The Birchwood Academy Files 5

  Murder at the Writers’ Retreat

  by

  Jade Astor

  Published by Jade Astor at Kindle Direct Publishing

  Copyright 2022 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)

  The Birchwood Academy Files 4 (Murder by the River)

  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

  With his first year of teaching behind him, Darian heads into summer with two goals. One is to finish moving into Argo’s house so he and the sexy sheriff can start their new life together. The other is to write a scholarly book he hopes will bring him tenure and advance his career at Birchwood Academy, the prestigious boys’ school where he works. To that end, with Argo in tow, he takes off for a week at the Midsummer Gay Writer’s Retreat, a workshop led by a controversial but reclusive author who is determined to make a literary comeback.

  Unfortunately, their getaway turns out to be far from relaxing. It’s bad enough that Stuart Lanislaw, a visiting Florida detective, seems a little too interested in renewing his acquaintance with Argo. Before long, the retreat is boiling over with conflict, resentment, and jealousy both personal and professional. When one of the guests ends up dead, the local police brush the incident off as a bizarre accident. Argo and Darian aren’t so sure. With tensions and other violent incidents on the rise, the two must swing into action to prevent another tragedy.

  The Birchwood Academy Files 5

  Murder at the Writers’ Retreat

  by

  Jade Astor

  Chapter 1

  Argo raised a brow at the stack of papers resting on the bed beside Darian’s suitcase. “You’re taking all those printouts?”

  The month of June was coming to an end, and they were packing for a week at the Midsummer Gay Writer’s Retreat. Darian’s bedroom window stood open, and an early morning, lilac-scented breeze wafted through. The sweet scent provided a literal breath of fresh air after a year of nearly constant motion and change for Darian in both the personal and professional sense. The biggest change was yet to come. He and Argo would be moving in together at the end of August—at least, that was the official date. In reality, they were spending most of their time at Argo’s place, preparing for the transition. Darian had already moved some of his stuff over, but plenty remained to sort and pack after they returned from this trip.

  “Yep. Actually, I can’t wait to go through them. Rory just found them last week, and he outdid himself. They’re all reproductions of old newspapers from Wilfred Baine’s hometown, not far from here.”

  “Why not use e-files? Then you could just put them all on a flash drive. Much less luggage to cram in the car.”

  “Paper copies are better for research. For one thing, it’s easier to mark them up and make marginal notes with a pencil. Guess I’m old fashioned. Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to carry them around. I’m used to a full briefcase. Haven’t you noticed my arm muscles bulging?”

  “Now that you mention it…” Argo’s playful pinch to Darian’s left bicep soon turned into a slower caress. “Good old Rory. How are things at the library these days, anyway?”

  “They’re getting back on track. Thanks to you, the bank reversed some of those transfers. Too bad we couldn’t recover more of the digital gift cards, but at least we got some of them.”

  “I can’t believe people still fall for online romance scams.” Argo shook his head. “The one at Birchwood was just one of many. We get calls about similar ones all the time at the station. I send Cutler to take a report, but what else can I do? Most are from overseas, so we can’t prosecute even if we find out the guy’s—or sometimes the gal’s—real name.”

  “Must be frustrating.”

  “It is. Still, in this case the biggest issue wasn’t just gullibility. The guy was married to his job. That’s where the trouble started in the first place. He couldn’t distinguish a real relationship from an illusory one.” Argo gave the pile of printouts a dramatic side-eye. “A warning more people should heed, I’d say.”

  Darian laughed, but he had to agree. A few months earlier, Birchwood’s senior librarian had made the mistake of going online in search of love, only to hook up with a much younger man supposedly stationed overseas on a military mission. The romance hadn’t ended well, especially not for one person who wound up dead after a nasty layer of dust settled.

  “Don’t worry. I plan to enjoy doing my research, but I won’t let it carry me away. How obsessed could anyone get with a nineteenth-century local scandal, however juicy?”

  “Do I even want to find out?”

  “I suspect you’d find this story interesting, too, from a law enforcement perspective. Apparently a mysterious death occurred on the Baine estate. A lot of people thought Wilfred—the poet I’m researching—was responsible. He denied it to his grave, but didn’t convince many.”

  “Yeah?” As expected, Argo perked up a little. “Who died?”

  “The daughter of another prominent local family. She’d been earmarked to marry him from the time the two of them were children—but, as it turned out, Wilfred wasn’t the marrying sort. He preferred his male friend. Gossip suggested he got her out of the way so she wouldn’t interfere with the relationship he really wanted to pursue.”

  “You’re right. That is kind of interesting. Strictly from a historical perspective, of course. Technically murder cases have no statute of limitations, but investigating after a hundred years is pushing things.”

  “Some readers would prefer that angle to Wilfred’s poetry—most of which was apparently inspired by his love for a man. I’ve been toying with writing a literary true crime book.”

  Argo brightened. “Not a bad plan. Like one of those British period dramas you like crossed with a cop memoir about pursuing and catching a killer who’s eluded him for years.”

  “That’s the basic idea. The challenge would be making the story relevant for modern audiences. My writing style is too scholarly to pull off anything as dramatic as either of those. Plus I’m not sure how you’d even solve a century-old crime. Looking at old letters and diaries, I guess? No telling how Wilfred’s descendants would feel about that.”

  “They’re still around?”

  “Oh, yeah. Not direct descendants, of course, because he never sired children. Harder to do back in those days if your primary companion was another man. Luckily, a younger brother married and populated the family tree with heirs. Some of them still live on the original property.”

  “So much for not getting drawn in,” Argo said, amused. “Safe to say you’re going to spend our week of rest and relaxation poring through old stuff and figuring out what really happened all those years ago.”

  “Ideally, the retreat will be peaceful and invigorating all at once.” Darian had initially balked at attending a gay writers’ workshop. When his mom Ange had arranged for him to become a paid instructor while he worked on a scholarly publication to cement his chances for tenure at Birchwood Academy, he’d started to come around. The prospect of taking along Argo as his guest made it even more appealing. “At the very least, I can start my list of citations and pull an outline together. Then, when we get back, I can focus on the move. I’m sorry I’ve been a little preoccupied these last few months.”

  “It’s okay,” Argo said. “You had a lot going on. Final exams, grading…”

  “Jeanette’s year-end report.” Darian sighed. Even now he could see the wary expression on the Birchwood headmistress’s face when he’d handed in his first performance review. Talk about a true-crime narrative. “That was a challenge, I admit. Most people write about their research, any articles or books they’re written, panels they’ve attended or spoken at. Me? I talked about murders and criminal investigations into faculty, students, and even a stodgy middle-aged librarian.”

  “Plus you solved a couple of cold cases, restored my late uncle’s reputation at the school he loved, and got at least one kid’s life back on track. I’d say you had a productive year.” Argo grinned. “Why hide your talents under a bushel, as they say? Jeanette must know how lucky she is to have you.”

  “Well, I doubt Hu
man Resources or the Board of Trustees would be anywhere near as understanding as she’s been. I downplayed anything controversial and said some stuff about my first year providing me with invaluable insight into the Birchwood community and all its nooks and crannies, plus its unique relationships to the members past and present.”

  “Diplomatic. Good thinking. I knew I wasn’t hooked up with a dummy.” Leaning over, Argo planted a kiss on Darian’s lips that made his knees, and everything in between the two locations, quake.

  “This week will be fun, Argo,” he said when they reluctantly broke apart. “You’ll see. Compulsory poetry writing notwithstanding, we’ll find time for some togetherness out among the stately pines.”

  “I’m tough enough to handle the poetry,” Argo said. “If Lanislaw can do it, so can I.”

  Darian’s enthusiasm faded a little. If only Argo weren’t so keen to see his cop friend, Stuart Lanislaw, at the retreat. Lanislaw claimed he was going there to work on his memoir about being a gay cop on the steamy streets of urban Florida, but Darian suspected there was more to his sudden artistic turn. Lanislaw had made it clear he hoped Argo would move to Florida and join his department—with or without Darian in tow.

  He forced a casual smile. “I’ll be interested to see what he writes. True crime is very hot right now, and I’ll bet he’s got some amazing stories.” Hopefully not any featuring his two moms, he added silently. Not so long ago, Lanislaw had been all too eager to charge Ange and Rikki with murder. If Darian and Argo hadn’t been around to solve the case, one or both women could now be on trial or even behind bars.

  “It’s a different world out in Florida,” Argo agreed with a touch of wistfulness Darian didn’t like one bit. “A lot more exciting. Hotter in every way.”

  Darian mumbled something halfway between encouragement and resignation, prompting Argo to sigh.

  “Between you and Stuart becoming famous authors, I’m going to feel left out.”

  For this statement, at least, Darian had a ready answer. He slid his arms around Argo’s waist. “No way. You’re always at the center of my universe. But you should definitely give the writing a go. Why not? You get free access to all the activities as my plus-one.”

  “I don’t know,” Argo grumbled. “I can’t quite picture myself back behind a desk after all these years. I didn’t like it much the first time around.”

  “It’s not that kind of class. More like one of those law-enforcement conferences you showed me pictures of. You enjoyed those, right? Instead of talks on examining fingerprints and taking suspects down safely, I’ll be talking about using metaphor, beating writer’s block, and other technical stuff—one lesson for every day of the retreat, so seven in all. If you come, you can get a taste of what I do at Birchwood all day long, since I’ve restructured some of what I use in my classes so it’s suitable for adult learners.”

  “Not just adults,” Argo reminded him. “A room of gay guys who all think they’re the next big thing in publishing.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t envy you dealing with that level of divatude.”

  “I doubt all of them are divas. Some are just indulging a hobby. Some want to self-publish and just want to develop their confidence and hear some industry tips. They’ll want their money’s worth, though. The sign-up fee was a little hefty.”

  “The resort did look pretty nice from the pictures they posted. It can’t hurt to slip away from everything for a few days. We both need to clear our minds.”

  Darian bit his lower lip. “You’re not wrong, though I should clarify that I wasn’t being literal when I talked about enjoying the deep woods together. I meant looking at the trees and the sky and so on from the safety of the car or our cabin. Not sure I’m ready to get any closer to nature. I might be willing to try a marked trail that’s mostly level.”

  “I can live with those restrictions.” Argo laughed. The site of the retreat, an old campground recently turned into a private all-male getaway, was within driving distance but not close enough for Argo to check on his deputies while they were away. That was certainly one advantage to its remote location.

  “I’m glad you’re looking forward to it, even if it is interfering with our moving plans.”

  “Ah. We have all summer to haul boxes. You just finished school a week ago. Enjoy your time off while it lasts.”

  “True. Most of my stuff is packed already,” Darian admitted. “Just a matter of taking the boxes over to your place and sorting them out.”

  “Piece of cake. You forget I’m known around the station for my ruthless organizing and compartmentalizing skills. We’ll have your possessions sorted and put away in no time. Speaking of packing, are you almost done? We should hit the road soon. We’re supposed to check in before lunch so you can have your orientation with this Hammond dude. He sounds finicky, so you don’t want to be late.”

  “Almost ready. Just a couple more books to throw in the suitcase. This one in particular.” Darian held up a worn copy of the novel Highway to Him, written by the retreat’s featured presenter, Prescott Hammond. “I’m planning to reread it cover to cover during the retreat. It’s not every day you get to meet, much less work closely with, a celebrity of the gay literary scene. I want to learn as much as I can from him. I’m also curious to find out how he knows my moms. They wouldn’t say much when I questioned them.”

  “Didn’t want to influence your first impression of him,” Argo guessed.

  “Maybe.” Darian assumed the friendship between Hammond and his moms, or at least Ange, had sprung up around Hammond’s book, a niche hit with gay readers in in the early ’90s. The story was so racy they hadn’t allowed Darian to read it as a teenager, though when he had finally picked it up he’d found it a bit dated and the main character almost insufferably narcissistic. That was the point, of course, but it wasn’t a book he would ever count as a favorite. Still, no one could deny Hammond’s exalted place among modern gay authors of popular fiction. “Or they were just afraid I’d want to discuss some of those explicit man-on-man sex scenes. Who wants to picture their moms reading all-male erotica? It would be like them peeking into my diary—not that I ever kept one like that!”

  “Good point.” Argo watched Darian stuff the book, along with a paperback copy of The Elements of Style and an academic citation guide into his overstuffed suitcase and force the lid closed. “Are you done with that now? Because bulging arms or not, I want to put it in the car before you think of something else you can’t live without for a week.”

  “I’m done. Thanks.”

  In truth, Darian was relieved when Argo hoisted up the heavy suitcase in one hand and hauled it out to his SUV, which they’d be using for the trip. He wasn’t sure he could have transported it outside without his luggage wheels. Certainly he couldn’t have done so as effortlessly as Argo seemed to. This way, he could avoid the embarrassment of struggling with it and most likely dropping it on the floor. Argo had probably anticipated that. He was simply being a gentleman, as always.

  In truth, Darian was a little nervous about the two of them cohabiting, though for the most part he looked forward to living in Argo’s comfortable log-style house. He’d miss his rented cottage in some ways, and he’d have a little more of a drive to school in the mornings. A bigger concern was that he’d never lived with a partner before, and neither had Argo. He was half-convinced they’d find—or rather, he’d find—some way to screw it up before his current lease expired at the end of August. At least they’d have all summer to figure out what to do if disaster struck. And the lease gave them a transitional period, not to mention plenty of time to move all Darian’s books and odds and ends to Argo’s place. As for furniture, he didn’t have much of that to begin with, since Birchwood Academy had leased him the place furnished as part of his employment contract.

  He assumed the biggest obstacle was the matter of mental adjustment. Weren’t all relationships, whether or not they included roommate conflicts, based on compromise and communication? Luckily, he and Argo had dealt with most of one another’s little peccadilloes in their eight months together. They’d figure the rest out. As Argo was fond of reminding him, it was dumb to pay two sets of household expenses and waste time planning who would come to whose place when they wanted to spend the night together. “The move would be a stress saver,” Argo had insisted more than once. “You’ll see.” Unfortunately, Darian also worried that their new arrangement would bring new kinds of stress.