anyone. I’ve always wondered what drives someone to that kind of drastic and permanent solution. How bad things do have to be? What makes people think there’s no way out?”

  “That’s how it goes sometimes. People are too sensitive. They need to let what other people think roll off them. What does it matter in the end? All you can ever do is rely on yourself.”

  “That’s a hard road to walk. But I guess self-sufficiency works out for some. Like you, I assume?”

  “You got that right. I figured it out early on. No one really needs anyone to get by in this world. Loners make out just fine.”

  “Do you see yourself as a loner?”

  “A lot of cops do. Comes with the job.”

  Taking a chance, Darian stretched his hand across the table. Argo stared at it a moment. Then he cracked a reluctant smile and placed his own hand on top of Darian’s. Darian curled his fingers tight around those calloused fingers, coarsened by a lifetime of harsh northern winters and outdoor chores.

  “You don’t want to be alone all the time, do you?”

  “No. Lately I’ve been thinking that I don’t. I’m kind of surprised, to be honest. Didn’t think I had it in me.” He gave a surprisingly bashful-sounding laugh. “I ragged on you before about not knowing Aaron as well as you thought you did. The irony is that I didn’t know myself any better.”

  “It’s hard to get to know people, especially when they put up so many barriers designed to keep everyone at arm’s length.” Darian gave Argo’s fingers a squeeze. “Turns out you’re in luck, though. As you pointed out before, English teachers specialize in analyzing clues and interpreting even the tiniest signs. We can write entire books on single words. In fact, we enjoy that kind of thing. So a stony-faced, solitary cop isn’t a turn-off for someone like me. Quite the contrary. It’s the sort of challenge I enjoy.”

  Darian saw a tiny smile steal across Argo’s lips. Then the stony mask returned.

  “I’ve been thinking about Aaron Macklin, and what he said to you earlier. I won’t bother to deny that I don’t like the idea of him roaming around free. He might come back here to bother you again.”

  “You think so? I admit, the same idea occurred to me.”

  “That’s why I think I should stay here tonight. Just to be on the safe side. We’d both feel a lot better, I suspect.”

  “Yes…that’s a safe assumption, I would say.”

  “There’s just one thing I want to make clear. When I sleep, I need a lot of room. I like to stretch out, you know?”

  Darian nodded, amused. “I can understand that. You’re a pretty big guy, after all. Broad shoulders.”

  He was gratified to see Argo blush. This time, he couldn’t keep the pink from reaching all the way to his cheeks.

  “When Macklin stayed over, you said you offered him the couch.”

  “That’s right.”

  Argo paused and cleared his throat. His upper lip glistened with sweat. “So…that is…I hope you weren’t planning to do the same for me.”

  Without letting go of Argo’s hand, which suddenly turned clammy, Darian stood. Argo got to his feet as well. They stood looking at each other as a long, aching silence stretched between them.

  “Not a chance,” Darian said.

  Chapter 12

  The bed shifted, jarring Darian from a peacefully dreamless sleep. He came fully awake as Argo rose from the spot beside him. The room was still swathed in blue-gray morning light, Argo’s body a featureless, though nonetheless appealing, silhouette.

  “Sorry,” Argo stage-whispered, though there wasn’t anyone else around to disturb. Somehow the early hour seemed to call for quiet. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s all right,” Darian muttered, trying to clear his head. Squinting, he watched Argo lurch across the room and gather up the clothes they’d hurriedly discarded the night before. Darian glanced at the bedside clock and turned off the alarm, which would have gone off in another half an hour. “I usually get up around this time anyway.”

  “In that case, mind if I turn on the light?”

  “Go ahead.” Darian squeezed his eyes shut as the sudden glare illuminated the room. “Feel free to use my shower if you want. You can even wear my bathrobe, though I suspect it’ll
be too small for you. Meanwhile, I’ll go make us some coffee.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll just grab something quick on my way home. I can wash up and change there. I’ll take a little of your mouthwash, though, if you don’t mind.”

  “Go for it.” While Argo went off to gargle, Darian savored the softness of his pillow and the feel of the sheets, still warm with Argo’s presence, against his bare skin. He drifted back off for a few minutes, replaying some of the more delightful moments they’d shared the night before, until Argo padded back into the room. He struggled to sit up, brushing the hair out of his eyes and cautiously poking one foot out from under the covers. The air was chilly, but Argo seemed unaffected as he stood deliciously naked with his jeans and flannel shirt slung over one arm.

  While Darian watched, he stepped into the jeans and zipped them up. He didn’t bother to look for the briefs he’d shed the night before. Darian smiled, enjoying the idea of Argo going commando.

  “Wish we didn’t have to leave,” he mused sleepily. “This whole Birchwood mess seems like nothing more than a bad dream from here.”

  Draping his flannel shirt over one broad shoulder, Argo proceeded to rummage around the room for his t-shirt. He found it under the foot of the bed and shook out the wrinkles.

  “It’s real enough, unfortunately. And I’ll be back in the middle of it by the time you get to school.” Suddenly, Argo turned and tossed both the t-shirt and the flannel shirt onto the bed. Wearing only his jeans, he climbed back under the covers and pulled Darian against his chest. The rough denim created a delightful friction against the bare skin between Darian’s legs.

  “I wish I could stay, too, in case I didn’t make that clear enough,” Argo murmured, his lips brushing Darian’s with each word. “Sorry. Too much on my mind.”

  “I can imagine.”

  As Argo kissed him hard and deep, his lips flavored with mint mouthwash, Darian stretched himself against the rigid planes of Argo’s well-muscled body. They fit together like puzzle pieces, he mused. Or maybe more like those optical illusions that looked like two people from one angle, and from the other a Ming vase or some other random curvy object.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get this case under control soon. And meanwhile, I’ll make sure Aaron Macklin keeps his distance from you.”

  “At least he won’t be at school today.” Darian sighed. He pitied Aaron, assuming he could trust his declarations of innocence, but all the same he was relieved by the prospect of his absence. It was going to be a tough enough day as things stood. “I’m not looking forward to my classes this morning. The students won’t listen to a word of my lectures. Everyone will be talking about the whole Aaron thing. I doubt they’ll be able to focus on anything else.”

  “You’re probably right. That might not be a bad thing, though.” Reluctantly Argo extricated himself from Darian’s limbs and got up again. He pulled on his forest-green t-shirt and thrust his arms into the plaid flannel sleeves. “It’s possible someone will be ready to open up about what they know regarding Macklin and Timothy’s connection.”

  Instantly, Darian’s happy, hormone-infused mood faded. “You still think Aaron was responsible for what happened, don’t you?” He couldn’t bring himself to be more specific. “Even though you jumped the gun and had to release him without charges? There’s no evidence, Argo. He didn’t do it.”

  “I realize that’s your position. At the same time, I’m counting on you to keep an ear open for anything that might help us figure out what happened. You’ll tell me, won’t you, if one of the kids—or one of the teachers—remembers something useful? Something they heard or saw before Timothy died?”

  “Of course I will,” Darian muttered. Did Argo really think he would go so far as to cover up murder, if that turned out to be the case? “You don’t really have to ask.”

  “Thanks.” Argo buttoned his shirt, gathered the rest of his clothes, and scooped his cell phone off Darian’s nightstand. Moments later he was back in his socks and boots, striding for the bedroom door. Darian got up, wrapped the quilt around himself, and followed Argo into the hall.

  “Sure you don’t want coffee? Won’t take me long.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe next time.”

  Next time, Darian thought. That sounded promising, at least. As much of a commitment as he dared to expect at the moment. But then, last night had been pretty damn good.

  “Will I see you later?” he asked as Argo picked up his coat and extracted his car keys from the pocket.

  “Hope so. Hard to say. Depends how my investigation shakes out.”

  “So you’ll be pursuing some leads of your own while I creep around Birchwood, listening for scraps of gossip?”

  Argo stopped at the front door, turned, and grinned. “You know the answer to that as well as you know that I can’t talk about it.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  “I don’t.”

  Okay, gotta go. Talk soon.” On his way out, Argo bent down and kissed Darian’s forehead. It was such a sweet and obviously spontaneously gesture that Darian felt his chest swell with emotion.

  After Argo left, he showered, shaved, and dressed for school, choosing a jaunty pink tie to offset his dark blue suit and dove-gray shirt. In the car, he wondered if he should call Aaron during his lunch break to make sure he was all right, but decided against it. After his ordeal, Aaron was probably sleeping in or perhaps already consulting with his new lawyer. Besides, he had the feeling Argo would disapprove. Maybe he would try after school let out for the day, though he’d wait until it was too late for Aaron to invite him for dinner. He was kind of hoping Argo would be on his way back for another all-night date by then.

  When he arrived on campus, he headed directly for his classroom, bypassing the faculty lounge. Though he fully intended to collect any tidbits he could for Argo, he decided to postpone his intelligence-gathering. Romping in the sheets for most of the night had left him more frazzled and exhausted than he’d realized—though to say he had no regrets would have been the understatement of the decade.

  Right away, he sensed tension. In front of the library, a group of passing students stopped, turned away from his approach, and leaned in to whisper together. At Fitzsimmons Hall, where his first class met, a smirking boy held the front door open for him. Darian’s wish for a good morning inspired no response.

  The aftermath of yesterday’s adventure, no doubt. Argo had ensured that Timothy’s memorial service would be a hot topic for the rest of the term at a minimum.

  Thankfully, he found his classroom empty. He took advantage of the silence, reading through his lesson plan and jotting a few things on the board, before the morning bell began to clang. The same dull, metallic dirge had commemorated Timothy the day before. Today it summoned those who remained, a reminder that life, and the comfort of familiar routine, continued. Sure enough, he soon heard the clatter of young feet in the corridor.

  His first class went much worse than anticipated.

  Darian had expected fidgety, disengaged pupils who would pepper him and one another with questions about Timothy’s death and Aaron’s role in it. Some, he had assumed, would be quiet and downcast, mourning the loss of their friend. Instead, the entire group was buzzing with mischievous energy, their lips pursed with barely suppressed giggles. Several mild scoldings had no effect on their giddiness.

  Delayed reaction, he decided. Or was it called displacement? Transference? It had been too long since he’d taken Psych I. Whatever the terminology, he soon realized that his prepared lesson plans were useless. He allowed the boys to use the remainder of the period to begin writing their essays. Most continued to stare past their pens and sheets of yellow draft paper, their attention focused wholly on him. Now and then, a few whispers or a snicker reputed. By the time they left the room, Darian had checked his fly several times. A trip to the men’s room confirmed no smudges, crumbs, or blemishes on his face.

  Second period went much the same. Things only got strang
er as the day went on. During second period, he saw several students surreptitiously texting. Darian rapped his knuckles on his desk.

  “I hope I didn’t just see a phone out in the classroom, gentlemen.”

  For some reason, his efforts only made them laugh harder behind clasped hands or raised textbooks. Darian exhaled with relief when the period ended and the boys hurried away. He struggled to hear what the last group through the door was whispering about, but they were gone before he could make sense of their muttering.

  Back at Gregorius Hall, Patricia met him by the door of the teacher’s lounge and followed him inside. No one else was there yet.

  “Jake and I want to invite you for dinner tomorrow night,” Patricia said. “He’s taking the evening off from the restaurant and leaving his senior staff in charge. About time, if you ask me. If I didn’t eat most of my meals there, I wouldn’t see my husband at all.”

  Darian didn’t kid himself that the Woodleys were dying for the pleasure of his company. They wanted to talk about the case. He didn’t see that as a problem. After all, Argo had asked him to keep his ear to the ground. This way he could find out the gossip from town as well.

  “Sure, I’d like that. Thanks.”

  “Jake promises you a meal to remember.” Patricia glanced around to make sure no one else had come into the lounge. “I think it would be good to get together. Lots to talk about, obviously.”

  “No doubt about that.”

  Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “I heard Aaron made bail after only a couple of hours. Can you imagine? Apparently he headed straight back to campus the minute the cell door closed behind him. Several people saw him wandering around.”

  “I see.” Darian decided not to mention his meeting with Aaron, never mind his role in freeing him from jail.

  “What was Argo Sullivan thinking to let a murderer out to run free like that? Dollars to doughnuts he was coming back here to select his next victim. We’re lucky he didn’t burn the place down out of spite—or to eliminate the evidence.”