Murder at Birchwood Pond Read online

  “Was the feeling mutual?” Argo asked.

  “I have no reason to doubt it. Aaron trusted Everett. He looked up to him. He knew Everett understood his struggle with loneliness and not fitting in.”

  “I’m sorry, Quin, if I’m putting this indelicately, but do you think Everett and Aaron…well, might have experimented a bit?” Argo finished his coffee and set the empty cup down. Quin got up, went back to the kitchen, and refilled it.

  “I wouldn’t be shocked if they had,” Quin admitted when he returned. “In retrospect, many things have begun to make sense since Aaron’s death. Yet that level of alienation transcends sexuality, doesn’t it?”

  Argo shook his head. “Too deep for me. I’m just a cop, not a scholar. I deal in reality and specifics.”

  “Well, if you put it like that, I can only hope that Aaron was able to slake his deep longing before his untimely death. And before you ask, yes, it’s possible that Everett played a role in stirring up Aaron’s emotions. He often waxed poetic to me about the beauty of male love. The way he described it would have made anyone curious. I assume Aaron, already drifting in that direction, would have been doubly captivated.”

  Something in the way he said, with just a hint of melancholy, it caught Darian’s attention. What about you, Quin? he wanted to ask of Everett’s long-ago student. Across the table, he saw Argo’s eyebrows lift. But Argo had a different question.

  “Would Everett have put any pressure on Aaron to…shall we say…explore these newfound desires?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” Quin shrugged. “My guess would be no. On the other hand, how sad it would be if Aaron never got to experience something wanted so badly. If Everett eased his pain, even temporarily, I’d interpret that as an act of kindness.”

  Darian’s pulse quickened. Quin’s information, taken in conjunction with what Jake had told him, painted an unnerving picture. He glanced at the clock on the microwave, worried that Everett might walk in at any moment and overhear what they were talking about. Argo wouldn’t want him tipped off before they got him back to the police station.

  “What if the experience wasn’t beautiful for Aaron?” he forced himself to ask. “What if…what if Aaron believed Everett had taken advantage of him, and he threatened to expose Everett in some way? What would Everett do then?”

  He’d expected Quin to leap to Everett’s defense, reminding Darian and Argo of the man’s many years of loyal service to the college as well as their longstanding friendship. Instead, Quin sighed and went back to fiddling with his cup. It seemed to take him forever to answer. By then Argo had finished half his second cup of coffee.

  “I guess that’s a possibility. Everett always meant well. He tended to overestimate his effect on other men, though. He often assumed love when it was really just admiration.”

  “Did that happen with his students, too?” Argo pressed. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. An interesting interrogation technique, Darian reflected.

  “He’s had affairs with some of them over the years. No point in denying it. However, they were always over eighteen and always willing. Everett made sure of that.”

  “Are we talking about encounters that happened in the past, or more recently?” Darian asked.

  Quin’s jaw set defensively. “You mean Timothy? I know there was communication between them. Playful messages. A little flirtation. Beyond that, I couldn’t say.”

  “Venture a guess,” Argo said. This time, his words sounded low-pitched and dragged out, like they were coming from a sound-distorting speaker. Frankly, he sounded exhausted. But then, thanks to their somewhat breakneck drive earlier that morning and the stress Jake’s revelations had caused, both of them were.

  Darian was feeling it, too. He took a long drink of coffee, hoping the caffeine would rouse him.

  Noticing, Quin stood up. “This conversation’s getting a little intense, isn’t it? Let me get you another round.”

  He went back to the kitchen and returned with the entire glass coffeepot. He took his time refilling Argo’s cup and topping off Darian’s. Finally he put the coffeepot down beside the creamer and sugar and returned to his seat. “So where were we?” he asked.

  Oddly, for a moment Darian couldn’t remember. He glanced at Argo, who looked a bit confused as well.

  “Timothy,” Argo finally grumbled. “His relationship with Everett.”

  Right, Darian thought. The blackmail angle. Sex for grades. Crazy idea. Bound to get caught. He thought he said it out loud, but neither Quin nor Argo looked at him. So maybe he hadn’t. Irritably, he struggled not to close his eyes, just for a moment or two. He had a feeling he might face-plant right there on Everett’s kitchen table. He’d never hear the end of that from Argo.

  Quin interlocked his fingers in front of him and squared his shoulders like he was gearing up for an important announcement. Darian wished he would get on with it, and Everett would come back already, so they could get this over with. Then he could go home and crawl into bed. Hopefully Argo would slip under the covers with him. Either way, he seriously needed to catch up on some sleep.

  “All right,” Quin said. His voice sounded odd and distant, like someone speaking from another room. “Since you want my opinion, I would have to say yes, I think he had sex with Timothy. If he did, though, I’m convinced Timothy initiated it. That kid was always out for himself, a regular con artist. Everett was just another means to an end.”

  “So Timothy was…taking advantage.” Argo blinked and paused to rub his forehead, and Darian realized that he was tired, too. It wasn’t even afternoon yet, and already they’d had a long day. And if what Quin was saying held water, it was about to get longer.

  “Of course. What else would it be? Not a genuine attraction, that’s for certain. No. Timothy was about to flunk out of Birchwood, his gap year a complete bust. His father, the irascible bastard, would have been furious.”

  Argo tried to speak again, but he seemed unable to get the words out. Darian watched, bleary-eyed, as his brows sank in frustration and Quin held up a hand.

  “I know what you’re going to say next. Did Everett lure the kid to the pond and put a stop to his extortion? Well, Sheriff, let me tell you the truth. I find such a scenario hard to imagine, but not quite as hard to believe. In other words, it’s possible. Maybe even probable.”

  Clearly startled, Argo grappled for a hold on the edge of the table. “Wha’ ’bout Aaron?” he mumbled.

  “Oh, Everett definitely killed Aaron, too.” Quin’s placid smile seemed to go on and on, extending to the very corners of the kitchen. Before long, Darian felt the room begin to tilt. “Fed him a handful of sleeping pills and wrapped his head in plastic sheeting. A very peaceful way to go, at least. Aaron didn’t feel a thing.”

  “’Kay, then.” Argo nodded and pushed back from the table. It seemed to rise beneath him—or maybe Darian was sinking into the floor. He couldn’t really tell. “I’m gonna need a statemen’.”

  “A statement?” Quin repeated slowly. “Yes, certainly, Sheriff. Happy to help in any way I can.”

  The legs of Argo’s chair scraped the floor as he started to get up. “Right. Jus’ wait there,” he said. Then his voice trailed off and he slumped to his knees on the floor. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Even so, Darian wasn’t totally sure what he’d seen until it was already over.

  “Argo?” Fighting to stay upright, he left his own chair behind and sank down beside Argo, who sprawled on the floor, murmuring. He didn’t seem to be in pain, though. His muttering sounded almost content, as though he were sinking onto a soft feather bed or into a deep, hot bubble bath.

  “He’s all right.” Quin now stood behind Darian. Hands at his sides, he gazed impassively at the two of them—Argo flat on his back and Darian in an awkward crouch. “Just leave him where he is.”

  Darian fought to clear his head. “What happened to him? Did he faint?”

  “No,” Quin said coldly. “He didn’t faint.”
r />   “Call for help,” Darian slurred. He pulled out his cell phone and fumbled with the buttons. Calmly, Quin stepped forward and hooked one foot under Darian’s armpit. Then he moved suddenly, hurling him onto the floor chest-first. The cell phone skated across the floor toward the kitchen.

  Bewildered, he turned his head and saw Quin standing stock-still, making no effort to help him up or even ask if he was all right.

  “My phone,” he managed to say, crawling toward it. His limbs barely obeyed his brain’s commands. Had he fallen asleep at the table and plunged into some bizarre dream? “Have to get it.”

  “Never mind the phone,” Quin said. “You don’t need it.” He kicked Darian’s phone the rest of the way into the kitchen. Then, casually, he bent over Argo’s prone form and removed the gun and handcuffs from his belt. He stuffed the cuffs into his own pants pocket, released the safety from the gun with a click, and bent down again to rummage through Argo’s pockets. Finally he straightened, holding up Argo’s cell with a triumphant expression. “You see? We can just use Argo’s. Leave yours where it is.”

  He placed it gingerly on the table, just out of Darian’s reach.

  “Give it,” Darian mumbled, reversing course and starting to crawl toward Quin instead. Smoothly, Quin stepped away from Argo and leveled the gun at Darian’s head.

  “That’s far enough. Drop to the floor. Hands out where I can see them.”

  At last, Darian understood what was happening. This wasn’t a crazy dream at all. This was Quin, with Argo’s gun, taking them both prisoner. The coffee had been drugged—just like whatever Aaron had drunk before he’d been suffocated. Quin must be trying to protect Everett. Surely Darian could talk him out of doing something that stupid. If only he could think clearly.

  “You can’t hold us hostage,” he protested, careful not to move, aware that his voice sounded high-pitched and silly. “Argo’s a cop. Everett will come home and see his car outside. He’ll call for help.”

  “Good point about the car,” Quin said. “We’ll take care of that in a minute. As for Everett, don’t worry about him barging in on us. That isn’t going to happen.”

  “How do you know?” The moment Darian said it, a clammy fist closed over his heart. “What did you do to him?”

  “I didn’t hurt him.” For the first time, Quin’s voice wavered and his face flushed with emotion. “I just gave him a few cups of the same coffee I served you and Argo. I didn’t want to do it! Everett was an unfortunate but necessary casualty. Started asking questions. Questions I didn’t care to answer.”

  “About Aaron, you mean?”

  “Yes. He was obsessed with that useless invertebrate. He went wild when I told him about you and Aaron sucking face on the school grounds. Can you imagine? A man like Everett, wasting his time on your silly escapades. The two of you were little better than schoolboys yourselves. Then, to make it worse, Aaron called him and asked him to come over and talk about you. Everett worked himself into quite a lather over that one, to the point of calling me to complain about it. What could I do but put a stop to such nonsense?”

  “You killed Aaron?” Darian seized the opportunity to distract Quin—maybe long enough for Argo to wake up. How much medication had Argo ingested, anyway? Darian hadn’t finished all his coffee, thankfully—he’d noticed the bitter taste right away. Argo, he recalled, had downed at least one full cup. “Because he kissed me?”

  “Of course not. Because he was ruining Everett’s life! The trouble was, Everett figured out I’d done it. When I met you two at the police station that night, I slipped up and mentioned the plastic wrap and sleeping pills before Everett told me about them. At dinner I must have seemed a little too smug about Aaron’s demise. Eventually he figured out what I had done, and why.”

  “He…he told you that?”

  “Not in so many words. But I know the way he thinks—or thought, I mean.” Pausing, Quin grimaced in what Darian interpreted as genuine pain. “Poor old Everett was a civilized sort. He made the mistake of thinking I was, too, and that I was consumed with regret. Most people would have just told the police their suspicions, or maybe gone to see Jeanette. Instead, he invited me to brunch at Jake’s this morning so we could talk things through. I knew what that meant, all right. He was going to pressure me to turn myself in.”

  “You should. It’s not too late.”

  Quin ignored him. “I didn’t plan to go through with that, of course, but I thought it best to play along. I offered to drive, came by here first, and suggested we call ahead for a table. When I did, one of the waiters told me Jake was in his office, talking to Argo. I knew what that meant—Jake was another one of Everett’s little flirtations. I figured he was helping Argo set a trap to arrest me.”

  “We didn’t come there for you.” Darian made the mistake of shaking his head, which caused the floor to start moving underneath him. Forcing back a wave of vertigo, he flattened his hands and held on, literally, for dear life. “Argo wanted to ask Jake about Roderick Talbott.”

  “Talbott?” Quin blinked in surprise. “Well, how was I supposed to know that? Anyway, I told Everett the restaurant was full, so I suggested we have coffee here until the morning crowd cleared out. Easy enough to drug the pot, which was my original plan anyway. No going back then.”

  “You mean you killed Everett, too?” Tears blurred Darian’s vision. He blinked them back, struggling to stay alert—or, failing that, to stay awake. Losing consciousness now would doom not only himself, but Argo.

  Quin’s voice trembled and he swallowed hard. “Wish Everett hadn’t pushed me into that. Really. It gave me no pleasure to take him out, but my own survival had to come first.”

  “Your old teacher?” Darian struggled to focus on the gun in Quin’s hand, willing himself to think clearly enough to form a plan of escape. “A friend you’ve had for most of your life?”

  “He didn’t suffer any more than Aaron did,” Quin snapped. “Those pills work wonders. A simple overdose. Almost like putting a sick pet out of its misery. Everett would have understood. He always said he didn’t want to die in a hospital or a nursing home with needles and tubes stuck all over his body. He’ll never have to worry about that now.”

  “Where…where is he?”

  “In his bedroom. Stretched out peacefully with the bottle of pills on the bedstand. When they find him, he’ll already have drifted off into a deep, permanent sleep. It’s the best way, really. With all the suicides around here lately, one more won’t raise any eyebrows.” He tightened his grip on the gun. “Or maybe I should say two more.”

  At Quin’s feet, Argo stirred and moaned a little. Then he relaxed against the floor again, stretching his legs out and going still.

  “Argo,” Darian called to him. “Wake up!”

  “You might want to let him sleep,” Quin said, turning the gun away from Darian and toward Argo’s still form instead. “Everett told me you’re in love with him. If that’s true, you’d actually be doing him a favor. This way, he can fade out just like Aaron and Everett. He’ll never know what hit him.”

  Chapter 18

  Careful not to move his hands and spook Quin, Darian flattened himself against the floor until he moved the gun away from Argo’s drugged form. At least his fight to stay awake seemed to be working. The adrenalin coursing through his body was probably helping counteract the sleeping pills, too. Thankfully, he hadn’t finished his entire cup of coffee. Apparently he hadn’t ingested enough of the medication to knock him out. Argo hadn’t been as fortunate. He seemed to be in a deep sleep on the floor at Quin’s feet. His cell phone lay on top of Everett’s kitchen table, and Argo’s gun was in Quin’s hand. As for Everett, Darian could only speculate what Quin had meant by taking care of him. Was he lying in the house somewhere with a plastic sheath around his head, like Aaron? Or had Quin decided just to let the pills take out his longtime friend?

  Maybe there was still time to save him. How long did it take for an overdose to shut down a person’s v
ital functions?

  Ironically, as precious as each minute was, Darian knew his best chance of foiling Quin would be to stall him. Already, a line of nervous sweat glistened on Quin’s upper lip. He was an academic at heart, the product of an elite private school and the son of its headmaster. Killing, or at least taking hostages, didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe Darian could talk him out of going any further. Or maybe somehow Argo would manage to rouse himself, like Darian had done. How much of the coffee had he drunk, exactly? How much would it take to incapacitate a man of Argo’s size and build?

  Noticing Darian’s intense stare, Quin pivoted the gun back toward him. Unfortunately, despite his obvious anxiety, his hand looked pretty steady around the grip. Though panic was keeping Darian at least somewhat alert, he didn’t feel physically fit enough to jump up and challenge him for the weapon. A bullet through his chest would be a decidedly non-optimal outcome to the whole sordid mess.

  Instead, he summoned his best teacher voice, the one he used to confront students who hadn’t done their reading for class or were peeking at crib notes during a quiz.

  “Two suicides, Quin? Who’s the second one? Don’t tell me you’re planning to do yourself in. Kind of a waste, don’t you think? Stop now and you can probably get a decent plea deal.”

  Quin bared his teeth in a sneer.

  “Not me, Darian. You.” He indicated Argo, still sprawled out on the floor, with a quick tilt of his head. “One last murder-suicide. A tragic end to Birchwood’s first and last major crime spree. But, thankfully, it will tie all the loose ends together with one very flexible string.”

  Keeping the gun trained on Darian, he motioned toward Everett’s kitchen counter, heaped like Darian’s own with magazines and loose papers. Darian wondered if the risqué magazine Patricia saw still occupied the pile somewhere. “Without getting up past your knees, crawl over there and pull down that notebook. You should find a pen tucked inside. I’ve seen Everett use it many times. Then take the notebook and the pen back to the same spot you’re in now.”