Murder at Birchwood Pond Read online

  “With both deaths staged to look like suicides. Just like Uncle Roderick.”

  “The way I see it, we have three possibilities. Coincidence, which I tend not to believe in when it comes to criminal activity, a copycat who took inspiration from the original case, or a killer who engineered each death.”

  As if on cue, a ferocious blast of rain and thunder shook the house. Instinctively Darian scooted closer to Argo and took his hand. He could tell that sharing such a delicate and personal subject made Argo physically uncomfortable. Luckily, he had a solution for relieving Argo’s crushing stress.

  “Your fingers are cold. I’m still shivering just from walking from my car to the front door, too.”

  “I suppose you’re about to suggest we do something to warm up.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Friday night. That means I don’t have to get up early tomorrow. So yes, as a matter of fact, I was.”

  Again the hint of a smile fluttered over Argo’s face. This time his eyes softened, too, and his fingers tightened around Darian’s.

  “Do one thing for me,” he said, his voice little more than a raspy whisper. “Let’s not talk for a while. I’ve had enough questioning and confessing for one day. Why don’t we leave it all till tomorrow? Maybe taking a break, just for a few hours, will clear my head enough that I can make some sense of this mess.”

  Darian ’s eyes gave his answer. Then he lifted Argo’s hand to his mouth and rubbed those sturdy, calloused knuckles over his lips.

  Lead the way, Argo mouthed. They stood up together.

  Their first encounter had been tentative, almost awkward, as they had fumbled to find out what one another liked. This time, their coupling was fierce, frantic, and unrestrained. Argo paused only long enough to slap on rubber and lube before he slammed his way into Darian’s willing depths. While he rocked, thrust, and pumped, he reached down and used his fist to jolt Darian into a delicious spasm of his own. Every movement was rough, primal, almost barbaric. And Darian loved every unfettered moment of it. In fact, he realized, he could fall in love with Argo all too easily.

  In the morning, they enjoyed a filling breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon coffee in Darian’s cozy kitchen, leaning over the small table with Argo wearing Darian’s spare bathrobe. In spite of the gloomy task ahead of them, Argo’s mood seemed happier and lighter than Darian had ever seen it before. Their second night together was responsible for some of that, of course, but getting everything out in the open had also eased the burden from his shoulders and spirit. Darian could only imagine how heavily the uncertainty about Roderick’s death had weighed on him over the years.

  “It’s funny,” Argo said, nursing his coffee cup and apparently deep in thought. “Now that we have an entire weekend to work on the case together, I’m starting to think I might be hallucinating the whole thing. After all, there’s no proof that any of the three deaths were anything other than suicide. My uncle was facing more embarrassment than he could handle, Timothy was afraid of disappointing his father, and Aaron couldn’t handle coming out. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But it would be better if we could resolve the issue one way or another. Maybe you could tell me more about Roderick. That might suggest some new leads we could follow.”

  Argo nodded. He seemed to have an easier time talking about his uncle today. “He and my grandmother—his sister—grew up in one of those crummy mill towns you drive through on the way to Boston, but don’t want to stop in. As soon as he could, he got out by using his academic talent. The rest of the family wasn’t what you’d call intellectual. They worked in trades, factories, and drank too much. That included my father for sure. Uncle Rod was smart enough to leave all that behind.”

  “But he and your mother stayed close?”

  “I got the sense he always wanted more for her, but she did what most women in my community did as married young. My father died when I was still a teenager—alcohol was to blame, I’m sure, though we never talked about it in those terms. After that, my mom’s uncle stepped up to take care of us. He came to visit during ever school break, and we visited him here in the summer sometimes. He was distant, but we knew he cared. And I know he supported us financially.”

  “When did you realize he was gay?”

  “I never really thought about it until I had the same feelings myself. Then I understood why he never married. It wasn’t just devotion to his career, which was the way my grandmother brushed it off back in the day.”

  “Did he have any relationships?”

  “None that I ever knew about. Not that he would have told me. But he was always the solitary type. That’s probably why he fantasized about the young men at the school—or at least why people could easily believe he did.” Argo closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I remember his funeral. We had it back in our hometown, of course—less gossip that way.”

  “Did anyone from Birchwood come?”

  “Yep. Your headmistress, though she wasn’t in charge of the place back then, volunteered to be faculty representative.”

  Darian’s eyes widened. “Jeanette was there?”

  “It was her, all right. Not that she remembers me now. How could she? She didn’t say a word to any of the family. Just stood there during the service, looking official, and slipped out the minute it was over. Everybody knew the accident story was a cover up, even then, but we all understood we had to go along with it. For the insurance, my mother said. Not to mention because of what people would say. At the time, that was fine with me. The Birchwood crowd never bothered with us after that. And we sure as hell didn’t contact them.”

  “So no one presently at Birchwood knows the connection between you and Roderick?”

  “Why would they? Our last names were different, and all Birchwood wanted to do was keep things quiet. As far as the public was concerned, it was a tragic accident. The insiders probably wondered why he didn’t kill himself earlier.”

  He banged down his cup. Darian stroked his wrist.

  “Argo, don’t do that to yourself. Times have changed. You’ve changed. We can still find justice for your uncle.”

  “Justice.” Argo snorted. “You want to talk about hypocrisy? The Birchwood people weren’t the only ones. I was just as bad. I believed what they said about him killing himself because he couldn’t control his urges anymore. I resented him for leaving me to deal with my sexuality on my own. And even worse, I was worried that I’d turn out suicidal, like him. Can you imagine? After I’d spent half my childhood admiring him and looking up to him as a role model.” He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I’m glad he didn’t live long enough to see me betray him.”

  “You were confused and grieving. It’s understandable given the rumors you heard. You’ve done great since then. You’re a strong, proud man who’s comfortable with who he is. Your uncle would have been amazed and maybe even envious of your courage.”

  “I’ve tried to live my life honestly, in part because of what I saw him go through. I didn’t want that for myself. I wonder if he really would have approved.” Abruptly Argo got up and went to the counter for more coffee. Darian got up and followed him.

  “Maybe not out loud. That generation’s habits die hard. But he definitely would have admired you.”

  Argo’s face, not yet shaved, felt sandpapery against his lips. Smiling, Darian kissed his way down Argo’s rocky left shoulder, inhaling the mingled scent of warm skin and ocean-scented shower gel.

  “You’re not exactly objective, though, are you?” Laughing softly, Argo turned to get the creamer carton from the fridge. He paused to examine a magnet-framed photo stuck to the door. A seven-year-old boy, mop-topped and suntanned, posed between two women on a beach with an enormous pink shell in his hands. “This is you, I assume?”

  “Got it in one. Gee, you really are a cop.”

  Argo leaned closer for a better look. His hand curled around Darian’s, keeping him close. “You seem like a
happy little family.”

  “We are.”

  “You were a pretty cute kid. You’re still cute now, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Luckily, I grew a little taller and got a more stylish haircut. But the foundation was there all along.”

  “Your moms never talked about having a second rugrat?”

  “Not to me. I guess I was enough of a handful. Better to break the mold.”

  Argo turned to face him again. “Did you ever wish you weren’t an only child?”

  “I never thought about it that much. It was just the way things were. Now, sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like. But I had a decent childhood. Normal and uneventful. That’s a plus when you’re a kid.” Darian smiled at the memory of long, sun-filled days and peaceful family-centered evenings. The three of them had carved out a happy little world of their own. He missed that sometimes. Maybe one day he could recreate it with a partner of his own. He wondered if Argo might be thinking the same thing. “You don’t mention your sister much. Are you close?”

  “Reasonably. She’s busy with her job and her own family.”

  “A daughter, right? I saw the pictures at your house. I get the feeling you take being an uncle pretty seriously.”

  “I don’t intend to make the mistakes Uncle Rod made, that’s for sure. If anything happened to Warren, my brother-in-law, Maddy knows I’d be there for her and Brittany. For the long haul.”

  “Circumstances permitting, you mean,” Darian said quietly. “Like you said before, it’s possible your Uncle Rod didn’t leave you behind willingly.”

  Argo grunted in response, dropping Darian’s hand as his expression grew distant. Darian began to wish he hadn’t broken the mood. Then, with a thoughtful look, Argo glanced up at the wall clock.

  “You know, I just got a crazy idea. Hang tight for a minute.”

  He left the kitchen and headed for the bedroom, where his clothes still lay scattered on the floor. Darian waited by the entrance to the kitchen, puzzled. He could hear the rumble of Argo’s voice as he talked on the phone, though he couldn’t make out any of the words or figure out whom he was talking to.

  Eventually Argo came back. He’d taken the opportunity to shed Darian’s too-tight robe and put his jeans and t-shirt back on. His feet were still bare, which Darian found unexpectedly sexy.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, enjoying the sight of those long, perfectly formed toes.

  “My sister had some of Uncle Roderick’s stuff boxed up at her place. Turns out she still has it. I suggested I pick it up and bring it back here so we can examine it for clues. Then Maddy came up with a better idea. How quickly can you pack a bag?”

  “You mean like a suitcase? I guess it wouldn’t take that long. Why?”

  “Good. Because we’re invited to her place for an overnight visit.”

  “Overnight?” Darian blinked. “Is that okay? I mean, with your job and everything?”

  “Of course it’s okay. I’m not officially investigating anything at this point. Aaron’s death was ruled a likely suicide, remember? No foul play suspected.”

  “But…she doesn’t want me there, too, does she?”

  “Yep. You too. Tell you what. I’ll run home and grab a few things while you put your overnight stuff together. I’ll be back to pick you up in about half an hour. Will that work?”

  “Well, sure, but I…I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “No intrusion. She specifically told me to bring you.”

  “Come on. That’s impossible. How would she even know I exist?”

  An endearing blush darkened Argo’s stubble-shadowed cheeks. “Well, I might have mentioned you to her once, maybe twice, when we talked on the phone before.”

  “You did? What did you tell her?”

  “Never mind that now. The point is, Darian, be careful what you wish for. This afternoon, you’re going to meet my family. Or at least what’s left of it.”

  Chapter 15

  On their way north, Argo briefed Darian about his sister, Maddy, and her family. On both sides of the highway, the trees grew thick and tall. The recent rainstorm had torn away their colorful foliage by the handful and scattered it over the wet pavement. In some places, clumps of dark red leaves looked like wide pools of blood.

  “She’s the head nurse in a maternity ward now, making a good living and doing something important besides. She seems to like it. Her husband, Warren, is a different story. He went to college, but didn’t make it very far. Now he has a business delivering wood pellets for people who burn them for heat. In the summer he picks up construction jobs and light trucking.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It doesn’t to me, either, but he’s one of those angry types, chip on his shoulder all the time. Resents anyone he thinks is doing better than he is, which is just about everyone.”

  “Sounds like he’s disappointed in life. It happens.”

  “I guess. On the whole, though, he’s been better to me than I would have expected, considering.”

  “Is that your way of saying he isn’t homophobic?” Darian worried that Maddy had invited him along without consulting with her husband first, a potential recipe for an uncomfortable situation.

  “If he is, he keeps it well hidden. But no, I’d have to say it’s not an act. He’s always seemed more or less accepting of me, though he wasn’t crazy about Uncle Rod. But that might have been for other reasons.”

  “He knew your uncle Rod?”

  “Yeah. He and Maddy have been together since high school. She brought him up to Birchwood a couple of times with my mom and me. It wasn’t a mutual admiration society as far as I could tell. I think Uncle Rod thought Maddy could do better. He was probably right.”

  Gradually, the scenery began to change. The bright yellow and red swatches dotting the landscape gave way to a vast tapestry of burnished copper. Foliage season here was already over, and soon it would be gone from Birchwood, too. Darian wondered how far they were from the Canadian border.

  “What inspired her to settle way up here? Must be bleak in the winter.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. I have a feeling it was his idea. He wanted to be away from people. My niece is nothing like him. She just left for college in Boston.”

  “That’ll be quite a change.”

  “Yeah, but I can see her reasoning. What kind of opportunities are there for young people out in the boonies? I mean, unless your life’s ambition is to be a lumberjack—or maybe a small-town sheriff.” He laughed. “Working at a hospital, you know, I could have seen Maddy marrying a doctor, but Warren’s still the one she wants. Life is funny like that, you know? No telling who you might end up with.”

  “Funny thing, that.”

  Argo turned to look at Darian, sharing a smile.

  “I wonder how they’re adjusting to not having Brittany there. Either they like having the house all to themselves again or they’re running out of things to say to each other.” He paused, and Darian saw his mouth tighten a little. “Brittany wants to major in computer science, but she’s really good at music—I mean really good. She’s been playing violin since she was seven years old. Classical stuff, like Mozart—Uncle Rod loved all that. I think he would have been proud of her.”

  Darian heard the stab of loss in his voice. If someone had helped Roderick into an early grave, he had done more than deprive a man of his life. He had also deprived Argo and probably Maddy of their entire support system, and Brittany of an important guiding influence.

  “No doubt about it,” he said.

  They pulled into Maddy and Warren’s gravel driveway just before lunchtime. Though it lay at the end of a long and otherwise unpopulated road, the house was less rustic than Darian had imagined, though a tractor and a snowplow sat off to one side of the garage. The open door revealed an assortment of landscaping and woodworking tools, organized on metal shelves and standing in rows along the walls.

  Before Argo had even stepped out o
f the car, a side door opened and a tall woman with shoulder-length sandy-brown hair emerged. She hurried over to hug her brother.

  “It’s good to see you, Argo.” Her large, bright blue eyes leveled a more feminine version of Argo’s intense gaze at Darian. “And this is Darian, I assume.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Darian said. He reached out to shake her hand, but instead she gave him a quick hug, too.

  “Come on inside. We fired up the grill on the back porch. Might as well use it before the weather turns bad. Warren’s been poking at it for an hour already.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Argo said. “We’re starved. Long drive.”

  “At least the sky cleared up. Would have been a miserable trip in the rain.”

  “We would have come anyway.” Argo turned serious. “I told you why.”

  “Yes. Well, we can talk about that later, after we’ve had lunch.”

  She led them through a well-kept living room with a huge flat-screen TV and a sectional sofa on either side of a large stone hearth. The subtle aroma of a recent fire drifted on the air, and Darian imagined himself and Argo spending a lazy evening in front of it. Suddenly the prospect of remote country living seemed a lot more appealing.

  “Go ahead out.” Maddy gestured to a sliding glass door. “I’ll get the plates and things.”

  On the back deck, they found Warren fiddling with the grill, an array of metal tongs and skewers, along with several different barbeque sauces in squeeze bottles, arranged around him. A platter of hamburger patties and hot dogs, covered with plastic wrap, awaited the flames. His longish dark hair, gray at the sides, stuck out from under a baseball cap. He’d shaved off the beard Darian had seen in the photo, though dense whiskers dotted his somewhat jowly face. He wiped his hand on his sweatshirt and extended it to Argo.