“I didn’t know you were a Hammond fan, Stuart.”

  Lanislaw shrugged. “I was comparing the book’s writing style to the sample I shared with you. I’m not an expert, I admit, so I’ll defer to you on that subject.”

  “I’m glad you brought the story up,” Argo said. “That’s actually why we’re here. Darian and I went through it, and though we still don’t know who wrote it, we think it might be relevant to the case. We also think it has a connection to you.”

  “Oh? Are you going to accuse me of writing it, before or after I skewered Greg Hodge?”

  “No. Darian’s convinced the prose is too sloppy and awkward to be yours. And as far as killing Greg, I no longer think you were involved. I won’t apologize, though. You’re a cop, so you know I had to consider all possibilities.”

  Lanislaw sighed, and his expression softened. “All right. I accept that, especially since I brought it on myself in some ways. And I appreciate the compliment, Darian. I’d also like to think I could write way better, even if I’m not a professional.”

  “That being said, what concerns us most is the content and not the technique. This might be hard to hear, Stuart, but we’re doing you the courtesy of telling you before we go to Chief Creed. Let’s all sit down.”

  “Okay.” His curiosity clearly piqued, Lanislaw motioned toward the cabin’s small sitting area. He took the desk chair for himself and left the sofa for Darian and Argo. “Go on.”

  They shared their theory, taking turns. This time, unlike with Aubrey, they spared no detail. Darian watched Lanislaw recoil when Argo named Evan as Cole’s possible accomplice in the brutal attack.

  “No. Not Evan. He was a gentle, loving person.”

  “But you said yourself he had a drug problem,” Argo pointed out. “Being in an altered state could have caused him to act out in ways he normally wouldn’t.”

  “Plus Cole could have manipulated him,” Darian added. “He was an expert, as we all know.”

  Lanislaw was shaking his head in denial when someone knocked on the door.

  “We’re kind of busy,” Argo called out.

  “I know that,” Marc’s voice answered. “And I know why. I can save you some time, if you’d care to listen to me.”

  Argo seemed about to refuse him entry, but Lanislaw got up and ushered Marc inside.

  “I ran into Raymond and Terry at one of the picnic tables,” Marc said, striding to the center of the room. “They told me you two were asking about a story someone wrote. One featuring two psychopaths and lots of blood.”

  That was far more description than he had provided, Darian knew. Argo picked up on the discrepancy, too.

  “True,” Argo said cautiously. “You know something about it?”

  “I should.” Marc smirked. “Considering I’m the one who wrote it.”

  Chapter 14

  While everyone stared, Marc leaned over Lanislaw’s desk and picked up the paperback. “Ah, the venerable classic. I suppose Hammond’s impromptu performance today prompted you to reread it?”

  “Actually, I want to get it autographed,” Lanislaw fibbed.

  “Oh, yeah? Funny. Wouldn’t have pegged you as a superfan. You’re a Hammond follower, though, aren’t you? But it’s not because of any literary aspirations. Kind of hard to balance a writing career with a full-time gig as a homicide detective.”

  “So you know who I am. Well done. Might I ask how you found out? I keep a low profile for a reason.”

  “Let’s just say we have some mutual acquaintances.”

  “Are you a cop, too?” Darian asked.

  “He’s not a cop,” Argo said. “Too much of a maverick. P.I. would be my guess.”

  “Got it one. Knew I wouldn’t slip past you for long, Argo, which is partly why I decided to come clean. I have the utmost respect for my bros in blue—and their sidekicks.” Marc paused to wink at Darian. “Time we started helping each other so we can get this case sorted out.”

  “You might be too late,” Lanislaw told him. “Darian and Argo think they’ve unraveled the whole sordid knot. I have my doubts, though, so I’d welcome any alternate theory.”

  “We were talking about the story,” Argo reminded him.

  “The story, right. Well, first off, I apologize for the inelegant prose. English wasn’t my strongest subject in college, though that could have been different if I’d had more teachers like Darian. I also have to admit that I wrote fiction, in the sense that I can’t absolutely verify the words that were spoken, the precise sequence of events, or the exact motivation of the individuals involved. But thanks to over a year of in-depth research, I’m reasonably sure I conveyed the gist of what happened.”

  “What’s your interest in this case, exactly?” Lanislaw asked. “I’m assuming someone hired you.”

  “Correct. Before you ask the inevitable question, I can’t break my client’s confidence without permission. Still I’m willing to tell you what I know so far, excluding any details that might compromise that privilege, providing you three do the same.”

  “No way. You tell me everything and I’ll decide what happens afterward.” Argo stood up, his hands snapping into fists at his sides. “Marc, if that’s even your real name, we have two dead guys and maybe more to come. Your client’s rights end where Stuart’s and my duties as law enforcement officers begin. So you can tell us what you know right here and now, or I’ll put you in cuffs and let Chief Creed haul you downtown for questioning.”

  The confrontational tone was a mistake, Darian saw at once. Though he could understand Argo’s anger and frustration, Marc felt no such empathy. His jaunty smile faded and his voice hardened.

  “On second thought, there’s been some kind of misunderstanding after all. I did write the story, true, but it was just a writing exercise. I developed it all in my own head and typed it out for kicks. I’m not really sure how it ended up on Detective Lanislaw’s chair. Must have accidentally tumbled out of my laptop case.”

  “Keep it up,” Argo snarled. “My patience is now officially worn most of the way through. There might be one or two threads left, but that’s about it.”

  “How about this scenario?” Lanislaw suggested. “Hammond hired you to find out if Cole was cheating on him. In the course of your investigation you uncovered some other tidbits that cast a whole new light on their relationship.”

  “Nope. To tell you the truth, I found Cole of far less interest than you did, Stuart. Just another shallow pretty boy with terrible taste in men. Lots of those around, though for some reason I can’t seem to catch one for myself.”

  “Okay, enough.” Argo took out his phone and steadied one finger over the screen. “Time to call in the deputies. Marc can sleep in the jail tonight. Sorry it won’t be as comfortable as your cabin. While you’re away, Stuart and I will keep an eye on your stuff. I have no doubt we’ll find some interesting items tucked away in your luggage.”

  “You can’t toss my room. You two have no jurisdiction here.”

  “True enough, but Aubrey owns the place. I don’t think he’d hesitate to give us permission once we explain the situation. Why wait for Chief Creed to go through all the hassle of search warrants? He’s eager for this investigation to end so he can get back to saving his campground.”

  “Is that what you think his motivation is?” Marc laughed. “I suppose you also think he’s desperate to find out what happened to his longtime friend, Greg Hodge.”

  “I’m satisfied with both assumptions unless you can enlighten us otherwise.”

  Marc shook his head pityingly and then heaved out his barrel chest with a deep sigh of surrender. “You drive a hard bargain, Argo, though anything less would have disappointed me. Okay, you win. Better sit back down, because this might take a while.”

  At that point, he stopped and stared. A figure had appeared on the other side of Lanislaw’s sliding doors, pounding the glass with his fists and shouting.

  “It’s Hammond,” Darian said, astonished. Lanislaw hurried over to let him in while Argo kept an eye on Marc.

  “I need help!” Hammond wailed as he stumbled inside. “Someone just tried to kill me!”

  “What?” Darian was the first to ask.

  “Come on! I’ll show you!” Whirling, Hammond dashed the short distance back to his cabin while the four of them followed. He pointed to an arrow, identical to the ones found piercing Cole and Greg Hodge, sticking out of the wall that faced the woods. “It came from behind one of those trees,” he said, breaking down in sobs. “Someone wanted to murder me the exact same way he killed my poor husband.”

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” Argo ordered. “Go through it step by step.”

  “It all went down too quickly for me to register everything,” Hammond replied testily. “I’ll try to piece it all together, though. I came back from the lodge and poured myself a drink. Then I stared out at the trees for a while, watching a squirrel jump around in the branches. Finally I opened it to step outside.”

  “Any particular reason why?” Argo asked him. “For reasons you’ve just pointed out, that area can’t have pleasant associations for you.”

  “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be staying in Aubrey’s cabin?” Darian added.

  “You’ll think I’m insane, and perhaps rightly so, but I…I sensed Cole’s spirit nearby. I wanted to be with him—to tell him about the wonderful reading I enjoyed this morning with the workshop participants. It was what he wanted most for me, you know—for me to get back to my writing, to dazzle my fans the way I used to in the old days. Many years have passed since I felt as confident about my abilities as I did this afternoon when they all applauded me.” His expression grew wistful, then tightened. “As for staying with Aubrey, you have no idea how dreadful that’s been. He hovers over me like a mother guarding a sickly chick. Bossing me around, asking me if I’m all right—making sure I don’t drink anything.”

  “What a shame,” Marc said sarcastically. Darian realized Hammond’s primary motivation was probably the need for a drink, rather than any desire for an otherworldly communion. He recalled Cole mentioning the stash of expensive bottles the two brought with them.

  Hammond flashed Marc a look of disgust. “All right, so I had another reason. I decided to retrace Cole’s last steps. Relive his last moments. It’s not as though the police have been any help.” He paused to squint at Argo. “I imagined I’d see something the rest of you missed…something that could give me answers about what happened to my husband. All of a sudden, something whistled past my ear. At first, I assumed an insect or a bird hit the glass door. Then I heard a thud and saw an arrow imbedded in the wall, inches from my shoulder! Well, I didn’t hang around to see who fired it. I’d seen all of you walking toward Stuart’s cabin earlier, so I ran over as fast as I could.”

  “Not a wise move,” Lanislaw pointed out. “He could have shot at you again while you were out in the open.”

  “What can I say? I panicked. Instinct told me to seek help.”

  The whole group moved forward to gape at the arrow. Argo knelt down and examined the shaft, the entry point, and the ground immediately beneath it. “No one touch anything,” Argo warned. “Chief Creed will want to bag it. He might get a fingerprint.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Hammond fumed, “but wouldn’t any self-respecting killer wear gloves? They always do on television. Anyhow, I need to sit down. This whole day has been too much for me, and my knees are starting to shake. Will one of you pour me something to settle my nerves?”

  “By all means,” said Argo. “Darian, why don’t you get Prescott his drink? I’m going to call Aubrey.” He dialed while Lanislaw and Marc steered Hammond inside. Darian found the used shotglass and whiskey bottle already on the kitchenette counter. He brought the refill over to the coffee table. “Better get up to Hammond’s cabin,” Argo was saying into his phone. “There’s been an incident.”

  Darian heard a burst of profanity come through the tiny speaker. It wasn’t directed at Argo as much as to fate in general. Then the line went dead.

  When he showed up a few minutes later, Aubrey was still raging.

  “This is getting out of control. You said you had it all figured out, Sullivan, and now this!”

  “All figured out?” Hammond inquired, peering over the edge of his glass. “Was there a break in the case? Since when?”

  “We’re doing everything we can. For what it’s worth, I actually do have it figured out. Well, most of it, anyway.” Argo seemed unusually calm. But then, Darian knew he often did things like that to de-escalate a tense situation. The louder the other person became, the more laid back Argo got. It generally worked wonders. Not this time, though. Aubrey lost control.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? This place is my livelihood, my last chance! It’s all I have. Now, thanks to you, I’m going to lose it all. A third attack? The perp still running around loose in the woods? The lawsuits alone will finish me, never mind the lack of future business.”

  “Aubrey, stop these histrionics,” Hammond snapped. Fresh sweat glistened on his forehead. “I can’t believe how selfish you are. You’re going to lose your campground? Well, get in line for a tissue. I lost my husband! The one true love of my life!”

  Argo held up a hand for silence. “I already told you, Chief Creed has no reason to shut the retreat down. Contrary to appearances, this isn’t an unsafe space—at least, not for the rest of the guests. The intended victims have all been dispatched according to plan. All that’s left now is the cleanup, though I suspect this latest incident complicates things.”

  “What are you babbling about?” Aubrey demanded, while Hammond tossed back the last of his drink and swallowed hard.

  “Why don’t you all take seats?” Argo suggested. He remained standing, but Aubrey perched on the edge of the sofa beside a fidgeting Hammond. Lanislaw and Marc glanced uncertainly at each other, but found chairs. Since there were only two, Darian leaned against the desk they’d caught Marc pilfering earlier.

  “I’d also like to know what’s going on,” Hammond chimed in when everyone was settled. “Should we hang around here with a crazy killer on the loose? All he’d have to do is open the slider and pick us off like wooden ducks in a shooting gallery.”

  “None of us are in any danger,” Argo said. “Believe it or not, the arrow in the wall has convinced me of that. Quite the opposite effect than it was supposed to have.”

  “You’re insane,” Hammond retorted. “It missed me by no more than inches!”

  “Exactly,” Argo said. Turning to Lanislaw and Marc, he offered a quick nod. Lanislaw picked up on the signal at once, his neatly contoured brows rising. A split second later, Marc’s mouth curved in a cynical grin. Their reactions frustrated Darian at first, since it seemed they were all in on some private joke he’d been left out of. Then, all at once, the solution started to gel in his mind, too.

  “It all comes down to who shot the arrows,” Darian said. “Or maybe ‘shot’ isn’t the right word in all three cases.”

  “It definitely isn’t,” Argo confirmed. “Words matter, don’t they? Especially at a campground full of writers.”

  “You said it was Greg Hodge,” Aubrey grumbled. “Taking revenge on Cole for attacking him all those years ago.”

  Hammond blinked. “Cole? Attacking Hodge? What for?”

  “Shut up, Prescott. Argo and Darian came to my office and explained the whole thing.” Aubrey looked up at Argo. “Go ahead and tell him, too. Convince him the same way you did me.”

  “Well, it couldn’t have been Hodge,” Marc pointed out. “Not this time.”

  “Not any time,” Argo said. “He was never supposed to emerge as the most likely killer. But then, only the three of us had the opportunity to read Marc’s story.”

  “Story? What story?” Hammond asked somewhat desperately.

  “No worries. I’ll be sure you get a copy later. It’s quite promising, as rough drafts go,” Marc beamed. “Oh, I know it’ll never attract a following like Highway to Him. Still, I’d say its influence will be felt by plenty of people for many years to come.”

  “Darian and I interpreted what we read according to the best information we had at the time,” Argo said. “We failed to take one element into account, though. The author was kind of sketchy about exactly when the events he described took place.”

  “Yeah, my bad,” Marc admitted. “I admit I should have done more digging into late-1980s fashion and slang. I pictured the whole thing in my head so clearly that I just assumed the reader would do the same.”

  “A common mistake in first drafts,” Darian said.

  “Could someone please explain the relevance of a manuscript critique to the murders, both completed and attempted, on my property?” Aubrey exploded.

  Ignoring him, Argo continued. He focused his attention on Hammond. “Like many crimes, this one unraveled because of simple bad timing. I assumed Aubrey texted or called you the minute Darian and I left his office, filling you in on our new theory of the case. For some reason, he didn’t. Any particular reason why?”

  “I turned my phone off during my reading,” Hammond replied, clearly offended that Argo would assume otherwise. “I planned to check my messages later, but I got distracted when someone tried to kill me. No thanks to any of you, I might add.”

  “You idiot,” Aubrey said under his breath. “I did text you.”

  “Well, I didn’t get it, obviously.”

  Marc laughed at Aubrey and Hammond’s mutual horror. “Bottom line, you miscalculated. Didn’t you, Hammond?”

  “Miscalculated what? This is really getting tiresome, boys. I’m about ready to ask you all to leave my cabin.”

  “You imbedded that arrow into the wall just a little too late,” Argo said. “Thanks to Darian and I taking off after the wrong scent, you no longer needed to keep up the ruse of a hidden assassin. Gouging a hole in the siding and shoving in the arrow tip wasn’t very swift, either, if you’ll excuse the inadvertent pun.”