by Jade Astor
Everett lifted a brow, clearly suspicious, and moved on without another word. Baffled, Darian continued toward his office. When he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed a tall, gangly figure striding away from his door.
“Wait!” he called out. The figure stopped in mid-step and turned. “Sebastian? Did you need to see me?”
Sebastian glanced up and down the silent hall before he spoke. “Can we talk? Inside your office?”
“Of course. But don’t you have Mr. Finch’s class in a few minutes?”
“No. I mean, technically I do, but the headmistress gave me permission not to attend if I don’t feel like it. She’s afraid I’m too traumatized to focus on my schoolwork.”
Darian had to admit that the young man didn’t look or sound that way. He did seem nervous, though. Even now his eyes were scanning the hall, as if he were on the alert for eavesdroppers.
“Okay. Come in. Take a seat.” Darian unlocked his door and waved Sebastian inside. “What’s going on?”
Sebastian ignored the straight-backed chair facing Darian’s desk. Instead he paced the length of the room a few times, his thumbs hooked in the straps of his backpack.
“That cop called me,” he said finally. “Sheriff Sullivan. He talked to my parents, and they all want me to go to the police station tomorrow. He’s sending a cop car to pick me up.” Sebastian paused. “I got permission to miss my math class while I’m there. That’s one bright spot, anyway.”
“It makes sense he’d want to talk to you. You were Timothy’s roommate, after all. And it would be helpful if you came clean with him about what you know, including what you told me yesterday.”
“Yeah. About yesterday. That’s kind of why I’m here. You remember when I said I was making the whole thing up just to get your reaction?”
Darian saw genuine fear in his expression. Maybe he thought he’d be arrested for wasting police resources after retracting his story. “Don’t worry about that. I know it was hard for you to come forward. You’re not in any trouble.”
“It’s not that. When we talked, there was something I didn’t tell you.”
He hesitated again.
“Go on.”
“Well, lately he’d been acting weird. I mean, we told each other everything. It was all cool. But suddenly he started sneaking around. He’d either put his phone in his pocket or close his laptop whenever I walked past him.”
“So he was communicating with someone he didn’t want you to know about?”
“Right. And it was more than that. Mr. Winter, I think Timothy was…you know…seeing someone he wasn’t supposed to. Otherwise he wouldn’t have kept it from me. We told each other everything.”
Darian nodded, though he doubted Timothy was always forthcoming with Sebastian, whether Sebastian knew it or not. He would most likely hide a dalliance with another student, fearing Sebastian’s jealousy.
“The police took Timothy’s computer, didn’t they? They’ll probably be able to retrieve those messages, even if Timothy deleted them. If they find anything worth pursuing, I’m sure they’ll act on it.”
“Maybe. But they have to know what to look for before they can find it.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Darian noticed the tension gripping Sebastian’s neck and shoulders. He didn’t doubt for a moment that in the right state of mind, such as a jealous rage, that wiry body could have overpowered Timothy and held him underwater. He forced back a shiver. “You should tell Sheriff Sullivan all this tomorrow. He’ll be able to help you much better than I—”
“You probably won’t want to hear this,” Sebastian broke in. “But someone needs to know about it. You probably know that Timothy didn’t like to study all that much. He always said there were easier ways to do well at this school.”
Darian remembered his own uncomfortable encounter with Timothy by the pond. He hoped Sebastian hadn’t heard about that embarrassing exchange.
“Okay,” he said in a scrupulously neutral voice.
“So the more I think about it, the more it makes sense that he was using his charm to his advantage, gradewise. Timothy had started sneaking out of our room late at night. He said he had insomnia and didn’t want to wake me up with his tossing and turning. I never said anything about it, but I think he was meeting a guy. And not just any guy, either—one of the teachers here at Birchwood. That way he could blackmail his way to the kind of good grades and recommendations his father expected. And maybe even other things as well.”
“That’s a serious accusation, Sebastian.”
Sebastian began to speak rapidly, his cheeks bright red. “Exactly. Think what would happen if it ever came out. The alumni would freak out and stop donating money. Timothy’s parents would sue this whole place. The headmistress would fire whoever did it without a second thought. It would be all over the news, too. A teacher involved with a student, even if he was eighteen. Someone who pulled a stunt like that would never get another job anywhere.”
“You’re right,” Darian admitted. Everyone had heard of the sex scandals rocking elite private schools like Birchwood. He and his colleagues liked to think of theirs as a higher calling, living a life of the mind and avoiding the savage yen of the flesh, but in the end they were all fragile humans. Hormone-ravaged students and their teachers sometimes had more in common than either side cared to admit. “But I have to point out that you don’t really have any proof. Just because he was sending secret messages and slipping out of your room doesn’t mean that a faculty member here is guilty of such….” He fumbled for the appropriate verb. “Misbehaving” didn’t seem to capture the enormity of the act, while “betrayal” seemed too strong to use in front of a student. He settled for “…wrongdoing.”
Sebastian didn’t seem to hear him. “Whoever it was needed to make sure he could never tell anyone what had been going on. What if Timothy got a message to meet him early in the morning, when no one else was supposed to be around?”
“It’s possible.” Darian nodded, feeling numb. The stone shelter would make both a convenient meeting place and a secluded spot to commit a murder. Timothy had clearly been expecting someone other than him. Had his presence scared away the would-be killer, forcing him to reschedule the rendezvous for the following day?
Or had someone intended to set up Darian as a suspect from the very beginning? Had one of his own colleagues, all of whom apparently knew he was gay, decided to frame him?
“Timothy took off his clothes, and I’ll bet you can figure out why. Then this person—this teacher—dragged him down to the water and held him underneath until he died. That had to be what happened, Mr. Winter. Someone murdered him to keep him quiet.” Sebastian’s eyes glassed over with tears. “I wish now I’d followed him. I should have known he’d stumbled into a situation he couldn’t handle. I loved him, Mr. Winter.”
They stood staring at each other for a long time. Darian wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. He didn’t want to upset the boy any further. Gap student or not, he was still a teenager who needed an authority figure to trust. “I’m glad you told me this, Sebastian. I can see now why you were so upset. It must have been hard to keep it all bottled up inside.”
“Then you’ll tell the cops? And keep my name out of it?”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised, knowing he would have to call Argo the minute Sebastian left the room. “But again, I have to remind you this is all speculation. There’s no sense in twisting yourself into knots over it. Whatever happened to Timothy, you shouldn’t blame yourself. The cops won’t hold you responsible in any way.”
“The cops? I already told you I’m not worried about them. Isn’t it obvious why I want my identity kept secret? If somebody killed Timothy to keep everything quiet, and the sheriff starts questioning teachers at Birchwood, the one who killed him is going to figure out who squealed. That means I could be next.”
Suddenly skittish, he darted across the office and flung open the door.
“I think I wi
ll go to class after all. Better leave now so I don’t walk in late. Mr. Finch hates that.”
In a matter of seconds, he had darted for the staircase. Darian started to follow, then thought better of that. He locked his door before he returned to his desk and fished his cell phone out of his briefcase.
His stomach clenched as he reluctantly pulled up a now-familiar number. The thought of siccing the law on one of his colleagues tore at him like brambles dragging against his flesh. If only Sebastian had confided in someone else…still, it was too late to go back now. And Argo needed to know the truth.
Darian’s palm felt clammy as he held the phone to his ear and heard Argo’s brusque greeting.
“Sebastian just came to see me again,” he said, getting directly to the point. “He thinks Timothy was seeing one of the male teachers here, and whoever it was killed him to keep the affair quiet. Now he’s afraid the same person will want to shut him up next.”
Argo was silent for so long that Darian checked to see if the phone had dropped their call. Finally Argo exhaled pensively.
“So that’s the thread linking everything together. I have to say, I’m not shocked. Hell, I’m barely even surprised.”
“You’re not? To be perfectly blunt, I was. And am.”
“Don’t be naïve, Darian. It’s just common sense. Emotions run high in enclosed little spaces like campuses, especially same-sex ones. Throw in all that academic angst, lonely teachers spending long days gazing out over acres of tight young bodies, and well, you get it. Stuff happens.”
“Just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it really happened. And for the record, I’m not convinced yet. There’s always a chance Sebastian is exaggerating or misinterpreting what he observed—or even making things up for reasons only he knows for sure. At this point, it’s just nasty gossip.”
“Maybe so. But over the years, I’ve learned that gossip is sometimes worth listening to. Even if a story’s not literally true, it can sometimes lead to the truth, uncomfortable though it might be. It seldom comes entirely out of the blue. I think you English types call that an extended metaphor.”
Darian felt a stab of regret for letting Sebastian saunter back out unattended. At the very least he should have tailed him back to Everett’s class. “So do you think Sebastian really might be in danger?” he asked, hoping Argo would reassure him. “Should I notify campus security?”
“You mean Carl Davis? That guy couldn’t find his ass with both hands, never mind a stealth assassin. Didn’t you say the kid was bunking in the infirmary? He should be safe enough there.”
“But he can’t stay there forever. He says he’s coming in to talk to you tomorrow. What if someone tries to influence his statement before then? Threatens him or something.”
“Hold on. I thought you didn’t believe a word of this and it was all tittle-tattle. Now you want him in the witness protection program?”
“Well, I’m just thinking about precautions. Like you said, boarding schools are insular communities. I would think you’d want to prevent anything from contaminating his memory or convincing him to change his story. I get enough of that when I investigate simple cases of cheating in my classroom.”
Darian heard his tone become belligerent. To Argo’s credit, he didn’t respond in kind. If anything, his voice became calmer and more measured. Clearly he’d been trained to deal with both emotional witnesses and obnoxious members of the public.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m trusting you to keep it quiet. I’ve already got someone keeping a discreet eye on him until Deputy Cutler picks him up tomorrow. Have to treat our new star witness right, after all. So the kid has nothing to worry about, and neither do you.”
“Oh.” Darian was glad Argo couldn’t see his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Sorry. And thanks for looking out for him. I should have given you more credit after we talked yesterday.”
“Believe me when I tell you that’s the most I can do until the guy in the suit gets here and I can haul young Mr. Grant in here for an interview. And I appreciate you coming to me with this. Whether or not it has anything to do with Timothy’s death, it’s worth looking into.”
“I agree.”
“And since you brought up what happened yesterday at my office, I want to reassure you yet again that it was only routine. Don’t hate me for it.”
“I don’t.” Darian spoke more quickly than he meant to. He’d planned to throw Argo off balance, make him beg a little. But he’d always sucked at manipulating other people.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I was wondering if I could make it up to you. How about dinner tonight? My place.”
Caught completely off guard, Darian repeated, “Dinner?”
“Yes. It’s a multi-course meal generally eaten in the evening—say, around six o’clock?” Argo recited his address with obvious amusement. “Can you find that? You can look it up on your computer if you don’t have GPS.”
“I can get there.” Darian grabbed a pen from his desk and jotted the information down on a piece of scrap paper.
“Great. See you then,” Argo said and hung up.
Bewildered, Darian stared down at his phone, half-convinced he’d misunderstood. Dinner at the sheriff’s place? If this was another of Argo’s crime-solving ruses, it was his most audacious move yet.
He could hardly wait to see this little experiment unfold.
Chapter 8
After his last class of the day, Darian headed for the faculty parking lot. He had two hours until his dinner with Argo, which would give him time to shower, rest a bit, and change into more casual clothes. He was about fifty feet from his car when Aaron Macklin hurried toward him. On the whole, he looked better than he had the last time Darian had seen him, and definitely better than Everett had described. The faculty lounge coffee must have done the trick.
“Hey,” Aaron said, slowing to a stop. “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to thank you again for helping me out last night and this morning. I haven’t been that messed up in a long time.”
“It’s all right. I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”
“Well, I owe you one, that’s for sure. Made it through the day, though just barely.”
“Get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow should be better.” Darian unlocked his car, expecting Aaron to move on. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot.
“So…speaking of tonight, I wondered if you might want to grab dinner in town. I’ve got a big kitchen in my new condo, full of stainless steel and all the latest gadgets, but I haven’t got the hang of this whole cooking thing. I eat out most nights, but it gets to be a drag by myself. I’d welcome the company.”
Darian raised his brows in surprise. He assumed Aaron would spend his evenings with his fiancée, though he knew she lived some distance away. In fact, he wondered why they hadn’t moved in together by now. Maybe Caryn was old-fashioned or Aaron thought it might compromise his image at Birchwood.
“That’s nice of you, Aaron, but I’m afraid I already have plans for tonight. Rain check?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Aaron’s lower lip drooped in disappointment. “Another time. See you tomorrow.”
He hurried to his car, parked just a few spaces from Darian’s and roared out while Darian was still pulling his seatbelt over his shoulder. He sympathized with Aaron. Being in a committed relationship, but having to spend so much time alone, couldn’t be much fun. Still, the next few weeks were bound to melt away quickly, and the new Mrs. Macklin would arrive to take charge of her shiny new kitchen. Aaron’s lonely nights come to an end before he knew it. He might even long for a quiet, solitary evening once in a while.
As he pulled out of his parking spot, Darian heard another car start at the far end of the lot. A familiar blue sedan was backing out into the exit lane. He saw Everett’s profile through the driver’s side window.
Darian lifted his hand in a casual wave, but Everett didn’t glance over and he didn’t wave back. Instead, he turned the w
heel abruptly and lurched onto the street, his tires spraying gravel in his wake.
The directions he’d downloaded from his computer took him a few miles away from the center of town, then down a narrow road to a private, unpaved lane. Nestled behind a grove of blue-green fir trees and an old stone wall lay a rustic A-frame house. Off to the right he spotted a neatly stacked woodpile and a detached snow plow. On the left he spied Argo’s black SUV with its official government plates.
He was halfway up the red-brick walkway when the front door swung open and Argo leaned out. He was dressed casually in black jeans, and of course a plaid flannel shirt, this one blue and black. A rush of warm air, scented with gravy and roast vegetables, wafted out around him.
“I’m making pot roast,” Argo called out to him. “Hope that’s okay. Sorry—I didn’t think to ask if you were allergic to anything.”
“I’m not,” Darian said as he stepped inside. “No worries.”
“Good to know. Seems like you have to be careful of everything these days. Salt, dairy, gluten.” Argo smiled as Darian handed him a bottle of wine he’d picked up along the way. He’d taken a chance on red, assuming Argo was the type who would serve beef, and was glad his hunch had proved correct. “Ah, perfect. I see we’re on the same page about one thing, anyway.”
“Probably more than one thing,” Darian joked. He paused to inhale the homey aroma that filled the house. “Pot roast sounds wonderful. It smells pretty promising,too.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out tonight, I hope.” Winking, Argo led the way into a small, masculine living area, separated from a spotlessly clean and well-organized kitchen by a tan sectional sofa. He motioned Darian over to it. “Have a seat.”