“Hammond might not be the only one who knew. Cole probably wasn’t as discreet as he should have been.”

  “You’re thinking of Kaz.”

  “Why not? They were hanging out together at the very least. Did Cole blurt something out? Kaz and Greg were the only two without alibis when Cole was killed.”

  Darian shook his head. “You’re forgetting that Kaz couldn’t have killed Greg. He’s been running the workshop all morning in full view of everyone.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Argo sighed. “Is Creed right about Greg? Maybe he did kill himself and Cole, too, though I can’t imagine what the motive was.”

  “Unless Greg and Cole had some prior association.” They had almost reached the lodge. No one was at the picnic tables outside, suggesting that the workshop had resumed despite Darian’s absence. “Argo, could Greg have been one of the guys Cole preyed on?”

  The two of them came to a halt at the same instant and turned to face each other. Argo’s narrowed eyes and rigid jaw told Darian he was listening intently.

  “Try this on for size. Years ago, Greg is wandering around the country, displaced and troubled. He wouldn’t be the first veteran who got through his tour by hiding his sexuality, even from himself. He’d be exactly the kind of guy Cole and his accomplice would target.”

  “But he can’t be the victim in the story. That guy sure didn’t live to tell any tales.”

  “Who knows? Cole likely had other victims. Or the story took some artistic liberties. Either that or they left the guy in the hotel for dead, but he actually wasn’t. They’d have fled the area as fast as they could, so they might not have heard about his recovery. Plenty of possibilities.”

  “So you think Greg wrote the story?”

  “Could be. Or he told it to one of the writers, who developed a draft. It’s not hard to imagine. Phillip, for one, thinks the whole retreat is a murder-mystery game. Why not take advantage if a ready-made plot drops in your lap?”

  “And Greg—or whoever—left it out for Lanislaw? Like you said before, though, why him? No one is supposed to know he’s a cop.”

  “But someone who’d run into him in Florida might. Think about it. If many years had passed, Lanislaw might not even recognize Greg. For all we know, the doctors reconstructed his face after the beating. Then again, like you said, Lanislaw might be fibbing about where he got it. Maybe he broke into Greg’s quarters and didn’t want to admit it.”

  “Or he found the manuscript in the sports shed?” Argo raked his fingers through his hair as if he was trying to tame his thoughts at the same time. “You know, all those pieces kind of fit.”

  “And here’s another idea. What if the accomplice in the story was Evan? Lanislaw’s first love. Did whoever left him the pages know about their relationship, too?”

  “Okay. This is starting to make a weird kind of sense, but we need to take this slow. We need some facts to go on, not just theories.”

  “Why don’t we talk to Aubrey? He says he knew Greg for years. Looked out for him. Maybe Greg let something slip to him, or Aubrey noticed an odd reaction when Greg first laid eyes on Cole.”

  “Good thinking. Let’s go.” Grasping Darian’s hand, Argo hurried to the lodge.

  “What about Lanislaw?” Darian asked as they pushed through the front doors together. “If we’re right about Evan, he won’t want to hear what we have to say.”

  “He’s a cop. He’ll accept the truth. We’ll talk to him after we’re sure we’re on the right track.”

  They stepped inside, noticing the leftover lunch fixings and several barrels of trash still in the lobby. The retreat guests, however, had all moved to the function room. On their way to Aubrey’s office, Argo and Darian noticed the writers at their desks, all staring at the podium where Darian should have been standing. Holding court in his place was Hammond himself, who was reading out loud from a worn paperback copy of Highway to Him. His booming, melodramatic voice held his audience rapt. Even Lanislaw, tucked away at the very back of the room, seemed to be paying close attention. Briefly, his shrewd blue eyes flicked toward Darian and Argo. Then they cut coldly away. Despite his ambivalent attitude toward Lanislaw, Darian hoped his idea about Evan was wrong.

  They found Kaz pacing in front of Aubrey’s desk, gesticulating wildly while Aubrey pretended to study some paperwork. Argo motioned for Darian to hang back so they could listen in on the tail end of the heated conversation.

  “An ambulance just went by and you’re telling me to relax? What’s wrong with you, Aubrey? Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re lucky none of the guests noticed—mostly because I was keeping their eyes on their drafts, I might add.”

  Aubrey sighed but didn’t look up. “An accident. Greg got hurt working on the shed. Nothing to affect the workshop. Let me handle it.”

  “You’re going to handle it? That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, Aubrey. Just answer one question—is Hodge coming back?”

  A tense silence followed.

  “Greg’s gone, isn’t he? I knew it. The ambulance wasn’t blaring its sirens. That means there’s no emergency transport. In other words, it doesn’t matter when he gets to where he’s going. It’s all the same to him.”

  “No one can know,” Aubrey replied at length.

  “Even though we might all be in danger?” Kaz’s voice trembled with audible fear. “This whole workshop idea was insane! No, I take that back. You and Hammond are insane. It was bad enough when Cole ended up skewered like a shish kabab. Now someone’s taken out Greg, too? Who’s going to handle the maintenance? Take care of the grounds? Don’t expect me to serve lunch and empty the trash cans every day for the rest of the week!”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything, Kaz. I’ll hire some new guys to help out.”

  “Oh, yeah? How? Townies won’t come up here. Even if they were willing, we can’t trust them. You’ve said it yourself over and over.”

  “I told you to leave all that to me. We’ll function without Greg. Just keep on with the writing.”

  “You expect me to carry on like everything’s normal? Talk about asking a lot!”

  “I know I am. But my whole future’s riding on this event. It’s Hammond’s big comeback, remember? I need to get the campground out of debt.”

  “So it’ll all be worth all the pain in the end? Why do I find that hard to believe? I suspect Cole and Greg Hodge might disagree, too.”

  “Okay, then. Quit the retreat! Pack up your laptop and go wherever you want, but I can tell you that Creed’s deputies are lining the roads in and out of the resort. You’ll be arrested if you try to get past. If you have nothing to hide, on the other hand, I suggest you stay right here.”

  Darian and Argo instinctively drew back as Kaz stomped out into the hall. Spotting them, he paused. His face was flushed with anger as he stabbed a finger in the direction of Aubrey’s open door.

  “The writers are going to demand refunds, you know. The funny part is Aubrey can’t give them. He’s blown every penny he took in. You and I will be lucky if we get a dime from this, Darian. And now we have to contend with a killer slinking around among us?”

  Argo opened his mouth to respond, but Kaz went right on ranting.

  “Okay, I know what you’re going to say. There’s safety in numbers. If we all stick together, he’s hardly going to take all thirty of us out at once. Oh, wait. How do we know he won’t switch from arrows to something a little more twenty-first century? You’ve heard of a little thing called mass shootings, haven’t you?”

  After he’d blown past them with the force of a summer storm, they continued into the office. Aubrey leaned back and sighed.

  “He’s not exactly wrong. This is going to be a financial disaster. If Creed shuts us down, I really won’t have any way to recover what I’ve invested into this little project.”

  Without waiting to be asked, Argo pulled up a chair and sat down. Darian did the same. “I don’t think he will. He believes Greg killed Cole and then himself.”

  “Suicide? Greg?” Aubrey considered the idea. “Much as I don’t want to agree, I can’t say it’s the most improbable theory I’ve ever heard. What about you?”

  “Darian and I both think the idea’s worth considering. First, though, we need some additional information about Greg’s background. We hoped you could provide it.”

  “I can try. It’s true I’ve known Greg for years, but I can’t say he ever confided in me. He was a wounded person on many levels, as you know, but he was a loyal worker. When I bought this place, I hired several people to help with the upkeep. I couldn’t pay much, so the staff drifted away. Only Greg stayed.” Aubrey laughed bitterly. “Well, I’d like to think he stayed because he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else. The truth is, maybe he just didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “So he never discussed any lovers or past relationships with you?” Darian asked.

  “None I ever knew of, and apparently he’d cut off ties with his family. He wasn’t much for interactions with other people. He especially hated the townies.”

  “Can you elaborate on that?” Argo prompted.

  “They tormented him whenever he went to the general store. He put up with it for a while, until one time a bunch of yahoos roughed him up and called him queer. He didn’t dare to fight back because with his combat training, he knew he could kill them with his bare hands if he lost control. That was it for him. He never went back to town, even if I offered to go with him. Ranted about buying a gun, though obviously I forbade that. Too dangerous with guests around. Greg was always paranoid that they’d come up here and finish what they’d started, though.”

  “You mentioned vandals sneaking onto the grounds, so he wasn’t wrong.”

  “Never said he was. We’ve definitely experienced problems. Stuff stolen. Sports shed broken into, canoe smashed up, equipment knocked off the shelf. I figure they were teenagers from the village. Or drunken morons, trying to prove a point. I’m not scared of them, and Greg definitely wasn’t. They’d have been shaking in their shoes if they’d known his background.”

  Darian glanced at Argo, who gave a subtle nod. “That’s exactly what we want to explore. Argo and I suspect that both Cole and Greg’s death are connected to something that happened years ago, most likely in Florida. Had Greg spent any time there that you know of?”

  Aubrey nodded. “He wandered around quite a bit after he got out of the military. Whenever I pressed him for details, he’d mumble lame excuses. After a while, I stopped asking. I’ve interviewed a lot of guys for jobs in the bars and clubs I’ve owned, and I’ve learned to interpret that reaction. It usually means they’ve been institutionalized—either in a mental hospital or a jail. Often both in quick succession. That explanation fit my impression of Greg.”

  “We also think hospitalization played a role,” Argo said. “But in a more traditional sense.”

  While Aubrey listened, looking increasingly stunned, Argo laid out the theory he and Darian had developed. He left out Lanislaw’s part in the unfolding drama, as well as Evan’s name. When he finished, Aubrey sat back in a slack-jawed daze.

  “Gotta be honest here. That sounds totally crazy, like the stories those guys in Hammond’s workshop come up with. On the other hand, it makes a weird kind of sense. I just remembered something else—Greg’s expression when he first saw Cole sashay out of Hammond’s car. I figured he just found Cole attractive. Most guys do. But it could have been recognition.” Aubrey rubbed his beard in thought. “And as far as hanging around in bars and hooking up with strangers, that fits too. Greg struggled with addictions to alcohol and worse.”

  “That might explain why he reacted so badly to the guys hassling him in town,” Darian said.

  “Sure does. It also explains his fear of strangers, his over-sensitivity to criticism…probably even his fanatical need for rules and order. I assumed his PTSD resulted from what he’d suffered in the military. But maybe his scars came from a different sort of war.” Aubrey turned his head and discreetly brushed the side of his hand across his cheeks. “So then what? Poor guy killed Cole and was consumed with guilt, so he punished himself?”

  “Looks that way,” Argo admitted.

  The three sat in silence for a few minutes. Darian wondered if, like him, Aubrey was torn between revulsion and pity. Greg had done a terrible thing, but as far as Darian could see, he was as much a victim as a villain. And in the end, he atoned by administering to himself the same method of death he had meted out to Cole.

  Finally Argo stood, and again Darian followed his lead.

  “I’ll share this information with Chief Creed, but I’d appreciate it if you kept things to yourself for now. He’ll follow up in whatever way he thinks best. Most likely he’ll let the retreat continue undisturbed.”

  “What does it matter now?” Aubrey waved his hands helplessly. “I’m sunk, and so is this campground. Kaz is right—the writers will probably stampede away as soon as they find out what happened. As for me, I’ll be moving on. I’ve been broke before and no doubt I will be again. Still, I know how to get by. I can call in some favors, borrow on credit. I’ll survive.” Beneath his thick red beard, his chin trembled.

  “Best of luck,” Darian said sincerely.

  Instead of answering, Aubrey nodded and offered a quick wave as Darian and Argo slipped out and closed the door.

  They returned to the function room just as Hammond wrapped up his reading. His book held aloft, he stepped down from the podium like a preacher offering benediction after a triumphant sermon. Darian thought of the main character’s evangelical background and wondered again how much of the story was actually based on Hammond’s life.

  “You’ve been the most delightful audience I’ve ever addressed,” Hammond declared as they applauded and whistled. “You have inspired me to write, which is the highest compliment I could pay anyone. In fact, I’m off to do so right now!”

  More applause followed him out the front door. Only when he was strolling down the path to the cabins did the clapping give way to a buzz of excited conversation.

  “Inspiring is certainly the word of the day,” Raymond said as he and Terry hurried excitedly over to greet them. “This was an amazingly productive writing day. We’ve come up with an entirely new direction for our novel.”

  Taking turns, the two described the plot of their interstellar romance. In the current version, a futuristic gambler-hero with a tyrannical alien mother was trying both to swindle and to win the hand of a spoiled but wealthy space prince. Darian listened patiently, amused by the tolerant smile frozen on Argo’s lips.

  “Sounds great,” Argo said as soon as he could get a word in edgewise. “Seems like a lot of guys have come up with interesting ideas over the past couple of days. What was that mystery story we heard about, Darian?”

  “Oh, right. We didn’t get all the details, but someone described a really graphic scene about a murder at a gay guest house in Key West. Argo thought the author would like a cop’s perspective just to sharpen the viewpoint, so we were hoping to find out who it was. Any ideas?”

  “Not really.” Raymond bit his lip. “Phillip comes to mind, but that doesn’t really sound like his writing style. He’s into those bloodless, locked-room puzzle stories with some doddering old English vicar questioning the suspects over tea.”

  “That fellow with the frosted hair is writing some kind of cop story,” Terry added, “but from what he said it’s not really a mystery. More about the cop’s personal life. Lots of judgmental boyfriends and ill-fated crushes and that sort of angst.”

  “Yeah, we’ve already talked to him,” Argo said, disappointed.

  “Those are the only two crime stories we’ve seen so far. Oh, I did critique the first chapter of a romance about two guys on an archaeological dig. It was a little sappy, if you want the truth. Then that hairy guy, Ivan, shared some of his memoir. Terry and I thought that would be fun, since it involved an all-gay motorcycle club—but it wasn’t very exciting. Mostly about him looking after his mother, interspersed with a few scenes about tinkering with carburetors and drag racing. And I don’t mean either of those terms in a metaphorical sense, alas.”

  “Now that should have turned into a crime story,” Terry said. “The mother character was quite a dragon. Not a jury in the world would convict him.”

  Raymond heaved a heartfelt sigh. “So many of us have complicated relationships with our mothers. Perhaps there’s a nugget of truth in all those Freudian theories after all.”

  Darian suppressed a smile, grateful for his own family situation. Both his moms were awesome, even if they had somehow managed to involve him and Argo into a murder plot over the Christmas break…and now had apparently done so a second time.

  “We could use that in our book,” Terry suggested. “Since our character’s mother is already an alien warrior queen. What if she’s also a literal dragon of some sort?”

  “Love it! Come on, let’s go work on it right now while the idea is still fresh! See you later, boys. Thanks for all your help, Darian. We’ll definitely mention you on the dedication page!”

  Arms linked, they scurried off, already planning their cover design.

  “Okay.” Instantly Argo grew serious again. “So we’re still at a dead end as far as who wrote the story, but let’s put that aside for now. Time to deal with Lanislaw.”

  They found him standing near the podium, chatting with Marc Fresno. He didn’t even pretend to be happy to see them.

  “Stuart, we want to talk to you,” Argo said.

  “As you can see, I’m talking to Marc. Can it wait?”

  “Not really. Will you excuse us, Marc?”

  When Marc didn’t move, or even respond, Argo pivoted to the direct approach. “Let’s go to your cabin, Stuart. Now.”

  This time, Lanislaw gave in. He apologized to Marc, managing to imply he was mostly sorry for Argo’s rudeness, and set off without waiting for Darian and Argo. They had to walk briskly to catch up and then keep up with him. No one spoke until they were inside his cabin. He offered them neither refreshments nor a seat, so the three of them remained standing. Darian glanced around the room and spotted a copy of Highway to Him on the desk.