The Birchwood Academy Files 4

  Murder by the River

  by

  Jade Astor

  Published by Jade Astor at Kindle Direct Publishing

  Copyright 2021 Jade Astor

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  Other titles by Jade Astor:

  The Birchwood Academy Files 1 (Murder at Birchwood Pond)

  The Birchwood Academy Files 2 (Murder in the Shadows)

  The Birchwood Academy Files 3 (Murder among the Palms)

  Snow Bite, Blood Red (Once Upon a Man 1)

  Bachelor and the Beast (Once Upon a Man 2)

  Kiss of the Dark Prince

  The House on the Cliffs

  Ebb Tide

  Tapestry of Lust

  Darius (Moon Lake Wolves Book 1)

  Caleb (Moon Lake Wolves Book 2)

  Serge (Moon Lake Wolves Book 3)

  Artemis Gardens

  Passionate Lessons

  Passion Unmasked

  Journey to Passion

  After surviving the harrowing events of their Christmas getaway to Florida, Darian and Argo hope to enjoy a peaceful conclusion to Darian’s first year of teaching at Birchwood. Unfortunately, along with the first buds of spring come new complications...and maybe a new murder, too. First, Birchwood’s librarian vanishes after his car plummets into a storm-swollen river. Next, a troubled student runs away from campus, but is he the pursued or the pursuer? Worst of all, a dead body turns up at the original crash site. Darian and Argo are sure all three cases are connected…but how?

  Also stressing Darian out is the “important discussion” Argo keeps wanting to have with him. So far, they’ve been interrupted every time they start to talk. Then again, depending what the issue is, that might actually be a good thing. Is Argo thinking about putting their relationship on hold again? Does Darian really want to know?

  The Birchwood Academy Files 4

  Murder by the River

  by

  Jade Astor

  Chapter 1

  “Here you go, Darian. Fresh off the delivery truck.” Rory Zinski, Birchwood Academy’s assistant librarian, handed over a padded envelope reinforced with twine and adorned with an official-looking sticker. “It’s on loan from the state university archive, so be careful. Chet will haul out the thumbscrews if a single page gets creased.”

  “I’ll guard it with my life,” Darian promised somberly. He tilted his head to peer over Rory’s shoulder. “Where is Chet, by the way? He was supposed to check some references for me, but I haven’t seen him all week.”

  “Out sick. At least, so he claims.” Rory’s slender nose twitched. “Funny thing. He hasn’t missed a day of work for years, and yet he’s called in two days in a row.”

  “Something going around, maybe,” Darian suggested. He gestured toward the rain-streaked window behind the circulation desk. “It’s this weather. Half my students are sniffling and coughing all through class.”

  “Springtime’s always wet and muddy around here. You’re still in your first year, so you’re not used to it yet. Have you seen the pond? Overflowing its banks. The river’s swollen, too. We have to make sure none of the boys wanders down there. We’ve had enough trouble involving students and water, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would, yes.” Darian fidgeted. He didn’t care to slide into a discussion of the events of the previous fall, when he’d discovered one of the school’s more notorious residents floating in the campus pond. “Well, it’s almost time for class. I’d better get a move on.”

  Rory signaled for him to wait. He removed an oversized ledger from beneath the counter and handed him a pen. “You’ll have to sign for the book. Write in the title and add the date and time, too. Chet insists.”

  “Okay.”

  Darian scribbled down the requested information while Rory watched his penstrokes with undisguised curiosity.

  “I’m researching an obscure poet,” Darian said, deciding to forestall any wild rumors about the mysterious books he was having sent to the school in plain brown wrappers. “Wilfred Baine. Ever heard of him?”

  “Nope,” Rory said, looking chagrined. Had he really thought Darian couldn’t see him trying to read upside down? “Sorry.”

  “He had a Birchwood connection. His father was a member of the board of trustees way back in the 1870s. I came across some of his work in the archives and thought I might squeeze an article out of my discovery.”

  Rory suddenly became much more interested. “Maybe even a book. It’s not easy to find a topic that hasn’t been run into the ground these days.”

  “Well, you never know. At the very least, our alumni magazine might be interested.”

  “Excellent plan. That would stick a feather in your quill if—or should I say when—you come up for tenure.”

  Darian bit back a grimace. His mother Ange, a college professor, made the same observation a minimum of once a week when they talked on the phone. “My thoughts exactly, though it’s a little early to start worrying about that. Thanks, and say hi to Chet next time he calls in. Hope he feels better soon.”

  Mindful of the continuing downpour, Darian stuffed the book into his briefcase as he ventured across the quad toward his last class of the afternoon. As eager as he was to burrow into those brittle antique pages, his reading could wait until evening. After school, he planned to drive home, change clothes, and meet Argo at the local diner for carbs, coffee, and conversation. Afterward, Argo would have to head back out on patrol and Darian would return to his cottage for a night of solitary academic pursuits. It wasn’t ideal, obviously, but until Argo’s next day off, it would have to do. Meanwhile, he had to sit through an hour of dramatic presentations from his grade eleven lit students and offer constructive suggestions when possible. Not that most of them were in the mood to hear his critiques. With warmer spring weather creeping over the campus, their interest in coursework was rapidly dwindling. Darian couldn’t blame them. He was looking forward to a few months off as much as they were. Maybe more, thanks to Argo.

  To no one’s surprise, his most enthusiastic pupil volunteered to kick things off as soon as Darian finished taking attendance. Jordan Keller, had chosen to recite Robert Browning’s poem “Porphyria’s Lover,” which dramatized an obsessive suitor’s murder of the woman he professed to love. Jordan not only spoke the lines from memory, but moved to the front of the class and acted out the whole shocking scenario. His performance proved mesmerizing, with even the less engaged students sitting up and staring, rapt. When Jordan mimed wrapping Porphyria’s long golden hair around her neck and pulling it taut to strangle her, a chill rippled through the room.

  For a full minute after he’d finished, everyone fell silent. Then Graham Hartley, seated near the chalkboard, started a round of applause. The others joined in while Jordan’s cheeks went pink with pride. Darian made a mental note to suggest that Jordan audition for his friends Hanson and Bryce, who owned a local playhouse and produced their own shows. Something told him Jordan would fit in very well with them, and not just because of his obvious theatrical talent. Though he obviously couldn’t discuss his own sexuality with a student, he always had the sense that Jordan knew about and identified with him.

  “Great job,” he said as Jordan returned to his seat, beaming. “The only downside to that tour de force is that you’ve made it much more difficult for whoever has to follow you. Still, I have faith that our next volunteer will try his best to live up to your example.”

  A nervous titter went through the rows of seats. Only one student didn’t seem to hear him, or even notice what was going on. His shoulders were slumped and head was down, his full attention focused on something underneath his desk. Darian sighed. Matthias Cole, a recent transfer to the school who was also Jordan’s roommate, had made his disinterest in English literature clear from the very first day. Until recently, he had at least managed to stay upright in his seat.

  Darian took a few steps closer and immediately diagnosed the problem. “Matthias, really? A handheld game in class? I thought those went out with the ’90s.”

  “Not this one, Mr. Winter,” Ozzy Pettigrew, seated at just the right angle to see what Matthias was doing, piped up. “It’s brand new, state of the art. He almost got it taken away in chem lab, too.”

  “Well, Matthias, can I ask you to kindly put it away? And after you’ve done that, perhaps you could go up to the front and recite the poem you chose for today. Do a good job and I’ll be less inclined to confiscate it, even though you messed up twice in one day.”

  Scowling, Matthias shoved the offending device into the pocket of his khakis. “Sorry. I can’t present my poem today. I have a sore throat.” For good measure, he forced an obviously fake cough.

  “I see. So it was ill health, and not your electronic game, that kept you from being prepared?”

  In response, Matthias grumbled and put
his head down again. “Can I be excused? I need to go to the Wellness Center.”

  “Yes. But only if the game stays here. I’ll return it to you when you bring me a note that you’ve been cleared to attend class.” Palm extended, Darian stepped forward. Fixing Darian with a defiant glare, Matthias slammed the game down on the top of his desk, lurched to his feet, and stomped out of the classroom. Another round of nervous giggles followed in his wake.

  “Maybe you could learn to play it, Mr. Winter,” Ozzy suggested as Darian dropped the controversial object into his briefcase. “Then you’d see firsthand how addictive it is, especially when the weather’s like this and there’s nothing else to do.”

  “People could try studying,” Jordan suggested. “I actually think reading poems is the best thing to do during a storm. Makes me feel like we’re back in Victorian England, in one of those damp stone college buildings where they wrote by candlelight with feather pens.”

  “That’s as close as Matthias will ever get to Oxford University,” Graham pointed out, “though by the sound of that cough he’s on his way to getting tuberculosis like all of those guys did.”

  “All right, let’s move on with the presentations,” Darian said. “I think it’s safe to say Matthias hasn’t contracted tuberculosis, though Jordan’s right that we should take advantage of the atmospheric conditions. Using our imaginations can definitely enhance our appreciation for what we’re reading.” A rumble of distant thunder punctuated his remarks, prompting more laughter. “Bearing that in mind, who wants to go next?”

  By the time the tower bells started clanging an hour later, signaling not only the end of class but the school day as well, the rain was coming down even harder. Still, Darian’s mood was buoyant as he made his way to the parking lot, glad that every passing moment brought him closer to his dinner with Argo.

  A woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Darian! Wait up!”

  Darian turned to see an enormous black umbrella moving toward him. Beneath it was Kim Benedict, a recent addition to Birchwood’s counseling department, splashing heedlessly through puddles in a pair of bright yellow boots.

  “Oh, hey, Kim.” Thankfully, she extended the umbrella over him as well when she finally reached him. “What can I do for you?”

  “What’s up with Matthias Cole? I passed him on the sidewalk and he nearly plowed me over. Was he storming out of your class?”

  “He was on his way to the health center. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”

  Kim’s forehead creased with suspicion. “Really? He looked more angry than ill to me.”

  “We had a small incident involving a handheld game. When I asked him to put it away, he suffered a debilitating coughing fit. Best he get it checked out immediately.”

  “I was afraid it was something along those lines.”

  “I admit he surprised me. I’ve had students sneak electronics into class before, but never him.”

  “We both know that’s because he can’t afford them.”

  “Yeah,” Darian admitted. “I assume he borrowed the game from someone. Don’t worry. He’s not in trouble. I just hope it doesn’t become a habit. If I’m being honest, he’s already struggling in my class. The last thing he needs is another distraction from his academic work.”

  “Where is the game now?” Kim asked.

  Darian patted his briefcase. “I’m hanging onto it until Matthias and I talk. Maybe being without it overnight will force him to open a book or two.”

  “It’s the trap of the material,” Kim muttered. “Hard for a kid like him to resist the lure of luxury items, especially in an environment like this. He feels left out when the others flash around their fancy toys. He’s probably just trying to fit in.”

  “I can sympathize, but I can’t make an exception to my classroom policies based on a student’s…er…scholarship status. You wouldn’t want me to treat him differently than I would the more economically privileged kids.”

  “No, no. Of course not. That would only make things worse, and I’m sure it wouldn’t cross your mind anyway. I’ll talk to him after he calms down. I promise he’ll do better in your class from now on.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Darian, thanks for working with him. He’s basically a good kid. And he’s probably upset because he disappointed you.”

  Darian doubted that. Matthias was far from a cooperative student and frequently made his dislike of Darian’s class, and likely Darian himself, clear. But he saw no reason to go there with Kim, especially considering he had a dinner date.

  “See you tomorrow, Kim,” he said. Waving, he ducked out from under her umbrella and hurried through the rain toward his car.

  “So how was school today?” Argo asked as they settled into a booth at the back of the diner. Darian smiled, knowing he wasn’t just asking for the sake of saying something. Argo was always genuinely interested in what had happened to him while they were apart and tending to the necessary minutiae of their daily lives. It was just one of the many things he appreciated about the sheriff.

  He waited until the waitress had brought their coffee and taken their orders for two deluxe burger platters before answering. As soon as the rain stopped, he’d have to get back into jogging. But the prospect of a huge heap of salty fries and a cheese-smothered patty was too tempting to pass up.

  “Pretty good. One of my students gave a fantastic presentation. A rare book came in for me at the library. I left it on my nightstand at home so I can get right into it tonight when you’re back on duty.”

  “Yeah, sorry about the double shift. We’re a little short-staffed at the moment, and this rain is generating a lot of public safety calls.”

  “It’s okay. The community depends on you, and I get that. If I’m being honest, I’m looking forward to burrowing into my research. It’s strictly my second choice compared to you, of course, but it could lead to a publication for me down the road. Like my moms always remind me, even a short article in print will benefit me when I go up for tenure in a few years. Especially in this case, since it involves Birchwood’s history.”

  Argo scoffed. “You’ll be fine whether you write something or not. Jeanette would be crazy not to give it to you. Look how much you’ve done for that place in less than a year.”

  Darian winced. Argo assumed finding a body on campus and solving no fewer than three Birchwood-related murders was a positive thing in the eyes of the school’s governing body. He wasn’t quite so sure. “Thanks, but unfortunately it isn’t just up to her. The board of trustees is involved, too, along with a faculty committee. They definitely take a candidate’s academic output into consideration. Either way, I’m kind of psyched about this project. I’m hoping the school archives will yield more information, but I’ll have to wait until the head librarian comes back. He’s been out sick for a few days, his assistant says.”

  “No surprise.” Argo turned his head toward the diner window, which was so streaked with rain they could barely see through the glass. “This weather’s got everybody coughing and sneezing.” He rolled his shoulder and grimaced. “It’s not so great for creaky joints, either. My arm’s been tender for a couple of days now.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Darian’s cheeks warmed with guilt. Thanks to his own poor judgment, Argo had suffered a bullet wound six months earlier. Argo insisted it hadn’t been Darian’s fault, but Darian wasn’t as confident. Every now and then, the site of the injury flared up. Pain flashed on Argo’s face even when he tried to hide it.

  “It’s okay. Can’t do anything about the weather this time of year. April showers and so forth, right?”

  “I guess it’s better than snow. At least we don't have to shovel rain.”

  “True. Not as many space-heater fires to deal with, either. On the other hand, when people are cooped up inside for too long, they tend to start trouble. If it doesn’t let up before the weekend, I predict a slew of domestics. Most of them alcohol-fueled.”

  “Yikes. I hope not, for your sake.”

  Argo shrugged. “It’s part of the job. Cutler and I will handle it. Likely to be a few flooded basements and washed-out sheds, too. We’ve been known to do a little makeshift plumbing when the situation calls for it.”