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His first clue as to how wrong he’d got it was when Beau couldn’t make time to see him for the first two weeks after Archie arrived home.

It hurt. It was meant to. Knowing that, knowing that Beau’s desire to hurt him had to stem from Beau feeling equally hurt, Archie had finally managed to corner Beau at home. He’d told Beau everything, told him things that seven years later still made him hot with embarrassment.

Afterwards, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

Beau had been equally honest, and it had not been pleasant. As far as Beau was concerned, whatever had been between them ended when Archie went off to college. They had never had much in common, and they had even less now. Archie, in Beau’s opinion, needed to get over it.

There had been more, but that had been the gist of it.

They’d only known each other a couple of years. Looking back, Archie told himself a lot of his attachment to Beau had simply been youthful anxiety at taking those next big steps alone. He had always been slow at making friends—close friends—and Beau had been the nearest thing he had to a best friend. Plus, Beau was the first guy he’d ever had real sex with. So, it was understandable he’d wanted to hold onto that. But he wasn’t stupid.

He had taken Beau’s advice and gotten over it.

In fact, he hadn’t spoken to Beau since.

Not even when, out of the blue, he’d got a phone message from Beau “just touching base.” That had been about two years after they’d said their stiff goodbyes. Around the time Beau got engaged to former homecoming queen Riley Andersen. Did Beau think he hadn’t made his feelings clear the last time they’d talked? Archie didn’t return the phone call. Another phone message arrived around the time of their tenth high school reunion. Archie figured he knew what that was about, and Beau could rest easy. Archie didn’t bother to return that call, either. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged him to that reunion.

He had not planned to ever return to Twinkleton. John had flown out to Anchorage that first Christmas. He had flown to Portland for the holidays the two years Archie had been stationed there. After that, Archie had usually worked through the holidays. He phoned John—not as often as John phoned him. Not as often as he should have. He had made the mistake of thinking there would be plenty of time for that down the line, that his career had to come first.

Now, when it was too late, he realized what a mistake he’d made.

When he’d opened his eyes in that Wyoming hospital to find John sitting at his bedside...

It had meant a lot. More than he could have imagined twenty-four hours earlier. Belatedly, it had occurred to him that John was the only real family he had. Until that very moment he had thought of their connection as a cordial, but mostly legal, technicality. John had considered himself legally and ethically bound to take on the responsibility of seeing Archie through to adulthood. But Archie had been a fully autonomous adult for several years and John had still done his best to stay in his life, to be there for him.

So, yes, Archie was in a very dark place as he waited to be interviewed by Twinkleton PD.

He knew the drill, of course. He was probably more familiar with crime scene investigation than most of the officers on scene. That did not make any of it easier.

Initially, no doubt based on his credentials, he’d been permitted to observe, from a distance, as Twinkleton PD proceeded to process the crime scene he’d secured. He had watched in bleak silence as the gazebo was cordoned off, watched officers comb the surrounding garden for potential evidence, watched the crime scene unit arrive and the forensic technicians begin their dreary tasks.

Given the number of guests—prominent guests at that—he was not surprised when additional officers arrived. Twinkleton was a small town and this would be a high-profile case. He knew there was a possibility the police chief might make an appearance, so he was not surprised when he spotted Beau ducking beneath the crime scene tape and striding toward the gazebo.

He was surprised, unpleasantly so, at the way his heart jumped at that brief glimpse. How, after all this time, was it even possible he could recognize that tall moonlit silhouette as Beau?

Maybe because Beau moved with that same easy athletic confidence. Maybe because everyone else still reacted like their star quarterback had arrived on the field.

He was surprised again when, not long after Beau’s arrival, an officer politely but firmly escorted him to the drawing room to wait with the other guests.

Apparently, no professional courtesy would be extended. That felt pointed, but okay. If Beau had grown up to be that kind of cop, there was nothing Archie could do beyond demonstrate his willingness to cooperate in whatever way was required of him. He had no jurisdiction. This was not going to be an FBI investigation. In the eyes of local law enforcement, he was just another witness.

By eleven o’clock, the musicians and caterers had been interviewed and dismissed, but there were still about fifty guests crowded into the drawing room. In theory, everyone present was a ghost hunter, though ghost enthusiast was probably more accurate. Realistically, most of the guests were probably there for the free food and drink. The TPS ghost walks were the social events of the year, and not receiving an invite to at least one of the walks was the equivalent of the Victorian Snub Direct.

Archie glanced at the cloisonné clock on the graceful white fireplace mantel. Nearly midnight now. He would need to call the Bureau’s field office in Portland, but that could wait until the morning. Until he had more information. So far, his involvement was peripheral, and though he was hoping to take a greater role, he suspected with each passing moment, that would be unlikely.

“Archie, what’s happening out there?” Judith demanded, as he positioned himself at the window. Not that he could see anything beyond the bob of flashlight beams and intense blue and red flashes of strobe lights reflecting off windows, highlighting the contours of the garden, its structures and statuary, in a somber kaleidoscope.

Judith’s question had to be rhetorical, right? Despite the murmurs of agreement from other guests, the ghost walk attendees hadn’t been thrown in here without explanation. Besides, Twinkleton wasn’t off the grid. Anyone who’d ever watched TV knew what happened when someone died a violent death.

Archie said, “It won’t be much longer. They’ll conduct initial interviews and then you’ll be free to leave.”

Judith and John had always seemed affectionate, but if she’d shed so much as a tear, he saw no signs of it. In fact, he was struck by how cold and composed she appeared. Desi, on the other hand, was over near the fireplace, sobbing quietly on the shoulder of a guy who was presumably Arlo, her fiancé.

Granted, shock affected people in different ways, and however you looked at it, this was a shocking event. As far as Archie could tell, everyone, with the possible exception of Judith, seemed to be reacting as one would expect in such traumatic circumstances.

“This is a terrible, terrible business.” Leo interrupted Archie’s thoughts. His normally pleasant face was lined and weary. He looked gray. “And a terrible homecoming for you.”

“Yes.” This was as bad as it got.