Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  Next, he heard someone calling his name and turned to see Quin approaching with a hand raised in greeting. His cufflinks—platinum, just as Everett had predicted, glinted along with a chunky Birchwood class ring.

  Everett greeted him back, moving sideways to allow Quin into their conversational circle. Once again, Jeanette shifted her attention to the newcomer without slighting or interrupting any of the others. Quin began talking about the service, complimenting Jeanette on its tastefulness and emotional resonance. The group then began to discuss the scholarship that would carry Timothy’s name into a future his body would never inhabit. Darian was trying to think of something worthwhile to contribute when his gaze drifted over Jeanette’s shoulder and landed on two people talking in the corner. One was Anderson Pryor, standing ramrod stiff and sneering as he seemed to berate a tall man in a crisp grey suit—Argo.

  They were too far away for Darian to make out what they were saying. Instead, he focused on their body language to give him clues. Argo’s head was bowed as he listened intently. Now and then he nodded in agreement with something Anderson Pryor said. Eventually Pryor seemed satisfied and stepped back, dismissing Argo with a curt nod. Argo turned to walk away and stopped when his eyes locked with Darian’s over Jeanette’s shoulder.

  A prickly sensation snaked up the back of Darian’s neck while a gradual heat suffused his body. The rest of the room seemed to melt away, and the hushed conversations around him seemed to fade, as the two of them stood focused on one another. He could hear only the thudding of his heart and, he imagined, Argo’s low, steady breathing from the other side of the room.

  Then Argo turned and headed toward the exit. Their contact snapped like a twig—or a bone. Soon the sounds of the room filtered back into Darian’s consciousness. He heard the buzz of conversation around him, the scrape and clatter of utensils. He also heard Everett’s voice.

  “Oh, sugar. I was afraid of this. Sheriff Sullivan, of all people. Why, Darian, why?”

  “What are you talking about?” Blinking, Darian found that he and Everett were standing alone in the middle of the room. Jeanette Wexler and her entourage had moved on. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “Don’t bother denying it. I suspected this might happen, you know. I can always tell. It’s like electricity crackling in the air. I sensed the charge from the very beginning. Negative and positive clashing. Very bad results.” Everett tilted his head in the direction Argo had gone. By now the crowd had closed in around him, hiding him from view. He was still in the room, though. Darian could feel his presence. Everett was right. It really was like a charge in the air, the kind that floated along after a summer lightning storm.

  He couldn’t find the words to explain. Requiring none, Everett patted his arm.

  “I wish I could say I was happy for you. Ordinarily, I would be. But Argo Sullivan? The minute he showed up at the pond on that terrible day, I saw your face and thought, here we go. Even then I suppose I knew what was coming.”

  “You knew? About Argo?”

  “Well, suspected at least. You can never be sure with that type. They’ll enter a room, but they’re never really there. Even in the middle of a crowd, they’re always alone. Watching. Never more than that. Some people think it’s arrogance or conceit that keeps them apart. I’ve always had a different take on it. I suspect it’s self-hatred. And that’s a game I choose not to play. I’m not sure you should, either.”

  Darian scowled and shook his head. “No. It’s not like that. Argo’s not like that.”

  “I know you think so now. I also know that no matter what I say, it won’t make a lick of difference. So go ahead. Lean over the edge of the abyss if you must.” Everett heaved a theatrical sigh. Reaching out, he gave Darian a little push. “Hurry and you can still catch up to him.”

  Darian mouthed a silent thank you and took off.

  “No need to thank me,” Everett called after him. “I understand completely. Trust me.”

  He found Argo near the exit, contemplating the door to the stairs. Was he trying to decide if he should leave? Darian couldn’t read his expression.

  “Hi,” he said when Argo turned toward him. “I thought you might be on your way out.” He started to say something glib and phony, but stopped just in time. “I wanted to see you,” he said instead.

  Argo’s forehead tensed. “Okay.” His voice betrayed no emotion.

  “I wanted to call you.” Darian faltered. That was a dumb thing to say. Sounded like high school kids trying to get up the nerve to go out on a date. “I didn’t want to pressure you while you were still working the case, though. I thought maybe you’d call me instead. With more questions, maybe.”

  “I meant to. That is, I wanted to. No more questions, though. You provided useful information.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. Thank you for that.”

  Darian waited for him to say more. He didn’t. His expression never changed. Darian got an uneasy feeling. “Is there something I should know?”

  “Let’s just say there have been some developments.”

  “Developments? Of what sort?” A thought struck him. “Did you find out what those numbers on the slip of paper meant? Were they a clue after all?”

  “I’m sorry,” Argo said again. He fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere off to Darian’s left. “It’ll all come out soon enough. Until then I can’t really say anymore. Not even to you. But I am grateful for the help you gave me. You’ll probably regret offering it when all is said and done.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Irritation flared in Darian’s voice, and he supposed it also showed on his face. But if it did, Argo didn’t notice. He was already walking away. His cheeks warm, Darian found his way back to the buffet. Everett was back at the shrimp puffs, talking to Jake and Patricia while he sampled a few more. Aaron was nowhere to be seen.

  Everett read his expression before he even reached the table. “So you’re back. Ready to go?”

  “And how.”

  “We were just about to leave, too,” said Patricia. “Jake has to get back to the restaurant. He’s always nervous when he has to leave the staff in charge.”

  The four of them walked outside, Everett and Patricia trailing behind Jake and Darian.

  “Well, that was an afternoon I won’t soon forget,” Jake said. “Pretty good turnout, too, salty food notwithstanding. I’d say let’s do it all again soon, but that probably wouldn’t be terribly diplomatic.”

  “It was draining,” Everett groused. “There’s no other way to put it. I’m not sorry this is over and done with.”

  “At least we can move on,” said Patricia. “That’s what these rituals are for. It’s why they serve so much rich food. To remind us that we’re still alive and that the world still has good things to offer us. We have to taste life while we still can.”

  “I’m not sure Aaron got that message,” Everett said. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “We’re not sure,” Patricia admitted. “We were talking to him one minute, and then he just vanished.”

  “He’ll turn up,” Jake said. “He’s coming with us to the restaurant. You’re both still invited, by the way.”

  “I think he went to splash cold water on his face,” Patricia said. “He needed it, from what I could see.”

  “He hasn’t been himself for a while now, has he?” Everett mused.

  Darian scowled, relieved to think about something else besides Argo’s bizarre behavior. “Why did this hit Aaron so hard? I didn’t think he was all that fond of Timothy.”

  Patricia shrugged. “None of us were, if we’re being brutally honest. Still, it’s hard to see a young person die. Reminds us that it’s going to happen to all of us one day.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Everett said. “I, for one, plan to be around forever. No overcooked shrimp puffs to usher me off into the great beyond. I’m staying put right here for as long as I can.”

  The four of them laughed together, a w
elcome release of tension. But Darian still wondered where Aaron had gone to. In his state, he was better not left to wander alone.

  Patricia seemed to read his mind. “He’ll probably meet us by the car. I mean, that’s the logical place for him to wait.”

  “Surely he’s not driving,” Everett said in horror.

  Jake answered for her. “No. We gave him a lift here. He called us at the restaurant this morning and said he didn’t want to be alone. But when he got there, we could see the real reason.”

  “What’s going on with him?” Darian pressed. “This isn’t the first time. You know that.”

  “It isn’t?” Everett glanced from one of them to the other.

  Ignoring Everett, Patricia flashed a guilty smile. “Aaron’s going through a rough patch. Jake and I are trying to help him. He’s not a bad person. He just needs some support.”

  “We told him not to seek comfort in a bottle, but he didn’t listen,” Jake added. “Do they ever? It’ll be all right, though. Patricia and I are working on the problem.”

  Raised voices interrupted them. A commotion seemed to be in progress on the side of the building. By unspoken agreement, the four of them stopped talking and hurried over to see what was going on.

  Just ahead, a crowd of students and memorial service guests had gathered to watch a trio of uniformed cops wrestle someone to the lawn. Nearby stood Argo, supervising the takedown. He pretended not to notice the growing audience. Instead, in a loud but droning voice, he recited the suspect’s Miranda rights.

  “Aaron Macklin, you’re under arrest for the murder of Timothy Pryor,” he finished.

  “I didn’t do it,” Aaron shouted as they dragged him to a patrol car waiting nearby. The entire campus gawked as one of the cops placed his hand on top of Aaron’s head and pushed him into the back seat. Just before he disappeared inside, Aaron twisted his body toward them. “Darian! You have to help me!”

  Chapter 10

  Aaron continued to rant as the patrol car drove off with him in the back. Darian watched his shame-filled face recede into the distance. As soon as the car disappeared from view, the stunned crowd broke out in nervous chatter.

  “I saw the whole thing go down,” one of the spectators said. “The sheriff said it was murder. Plain and simple.”

  “Poor Timothy,” an older woman lamented. “Poor Anderson and Vanessa!”

  “One of his own teachers! What is the world coming to?”

  “Not the sort of thing you’d expect at Birchwood, that’s for sure. But I suppose anything goes these days.”

  Darian listened to the crowd’s scandalized comments in a daze. No wonder Argo had been in a hurry to leave the reception. He was on the way to make his arrest after conferring with Anderson Pryor. “Developments,” he’d said. More like the understatement of the year.

  Of the four of them, Patricia found her voice first. “Someone needs to inform his fiancée.”

  “They’ll give him a phone call at the jail,” Everett said. “At least that’s how it works on cop shows.”

  “I don’t envy him that call,” Patricia said. She reached out to take her husband’s hand. Darian noticed she was shaking. “And on that note, Jake and I have to go. We’ll talk about this later, I assume.”

  “You can count on that,” Everett said as the two of them hurried away, whispering together. Most of the other rubberneckers had also fled, no doubt eager to spread the latest news to the people still inside the hall. “What a revelation! Aaron in handcuffs, and for all the wrong reasons!”

  Darian was about to answer when none other than Sebastian Grant came rushing up to them. “I overheard the cops talking,” he blurted. His cheeks were flushed with emotion and his voice was an octave higher than usual. “Mr. Macklin had a fling with Timothy. He was the one all along.”

  “You heard Mr. Macklin admit that?” Darian asked, astonished.

  Sebastian shook his head. “He denied everything. But of course he would. That’s why he killed Timothy—to keep him from telling the headmistress. He lured him to the pond and drowned him. It wasn’t an accident after all. I told you so, Mr. Winter!”

  “Well, well.” Everett propped his hands on his hips as Sebastian raced off again, presumably to tell his friends what had happened. “Aaron was…seeing…Timothy? I can hardly believe it—and you know my imagination runs in some strange directions.”

  “Maybe Sebastian heard wrong,” Darian said a bit desperately. “Or he’s exaggerating.”

  “Not necessarily. You know how it is with some guys. They want a taste of honey, the more forbidden the better. Doesn’t matter if they’re teachers or truckers. We’re all the same under the starched shirts and ties.”

  “But this Aaron we’re talking about!” How could this be happening? Then again, the theory did make a strange kind of sense. Darian now saw Aaron’s odd behavior, resentment against Birchwood’s constricting atmosphere, and recent bouts of heavy drinking in an entirely new light.

  Everett shrugged. “Macklin’s young. Maybe he was afraid to come out. Maybe Timothy seduced him and blackmailed him somehow. You never can tell with these closeted types.”

  Darian nodded miserably, feeling that his own life had been very sheltered in comparison with Everett’s—maybe even with most people’s in general. “The pieces seem to fit,” he admitted.

  “And all this time, I was so sure it was suicide. Timothy had the trifecta of personal problems, didn’t he? Alternative lifestyle, as it’s so quaintly called in certain circles. Tyrannical father, downtrodden mother. Academic difficulty. If you want the truth, I berated myself for not seeing the signs earlier and intervening. But now it appears that would have done no good at all.”

  “Sebastian didn’t believe it was suicide from the start. He came to me and told me so.”

  “Well, we could hardly take his word for it,” Everett said. “People his age often tend to abandon common sense in favor of the dramatic.”

  “I’d say dramatic is the word of the day, all right.” A loud voice broke in on them. They turned to see Quin beside them. “Glad I found you, Everett. I managed to get away while everyone was still speechless with shock. Did you see what happened?”

  “We watched it all unfold,” Everett boasted, but quieted down when he noticed Darian’s stricken expression. “Well, the last little bit, anyway. Argo Sullivan had quite the triumphant smirk on his face.”

  “So it looks like the kid didn’t commit suicide after all?”

  “That’s exactly what Darian and I were just talking about. I was so sure that Timothy had decided to follow in poor old Roderick’s footsteps.”

  “Oh, yes, dear old Rod. Took the gentleman’s way out, as they used to say in the old days. My father never admitted it, but I think he was secretly grateful that the old bird spared him the scandal.”

  “Perhaps that should have been our first and best clue,” Everett said. “We all knew that Timothy Pryor was no gentleman.”

  “What sort of scandal?” Darian asked, glancing from Everett to Quin. “You only said he was troubled and depressed. Did something else happen?”

  Quin winked. “Come on, Darian. Isn’t it obvious? He had a yen for his students. Everyone knew it, or at least suspected, but they were willing to look the other way as long as he kept his feelings to himself. Then the rumors began.”

  “You knew eventually someone would come forward,” Everett said cryptically. “Can’t keep anything secret on a tiny campus like this.”

  “I guess there’s no hope of avoiding scandal this time.” Quin scowled. “What do we know about this fellow Macklin, anyway? Aside from the fact that he’s a homicidal maniac.”

  “He says he didn’t do it,” Darian objected. “Shouted it, in fact, the whole time they were shoving him into the car.”

  “Terrible scene,” Everett agreed.

  “Don’t they all, though? Right up to the steps of the gallows, so to speak.”

  Darian felt ill. Dimly he became aware
that other people were filing into the area, eager to see the scene of the arrest and hear whatever sordid details they could coax from the original witnesses.

  “We need to give him the benefit of the doubt until we know more,” he insisted.

  “Let’s not discuss this here,” Everett whispered, leaning forward. “Shall we all go somewhere for drinks? We can talk privately.”

  “Sounds about right to me,” Quin said. “If any situation ever called for a drink, this is it. Let’s go now, before the rest of the trustees collar me for an emergency meeting.”

  “Thank you, but I need to go.” Darian’s struggled to calm his racing mind. He planned to call Argo as soon as he was in a more hospitable space—both geographically and psychologically speaking. How could Argo have sprung this on him without the slightest warning? Granted, as sheriff he owed Darian nothing, but he had hoped they had kindled at least the beginning of a friendship…if not something more.

  “Come on, then.” Unfazed, Everett patted Quin’s shoulder. “The two old guys will go together. Definitely time to self-medicate after the day we’ve both had.”

  The two of them wandered off together while Darian headed for his car. He was halfway home, vowing to call Argo however many times it took to get through to him, when his cell phone rang.

  “Argo?” he started to ask when he brought it to his ear. The voice wasn’t Argo’s, though.

  It was Aaron’s.

  “Darian? This is my one phone call. Can you come to the jail? I need to see you right away.”

  “Me? Not a lawyer?”

  “Yes. You. Please. Don’t ask why. Just come.”

  “You got it.”

  Darian clicked off the phone. Then he took a deep breath, did a U-turn, and hit the gas pedal as he headed back to town.

  Argo, still in his gray suit, was at his desk when Darian showed up and started to explain his presence, assuming he would meet with resistance. To his surprise, Argo waved his protests off and motioned Darian to a seat. Grimly he closed the office door behind him.