Murder at Birchwood Pond Read online

  “Trust me. Come on, Darian. You lived at home until you were twenty-four years old. Didn’t you watch me and Riki in the kitchen? We’ve made that dish dozens of times.”

  “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Okay, I’ll try it.”

  “That’s the spirit. You know, I’ve been meaning to call you and ask how it’s going up there. Are you warm enough?”

  “Well, I never wake up and imagine I’m back in Florida. But I’m okay. It hasn’t been all that cold yet, except at night. And when that happens, the comforter and the electric blanket seem to be doing the trick.”

  When Darian had told them he got the job at Birchwood, Ange and Riki had gone a little wild with the northern-living catalog. He’d arrived with more jackets, scarves, snow boots, and fleece pullovers than most New Englanders probably went through in a decade. He was almost looking forward to the first major blizzard of the year so he could try out some of the stuff.

  “Glad to hear it. I don’t suppose there’s anyone around there interested in keeping you warm the old-fashioned way?”

  “Mom!” Darian yelped, scandalized. “I’ve only been at Birchwood for a month. Don’t you think I ought to stay single for a while, or at least until I get my bearings?”

  “I don’t see why,” Ange said. “Being new to the area, you should have someone to show you around and help you settle in. We hate to think of you sitting around on your own all the time.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’m plenty busy at school, and I’ve made some friends among the faculty.”

  Ange sighed. “Friends are nice to have, but we were hoping you could find something a little more exciting. After all those years you spent living at home and barely dating at all, I would have thought you’d be eager to get out there and check things out. Surely there are some sexy bearded mountain men up north who could take you on a hike or something.”

  “I think I need to work on that lasagna now.” Darian suspected she could hear him blushing over the phone.

  “All right, all right, I’ll shut up about it. But I’m serious about staying warm. If you’re worried about making a good impression at the school, you don’t want to get pneumonia during your first year. The fast track to success at any job is taking as few sick days as possible. Employers notice that kind of thing, even in academia.”

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t been sick yet. And I haven’t missed a single day.”

  “Things are going well, then?”

  “Uh…yeah. No problems so far.”

  He knew as soon as he said it that she would pick up on the little catch in his voice. “Spill,” she demanded. And just like when he had been ten years old and hiding something from her and Riki, the words uncorked his whole sorry bottle of worries. He told her all about the encounter with Timothy, right down to the mortifying implication that he was open to a hookup with Darian. He also described his conversation with Everett, though he skipped the drama surrounding Aaron Macklin’s wedding budget.

  “It does sound like this young man is the manipulative type,” Ange said. “I’ve seen the type in my own classes. They seem to have an instinct for getting under people’s skin.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Darian promised, though he suspected he already had. “I’m actually more worried that he might spread some kind of rumor about me—saying I jogged down to the pond to meet him, or whatever. He’s not underage, at least—technically he graduated last year, but he’s still taking classes so he can boost up his grades and apply to the kind of college his parents expect.”

  “Ah, one of those types. Yes, I’ve had them in my own classes plenty of times. Bad relationship with their parents, rebellious underachieving, the whole nine yards. That does sound like someone you should stay away from. Their aggression toward their fathers tends to come out sideways. You don’t want to be part of the collateral damage.”

  “Thankfully, he isn’t in any of my classes. It would be easy enough to avoid him if I just go about my regular routine. Now that he knows where to find me, I’m concerned he might show up there again.”

  “Possible,” Ange agreed.

  “There’s another angle to consider, too. What was he doing there in the first place? I don’t flatter myself he was waiting for me to jog by. I wondered if he might be meeting someone in the shelter—someone he didn’t want to be seen with on campus.”

  The oddly animated conversation between Everett and Timothy flashed through his mind. He shook his head, dismissing that. It had been a long day and he’d probably misinterpreted the scene.

  “Maybe you could invite someone to run with you.”

  “I guess I could, but it’s nice to have some time to think, and I don’t want to talk to anyone while I’m running. Besides, adjusting my speed to keep pace with someone else would defeat the whole purpose.”

  “It’s me time,” Ange agreed. “I get that. Still, couldn’t you find an alternate route for the future? Someplace where you wouldn’t run into any creepy kids, or where they wouldn’t think to look for you?”

  Darian considered the suggestion. The circular path around the pond was convenient for a variety of reasons, plus he had come to know the terrain. Still, a change of scene might freshen things up a bit. He would just have to pick a locale where he was unlikely to run into anyone he knew—or didn’t care to know.

  “That could work. I’d have to scout around for a good place, though. And it would have to be close enough to school so I’d have time to shower and change before my first class.”

  “There you go. The perfect plan. Just get through the rest of the week, and then use the weekend to find another place.”

  Already he felt the stress melting from his shoulders. He should have known calling home would always be the right answer. The only drawback was the slight twinge of longing for the comforts of family and sunshine. “Okay. I’ll just finish up with one last trip around the campus pound tomorrow—a kind of farewell tour, you might say. By Monday morning, I’ll be kicking up the gravel somewhere else.”

  The lasagna, as promised, turned out fine, with the unboiled noodles absorbing just the right amount of moisture from the sauce and cheese.

  The other issue, unfortunately, had a less positive outcome. At six a.m. the next morning, Darian stood on the muddy bank and stared down at the body floating there, naked as the day he was born. Though the unfortunate victim was face-down in the murky water, he had no trouble recognizing Timothy Pryor.

  Chapter 2

  Numb with horror, Darian stared down at the water, unable to make sense of what he thought he was seeing. Just to be sure, he turned away for a moment and then looked again. No mistake. The body was still there.

  Instinctively, he reached for the pocket of his sweats and then pulled his hand back with a curse. He hadn’t brought his cell phone with him, so his only choice was summon aid the old-fashioned way. Just as he started forward, a flash of movement in the bushes ahead drew his attention. An animal, maybe—the forest around Birchwood had the usual complement of raccoons, deer, and even foxes.

  Pausing, he scanned the treeline and heard the swish of branches and leaves as whatever had been there made a hasty retreat. Then there was nothing.

  Darian didn’t hang around either. After one last glance at the water, and the ghastly white figure bobbing among the twisted reeds, he bolted back up the path, shouting for help.

  His panicked cries brought people running. Within minutes, faculty, staff members, and even a few bleary-eyed students crowded around him on the banks of the pond. An ambulance pulled up as close as it could to the water without sinking its tires into the mud. Darian hadn’t even heard the sirens until they were right behind him. He wondered if he was going into shock.

  “Jeanette won’t be pleased about this.” Everett appeared at Darian’s side as if he had materialized from thin air. “All this noise and rubbernecking, not to mention the mud.” He lifted his shoes, already caked with wet dirt. “So much for that legendary
Birchwood decorum.”

  “Where is Jeanette?” Darian scanned the crowd for Birchwood’s imperious headmistress. He didn’t spot her, but maybe she was in her office, making whatever phone calls the death of a student required. He supposed there would be several, none of them pleasant.

  “Not sure why they bothered with the sirens anyway,” Everett went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “It’s not like they could do anything for the boy.”

  “How did it happen?” Patricia Woodley made her way over to them, walking gingerly lest her high-heeled shoes also get stuck in the wet ground. “Some kind of accident, I assume?”

  An older man turned toward them. Darian recognized him as one of the school librarians. “This isn’t the first time someone died here,” he said. “There was a similar incident about twenty years ago. A popular teacher drowned. Do you remember that, Everett?”

  “Indeed I do.” Everett said coldly. “And frankly, the less said of that unfortunate event, the better.”

  “They said he slipped and got tangled up in the weeds.” The librarian’s smirk suggested he didn’t quite believe that.

  “Timothy could have been skinny dipping,” Patricia offered. “Some kind of prank or dare gone wrong.”

  “Most likely,” Everett agreed.

  Patricia looked around. “Has anyone seen Aaron? He didn’t come to the lounge for coffee, so I thought he might be down here.”

  “He’s probably around somewhere,” Everett said. “Who can tell in this mob? I had no idea so many of us got up this early.”

  The rumble of an engine caused everyone to turn around. A black SUV had pulled in behind the ambulance, a stick-on blue light rotating silently over the driver’s door.

  “If everyone could please step back.” The campus police chief, Carl Davis, made his way from the edge of the pond to the vehicle that had just pulled up. He mopped his balding head with a crumpled paper napkin as he pushed people out of his way. “Clear a path, please!”

  “Oh, get over yourself, Carl, dear,” Everett muttered. “He must be auditioning for the lead role in CSI Birchwood Academy.”

  Darian watched as the SUV’s door opened and a tall, sandy-haired man emerged. He wasn’t in uniform. In fact, his green down vest over a blue-and-white checked flannel shirt, black jeans, and boots made him look less like a cop and more like a model from Darian’s favorite northern apparel catalog.

  Carl Davis, puffing from exertion, shoved the napkin in the hip pocket of his uniform trousers so he could motion Darian to follow him.

  “This way, Mr. Winter. The sheriff will want to talk to you first.”

  Everett casually fell into step behind them. “Taking his sweet time, isn’t he? I’m surprised he showed up at all. Probably thought someone was wasting his time with a hoax.”

  The sheriff and Chief Davis conferred quietly, their heads down, while the members of the crowd strained to hear what they were saying. At one point, both of them glanced up and directly at Darian. Then they turned away again. Finally Carl Davis retrieved his napkin and wiped his forehead again. The sheriff continued on toward Everett and Darian.

  “Argo Sullivan. Sheriff.” He didn’t extend a hand. “The two of you teach here?”

  Everett stuck his fists into his coat pockets and gave a slight sniff. “Mr. Winter and I are both faculty members at Birchwood Academy, yes.”

  Sullivan turned startling blue eyes on Darian. “And you’re the one who found the body?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “You were personally acquainted with the deceased?”

  “Of course,” said Everett. “We all knew Timothy Pryor. He was one of our more…colorful…students.” He bared his teeth in a defiant smile. “And by colorful I mean all the hues of the rainbow flag. You know.”

  Sullivan ignored him. He continued to stare at Darian. “What I mean is, you were able to identify the body on sight? Even from the shore?”

  “I’m sure it’s Timothy, yes.”

  Sullivan addressed Chief Davis. “I’ll need statements from everyone,” he said. “These two first.”

  “Does anyone know yet what happened?” Patricia slipped into the spot beside Darian. She addressed her question to the entire group, but Sheriff Sullivan answered.

  “We’re going to start figuring that out right now.” He raised both hands and his voice to address the crowd, which instantly fell silent. “I’m going to need everyone to clear the area. Please return to campus and refrain from speaking to one another about the—ah—the situation until I’ve had time to speak to you individually.”

  While he spoke, a patrol car pulled up behind the ambulance and the SUV. Two uniformed cops stepped out, followed by a third who seemed to be carrying a wetsuit. Sullivan motioned to Chief Davis, who took over the task of herding the onlookers away from the water.

  “Follow the deputies back to campus and wait for further instructions,” Davis ordered, though by then everyone was talking over him again. “The sheriff will speak to each of you in turn. Like he said, don’t discuss this case.”

  “Where’s Sebastian?” Darian asked Everett as they joined the throng hiking dutifully back up the muddy path toward the school. The sun was growing brighter, burning away the early-morning damp. He scanned the sea of faces surging around them in search of Timothy’s roommate. “I don’t see him here. He should be informed.”

  “I’m sure security will take care of it.” He paused for dramatic effect. “That is, if he doesn’t know already.”

  Walking behind them, Patricia overheard them. She craned her head forward to take part in their conversation. “You don’t think…well, that Sebastian was down here when it happened? I mean, surely he would have come for help if he saw Timothy having trouble in the water. He seems like such a responsible young man.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Everett said.

  When they got to the top of the hill, Darian glanced back at the pond. One of the cops had donned the wetsuit and waded into the shallows. A large plastic bag waited on the shore, the flaps peeled open. Soon Timothy would be zippered inside like a suit in a dry cleaning wrapper. Darian felt ill.

  He spent another moment or two watching Argo Sullivan stride along the bank, gesturing to the deputy in the water. Then Everett prodded his arm and he turned around and continued walking.

  The dining commons had just opened for the breakfast rush, but the private conference area at the back of the main seating area sat empty. The campus waitstaff waved everyone inside, and a cop shepherded everyone who had been present at the pond that morning to a designated cluster of tables in the corner. The other students watched with blatant curiosity as the parade of nervous faculty and staff members and a few of their peers shuffled past them and through the cafeteria’s rear door. Darian could feel the stares and hear the whispers from across the room. Darian felt more self-conscious about still being in his sweats than he did about being escorted by a uniformed guard. There had been no opportunity to change into a suit while he waited for the emergency responders.

  “I need to inform everyone that all classes are canceled for the day,” the deputy informed them once they were all seated. The name on his uniform read Cutler. “Please remain here while we work out a few details. The sheriff will call you up one at a time when he’s ready for you. One of us will escort you to him. He wants to remind all of you not to talk about anything that happened this morning. Save the information for your interview.”

  “May we at least have coffee?” Everett asked.

  “We’ll see about bringing some in,” the deputy said.

  At the tables, everyone looked miserable as they struggled to talk about other things. The conversation sounded forced, unnatural, like a badly written and awkwardly acted play. Eventually two dining hall workers pushed in a cart bearing coffee fixings and a tray of doughnuts and fruit-filled Danishes. Darian helped himself, but nothing he put into his mouth seemed to have any flavor. He recalled reading somewhere that sugar was effe
ctive when someone had experienced shock, so he added an extra spoonful to be on the safe side.

  When he returned to his table and watched Patricia take his place in the line, he thought back to their conversation in the lounge about wedding catering. “I wonder if Jake ever thought of working here,” he mused. “Seems like it would be easier than trying to run a restaurant in town. A lot more job security.”

  Everett rolled his eyes. “Oh, please! The hours might be better and the pay steadier, but can you imagine what a lifetimes of shoveling out scrambled eggs and French fries would do to a chef’s sensitive soul?”

  “Probably the same thing teaching ninth-grade English does to an aspiring poet’s?”

  “Exactly,” said Everett.

  Darian nodded. Jake and Patricia’s restaurant in town, Into the Wood, served as the go-to venue for off-campus faculty dinners and the occasional function, but Patricia was always frank about how hard the work was and how slim the profit margin. On the other hand, there was probably nothing like owning one’s own business and doing things in a way that made sense. Not that teachers ever had the option of buying and running their own private schools. They had to make do with the bureaucracies already in place.

  Soon enough, Chief Davis returned and hurried over to confer with Deputy Cutler. Within moments, things began happening. One by one, people were summoned to follow Chief Davis from the room. No one returned, leading Darian to believe they were being hustled out of a back door somewhere. That way, they wouldn’t influence each other’s testimony.

  “Everett Finch?” Deputy Cutler called. Everett stood.

  “My turn in the hot seat,” he whispered to Darian. “I’ll try to call you later. I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about.”

  That was an understatement, Darian thought. He waited a while longer, finishing his coffee and getting himself another without as much sugar. Maybe the first spoonful had done the trick, since his thoughts were no longer racing and his hands no longer trembled. Or maybe that was just the effect of time passing. He calculated that they’d been in the conference room for an hour at least.