“It might have. You heard me confront Hammond in my office, but he didn’t open up to me.” Aubrey shrugged again. “Then again, he’s not exactly articulate when he’s in that condition. His emotional well-being isn’t my concern beyond how it impacts the workshop. And I’ll tell you the exact thing I plan to tell him—he better not try to call the retreat off. Okay, we can pause things a bit while he gets his head together, but I’m not giving refunds. Sounds harsh, but so be it. My decision is final.”

  Darian set down his coffee, speechless. Aubrey expected Hammond just to go on teaching and lecturing as though nothing had happened?

  “Anyway, being busy might push him over the hump,” Aubrey said, softening when he read Darian’s reaction. “Hopefully, if Argo helps them, the cops will get everything sorted out quickly. Like I told you before, it’s no mystery who did this. Townies. Sure, they play the role of friendly rustic types, but only if you’re like them. At first, they couldn’t have been happier about someone buying this old campground with a plan for fixing the old wreck up. Once they figured out what my business was all about, though, I’ve had nothing but trouble from them. That’s another reason I want to get this behind us and carry on. I won’t let them win. You see where I’m coming from here, don’t you?”

  “You think someone tried to send a message?” Argo asked. “Wanted to scare off you and your guests?”

  “Damn right I do. Who knows? Maybe they didn’t intend to kill Cole, but their prank got out of hand. Hate crimes are ugly, but they’re not as rare as people would like to think, even in this day and age.” Slapping his hands on his thighs, Aubrey stood up. “And now I need to get back to the lodge and see how Greg’s coming along with the food. He was pretty shaken up by what happened, though he’s trying his best to hide it.”

  Argo and Darian followed Aubrey to his feet. “I imagine Chief Creed has some questions for him,” Argo said. “He showed up near the scene, after all. And the sports shed was under his control.”

  “Yeah, they talked to him. That’s another reason I want to check how he’s doing. Greg suffers from PTSD, you know. That’s why he seems a little off at times. But he’s totally loyal to me, and to this campground. I promise you he wouldn’t do anything to harm one of the guests, or by extension, me. Now, can I expect to see you two at dinner? I want everyone present and accounted for. Not only should we stick together at a time like this, but I want to make it clear that the retreat will continue exactly as planned, with all scheduled meals and events moving forward.”

  “We’ll be there,” Argo promised.

  “What about Kaz?” Darian asked. “Anyone checked on him lately? He’s probably taking this hard. Seemed like he and Cole were becoming friends.”

  “Friends?” Aubrey snorted. “Cole Dalton saw only two kinds of people—those he could use to his own ends, and those who wouldn’t fall for his garbage. He didn’t want or have any friends. Still, I’ll make sure Kaz is at dinner. In fact, I’ll go and talk to him right now.”

  Argo held the cabin door open. After Aubrey sauntered out of earshot, he closed it again and turned to Darian.

  “So? What did you make of that?”

  “I don’t know.” Darian frowned. “My mind’s kind of a blur. We only know of two people who weren’t in the lodge when it happened. Yet the cops obviously haven’t arrested Kaz or Greg.”

  “They didn’t recover the bow, either, and I assume they searched. Kaz may be the experienced archer, but Greg probably knows some good hiding places.”

  “Could they be working together? Seems hard to believe after that scene we witnessed this morning. I’d be more inclined to suspect Greg set Kaz up out of spite.”

  “Murder seems extreme for a dispute about borrowing sports equipment, but we’ve unearthed stranger motives.”

  “True. Argo...could Aubrey be right? It’s possible an outsider sneaked onto the grounds while everyone was at the lodge, stole a bow and arrow from the shed, and took a pot shot at Cole. They might not have meant to kill him. When they saw him hit the ground, they panicked and ran away.”

  “Could be. But given what we know about Cole, it’s also possible someone traveled here for the express purpose of confronting him.”

  Darian thought about it. It wasn’t beyond belief that Cole had hooked up with someone in town—or someone online—who was curious, so to speak. Then the guy regretted the encounter, or wanted to make sure Cole kept his mouth shut. Someone married? Or in a position to lose everything if Cole outed him?

  He was still mulling the possibilities over when he saw Argo cross the room, pick up the little notebook he used at crime scenes, and flip it open. Darian bit back a grin. Argo would soon be churning out pages at a rate that would put the workshop participants to shame.

  Greg absented himself from dinner, but despite the events of the afternoon, Aubrey seemed to be in good spirits. He moved from table to table, chatting briefly with the writers.

  “He doesn’t seem too broken up by what happened,” Raymond remarked as soon as Aubrey had left Darian and Argo’s table.

  “Why would he?” Raymond’s partner, Terry, pointed out. “One big distraction’s out of the way now, right? Maybe he figures Hammond will get back on track now. Just in time to save the workshop.”

  “Aren’t you a cold one?” Raymond asked, smirking. “By all means, my love, keep talking.”

  The remark got everyone speculating about Cole’s death again. Most of the writers had gone through the same mental exercises as Darian and Argo, it seemed. Opinions split equally between the death being a hate crime or a revenge killing perpetrated by someone bearing a grudge. The two of them listened politely, saying little, as the men at their table traded increasingly outlandish theories.

  “As far as I’m concerned, that guy with the frosted hair and the flannel shirt seemed kind of suspicious,” announced the man with the handlebar moustache. His name, Darian had learned, was Ivan, and he was writing a tell-all memoir about his days in a gay outlaw biker gang. “Looked out of place from day one. Plus I haven’t seen him around since the cops took off. They must have hauled him in for questioning, don’t you think?”

  “He sure didn’t strike me as a real writer,” Raymond said, lowering his voice and glancing to the left and right. “You could tell just by looking at him that he’s involved in shady stuff.”

  “What if he was really here to supervise some kind of drug deal?” Terry suggested. “Or what about this? I’ll bet he’s a confidential informant, secretly working with the police. That’s why they took him into town on the sly.”

  “Possible, but here’s a totally different perspective.” Phillip, an aspiring mystery author, waved his fork in excitement. “What if this crazy bow and arrow thing is a hoax, designed to make the retreat more exciting? You know, like those murder dinners and cruises you can buy tickets to. Didn’t that whole episode this morning seemed overly theatrical? Like a script, albeit a bad one from some homegrown theatrical troupe run by the Chamber of Commerce. Still, maybe the idea was to inspire us to write more passionately and to add more suspense to our stories.”

  “Are that many people writing mysteries?” Raymond asked skeptically. “Seems a lot of trouble to go to, considering the majority of the participants are doing memoirs of great loves they lost in the 1990s.” He darted a meaningful glance at Ivan, who wrinkled his nose in offense. “Not Terry and I, of course. We’re working on a science fiction epic. But the same principle applies. Solving a murder wouldn’t be relevant.”

  “Don’t forget poetry,” Terry added, discreetly motioning toward a nearby table where Kaz sat, morosely shoveling food in his mouth and ignoring Marc Fresno’s attempts to engage him in conversation. “Some of us are here to flex their muse’s gossamer wings.”

  “Same applies, right? Poetry is just another way to mourn for a great love lost,” Raymond said. “Staging a murder doesn’t fit.”

  Ivan had moved on to more whimsical reflections. “That’s the trouble with writing about the past, isn’t it? Hurts to revisit all the things you should have said and done…or things you did say and regret bitterly, years later. Chances not taken. If only, if only.” He sighed.

  “I still say this whole thing stinks like a dead fish.” Phillip turned to Argo somewhat desperately. “What do you think? Cole’s death can’t be real, can it?”

  “I’m sorry, but no way would real cops take part in a ruse like that,” Argo said bluntly. “Besides, I saw the body. It wasn’t a joke.”

  “That brings up another possibility,” Raymond said. “Could someone have committed the murder in order to snag a hot topic to write about? I mean, an author being involved in an actual crime would certainly sell books.”

  This theory set off a new round of debate and counterargument, which Argo and Darian chose not to engage in. Just as things began to heat up, with Ivan and Raymond visibly getting on one another’s nerves, a hush swept over the dining room.

  All eyes were on the door as Hammond shuffled slowly inside. Lanislaw lagged a few steps after him, his expression tense. Behind Hammond’s back, he raised one hand in a beckoning gesture.

  Argo, we need to talk. Lanislaw mouthed the words.

  Argo immediately rose.

  “Give us ten minutes,” he whispered to Darian. Lanislaw turned and left again, with Argo following him outside.

  “How do you put up with it, Darian?” Terry asked after Argo and Lanislaw had disappeared. “Does he ever smile?”

  “Sure he does—when he’s not brooding over a dead body.”

  Hammond wandered around the room awkwardly until Aubrey hurried over and guided him to a table. The next thing Darian knew, one person began clapping and before long, supportive applause engulfed the room. Hammond offered a frail wave and bent over the plate of food Aubrey slid in front of him.

  “Thank you for your kindness, everyone,” he called without getting up from his chair. His voice sounded much steadier than it had that morning, though it quickly grew hoarse with emotion. “I just want everyone to know how much Cole would have appreciated it, too. He was a practical man, who would have wanted us all to go on. I loved him for that, you know.” He paused to catch his breath. “I loved him very much.”

  Terry and Raymond, who had leaned over to listen in, blanched in unison. At that point, another person stepped through the door. Chief Creed marched to the center of the room and clapped his hands for attention.

  “We just received the medical examiner’s preliminary report,” he announced, keeping one hand in the air like a conductor readying his orchestra. “We already knew how Cole Dalton died—an arrow through his back, puncturing his vital organs. What we don’t know yet is how it happened. The coroner figures someone was playing around with arrows and cracked off a shot at close range, though we don’t have any information yet on who did it and why. Therefore, we’re appealing to the public for leads both here and in town. If anyone thinks of anything, or even hears a rumor that might bear on the case, I’m asking you to please come forward right away. I’ll be leaving a stack of my cards on the table. You can leave a tip anonymously if you prefer. Now, any questions?”

  Marc Fresno raised his hand and stood up. Beside him, Kaz slouched down and rested his face in his palms.

  “You used the words ‘playing around,’” Marc said. “Are you implying Cole’s death was accidental?”

  “We haven’t ruled anything out yet,” Chief Creed said, jutting out his bottom teeth bulldog-style. “Death by misadventure is one possibility we’re exploring, though, yes.”

  “Goodness. Sounds positively medieval,” Raymond whispered with glee. Terry shushed him.

  Marc’s cheeks reddened with anger. “And covering up for someone is another, I assume?”

  “We need evidence before we can move forward with an accusation of any kind,” Creed snapped. “But I will say this. These things often get solved when somebody talks. Most perps can’t help it. Human nature—guilt, maybe, or just the desire to brag—pressures them to tell others about what they did. Might take time—years, even—but it will happen. And you can take that right to the bank.”

  “I’m glad you think so. You’d be amazed how long people can hold secrets.”

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience—Mr. Fresno, is it?”

  “Correct. And I sure as hell am.”

  This time, the chief ignored him. “All right, then. Back to the case. Thank you for your cooperation, and enjoy your evening as best you can.”

  “Can you believe that guy?” Raymond shook his head in disgust. “Enjoy our evening? With a crazed killer stalking us?”

  “He makes a solid point, though.” Phillip looked up from some notes he’d been taking with a pencil on a paper napkin. “They can’t just charge one of us without proper evidence, thank goodness. And we all have alibis, don’t we? We were right here, watching Hammond try and fail to sabotage poor Darian’s lesson plan.”

  “Not all of us,” Raymond said archly, directing a pointed gaze in Kaz’s direction. “As we were saying about poets before, they’re prone to fits of intense emotion.”

  “You think it was Kaz?” Ivan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Why would he?”

  “Who knows? Jealousy? Lust? Revenge? The usual motives. It’s worth looking into, though, right?”

  “Also, what if he was enjoying some…you know…substances to help his creative process along?” Terry chimed in. “Maybe he suffered a fit of temporary madness.”

  “Oh, please,” Phillip said, waving him off. “Every murderer claims insanity. You’d be surprised how seldom that defense flies in a real court of law.”

  “Hallucinations, then. Drug-induced paranoia. Happens all the time.”

  The group was still discussing the finer points of criminal defense strategies when Argo returned, thankfully without Lanislaw. Darian stood up to intercept him near the buffet table.

  “Want to head back to the cabin?” he suggested. “We can get some desserts to take back with us.”

  “I was about to ask you the same question. I told Lanislaw to meet us there in half an hour. The three of us need to talk.”

  It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but before Darian could think of a reason to object, Aubrey joined them.

  “Anything to report?” he asked Argo. “As I expected, that damn chief is stringing us along. He knows very well who did this, but he’ll never turn in one of his cronies.”

  “We ought to keep an open mind,” Argo said. “I’m confident the cops are doing their best. They either have an idea who’s been sneaking up here and causing trouble, or they’ll find out soon.” His cool gaze drifted over Aubrey’s shoulder to where Hammond sat, poking at his plate of food. “You keeping an eye on Hammond tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’m having him stay in my cabin. Why? You don’t think he’s in any danger, do you?”

  “Not necessarily, but he shouldn’t be alone. This is going to be a rough night for him.”

  “Suicide, you mean? No, not Hammond. He’s way too narcissistic. I suppose that’s a good thing, in this case. Trust me. He’ll be okay.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Argo said.

  “Did you mean what you said about Chief Creed’s department, or were you just reassuring Aubrey?” Darian asked as Aubrey sauntered away.

  “Nope. I trust the locals to handle this phase. It’s their territory and they know the people around here. They’ll figure out the right questions to ask.”

  Darian nodded. Was that why the chief had emphasized the likelihood of an eventual confession? Did he already have an idea who crept onto the grounds and nocked up the deadly arrow?

  Maybe the whole thing really had been a mean-spirited prank that spiraled tragically out of control. Darian couldn’t help but suspect much more lurked beneath the surface. Unfortunately, the water was too cloudy for him to make out even the shadow of what it might be.

  On their way out, he and Argo passed the table where Kaz and Marc Fresno still sat. Kaz seemed to have shaken off his earlier despair. He gestured dramatically as he spun a yarn for Marc Fresno, who listened with his head tilted sideways in intense concentration. While Darian watched, Aubrey joined them, too, placing one hand on each of their shoulders.

  He bent down, and the three of them shared a laugh that made the back of Darian’s neck prickle.

  Chapter 10

  When Lanislaw showed up at their cabin just after dark, he seemed eager to get down to business.

  “I can’t comment on the case in any official capacity,” Lanislaw said as they sat around the table, just as they had when Aubrey came calling. “What I can say is that Cole’s first husband, Evan Price, was assumed to have died by his own hand. An apparent overdose. It made sense, considering his history of addiction. But there were questions, at least as far as I was concerned. Nothing that’s happened since his death has changed my mind.”

  “Especially not Cole marrying the doctor who was treating Evan for his drug habit,” Darian said. “Cole told us himself,” he added when Lanislaw raised a brow in surprise.

  “Correct. They hooked up soon after Evan’s death. Suspiciously soon, I might add.” Lanislaw grimaced. “Think about it. Younger addict, unstable in every way you can think of, versus older, financially secure man. For a guy like Cole, that would be an easy choice.”

  “Cole said you and your colleagues checked up on his alibi at the time,” Argo said. “Harassed him was the way he described it.”

  “Not me personally. I followed the case from a distance and got copies of all the records. Read them thoroughly, trust me.”

  “I believe you,” Argo said.

  “Cole was the one who found Evan’s body,” Lanislaw said, seeming not to notice the way Argo was scrutinizing him. “He said Evan had struggled with bipolar issues for years. Plus he endured the usual pressures about being an out gay man in Florida. Darian knows as well as I do that it isn’t the most welcoming environment.”