by Jade Astor
“There seems to be a lot of those up at that house. Like the blood in Jamie London’s bedroom. Look, Darian, I need to be thorough. I don’t want anyone thinking I didn’t ask you tough questions or follow up because we…know each other.”
“I see.” Darian tamped down his rising temper. “So you want to swing too far the other way, is that it? Treat me like your prime suspect so no one will think you weren’t doing your job?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I have a boss, Darian, just like you have Jeanette. All I know is a well-known actor reported an attempt on his life and I find his room drenched in blood. Just because it was fake doesn’t mean it wasn’t a threat. An hour later, you led me to a dead guy wearing a monk’s habit. No one even knows who exactly he is. The whole situation looks damn bad for me.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Appearances are always more important than facts. I can’t believe you’d consider pinning this on me.”
“I’m not trying to pin anything on anyone who’s innocent. And I never said I suspected you.”
“Ah. So we’re back to Victor. I might have known.”
“I have to pursue every lead, Darian. Think about it. Victor has this annoying person living on his property. The guy attacks his—ah, guest. He seethes about it and decides to warn Brother Lew off. Maybe he threatens to have him arrested or hauled off to an institution. Brother Lew freaks out, tries to defend himself. Victor’s used to getting his own way. He tries to intimidate Brother Lew and things get out of hand. It could have happened that way.”
“Sure,” Darian said, humoring him. He didn’t think it wise to admit that Victor’s guests had floated the same theory after Argo had left Reece Hall. “Very convenient. But it’s easy to toss around accusations without bothering to find proof. I could just as well say you were the one who tried to run Victor down in town last night. Clearly you didn’t intend to hurt him. You were only trying to send a message.”
He stopped when Argo’s mouth fell open, realizing he had said too much. Victor had specifically told him not to report that incident to Argo.
“Wait a minute,” Argo said. Darian could almost hear the tiny wheels clicking in his mind. “Someone tried to run Victor over?”
“Well, yes,” Darian admitted. “Sort of. When we left the restaurant, a car veered toward us and almost came up on the sidewalk. Victor managed to jump out of the way.”
“And you didn’t see any reason to mention this before? When I specifically asked you if you had anything more to tell me?”
“It wasn’t a big deal. Victor wasn’t hurt. He said we should just forget about it. Someone driving drunk or not paying attention, most likely.”
“I don’t suppose you got a license plate?”
“Sorry, no.” Darian paused, wondering if he should say any more. Having gone this far, though, he didn’t have much choice. “I did notice one thing about the car, though. It had this weird bumper sticker. I only caught a glimpse of it. Something like a triangle superimposed over a square.”
“Some kind of logo?”
“Yeah. Maybe for some kind of business. I don’t know, though. I’d never seen it before.”
“Okay.” Argo cursed under his breath. He got to his feet, moving a bit stiffly thanks to his arm. Darian got up, too. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You ought to get some rest,” Darian said, knowing it was the last thing Argo probably wanted to hear. Some things never changed.
True to form, Argo dismissed his concern with a grunt. “I can’t stop you from hanging around with Victor if that’s what you want to do,” he said as he crossed the room, on his way out. “But remember what I told you. A big part of this picture’s missing. Until I figure out what’s going on up there, you need to be careful.”
“I can take care of myself.” Darian followed Argo to the front door. He didn’t bother to point out the obvious: you’re the reason I have to.
As Argo was about to step outside, he hesitated with one foot on the threshold. Then he swung back around to face Darian. For an instant he seemed about to lean forward and kiss him.
“Darian…” he began, but his voice trailed off on the last syllable. He straightened his shoulders, pulling away.
“Good night,” Darian said when the moment had passed. Fighting tears, he closed the door between them.
In the morning, Darian awoke with a fresh sense of determination. While he showered, he recalled his conversation with Argo the night before. Argo’s condescension still rankled. He had implied not only that Victor couldn’t be trusted, but that Darian possessed barely enough common sense to walk around unsupervised in public. The best course of action was to prove him wrong on both counts.
Unfortunately, he was not only reinvigorated but starving. With almost no food in the fridge, he set out for the bakery downtown. A chocolate croissant, he reasoned, would provide the necessary fuel for another day of moviemaking as well as the difficult conversation he planned to have with Victor.
While he maneuvered into a parking spot, a storefront only a block from the bakery caught his attention. He’d passed the local historical society and tourist center before, but had never paid much attention to it and had never been inside. A colorful flag hanging outside the front door indicated that the shop was open.
In every cop show he had ever seen, investigating a murder started with mining the victim’s background. Of course, there wasn’t much point if an act of random violence had caused Brother Lew’s death. On the other hand, he thought it best to keep an open mind. At the moment, Darian could think of no better place to search for information on the mysterious Brother Lew and the reclusive order he belonged to.
The historical society’s interior resembled in equal parts a museum and gift shop. A spinner rack contained postcards of various local landmarks and scenic areas, while an assortment of t-shirts pinned to the wall featured pictures of mountains and wildlife.
While he browsed, a geeky young guy with shoulder-length black hair and plastic-rimmed glasses approached him.
“Hi,” he said, clearly delighted to have a customer. “Can I help you? I’m Thomas. If you want a souvenir shirt, I have almost every size and color in stock. Plenty more in the back.”
“Actually, I was interested in learning about local history,” Darian said, disappointed. He doubted this fellow, who was only in his twenties, would know much about Reece Hall and its former colony of monks. “But that’s okay. It wasn’t important.”
He turned to go, but Thomas darted between him and the shop door. “No, wait. I can help you with that kind of stuff, too.”
“Really?” Darian asked doubtfully.
“Sure thing. My uncle is president of the local architectural preservation society. That’s how I got this job. Plus I was a history major in college. The two kind of went together.” He smiled proudly. “Try me. Ask me anything you want and I’ll do my best to answer.”
“I wanted to find out what I could about a big manor house about half an hour from here,” Darian said carefully. “You know, its history and the people who lived in and around it.”
“Reece House? Sure, I know the place. Hey, I know why you’re here. You must have heard about the film crew that’s staying up there.” He took Darian’s hesitant expressions as confirmation. “Isn’t that cool? I heard a rumor that Jamie London is part of the cast. You know, from Secret Hearts. A couple of people I know claim to have seen him around town.”
“I take it you’re a fan?”
“Nah. I don’t really watch soap operas much. No time with school and everything. But my mother had it on in the background once in a while, and most everyone has seen his picture on a magazine or something at one point or another. Still, it’s exciting. Maybe he’ll come in here for a t-shirt or something. How often do you get that close to someone famous, you know?”
“So I was wondering about the house,” Darian reminded him.
“Reece Hall. Right.” As if by rote, he rattled of
f a series of dates and architectural terms related to the building of the house and its resemblance to other prominent nineteenth-century buildings. Darian had heard all of that from Victor on his initial visit, but he feigned interest anyway and nodded at suitable intervals.
“The place is totally creepy,” Thomas remarked when he’d finished his spiel. “People stay away unless they’re sneaking up there to cause trouble.”
“So I’ve heard. Does that happen often? People trespassing, I mean.”
“Mostly around Halloween. Not so much at other times.” Thomas shrugged. “Once the snow gets deep enough, that hill’s a good place to go sledding. That’s what the kids in my high school used to say, anyway. I’m not really into being out in the cold.”
“I don’t blame you,” Darian said. “It’s quite a drive from here, too. Anyone who wanted to go there would have to plan it out ahead of time. It’s unlikely they’d just stumble across it.”
Thomas nodded. “The Reeces want it that way, too. My uncle thinks they should offer official tours of the place during the summer. Maybe even put on concerts or sponsor parties on the grounds. It would bring people into the area, he says, and help the owners with the upkeep besides. Must be pretty expensive to maintain a joint like that. He even tried to set it up with the family who lives there. At first it seemed they might go along with it. They invited my uncle up to the house so they could talk in person. He wrote up a business plan that looked pretty good to me, though I’m sure no expert.”
“Seems like a promising idea.” Darian remembered Victor telling him something along those lines.
Thomas frowned. “In the end they decided not to do it, though. More interested in privacy than making money, I guess.”
“Apparently so.” Darian wondered if Victor or his mother had been the one to put the kibosh on the tourism idea. He wasn’t surprised they had decided against it. He could only imagine Brother Lew jumping out with his club and chasing off a group of travelers with cameras.
At the same time, another uncomfortable thought tugged at his mind. Had Brother Lew been the main reason they had turned down a potentially beneficial revenue stream? Without his lurking presence, would Victor or his mother be able to cash in on Reece Hall as a vacation attraction?
“I also heard another legend,” he started again, “about some monks who set up shop in the woods near the house. They made their own wine and sold it to people in town here.”
“My uncle told me about them, too.” Thomas nodded. “One of the Reeces was kind of a badass, by all accounts, so he donated the land to them. Must have hoped his good deed would buy him some cred in the afterlife. That was a long time ago, though. The place closed down before you and I were even born. They’re all dead by now.”
“Really? All of them?”
“I assume so. They were pretty old even then, from what I hear. Stands to reason.”
“I don’t suppose there would be any way to go up there and see the old buildings. Maybe camp there overnight? Has anyone ever tried that?”
Thomas laughed. “You’d be braver than most people around here if you tried.”
“Because the woods are dangerous, you mean?”
“In a manner of speaking. Let me put it another way. Makes sense Jamie London would film a haunted house story there. You couldn’t find a more perfect setting.”
Darian gave him a knowing nod. “People think Reece Hall is haunted, then.”
Thomas laughed. “My Aunt May insists it is. When she was a kid, some of the boys from her class went up there to shoot BB guns, she said. Next day, they told everyone a demon chased them through the woods, screaming and waving a scythe like the grim reaper. But then, she believes in all that woo-woo stuff. Tarot cards, UFOs, you name it. And those kids either imagined it or made it up.”
Most likely they had encountered a younger version of Brother Lew, Darian thought, but he kept that speculation to himself. Such stories might well have inspired later generations to test their mettle by venturing into the woods. It seemed more likely than ever to him that Brother Lew’s death had been a random act by an intruding stranger. “So you don’t believe it?” he pressed.
“I couldn’t say for sure. There have always been rumors. But my rational, college-educated side tells me there’s nothing to see up there but shadows.” Thomas grinned. “And some amazing examples of cutting-edge Victorian architecture, of course.”
“Right.”
On his way out, Darian bought a handful of postcards and tried not to show his disappointment as he thanked Thomas for the information. He hadn’t learned anything new, except that Victor and his mother might have had a financial incentive to get Brother Lew out of their hair after all. It seemed unlikely to him, though he assumed Argo would pounce on it when he found out. When he emerged from the shop, struggling with the question of whether he should be the one to inform Argo, Darian encountered an unexpected sight. Victor, wearing a tailored overcoat and a grim expression, was coming up the sidewalk toward him.
Chapter 12
“Oh, hey! Darian! I’m glad I ran into you. I was just about to give you a call.”
Darian suppressed a twinge of guilt when Victor hurried over to him. He kept his voice deliberately casual. “Looks like I saved you the trouble. What are you doing in town?”
“Logan’s working on some of Jamie and Wes’s scenes this morning. I had some errands to run here in town. In fact, I just came from the funeral parlor. I tried to make arrangements for Brother Lew, but it turns out Argo is holding onto the body. He won’t even let me give the poor guy a decent burial, it seems.”
“It’s standard procedure in the case of a violent death,” Darian told him. “I’m sure he’ll do right by Brother Lew as soon as protocol allows.”
“Protocol.” Victor scoffed. “Meanwhile, poor Brother Lew is lying on a metal table in some dingy lab, cold and alone.”
“He’s past feeling cold now. I’m sorry, Victor.”
“I know. Thanks.” Abruptly, Victor’s mood brightened. “Anyway, moving on. I hope you got some sleep last night. We’re all looking forward to getting you back on the set, especially me. When I get back to work, I suspect I’ll need my face touched up frequently. Especially around the lips.” He blew Darian a mock kiss and winked.
Darian forced himself not to respond in kind. It would be easy to start flirting and forget everything Argo had told him. The coming scene wasn’t one he looked forward to. But it had to be done. Best to get it over with. “Victor, I need to talk to you.”
Victor’s buoyant expression sagged. “Uh oh. This looks serious.”
“It is. Well, it might be. I wish I knew.”
“Okay, then. Sure.” Victor scanned the nearby storefronts. “Let’s go someplace where we can sit down and have some privacy.”
“I was just about to grab some breakfast at the bakery. Will that do?”
“Sounds perfect.”
They fell into step as they made their way down the street, past Victor’s sports car parallel-parked near the used book store. Neither spoke until they were settled at a table with coffee and pastries. Most of the customers at the bakery were eagerly discussing breaking news about a powerful snowstorm headed toward their area. They hadn’t heard about Brother Lew yet, Darian assumed.
“Jamie would bite my head off if he saw me enjoying this,” Victor said, munching on a strawberry Danish. “Carb city for sure. But I’ll risk it this time. After what we’ve all been through lately, we deserve a treat. The stress alone probably melted off more calories than this.”
“I guess that’s one way to diet,” Darian said. “Probably safer to stick to those low-fat microwave meals, though.”
“So what’s on your mind?” Victor‘s shoulders stiffened while he stirred his coffee. “Let me guess. You ran into Argo. He ordered you off the production, and you’ve decided to go along with his wishes.”
“I did run into Argo. But that’s not it. And I’m not planning to leave th
e production.”
“I’m glad to hear that, at least.”
“I mean, I don’t think I am,” Darian qualified.
“It must be about Brother Lew’s death, then. What else could it be? We all want to get to the bottom of that. But I’ll tell you right now, Darian, I don’t think anyone staying at Reece Hall did it. I’m convinced it was someone sneaking onto the grounds.”
“I floated that possibility with Argo, too. He was at least open to it. The problem is that there’s no evidence either way.”
“Maybe they could do DNA samples on the walking stick,” Victor suggested. “Like on the cop shows. I auditioned for a show like that once. I didn’t get the part, but I learned a lot about how forensic science works. They can get DNA off everything these days.”
“The problem is that on TV, the results come back within an hour. In real life, it can takes months. And I’m not so sure a walking stick is the best surface for them to test. The surface is rough. Besides, whoever did it probably wiped it off before he left.”
“So we’re stuck. I’m still the prime suspect. Damn.”
Darian wished he could find a way to exonerate Victor, at least in his own mind. That would make things so much simpler on several fronts. With respect to Argo, it would put him firmly in the wrong and allow Darian to indulge in some justified resentment. With respect to Victor, it would clear the way forward.
When he looked at his new friend, so wealthy and graceful, so well-spoken and intelligent, it was hard to imagine him losing his temper and viciously skewering a weak old man, not to mention a monk, with a jagged piece of wood.
On the other hand, he couldn’t brush off what Argo had revealed the night before.
“Victor, I found out some stuff that bothered me.”
Victor sighed and nodded. He seemed to know what was coming. “Should I assume it has something to do with my past?”
“Is there anything you want to tell me up front?” Darian asked.