by Jade Astor
Cutler nodded. He tore off the top sheet of yellow paper and handed Darian the pad and pen. He motioned to a nearby folding chair. “Write down everything you’ve just told me, read it over, and sign it. Include every detail you can think of.”
Grumbling, Darian played along while Cutler kept a close watch over his shoulder. Eventually, after pretending to proofread the statement, Cutler walked him back to Argo’s office.
Argo was standing just inside the open door. Victor still sat in front of the desk, his head bowed and his fingers laced together.
“What’s going on?” Darian asked Argo.
“Victor wants to talk to you. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.” After showing Darian inside, Argo closed the door behind him and walked away with Cutler.
“You’ve probably guessed what I’m going to say,” Victor said, sounding miserable. “When you told me to come clean with you, I didn’t. I really didn’t think everything would go this far.”
Frozen in place, Darian could only gape. Was Victor confessing to murder?
“You were right,” Victor hurried on when Darian didn’t speak. “Thomas was the one who tried to hit me. But it didn’t happen the way you think. The fact is…I paid him to do it.”
Chapter 13
“What the—? Victor, are you nuts?” Darian meant the last question literally.
“I know, I know. It seemed harmless at the time. I didn’t think ahead. And I’m sorry.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“I thought it would bring us closer together.” Victor blushed. “I met Thomas when he and his uncle came to Reece Hall about their tourism idea. We’re not friends, exactly, but he was willing to take part in a prank. I called him from the men’s room while we were at the restaurant and set the whole thing up. He’d come at me in the car, I’d pretend to be drunk and stumble, and you’d pull me out of the way. Afterward, I’d express my undying gratitude to you, and well…we’d feel bonded to each other. Now that I hear myself saying it, it sounds like totally hare-brained.”
“That’s for sure.” Darian could hardly believe what he was hearing. Their entire evening had been a setup, and not just for Argo’s benefit as Victor had originally said.
“I looked at the whole thing as an acting exercise. Almost like a movie stunt. Thomas’s car would never have hit me. It was all an optical illusion.”
Darian smacked his own forehead as another puzzle piece dropped into place. “I didn’t just run into you this morning. You were coming to the historical society shop to see Thomas. To pay him off, maybe?”
Victor admitted. “I asked around town and discovered Lew's death wasn’t common knowledge yet. I figured Argo might make the connection eventually. I wanted to give Thomas a heads up.”
“Did you hire him to trash Jamie’s room, too? And kill Brother Lew on his way out? Or maybe Brother Lew caught him sneaking out, covered in stage blood. Thomas chased him out into the woods and made sure he couldn’t tell anyone what he’d seen.”
“No! Of course not! Thomas wouldn’t kill anyone. And I never sent him up to the house.”
“Are you sure he didn’t decide to put in some overtime? He knew Jamie was up here making a horror film, even though Logan preferred to keep the details quiet so he wouldn’t jinx the production. You must have given him that information, Victor. Did you also tell him about your plan to drive Jamie off the set? Another way we could be closer together, I assume.”
“I promise you I didn’t put him up to that. Okay, so I gossiped about Jamie some. But neither he nor Brother Lew factored into the original script. Even Argo believes me on that score. Ask him yourself. Here he comes.”
Victor focused on the space between Darian and the office door, which Argo had just slipped noiselessly into. Argo glowered at Victor with enough heat to melt the paint off his office walls.
“He told you, I take it?” he asked Darian, who nodded. “You’re lucky you fessed up before I figured out the truth for myself, Victor. I still might file charges against you.”
“For what? Hiring someone to drive his car too close to me?”
“I’ll think of something. Endangering public safety comes to mind. If the kid did kill Brother Lew, try accessory to murder.”
“He didn’t!” Victor jumped to his feet, fists clenched. “Thomas had nothing to do with that, or with any of the other…uh…problems at the house.”
“I understand that’s your story. I intend to check into it, believe me.” Argo clomped past them on his way back to his desk. Dropping into his chair, he picked up a file with his good hand and pretended to study it. Darian took that as their cue to leave.
“I’m sorry, Darian,” Victor said again as they headed for the sidewalk. Darian marveled that his simple trek downtown for breakfast had turned into such a fiasco. But his whole life seemed to be going that way lately. “You don’t need to say anything to convince me how stupid I’ve been. Thanks to my bad judgment, Thomas may be headed for jail. It’s so unfair. I know he didn’t hurt Brother Lew.”
“Don’t worry. If Thomas didn’t do it, Argo won’t arrest him,” Darian said frostily.
“God, what a mess.” Victor scrubbed a hand over his face. His phone jingled and he took it out of pocket, flicking his thumb over the screen. “I need to get back to the house. Logan’s ready to film some more of my scenes. Rotten timing, I know.”
“Not necessarily. It might be better for you to get out of Argo’s way for a while.”
Hesitantly, Victor reached out and rested his palm on Darian’s sleeve. “Please come back with me. We really need your help on the makeup.”
“I don’t think so, Victor. Not today.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Please, though, just think about it. I really need your help. Even if you’re mad at me, you don’t want Thomas to go to jail for something he didn’t do, right? And we have to find out who really killed Brother Lew. He wasn’t the friendliest guy on the block, but he still deserves justice.”
“I told you, Argo doesn’t operate that way. He’s not going to put anyone behind bars without good cause—and by that I mean solid proof.”
“I wish I had your confidence. Thomas and I might end up as cellmates. Both of us innocent.”
Though he started to protest, Darian couldn’t totally discount that possibility. Argo would be on the warpath now, infuriated by Victor’s attempts to mislead or even scam him in his official capacity as sheriff. He might very well give extra weight to any clues that incriminated Victor and Thomas.
For all Darian knew, the two of them really were guilty. And he found Victor’s manipulative behavior offensive at best. It wasn’t a huge stretch to imagine him hiding even more sinister secrets.
On the other hand, even while he was unrolling his theory of the case to Argo, Darian had realized Thomas’s motivation was thin at best. And Victor did seem genuinely distraught over the death of the lonely old monk.
If he gave up now, he’d always wonder if he could have made a difference in the case. He might also never know how Logan’s movie turned out, at least until it showed up on the internet. And he did kind of enjoy turning people into zombies with some purple foundation and a jar of gray face powder.
“Please, Darian,” Victor repeated.
Shaking his head, Darian took a few steps toward the side street where he’d parked his car. He paused with one foot still on the curb.
“All right,” he gave in. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go over things again. I’ll swing by the house later and see if Sandra still needs my help.”
“She does,” Victor assured him. “Pack a bag. Did you hear those people talking in the bakery? Huge snowstorm on the way. You might have to stay overnight.”
“Okay. Thanks for the warning. But you have to agree to two conditions, Victor.”
“Anything.”
“First, there will be no talk of any relationship between us. I’m not saying that’s forever, but for the time bein
g it’s strictly business.”
“I understand.”
“Second, and maybe more importantly, no more lies. None. No matter how ugly, how damning, or how mind-boggling the truth is, I want it. All of it. Understand?”
“Got it.” Victor nodded, the very picture of compliance. “I agree. From this moment on, I’m turning over a new leaf. Going to lay everything right on the line, no matter what the consequences.”
“All right, then.” Darian wasn’t fooled. He planned to watch Victor every second of every hour he spent at Reece Hall. “I’ll see you later.”
When Darian got back to Reece Hall that afternoon, he found Wes in the front sitting room taking a coffee break. An open bag of chips sat on the sofa beside him and a few crumpled napkins littered the floor. His face, still mottled with purple and gray lesions, lit up when he saw Darian walk in.
“Oh, Darian, you’re back! Not a minute too soon, either. Holy smokes, do we need your help. Sandra’s overwhelmed, Chuck broke two more light bulbs, and Jamie and Logan have been going at it hammer and tongs. If both of them survive this production, I’ll be amazed.” Wes gave Darian a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That was in poor taste, all things considered.”
“Don’t worry about it. Where’s Victor?”
“He’s in one of the back rooms with Chuck and Jamie, blocking out some more new scenes.” He barely suppressed a grimace. “More of Jamie’s additions to the scripts. Plenty of close-ups for Chuck to work in. Long, lingering shots of Caleb’s delicate eyelashes fluttering in fear. You know the sort.”
“I can imagine,” Darian said. “How about Logan and Sandra?”
“Upstairs mixing up another batch of fake blood. That little stunt in Jamie’s room wiped out most of our supply, I heard. We can only film the PG-rated scenes until they finish.”
“At least you found a work-around,” Darian commented. Privately, he wondered how the group could have casually recreated gory scenes of mayhem so soon after the real thing had erupted right in the backyard. Then again, they were professionals and could presumably separate the real thing from the illusion when they got into character.
“Not that the day was a total waste,” Wes continued flippantly. “We just finished shooting some of my zombie rampage scenes. Great fun.” Playfully, Wes twisted one end of a linen scarf draped around his neck. The white fabric had been purposely streaked with paint to simulate dirt and grime from Osbourne Blackraven’s grave. “I even got to pretend-garrote Jamie with this. Reminded me why I became an actor in the first place. Nice to have a healthy outlet for my pent-up aggressions.”
Darian had planned on making his way upstairs as quickly as possible, but he decided to make the most of Wes’s talkative mood. He still wondered if the vandalism of Jamie’s room had been connected to Brother Lew’s death somehow. If so, finding out who had splashed the fake blood around might bring him one step closer to figuring out who had spilled the real thing in the woods.
Summoning all his non-existent acting skills, he cast a hungry gaze over Wes’s open bag of potato chips. Noticing, Wes patted the sofa beside him.
“You want to share these? Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” Darian accepted both the offer of a seat and a handful of carb-laden nightmares. “I never got around to eating lunch today.”
“No problem. Plenty to go around. In fact, I have four more bags stashed in my room. Feel free to sneak in anytime you want a midnight snack.” He winked, and Darian forced himself to chuckle back. Were all movie sets like this one? So far he’d been propositioned no less than three times, by all three cast members, in about as many days.
“Thanks for the offer,” he said, playing along. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hope you will. Despite what Jamie might think, being a baby-faced pretty boy isn’t the only game in town. Plenty of guys appreciate a little hair on the jaw and some meat on the bone.” Wes stroked his beard again proudly.
“I’m sure they do. It wasn’t very sensitive of Jamie to imply otherwise that night at dinner. He also accused Victor of having no talent. I admired both of you for not rising to his bait.”
“Yeah, well, insensitive and Jamie are two words that are more or less synonyms these days.”
“I got that impression.” Darian nodded. “I’m still a little confused why Jamie would treat his friends that way, considering you guys have been making movies together since college.”
Munching more chips, Wes shrugged amiably. “He wasn’t always this bad, not that he was ever an angel. Working on that soap puffed his head up like a cone of cotton candy. About as much substance inside, too.”
“Victor told me about some of the films you made in your student days. They weren’t too good, according to him. That sounded kind of harsh to me.”
“Did it? If anything, he wasn’t being harsh enough. Crappy would be a compliment.”
“Were they horror movies, like this one?”
“Sort of. More like those tacky slasher films that were popular in those days. Logan thought we’d strike it rich aiming ours at the gay male market. His most ambitious script involved a serial killer stalking a college that coincidentally looked a lot like the one we went to. The killer’s specialty was taking out all the sexiest young guys. In the end he turned out to be the most popular frat boy on campus who was jealous of the competition.” He laughed. “I guess Logan had some insecurities in those days.”
“I suppose Jamie played the killer?”
“How did you know? The big twist was that his character was having a love affair with the campus security guard, who has to shoot him when he finds out what he’s done.”
“Did you play the security guard?”
“Me? Nah. I was one of the victims—a nerdy librarian who was working late one night and saw more than he was supposed to. Jamie had to take him out after that.”
“It sounds pretty creepy. Did Logan ever finish it?”
“Nah. We came close, but then final exams came around and a couple people dropped out of the production. We never filmed the final scene, where Jamie gets what’s coming to him. I guess that means his character is still stalking the halls of that fictional college, sticking his knife into every hot young stud he encounters.” The corners of his mouth turned down in distaste. “I wonder if Logan still dreams about his unmade masterpiece. Some of those scenes were pretty hard to forget.”
“I think I know what you mean. I saw a movie like that once, and I wanted a bottle of brain bleach afterward. Too gory for my tastes.”
“Exactly. All that blood…I mean, sure, it was fake, but from the right angle it could look realistic.” Wes reached for the chip bag and changed his mind. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m giving you the wrong impression, though. It wasn’t a good movie by any stretch of the imagination. What we thought was great art turned out to be pretentious. Camera angles so fancy you could barely see what was going on, speeches that went on forever, not to mention lots of teen angst and overblown symbolism. Then Logan had the bright idea to throw in a nude scene. Talk about a disaster!”
Darian raised a brow. “Really? That sounds daring.”
“Stupid is more like it. Luckily, Logan never asked me to drop trou, either on camera or off. He never considered me photogenic enough, and he had no problem telling me so to my face. That ticked me off at the time, but now I’m glad. At least there are no embarrassing clips of my exposed derriere floating around for people to laugh at.”
“Oh, I’m sure no one would laugh.”
“The alternative is only slightly more appealing. Thank you very much, but if some guy is going to drool over my naughty bits, I’d rather be there in the room to enjoy it. Know what I mean?” He flashed Darian a knowing smile.
Darian wondered whose butt—or butts—Wes was talking about. Was that how Logan had convinced his old friends to take part in his current production? Show up ready to act for free or have their earlier willingness to bare all for their art posted on the
internet? “You were probably wise not to take part,” he assured Wes. “I hear stuff like that can really come back to bite people in the—er, to cause trouble later on in their careers.”
“You’d need to have a career to ruin first, though. I don’t. Just the same, I’m glad I refused to go along with his nonsense back then. I was young, but thankfully I wasn’t foolish.”
“I assume Victor refused, too? I mean, he seems like a private sort of person. Or was he a lot wilder in his younger years?”
“You’d be surprised how much people change. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Logan had a way of finding willing participants. Or maybe I should say gullible. Everyone wants to be famous, right? They forget there are good ways and bad ways to accomplish that goal.”
“Right.” Figuring he should leave before Wes got the wrong impression of his interest, Darian stood. “Thanks for the chips. I’m just going to drop my duffel bag in the guest room. Then I’ll be back down to help Sandra.”
“Glad to hear it. She’s a little too free with the zombie powder.” Wes stroked his bushy black beard. “Took me hours to wash it all out of my hair last night.”
“See you on the set.”
Offering Wes a distracted nod, Darian jogged up to the room he had stayed in the last time. Everything was just as he had left it, though someone, presumably Victor, had left two fluffy new bath towels folded on top of the bureau. Since he hadn’t packed anything that needed a hanger, Darian dropped his bag on the chair in the corner and started out again. He only hoped he’d be able to sleep once he returned for the night. The memory of what he had awakened to last time burned all too brightly in his mind.
When he stepped back over the threshold, he heard muffled voices coming from nearby. Pausing in mid-step, he glanced around until he spotted a half-open door halfway down the hall. By standing totally still and holding his breath, he could just make out the details of a conversation between two people.