by Jade Astor
“We’re not going to discuss it any further,” Logan said. “It’s over with as far as I’m concerned. Whoever did it might have had good reasons.” This statement made the others snicker. “It’s a matter of professional demeanor,” he insisted. His stern gaze pinned Victor, who shrugged. “I need everyone on board here, not nursing individual wounds, grudges, or agendas. Are we all clear on that?”
After receiving a half-hearted response, Logan announced he was going to check on Jamie and left the room.
“Blaming you was classic projection, you know,” Wes informed Darian. “He accused you of wanting him off the project because that’s what he really wants.”
“You think so?”
Wes tapped his forehead. “Psych minor in college. That theory comes straight from Personality Disorders 101.”
“I think I learned something similar in my graduate theater classes,” Sandra said. “In our department, we called it Divas 101.” She deposited a wad of reddened paper towels in the trash can. “There’s actually another possibility we haven’t considered, you know.”
“The old bum in the woods?” Wes asked, which struck Darian as a sensible option he hadn’t considered. Brother Lew might very well have sneaked in through the French doors after he and Victor had left for the restaurant. Had Victor left them ajar after all the commotion?
“No.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Ghosts. Specifically a poltergeist. Why not? Can you imagine how many people probably died here? In the era when this was built, you didn’t only have the mother, father, and children living here but also all their servants, governesses and tutors, and the whole extended family. According to the gossip I’ve heard in town, there were a few spinster aunts, too, practicing witchcraft up in the tower rooms.”
Victor wasn’t amused. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t stand to hear people who should know better being so irrational. Drop it.”
“Have it your way. It would be great publicity for the film.” Sandra wiped her palms together and pushed back the overflowing trash can. “That’s it for me. I’m going to bed now so I can get up early and work on a replacement coat for Jamie. Let’s just hope our second day of shooting is less eventful than this one.”
“I’m beat, too,” Wes said. “Do you mind if I…?” he pointed at the door.
“Nah. Go ahead,” Victor said. “Darian and I will finish up.”
“Thought you might want to,” Wes said with a wink.
When they were alone, Victor turned to Darian.
“Why don’t you stay tonight?” Victor asked. “It’s pretty late. Why drive all that way home? I have plenty of guest rooms, and my mother keeps them stocked with plenty of soap, towels, and toothbrushes.”
Darian glanced at Jamie’s bedside clock. It was well past midnight.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks. Or maybe I should thank your mother.”
"Actually, she steals them from hotels all over the world. Never doubt that rich people are among the worst skinflints you’ll ever meet.” Victor laughed. “Come on, I’ll find you a nice pair of fresh flannel sheets.”
An hour later, stripped down to his boxer shorts, Darian twisted and turned in a narrow room at the opposite end of the hall, two doors down from where Jamie was bunking with Logan. The room, he suspected, had once belonged to some well-to-do Victorian’s valet or personal maid. Still, it was comfortable and reasonably quiet. Twice, he heard nearby doors opening and feet padding up and down the hall. Another time someone seemed to be creeping down the stairs, perhaps on the way to the kitchen for a pre-dawn snack.
Unnerving dreams proved a greater distraction. At one point, he was sure he felt Victor slide into bed beside him and slide both arms around Darian’s waist, pulling him tight against his chest.
Turning, Victor slid both arms around Darian and pulled him tight against his chest. Darian felt himself unwind, enjoying the way Victor’s body pressed into his. They seemed to fit, like puzzle pieces snapping into place. The steady thrum of Victor’s pulse filled his senses, lulling him into warm comfort.
Soon they were kissing. Victor’s warm lips slid over his, sucking urgently at first and then relaxing into a slow but steady rhythm. The tip of his tongue traced the curve of Darian’s lower lip. A shudder of excitement rushed through him. Darian opened his eyes as he arched his back, easing into their embrace.
Then Victor turned to Argo and he woke up, shaking.
The next morning, no one expressed surprise over his presence at the breakfast table. Nor did anyone mention the previous night’s adventure. Chuck, though he’d left his headphones in his room, seemed unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Wes, Logan, and Sandra made amiable small talk over plates of scrambled eggs and toast. Jamie drifted in and out of the room, cellphone in hand. Darian wondered if he was checking for messages from his new agent. He was not, Darian noticed, wearing Logan’s ring.
When Victor strolled in and took a seat across from Darian at the dining room table, he felt a little charge go through his body, followed by the sting of guilt. Still, he remembered how pleasant it had felt to be sheltered by the dream-Victor’s chest, those strong arms curled around his shoulders.
“Everyone looks half awake,” Logan complained as he buttered his toast. “We wasted a lot of time yesterday, so this morning we need to hit the ground running. I don’t intend to spend all day having Chuck film your scenes over and over.”
Jamie, sitting beside him with a cup of coffee and a sliced grapefruit in front of him, flashed him an adoring smile. Clearly the two had made up, just as Victor had predicted.
“Give us a break,” Wes complained. “You were the one who kept us up half the night doing chambermaid service. It’s understandable we’d be moving slowly today.”
“Moving slowly is one thing,” Logan said. “We can work with that. Passed out in your chairs is something else entirely. Stay in bed if you can’t hack the job. Today I want to block out the sequences where Osbourne chases Thaddeus around the drawing room. Darian. Sandra’s going to show you how to do the zombie makeup. It’s a little tricky, but with two of you it should go a lot faster.”
“Don’t worry, I look great in purple welts and eyeshadow,” Wes said. “It’ll be a snap.”
“I wasn’t planning to stick around all day,” Darian said. “I need to go home and change my clothes, for one thing. Plus I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Victor assured him. “You’ve been a big help so far. And you can borrow any of my clothes you want. I’ll drive into town with you later, if you want, and help you pack a bag so you can stay for as long as you want.”
As flattering as the offer was, Darian didn’t think he ought to accept. Another dream like the one he’d enjoyed last night, and he might find himself tumbling into a situation he wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. While he was formulating a gracious refusal, a loud pounding on the front door made everyone jump.
To his surprise, Jamie started to jump up. “I’ll get it!” he chirped. Victor held up a hand to stop him.
“No. It’s my house, remember? Most likely someone’s come to see me.”
He walked out, temporarily sparing Darian the need to answer. Along with everyone else at the table, he listened to the muffled sounds of Victor opening the front door and conducting a brief conversation with someone whose voice he couldn’t identify. Moments later Victor returned, along with someone whose presence stunned Darian.
“Argo?” he asked, though he didn’t say his name out loud. At least, he didn’t think he did. He was so flustered he couldn’t be sure.
At least Argo looked equally surprised to see him there. He filled the doorway of the dining room, back in uniform with his arm in a sling. The people at the table stared back at him, almost as perplexed as Darian.
“This is Sheriff Sullivan,” Victor said. “Sheriff, these are my guests who are working on the film with me. I think you already know Darian.”
“Correct. I do
.” Argo’s face remained as expressionless as his voice. He stared down at Darian. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
Darian started to answer, failed, and paused to clear his throat. “I’ve been helping out with the film,” he muttered.
“Darian’s volunteering,” Victor said. “We’re all happy to have him on board.”
“Ah,” said Argo.
“He’s been great,” Victor went on, smirking. “We know a good thing when we see it.”
“What can we do for you?” Logan asked. “Please don’t tell me you’ve come to hassle us about permits or something. This house is private property, and we have Victor’s permission to film here.”
“I’m not here about permits.” Argo stepped into the room, forcing Victor to move to one side. Darian caught the dirty look Victor gave the back of his head. “I’m here about a phone call I received this morning.”
“A phone call?” Sandra asked, setting down her coffee cup. “I’m afraid you’re wrong. It couldn’t have come from anyone here.”
“That’s not the information I was given.” Coolly, Argo scanned each face at the table. “Dispatch got a report from a James London. He says someone’s trying to kill him.”
The table erupted in a hubbub of shocked, angry denials. Logan alone seemed to remain calm. “I think I can set your mind at rest, Sheriff. What we’re dealing with here is a misunderstanding, the result of a silly and misguided prank. Nothing that merits police intervention.”
“Prank?” Argo’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of prank?”
“Don’t listen to him!” Cheeks flushed, Jamie jumped up from his grapefruit slices, nearly knocking his chair to the floor. “The sheriff is right! I’m the one who called him! And someone here really is trying to kill me! Or at least they tried to make me think so last night.”
The cacophony of protests started again. Argo held up his good hand for quiet.
“Let’s start over. Mr. London, tell me step by step what happened.”
“Fine. I will.” Breathlessly, Jamie related the tale of the blood-soaked guest room, though Argo seemed less than impressed when he admitted the blood was not real. Undeterred, Jamie pressed on. “I want everyone here questioned,” he announced when he’d finished.
“I’m sorry, Mr. London, but it doesn’t work that way.” Argo’s jaw went taut. Darian knew all too well what that meant. Civilians barking orders at him never went over well. “I’m not your personal security force. You’ll need to bring forward some evidence of a genuine threat if you expect me to use department resources to pursue a case here.”
“My room covered in gore isn’t evidence enough? Who cares if it was mostly just food coloring. How can you let who did this just get away with it?”
“I never said anyone was getting away with anything. Since I’m here, I’m willing to make some preliminary inquiries. Where it goes after that will depend on what I find.” Darian knew that voice, too. Argo used it to appease difficult people rather than blowing his stack at them. He turned to Darian, who hated the way his heart jumped when their eyes met. Argo, of course, remained all business. “Maybe you could show me the…ah…crime scene? I’d like to take a look at this phony blood for myself.”
“Well, that’s kind of a problem,” Darian admitted. “Last night, Jamie was so upset by the mess that we all got together and cleaned it up for him.”
“So the evidence of this supposed threat is gone? All of it?”
“You could say that. I could show you the room, though. The paper towels are still in the trash, I assume.”
Argo sighed. “All right. Better than nothing.” He waved Darian to his feet. “Let’s go. The rest of you stay put until I come back. I might have a few questions.”
“I certainly hope so,” Jamie muttered as he turned back to his grapefruit.
Victor didn’t look happy when Darian slipped past him and headed toward the staircase with Argo on his heels. Darian did his best to focus on the task he’d been given. He would show Argo the room and the red-smeared paper towels. Maybe Argo would ask him a few questions. He could hardly refuse to cooperate with a police inquiry. Then Argo would leave, having appeased Jamie, and everything would go back to normal. He was glad Jamie had admitted to calling the cops. Otherwise Victor might have thought Argo had shown up just to spy on them.
They walked up the stairs, tension brewing between them like the sky before a thunderstorm. Darian tried to act casual.
“You look good. Arm’s better?”
“Yeah.” Argo flapped it against his side like a lopsided bird. “Getting stronger every day. I’ll have a scar, but that’s okay. It won’t be the first one, or most likely the last.”
Just a few days earlier, Darian thought with a stab of pain, he would have reassured Argo that scars could be sexy. It hurt to think he might never see that scar for himself. The weight of fresh loss welled up in him.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he managed to say.
Argo made a grunting sound as they walked toward Jamie’s room. It took only a few minutes for Darian run through the story again. Argo fished one of the paper towels out of the trash and sniffed at it.
“Yep. Fake, all right. This is like something a bunch of kids would do on Halloween.” He shrugged, not bothering to hide his disgust. “These people are your friends now. What’s your take on all this? What do you think happened?”
“I’m inclined to agree with Logan—this was a joke taken one step too far. Last night, Jamie accused him of doing it, seeking revenge for a fight they had. Logan threw that back in Jamie’s face, saying he might have staged it himself to get attention. That’s not as farfetched as it might sound. Jamie’s an actor, and he sure knows how to bring the drama.”
“Making a false police report is a crime. Maybe I should impress that on him when we go back downstairs.” Just for a moment, he thought he saw a change in Argo’s demeanor. A flicker of emotion—exactly, what he couldn’t tell, and he didn’t dare to speculate. “Darian, do you really enjoy hanging out here, working on this crazy film?”
“I am. Yeah.” Darian’s answer was a little too quick, a little too defensive. He knew what Argo was really asking, and it involved Darian’s feelings for Victor. But he wasn’t fibbing, exactly—just not revealing the whole picture. But he’d never tell Argo how hard he struggled not to think of him every minute of every day. He would never give him that satisfaction, considering it didn’t go both ways. “I’m learning how to do stage makeup, too,” he finished lamely. “Who knows? Maybe I can volunteer at Bryce’s theater next. I don’t think I’d be good at acting, but this might be next best thing.”
Argo nodded slowly. “Okay. If that’s what you want, I think you should go for it. You deserve to be happy.”
That stung. Had Argo meant it to? “Actually, there’s one other thing I ought to tell you about. There’s one other suspect besides the people downstairs.” Darian described Brother Lew, and his bizarre living situation, as succinctly as he could. “He seems to have a problem with strangers coming onto the grounds. In fact, he tried to attack me yesterday. It’s possible he sneaked into the house while everyone was at dinner, trashed this room, and sneaked out again, unseen.”
“Dinner, right.” Argo scratched at his earlobe. “It makes sense why you didn’t see him. I understand you ate in town yesterday.”
Score one for Jake and Patricia. Victor’s plan had worked perfectly. “Anyway, it was just a thought. You can follow up on it if you think it’s necessary.”
“Actually, I think that would be a good idea. This guy lives out in the woods, you said? Can we walk out there so I can ask him some questions?”
“Not exactly in the woods. Victor says the old monastery is still standing. This guy lives in it, off the grid, just like they did back in the Middle Ages. Hard to believe, I know.”
“Very hard to believe,” Argo said, as though he didn’t.
“I’ll get the directions from Victor. You can see for yo
urself,” Darian promised.
And that was how, an hour later, the two of them stood beside at what Darian had at first mistaken for some dirty cloth on the ground. Hiking all the way to the old monastery hadn’t been necessary. Here they were, no more than half a mile from the house, with Victor’s gabled roof still visible above the tops of the wind-stripped trees.
They weren’t looking down a mound of rags, though. Brother Lew rested at the foot of a modest incline. His arms stretched out in the shape of a cross, his ratty cowl stiff with frozen blood. Part of the walking stick he had swung at Darian lay beside him, split diagonally down the middle. A few splinters suggested that Brother Lew, or someone else, had slammed it on the ground with all his might and shattered it.
The split-off section ended in a sharp point, the kind a character in an old horror movie might use to go vampire hunting. The shaft jutted from Brother Lew’s chest, like a stake driven through Count Dracula’s heart.
Chapter 10
As Darian expected, Argo took charge of the scene at once, summoning Cutler and another deputy, along with various medical and crime scene personnel. At one point, while Argo was shouting for everyone in the house to assemble on the patio, Cutler shot Darian an apologetic look. How many times had they gone through a similar scene? Lately, Darian served roughly the same function as a cadaver dog, it seemed.
Darian kept his face perfectly neutral while Argo paced in front of them like a drill sergeant addressing his doomed squadron in a war flick. Or maybe a head shrink addressing the patients in his psych ward would have been more accurate. Yet no one seemed overly impressed, much less intimidated, by him. Least of all Victor, whose defiance suggested that he blamed Argo’s presence for Brother Lew’s unfortunate fate.
“This is quite an announcement to spring on my guests first thing in the morning, Sheriff. You can’t imagine any of us was involved. We were enjoying a peaceful breakfast together, as you saw for yourself.”
“This didn’t just happen,” Argo informed him. “He’s been here a while. Killed last night, the doctor tells me. Or very early this morning. What do you think happened here, Mr. Reece?”