Murder in the Shadows

by Jade Astor

  Victor scowled. “I’m only guessing, since obviously I haven’t actually seen Brother Lew’s body, but maybe an accident of some kind?”

  “It would be quite a feat to fall and impale himself on his own walking stick,” Argo said. Darian wondered if he had been baiting Victor, trying to coax him into revealing details he wouldn’t know unless he had been at the scene. At least Victor looked appropriately nauseated when Argo described the manner of death.

  Then again, he, like everyone else here, was an actor.

  “So you’re saying it was done deliberately,” Sandra piped up. “Are you accusing one of us?”

  “Did I ever say I thought that?” Argo flashed her that maddening, oh-so-reasonable smile Darian knew all too well. He winced.

  “Hard to see who else it would be,” Wes said while Chuck murmured agreement. “Not many people around here except for us. And we can probably rule out suicide, too.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Argo informed them. “I haven’t ruled out anything yet. My deputies will take everyone’s statement. I’d like all of you to remain out here until they’re finished. And don’t talk to each other about the case, if you don’t mind.”

  “That should be easy enough,” Jamie said, “considering we don’t know anything.” Darian saw him extend his hand to Logan, who folded his fingers protectively around it. A troubled glance passed between them. Jamie, he was sure, was wondering if Brother Lew’s death might be connected to the bloodying of his room. The prospect clearly unnerved him—and probably for good reason.

  Argo watched the two of them move closer together, and Darian knew he’d made a mental note to follow up on their reaction later. For now, he turned to Victor.

  “Mr. Reece, I’d like to interview you inside the house. Darian, I also want to talk to you again. Is there a private room we can use?”

  “We’re filming a movie here,” Victor snapped. “We can’t disturb the sets. Besides, why do you think I have anything to add? Legally speaking, Brother Lew wasn’t killed on my property. You found him out in the woods.”

  Argo’s expression hardened. “I need to speak to you because you knew him, among other reasons. I’m asking for your cooperation while I investigate a potential murder. If you prefer, I’ll get a search warrant. Then I’ll seal off the whole house and turn the place upside down if I have to. Are we clear?”

  “Perfectly.” Victor spoke through clenched teeth. “There’s a small office place with a desk that you can use. I’ll show you there.” He led them through the French doors and down a short hallway decorated with framed paintings of wildflowers.

  “Perfect,” Argo said when Victor opened the door to a room at the end. He pointed to an antique settee positioned between two delicate watercolors. “Wait here until I’m ready for you,” he instructed Darian. “We’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”

  Grumbling, Victor pushed into the room without looking at either Darian or Argo. Argo followed and shut the door behind him, making it impossible for Darian to hear what was going on inside. At least he didn’t hear any raised voices.

  A few minutes later, Victor returned and slumped onto the cushion beside Darian.

  “Your turn,” he said, sounding much less confident than he had before his conversation with Argo. “Remember, you don’t have to answer his questions. I’ll provide a lawyer if it comes to that.”

  “Thanks.” As Darian started to get up, Victor leaned forward and covered his face with both hands. Darian sat back down and slid an arm around his shoulders.

  “You’re shaking,” Darian said.

  “How did it all come to this?” Victor lamented. “I’d really hoped that this time….”

  He trailed off, his body shuddering as he choked back a sob.

  “You’ll be okay,” Darian soothed. “Just let yourself go numb for a while. It’ll get better. I’m sorry about Lew. I know you cared about him.”

  Victor didn’t look up. “I guess I always knew he’d come to a bad end. Freeze to death in a blizzard, maybe. Or maybe fall down in the woods, hurt himself, starve before anyone could find him. I never thought…you know.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard to imagine someone wanting to hurt him.”

  “I wanted to help him. My mother did too. And we tried. I left food and supplies on the terrace for him, even when I was a kid. And clothes. You know how kids put out cookies for Santa? We’d give Lew winter boots, gloves, that kind of thing. Sometimes, at the edge of the woods, I’d see him wearing the stuff along with that old brown cowl.” He lifted his head. “Was he wearing that when…?”

  “Yeah.” Darian nodded. “You were kind to him, Victor. He had issues not even he could control. The fact that you tried will have to be enough.”

  Nodding, Victor wiped his eyes with his knuckles. “I felt sorry for him, even then. Poor Lew had a hard, miserable life. I hope he finds some peace in the next world, assuming he still believed in one.”

  “He was a monk, so I guess he must have.”

  “Funny, you know? He wouldn’t leave this place. Everyone else wants nothing more than to get away.” Victor raked a hand over his scalp and sighed. “I really messed up by filming this movie here. I should have told Logan no. Gone with my gut.”

  “You didn’t know what would happen. Besides, who can say Lew’s death had anything to do with the film? It’s not impossible that it really was some kind of accident. Stranger things have happened. Or maybe there was an intruder on the grounds. Maybe Lew attacked some trespassers and things got ugly.”

  “It’s not just that. I had high hopes for us working on this film together. Nothing worked out the way I planned at all.” He glanced at the office door, closed again. “Ironic, isn’t it? I brought you here to keep you away from him. And now he has the perfect excuse to keep coming back here. So much for that brilliant plan.”

  Darian raised a brow, but couldn’t think of an adequate response to that confession. “Victor, I’m sorry this is so hard on you. It’s been rotten luck that Argo’s involved. I still don’t know what’s going to happen with him and me. It almost doesn’t matter when you look at the bigger picture.”

  “I know. You’re right. Justice for Lew should be our first priority. And we have to find out if what happened to Jamie was connected. He asked me about that, you know. I’m sure he’ll ask you, too. Not that he’d suspect you of being involved. Me, though—that’s a different story.”

  “He can ask me anything he likes. In fact, I’d expect him to. If he thought I had something to hide, he’d arrest me without hesitation.”

  Victor blinked, clear-eyed now. “Wow. That’s harsh. But come on. He knows you better than I do, and I know you wouldn’t do such a thing. You’re sure I wouldn’t, too—aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” Darian assured him. But secretly, he wondered. “Argo’s not a sentimental man. It’s all about duty with him, but he’s fair. A good cop.”

  A rustling sound made them both look up. Argo stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his face a complete blank. How long had he been listening?

  “Come in,” he ordered Darian, stepping aside.

  After patting Victor’s arm, Darian entered a small room that featured a tiny feminine writing desk from an earlier era. Somewhat laughably, Argo positioned his large frame in the too-small chair that presumably belonged to Victor’s mother. On the other side of the desk stood a straight-backed chair with a pink upholstered seat. It stood at an angle as if Victor had shoved it back forcefully when he got up.

  “Pull that closer,” Argo ordered when he started to move it. “I prefer to look in the eyes of the people I’m questioning. “

  “Sure. Whatever you like.” Darian feigned nonchalance as he took a seat. He was determined not to show Argo that this situation bothered him at all or even struck him as anything out of the ordinary.

  “So, another body. You seem to make a habit of coming across them,” Argo said, interlacing his fingers on Mrs. Reece’s leather-edged blot
ter.

  “Technically, we came across this one together,” Darian reminded him. “And no need to comment that we’ve been through this before. I was there, remember?” A bitter note slipped in before Darian could stop it. Argo raised a brow, but otherwise he pretended not to notice. It was like they had gone back in time. It was working, too. That old attraction surfaced again now, just as it had then.

  “All right. So I guess you remember how this works. Let’s go back to the beginning. What did Victor tell you about this guy?”

  “Not a lot. Just some general background. Victor’s ancestors let a group of monks settle in the woods, where they lived off the land and ran a small winery. Eventually they took off for more comfortable pastures—or maybe I should say vineyards. Brother Lew didn’t go with them. He was kind of different, as they say.”

  “You mean mentally disabled?”

  Darian shrugged.

  “Tell me again how Brother Lew attacked you yesterday.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, really,” Darian insisted. “I startled him and he came at me. I think he was just trying to scare me.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No! Well, maybe for a few minutes.” When he realized the likely direction of Argo’s inquiries, Darian scowled. “You can’t think I held a grudge against him because he chased me out of the woods!”

  “I didn’t say that.” Argo paused. “Did anyone else know about this incident? Someone who might have taken drastic steps to protect you, maybe?”

  “Only Victor—” Darian began. He caught himself. “Oh, come on, Argo. You can’t think he would have hurt Lew. He’s been caring for the poor guy all his life. Can’t you see how distraught he is right now?”

  “Yep. Looks miserable all right.” Argo drummed his fingers on the blotter. “Like he feels guilty, maybe?”

  “No! Not at all! I can recognize grief when I see it.”

  “And let’s not forget the unpleasantness with Mr. London. This event casts that little escapade in a whole new light, doesn’t it?”

  “This morning, you didn’t think that was even worth investigating. You decided it was a childish prank. You used those words yourself.”

  “Nothing childish about a monk who’s been skewered like a shish kabob,” Argo shot back. “A lot of strange activity going on around this house, isn’t there? Why were you here this morning, anyway? Had you just come from your house?”

  “No.” Darian felt guilty satisfaction when Argo flinched at his announcement. His reaction would have been imperceptible to anyone but him. He’d learned to interpret Argo’s body language. “I stayed overnight.”

  “I see. May I ask why?”

  “I told you. I helped clean up the mess in Jamie’s room.” Darian deliberately kept things vague. “Afterward, Victor and I kept talking. It got late.”

  “All right, then. Since you stayed here, can you account for Victor’s movements from then until you both came down for breakfast? Do you know exactly where he was all night?”

  The question slashed between them, razor sharp. Darian knew his answer would determine far more than Victor’s potential as a suspect. It would have been easy to answer in a way that would not only clear Victor, but zap Argo with maximum pain. Part of him, a part he didn’t like very much, wanted to do both of those things. His better half won out.

  “I don’t,” he admitted, his shoulders dropping along his pretense of hostility toward Argo. Lying to Argo would have meant lying to himself as well. “I stayed in a guest room. I also heard footsteps going up and down the hall during the night. I don’t know whose they were. But there was more than one set.”

  Argo exhaled slowly. Darian was sure he saw some of the worry lines fade from his forehead. “So it’s possible someone slipped out of the house around the time this Brother Lew was killed. Is anyone here prone to walking in the woods at odd hours? Would anyone be familiar with the spot where the body was discovered?”

  “I couldn’t really say. From what they said, Victor’s friends have visited him here before—except for Sandra, maybe. Anyone could have gone out there for a walk now or then. Argo, how do you know it wasn’t someone from town? Maybe they were looking for something to steal. Or trying to vandalize the monk compound. Maybe Brother Lew wanted to scare them away and they got the better of him. It’s possible, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” Argo conceded. “Either way, this estate is a dangerous place to be right now, Darian. I hope you know what you’re doing, hanging around here.”

  “I do,” Darian lied.

  Nodding, Argo got up. Darian followed him to his feet.

  “These buildings the monks lived in. I want to see them. Will you take me there?”

  “Okay,” Darian answered a little too hastily. The truth was, he was as curious to see them as Argo. “We’ll have to get the directions from Victor. He mentioned it was quite a hike.”

  “I’ll take care of that.” Argo reached for the door knob and paused. “Meet me on the patio in ten minutes. Cutler should be done taking statements by then. I’ll have him supervise the…ah…removal of the remains.”

  Darian nodded, queasy at the thought. “Should we ask Victor to lead us there? He might not like the idea of us traipsing around out there on our own.”

  Argo’s mouth became a hard, thin line. “I don’t care what Victor wants,” he said as he wrenched the door open.

  They didn’t talk much as they tramped through the thickly gown forest. Argo seemed focused on memorizing every detail of their surroundings, his eyes intermittently scanning the ground for clues. Darian occupied his attention with gazing up at the tangle of tree limbs crisscrossing above them. Abandoned bird and squirrel nests clung to some of them, soon to be blown away when the first winter storms whipped through the branches.

  Lost in his own thoughts, he started when Argo finally spoke to him.

  “I realize this has been hard on you,” he said. He didn’t have to specify what he was referring to, but Darian decided to play innocent.

  “Finding Brother Lew, you mean? Or what happened before that?”

  “You know. All of it.”

  “Well, in that case, yes. You could say that,” Darian allowed. “Did they catch that guy who shot you?”

  “Not yet,” Argo grumbled.

  “Taking their sweet time about it, aren’t they? What’s taking Cutler so long?”

  “He’s following up some leads.”

  “I should hope so.” Darian waited for Argo to say more. Maybe apologize. But instead he refocused on the matter at hand.

  They found the settlement easily, which suggested to Darian that sufficiently motivated vandals or thieves probably could, too. The first thing they came to was old-fashioned well pump with three battered metal buckets standing beside it. When Argo worked the handle, the contraption screeched and wheezed until a gush of water spurted out.

  “Works better than I expected,” Darian observed.

  “Give me modern plumbing any day.” Further back stood an outhouse of the sort people kept in the nineteenth century. Argo peered in to make sure no one was hiding inside. They moved on.

  Three small brick buildings ringed a tidily swept clearing. All stood unlocked, their rusty hasps flapping unfastened on scarred, weather-darkened wooden doors. Argo motioned for Darian to stay silent. Hand on his gun, he moved in a circle, cautiously pushing each of them open. One building housed a rudimentary chapel where Brother Lew conducted his solitary rituals. Darian wasn’t religious, but nonetheless he found himself moved by the atmosphere of pious simplicity. Or should it be simplistic piety? Either way, he felt a surge of pity for Brother Lew.

  The next building contained a few rooms that looked like prison cells, which had once served as the monks’ sleeping quarters. Most were clean but entirely empty. One was clearly Brother Lew’s bedroom, adorned with a few necessities. A collection of winter clothing, Victor’s donations, lay neatly folded on a corner shelf. On the bed stand lay not a Bible,
but a collection of battered superhero comic books. Brother Lew had likely fished them out of the trash somewhere, to judge by their grungy condition.

  “Nothing to indicate he had any family,” Darian said, poking around. “No letters or address books.”

  “He’d been here so long, they probably all died or forgot about him.”

  “I have a feeling Brother Lew couldn’t read or write. That’s why he kept comic books. When the other monks were here, he got by with memorizing.”

  Nearby, a small kitchen area held a wood stove where he prepared his meals, along with a few tin pots that were probably as old as the monastery itself. The air smelled of smoke and charcoal, suggesting that the fire had gone out recently. Two loaves of bread, lumpy as though they’d been made from scratch, sat on a pitted wooden table. A pantry filled with canned goods represented more of Victor’s donations. In the corner was a large copper tub with another metal bucket beside it.

  “His bathtub?” Argo asked.

  “Most likely. People used to bathe in front of the fire to heat the water.” Darian shook his head in wonder. He felt as though they’d emerged from a time machine that had taken them back a hundred years or more. “How could he live like this for decades?”

  “Maybe the world was too much for him,” Argo mused. “Painful. Frightening.”

  “What a harsh, lonely existence. I couldn’t do it. Could you?”

  “It’s no wonder he went mad, however sane he was when he started out.” Argo led the way to the third and final building. This one held the old wine making vats and distillery equipment, long unused and covered with dust. Darian heard the scuffling sound of rodents in the shadows and didn’t venture far past the threshold. Argo shone his flashlight around the corners and came back out.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like anything’s been disturbed. If trespassers intended to toss the place, they didn’t go through with it. Vagrants would have grabbed his food and his winter gear.”