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“Sorry. I was just about to phone you.” Beau sounded uncharacteristically tired.

“Right. Well, I’m over at McCabe Hou—”

“Goddamn it, Crane. We had a deal.”

Archie said quickly, “And I’m sticking to it. The deal was I stay out of the investigation.” He had to speak louder over the irate noises coming from the other end of the call. “I did exactly as you asked, Beau. I read over the file, back to front. Twice. That’s it. I didn’t go out and I didn’t talk to anyone. But when you didn’t get back to me, I thought I’d swing by the house to see if it had been cleared.”

“That was not our agreement,” Beau snapped. “Our agreement was, you lay low. You don’t make trouble for me. Or yourself. What the hell does one fucking day matter?”

“I don’t think I’m any less safe—” Archie caught Mrs. Simms’s eye and changed what he had been about to say. He lowered his voice. “Jesus, Beau. I just want to sleep in my own bed.”

“What the hell does it matter?”

That furious outburst was so unlike Beau, it took Archie aback. “I-It’s just I’ve spent most of the last seven years sleeping in hotels and motels or tents or nothing but a sleeping bag on open range. Or a-a goddamned hospital. I just need…” It sounded ridiculous, Beau was right to be exasperated, and Archie stopped himself right there.

To his surprise, Beau said nothing.

Into that sudden silence, Archie drew a steadying breath, said more calmly, “But if you have a legitimate reason you don’t want me to stay tonight, I won’t. Okay? And yes, I guess I could’ve—should have waited to hear from you. Anyway. I found the envelope for the message luring John out to the gazebo.”

“On my way.” Beau disconnected.

Archie’s hand was shaking a little as he slid his phone in his jeans pocket. Why did every—nearly every—conversation between himself and Beau feel like a fight for survival? He caught Simmy’s thoughtful expression.

“Language barrier?” he suggested.

“Oh? As I recall, you both always managed to get your point across.”

Archie’s smile was mostly a grimace. Back in the day, John and Simmy were probably the only two people in Twinkleton who knew that Archie and the police chief’s son were more than study buddies.

Not that Archie had discussed it. He’d never said a word to anyone until the afternoon Beau ended things between them—but Simmy and John had seemed to understand from the first. And been unfazed by the knowledge. Teenaged Archie had assumed they didn’t want to know or simply hadn’t recognized what was really going on. As an adult, he realized they had probably been scrambling to figure out the best way to provide responsible adult supervision while respecting both his and Beau’s desperate need for privacy.

What a strange complication Archie must have presented when he’d unexpectedly turned up in John’s orderly life.

Now he said, “You don’t have to stay, Simmy. You’re not—” He started to say none of this was her problem, she was no longer John’s housekeeper, but realized in time that John’s devoted Mrs. Simms was probably not going to take that the way he intended.

He said instead, “I don’t need the sheets changed. I’ll wait for Beau on my own.”

“Of course, the sheets are changed,” Simmy said with a hint of asperity. “I’ve been here all afternoon. There are groceries in the fridge. And a letter for you in the study.” She scrutinized his face. “Does the chief think that you’re in danger, too?”

Archie said vaguely, “I think he’s just being extra cautious because we don’t know why John was killed.”

“But you haven’t been home in years.”

Archie shrugged. She was right, but maybe his return had somehow served as a triggering event? Had his arrival in Twinkleton been the precipitating factor which led to the offender’s decision to eliminate John?

But then, what could be the actual motive?

It was hard to see how his return could in any way have influenced the situation between John and Professor Azizi. But perhaps it did have some bearing on Jon Monig’s resentments and bitterness? He didn’t sound like the most stable guy in the world.

“Maybe the chief is right. Maybe it isn’t safe for you to stay here,” Simmy said.

“I don’t think my safety is Chief Langham’s concern.”

Simmy raised her brows, and Archie was instantly reminded of how it felt to be fifteen and suspect the adults around you were politely humoring your nonsense.

She murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “You know best,” and dumped the spoiled carton of half-and-half down the sink. “Shall I clean up this mess?” She indicated the trash spread out across the kitchen table.

“No, no. I’ll take care of it,” Archie assured her.