Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  “Maybe not. But we shouldn’t have left him alone, brooding about what happened. He must have freaked out when he realized he was facing life in prison. Took a handful of pills and…curtains.” Everett made a cutting motion across his throat.

  “Actually, I’d like to know where he got those sleeping pills,” Darian said. “Whoever prescribed them might know whether he’d had suicidal thoughts before. I assume Argo will check all that out.”

  “Of course he will. But don’t get your hopes up too much. Lots of people keep sleeping pills on hand. I know I’ve gone through a bottle or two in my day. Not all at once, naturally.” Everett raised his fingers to his lips. “Oops. Was that insensitive?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Aaron’s past caring.” Darian shook his head, though a new question popped into his mind. Had Aaron obtained the pills legally? A week ago he would never have wondered. Now it seemed there was a lot about Aaron he had missed. A penchant for prescription drugs would have been one of his lesser transgressions.

  “At least Argo can close the case now,” Everett continued. “What a relief. Stain on the school, to be sure, but at least we can move on with our own lives.”

  “Maybe,” Darian said. Everett opened his mouth to respond, but just then Quin returned, holding up his phone to show that he’d switched it off.

  “Well, that was the boss lady herself. Jeanette’s pretty rattled, as you’d expect, but I sensed a certain relief at getting some answers at last. She’s not planning to give Aaron a school memorial service, by the way. She says he was on leave as of yesterday. As such, he was not technically part of the Birchwood family.”

  “She didn’t really say that!” Everett exclaimed.

  “Oh, yes, she did,” Quin confirmed. “I don’t blame her. She can hardly celebrate the life of a man who might well have seduced and killed one of her students.”

  Everett paused to scan the room for eavesdroppers. “As far as seduction goes, my friend, I think you’ve got it backward. I realize we mustn’t speak ill and all that rot, but there’s no point in pretending Timothy hadn’t groped his way around the block and then some.”

  “Exactly my point. We may never know what really happened, so in the interests of the school’s reputation, maybe we should let things be.” Quin’s cheeks flushed when he noticed Darian’s glum expression.

  “I’m sorry, Darian. We all know Everett has no filter, but I pride myself on having more manners than that. I know you and Aaron were friends. My condolences for your loss.”

  His solicitous manner suggested that he had heard about Darian’s little adventure by the pond. No surprise there. Apparently everyone had. “It’s all right. Aaron was just…well, I think he went out of his head for a while there. I got tangled up in his private crisis.”

  “A tragedy in more ways than one.” Quin offered a sympathetic nod.

  “I feel terrible saying this, but maybe it’s a good thing Aaron offed himself in such an obvious manner. Otherwise, Darian dear, I’m afraid you’d now be the prime suspect in two deaths. Poor Argo would be facing quite a dilemma there.”

  “Argo?” Puzzled, Quin looked from Everett to Darian and back again. Everett offered only a beatific smile in response. “You mean Arthur Sullivan? Why?”

  The harsh coffee from the police station pot started to burn a hole in Darian’s gut. His knees shook a little when he got up. He didn’t bother explaining things to Quin, either.

  “Speaking of Argo, I’m going to find out how much longer he intends to keep us.”

  “Good,” Everett said. “It’s not like he has a right to hold us prisoner. At least, I hope not. Do you think we should drum up some legal representation? We’ll skip whoever Aaron hired, thank you. Getting your client the death penalty before the trial even starts isn’t a terribly strong recommendation.”

  Without answering, Darian crossed the lobby and knocked on Argo’s office door. The uniformed woman at the desk looked as though she wanted to get up and stop him, but in the end she thought better of it and turned back to her computer screen.

  “Come in,” Argo called. Darian was slightly unnerved to find him behind his own desk, calmly sorting through some papers. His phone lay beside him, face up, as though he’d just clicked off and set it down.

  “I thought you were coming back out to talk to us,” he said, sounding more accusatory than he’d meant to. Or maybe he had meant it. Even he wasn’t sure at this point. “Seems like we’ve been waiting out there forever.”

  “Sorry,” Argo said in what Darian considered an inappropriately casual tone. “Take a seat. I was waiting for the morgue people to call me back. They’ll run some tests on the…er, to figure out what happened to Aaron.”

  Darian remained standing. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Argo shuffled his papers into a neat pile and looked up at Darian. His eyes flared wintery blue, his mood unreadable. Darian felt as though he was looking at an entirely different man than the one who had slipped out of his bed that morning. “Most likely everything happened just the way it appears. But on the off chance it didn’t, I need to be thorough and examine all possible angles.”

  “Are you saying he didn’t commit suicide?”

  “Come on. You’re the one who insisted I keep an open mind about the case. So I am.”

  “Right.” Darian forced a laugh. “You know, Everett was afraid you’d suspect him because he called it in. Now he’s saying you probably suspect me.”

  “Generally, the person who finds the body does become a person of interest.” Argo tilted his head curiously. “To date, you and Everett have both discovered one. So…should I?”

  “I hope not. I mean, of course not.”

  “Aaron could have landed you in huge trouble thanks to his shenanigans by the pond. From what I hear, your boss, Jeanette, isn’t too happy with you. Some people might think you’d want to punish Aaron for risking your job like that.”

  “My job’s not in any danger. Jeanette believed that I had nothing to encourage Aaron’s advances. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

  “If you say so.” Argo propped his elbows on the desk, clasped his fists together, and rested his chin on them. “So who do you think was spying on you? Whoever it was couldn’t wait to spread that delicious little tidbit all over campus.”

  Darian shrugged, trying not to show Argo how unnerved he felt about being watched. “It could have been anyone. One of the students, most likely. I even wondered if your guys might have bugged the area.”

  “Jeanette Wexler would never have allowed that.”

  “Well, then, it was obviously someone hoping to get me, or Aaron, or most likely both of us, in trouble. You know, Argo, Jeanette let something slip when we were talking in her office. She told me that a faculty member turned in Roderick Talbott for hitting on some townie dude right there at the pond. So it looks like that whole mess started out the exact same way. It almost makes a crazy kind of sense.” Grabbing the chair Argo had offered him earlier, Darian scooted it up to the desk and perched on the edge of the hard seat. “Look at the parallels. Someone tried to get Talbott kicked out of Birchwood, and next thing you know, Talbott turned up dead. Fast forward twenty years, and I find Timothy dead in the same spot. And we know now that Timothy was also about to put someone’s job at risk.”

  “And we know whose job, don’t we? Aaron Macklin’s. So that brings us right back to the beginning of this conversation. Aaron and Timothy had a thing going, and Timothy threatened to tell Jeanette Wexler. Aaron panicked, killed Timothy, and then killed himself when he realized we were onto him.”

  “Just like Talbott killed himself,” Darian muttered.

  “Yeah. Just like that. I’m sorry, Darian, but you’ve just laid out a perfect case for Aaron’s guilt.” Sighing, Argo braced both hands on his desk and heaved himself to his feet. Darian could see that he was fighting both physical and mental exhaustion. He probably felt guilty, too. After all, he’d let Aaron out of jail and Aaron had promptly wound
up dead. Argo had to be playing the what-if game, just like Everett. “Okay, I have some stuff to do before I go home. Paperwork and the like. More phone calls.” He gestured toward his discarded cell. “Maybe we should call it a night. You and your friends are free to leave.”

  He started toward the door, but Darian stepped in front of him. “Argo…I wouldn’t mind—that is, I’d like it—if you came over again tonight as soon as you’re finished here. I don’t care if it’s late.”

  Argo tuned toward a dingy gray file cabinet that stood beside his office door. The drawer stood slightly ajar, so he gave it a firm shove. It slid shut with a heavy clank. “I can’t. Sorry. Maybe another time. Thanks for your help with what happened today. I know it wasn’t easy for you. Aaron Macklin was your friend, after all.”

  “Yeah. I would have called him that. A friend. Nothing more, though.” He stressed the word friend. Even now, he got the sense that Argo wasn’t quite satisfied on that score. “Anyway, I’ll let you get on with your work. I’ll get Everett and Quin out of here if you buzz the guard dog at the front desk and tell her to let us through.”

  “I can do that. We’ll talk soon, Darian.”

  “I hope so.”

  Everett was jubilant at the news they would not be held overnight. Quin invited both of them to drinks and a late dinner, but Darian begged off on the pretext of calling his moms to let them know he was okay. He doubted the scandals at Birchwood had made the news in Florida, but with the internet one never knew. He didn’t want them to hear about this new death at the school and freak out.

  Everett accepted his excuse at face value. “Good thinking. Two or three careless posts on some chat board and boom, everyone’s in a screaming panic. Seems to me all these high-tech toys bring as much bad information as they do good. And we won’t even get into the nonsense students download to put into their essays.”

  “That’s only because most people don’t have your knack for logical thinking,” Quin told Everett as the three of them walked to the parking lot. “If they did, the world would be a more orderly place all around.”

  “And a lot more fun, and better dressed to boot,” Everett said. With a wink to Darian, he followed Quin to their cars. He’d certainly recovered quickly after finding Aaron’s body. Darian wasn’t sure if he should admire or resent his resilience. Or was it simple self-absorption?

  If only Aaron had called someone more reliable. Of course, that brought to mind another question: what had Aaron wanted to tell Everett in the first place?

  The next day, the sky looked heavy and gray, reminding him not only of Argo’s eyes, but the suit he had worn to Timothy’s memorial. Despite the unpleasant events of the day before, school convened as usual. True to her word to Quin, Jeanette made no announcement of any kind. Nevertheless, by afternoon, most of the students had heard about Aaron, and this new subject replaced the story of Darian’s compromising rendezvous by the pond. As he stood on the sidewalk outside Gregorius Hall and weighed the benefits of skipping lunch, Patricia arrived and reminded him of their dinner appointment.

  “You don’t want to put it off?” Darian asked, keeping his voice low in case of eavesdroppers in the crowd walking around them. “I mean, considering everything that’s happened….”

  “Of course I don’t. Why would we? Everyone’s gotta eat, after all. Aaron’s being gone doesn’t change that. Besides, Jake’s a professional. He doesn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of his food preparation. If he did, the restaurant wouldn’t open whenever we had a fight. And believe me, we couldn’t afford to stay closed that much.”

  Darian nodded. The whole point of the invitation had been for himself, Patricia, and Jake to discuss and maybe figure out what was going on at the school. Aaron’s death would only give them more to discuss and investigate. Besides, if he went to Jake and Patricia’s, he wouldn’ t have to think about Argo for the entire evening. Or at least, he would have some motivation to resist doing so.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be there. What do you want me to bring?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m married to a chef. We’ll take care of the eats. You just bring that brain of yours so we can do some amateur detecting—or at least some armchair psychoanalyzing.”

  “Luckily, it’s pretty much attached to the rest of me.”

  “See you tonight,” Patricia said, scuttling away. Apparently, anticipating a fulfilling dinner, she had elected to skip lunch. Darian decided to follow her lead.

  Having no intention of showing up at the Woodley house empty handed, he settled for bringing flowers, which he presented to Patricia that evening on the doorstep of their house. The rainstorm had arrived a few hours earlier and was now pattering down at a steady but not drenching pace.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet,” Patricia said as she accepted the bouquet and pulled him inside. “Come on in and take a load off while I find a vase.”

  Jake came out of the kitchen just long enough to wave and press a glass of white wine into Darian’s hand. “Glad you could make it. I’ve spent the last few hours improvising in the kitchen. Hope you like Mediterranean.”

  “Can’t wait to try it,” Darian said sincerely.

  “Doesn’t pay to experiment for the customers at the restaurant.” Jake’s mood darkened briefly. “They want tried and true, not edgy. The majority of the repeat customers order the same damn thing every time they walk in. No imagination at all.”

  “Hence the vintage cookbooks,” Darian said. “Still, there’s a lot to be said for comfort food.”

  “Exactly,” said Patricia. “Besides, you can’t expect them to shell out top dollar for a meal they’re not sure they’ll like. If they ordered the weird stuff and sent it back, you’d be bitching about that.” She led Darian to the dining room table, which had been laid in the grand style, complete with cloth napkins. A tray of stuffed mushrooms sat in the middle. “Here, munch on some appetizers to take the edge off. The rest should be ready in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking a seat and helping himself to some succulent crab legs. As he chewed, Darian considered the advantages of dating a chef instead of a moody, inscrutable cop. Then again, were he and Argo even dating?

  “You’re probably thinking that if you live with a chef, you eat like this every day,” Patricia said, reaching over his shoulder to grab a leg for herself. “Truth is, he’s at the restaurant more than he is here. As much as he resents them, the customers get the best of his efforts. I make do with frozen pizza at least half the time. The other half is leftovers he brings home.”

  Darian detected a bitter tinge to her words, so he made an effort to lighten the mood. “I bet the leftovers are good, though. Better than most of what ends up in my fridge, anyway.”

  “I can’t deny that. And saving on groceries does help offset the costs of running the place. I’d sacrifice a little profit for some time together, though. I don’t mind admitting that.”

  She seemed about to say more, but just then Jake appeared with a tray bearing several covered dishes. He flashed Patricia a slight look of reproach as he arranged everything on the table without her help. Presently all three of them sat facing each other over plates filled with candied baby carrots, black olive salad, and chicken in a creamy sauce jazzed up with bright strips of green, red, and yellow peppers.

  “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he told Jake. “This spread is way too fancy for just one guest.”

  “Nonsense,” Patricia answered on her husband’s behalf. “We’re happy to do it for you.”

  “Patricia’s right,” Jake said. “This business at the college has us all on edge. We all need to stick together. Watch out for each other.”

  Darian gave them a guarded smile. He had no illusions that Jake and Patricia cared all that much about impressing him or massaging his taste buds. They wanted to ply him in order to swap information, first and foremost.

  He played along. “I know. First Timothy and now Aaron. Awful. A total shock.”<
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  “I suppose you know the current theory.” Patricia lowered her voice conspiratorially, even though they were inside her home. “That Aaron and Timothy were having some kind of affair. Timothy wanted it to continue but Aaron didn’t.”

  “Or it could have been the other way around,” Jake supplied. “It wouldn’t really matter for our purposes, would it?”

  “Maybe not,” Patricia said, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “Anyway, Aaron lost his temper and drowned Timothy in the pond. Then he either couldn’t live with himself or was afraid the police were closing in on him, or both, so he took his own life by chugging down a bottle of pills and sealing his head in a plastic bag.”

  “Actually, it was plastic wrap. But that does seem to be the consensus,” Darian agreed. “I admit I have a hard time believing Aaron killed himself, but I guess that’s where the evidence is leading.”

  An odd thought struck him as he sliced up his chicken: how much plastic wrap would it take to suffocate oneself? And how much did Jake go through in a week at the restaurant?

  “Don’t be too sure.” Patricia gave a little snort of bitter laughter. “If you ask me, you’re right to have questions. Jake and I have been talking about this quite a bit, and both of us agree. We think Aaron might have been murdered.”

  Darian almost dropped his fork. “You do?”

  “We know what Argo Sullivan probably thinks,” Patricia hurried on, “and it’s really no surprise he didn’t pick up on the nuances, but you and I—and Jake—know the people involved in a way he doesn’t. I mean, think about it. This whole mess is predicated on the idea that Aaron didn’t want anyone to know he was gay. But who would really care in today’s world? Aaron was young and reasonably attractive. He didn’t have any real ties here. He didn’t have all that baggage about being gay that other guys of older generations have. You didn’t struggle that much, right?”

  “To the point of suicide? No. But it’s not unheard of. Besides, Aaron had broken off his engagement. That had to throw him for a loop. It could have made him depressed.” Even when he said it, Darian realized he didn’t really buy it, either. He’d sounded nothing but relieved to have Caryn out of his hair for good. Maybe Patricia had a point.