Murder at Birchwood Pond Page 5

  “Sheriff, can I be blunt? I get the sense you don’t think Timothy’s death was either an accident or a suicide.”

  “I haven’t ruled either one out. Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind.”

  “Do you consider me a suspect?”

  “No. Not at this time.”

  “Why not?”

  Argo’s brows lifted. “Are you disappointed?”

  “Of course not. I just want the truth.”

  “Okay, then. It’s because you looked genuinely ill when you recounted finding the body. You weren’t faking that expression. I’ve seen it before, so I know. Even when you got hostile with me, I could tell it was because you were trying to hold yourself together. The guilty ones don’t act like that.”

  They stared at each other. Darian picked up on an odd, unexpected vibe between them. Surely it was his imagination. He cleared his throat. “I know I got a little snippy with you in the office. Sorry about that. I just don’t like it when people assume guys like me must be lonely misfits.”

  Argo tilted his head. “Guys like you?”

  “Sure. Gay. Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out.”

  Darian scrutinized Argo’s face for any sign of surprise or disapproval. He saw nothing. The sheriff was playing it as cool as a fall day in New Hampshire.

  “I had a feeling,” he said finally. “Yeah.”

  “I’m not ashamed of who I am. And I won’t lie about it, though I don’t broadcast it around the school.”

  “I understand.” Still no expression.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me with other teachers.”

  “Not my style.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I get the sense it’s theirs, though. Your colleagues, I mean. They like to gossip, don’t they?”

  Darian shrugged. “Comes with the job. You can only ramble on about the great poets of the Western world for so long before you run out of material. The faculty lounge, though, is a never-ending font of innuendo and intrigue.”

  “I can imagine.” Argo’s upper lip twitched. Darian caught the hint of a smile. “That’s fine with me, though. You might be amazed how many cases get solved just from listening to rumors. Over the years, I’ve come to believe there’s a little truth in all of them. You just have to figure out what that little truth is.”

  Chapter 4

  When Darian talked to his moms that night, he told them about Timothy’s death, but downplayed it as a tragic accident and omitted his own role completely. They’d be furious when they found out he was fibbing, which he knew they eventually would, but hopefully they’d understand that he was just trying to spare them worry. Later, he dreamed that he was paralyzed and sinking into cold black water. Argo Sullivan appeared on the shore, reaching a hand out to him, but was he trying to pull Darian to safety or push his head under? He jerked awake, sweaty and unsure.

  The next morning, while he was fumbling with the coffeepot, Everett called him.

  “I strolled down to the pond just now, and you won’t believe what I saw,” he informed Darian a bit breathlessly.

  “You went back to the pond? Why?”

  “It’s only a short walk from my place. I was curious to see how the investigation was going, so I pretended to forget that it was off-limits and casually wandered by. No one tried to stop me, but then I didn’t go too close. I could see all I needed to from the top of the hill. There were several cops there, including that sheriff wearing green rubber waders. They’re looking for something in the water, though I can’t imagine what.”

  The towel, Darian thought right away, but didn’t say it out loud. “That’s interesting,” he finally muttered.

  “I can’t understand the need for so much secrecy, can you? Our students depend on us to keep them safe. We need information in order to do that.”

  “I guess the sheriff will issue a full report when he’s ready to offer one. He’s probably not at liberty to say anything just yet.”

  Everett scoffed. “Well, in that case, we can only wish him the best of luck. He knows where to find us when he’s ready to be helpful. And speaking of that awful business yesterday, how are you holding up, dear? I’m going to take it for granted you didn’t sleep well.”

  “Not too great, no. Just going through the motions and hoping things get back to normal as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, I never hope for normal, but I know what you mean. Listen, I have an idea that will take your mind off this whole unpleasant mess. Let’s you and I head to the Granite Carnation tonight for the annual fall concert.”

  “The Granite Carnation?” Darian asked doubtfully.

  “Yes. It sounds a lot more pretentious than it is, unfortunately, but it’s basically an old theater a couple of displaced New Yorkers bought and renovated so they could produce the sort of events our fellow travelers enjoy. Tonight is a men’s choral event. It’s less than an hour’s drive from here, and well worth every extra penny spent on gas. You’ll love it, I promise. And who knows? You might discover a newfound appreciation for flannel-shirted lumberjack types.”

  “Tonight?” Darian hesitated. It didn’t seem right to head off for an evening of light entertainment—or ogling lumberjacks—after what had just happened. Then again, staying in and moping around his cottage didn’t seem ideal, either. “I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t be stodgy. It will do you good to get off campus now and then, at least on the weekends. This place can become claustrophobic very quickly. I’m sure I don’t have to elaborate on the possible psychological consequences of that unfortunate condition. Besides, I won’t take no for an answer, so you needn’t bother coming up with some creative excuse.”

  “All right.” Maybe Everett was right. A little jaunt to a new and welcoming environment might be just what he needed. Checking out the scenery around his new home couldn’t hurt—and he wasn’t thinking about foliage and native rock formations, either. “Why not? It beats spending Saturday night correcting homework.”

  “Exactly. Be ready to leave at six o’clock. I do have one small favor, though—would you mind driving? My night vision isn’t what it used to be and I’d hate to run us up a tree. They do grow so indiscriminately in these mountainous areas.”

  Darian found himself laughing. “That they do,” he agreed.

  The drive north took just over an hour, since some sections of road were narrow and rustic enough to demand a slower speed and greater vigilance. The onset of dusk made navigating even trickier. At one point, a furry creature burst from the vegetation lining the road and darted in front of the car.

  “Good reflexes,” Everett said when Darian managed to swerve and avoid the enormous raccoon. “All these scurrying mammals are something you’ll have to get used to around here. It’s the moose and the deer you have to watch out for. They shoot out of the bushes like cannonballs and total your car faster than you can snap your fingers.”

  He snapped his fingers and Darian jumped.

  “Great,” he said, wondering if it was only failing night vision that had prompted Everett to enlist him as a chauffeur.

  The sky was dark by the time they pulled into a quaint little town that featured a mix of modern and Victorian buildings. Everett guided him to an unassuming yellow-brick theater that was clearly a relic from a bygone era. The parking lot was already half full.

  “Looks like they draw a decent crowd,” Darian observed as they walked to the entrance. A few men in gray beards and flannel shirts appraised them from the front steps. Everett gave them a cheerful wave.

  “Oh, yes, people come from miles around to hang out here. It’s the only center of its kind outside of the cities. Everybody told Bryce and Hanson, the owners, that the place would never take off. Somehow, they make it work. Plenty of cash to pour into it, apparently.”

  They stepped into an expansive lobby done up with red carpet, vintage textured wallpaper, and faux-gold fixtures on the walls. The majority of the patrons, seemed to be in same-ge
nder pairs, with flannel shirts indeed proving the fashion statement of choice. Darian balefully surveyed his v-necked sweater and collared shirt and wondered if he ought to invest in a few of those himself.

  Everett had paid for their tickets online, but in a burst of optimism, Darian bought a membership at the box office. It cost fifty dollars for a yearlong pass to all Granite Carnation events. With a wink, the red-bearded guy at the desk discounted it to thirty-five.

  “There’s a reception after the concert,” he told Darian. “Hope you can stay for a while. The singers like to mingle with their audience.”

  “Sounds great,” Darian said. He accepted the membership receipt the guy handed over and folded it into a small square that would fit into his wallet.

  “There, you see?” Everett looked smug as they made their way down a short hallway into the auditorium. “I knew you’d get into the spirit of things. Not so bad, is it?”

  “It seems like the kind of venture we need to support,” Darian said, scanning the rows of seats for a comfortable spot. About half were taken, mostly by older men and a few women of varying ages. “Besides, like you said, it’s good to get away from campus every now and then.”

  “If you’re serious about that, Bryce and Hanson own the local guesthouse, too. More than a few of the audience members make these events into a weekend jaunt. The ones who book a double room don’t always arrive with a partner, if you catch my drift. That’s partly the reason for the reception afterward.”

  “Ah.” Darian felt his cheeks grow warm. He didn’t think he’d ever be brave—or smooth—enough to line up a companion at a concert and whisk him to a rented room for a night of bliss. “Well, that’s not really my scene, but to each his own.” He pointed to a pair of seats in the middle row. “Want to grab those? They seem about the right distance from the stage.”

  Everett seemed about to agree when a loud voice called his name. He and Darian turned together as a man in a rainbow t-shirt hurried over, waving. Everett seemed delighted to see him.

  “Kurt! I had no idea you were coming tonight!” The two bent together for a hug that went on longer than was strictly polite, considering that Darian was standing right beside them.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it,” Kurt said. “I was away all summer in the Keys, housesitting for Mario. Do you remember him? I threw some amazing parties at his place—all with his permission, of course. Wish you could have been there, but you’d probably have come back in no condition to start school. Is there such a thing as a month-long hangover?”

  “I certainly hope so. It would be something to look forward to.” Everett laughed and finally seemed to remember Darian. He introduced him to Kurt, using only their first names. Kurt greeted him without glancing away from Everett, and the two continued nattering on about mutual acquaintances Darian had never heard of. One such person, apparently, was in the lobby at that very moment.

  “Why don’t you come and say hello?” Kurt urged Everett, going so far as to take his hand. “He was just asking me about you the other day. I’ll never hear the end of it if he finds out I didn’t drag you over, and the reception afterward will be way too noisy and crowded.”

  Without dislodging his hand, Everett shot Darian an apologetic glance. “You don’t mind, do you? Old friend I haven’t seen in years. Won’t take a moment. You can save our seats until I get back.”

  Darian didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. He suspected Kurt’s appearance hadn’t been a surprise at all. Perhaps Everett had arranged for Darian to drive him here so he could enjoy a few drinks after the concert.

  On the other hand, he preferred to settle into his seat than stand around and be excluded from the conversation. And a few people were heading toward the section he’d picked out for himself and Everett. He waved to Kurt and headed down the aisle.

  “Sure,” he called back to them. “Go ahead.”

  The lights flashed twice and then dimmed, signaling for everyone to sit down and be quiet. Darian slid into the middle seat and folded his coat on the one beside it to save a place for Everett. He didn’t bother to reserve one for Kurt. A stream of Baroque music filled the room as the lights on the stage rose and the thick red curtains slowly parted. Everett hadn’t returned by the time a group of men in long white choral gowns took the stage and lined up in three rows.

  Darian counted fifteen of them plus their conductor, a small, wiry man with a white buzz cut and a natty black tail coat. Just as he raised his baton to kick off the performance, one last person opened the door from the lobby and entered. Darian looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Everett at last, but a shadowed form much taller and bigger than Everett walked down the aisle and slipped into a seat at the back. Then the first song began.

  For the next hour, it took every ounce of concentration Darian possessed to pay attention to the program and not keep turning around to scan the room for Everett. Not that the music was anything but fun and uplifting. The songs ranged from modernized Gregorian chants to popular numbers with their lyrics tweaked to suggest man-on-man romance. The audience cheered, clapped, and stomped their feet for an encore, which the singers graciously supplied. After one final number, the man in the tailcoat turned and invited everyone downstairs for the reception, where they could meet the performers. When the lights came up, the surge of rising bodies pinned Darian in place for a moment. Clutching his coat to his chest, he scanned the faces of the people streaming toward the exit for any sign of Everett or Kurt. Neither of them reappeared.

  Back in the lobby, people crowded around two folding tables to enjoy coffee and refreshments. The members of the chorus, still in their gowns, strolled around accepting praise from their fans. A few shook hands with audience members, and a few even kissed, prompting more applause and cheerful whistles. Darian saw no sign of Everett. Surely, if he’d simply come in late and had to grab a seat at the back with Kurt, he would be actively looking for Darian now. But that didn’t appear to be the case.

  While he stood in the middle of the crowd, his mind racing, Darian felt someone loom up beside him. He turned to see the red-bearded guy from the box office, who held out a folded piece of paper.

  “The man you came in with left this for you,” he said, handing over the note. Darian opened and read it with a growing sense of outrage. Everett and Kurt, along with their mutual acquaintance, had decided to skip the concert and spend some time catching up. “He said not to worry about taking him home—he’d catch a ride with a friend.”

  Sure enough, the note promised that Everett and Darian could talk again in the morning. “When did he leave?” Darian asked, tamping down his anger.

  The bearded guy shrugged apologetically, perhaps thinking Darian had been abandoned by a date. “About halfway through the first song. Sorry, man.”

  “Thanks. It’s okay.” Darian stuffed the note into his hip pocket. “Luckily, I was the designated driver.” He was beginning to understand why.

  The bearded guy nodded and faded into the crowd. Immediately someone else took his place beside Darian. He recognized the small gray-haired man who had conducted the choir onstage. Another man, tall and gaunt but around the same age, stood silently beside him.

  “Look, Hanson! It appears we have a newcomer,” the one in the tailcoat said, beaming at Darian. “I don’t recall seeing you here before.”

  “No. This is my first time,” Darian said. “A friend told me about this place. He…ah….was unexpectedly called away.”

  Tailcoat nodded sympathetically. “Yes, that does tend to happen here. Everett Finch, wasn’t it? I’m sorry to tell you he’s infamous for that sort of thing.”

  “You know Everett?”

  “For years.” Tailcoat made a flipping motion with his hand, as though discarding the memory of Everett. At the moment, Darian could relate to that sentiment. “I confess that Hanson and I watched you come in with Everett. We always peek out at the lobby, don’t we, Hanson? Never know who might wander in.” He lowered his voice. “Once in
while we spot one of my old compatriots from Broadway. You can be sure I tell my performers to step up their performance on those occasions.”

  “Or sometimes not, depending who it is,” Hanson added, which made Bryce snicker.

  “Well, never mind all that. Did you enjoy the concert?”

  “Very much,” Darian said truthfully. “In fact, I bought a membership so I can come again.”

  “Oh, lovely! Did you know they adjust the rates based on how desirable you are as a member? What did they charge you?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Ouch. Most of these louts paid fifty. I take it you drive a hard bargain.” Finally Tailcoat stuck out his hand. “Excuse my terrible manners. I’m Bryce, and this is my husband, Hanson.”

  They shook. “Darian. I just moved to the area.”

  “We’re so glad you found your way here, even if it was by way of Everett Finch. Hanson, we’ll have to introduce him around. Are you up for some power-mingling, Darian?”

  “He’s trying to find out if you’re single,” Hanson explained unnecessarily. “Don’t answer if you don’t want to. He’s not good at minding his own business.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with helping people make new friends,” Bryce scolded. “Not everyone is an introverted misanthrope like you, Hanson. If it weren’t for me, your existence would be as silent and solitary as a medieval monk’s. I take it you don’t aspire to live like a monk, Darian.”

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice,” Darian said, smiling despite himself. “I admit that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

  “There you are, Hanson. We have our work cut out for us. I don’t suppose you sing, Darian? Plenty of eligible fellows in the choir, though most are bit older than you. Then again, wisdom and experience have their place, don’t you think?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t carry a note in a bucket. Sorry.”