Murder at Birchwood Pond Page 22

  Chapter 16

  Three hours later, Darian’s back and shoulders screamed like they’d been stretched on a medieval rack. His eyes were bleary, and his temples throbbed. Argo summed up their progress perfectly when he tossed a four-pound anthology of eighteenth-century poetry to the floor and let out a stream of colorful curse words.

  “Useless. Where did I get this ridiculous idea in the first place? And why didn’t you try to talk me out of it?”

  “Because I didn’t think it necessarily was a bad idea. And I still don’t.”

  Argo glowered at him. “Does that mean you’ve found something?”

  “Well…no. But I don’t discount the possibility.”

  “Sorry. I know you’re doing your best…and you have been a big help, don’t get me wrong. I just worry I might have let my own wishful thinking carry me away. Maybe my uncle really was a troubled old man who couldn’t live with himself another day. Maybe he had good reason to hate himself enough to take his own life.”

  “We don’t need to give up yet. I trust your cop’s instinct. We might very well be on the right track. We just have to uncover some evidence.”

  “How?” Argo waved his hands at the open boxes and their displaced contents and sighed in exasperation. “We’re read through dozens of yearbooks, stacks of unclaimed student papers, and three decades’ worth of Birchwood campus newspapers. We haven’t found a single clue, probably because we don’t even know what we’re looking for. I’m beginning to think it’s all hopeless.”

  In the silence that followed, an impression that had been floating nebulously through Darian’s mind for the past several hours finally began to take an unpleasant shape.

  “Maybe not,” he said. “You might not like this too much, but I’m going to say it anyway. By coming here, we may have hit on a lead—just not in the way we were expecting to. This has nothing to do with Timothy and Aaron, but after all, we don’t have any real proof that all three deaths are connected. And we shouldn’t discount any idea at this stage, right?”

  Argo listened intently, wearing his cop face again. “Go on.”

  “Well…your sister’s husband didn’t think much of your Uncle Rod, that’s for sure. And we know your Uncle Rod opposed his relationship with Maddy. Maybe Warren decided to remove an obstacle.”

  “Farfetched, you have to admit.” Argo raked a hand through his hair, but Darian got the sense he wasn’t as surprised as he tried to sound. Had the same idea already occurred to him? “Warren was just a kid.”

  “A teenager. And I don’t have to tell you teenaged boys are capable of things we might not expect. Terrible ones included.”

  Argo nodded, and Darian knew he was thinking of Timothy as well. “Okay. True. It’s also possible Rod’s gayness freaked him out. I’ve seen that happen, too.”

  “Maybe the reason he avoids you isn’t because he’s uncomfortable with you being gay. Maybe it’s because you’re a cop.”

  “I hope not.” Argo looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling and blew out a breath. “Man, I really hope not.”

  A tap on the attic door interrupted them. Maddy came in and surveyed the mess of books and loose papers spread across the floor.

  “Any luck?”

  Darian answered for both of them. “None, I’m afraid. But that’s not much of a shock, considering we weren’t sure what we were after anyhow.”

  “Time for a dinner break,” Maddy said. “Warren called and says he’s going to check into a motel while he makes some emergency pellet deliveries, so it’s just us three. Wash up and come on down when you’re ready.”

  Argo eyed his sister skeptically. “Does he do that a lot? Stay out overnight, I mean?”

  “Sometimes. It’s all right. I don’t want him driving late at night, tired and on narrow mountain roads. I trust him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Dinner sounds good,” Darian said as tension rose between them. “We could both use a break. It might help us think more clearly.”

  Maddy pointed to the junk on the floor. “You can leave all this where it is. It’ll still be here after dinner.”

  “Okay.” Argo sighed. “We’ll be right down, sis.”

  “See you in a few minutes.” Maddy flashed Darian a look of gratitude and clomped back downstairs.

  “We won’t say anything to her just yet,” Argo cautioned him when they were alone. “Not until we have more to go on.”

  “It’s your family. Your call.”

  “Trust me, I know.” Argo heaved himself to his feet and gave Darian a hand up, too.

  They found Maddy making grilled cheese sandwiches in a pan on the stove. A bowl of salad already sat on the kitchen table.

  “How can we help?” Argo asked.

  “You can get me a beer from the fridge.” Still busy with the spatula, Maddy poked her chin in that direction. “Get yourself one, too. And Darian if he wants one.”

  Soon the three of them were at the kitchen table. Darian couldn’t help but notice how much lighter the atmosphere seemed without Warren’s oppressive presence. For Argo’s sake, he hoped his wild theory about Uncle Rod’s death was way off base. The more he mulled it over, though, the more he worried that he might have stumbled onto a genuine lead.

  While they ate, Maddy kept her gaze trained on Argo. Finishing her beer seemed to give her courage. “Now that we’re alone, Sheriff, can I ask you some questions?”

  “Sure.” Argo polished off his second sandwich in a few quick bites. “Ask away. Whether or not I can answer is a different story.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you told me about what happened at the school—the student and the teacher’s death, and how they might be connected. I want to know where and how Uncle Rod fits in.”

  “I—or we—aren’t sure he does. We lost a troubled student and an equally troubled teacher. One or both of them most likely committed suicide. At this point, we don’t know much else, or if there even is anything else to know.”

  “Investigating their deaths brought it all back for you, I suppose.”

  “Exactly,” Argo said. Darian wondered if Maddy guessed exactly how heavily, and how often, their uncle’s death had weighed down her brother’s psyche over the years.

  “I assume Argo told you what happened,” Maddy said, turning to Darian. “The official story was that Uncle Rod slipped and fell into the pond. The unofficial version, which most people believed without too much argument, was that he killed himself because he’d been involved with a student—or maybe even more than one.”

  “No student ever came forward, though,” Argo told her. “As far as we know, it was never more than a rumor.”

  Darian nodded sympathetically, deciding not to repeat Jeanette’s unsavory story to Maddy. “If it’s any consolation, we haven’t found any proof that any such thing happened. Not that we wanted to, but you and Argo deserve closure.”

  “You don’t accept either of those possibilities, though, do you? You think Uncle Rod was murdered.” Neither Maddy’s voice nor her face betrayed the slightest touch of emotion. “And you suspect Warren of killing him.”

  Argo barely stopped himself from dropping his beer, and Darian almost choked on the bite of salad he’d just taken.

  “Of course not,” Argo said, too quickly. “I don’t know,” he amended.

  “It’s okay.” Maddy exhaled slowly as she sank back in her chair. “I admit I’ve wondered myself over the years.”

  “You did?” Argo’s expression went slack with astonishment. Darian felt his own jaw start to drop as well.

  “Warren was furious after the weekend of the rugby match. He told me Uncle Rod had practically taunted him about not being good enough for me—for our family. He was just like our dad as far as Uncle Rod was concerned, who he always believed ruined Mom’s chances for a better life. Warren knew he would never be as wealthy or as academically accomplished as the Birchwood boys. To this day, his insecurity eats away at him. That’s w
hy I try to be patient with him.”

  “Is it just insecurity?” Argo asked boldly. “Or could it be guilt?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question more than once,” Maddy confessed. “None of us can choose the environment we’re born into, as you and I know all too well. Warren had even more to overcome than we did. But he did it, and he built a decent life for the two of us and Brittany. At some level, he knows that. At another level, he’s always that scared kid wondering if it’s all some kind of dream he could lose in a heartbeat. Still….” She paused as if to steel herself. “I’ve never told anyone about this. The week Uncle Rod died, Warren and I had a fight. He specifically brought up the fact that Uncle Rod could probably find me a more suitable boyfriend from Birchwood—maybe one of Uncle Rod’s own castoffs, was the way he put it. I got mad, told him he was disgusting, and we split up for a couple of weeks. Eventually he came back, we talked it over, and he proposed. To this day, I don’t know where he was during the time we weren’t speaking. Could he have driven to Birchwood and confronted Uncle Rod? I don’t think so…but it’s possible.”

  Argo digested the information slowly, anger and then sorrow flickering across his face. Finally he reached out and placed his hand over hers. “I wish you’d told me, Maddy.”

  “I almost did, more than once. Every time, I convinced myself I was just being silly. Maybe at some level I didn’t want to know the truth. So I went on pretending everything was fine. And most likely it is. But every now and then…I speculate.”

  For a long time, the three of them sat with their heads down. The only sound was the scrape of Maddy’s fork in her salad bowl. Finally Darian forced himself to break the silence.

  “So Warren was angry because he thought your Uncle Rod insulted him. Is that enough of a motive for murder? I mean, it wasn’t like your uncle could really stop you from marrying him if that’s what you wanted.” He didn’t look at Argo, who had to be marveling at his hypocrisy. After all, Darian had been the one to suggest Warren as a suspect in the first place.

  Maddy kept her head bowed. Darian heard her breathing quicken, as though she were trying not to cry.

  “There could be another reason. The weekend of the rugby match, Warren told me he struck up a conversation with one of the teenaged guys serving the food.”

  “And?” Argo encouraged when she trailed off.

  “Warren said they were joking together about how entitled and stuck up the Birchwood crowd was, and they sort of connected.” Maddy seemed to grow calmer the more she talked. Her voice took on a resigned quality, as though she’d spent a long time preparing for this very moment. “Then the other boy told Warren that the Birchwood crowd didn’t have anything to be so high and mighty about, considering the sort of thing they got up to behind closed doors. The boy serving the food said that he’d been propositioned by one of the male teachers. An old man, he said.”

  “Damn it,” Argo said quietly.

  “Warren was outraged. He was sure the boy was talking about Uncle Rod.”

  This, Darian knew, was the incident Jeanette had referred to in her office. The match that set the whole unsavory powder keg alight.

  “You mean Warren saw himself as some kind of avenging angel?” he asked quietly.

  Argo shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like Warren’s style.”

  “Normally it wouldn’t be, but in this case…he wouldn’t want me to tell anyone about this, so keep it to yourselves unless it becomes absolutely necessary. Warren told me that when he was young, there was a creepy man in his neighborhood. Some things happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but it affected him the way it would affect anyone. So when he heard that…” She spread her hands open on the table in a gesture of helplessness. “I really don’t know any details. I can only guess what might have gone through his mind.”

  “I’m sorry,” Darian said, directing his apology at both Maddy and the younger version of Warren. And Argo, too, for that matter. “How awful.”

  “That sucks, for sure,” Argo said with a brusque nod. “At the same time, it doesn’t excuse murder. Especially not Uncle Rod’s.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. And if he was responsible….Oh, this is crazy. I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Warren a murderer? Argo, tell me I’m floating away from the dock here.”

  Argo didn’t. “Maddy…if he really was murdered, we both did Uncle Rod a disservice all these years by not wanting to see it. By blaming him for his weakness. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. It does.” When she raised her head, Maddy’s eyes, intense and blue like her brother’s, shone with tears. “Find out what happened, Argo. Even if it was my husband. I need to know.”

  “I will.” Argo’s fingers squeezed his sister’s. Then he pulled back and Maddy stood.

  “Wait here a minute. I have something to show you.” She left the room for and came back carrying a large blue binder. “While you were in the attic, I dug this out. It’s an old photo album from when we used to visit Uncle Rod...back before everything went digital.” She flashed Darian a quiet smile. “Do you even remember 35-millimeter film, Darian?”

  Darian smiled. “Vaguely. Didn’t cavepeople use it at the dinosaur zoo?”

  “Smartass.” Maddy smirked at him. “Anyway, maybe these old pictures can help you make sense of it all. I’m not sure how.”

  “They might,” Argo said. “Thanks.”

  “You can take them upstairs and go through them when you’re done in the attic. I’m going to watch TV in my room for a while. Would you mind loading the dishwasher before you go up again? It’s been a long day.”

  Darian couldn’t disagree with that. “We’d be happy to,” he told her as she left the room. He leaned over to watch as Argo paged through the albums, uncovering shots of much younger versions of himself and Maddy, along with friends and older family members at various parties and holiday gatherings. Darian picked out Uncle Rod in a few of the photos, posing stiffly in a bow tie and haughty expression.

  They soon found the photos taken at Birchwood. The campus hadn’t changed at all, though the trees Darian saw every day had been much smaller in those days.

  “Is that the rugby tournament she was talking about at lunch?” Darian asked, pointing to a photo of Maddy and a sullen teenaged boy standing in front of a colorful banner decorated with sports motifs. “And is that Warren?”

  “Sure is.” Hastily Argo turned the page to find another group of Birchwood-themed pictures, clearly taken at the same event. The crowd was larger than Darian had expected, consisting of not only students and faculty but a large number of parents and alumni families. Uncle Rod appeared in several of these photos, too, lurking in the background of shots featuring Warren or Maddy.

  “I should have gone that weekend. I could easily have made time to be there. To be honest, though, I thought it sounded kind of boring,” Argo grumbled. “I feel guilty about skipping so many of those types of events now. I think they meant a lot to Uncle Rod. The whole school did, along with all its traditions. I wish I’d realized that at the time. I was more likely to poke fun than take part. That must have hurt him.”

  “I’m sure he understood. You had your own life to lead, in your way. He wouldn’t have resented that.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Argo turned the page again.

  A familiar face beamed out of the corner of a photo taken near one of the many food tents.

  “Look, there’s Jeannette, back in her teaching days,” Darian exclaimed. “She hasn’t changed all that much, has she? Everyone looks like they’re having a great time, including your uncle.”

  “Sad to think he had so little time left.” Argo’s shoulders slumped. They had reached the last page. “Well, this was interesting in a historical sense, but I guess it’s just another dead end. Come on. We’ll put the attic back the way it was and hit the sack. Maddy’s right—it’s been a long day, and we have to head back in the morning. At least you got to meet her, so the trip wasn’t
a total waste.”

  “It wasn’t.” Darian placed a hand on Argo’s arm and leaned closer to him. “Anyway, how could spending an entire day, plus two nights in a row, with you ever be a waste of time? I’ve enjoyed every minute of it in that sense.”

  “Thanks. That helps.” Argo’s eyelids crinkled as he cracked a weary smile. Darian bent forward and they kissed over the open photo album—lightly, but with a promise of more to come once they got upstairs. Or at least Darian hoped so. As he got up, he glanced down at the album one last time before Argo put it away. A person standing behind Jeannette caught his eye.

  “Argo, wait a minute. Look at that.”

  “What?”

  Darian tapped the photo with his index finger. “Who does that look like to you?”

  Scowling, Argo lifted the book and angled it toward the light. “Can’t be.”

  “I think it is.”

  The two of them bent closer. Beside one of the food tents, a tall young man in a catering uniform wielded a gigantic metal serving spoon. He was staring right at the back of Roderick’s head as the shutter snapped, his mouth turned down in a grimace. The face was youthful, but familiar to both of them. It belonged to Jake Woodley.

  “They were all there together,” Darian said. “Jake, Warren, and your uncle.”

  “So Jake knows more than he’s been telling us.” Argo slapped the book shut. “We need to talk to him again. Immediately.”

  A busy Sunday brunch was in progress by the time they got back to Jake and Patricia’s restaurant. Through the picture windows, they watched the waitstaff, including Jake himself, rushing around with trays, water pitchers, and coffee pots.

  “He’s not likely to cause a commotion in front of this many customers, is he?” Darian asked. Privately, he wished they’d waited until a more reasonable hour to confront Jake, but even eight a.m. was a compromise. Argo had wanted to leave Maddy’s on Saturday night and roar back up the highway for an immediate interview, but Darian had managed to talk him out of that. Just the same, they’d spent a tense night, with Argo hardly sleeping at all as far as Darian could tell. The anticipated follow-up to their quick kiss over the photo album had never happened, either. Argo was in no mood for distraction of any kind.