Murder at Birchwood Pond

by Jade Astor

  They’d spent the entire drive back rehearsing their upcoming conversation with Jake. Not just one, but three murder cases might hinge on their handling it right. At least they’d left before Warren returned. Even if a murder charge was off the table for now, no one would ever accuse him of being a congenial host.

  “Never can tell. I’ve learned to be prepared for anything.” Before he reached for the restaurant door, Argo moved his hand to his right side and patted the bulge in his brown bomber jacket. Darian swallowed when he heard the metallic clank of handcuffs against Argo’s gun. Then he followed Argo inside.

  Jake hurried over as soon as he saw them. “We’ve got a few tables clearing out soon, guys,” he said, wiping his hands on his black server’s apron. “About a fifteen-minute wait, but there’s complimentary coffee at the bar.”

  “Sorry, Jake. We didn’t come for brunch,” Argo said, though Darian eyed the vast buffet spread and inhaled the aroma of hazelnut coffee with longing. “I think you know why we’re here. I hope we can do this the easy way.”

  To Darian’s surprise, Jake seemed to deflate in an instant. Lifting both palms in surrender, he stepped back and lowered his voice so no customers would overhead them. “We need to talk, I know. Do you want to come back to my office?”

  “I was kind of thinking you could come to mine,” Argo said. His right hand moved to his side, and Jake paled.

  “I can explain everything. But there’s no need to arrest me. And please don’t do it in front of my customers. I’ve worked hard for this place, and a scene like that could finish me off for good.” His eyes filled with tears as he turned to Darian for support. “Please come to the back office with me and I’ll answer any questions you want.”

  Argo and Darian exchanged a glance. Darian knew Argo was considering any weapons Jake might have stashed in preparation for this moment. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’m putting some serious trust in you here, Jake. Don’t make me regret it, or you definitely will.”

  “Thanks,” Jake said with visible relief. He motioned to one of the servers to take his place at the door just as another employee motioned to him from the front desk.

  “Phone for you, Jake,” he called. “Someone wanting reserved seating.”

  “Deal with it however you want to,” Jake snapped. “I’m busy just now.”

  He led them to a small office behind the kitchen. There, he untied his apron and hung it on the back of the door before he closed it.

  “Sit down,” Argo ordered, and Jake complied. Darian took a corner chair for himself, while Argo remained standing. He placed the photograph he’d borrowed from Maddy on the center of the table. “Don’t try to tell me that isn’t you. It was a long time ago, but there’s no doubt in my mind who I’m looking at here.”

  Surprise registered on Jake’s face. He sighed and twisted his hands together. “Yeah. It’s me. I worked for food services here while I saved up to go to culinary school. I was just a kid, Argo. Sixteen, seventeen years old.”

  “You kept it from us, even though you knew it might have been relevant.” Anger flashed in Argo’s gaze, but what Darian focused on was his use of the plural noun form. He considered Darian part of his team. Despite everything, he found that comforting.

  “I didn’t,” Jake insisted. “No one asked. I know that sounds silly to you, but I didn’t think about it that way. I really didn’t know anything. Still don’t.”

  “You worked on campus when the first death occurred twenty years ago and didn’t think it was worth mentioning? Does Patricia know?”

  “She does, but I swore her to secrecy. Come on, Sheriff—Darian. You know how stuck up the people at Birchwood are. If they’d know I’d once worked in food services there, they’d look down their aristocratic noses at both Patricia and me. No one would take her as seriously, either. Married to a college servant! She’d never live it down.”

  “Even after all these years?” Argo asked incredulously, but Darian suspected that Jake was right. The Birchwood ranks were tightly formed and hard to penetrate. Some of the older faculty members and administrators might very well see Jake as little more than an older version of a low-level staff member.

  “Anyway, I quit right around the time the old guy drowned in the pond. No one ever questioned me. Why would they? I was basically a glorified busboy.”

  “Why’d you quit, Jake? Tell us the truth. You do know something, and we have a good idea what it is, so don’t lie about it. I can still frog-march you through the dining room in cuffs.”

  Jake squirmed in his seat. “Okay. When I was catering, another kid in the crew pointed out one of the teachers, an older guy, and advised me to steer clear of him. I did my best, but he found me all the same.” His cheeks reddened.

  “What happened?”

  “About what you’d expect. The usual song and dance. Hanging around while I was working. Complimenting me too much. Little unnecessary touches here and there.” Jake snorted. “The other guys didn’t lie. He was voracious. Not generally with students, though. Too risky. The ones on the catering staff were prime targets. Mind you, he didn’t force anyone. Some of them were willing, even flattered at an older guy’s interest. But that didn’t make it right.”

  “No. It certainly didn’t,” Argo muttered. Darian could see that he was working to keep his emotions in check, and his own heart ached for what he must be going through. Hearing such things about the uncle he looked up to had to feel like a knife to the gut. “So I’m forming a picture of what happened. Let’s say, hypothetically, that one of the young men who worked at the college got fed up with his advances and lashed out. Maybe it happened down by the pond. In an effort to get away, he pushed the older guy in the water and ran. Maybe it was an accident after all. Is that what happened, Jake?”

  “What?” Sitting up straighter, Jake glanced from Darian to Argo. “That old guy who drowned? Well, sure, some people said it probably wasn’t an accident—that he couldn’t live with the way he was and killed himself over it. But I never heard anyone say he bothered other guys.”

  “You never…?” Argo appeared mystified. “But didn’t you just say…?”

  For a moment Jake seemed genuinely bewildered. Then he shook his head. “Oh, wait. I get what you mean now. It’s my fault. I wasn’t clear. The truth is, I hate to say his name even now. Still, I think he did come on to Timothy, and maybe things went even further. Aaron knew it, maybe, so he had to be silenced.”

  Jake swiveled his chair so he faced Darian, who slowly made sense of Jake’s torrent of words. The truth, in equal parts awful and liberating, crashed over him like a pail of cold water.

  “Patricia and I tried to set you on the right track, even if we couldn’t reveal everything. He’s not what he seems, I promise you. The man’s a menace. Argo, you have to stop him.”

  To Argo’s credit, he barely twitched an eyelid as he moved closer to Jake’s desk. “So let’s get this out in the open once and for all, Jake. We’re not talking about Roderick Talbott, are we?”

  “No,” Jake said without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve been talking about Everett Finch.”

  Chapter 17

  The color returned to Jake’s face as he slumped back in his chair. “Whew. That wasn’t easy to say. I do feel better now that I’ve come out with it. Patricia told me I would, but I didn’t believe her.”

  “You’ve kept this bottled up for twenty years?” Argo sounded incredulous. “Why, Jake? No one would blame you for something that happened when you were a teenager.”

  “Oh, no? You were about to accuse me of pushing that old queen, Talbott, into the drink. Damn right I wasn’t about to say anything to the cops. Besides…I was ashamed. I figured people might question my sexuality. Being a chef, you know...it happens, even now when I’m happily married.”

  Darian winced at the way Jake referred to Uncle Rod, but then he remembered that Jake had no idea of the victim’s relationship to Argo.

  “The school deserves to know t
he truth about Everett,” Argo insisted.

  “The school? Ha. I’ll bet half of them knew it even then, and the other half suspected. Not one of them gave a rat’s ass about the catering crew, and they still don’t. If I’d been a student, maybe they’d listen. But I’m not one of them. Never was and never will be.”

  Darian started to protest, but Argo cut him off. He was right—better to stay on track. “It’s okay. We understand.”

  “Are you still planning to arrest me? I promise you I didn’t have anything to do with any of these dead guys—not that old man, not the kid, and not the teacher.”

  Argo dropped his hand from the gun and the handcuffs. “Right now, I don’t think I have enough evidence. I’ll need a statement later, though. Don’t skip town, Jake.”

  “Why would I?” Jake coughed out a brittle laugh. “This is my home.”

  Argo tilted his head toward the door. Taking his cue, Darian rose to go. “We’ll be in touch. Thanks for finally coming clean, Jake.”

  “Yeah,” Argo added. “Even if it did take you two decades.”

  Jake remained at his desk, staring off into space, as they slipped back through the restaurant. On the sidewalk, a few potential diners stood waiting for tables. They eyed Argo and Darian expectantly, clearly hoping they’d just freed up a table, which reminded Darian how hungry he was. Argo had barely given him time to wolf down some coffee and toast before they left Maddy’s.

  “Everett,” Argo growled while they climbed back into the SUV. “I should have listened to you in the first place. Now that we’ve filled in some of the blanks, it all fits. Everett knew Aaron could expose him for fooling around with Timothy. He went over to the condo and asked Aaron to have a drink with him, talk things over. He doctored some wine with sleeping pills. Then he waited until Aaron passed out, wrapped his head in plastic he got from the kitchen, and doubled back later. He thought no one would suspect him if he was the one who found the body, especially if he complained about being unfairly blamed. Reverse psychology. Classic.”

  “And as we know, the killer often pretends to find the body,” Darian said, deadpan. “I haven’t forgotten how we first met, you know.”

  “Well…it’s not always like that.” Argo lips twitched as he suppressed a wry smile. “Occasionally the person calling the cops really is trying to do the right thing.”

  “Trying comes naturally to people like that. Succeeding is the hard part.”

  “In general, it’s better if the general public stands aside while the pros go to work. On a few rare occasions, though, it turns out a civilian can actually make a useful contribution. Or two.”

  “Glad to hear there’s hope for such people.”

  “I think there is, yeah.”

  Darian noticed they were driving away from town. “So where are we going? Not to your office?”

  Argo’s light mood vanished. “Where else? Everett’s house. I intend to bring him in for questioning, though we’ll keep it quiet for the sake of the school. Having you along should put him at ease so he’ll come along willingly. I doubt he’ll confess, but maybe he’ll blurt out something useful to my investigation.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that. Everett’s not a fool. If he did commit any crimes, he’d have the sense to cover them well. Besides, don’t forget that we have no real evidence against him. At this point, it’s all just innuendo.” Darian paused and twisted his fingers together. “Disgusting innuendo, though, I admit. I kind of hope it’s not true.”

  “You said yourself that Timothy was having trouble with his studies. His old man got on his case, so Timothy blackmailed Everett for grades. Everett knew it wouldn’t end there. Timothy probably got greedy, or maybe he threatened to turn Everett in just to get his goat. So Everett decided to put a stop to it. He invited Timothy to the pond, maybe on the pretext of paying him off. From there it was easy.”

  “Would it be, though? Everett’s not exactly young anymore, Argo. And Timothy was in good shape.”

  “Rage can make a guy stronger than he normally seems.”

  “Okay. I guess that could be the case.” Darian fell silent as they drove on. He’d deliberately left the most difficult part of the equation for last. “Argo, do you think Everett might have killed your uncle, too?”

  “It’s possible.” Darian heard his voice catch in his throat. He covered it with a forced cough. “I mean, why not? Same scenario, twenty years earlier. Uncle Rod saw Everett manhandling some young guy and confronted him. Everett couldn’t stand someone having the goods on him. He lured Uncle Rod down to the water, or maybe just came upon him walking around, and shoved him in. Almost like a rehearsal for Timothy’s murder...two decades in advance.”

  They didn’t talk again until the SUV pulled into Everett’s driveway. Argo parked directly behind Everett’s compact car, preventing it from backing out.

  “I need to know what happened to my uncle. If it takes some underhanded maneuvering to get it, I’m prepared to go that far.” Argo’s hands snapped into fists, which he rested on the steering wheel. “I want justice for Timothy and Aaron too. Are you with me on this? I’ll understand if you don’t want to come in with me.”

  “Of course I’ll come.” Darian reached out and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Beside you all the way, for as long as you’ll have me.”

  Warmth and gratitude flickered in Argo’s cool blue eyes. “Let’s go.”

  Darian had to hurry to keep up with his long, determined strides. The front door opened before they even knocked. To their surprise, Quin Fisher greeted them. He was the perfect picture of a casual Sunday visitor, dressed in black jeans, a collared white shirt, and a blue cashmere sweater with a v-neck.

  “Darian and Sheriff Sullivan! Good morning! Everett didn’t tell me he’d invited you over, too. Come right in. I was just about to start the coffee.”

  “Thank you,” Darian said, but Argo was less circumspect. He strode through the living room and into the kitchen, looking around as though he expected to find Everett cowering nearby.

  “Can I take your coat?” Quin asked. He reached toward Argo, who sunk his hands deeper into his pockets. He stretched the sides of the coat out just enough to conceal the outline of his gun.

  “No thanks. I’m good. Where’s Everett? We were hoping to talk to him.”

  “Gone to the bakery to snag us a bag of chocolate croissants and Danishes. We talked about going out for Sunday brunch, but in the end we decided to stay. Jake’s place is always so crowded at this time of day. Neither of us felt like waiting in line. Don’t worry, he’ll bring back enough to feed an army. Plenty for everyone.”

  “Thanks, but we just wanted to ask Everett a couple of questions,” Argo said. He hesitated as if something had just occurred to him. “Isn’t that Everett’s car in the driveway?”

  “It is. Mine was parked on the street, so I let him take it. He needs to get his brakes serviced, he said, so why take a chance? No fun getting pinched by one of your boys and letting the pastries congeal in the bag while Everett tried to talk him out of writing a ticket.” Quin strode back into the kitchen. “He should be back momentarily if you want to wait. I’ll get us all some coffee. Go ahead. Take a load off.”

  They took seats at Everett’s dining room table. A pile of junk mail sat in the center, with an open flyer from the Granite Carnation lying on top. Ornate calligraphy announced a gender-bending production of The Importance of Being Earnest, with all the male roles played by actresses and all the female roles played by men. Darian made a mental note of the date, hoping Argo would go with him. He wondered what roles Bryce and Hanson would play and amused himself by picturing Bryce as Miss Prism.

  Soon Quin returned with a tray bearing three mugs of coffee, a pitcher of half and half, and a bowl filled with sweetener packets. Darian wondered if Everett had swiped them from Jake’s restaurant. “I’m actually glad you dropped by. I wanted to talk to you, Argo, though I don’t mind if Darian hears.” He distributed the coffees, along wit
h spoons, and took a seat facing them both.

  Darian saw Argo’s senses sharpen. “Sure. About what?”

  Quin toyed with his mug, half-closing his eyes as he inhaled the rising steam. It did smell great, Darian thought. Everett always had the best coffee. Rich and strong. He reached for the creamer.

  “It’s about Everett. I’m worried about him. Since this business at the school began, he’s been acting different.”

  “Oh, yeah? Different in what way?” Argo took the cream from Darian, poured some in, and tasted his coffee. Setting it down again, he reached for the sweetener.

  Quin sighed. “Distracted. Upset. Just this morning he lost his temper with me. That isn’t like Everett at all. He and I haven’t argued in years. Not since I was his student, probably.”

  “Any idea what the problem might be?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? These deaths. First Timothy, and then Aaron. The loss is weighing on him more than I think he wants to admit.”

  “I know Timothy was in his class,” Argo said, playing naïve. “I hadn’t realized he and Aaron were close friends.”

  “Timothy’s death knocked him for a loop, no question about that. All that youthful potential lost. Aaron was a different matter entirely. We now know, of course, that Aaron was struggling with his sexuality. I think Everett saw himself as a sort of mentor to the young man.”

  “I feel terrible now about how we teased Aaron about his wedding at school.” Darian, too, sipped his coffee. Quin must have flavored it with chicory, giving it a sharp taste he hadn’t expected. He set it down again. “None of us had any idea what he was really going through.”

  Agitated, Quin tapped his spoon on the table. “Everett took part in that along with everyone else, but he confessed to me that he felt guilty about it after the truth came out. No question that he cared deeply for that young man.”