An Unwanted Guest (Lapena Shari)

ALSOBYSHARILAPENA
TheCoupleNextDoor
AStrangerintheHouse
Copyright?20181742145OntarioLimited
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Version_1CONTENTS
AlsobyShariLapena
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
AbouttheAuthor
ToMum
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
IcontinuetobehugelygratefulthatIworkwithsomeofthebestpeopleinthebusiness.TomypublishersintheU.S.—BrianTart,PamelaDorman,andthefantasticteamatVikingPenguin—thankyou,onceagain,fordoingaterrificjob.ToLarryFinlayandFrankieGrayatTransworldUKandthefabulousteamthere—thankyou—youarealloutstanding.ToKristinCochrane,AmyBlack,BhavnaChauhan,andthesuperbteamatDoubledayCanada—thankyou,again,foreverything.I’mextremelyfortunatetohavesomanytrulytalented,committed,andenthusiasticpeoplebehindme.Icouldnotdothiswithoutallofyou.
Thankyou,onceagain,toHelenHeller—IappreciateyoumorethanIcaneversay.ThankyoualsotoeveryoneattheMarshAgencyforyourcontinuedexcellentrepresentationworldwide.
SpecialthankstoJaneCavolinaforbeingasupercopyeditor.
Thanks,too,toLieutenantPaulPrattioftheSullivanCountySheriff’sOfficeforhisgenerousassistance.
I’dliketosaythatanymistakesinthemanuscriptareentirelymine.
Lastly,andalways,thankyoutomyhusband,Manuel,andtoourkids,ChristopherandJulia—yoursupportandenthusiasmmeantheworldtome.
ONE
Friday,4:45p.m.
TheroadcurvesandtwistsunexpectedlyasitleadshigheranddeeperintotheCatskillMountains,asifthefartheryougetfromcivilization,themoreuncertainthepath.Theshadowsaredeepening,theweatherworsening.TheHudsonRiveristhere,appearinganddisappearingfromview.Theforestthatrisesoneithersideoftheroadhasalurkingquality,asifitmightswallowyouwhole;itistheforestoffairytales.Thesoftlyfallingsnow,however,lendsitallacertainpostcardcharm.
GwenDelaneygripsthesteeringwheeltightlyandsquintsthroughthewindshield.She’smoreoneforgrimfairytalesthanpicturepostcards.Thelightisgoing;itwillsoonbedark.Thesnowcomingdownmakesdrivingmoredifficult,moretiring.Theflakeshittheglassinsuchprofusionthatshefeelsasthoughshe’sstuckinsomekindofrelentlessvideogame.Andtheroadisdefinitelybecomingmoreslippery.She’sgratefulthatshehasgoodtiresonherlittleFiat.Everythingisturningintoawhiteblur;it’shardtotellwheretheroadendsandtheditchbegins.She’llbegladwhentheygetthere.She’sbeginningtowishthey’dchosenaninnalittlelessremote;thisoneismilesfromanywhere.
RileyShuterissilentinthepassengerseatbesideher,aballofquiettension;it’simpossiblenottopickuponit.JustbeingwithherinthesmallcarputsGwenonedge.Shehopesshehasn’tmadeamistakebringingheruphere
Thewholepointofthislittleescape,Gwenthinks,istogetRileytorelaxalittle,totakehermindoffthings.Gwenbitesherlipandstareshardattheroadahead.She’sacitygirl,bornandbred;she’snotusedtocountrydriving.Itgetssodarkuphere.She’sbecominganxiousnow—thedrivehastakenlongerthanplanned.Theyshouldn’thavestoppedforcoffeeatthatcutelittleantiqueplacealongtheway.
She’snotsurewhatsheexpected,suggestingthisweekendgetaway,otherthanachangeofscenery,achancetospendsomequiettimetogether,withnothingtoremindRileythatherlifeisinruins.Perhapsthatwasnaive.
Gwenhasherownbaggage,lessrecent,andshe,too,carriesitwithhereverywhereshegoes.Butshe’sdecidedshe’sgoingtoputthatbehindherforthisweekendatleast.Asmallluxuryhoteldeepinthecountry,goodfood,nointernet,pristinenature—it’sexactlywhattheybothneed.
???
Rileywatchesnervouslyoutofthecarwindow,peeringintotheshadowywoods,tryingnottoimaginesomeonejumpinginfrontoftheircaratanysecond,wavingthemdown.Sheclenchesherhandsintofistsinsidethepocketsofherdownjacket.Sheremindsherselfthatshe’snotinAfghanistananymore.She’shome,safe,inNewYorkState.Nothingbadcanhappentoherhere.
Hercareerhaschangedher.Seeingwhatshehasseen,Rileyissodifferentthatshehardlyrecognizesherselfanymore.SheglancesfurtivelyatGwen.They’dbeencloseonce.She’snotevensurewhysheagreedtocomewithhertothisfarawaycountryinn.ShewatchesGwenconcentratingfiercelyonthewindingroaduptheslipperyincline,headingintothemountains.“Areyouokay?”sheaskssuddenly.
“Me?”Gwensays.“Yeah,I’mfine.Weshouldbetheresoon.”
Injournalismschool,whentheywerebothatNYU,Gwenhadbeenthesteady,pragmaticone.ButRileywasambitious—shewantedtobewhereitwashappening.Gwenhadnotasteforadventure.She’dalwayspreferredbooks,andquiet.Outofjournalismschool,unabletofindadecentjobatanewspaper,Gwenhadquicklyparlayedherskillsintoagoodcorporatecommunicationspositionandhadneverseemedtoregretit.ButRileyhadheadedtothewarzones.Andshe’dmanagedtokeepittogetherforalongtime.
Whydoesshedothis?Whydoesshekeepthinkingaboutit?Shecanfeelherselfstartingtocomeapart.Shetriestoslowherbreathing,thewayshe’sbeentaught.Tostoptheimagesfromcomingback,fromtakingover.
???
DavidPaleyparkshiscarintheshoveledparkingareatotherightofthehotel.Hegetsoutofthecarandstretches.TheweathermadethedrivefromNewYorkCitylongerthanexpected,andnowhismusclesarestiff—areminderthathe’snotquiteasyoungasheusedtobe.BeforegrabbinghisovernightbagfromthebackseatofhisMercedes,hestandsforamomentinthethicklyfallingsnow,lookingatMitchell’sInn.
It’sathree-story,graceful-lookingstructureofredbrickandgingerbreadtrim,encircledbynearbyforest.Thefrontofthesmallhotelisopentoview,withwhatmustbearathergrandlawnunderneathallthesnow.Tallevergreensandmaturetreesbereftofleavesbutdrapedinwhiteseemtoencroachonthebuildingfromashortdistanceaway.Inthefront,anenormoustreeinthemiddleofthelawnextendsitsthickbranchesineverydirection.Alliscoveredinapure,mufflingwhitesnow.Itfeelsquiethere,peaceful,andhefeelshisshouldersbegintorelax.
Therearelargerectangularwindowsspacedregularlyacrossallthreefloors.Widestepsleaduptoawoodenporchanddoublefrontdoorsdecoratedwithboughsofevergreens.Althoughitisstilldaylight—barely—thelampsoneithersideofthedoorsarelit,andsoftyellowlightalsospillsfromthewindowsonthegroundfloor,givingthebuildingawarm,welcomingappearance.Davidstandsstill,willingthestressesoftheday—andtheweek,andtheyears—torecedeasthesnowfallsgentlyonhishairandtickleshislips.Hefeelslikehe’swalkingintoanearlier,moregracious,moreinnocenttime.
Hewilltrynottothinkaboutworkforanentireforty-eighthours.Everyone,nomatterhowbusy,needstorechargeonceinawhile,even—perhapsespecially—atopcriminalattorney.It’srareforhimtobeabletofitinanydowntimeatall,muchlessanentireweekend.He’sdeterminedtoenjoyit.
Friday,5:00p.m.
LaurenDayglancesatthemannexttoher,IanBeeton.He’sdrivinghiscarexpertlyinratherchallengingconditions,andmakingitalllookeasy.Hehasadisarmingsmile,andheturnsitonhernow.Shesmilesback.He’snice-looking,too,tallandspare,butit’sthesmilethatfirstattractedhertohim,hislaid-backcharmthatmakeshimsoappealing.Laurenrummagesthroughherhandbagforherlipstick.Shefindsit—aniceshadeofredthatbrightensherface—andappliesitcarefullywhilelookinginthemirroronthevisorinfrontofher.Thecarskidsabitandshestopswhatshe’sdoing,butIanstraightensthevehicleskillfully.Theroadwindsmoresteeplynow,andthecarhasanincreasingtendencytoswerveasitlosestraction.
“Gettingslippery,”shesays.
“Noworries.NothingIcan’thandle,”hesaysandgrinsather.Shesmilesback.Shelikeshisself-confidencetoo.
“Whoa—what’sthat?”shesayssuddenly.There’sadarkshapeinfrontofthemtotheright.It’sadullday,andwiththesnowfallingsoheavilyit’shardtosee,butitlookslikethere’sacarintheditch.
Shestareskeenlyoutthewindowastheypassbythevehicle,andIanlooksforsomewheretostop.“Ithinkthere’ssomeoneinthatcar,”shesays.
“Whydon’ttheyhavethehazardlightson?”hemutters.Hepullsoverslowlytothesideoftheroad,carefulnottoslideofftheroadhimself.Laurengetsoutofthewarmthofthecarandplungesintoseveralinchesofvirginsnow,whichimmediatelyfallsinsideherboots,stingingherankles.ShecanhearIangettingoutofthecar,too,slammingthedoor.
“Hey!”shecriesdowntothemotionlesscar.Thedriver’sdooropensslowly
Laurenclambersdowntheinclinecarefully,slidingasshegoes.Thegroundisunevenandshefindsithardtokeepherbalance.Shereachesthecarandgrabsontothedoorwithherlefthandforsupportasshepeersintothefrontseat.“Youokay?”sheasks.
Thedriverisawomanclosetoherownage—aroundthirty.Sheappearsabitshakenup,butthewindshieldisn’tcrackedandshe’swearingaseatbelt.Laurenlooksbeyondthedrivertothewomaninthepassengerseat.Herfaceispaleandsweating,andshe’sstaringstraightahead,asifLaurenisn’teventhere.Shelookslikeshe’shadadreadfulshock.
Thedriverglancesquicklyathercompanion,andthenturnsbacktoLaurengratefully.“Yes,we’refine.Wewentofftheroadjustafewminutesago.Wewerewonderingwhattodonext.Luckyforusyoucamealong.”
LaurenfeelsIancomeupbehindherandpeeroverhershoulderatthetwowomeninsidethecar.Hesmileshischarmingsmileatthem.“Lookslikeyou’regoingtoneedatow.”
“Great,”thedriversays.
“Whereyouheaded?”Laurenasks.
“Mitchell’sInn,”sheanswers.
“Well,isn’tthatlucky,”Iansays.“That’swherewe’regoingtoo.AlthoughIdon’tthinkthere’smuchelseouthere.Whydon’twegiveyoualift,andyoucanarrangefromthehotelforsomeonetocomegetyourcarout?”
Thewomansmileswithreliefandnods.She’sobviouslygladtoberescued.Laurendoesn’tblameher.Youcouldfreezetodeathouthereallbyyourself.Butthewomanwithherdoesn’treact.Sheseemstobeinherownworld.
“Youhaveanybags?”Laurenasks.
“Yes,intheback.”Thedrivergetsoutofthecarandstrugglesthroughthedeepsnowtothebackofthevehicle.Herpassengernowseemstosnapoutofhertranceandgetsoutontheotherside.Thedriveropensthehatchasthewomanappearsbesideher.Theyeachgrabanovernightbag.
Ianreachesdownandoffersallthreewomenahanduptotheroad.Evenwithhelp,it’sanawkwardclimb.
“Thankssomuch,”thedriversays.“MynameisGwen,andthisisRiley.”
“I’mLaurenandthisisIan,”shesays.“Let’sgetinthecar.It’ssocold.”ShecastsafurtiveglanceatthewomannamedRiley,whohasn’tsaidaword.Shewonderswhat’supwithher.Somethingaboutherdefinitelyseemsoff.
TWO
Friday,5:00p.m.
BeverlySullivandropsherovernightbagatherfeetandletshereyessweeparoundtheroom.It’sperfect.Justliketheoneinthebrochure.There’sanold-fashionedluxuryherethatshe’snotaccustomedto,andshemovesabouttheroom,touchingthings.Theantique,king-sizebedisheapedwithpillows.Thecarvedwardrobeisgorgeous,andthethickOrientalcarpetmusthavecostafortune.Shestepsuptothewindows,whichfaceoutoverthefrontofthehotel.Thesnowfallhasmadeeverythingindescribablybeautiful.New-fallensnowalwaysmakesherfeelhopeful.
Sheturnsawayfromthewindowsandpeeksintotheensuitebath—aspotlessoasisofwhitemarbleandfluffywhitetowels.Shechecksherappearancebrieflyintheelaboratemirroroverthevanityandturnsaway.Sittingdownonthebed,testingit,shebeginstowonderwhat’stakingherhusbandsolong.Henryhadstayeddownatthefrontdesktoinquireaboutcross-countryskisandGodknowswhatelse,andshe’dcomeuptotheroomherself.Heinsistedthatshenotwaitforhim,althoughshe’dbeenperfectlywillingtositinoneofthedeep-bluevelvetchairsorsofasaroundthestonefireplaceinthelobbywhilehefussedovertheequipment.Butshedidn’twanttomakeanissueofit.Shetriesnottofeeldisappointed.Itwilltaketimeforhimtobegintorelax.Butheseemstobelookingforwaystofilltheirweekendwithactivities,whenallshewantsistoslowdownandsimplybetogether.It’salmostasifhe’savoidingbeingwithher,asifhedoesn’twanttobehereatall.
Sheknowshermarriageisin…disrepair.Shewouldn’tsayit’sintrouble,exactly.Butitneedswork.Theyhavedriftedapart,beguntotakeeachotherforgranted.She’sguiltyofittoo.Howdoesamodernmarriagesurvivealltheforcesthatconvergetotearitapart?Toomuchfamiliarity,thedrearinessofdomesticity,ofpayingbills,raisingchildren.Ofhavingfull-timejobsandalwaystoomuchtodo.Shedoesn’tknowifaweekendawayatalovelyandremoteplaceinthecountrywillmakethatmuchofadifference,butitcouldbeastart.Astarttheycertainlywouldn’tgetiftheystayedathome.Theydesperatelyneedachancetoreconnect,torememberwhattheylikeabouteachother.Awayfromsquabbling,sullenteenagerswhodemandtheirattentionanddraintheirenergies.Shesighsandslumpsinwardly;shewishestheydidn’targuesomuchaboutthekids.She’shopingthathere,they’llbeabletotalkaboutthingswithoutbeinginterrupted,withoutthatconstant,wearying,underlyingtension.
Shewonderswithavagueuneasehowtheweekendwillunfold,andifanythingwillbedifferentbythetimetheyreturnhome.
???
HenrySullivanlingersnearthereceptiondeskinthelobbytotheleftofthegrandstaircase.ThesmelloflogsburninginthefireplaceremindshimofChristmasesasaboy.Helooksatsomeglossyflyersadvertisinglocalrestaurantsandattractions.Although“local”maybestretchingitabit.They’reprettyfarawayfromthingsuphere.Unfortunately,withallthesnow,itlookslikeitmightbetoodifficulttogoanywhereanyway,buttheyoungmanatthedesksaidthesnowplowswouldberunningtomorrow,andtheroadsshouldbefine.Henryfingersthecellphoneinhispantspocket.There’snoreceptionuphere,whichissomethinghehadn’tbeenexpecting.Beverlyhadn’tmentionedthat.Hefeelsatwingeofannoyance.
He’snotsurewhyheagreedtothisweekendaway,exceptperhapsoutofguilt.Healreadyregretsit;hejustwantstogohome.Hefantasizesharmlesslyforamomentaboutgettingbackinhiscarandleavinghiswifehere.Howlongwoulditbebeforeshenoticedhewasgone?Whatwouldshedo?Quickly,hesquashesthefantasy.
Hiswifehasbeenlookingincreasinglyunhappylately,but,hetellshimself,it’snotjustbecauseofhim.It’sthekidstoo.Herjob.Encroachingmiddleage.Herthickeningwaistline.It’severything.Butonepersoncan’tberesponsibleforanotherperson’shappiness.Sheisresponsibleforherown.Hecan’tmakeherhappy.
Yet,he’snotacompleteheel.Heknowsit’snotthatsimple.Helovedheronce.She’sthemotherofhischildren.Hesimplydoesn’tloveheranymore.Andhehasnoideawhattodoaboutit.
???
DanaHartstampsthesnowoffherStuartWeitzmanbootsatthefrontdoorstepandlooksaroundthelobbyapprovingly.Thefirstthingthatstrikesheristhegrandcentralstaircase.Thenewelpostandrailingsareelaboratelycarvedoutofaburnished,darkwood.Thestairsarewide,withathickrunnerinadarkfloralpattern.Shecanseetheglintofthebrasscarpetrodsholdingtherunnerinplace.It’sveryimpressive,andthesedaysDanaisn’teasilyimpressed.ThestaircasemakesherthinkofScarlettO’HarainGonewiththeWind,orperhapsNormaDesmondinSunsetBoulevard.It’sthekindofstaircaseyouputonyourbestlongdressfor,andmakeanentrance,shethinks.I’mreadyformyclose-up.Unfortunately,shedidn’tbringanyeveninggowns.Whatashameforsuchagloriousstaircasetogotowaste,shethinks.Nextshenoticesthelargestonefireplaceontheleftsideofthelobby;arounditarearrangedalotofcomfortable-lookingsofasandchairsforloungingin,someindeep-bluevelvet,othersindark-brownleather,accompaniedbylittletableswithlampsonthem.Thewallsarepaneledhalfwayupfromthefloorwithdarkwoodenwainscoting.AgorgeousPersiancarpetcoverspartofthedarkwoodfloorsandmakeseverythingfeelcozybutexpensive,whichisjustwhatshelikes.Achandeliersparklesoverhead.ThesmellofthewoodfireremindsherofblissfuldaysspentatMatthew’sfamilycottage.Shebreathesdeeplyandsmiles.She’saveryhappywoman.Recentlyengaged,onaweekendtrystwiththemansheisgoingtomarry.Everythingisglorious,includingthislovelyhotelthatMatthewhasfoundforthem.
Hedroppedherinfrontandisparkingthecar.He’llbehereinaminutewiththeirbags.Shesetsoffacrossthelobbypastthefireplacetotheold-fashionedreceptiondesktotheleftofthestaircase.Everythingheregleamswithapatinaofageandgoodfurniturepolish.There’sayoungmanbehindthedesk,andanotherman,older—obviouslyaguest—leaningagainstit,leafingthroughsomepamphlets.Heglancesupwhenheseesher.Hestopsforasecond,stares,andthensmilesinanembarrassedwayandlooksaway.She’susedtoit.Shehasthateffectonmen.Asifwhentheyseeher,theycan’tbelievetheireyesforaminute.Shecan’thelpthat.
Theyoungermanbehindthedeskdoesanalmostimperceptibledoubletake,butit’sthere.She’susedtothattoo.
“I’mDanaHart.MyfiancéandIhaveareservationunderthenameMatthewHutchinson?”
“Yes,ofcourse,”theyoungmansayssmoothlyandlooksattheregister.Shenoticesthattheyuseanoldhotelregister—howquaint—ratherthanacomputersystemforcheckinginguests.Behindthedesk,againstthewall,arewoodenpigeonholesfortheroomkeys.“You’reinroom201.Upthestairstothesecondfloorandtotheright,”theyoungmantellsher.
ThedooropensbehindherwithaburstofcoldairandsheturnstoseeMatthewwithabagineachhandandadustingofsnowonhiscoatandonhisdarkhair.Hecomesupbesideherandshebrushesthesnowoffhisshoulders;sheenjoystheselittledemonstrationsofownership.
“WelcometoMitchell’sInn,”theyoungmanbehindthedesksays,smilingandhandingoveraheavybrasskey.Shenoticesnowhowattractiveheis.“DinnerisinthediningroomfromseventonineP.M.Weofferdrinksinthelobbybeforedinner.Enjoyyourstay.”
“Thankyou,I’msurewewill,”herfiancésays,givingheralook.Sheraisesherperfectlyshapedeyebrowsathim,herwayoftellinghimtobehavehimselfinpublic.
???
MatthewpicksupthebagsagainandfollowsDanaupthewidestaircase.Henoticesthatthere’snoelevator.It’sasmallhotel.Hechosecarefully.HewantedsomeplacequietandintimatetospendsometimewithDanabeforeallthecrazinessofthewedding,whichhewouldprefertoavoidaltogether.HewishestheycouldelopetosomedelightfulspotintheCaribbean.ButtheheirtoalargefortuneinNewEnglanddoesnotelope.Suchathingwouldcrushhismother,andallhisaunts,andhe’snotpreparedtodothat.AndheknowsthatDana,despitehersometimesbecomingoverwhelmedwiththestressoftheplanning,theappointments,themillionsofdetailssuchaweddingentails,isactuallyquitethrilledaboutthewholething.Butshe’sbeenpronetoemotionaloutburstslately.Thisbreakwillbegoodforbothofthembeforethefinalpushtotheirspringwedding.
Thethickrugsoftenstheirfootstepssothatitisalmostperfectlyquietastheywalkupthestairstothesecondfloorandafewstepsalongthehalltoroom201.There’sanovalbrassplateonthedoor,engravedwiththenumber,andanold-fashionedkeyholelock.
Heunlocksthedoorandopensitforher.“Afteryou.”
Shestepsinsideandsmilesapprovingly.“It’slovely,”shesays.Shewhirlstofacehimasheclosesthedoorfirmlybehindthem.
Heputshisarmsaroundherandsays,“Youarelovely.”Hekissesher;eventuallyshepusheshimawaywithaplayfulshove.
Sheshrugsoutofhercoat.Hedoesthesameandhangsthemupinthewardrobe.Theyexaminetheroomtogether.Thebedisking-size,ofcourse,andthelinens,henotes,arefirstrate.Therearechocolateswrappedinfoilrestingonthepillows.Thebathtubisobviouslyintendedfortwo,andabucketofchampagneonicerestsonalittletablenearthedoor,withanoteofwelcome.Thewindowslookoutontothevastfrontlawnwithsnow-weightedtrees,andthelong,curvingdriveleadingdowntothemainroad,fillingupfastnowwithsnow.Halfadozencarsareparkedinthelottothesideofthelawn.Thetwoloversstandtogethersidebyside,lookingout.
“It’sthehoneymoonsuite,”hetellsher,“ifyouhaven’talreadyguessed.”
“Isn’tthatbadluck?”sheasks.“Tobookthehoneymoonsuitewhenit’snotreallyyourhoneymoon?”
“Oh,Idon’tthinkso.”Theywatchacarstrugglebravelyupthedriveandpullslowlyintothelot.Fourpeoplegetout.Threewomenandaman.Henuzzlesherneckandsays,“Howaboutanapbeforedinner?”
???
IanBeetondropsintooneofthechairsnexttothefireplaceinthelobbywhileLaurensignsinandgetsthekeytotheirroom.Hewouldn’tmindadrink.Hewonderswherethebaris.Thediningroomistotheright,offthelobby—theglassdoorstothediningroomareopenandhecanseetableswithwhitelinentableclothssetupinside.Theplaceisquitecharming.Probablylotsoflittleroomsandhallwaysandalcovesbythelookofit;notlikeatypicalmodernhotel,builtforefficiencyandmaximumreturns
Heturnshisattentiontothetwowomentheyrescued.Gwen,thedriver,isgettingthekeytotheirroom.Itlookslikethey’resharing.Hewatchesthemgoupthestairstogether.Heletshisminddrift.
Laurenapproachesandholdsoutherhandtohim.“Readytogoup?”
“Sure.”
“Dinnerisfromseventonineinthediningroom,butwecanhavecocktailsdownhere,”shetellshim.
“Good.Whatarewewaitingfor?”
“We’reonthethirdfloor.”
Hegetsupandliftsthebags,thenfollowsLaurenupthestairs.Theplaceseemssoquiet.Maybeit’sthesnow,orthethickcarpet,orthesoftlighting,buteverythingseemsmuffled,subdued.
“DidyounoticeanythingoddaboutthatwomanRiley?”Laurenwhispersastheyclimbtheelaboratestaircase.
“Shelookedprettyrattled,”headmits.
“Shedidn’tsayawordthewholetime.Imean,theyonlyslidintoaditch.Noactualharmdone.”
“Maybeshe’sbeeninacaraccidentbefore.”
“Maybe.”Whentheyreachthethirdfloorsheturnstohimandsays,“Sheseemedawfullytense.Igotaweirdvibeoffher.”
“Don’tthinkabouther,”Iansays,givingherasuddenkiss.“Thinkaboutme.”
THREE
Friday,5:30p.m.
Gwensitsonthebedfarthestfromthedoor—theyhavearoomonthethirdfloorwithtwodoublebeds,asrequested—andwatchesRileyanxiously.Shecouldtellthatwoman,Lauren,hadbeenwonderingabouther.
ItdawnsonGwenforthefirsttimethatmaybesheisn’twhatRileyneedsrightnow.GwenisbecominginfectedbyRiley’squietpanic,ratherthanRileybeingreassuredbyGwen’scalmpragmatism.Rileyhasalwaysbeenthestrongerpersonality;sheprobablyshouldhaverealizedthatRileywouldhaveaneffectonherratherthantheotherwayaround.AlreadyGwenfindsherselflookingintodarkcorners,jumpingatunexpectedsounds,imaginingbadthingshappening.Perhapsit’sjustbeinginastrangeplace,andtheold-worldatmosphereofthishotel.
“Maybeweshouldfreshenupabitandgodownforadrinkbeforedinner,”Gwensuggests.
“Sure,”Rileysaysunenthusiastically
She’spale,andherlongblondhairhangslimplyaroundherface.Thereisnoneofthatlivelinesssheusedtohave.Shewasbeautifulonce,butnowit’shardtothinkofherthatway.Whatanawfulthought,Gwenrealizes.Shehopesthatbeautywillreturn.Gwenlooksimploringlyather.“Iknowyou’regoingthroughatoughtime.Butyouhavetotry.”
Rileyflashesalookather;annoyancemaybe,orresentment.Anger.Gwenfeelsalittleflareofangerofherownandthinkssuddenlythatit’sgoingtobealongweekendifshehastowatcheverythingshesays.ButsheimmediatelyremindsherselfthatRileyisoneofherbestfriends.Sheowesher.Shewantstohelphergetbackonherfeet;shewantshergorgeous,vivaciousfriendback.Shewantstobejealousofheragain,sherealizes,likesheusedtobe.
“Letmebrushyourhair,”Gwensays.ShegetsupoffherbedandrummagesthroughRiley’shandbagforherhairbrush.Thenshesitsdownonthebedbehindherandstartsbrushingherhairinlong,soothingstrokes.Asshedoes,sheseesRiley’sshouldersbegintoloosenalittle.Finallyshesays,“There.Putsomelipstickon.Iwilltoo.Andwe’llgodownandgetsomethingtoeat.Thenwecancomeuphereandhaveaquietnightandtalk,justlikeweusedto.Orread,ifthat’swhatyouwant.”She’sbroughtacoupleofbooksherself.Shewouldn’tmindescapingintoabook.Herownlifeisfarfromperfect.
???
Acorridorrunspastthereceptiondeskalongthewestsideofthehotel,dividingthewestwingofthehotelintofrontandbackrooms.Downthehallisabar,butwhenDavidPaleypopshisheadin,theroomisempty.Totherightofthedooristhebaritself,withanimpressivearrayofliquorbottles,butthereisnoonebehindittoservehim.Theroomispaneledintherich,darkwoodofthelobby.Acrossfromthebar,ontheothersideoftheroom,isafireplacewithahandsomemantel,andabovethefireplaceisanoilpainting—adark,moodystudyofamanholdingapheasantbythefeet.Thewindowslookoutontothefrontlawn.Infrontofthefireplaceisagatheringofsmalltablesandaged,comfortableleatherchairs.It’saman’sroom.Hewonderswhetherheshouldstayandhopeabartendershowsup,orreturntothelobbyandhaveadrinkbroughtoutthere.It’sawkward,travelingalone.Hesitsinaleatherclubchairbythefireplace,eventhoughthereisasyetnofireburninginthegrate,waitsafewminutes,supposesthatnooneiscoming,andwandersbackouttothelobby.There’snoonethereeither;theyoungmanwhowasbehindthedeskearlierhasvanished.Davidtapstheold-fashionedbellonthefrontdesk.Theclearringislouderthanheexpectedandhestartsalittle.Thesameyoungmanfrombeforerushesuptothedesk,appearingfromthehallthatrunsbehindit,besidethestaircase.
“Sosorrytokeepyouwaiting,”hesays.“We’reabitshortstaffedbecauseoftheweather.”Hesmilesapologetically.
“IwaswonderingifIcouldgetadrink.”
“Ofcourse.We’regoingtobeservingdrinkshereinthelobby.I’llbebringingoutthebarcartinacoupleofminutes.”
“That’sfine,”Davidsaysamicably.Hejustwantsadrink,acomfortablechair,andawarmfire.Andthenagooddinnerandadeep,undisturbedsleep.
Hesitsdownandwonderswhomightjoinhim.Hesoonhearstherumbleofwheelsandthesoundofglassesandglancesupandseestheyoungmanpushingawell-stockedbarcartintothelobby.Theusualbarstaplesarethere,aswellasacocktailshaker,abucketofice,severalmixesandgarnishes,goodliqueurs,andassortedglasses.Underneatharewinebottles,aswellasachampagnebucketfilledwithice,withthefoil-wrappedneckofabottlestickingout.
“Whatwillyouhave?”askstheyoungman.
He’sjustakid,really,Davidthinks.Helookssoyoung.Twenty-one,maybe.“What’syourname?”Davidasks.
“Bradley,”heanswers.
“AreyouoldenoughtoservealcoholinthestateofNewYork,Bradley?”hequips.
“I’molderthanIlook,”Bradleygrins.“Twenty-two.”
“Thenaginandtonic,please,”Davidsays,smilingback.
Hepreparesthedrinkexpertly.AsDavidwatcheshim,hecatchesmovementinthecornerofhiseyeandlooksup.There’sayoungishcouplecomingdownthestairs.
“Oh,look,”themansays,spyingatthecart.Hesmilesandrubshishandstogetherforeffect.
Davidcan’thelpbutnoticehissmile.Itmakesthemaninstantlylikeable.He’stallandlanky,withrumpledbrownhairandafiveo’clockshadow—thecasualtype,injeansandaplaidshirt,butDavidsuspectshecouldcarrythatlookoffanywhere.Davidispleasedtoseehim;hecouldusesomelight,distractingconversation.Thewomanwithhimisattractive,butnotasstrikingasthewomanwhopassedhimawhileagoonthestairs.Foramomenthewondersifeveryonehereispartofacouple.
“Mindifwejoinyou?”themansays.
“Notatall,”Davidsays.
“I’mIan,”hesaysandextendsahand.
Thewomanbesidehimreachesoutherhandinturnandsays,“I’mLauren.”
“Pleasedtomeetyou,”hesays.“David.”
“Itseemsabitempty,”Laurenmuses,lookingaround.
Bradleynodsandsays,“Thehotelisn’tfull.Wehavetwelveguestroomsbutonlysixareoccupiedthisweekend.Wehadsomecancellationsbecauseofthesnow.Andsomeofourstaff—thebartender,forone,andthehousekeeper,foranother,weren’tabletomakeitin.ButI’mhere,sowe’regood.”Heclaspshishandstogether.“Iknowafewthingsaboutmixingdrinks,”headdsspontaneously.“Thebartender’sbeenteachingme.”
“Excellent!”Iansays.“Canyoumakemeawhiskeyandsoda?”
“Ofcourse.”
“AndI’llhaveaManhattan,”Laurensays.
“Didthechefmakeitinokay?”Ianasks.“BecauseI’mstarving.”
Bradleycocksoneeyebrow,“Don’tworry.Mydad’sthechef.It’safamily-ownedhotel.Weliveon-site—inanapartmentattheendofthehall,pastthebar.”Henodstowardthehallway.“HeandIshouldbeabletomanageallrightuntiltheroadsarecleared.Althoughdinnerwillbemoreofabuffettonight.”
Ablastofwindslamsangrilyagainstthewindows.Thegueststurninstinctivelytowardthesound.
“Wegetsomegoodstormsuphere,”Bradleysays.
NowDavidnoticesanoldermanappearinthelobby.Judgingbytheapronhe’swearing,hecamefromthekitchen,whichmustbebehindthediningroom.Bradley’sfather.
“Welcome,”hesays.“I’mJamesHarwood,theownerofthehotel.Andthechef.”Headds,“Anddon’tworry,Ipromisewewilltakeverygoodcareofyou,whatevertheweather.”
Davidsizeshimup.Hehasaconfidentair,someonewhoiscertainhecanmakegoodonhispromise.He’sobviouslybeenverysuccessfulwiththishotel;he’sproudofhisestablishment,anditshows.Hechatswiththemforamomentandreturnstohiskitchen.
Davidsettlesbackinhischair,onceagainlookingforwardtohisweekend.
???
LaurenwatchesIancharmthemansittingbythefire.Iancangetonwithanyone.He’salreadydiscoveredthatDavidisacriminaldefenseattorneyfromNewYorkCity.Nowhe’stryingtodrawhimoutaboutsomeofhiscases.
“Whatwasthemostinterestingcaseyoueverworkedon?”Ianaskscuriously.
“They’reallinteresting,”theattorneysays,withaslightlyevasivesmile
“Arethereanywemighthavereadaboutinthepapers?”Laurenasks.
“Possibly.”
Atthatmomentshesensessomeonecomingdownthestaircaseandglancesupward,overhershoulder.Sheseesthatit’sGwenandRiley.Shecatchestheattorneywatchingthemastheydescend.Thetwowomenmaketheirwayovertothemandsitdowntogetheronasofaacrossfromthefire.Gwengivesthematentativesmile;Rileydoesn’tlookatanyone
Gwenlooksquitedifferentwithoutherskihatandpuffywinterjacket,Laurenthinks.She’spetiteandslim,andhershinyblackhairmakesastrikingcontrasttohercreamywhiteskin.Rileyistaller,andherblondhairfallslimplytohershoulders.ShelooksunhealthynexttoGwen.
Ianwon’tletitgowithDavid,theattorney.“Haveyoudefendedanymurderers?”heasks.Hisenthusiasmfinallybringsareluctantsmiletotheattorney’sface.
“Yes,Ihave.”Heswirlshisdrinkaroundinhisglass.“Many.”
“Comeon,tellus!”
“Nevermindhim,”Laureninterjects.“Ithinkhewatchestoomanycrimeshows.”
“It’snotalwayslikeitisonTV,”theattorneysays.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Laurenasks,notinghisdownturnedmouth.
Heshrugs.“OnTV,justiceisusuallyserved.Itdoesn’talwaysworkoutthatwayinreallife.”
“Youmean—asadefenseattorney—you’retoogoodatyourjob?”Iansuggests,andtheyalllaugh.
Laurencanhearthetwowomenmurmuringnow,butshecan’tquitehearwhattheyaresaying.They’rekeepingtheirvoiceslow.
“Idomybest,”theattorneysays.
“Howdoyoudoit?”Laurenaskshim.“Howdoyoureconcilewhatyoudowithyourconscience—defendingsomeoneyouknowmightbeguiltyofsomethinghorrible?”Thensheaddshastily,“I’msorry.Idon’tmeantojudge.”
???
DavidPaleylooksdownathisalmostemptyglassandthinksabouthowtoanswer.It’saquestionhe’sbeenaskedmanytimes.He’sbeenverysuccessfulasadefenseattorney.Asahumanbeing—he’snotsosure.Hispartnersatthefirmhavegentlysuggestedthathetakesometimeoff,perhapstravel.Buthehasnoonetotravelwith.Henolongerhasawife.Andwhiletravelingtheworldmightdistracthimforawhile,itwon’tmendtheemptinessinhissoul.Spendingthebetterpartofhiscareersuccessfullydefendingmurderershasdefinitelytakenitstoll.ButhehashisanswertoLauren’squestiondown.Heknowswhattosay—hedoesn’tnecessarilyhavetobelieveit.
“Ihaveajobtodoasadefenseattorney.Underourlegalsystem,everyoneispresumedinnocentuntilprovenguilty.Myjobistorepresentanyaccusedtothebestofmyability.”Headds,“Ifattorneyscouldsimplyrefusetorepresentsomeonebecauseoftheirownsqueamishness,orconscience—”
Sheislisteningtohimintently.
Heshrugs.“Well,withoutthedefenseattorney,thesystemwouldn’twork.”Hetakesalargeswallowofhisdrink.Itallsoundssogood.“Youhavetolookatthebiggerpicture,”headds.Hedoesn’ttellthemhowdifficultthatcanbe.
Herealizesnowthatthetwowomensittingabitfartherawayonthesofaarebothwatchinghim,listening.Hefindsthedark-hairedonequietlyattractive.Shelooksathimwithintelligent,appraisingeyes.Hewouldliketotalktoher.Perhapstheweekendwillturnouttobedistracting,afterall.
???
Gwenlooksattheattorneysittingbythefire.He’solderthansheis,perhapsfortyorso;hisshortdarkhairisbeginningtograyatthetemples.Hehasagoodface—attractiveandkind—andasortofruefulsmilethatappealstoher.Shelikesthesoundofhisvoice,itstimbre—itcarrieswithouteffort,probablyfromyearsofspeakingincourt.Hehasaconfidence,aneaseabouthimselfthatshefindsattractive.She’samodernyoungwoman.Sheconsidersherselfafeminist.Butshehasneverbeenparticularlysureofherself;it’saqualitythatsheadmires—evenenvies—inothers.Shewantstobestrongandindependent,likeRiley.Well,likeRileyusedtobe.Sheglancesatherfriend.Butjustlookwherethatgother.
Besideher,Rileyguzzlesherfirstglassofwinelikewateronahotday.Orasifsheweredrinkingshotswiththeboys.Shewasalwaysanaccomplisheddrinker.Gwen’sowndrinkisbarelytouched,andnowshetakesabiggulp.Rileyseemstoemergefromhersemicatatonicstatetomotiontotheyoungmanwiththebarcartandsays,“MayIhaveanother?”
“Ofcourse,”hesays,andpoursheranotherglass.
“Thankyou,”Rileysays.Andchugsitrightback.Noweveryoneissilent,watchingher,andGwenisuneasyandembarrassed.Shedoesn’twantRileytodrawattentiontoherself.Shealsodoesn’twanthertogetdrunk;shehasnoideawhatshewilldo,whatshewillbelike.Rileyalwaysusedtobeafundrunk,apartygirl,butnow,Gwendoesn’tknowwhattoexpect.She’ssodifferentsinceshecamebackfromAfghanistanthistime.Sometimesshe’swithdrawn,andjuststaresatnothing.Othertimesshe’sirritableandevenabitaggressive.Andheroccasionaldisplaysofnervousenergy—herfidgeting,thewayhereyesdartaroundconstantly—it’salreadybeginningtogetonGwen’snerves.Inadvertently,shecatchestheattorney’seyeandquicklylooksaway.
She’salreadyregrettingsuggestingthisweekendaway.Hercarissittinginaditchmilesfromhere.Thetowcompanysaidtheywouldn’tbeabletofetchituntilthemorning.Bythenitwillprobablybesoburiedthattheywon’tbeabletofindit.
SheleansinclosertoRileyandwhispers,“Maybeyoushouldslowdown.”
FOUR
Danaslipsoutfromunderthecovers,slappingMatthew’shandawayashereachesforher.Shesmilesathim.“Weshouldgodown.Aren’tyouhungry?”
“Nowthatyoumentionit,”hesayscheerfully,andgetsoutofthebed.
Shegetsdressedquicklyinasimplebutelegantlycutdress.Everythingshewearsflattersher.Geneticshasbeenkindtoher,andshenowhasthemoneytomakethemostofwhatshe’sbeengiven.
Matthewisawarm,generousman,andshe’sverymuchinlovewithhim.Ofcourse,themoneydoesn’thurt.Shethinksoftenofhowluckysheis,ofhowawfulitmustbeformostwomen—tomarryandhavechildrenonabudget.
She’swellawarethatsheandMatthewhaveacharmedlife.She’snotgoingtoapologizeforit.Butshe’scertainlynotgoingtorubanyone’snoseiniteither.Sheknowswhatit’sliketowant—towantdesperately—thingsthatyoucan’thave.Toanyonewhodoesn’tknowwhoMatthewis,theyjustcomeacrossasawell-heeled,successfulcouple.ButMatthewisfrommoney,andlotsofit.
“Ready?”heasks,assheputsinhersecondearring.She’ssittingattheantiquedressingtable,lookingathiminthemirrorashestandsbehindher.Itfeelsveryromantic.
“Whydon’tladieshavedressingtableslikethisanymore?”sheasks.
“Idon’tknow.Theyshould,”hesays,lookingbackatherinthemirrorandgentlytouchingatendrilofherlonghair.
“Afterdinnerwecansitinfrontofthefirehereanddrinkthechampagnethey’veleftus,”shesays.Shethinksabouthowlovelyitwillbe,justthetwoofthem,here,inthisperfectroom,bythelightofthefire,thesnowstillcomingdown,silencingtheoutsideworld.Howfarawayfromtheireverydaylivesitfeels.
???
Matthewclosestheirdoorbehindthemandshovesthekeyintohispocket.
Whentheycomearoundthelandingandviewthelobby,heseesasmallgatheringoffellowguests.Theyoungmanwhowasatthefrontdeskearlierismixingdrinks,chattingcomfortablywiththehandfulofpeopleseatednearthefireplace.
“Bar’sclosedthisevening,”theyoungmansaysastheyreachthebottomofthestairsandapproachthegroup.“We’remissingabartenderandmakingdo.Ihopethat’sallright,”hesays.
“Noproblematall,”Matthewassureshim,smiling,hishandonthesmallofDana’sback.Itlookslikeacozyenougharrangement.Theysitdownonasofaacrossfromacoupleclosetotheirage.There’saslightlyoldermanwhoseemstobeonhisown,andapairofwomensharingasofaacrossfromthefire.
“Whatwillyouhave?”theyoungmanasks,smilingappreciativelyatDana.
“Avodkamartiniplease,”shesays.
“Makemineascotchontherocks,thanks,”Matthewsays.
“I’mBradley,”theyoungmansays.
“I’mDavid,”saysthemanbyhimself
“He’sacriminalattorney,”themanacrossfromhimsays.“I’mIan,andthisisLauren.”Laurensmilesathim.
“I’mMatthew,andthisismyfiancée,Dana,”hesays.
Ianleansoverandindicatesthewomenonthesofa.“AndtheseareGwenandRiley.”Gwennodsandsmilesdemurely;Rileylooksatthemandgivesthebriefestofsmilesbeforeturningawaytostareintothefire.“Wefoundtheminaditchnotfarfromhere,”headds,smiling.
Heseemsfriendly,Matthewthinks.Easytotalkto.Easytolike.
Gwenoffers,“We’reluckytheycamealongorwe’dprobablystillbeoutthere,frozentodeathbynow.”Thewindrattlesthewindows,asiftounderlinewhatshe’ssaid.“I’llhavetohaveatowtruckgetmycaroutinthemorning.Theycouldn’tcometonight,obviously—theroadsaretoobad.”
“We’reluckywegotherewhenwedid,”Matthewsays,“orwemightnothavemadeitatall.Ithinkthestorm’sworsethantheyexpected.”
“Iknow,”Bradleysays.“SometimesIwonderabouttheweatherforecasters.Myfathersaysit’smoreusefultolookoutthewindow.He’sgottheradiooninthekitchen.Themainhighwayhasbeenclosedandtheysaythesideroadsareprettymuchimpassable.Someofourguestscouldn’tmakeithere,butfrankly,that’sagoodthing.We’reshorthandedbecauseofthestorm.”
“Oh,dear,”Gwensays.
“Don’tworry,wecanlookafteryouallright,”Bradleysays,withabrashconfidence.
He’sagood-lookingyoungman,Matthewthinks,andverysureofhimself—almostcocky.
“Ihopethepowerdoesn’tgooff,”Laurensays.
“Ifitdoes,”Bradleyassuresthem,“mostoftheroomshavefireplacesandthewoodshediswellstockedwithwoodandkindling.Andwehavesomeoillanternsifweneedthem.”
“Thatactuallysoundskindofnice,”Iansays.
Matthewcatchesmovementoutofthecornerofhiseyeandlooksup.Anothercoupleiscomingdownthestaircase.They’reolderthanheandDana,maybeintheirlateforties.Themanlooksputoutaboutsomething,andthewomanbesidehimlooksasifshe’stryingtomakethebestofit.
ThemanjoinsthemandimmediatelysaystoBradley,“Icoulduseascotchandsoda.”HetakesthedrinkfromBradleywhenit’sofferedandstandsbythefireplace,leavinghiswifealonebythebarcart.Bradleyasksher,“WhatcanIgetyou,ma’am?”
“I’llhaveaginandtonic,please,”shesayspolitely.
“Comesit,”Gwensays,movingoveralittleandpattingtheemptyspotonthesofabesideher.Thewomanlooksathergratefullyandjoinsher,sinkingdownintothecushions.
Ianmakestheintroductions,andthenlookspointedlyatthemanstandinginfrontofthefireplace.
“I’mHenry,”hesays,“andthat’smywife,Beverly.”
“Pleasedtomeetyou,”Beverlymurmurstoeveryone.
“Wewerejusttalkingaboutthestorm,”Laurensays.“Bradleywastellingusthatwearecompletelysnowedin,andreassuringusthatwehavenothingtoworryaboutifthepowergoesout.”
“There’snocellreceptionuphere,”Henrycomplains.“Andnowi-fi.It’slikebeingburiedalive.”
There’sastartledsilenceatthis.
“We’veneverhadcellreception,”Bradleysays,flushingslightlyattherebuke.“Orwi-fi.It’sinourbrochure.Manyofourguestscomeupheretogetawayfromallthat.”
MatthewnoticesthesourlookHenryshootsathiswife,asifit’sherfaultthere’snowi-fi.Maybethat’swhathe’ssoannoyedabout.
“Thesceneryislovely,though,”Beverlysaysgamely.“AndIseetherearelotsofbookshere.”
It’strue.Matthewhasnoticedbookcasesaroundthehotel,filledwithbooksofallsorts.
“IfoundanoldAgathaChristieonmybedsidetable,”Laurenvolunteers.
“That’sme,”Bradleysays.“Iputbooksinalltherooms.Somuchnicerthanchocolatesonthepillows,don’tyouthink?Althoughwedothechocolates,too,ofcourse.”Hegrins.
“Ithinkit’srefreshing,”Laurensays.
“Weactuallyhavearatherextensivelibrary.Icanfindyousomethingelseifyoulike.I’mveryfamiliarwithwhat’sinthere—I’vereadmostofthem.Ourguestsliketoreadinthelibrary,ofcourse,butinthesummertheyreadinthehammock,orbythepool,orinthegazebo.”
“We’llhavetocomebackuphereinthesummer,”Matthewsays,smilingatDana,“afterwe’remarried.”
“Youshould,”Bradleyagrees.“It’slovelyhereinthesummer.Butit’sjustaslovelyinwinter.Icanlightafireinthelibraryafterdinnerifanyonewantstositinthere.”
“We’dliketoseetheicehouse,”Laurensays.
“Whatistheicehouse,exactly?”Beverlyasks.
Bradleysmiles.“It’salittleoutbuildingmadeentirelyfromiceandsnow.Wehaditmadeintoabar.Everythingiscarvedfromice—thebar,theshelves,thestools,even.Andthere’ssomewickedsculpture.Theonlythingintherethatisn’tmadeoutoficeisthebottlesandtheglassesandthebartools.It’sprettyamazing.Ihaven’thadachancetoclearthepathouttoityet,butI’llgetthesnowbloweroutanditwillbeopentomorrow,Ipromise.”
“Itsoundscold,”Gwensays.
“You’llneedajacket,”Bradleyadmits.
???
TheatmosphereintheroomhasshiftedslightlysincethearrivalofDanaandMatthew.Laurencouldn’thelpnoticinghowthemenintheroomreactedwhenDanajoinedthem.Bradleygawkingatherasheservedherdrink.Theoldermenarebetterabletohidetheirfeelings;nonethelessit’simpossibletoignorethatDana’sremarkablebeautyhasaffectedeveryone.It’sasiftheyareallsuddenlysittingupstraighter.EvenIan.Shegiveshimalittlekicknow,irritated,andhereturnshisattentiontoher.
Laurenknowsthatsheherselfisanattractivewoman—andshehasnodoubtsaboutIanfindingherso.ButDanaisinanotherclassaltogether.It’snotjustherbeauty,whichishardtoignore.It’sherglamour.Herawarenessofherowngorgeousness.Shemakeseveryotherwomanintheroomfeelsecond-ratewithouteventrying.There’ssomethingaboutexceptionallybeautifulwomen,Laurenhasnoticed,thatmakesthemthinkthey’reentitledtoanythingtheywant.
LaurenfindsherselfstaringatDana.Suddenly,asifshecanfeelLauren’seyesonher,Danalooksdirectlyather.Thesmileonherlovelyfacedoesn’tfalterashergazelingersonLauren.
DanaremindsLaurenofsomeone,shecan’tthinkwho.Maybeshejustremindsherofallthosewomenwholookoutfrommoviescreensandmagazines,theoneswhoremindtherestofthemoftheirownshortcomings.Laurenturnsawayfirst
ShecatchesGwenandRileywatchingDanatoo.
Friday,6:45p.m.
WhenJamesemergesfromhiskitchenandentersthelobbytocheckontheguests,heseesthecocktailhourisinfullswing.Theguestsarechattingwitheachother,andeverythingseemsquiteconvivial.They’vebeendrinkingforawhilealready,andthere’ssomethingaboutbeingsnowedinthathasawayofbringingpeopletogether.
Hissonglancesupathimasheentersthelobby.Bradleyisholdinganuncorkedbottleofchampagne—VeuveClicquot—looselybytheneck.He’saratherstrikingyoungman,andnowalockofhishairisfallingforwardonhisforehead,whichlendshimacertainrakishcharm.He’stallandleanandathletic,andlooksperfectlyateaseinhisslimblacktrousersandcrispwhiteshirt.Hewearsclotheswell.AndBradleyissogoodwiththeguests.Soconfidentandoutgoing,likehismotherhadbeen.Jamesismoreateasebehindthescenes,inhiskitchenwearinghisapron,orlookingoverhisaccounts.Still,hehashisconcernsaboutBradley.Heworriesabouthimsteppingovertheline.He’sstillyoungandimpulsive.Hehastorememberthathe’saserver,notaguest.Thereareboundariestobeobserved.Bradleyhasn’talwaysbeensogoodatobservingboundaries.
Allofthewomenarenowdrinkingchampagneoutofold-fashionedcoupeglasses.Occasionallyafussyguestwillrequestaflute,butmostenjoythedecadent,twentiesfeelofthecoupes.Jameslovesthem,himself.Theygosonicelywithhishotel.
Bradleymakestheintroductions.NowJamescanputnamestothefaces.
“We’veswitchedtochampagne,”Laurensays,raisingherglass.
“Excellentchoice,”Jamesagrees.
“Sincewe’resnowedinhere,we’vedecidedwe’regoingtomakethemostofit,”announcesDana,astrikinglyprettyyoungwomanwithalargediamondengagementringonherfinger.
“Theladiesarecelebrating,”Henrysays,standinginfrontofthefireplaceandholdingadrinkaloft,“butthemenarejustdrinking.”
“Havewemeteveryonenow,Bradley?”Ianasks.“Youdon’thaveanyotherguestsstayingtonightinthehotel?”
“No,there’sonemore,”Bradleysays.“Awomanarrivedthismorning.Idon’tthinkwe’llseemuchofher.Shesaysshe’swritingabook,andwantsquiet.”
“Abook?”Danasays.“Whatkindofabook?”
“Ihavenoidea.Shedidn’tsay.”
“What’shername?”asksGwen.
“CandiceWhite,”Bradleysays.“Doyouknowit?”
Everyoneintheroomshakestheirhead.
“Anyway,that’sit,”Bradleysays.“Andnomorecoming,notinthisweather.”
FIVE
CandiceWhitesitsattheantiquewritingdeskinfrontofthewindowinherroomandlooksoutatthewintrylandscape,gratefulthatshearrivedearly,beforethesnow.She’sbeenabletoputinagooddayofwork.
She’ddrivenupfromNewYorkCityearlyinthemorning,desperatetoescape.She’sabundleofresentmentandrawnervesthesedays.It’snotthatshehasafamilyofherownthatneedsher—arumpledhusbandandadoringsmallchildrenwithstickyhands.Sherevises—ifshe’dhadchildren,they’dprobablybeteenagersbynow,andperhapsnotsoadoring.Shedoesthissometimes—imagineswhatherchildrenwouldhavebeenlike,atdifferentages,indifferentcircumstances,ifshe’dhadthem.Ifshe’dbeenluckyinlove.Butno.Shehasnotbeenluckyinlove.Notforherthehappyending.Instead,astheonlyunmarriedoneofthreedaughters—andtheonlyonewho’sgay—shehasbeenstuckwiththelion’sshareofcaringfortheirwidowedanddecliningmother,becauseherratherselfishsistersaretoobusywiththeirowndemandingfamilieswhoadorethem.
Candicefeelsthatshehasbeendoublycheated.Deniedthehappinessthathersistersseemtotakeforgranted,andsaddledwiththethankless,grinding,demoralizingdutyofeldercare.It’snotthatshedoesn’tlovehermother.Butit’sso…hard.Andsosad—thedependency,theembarrassingbodilyneeds,thefactthathermotherdoesn’tevenknowwhosheishalfthetime.Itcompletelysapshercreativityandmakesithardtowork.That’swhyit’ssoimportantthatshetakethistimeawaytofinishherbook.
Hersistersonlystepupwhenshe’soutoftownonassignment,whichhasbeeninfrequentlyoflate.Theyhavebecomecomplacent,dependingonherallthetime,visitingtheirmotherlessandless.TheirownfamiliesaremoreimportantandCandicedoesn’thaveafamily.Candicecandoit.Shefindsherselfmouthingthewords,silentlyandsarcastically,automatically,withasnarkyexpressiononherface
Well.Ifthisbookisasgoodasshethinksit’sgoingtobe—asgoodasheragentsaysitis—thentheywillallhavetoadjusttheirthinking.Thefamilydynamicwillhavetochange.Shedragshereyesfromtheswirlingdarknessoutsidethewindowbacktothescreenofherlaptop.
She’sletherselfgetofftrack.Sheoughttowriteanotherpagebeforeshegoesdowntodinner.Shechecksherwatchandrealizesshe’smissedcocktailhour.It’sasadthingforawritertomisscocktailhour.Shelooksagainatthescreenofthelaptopinfrontofher,regretsthatlastparagraph.Itwillhavetogo.Sheblocksitoutandhitsdelete.
Candicetakesoffherreadingglassesandrubshereyes.Maybesheneedsabreak.Shewillcarryonafterdinner.Therewillbewinewithdinner.
Shetellsherselfagainthatshehadtogetawayfromhermothertofinishthismanuscript—she’stryingnottofeelguiltyaboutit.Shehastowritethelasttenthousandwords,butshestillhastoeat.
Candicehasalotridingonthisbook.It’sthefirstthingofherownthatshe’swritteninalongtime.Foralmosttwodecadesnowshehasekedoutalivingasanauthorofnonfiction,butmoreandmoreoftenlatelyshe’sbeenghostwritingotherpeople’sbooks—everythingfromself-helptobusinessbooks.Exceptmostofthesegeniusesaren’tparticularlysuccessful,soshe’sneverthoughttheirwisdomwasworththepaperitwasprintedon.Aslongastheypaidher,shedidn’tcare.Whenshestartedoutitwasagoodliving.Shegottokeepherownhoursandshemetsomeinterestingpeople.Shegottotravel—paid—andwhenshewasyounger,thiswasavaluableperk.Nowshewouldliketotravelalotlessandgetpaidalotmore.
She’shopingthisbook—herownbook—isgoingtomakeherfortune.
Closingthelaptop,Candicegetsup,looksatherselfcriticallyinthefull-lengthmirror,anddecidesshecan’treallygodowninyogapants.Sheputsonadecentskirtandtightsandthrowsasilkscarfaroundherneck.Shebrushesherhairintoanew,tidyponytail,appliesfreshlipstick,andheadsdownstairs.
Friday,7:00p.m.
Atdinnertheyallmoveintothediningroom.Themealhasbeensetupasabuffet.There’salongtablealongonewall,ladenwithcoveredsilverchafingdishes,plattersofsalads,andbasketsofvariousbreadsandrolls.Aglitteringchandelierprovidessoftlighting.There’sascatteringoftablesinthediningroom—somefortwo,someforfour—withwhitelinencloths.Soonthereistheslightclatterofsilvercutleryagainstgoodchinaastheguestscollectplatesandservethemselves.
DavidPaleyslowlyfillshisplate,lingeringovertheroastbeef,horseradish,andvarioushotsidedishes—hechoosesscallopedpotatoesandasparagus—wonderingwhereheshouldsit.Hesupposeshecouldsitdownwithanyoneexcepttheengagedcouple,wholookliketheywanttobealone,andhavealreadynabbedatablefortwointhecorner.Awomanhehasn’tseenbefore,abouthisownage—shemustbethewriter—hastakenatablefortwo.Hesupposeshecouldjoinher,butsheseemsratherforbidding,lookingpointedlyatamagazineonhertableassheeats.Shehadn’tsaidhellotoanyonewhensheenteredthediningroom.Hewouldmostliketojointhedark-hairedwoman,Gwen,andherratherjumpyfriend.
GwenandRileyhavealreadyfilledtheirplatesandaresittingatatablesetforfour.Hewalksoverandaskspolitely,“MayIjoinyou?”
Thetwowomenlookupathim,surprised;twopairsofnervouseyessizehimup.Rileyisglassy-eyedfromtoomuchdrinktoofast,hesurmises.Gwen,henotices,isevenprettierupclose;herfaceispaleandfine,andshehaslovelydarkhair.Herfeaturesaresubduedratherthanflamboyant,thekindoffaceheimagineshecouldlookatforalongtime.He’ssurprisedathimselfforthinkingthis;he’sonlyjustmether.Hesuddenlywishesthatshewasherealonethisweekend,likehim,andthattheycouldgettoknowoneanother.Asitis,it’sratherawkward,especiallyasherfriend,Riley,looksasifshewouldprefernottohavecompany.
HeseesGwenglanceatRiley,whoshrugshershoulders;neitheryesnorno.Notquiterude,butnotwelcomingeither.Gwenturnstohimandsays,“Yes,ofcourse.Pleasedo.”
HesitsbesideRiley,acrossfromGwen,sothathecanlookather.
“Areyouherealone?”sheasks,andthenblushesslightly.He’scharmedbythecolorcomingintohercheeks.
“Yes,”hesays.“I’monmyown.Icameupheretogetaway,tothinkaboutthings.”He’snotsurewhyhe’stellingherthis.
“Isee,”shesayspolitely.
Hefeelsuncomfortabletalkingabouthimself,buthedoesn’twanttoseemtoonosyeitherbyaskingheraboutherself.Itdoesn’tleavemuchtotalkabout,herealizes.
“You’readefenseattorney,”Gwensays,whenthesilencevergesonbecomingawkward.
“Yes,”hesays.Oddly,hecan’tthinkofanythingelsetosay.Hefindsthathe’stongue-tied.He’snotusually,buthecanfeelherfriendoozingbarelyveiledhostility,andit’sdisconcerting.
“Thatmustbeinteresting,”Gwensaysgamely.“Andchallenging.Althoughprobablyexhaustingtoo.”
“Yes,”heagrees.Foramomentthereisonlythechinkofcutleryonfinechinaastheydineontheirroastbeef.Davidfindshimselfnoticingtheflickeringcandlelightreflectedintheglassofthewindows.“Whatbringsyouherethisweekend?”heasksfinally.Perhapsherfriendwillgoupstairs,andtheycansitinfrontofthefireandtalk.Hewouldlikethat.
GwenglancesatRiley.“Wejustwantedtogetaway,foragirls’weekend,”shesays.
“Oh.”There’snotmuchhecansaytothat.Hecanhardlycrashagirls’weekend.
“RileyandIwereatjournalismschooltogether.She’swiththeNewYorkTimes.”
HeflicksanervousglanceatRiley,inwardlydismayed.
“ButIneveractuallyworkedasajournalist,”Gwenconfides.
“Isthatright,”Davidsays,hisminddriftingfromtheconversation.“Whatdoyoudoinstead?”
“IworkinpublicrelationsforasmallfirminNewYorkCity.”
“Anddoyouenjoyit?”Butheisalreadythinkingofanexitstrategy.
“Forthemostpart,”shesays.“Itcanbeexciting,butitcanalsobeagrind.Likealotofjobs,itsoundsmoreglamorousthanitis.”
Theytalkforawhile,aboutnothingmuch.Whentheyareabouttostartoncoffeeanddessert—Englishtrifleandchocolatebrownieshaveappearedonthelongbuffettable—Riley,slurringherwordsslightly,turnsandlooksdirectlyathimandsays,“I’vebeentryingtoplaceyou—whatdidyousayyournamewasagain?”
Helooksbackather,refusingtoshrinkfromherverydirectgaze.“DavidPaley,”hesays,waitingforit.She’sajournalist,afterall.Theyhavenocompunctionaboutanything.Heknowshisweekendisabouttoberuined.
???
BeverlySullivanstrugglesthroughhermeal.Shewondershowitcanbepossiblethataftertwentyyearsofmarriagethereisnothingtotalkabout.Withoutthekidsthere,interrupting,distracting,itseemsthereislittleforthemtosaytooneanother.Theydidn’tusetobelikethis.Theyusedtobegoodtogether.Allthoseyearsofeatingwiththekidshasmadethemlosetheknackofconversation.Theyshouldhavehiredmorebabysitters,goneoutbythemselvestorestaurantsmore,shethinksregretfully,liketheexpertsalwaysadvise.
Unfortunately,sheispositionedsothatsheislookingdirectlyattheoutrageouslyattractiveengagedcouplealonetogetherinthecorner.Theydoallthethingscouplesinlovedo:theylookintoeachother’seyes,theysmileexcessively,toucheachotherwhenevertheycan.Everyonceinawhile,theylaugh
They’resoyoung,shethinks,theyhavenoidea.
It’sagoodthing,shethinks,thattheguestsattheothertablesaresoengrossedineachotherthatnooneseemstonoticethatsheandherhusbandarehardlyspeakingtoeachother.
Hestillseemsannoyedabouttherenotbeinganywi-fi.Unlesshe’sactuallyannoyedaboutsomethingelse.Shecan’tthinkwhatitcouldbe.Thehotelislovely.Heagreedtocomehere.Perhapshe’sfeelingstressedandguiltyaboutnotstayingathomeandcatchinguponwork.Finally,shesayshisnametogethisattention,andwhenshehasit,sheasksquietly,“Issomethingthematter?”
“What?”hesays.“No.”Hetakesanotherforkfuloftheexcellentroastbeef.
“You’vehardlysaidawordtomesincewegothere,”shesaysgently,carefulnottosoundantagonistic.
Infact,she’sabitsurprised.Athometheyhavesolittletimeforeachother,buttheyarenotdeliberatelyneglectfulofeachother,merelytoobusy.Something’schanged,andshedoesn’tknowwhatitis.
“Ihavealotonmymind,”hesaysabitdefensively.
“Doyouwanttotellmeaboutit?”sheasks.Helooksather,asifconsideringwhattotellher.Itmakesherfeeluneasy.Maybethere’saproblemshe’snotawareof.
“It’sjustwork,”hesays,“butI’drathernottalkaboutworkthisweekend.”
“Fine,”sheagrees,takinganothersipofwineandgivinghimatentativesmile.“Wecameupheretorelaxandenjoyourselves,afterall.”Shetriestosetheruneasinessaside.
Shehasanicesurpriseinstoreforhimthatwilltakehismindoffwhatever’sbotheringhim.
SIX
Laurenwatchestheguestsattheothertableswithinterest.Shehasalwaysbeencuriousaboutpeople,observingthem,tryingtofigureoutwhatmakesthemtick.Studyingwhattheydo.WhydoesthatwomanRiley,atthetablewithGwenandDavid,seemsoonedge,forinstance?Shekeepsscanningtheroomasifexpectingsomeonetostealherdinner.
Ianhasslippedhisfootoutofhisshoeandnowhe’stouchingherlegunderthetablewithhissockedtoe.
“Areyouflirtingwithme?”sheaskscoyly,herattentiondrawnbacktothemansittingacrossfromher.He’sterriblyappealingbutshe’sneverbeenabletofocusonjustonethingforlong.Herquickminddartsallovertheplace.Fortunately,hedoesn’tseemtomind.He’salmostasinterestedintheirfellowguestsassheis.
“What’supwiththatRiley?”Laurenaskshiminaquietvoice.
“Idon’tknow.Shelookslikeshe’sescapedfromdetoxorsomething,”Iansays,hisvoiceawhisper.
Laurenshiftsherattentionnowtotheattorney,who’stalkingtoGwen.She’sbeenobservinghisbodylanguagethroughoutthemeal.Somethinghaschanged.He’ssittingbacknow,stiffly,asifsomeonehassaidsomethinghedoesn’tlike.Justalittlewhileago,hewasleaningintowardtheprettyGwen,smilingather,tiltinghisheadtooneside,likeamalebirdlookingforamate.PerhapsRileyjusttoldhimtofuckoff.
Sheletshergazetraveltothecorner,wheretheengagedcoupleisdining.Shenarrowshereyes.She’dtakenaratherinstantdisliketoDanawhiletheywerehavingcocktailsinthelobby.Perhapsitwassimplybecauseofherratherintimidatingbeauty.Perhapsitwasthewaysheostentatiouslywavedthatdiamondringaround.Shedidn’texactlystickitunderanyone’snoseandsay,Thisismyengagementring,isn’titgorgeous?Butshewasconstantlyflutteringherperfectlymanicuredhandsaround,justbeggingpeopletonoticeit.Thelargediamondglitteredwhenshesmoothedherhair,whenshepickedupherchampagneglass;hereyessparkledwhenshelookedatherfiancé.Everythingaboutherwasshinyandbright.Shehasabright,shinylife,Laurenthinks.Thenshedirectsherattentiontothemantowhomshe’sengaged.
Whatdoesshethinkofhim?Shethinksheissomeonewhocollectsbright,shinythings.
ShemovesontothewomanwhomustbeCandiceWhite,diningaloneatatablefortwo,pretendingtoreadamagazine.Butreally,she’sstaringatDavid,theattorney,whoispositionedsothatheisunawareofit.LaurenwonderswhyCandiceisstaringatDavid.Perhapsshefindshimattractive.Hecertainlyisattractive—anyonecanseethat.Well,goodlucktoher,Laurenthinks;he’sobviouslyinterestedintheyounger,morefetchingGwen.
NowCandicehasturnedherattentionawayfromDavidandshe’sstaringratherhardatDanaandMatthew.Theyareagood-lookingcouple,butsomethingregistersonherface—asifsherecognizesDanafromsomewhere.Ormaybeit’sMatthewsherecognizes;Laurencan’tbesure.Butitseemsnowasifherinterestisdividedequallybetweentheshinyyoungcoupleandtheunderstatedattorney.
Thewriterherselfisratherausterelooking.Darkhairpulledbackfromherfaceinatightponytail.Strongbones.No-nonsenseskirtandsweater,equallyno-nonsenseeyeglasses.Shelookslikeshemightmakeacompetentnurse.Theonlyflourishisaprettyscarfaroundherneck.Notunattractivebutgettingon.Maybepushingforty.Laurenwondersidlyaboutthebookshe’swriting.
It’ssopleasanthere,Laurenthinks,inthisenchantingdiningroom,withthelightslowandthewindhowlingoutside,slammingatthewindows,likesomethingwantingtogetin.
???
Danatakesanothersipoftheexcellentwine,tearshergazeawayfromMatthewforamoment,andlooksaroundthediningroom.Howsurprisinglifecanbe.
She’sjustthinkingwhatasmallworlditis,whensuddenlythereisaloud,ominouscrash.
Danajumpsalittleinherseat.Shenoticeseverybodyelseraisingtheireyesfromtheirmeals,startled.
Bradley,replacingdishesoverbythebuffettable,smilesandsays,“Don’tworry—that’sjustthesoundofsnowslidingofftheroof.”
“Goodness,”Danasays,laughingalittle,alittletooloudly,“itsoundslikesomeonefellofftheroof!”
“Doesn’tit?”Bradleyagrees.
???
Rileyhasthealcoholtothankforbeingabletokeepherselftogether.Sheknowsshemadeabitofaspectacleofherselfinthelounge,knockingbackwineandchampagnelikeasailor.Butshe’sajournalist;shecanholdherliquor.Andshe’sbeenself-medicatingmorethanshe’dcaretoadmittheselastfewyears,sinceshestartedgoingtotheugly,dangerouspartsoftheworld.
Shehadn’tenjoyedthemeal.Shehadn’tlikedthewaytheattorneyinsinuatedhimselfintoaplaceattheirdiningtable.HewassoobviouslyinterestedinGwen.Thatbotheredher.Rileyalwaysusedtobetheonemenwereinterestedin,notGwen.Rileywasthestrikingone,theonemennoticedandpursued.Nottonight.Notanymore.This,perhapsmorethananythingelse,hasbroughthometoherjusthowmuchshe’schanged.
Butit’snotjealousythatmakesherwaryoftheattorney.There’ssomethingabouthim.Somememoryfloatingaroundatthebackofherbrain,nudgingatherthoughts.Butshecan’tgraspit.Hisnameisfamiliar;there’ssomewhiffofscandalaboutit.Shewishesthattherewereaninternetconnectionhere;shecouldhaveGoogledhim.
AlthoughGwenwasobviouslyflatteredbyhisinterest,Rileyhadthrowncoldwaterontheirlittleromancebyaskinghimbluntlyaboutwhohewas.Judgingbythewayheclammedupwhenhefoundoutshewasajournalist,she’sprettysureshe’sontosomething.He’dskippeddessertandexcusedhimself,sayingthathewasgoingtovisitthelibrary
She’ssorrythatGwenhastobedisappointedlikethis,butRileyhasalwaysbeenprotectiveofher,fromthetimetheywereroommates.ThisweekendwassupposedtobeaboutGwenhelpingRiley,butRileyhasslippedagainintoheroldrole.Itfeelsgood,especiallyforsomeonewhohastroublegettingthroughthemostbasicaspectsofherday.
Rileysays,“Shallwegoup?I’mprettytired.”
Gwenhesitates.“I’mnotthattired,actually,”shesays.“IthinkImightgostopbythelibrary,getabook,”sheadds,avertinghereyes.
Rileyisannoyed.“Ithoughtyoubroughtabook?”shesayscoldly.Theybothknowthisistrue.TheybothknowthisisaboutGwenchoosingtogoupwithRileyortospendmoretimewiththeattractivelawyer.RileywantsGwentochooseher.Shewonderswhatkindoffriendthatmakesher—aprotectiveone,oraneedyone?
“Areyouokaygoinguponyourown?”Gwenasks.“Iwon’tbetoolong.”
“Oh,don’tworryaboutme,”Rileysayscurtly.“I’llbefine.”
Friday,8:25p.m.
Davidfindshimselfaloneinthelibrary,alargeroominabackcornerofthehotel,totheleftofthegrandstaircase,beyondasittingroom.It’slikesomethingoutofaVictoriannovel,acrossbetweenalibraryandamen’ssmokingroom.Likethebaratthefrontofthehotel,it’sratherhandsome.There’salargefireplaceagainstthewestwall.Aboveithangsanantiquehuntingrifle;abovethat,abuck’sheadwithanimpressivespreadofantlers.Itlooksdownathimwithaglassyeye.There’sawornPersiancarpetonthehardwoodfloor.Anoldsofasitsatarightangletothefireplace,apairofchairsfacingit.Frenchdoorsappeartoopenouttoaveranda,butit’shardtotellwithitbeingsodarkoutside.Inthecornernearestthedoorisalargewritingdesk,whichDavidbrieflyadmires.Butwhathelikesmostarethebeautifullymadebookshelves.Davidtouchesthemandadmiresthecraftsmanshipthatwentintothem.Thebookshelvesarestuffedwitheverykindofbook—fromold,leather-boundsetstohardcoversandtatteredpaperbacks.It’sallveryorderly,withlittlebrassplatesreading“FICTION,”“MYSTERY,”“NONFICTION,”“HISTORY,”“BIOGRAPHY.”HethinksofBradley—hesuspectsthisishishandiwork.Hepullsaninteresting-lookingbookfromalowershelf—acoffee-tablebookreally—fullofphotographsofthefailedShackletonexpedition.Itseemsoddlysuitedtothisroom.There’sadimoverheadlight,butnowDavidalsoswitchesonalamprestingonasidetableandsitsdowninthedeepleatherarmchair.Whatcouldbenicerthantositbyafire,inthislovelyroom,andreadaboutthestrugglesoftheill-fatedcrewoftheEnduranceattheSouthPole?Butthefirehasn’tbeenlit,andtheroomisabitchilly
HethinksregretfullyofGwen.HowunfortunatethatherfriendisadamnedjournalistwiththeTimes.Hewillstayawayfrombothofthemfortherestoftheweekend.Hedoesn’tneedanyonedredginguphispast.
Hebecomesabsorbedinhisbook,untilheisinterruptedbythesoundofawoman’svoice.
“Isthatyou,David?”
It’sGwen,and,inspiteofhisearlierresolution,hisheartleapsup.“Yes.”Heturnstolookather,standinginthedoorway,andseesthatshe’salone.
“Irememberedyousayingyouweregoingtothelibrary.”
Howlovelyshelooks,hethinks,gettingupoutofhisarmchair.
“It’sperfect,”shesays,gazingaroundtheroom.
“Yes,isn’tit,”heagrees.Somehowheknewshewouldappreciateittoo.
“Iwonderwhereeveryoneis,”Davidmuses.Hefeelsawkward,adolescent.
“Rileyistiredandhasgoneuptobed,”Gwenoffersshyly.“Ithinksomeoftheothersmightstillbeinthediningroom,havingnightcaps.”
“IcanaskBradleytolightthefireinhere,”hesays.Shenods,buthecan’ttearhimselfawayfromhertofindBradleyjustyet.
Togethertheybegintoperusetheshelves.Heenjoysstandingbesideher,whilethestormragesjustoutside.AfteraparticularlyloudgustofwindtheybothlooktowardtheFrenchdoors.
“Doyouthinkit’sgoingtogetworse?”sheasks.
Idon’tcareifitdoes,hethinks,buthedoesn’tsayitaloud.He’dlikenothingbetterthantobestrandedhere,withher.“Idon’tknow,”hesays.
“WhatshallIpick?”shewondersoutloud,ashestandsclosetoher.
Hepointstothelargebookhe’dchosenearlier,openonthecoffeetablewhereheleftit.“I’mreadingaboutatragicexpeditiontotheSouthPole.”
“Perfectfortonight!”Shewandersalongtheshelves,draggingherindexfingeralongthesurface.Somethingseemstocatchhereye,andshepullsavolumefromitsplace.“Oh—I’veheardaboutthisone,”shesays.“I’vebeenmeaningtoreadit.”
Davidreadsthetitle—TheSuspicionsofMr.Whicher,orTheMurderatRoadHillHouse.
“Iloveagoodmurdermystery,don’tyou?”shesays.
SEVEN
Friday,8:50p.m.
Afterdinner,IanescortsLauren—theyarebothalittletipsy—upthegrandstaircase.Hecan’twaittogetherintobed.Theirroomislocatedonthethirdfloor,attheendofthehall.Whentheyarrivethere,Laurenfumbleswiththekey,andIanidlynoticesanotherdoorneartheirs.Hesuspectsitopensontoanotherstaircasethatgoesdownthebackofthebuilding,presumablyemptyingoutsomewhereclosetothekitchen.Itwouldhavebeentheservants’staircase;thehelpwouldneverhaveusedthemainstaircase,whichmakessuchagrandstatementinthelobby.
Heputshishandonthedoorandpushesitopen.Hestaresdowntherathernarrow,plainwoodenstaircasethatwindsbelow,dustyanddimlylit.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Laurenasks.
“Justlooking,”hesays.
“What’sonyourdirtymind,Ian?”
Sheisonhisdirtymind.Hegrabsherhandandpullshertohim.“Comewithme,baby,”hesays,nuzzlingherneck.Heslowlyunbuttonsherblouse.“Comeon,noonewillsee.”
Sheprotestssoftlyashepullsherintothestairwell.
???
HenryandBeverlyreturntotheirroomonthesecondfloorafterdinner.“IthinkI’llreadabitbeforebed,”Henrysays.
“I’mgoingtotakeabath,”Beverlytellshim.
Sheslipsintothemarblebathroom,takingwithherthecostly,sexynewnightgownthatshe’dboughtinanticipationofthisweekend.Henrydoesn’tevennoticewhatshe’supto,hisnosealreadyinabook.
It’sbeensuchalongtimesincethey’vemadelove.Whatwithteenagersinnearbybedrooms,andthetwoofthembothsotiredandirritableattheendoftheday,thephysicalpartoftheirmarriagehassuffered.Timejustslipsawayfromyou.Butshe’sgoingtomakeaneffort.Shehangsthenewnightgown—champagnesilkwithivorylace—onthebackofthedoorandadmiresitforamomentwhilethebathtubfills.Henryhasn’tseenityet.He’llbesurprised.It’sbeenalongtimesinceshe’swornproperlingerie—she’sembarrassedtothinkofthetattypajamassheusuallywears,dayin,dayout.Thissilkynightgownwillmakeherfeelattractiveagain.Sheaddsbubblestothebath,andasshegetsintothetubandsinksbelowthebubbles,shedecidesthatthisweekendisgoingtobethebeginningofanewstartforherandHenry.Perhapstheywillsleeplateandhavebreakfastinbed,liketheyusedto,alongtimeago.
Sheemergesfromthebathroomashorttimelater,feelingradiantinthechampagnesilk,smellingofroses,herskinsoft,andapproachesthebed.ShelooksatHenrysittingupinbedwithhisbook,andwhenheliftshisheadfromthepageshesmilesathimcoquettishly,thoughshesuddenlyfeelsshy.Howridiculous.
Buthedoesn’trespondthewaysheexpects.Helooksmoredismayedthananything.Hecertainlydoesn’tlookatherasifhe’spleased,asifhefindsherattractive.
It’sashock.
Herecoversquicklyandsays,“I’msorryhoney.I’mjust…sotired.”
It’slikeaslap,evenifshe’sonlygettingherownwordsthrownbackather.Shefeelsherfacegohot,andtearsstarttoburnhereyes.She’ssohurtthatshecan’tthinkofanythingtosay.Perhapsshehasmisjudgedthingsbadly.
“Ithoughtwecameupheretobetogether,”shesays,fightingtears.“Youdon’tseemthatinterested.”
Hegivesabigexhaleandputsdownhisbook.Thenhesaysquietly,“Maybeit’stoolate.”
Toolate?Hecan’tpossiblymeanthat.Hecan’t.Nowshestartstocry,sloppily.She’shurtandscaredandembarrassed,standingthereinherfilmygownthathidesnothing.Thatwasthepoint,butnowshewishesshe’dneverboughtthedamnthing,neverpoppedintothatfancylingeriestoreacoupleofweeksago,blushingandhopeful.Suddenlyshewishesthey’dnevercometothisdamnplace,thatshe’dneverhadtheidea.Shedoesn’twanttoseehermarriagefallcompletelyapart.Sheshouldhaveleftwellenoughalone;perhapstheycouldhavegoneonamiablyignoringoneanother,beingtoobusytoexaminetheirlives,theirrelationship,focusingonthekids,whostillverymuchneedthem.She’snotsureshereallywantstoputthetwoofthem—theirrelationship—underamicroscope.Doesshereallywanttoopenthiscanofworms?She’ssuddenlyfrightenedofwhathemightsaynext.She’sfrightenedofbeingalone,ofbeingleft.Shehasacareer,butshedoesn’tfeelthatindependent.Financially,adivorcewouldruinbothofthem.Theybothknowthat.Ifhewantsout,shethinks,terrified,hemustbedesperatelyunhappy
Maybeit’stoolate.Shefeelslikeafoolfornotseeingthiscoming,fornotknowingwhathewasthinking.Allthisslipsthroughhermindinaflashasshestandsthereexposedinherexpensivenegligee,goosebumpsappearingonherchestandarms.Embarrassedinfrontofherownhusband,shefoldsherarmsinfrontofherbreasts,whicharebillowingoutofhernightgowninwhatnowseemstobeanunseemlyfashion.Perhapsheisfinishedwithher.Herthoughtsarespeedingawaywithherlikearunawaytrainheadedforcatastrophe.Shelongsforherthickterrybathrobetocoverherself,butistoostunnedtomove.Shesinksdownontothebed,takesadeep,raggedbreath,andsays,“Whatdoyoumean?”
Hesighsandsays,soundingregretful,“Wehaven’tbeenhappy,Beverly,foralongtime.”
Shedoesn’tknowhowtorespondtothat.Ofcoursetheyhaven’tbeenhappy.Herfriends—withbigmortgages,demandingjobs,problemteenagers,andagingparents—aren’thappyeither.It’simpossibleatthisstageoftheirlives,withallthedemandsandstressestheyface.He’ssimplybeingchildish,shethinks,lookingbackathimindisbelief.He’sprobablyhavingsomekindofmiddle-agecrisis,likesomespoiledchildwhowantstobehappyallthetime,whodoesn’tunderstandthatyoucan’talwaysbehappy.Lifedoesn’tworkthatway.Henrycan’tbeoneofthosemenwhorealizesonedaythathe’smiserableanddecidestochuckitallanddowhathewants.Surelynot.Shecan’tjustthroweverythingasideanddowhatshewantssothatshecanbehappy.Womendon’tgettomakefoolsofthemselveslikethat.Societywon’tletthem.Butmendoitallthetime.Shefeelsbitternessrisinginherheart,notonlyagainsthim,butagainsttheworld.Shefeelssopowerless,morepowerlessthanheis.Shehasneverhadtheselfishness,oreventhetime,toaskherselfwhatwouldmakeherhappy.
Shesitslookingathim,thinkinghowclosesheistolosingeverything.Butmaybeit’snottoolate.Ifhewouldjustsayhespoketoohastily,thatofcoursehelovesherandwantstomakeitwork,thatthey’vehadthingsstackedagainstthem,heknowsthat,it’sbeenhardforbothofthem,andtheyhavetosomehowhelpeachother,tryhardertobecontenttogether—thenshe’ssuretheycouldloveeachotheragain.She’snotreadytogiveup.Notyet.Butshewaits,andhedoesn’tsayit.
Finallyshesays,“Whatdoyoumeanyouhaven’tbeenhappy?”Shesoundssocontrolled,butshewantstosmackhimasifhewereapoutingchild.That’swhatheistoherrightnow,aselfishchild,andshewishesshecouldstraightenhimoutthewaysheusedtobeabletostraightenoutthekidsbeforetheybecamewillful,unmanageableteenagers.Whenhestillsaysnothingsheadds,“Andwhatmakesyouthinkyouhaveagreaterrighttohappinessthananyoneelse—thanme,forinstance,orTeddyorKate?”
???
Henrylooksathiswifewithveiledloathing.Hehateswhenshegetslikethis,allhighandmighty.She’ssuchamartyr;shehasnoideahowhardthat’sbeentolivewith.Howjoylessmustlifebe?She’samiserablewoman,constantlycomplaining.Atleast,itseemsthatwaytohim.Maybehe’snotbeingfair,hethinksnow,ratherguiltily.Sheissoexposedinthatskimpynewnightgownthathefeelsasuddenpityforher.Butheisstillunabletoreachouttocomforther.
Hewondershowotherpeopleseehiswife.WhatdoTedandKatethinkoftheirmother?Hedoesn’treallyknow.Theycomplainthatshenagsthemtoomuch,butsheclearlylovesthem.She’sagoodmother,heknowsthat.Hedoesn’tknowhowthekidsfeelabouteitheroneofthem.Hedoesn’tknowwhatteenagersfeelatall.Heloveshischildren,buthenolongerlovestheirmother,whichiswhatmakesthissohard.Hedoesn’twanttohurtthem,ordamagetheminanyway.
He’sstuckbetweentheproverbialrockandhardplace.Andnowhe’sfoundhimselfhere,snowedinwithherfortheweekend.Whatwilltheydowithallthistimetheyhavetogether?
“Idon’tthinkIhaveagreaterrighttohappinessthanyouorthekids,”heanswersherstiffly.Surelythat’snotit.HowtypicalofhertohearhisWehaven’tbeenhappyasIhaven’tbeenhappy.Hedoesn’tthinkhe’smoreimportantthanthekidsare,orthansheis.Hedoesn’tthinkshe’shappyeither.Thedifferencebetweenthemisthathecanseeit,andshecan’t.Ormaybeit’sjustthathecanadmitit.Thathemightbewillingtodosomethingaboutit
Perhaps,bytheendoftheweekend,thingswillsomehowbeclearer.
Friday,11:30p.m.
Gwenknowsshe’sbeingrecklessbutshedoesn’tcare.Somethinghashappenedtoher,andshe’sopeningherselfuptoit.Perhapsit’stheVeuveClicquotthat’sgonetoherhead.Ormaybeit’sthewayhesmells—likeexpensivesoapandimportedsuits.Andhehasn’teventouchedheryet.
DavidhasBradleybringthemmorechampagne.Bradleyfreshensupthefire,thendiscreetlypullsthelibrarydoorclosedbehindhim.
“Ilikethatboy,”Davidsays,andshegigglesasherefillstheirglasses.
Inthelibrary,theytalk.Shelovesthesoundofhisvoice,especiallynow,whenhe’stalkingtoheralone.It’slower,moreintimate,butgruffersomehow,anditmakesherfeeldesired.Whenhespeakslow,hemovesinclose,sothatshecanhear,andsheleansinmoretowardhimtoo.
Theybothknowwhat’sgoingtohappen.
Whentheyreachhisroom—he’dofferedtowalkhertohers,butsheshookherhead—heclosesthedoorbehindthemwithasoftclick,andsheshivers.Shedoesn’tmove;shewaitsinthedark.
Hereachesbehindherneckandunclaspshernecklaceandremovesitandshefeelsasifhe’sundressedher.Shebreathesin,alittlegasp,waiting.
Hegentlydropsthenecklace—costumejewelry,butpretty—onthebureaujustinsidethedoor.Thenhekissesher.
Thekissreleasessomethinginherthat’sbeenpentuptoolong,andshekisseshimback,butnotfrantically—slowly,asifshe’sstillnotsure.Andheseemstogetthat.Asifhe’snotentirelysureeither.
???
Beverlyhasadifficulttimefallingasleep;shealwaysdoeswhenshe’sawayfromthekids,andnowherworldisfallingapart.Itdoesn’thelpthatshecanhearamuffledargumentcomingfromtheroomnextdoor—DanaandMatthew’sroom.Isnoonehappy?
ItannoysherthatHenryfellasleepsoquickly,asifhedidn’thaveacareintheworld—andnowhe’ssnoringaway.Shedoesn’tknowwhat’sgoingtohappentothem.Sheresentsthatshehastodotheworryingforbothofthem.Italwaysfallstohertodoalltheemotionalwork.
They’dagreedtostoptalkingabouttheirmarriagebeforeeitherofthemsaidsomethingtheymightregret.Theyagreedtosleeponitandseehowtheyfeltinthemorning.
Finally,deepintothenight,she’sfallingasleepatlast,whenshehearsamuffledscream.Butsleephashernow,andthescreambecomespartofadream—anightmare.Someoneistryingtosuffocateher.Inthatstrangewayofdreams,sheisscreamingloudlyevenwhilesomeoneholdsapillowfirmlytoherface.
Saturday,1:35a.m.
Rileyliesinherbed,staringattheceiling.ShewonderswhenGwenwillcometobed.Accordingtoherwatch,it’safteronethirtyinthemorning.Shedoesn’tthinkforaminutethatGwenandDavidhavebeeninthelibraryallthistime.She’sgonetohisroom.She’sgonetobedwithhim.Maybeshewillspendtheentirenightwithhimandnotcomebacktotheirroomatalluntilmorning.
Itmakesherterriblyuneasy—thepanicisrisinginsideherlikeatide.Notbecauseshe’saprude—farfromit.She’shadalotoflovers.Andnotbecauseshe’sjealouseither.Butbecauseshe’scertainthatthere’ssomecloudhangingoverthisDavidPaley.Shejustcan’trememberwhatitis.Againshecursesthelackofaninternetconnection.
ShefightsanirrationalurgetogetupandgoknockonDavidPaley’sdoor.Butshedoesn’tevenknowwhichroomhe’sin.
Shehatesthisconstant,generalizedanxietyshealwaysfeelsnow.ShetellsherselfthatnothingcanpossiblyhappentoGwenhere,amongallthesepeople.RileyknowsthatGweniswithhim.
Finally,sheslipsuneasilytowardsleep.Asshedriftsoff,shethinksshehearsascream,somewherefaraway.Shepersuadesherselfit’snotascream,butamemory;sheoftenhearsscreamsasshe’sdriftingofftosleep.She’susedtoit.They’reaprecursortothenightmares.
EIGHT
Saturday,5:45a.m.
Morningcomesslowly.Overnight,thefallingsnow,sopeaceful,hasturnedtosleet,coatingeverythinginbrittleice,makingthelandscapeevenmoredangeroustonavigate.Itseemseverythingisabouttosnap.Insidetheinn,there’sadistinctchillintheair.
Laurenrisesearly,freezing,evenwiththewarmthofIanpressedupbesideher.Herneckisstiff.Shegetsoutofbed,shivering,andhurriestoputwarmclotheson,wonderingwhyit’ssodamncold.Sheslipsonjeans,aT-shirt,aheavysweater,warmsocks.Theyhadn’tclosedthedrapesbeforetheywenttobed,andnowsheglancesoutthefrontofthemhasbrokenoff;there’salarge,palegashwhereithasbeenrippedfromthetrunk.Theheavylimbliesbrokeninthreeseparatepiecesonthegroundbelow.
Shewalksquietlyintothebathroom,leavingthedooropen.Shedoesn’twanttoturnonthelight—shedoesn’twanttowakeIan.It’sdamncold.Shebrushesherhairquickly.Herilluminatedwatchfacesaysit’sjustbeforesix.Shewonderswhattimethestaffgetsupandstartstheirday.
SheglancesbackatIansnoringintheirbed,onlyhisheadshowingabovethecovers.Hewon’tbeupforawhile.Sheopensthedoorquietly.It’sdarkinthecorridor;thelightsinthewallsconcesareout.Sheslipsoutandwalksdownthethird-floorhalltothemainstairsinherthicksocks.Shedoesn’twanttowakeanyone.Sheturnstowardthestaircasetothelobby,wonderinghowlongitwillbebeforeshecangetacupofcoffee.
Saturday,6:03a.m.
Rileywakenssuddenly,sittingupabruptlyinbed,eyeswideopen.Shethinksshe’sheardascream—loudandpiercing.Herheartispounding,andshecanfeelthefamiliaradrenalinesurgingthroughherbody.Sheglancesquicklyaroundthedimhotelroomandrememberswheresheis.Sheturnstotheotherbedbesideher,throwingasidethebedcovers,andisimmediatelyaccostedbythecold.Gwenisawake,too,andalert.
“What’sgoingon?”Gwensays.“IthoughtIheardsomething.”
“Idon’tknow.Iheardittoo.”
Foramomenttheyremainperfectlystill,listening.Theyhearawoman’svoice,shouting.
Rileythrowsherlegsoverthebedandpullsonherrobeagainstthechill,whileGwenscramblestodothesame,saying,“Waitforme.”
Rileygrabsthekeyasthetwoofthemslipoutthedoor.Thethird-floorcorridorisunexpectedlydark,andtheystopsuddenly,disoriented.RileyremembersthatsheneedstotalktoGwenaboutlastnight,butnowisnotthetime.She’sjustgratefultohaveGwenherewithher.Shedoesn’tknowwhatshewoulddoifanythinghappenedtoGwen.
“Thepowermustbeout,”Gwensays.
RileyandGwenmaketheirwaytothegrandstaircase,barefoot.Holdingontothepolishedrail,theyracedownthestairs,asotherfootstepscanbeheardrunninginthedarkenedhotel.
ThenRileystopsabruptly.Thefaintlightcominginthroughthefrontwindowsilluminatesaghastlysightbelowher.Danaliessprawledatthebottomofthestairs,perfectlystill,herlimbsinanunnaturalpositionbeneathhernavysatinrobe.Herlovely,longdarkhairspillsallaroundher,butherfacehasanunmistakablepallor.SheknowsimmediatelythatDanaisdead.
Laureniskneelingonthefloorbesideher,leaningoverher,herhandpressedagainstDana’sneck,feelingforapulse.Shelooksupatthem,stricken.“Ijustfoundher.”Hervoiceisstrained.
Rileycontinuesslowlydownthestairsuntilsheisstandingonthelaststep,rightabovethebody.ShecanfeelGwen’spresencebehindher,hearsherbrokensob.
“Wasthatyouwhoscreamed?”Rileyasks.
Laurennods,tearful.
RileynoticesBradleyandhisfather,James,standingnearby.Jamesisstaringatthebodyofthedeadwomanatthebottomofhisstaircase,hisfaceslackwithshock.BradleyseemsunabletolookatDana,staringatLaureninsteadasshehoversoverthebody.ThenJamesmovesforwardandreachesdownhesitantly.
“She’sdead,”Laurentellshim.
Hepullshishandback,almostgratefully.
???
Davidhearsthescreamandjumpsoutofbed.Hethrowsonabathrobe,grabshiskey,andleaveshisroom.Atthetopofthelandinghepausesandlooksdownattheraggedlittlegatheringbelow.HeseesDana—clearlydead—lyingatthefootofthestairsinherbathrobe,Laurenbesideher.RileyandGwenhavetheirbackstohim.JamesispaleandBradleylookssuddenlymuchyoungerthanhedidlastnight.Davidhearsanoiseabovehim,glancesupquickly,andseesHenryandBeverlycomingafterhim,alsostillintheirpajamas,drawingtheirrobesclosedandtyingthemshut.
“Whathappened?”Davidsays,hurryingdownthestairs.
“Wedon’tknow,”Jamessays,hisvoiceshaking.“Itlookslikeshefelldownthestairs.”
Davidcomescloser.
“Icouldn’tfindapulse,”Laurensays.
Davidsquatsdownandstudiesthebodywithouttouchingit,agrimnesstakingholdofhim.Finallyhesays,“She’sbeendeadforawhile.Shemusthavefalleninthemiddleofthenight.”Hewondersaloud,“Whywouldshehavebeenoutofherroom?”He’snotedtheterriblegashonthesideofherhead,thebloodontheedgeofthebottomstep.Hetakesitallinwithapracticedeye,andfeelsunaccountablyweary.
“DearGod,”Beverlywhispers.“Thatpoorgirl.”
Davidlooksupattherestofthem.Beverlyhasturnedherfaceaway,butHenryisstaringsolemnlyatthebody.DavidglancesatGwen—herfaceistearstained,andherlowerlipistrembling.Helongstocomforther,buthedoesn’t.Riley’sstaringatthedeadwomanasifshecan’ttearhereyesaway.HenoticesthenthatMatthewismissing.
“SomeonehastotellMatthew,”hesays,hisheartsinking,knowingitwillprobablybehim.HetakesonemorelookatJamesandthenatallthestrickenfacesnowstaringbackathimastheyrememberMatthew.“I’lldoit.”Standingup,headds,“We’dbettercallthepolice.”
“Wecan’t,”Jamessaysharshly.“Thepower’sout.Andthephone.Wecan’tcontactthepolice.”
“Thensomeonehastogogetthem,”Davidsays.
“How?”Bradleyasks.“Lookoutside.Everythingisasheetofice.”
Jamesshakeshisheadslowly.“Thepowerlinesmustbedownbecauseoftheicestorm.It’shazardousoutthere.Nobody’sgoinganywhere.”Headds,hisvoicetakingonanuncertainnote,“It’sprobablygoingtobeawhilebeforethepolicecangethere.”
???
Candice’salarmonhercellphoneissettogooffpromptlyeverymorningatsixthirty.She’snothingifnotdisciplined.Sheisalightsleeper,however,andthismorning,somethingwakesherbeforethealarmsounds.She’snotsurewhat.Shehearsfootstepsrunningalongthehallbelowher,raisedvoices.
Shedecidesshe’dbettergetup.Plusit’sgoddamncold.Sheflicksthelightswitchofthelamponherbedsidetable,butitdoesn’tgoon.It’sverydarkintheroom.Shecrossesthefloor,shiveringinbarefeet,toopenthedrapes.She’ssurprisedbywhatshesees.Notthefluffywinterwonderlandoflastnight—buttheunleashedfuryofanicestorm.Obviouslythepowerisout.Fuck.Fuck,fuck,fuck.Shewondershowmuchbatteryshe’sgotleftinherlaptop.Maybefivehours,max.Thisisadisaster!Sheneedstofindoutwhenthepower’sgoingbackon.Shequicklypullsonsomewarmclothesandheadscautiouslydownstairsinthedark.
Assheroundsthelandingandseesdownthestairsintothelobby,shestopsabruptly.There’saclusterofpeopleatthebottomofthestairsandtheyallglanceuptowardher.Everyoneoftheirfacesisdrawnanduneasy.Andthensheseeswhy.There’sawomanlyingatthebottomofthestairs,sostillthatsheisclearlydead.It’sDanaHart.Theattorneyisstandingoverher,hisfaceserious.There’snosignofMatthew.
???
DavidhasvolunteeredtobreaktheterriblenewstoMatthew,whoasfarastheyknowisstillupinhisroom.Properlyspeaking,hesupposesthatit’sthedutyoftheownerofthehoteltoinformMatthew.ButJamesdoesn’tlookuptothetask.ThisiswhatDavidtellshimselfashetreadsbackup.Jamesaccompanieshim,obviouslygratefulthattheattorneyhasoffered.
“Whichroomisit?”Davidasks.
“Room201,”Jamestellshiminadistraughtvoice.
Theystopoutsidethedoor.Davidpauses,preparinghimself.Helistensforanysoundswithin.Buthehearsnothing.Heliftshishandandknocksfirmly.
There’snoresponse.DavidglancesatJames,whoappearsevenmoreanxious.Davidknocksagain,harderthistime.He’sbeginningtothinkabouthavingJamesgofetchthekeywhenhehearsmovementwithin.FinallythedoorswingsopenandDavidisface-to-facewiththemanhemetovercocktailsthenightbefore.Davidsuddenlyfeelsaterriblepity
“Yes?”hesays,obviouslysurprisedtofindthemathisdoor.Thenheglancesoverhisshoulderatthebedhe’sjustgottenoutof,asifhe’smissingsomething.HeturnsbackandlooksDavidintheeyeanditregistersallatonce.Matthew’seyessharpen.“Whatisit?”HelooksfromDavid,tothevisiblyupsetJames,andbacktotheattorney.“What’shappened?Where’sDana?”
“I’mafraidthere’sbeenanaccident,”Davidsays,inhisprofessionalvoice.
“What?”Matthewisclearlyalarmednow.
“I’msosorry,”Davidsaysquietly.
“HassomethinghappenedtoDana?”Matthew’svoiceisfullofpanic.
“She’sfallendownthestairs,”Davidsays.
“Issheokay?”Buthisfacehasgonewhite.
Davidshakeshisheadsomberlyandsaysthedreadedwordsagain.“I’msosorry.”
Matthewgasps,“Idon’tbelieveit!”Helooksghastly.“Iwanttoseeher!”
There’snothingtobedone.Hemustseeher.Davidleadshimdowntothelandingwherehestops,respectfully.Danaliesbelowthemlikeabrokendoll,thrownacrossaroombyapetulantchild.Matthewseesher,criesout,andstumblespasthiminhisrushtogettohisbeloved.
“Don’ttouchher,”Davidadvises.
Matthewcollapsesbesideherandbeginstosobastheothersstepback.HeignoresDavid’swarningandstrokeshertoo-paleface,runshisthumbalongherbloodlesslips,indisbelief.Thenheburieshisfaceinherneck,hisshouldersheaving.
Theotherslookaway;it’sunbearable.
Finally,Matthewlooksup.“Howdidthishappen?”hecries,halfcrazed,atDavid,whohasdescendedthestairsandhasstoppedabovehimonthesecondstep.“Whywouldsheevenbeoutofourroom?”
“Youdidn’thearhergo?”Davidasks
Matthewshakeshisheadslowlyinshockandmisery.“No.Iwasasleep.Ididn’thearanything.”Hecovershisfacewithbothhandsandweepswretchedly.
BradleyfetchesawhitesheetandtheyallstandbysomberlyasheandDavidsettleitgentlyoverDana’sinertform
NINE
Saturday,6:33a.m.
GwenwalkswithRileybacktotheirroomasifinatrance.Shecan’tseemtotakeitallin.Danaisdead,justlikethat.ShemighthavefallendownthosestairsanddiedwhileGwenwasinDavid’sroomlastnight.It’spossibleshewasalreadylyingatthebottomofthestairsonthefirstfloorwhenshelefthisroomonthesecondfloorandclimbedtothethirdfloortoherownroom.Howfleetingandpreciouslifeis,sherealizes.Youneverknowwhenitmaybesnatchedfromyou,justwhenyou’releastexpectingit.Danahadeverythingtolivefor,Gwenthinks.It’stoohorrible.Itmakesherrealizethatsheshouldtrytoenjoyeverymoment.Livelifetothefullest.Shehasn’tbeenverygoodatthat.Maybeit’stimetotry.Maybeit’stimetoletgoofthebaggage,theguilt,andtrytoliveherlife,shethinks.Maybelastnightisanewbeginningforher.ShefeelsasurgingwarmthandhappinessinsideaboutDavidthatshecan’thelp,eventhoughDanaisdead.
She’dwantedsomuchtogotohimjustnow.Butitwouldhavebeencompletelyinappropriate.They’dmanagedawarmglanceatoneanother,butthatwasit.Therewastime.Theywouldbetogetheragain.
Rileywon’tlikeitthatshewaswithDavidlastnight.Gwenknowsthat,butRileyisherfriend,notherkeeper.Rileyshouldbehappyforherthatshe’smetsomeone.GwenwasalwayshappyforRileywhenshemetsomeone,andGwenusuallydidn’thaveanyonespecialherself.She’ssorryithadtohappenwhentheyweresupposedtobespendingtimetogetherthisweekend,butyoumusttakegoodthingswhenandwhereyoufindthem.Theyarerareenough.Dana’sdreadfulaccidenthasbroughtthishometoher.Rileyshouldunderstandthat.It’snotlikesheplanneditthisway.
TheyreachtheroomandRileyclosesthedoorbehindher.Gwenlooksupatherwarily,waitingforhertosaysomething.Whenshedoesn’t,Gwenreachesforsomeclothesfromherovernightbag.Shewouldlikeashower,butthatseemsoutofthequestion.Thewaterwillbefreezing.
“There’ssomethingIneedtosay,”Rileysaysatlast,hervoiceserious,asshepullsatoponoverherheadandflipsherlonghairoverhershoulders.
Hereitcomes,Gwenthinks.
“Thatattorney,DavidPaley.”
“Whatabouthim?”Gwen’svoicecomesoutmoresharplythansheintended.
“Didyousleepwithhim?”
“Actually,yes,Idid.”SheturnsandglaresatRiley.“Why,isthataproblem?I’magrown-up.Idon’trecalleverhavingaproblemwithanyofyourflings.”Shezipsupherjeanswithanangrysnap,andreachesforathicksweater.Sheadds,“Godknowstherewereenoughofthem.”
“Butyoudon’tknowanythingabouthim.”
“YesIdo.He’sDavidPaley,adefenseattorneyfromNewYorkCity.Andaveryniceman.”Shecan’thelpadding,“Andwe’regoodtogether.”
“Gwen,sitdownforaminute,”Rileysays,sittingdownonherbed.
GwenslumpsdowntiredlyonthebedacrossfromRileyandstartspullingonwarmsocks.Sherefusestolookather,toshowthatsheislistening.Shedoesn’twanttolisten.Rileyshouldmindherownbusiness.Howquicklythingshavechangedthisweekend.ShewassupposedtobetakingcareofRiley,butsomehowRileyistryingtoreestablishherselfintheroleofherprotector.Gwendoesn’tlikeit.
“Idon’tknowwhatitis,butsomethingabouthimisbotheringme,”Rileysays,clearlytense.
Gwenlooksupatherandsays,inavoicethatshowsshemeansit,“Riley—Idon’twanttohearit.”
Rileybiteshertongueandfinishesgettingdressedinsilence.
???
Davidreturnstohisroombrieflytodress.Hismindisracing.Somuchhashappenedinsuchashorttime.MeetingGwen.Nowthisawfulaccident.Thatlookslikeitmightnotbeanaccident.
He’slearnedtotrusthisinstinctsafteralltheseyearsasacriminallawyer.Andheknowsit’snotactuallythateasytodiefromafalldownaflightofstairs.Unlesstheneckisbroken.Andhe’sprettysureDana’sneckwasnotbroken.Hethinksthecauseofdeathwastheblowtothehead.Andtodiefromablowtotheheadfromfallingdownthestairs,youhavetofallinaparticularway.Youhavetostrikeyourheadhardagainstthenewelpost,forinstance.Butitseemstohimthatshestruckherheadhardagainsttheedgeofthebottomstepinapeculiarway.
Itdoesn’tlooklikeanaccidentatall.Itlookstohimlikemurder.
Matthew,simplyasthedeadwoman’sfiancé,isthemostobvioussuspect.DavidconsidersMatthew’sreaction.Eitheritwascompletelygenuine,orMatthewisaverygoodactor.Davidknowsbetterthantounderestimateanyone.Heknowsthatpeoplearecomplicated;lifeiscomplicated.
Hisownlifeiscomplicated.He’dintendedtostayawayfromGwenoncehelearnedthatherfriendRileyhadbeenajournalistwiththeNewYorkTimes.Hedidn’tneedthetrouble.Butthenshe’dsoughthimoutinthelibrary—anditwasthemostpleasanteveninghe’sspentinyears.Itseemedsonatural,soright,whenshecameupstairswithhim.Heunlockedthedoorandcloseditbehindthem,andthenitwasinevitable.Somehowthey’dfoundthebed.He’dfelthimselfcomealiveafteryearsofbeingalone.Hesomehowsensedthatshefeltthesameway.
He’sbeensolonelysincehiswifedied.
Saturday,6:55a.m.
Beverlyfollowsherhusbandtothestaircase.They’vehastilythrownonsomewarmclothesandareontheirwaytothediningroom.Herheartracesintimewithherquickfootstepsonthestairs.Despiteherdeeppityforthedeadwoman,shealmostfeelsliketheyhavebeensaved.Thiscrisishassidelinedtheirowntroubles.It’sasifthey’vebothbeenpulledbackfromthebrinkthey’dfacedlastnight.It’sawfultothinkso,butshe’shopingthatitwillpreventthemfromfocusingagainontheirmarriageinthecold,emptylightofday.Shedoesnotwanttogothere,nowthatsheknowsjusthowprecariousherpositionis.
Andthen,whentheyarehomeagain,withallthisdramaandtragedybehindthem,theywillslipintooldpatterns,avoidingwhat’simportant,carryingonthewaytheyshould.Thewaytheymust.She’salittlesurprisedathow,eveninthefaceofsomethingascalamitousasayoungwoman’sunexpecteddeath,shestillconsidersherowninterestsfirst.Butthen,shedidn’treallyknowher.ShesuspectsHenryisgratefultohavesomethingtodistractthemfromthemselvesthisweekend,too,ratherthanspendingitarguingwithhiswifeandblowinghiscomfortableexistenceapart
Theyarriveatthelandingandsherecoilswhensheseesthebodystilllyingatthebottomofthestairs,coveredbythesheet.Shehadn’texpectedittobethere.Whyhaven’ttheymovedher,takenherawaysomewhere,wheretheydon’thavetoseeher?Sheshuddersinvoluntarily.Theymaketheirappalledwaydownandsteparoundthecorpse,deliberatelylookingelsewhere,andhurrytothediningroom.
WhensheandHenryenterthediningroom,everyoneturnstowardthem.Laurenisstandingbythecoffeestation,pouringherselfacupfromacarafe.Besideherisherboyfriend,Ian,whoforonceisn’tsmiling.Gwenisstandingbyherself,butRileyishoveringnearby.Beverlydoesn’tseeMatthewanywhere.Thewomanwriter,Candice,isoffinacornerbyherself,drinkingcoffeeandobservingeveryonewithasharpeye.She’snothidingbehindamagazinethismorning.Theattorneystandsquietlyawayfromeveryoneelse,lookingtroubledandsippingcoffee.
Candicewalksupclosertoeveryonenearthecoffeestationandsays,quietly,“AreanyofyouawareofwhoMatthewHutchinsonis?”Therestofthemlookatherinsurprise.“No?He’sfromoneofthemostprominentandwealthyfamiliesinNewEngland.”
Beverlyhadnoidea,andlookingaroundattheothers,itseemsthatnobodyelsehadanyideaeither.AtthatmomentBradleybringsoutplatesofrolls,croissants,andmuffinsfromthekitchen.Hesetsthemdownonthelongsidetablewherethebuffethadbeenlaidoutthenightbefore.“Please,helpyourselves,”hesays.
Bradleyseemsquitedifferentthismorning,Beverlythinks.Hehasadistractedair,andhe’smissinghischarmingsmile.Well,nowonder.
Heglancesaroundtheroomandsays,“I’mreallysorryaboutthepower.There’snotmuchwecandoaboutitbutwaitforthemtofixthelines.I’msurethey’reworkingonit.We’lltrytomakeyouascomfortableaspossibleinthemeantime.”
BeverlyisrelievedthatMatthewisn’tthere.Hemusthavereturnedtohisroom.Sheimaginestheothersmustfeelasrelievedasshedoes.Noonewouldknowhowtoactaroundhim.Ahandsomeyoungmanintheprimeoflife,evidentlytheheirtoagreatfortune,engagedtosuchalovelyyoungwoman—hishappinessdestroyedinaninstantbythisterrible,tragicaccident.Howsadanddifficulttheweekendwillbe,tiptoeingaroundhisgrief.
Shewishesnow,herownmarriagehangingintatters,thatshe’dneverheardofthisplace.Ifonlytheycouldleave.Shewantsnothingmorethantogohome.ShewantstogohomewithHenryandpatchthingsupandcarryonasnormal.
Theguestsmillaboutawkwardly.Somestepupandreachuneasilyforcroissantsandmuffins.Bradleysoonreturnscarryingabigplatterofeggs.“Fortunately,wehaveagasstove,”hesays.Heplacestheplatteronthetableandinviteseveryonetodigin.Butmanyofthemseemtohavelosttheirappetite.
FinallyJamesappearsfromthekitchenandsays,withappropriatesolemnity,“Thisissuchanawfulthingtohavehappened.Iamsosorry.And”—hehesitates—“Iapologize—butunfortunately,Ihavebeenadvisedthatwemustleavethebodywhereitisforthetimebeing.”
Theguestsshiftuneasilywheretheystand.
“Advisedbywhom?”Henryasks.
“Byme,”Davidanswers.
“Areyousureyoucan’t…moveher?”Beverlyasks,dismayed.Itseemsawfuljusttoleaveherthere.Disrespectful,somehow.
“Andno,wecan’t.”
“Whynot?Surelyitwasanaccident,”Laurensays.
“Bettertowaitforthecoronertodeterminethat,”Davidsays.
“You’renotsuggestingitwasn’tanaccident!”Gwensays.
“I’msayingit’sforthecoronertodecide.”
SuddenlyBeverlywondersiftheattorneysuspectsMatthewofpushinghisfiancéedownthestairs.Shestudiestheothers;she’sprettysureoneortwoofthemjusthadthesamethought.Withasickfeelinginthepitofherstomach,shewondersifanyofthemheardwhatsheheard,theargumentbetweenMatthewandDanalatelastnight.Shouldshesayanything?Surelyitwasjustalovers’quarrel.Matthewwouldn’tharmDana.Theyseemedsoinlove.
There’sanawkwardsilence,andthenRileysaysabruptly,“IthoughtIheardascreamlastnight.”
“When?”Davidasks.
“Idon’tknow.IthoughtI’dimaginedit.”
“Didanyoneelsehearanything?”Davidasks,lookingaroundtheroom.
Beverlyfeelsherwholebodytighten.Shedoesn’twanttogettheyoungmanintotroubleifhehasn’tdoneanythingwrong.Perhapssomeoneelseheardthemarguing.Shedoesn’twanttobetheonetotell.Butnooneelseoffersanything.Shelooksdown,uncertain,andletsthemomentpass.
“Whataboutthepolice?”Henryasksnow.
Jamesspeaksup.“Asyouknow,thepower’soutandthephonesaredead.Wehaven’tbeenabletoreachthepolice.”
“Iknow,butwhataboutsnowmobiles?”Henryasks.
Jamesshakeshishead.“Wedon’thavethemhere.They’renoisy.Weliketofocusonnature—hiking,skiing,snowshoeing.We’reold-fashioned.”
Henryrollshiseyesindisgust.“Ican’tbelieveyoudon’thaveagenerator,”hemutters.
“Thepolicewillgethereeventually,”Jamessays,ignoringhim.“Oncethepower’srestoredandwecanusethephone.Ortheyclearandsandtheroadsandwecangetout.”
“Howlongdoesitusuallytake,”Rileyasksuneasily,“torestorepowerupherewhenthere’sastorm?”
Bradleysays,“Italldepends.ButIimagineit’saprettywidespreadoutage.Iceismuchworsethansnow.Itbringsdownthewires.”
“Untilthepolicedogethere,”theattorneysays,“wehavetotreatitasapossiblecrimescene.”
“But—”Beverlybeginsandstops,asalleyesturnherwayandsheflushes.Shesays,pointingouttheobvious,“We’llhavetosteppastherbodyeverytimewegoupordownthestairs.We’llseeherlyingtherewheneverwesitinthelobby.”
Andthenshethinksofthatpooryoungmanupinhisroom,waitingforthepolice.Andwhethersheoughttosaysomethingaboutwhatsheheard.
TEN
Saturday,7:45a.m.
Candicelingersinthediningroomwiththeothersafterbreakfast.Itseemslikenobodyknowswhattodo;theyareallatlooseendsnow—withtheexceptionofthelawyer,wholeavesthediningroomafterbreakfastwithasubduedbutpurposefulair.Candicenoticesthedark-hairedwoman,whosenameshe’slearnedisGwen,watchinghimgo.
Shecan’thaveanyideawhoheis.
CandicewouldlovetofollowthenotoriousDavidPaleyupthestairs.She’dbetdollarstodonutshe’sonhiswaytoseeMatthewHutchinson,andshewishesmorethananythingthatshecouldbetheretohearwhatissaid.Thensheremindsherselfnottobedespicable,thatthemanhasjustlostthewomanhewastomarry.
Thisissomethingshehashadtoworkon,notlettinghercuriositytrumphercompassion.That’swhyshegotoutofjournalism,afterall,andstartedwritingbooksinstead.Long-formnonfictionhadsavedherfromthatatleast.Whenshewritesabook,shefindsshecanstillfeelforhersubject,stillfindhersenseofdecency.Journalismcanruinyou.
SheglancesatRiley,whomsherecognizedthenightbeforeasawarcorrespondentfortheNewYorkTimes.She’sgotthelook.Notthelookofthehardenedjournalistwhohasnecessarilygrownathick,protectiveskin.She’sattheotherendofthescale—she’sbrokenwideopen,raw.ShewondersifRileywilleverbeputbacktogetheragain.ShecanrecognizePTSDwhensheseesit;she’sseenitbefore.
She’sgladshe’snolongerajournalist.Still,there’sabodylyingatthefootofthestairs,andnooneknowshowitgotthere.Shecanreadpeopleprettywell,andshe’snotstupid—theattorneylooksasifhesuspectsitwasmorethananaccident.She’stemptedtoslipupstairsandlistenoutsideMatthew’sdoor.Butsherestrainsherself.
“Wecan’tgooutinthis,”Henrysaysgloomily,interruptingherthoughts.He’sscowlingoutsideattheice.
Thedining-roomwindowsgiveontotheforestontheeastsideofthehotel.Everythingiscoveredinsparklingice.It’sbeautiful,asiftheworldiscoatedindiamonds.Long,pointyicicleshangfromtheeavesinfrontofthewindows.Theylookratherdeadly.Ifyouwerewalkingunderoneofthoseanditfellonyou,itmightkillyou,Candicethinks.
Thestormhasmadeittoodangerousforwalking,orskiing,orsnowshoeing,oranythingbuttakingyourlifeinyourhands.Thebestplacetobeduringamajoricestormissafelyinsidewhereyoucan’tgethitbyfallingbranchesorpiercedthroughwithicicles,orelectrocutedbyfallenpowerlines.Nottomentiontheriskofslippingandcrackingyourheadopenontheice.
No,thankyou,Candicethinks.She’sgoingtostayinsidelikeeverybodyelse
???
DavidknocksonthedoorofMatthew’sroom.Whenthere’snoanswer,hetriesagain,moreloudlythistime.Finally,withnervoushandshefumblesforthekeyheobtainedfromJamesandopensthedoorhimself,afraidthatMatthewmighthavedonesomethingdrastic.He’sseenitbefore.HepushesthedooropenquicklyandspiesMatthewsittingimmobileinachairinfrontofthefireplace.David’simmediatereliefshiftstouneasiness.EventhoughJameshadstartedafireearlier,theroomischilly.Davidstepsfartherintotheroom.Nowonder;Matthewhasletthefirealmostgoout.
DavidapproachesandstudiesMatthewcarefully.He’sobviouslybeenweeping.Hiseyesandfacearepuffy.Helooksalmostcatatonic.“Matthew,”Davidsays.Theothermandoesnotrespond.It’shardtotellifhe’sswampedwithgrieforguilt,orquitepossibly,bothatonce.
Quietly,Davidmovesovertothefireplaceandsetsthefirescreenaside.Hechoosesanotherlogandcarefullyaddsittothefire,pokingandproddingtomakeitcatch.It’sgoodtohavesomethinglikethistodowhilehethinksaboutwhattosay.Hewisheshecouldjustkeeppokingandproddingthefireforever,staringintotheflames,andnothavetodowhathe’sabouttodo.Buthe’sworriedaboutthisyoungman.Hefeelsaresponsibility.Hewouldliketohelpifhecan.Eventhoughthereisnotmuchtobedone;youcan’tgobackintimeandchangethings.He’sjustcleanupcrew,really.
Finally,hesetsthepokeraside,replacesthefirescreen,andtakestheotherchairbesideMatthew.Hepauseswhilehedecideshowtobegin.
“Thepolicewillgethereeventually,”hesaysatlastinalowvoice.“Ifnottoday,thentomorrow.Theywillinvestigate.Therewillbeaninquestintothecauseofdeath.”Hepauses.Heknowstospeakslowly;themindinshockhastroubletakingthingsin.“Itismybeliefthattheywillnotfindthecauseofdeathtobeanaccidentalfall.”Hewaits.Matthewdoesn’tstir,doesn’tevenshowsurprise.Whichistroubling.“Itappearstomethattheinjurytothehead,whichwasmostlikelythecauseofdeath,isnotonethatwouldnaturallyoccurinafall.Itlookslikeitwascausedbybeingpushedintotheedgeofthestairfromthefrontandabove.”Hecan’thelphimself;thecynicismtakesover.“Ifyou’retryingtomakeamurderlooklikeanaccidentinafalldownthestairs,farbettertopushtheheadintothenewelpostinthedirectionofthefall.”Thatgetshisattention.
“Whatdidyousay?”Matthewasks,liftinghisheadandlookingathimforthefirsttime.
Davidlooksintohiseyes.“Isaiditdoesn’tlooklikeanaccident.Itlookslikeyourfiancéewasmurdered.”
“What?”
“IbelieveDanawasmurdered.”
Matthewlooksbackathimasifit’sfinallydawningonhim.“Oh,God.No.”
“Ibelieveso,yes.”
Alongmomentpasses,andthenMatthewsays,“YouthinkIdidit.”
“Idon’tknowandIdon’twanttoknow.ButIamacriminaldefenseattorneyandIamheretoofferyousomefreeadviceuntilyoucanretainanattorneyofyourown.”
“Ididn’tkillher!”
“Okay.”
“Iwasasleep,Iswear!Ididn’tevenknowshe’dlefttheroom!Whywouldshedothat?She’sneverleftourhotelroombefore.Thebathroomisrighthere.She’snotasleepwalker.”
Andthat’sjustit.Whywouldsheleavetheroom,Davidthinks—unlessshe’darguedwithherfiancé?Andthenperhapshefollowedher,inarage.Lostcontrolforafatalmoment.Hedoesn’twanttoask—hedoesn’twanttogetinvolved—buthedoes.“Didyoutwohaveanargumentlastnight?”
“What?No!Ofcoursenot.Iloveher!Icouldneverhurther!”Hisvoicehasrisenandhelowersitagain.“Theremustbesomereasonsheleft.Maybesheheardsomethingoutinthehall.Idon’tknow.AllIknowisthatIsleptthroughallofit.”
“Youhadnodisagreementsaboutanything,about…money?Aprenup,perhaps?”
Matthewshakeshisheaddismissively.“No.Neitherofuswanted,orneeded,aprenup.Wewereinlove—that’sthetruth.”Heasksdesperately,“Doyoureallythinksomeonekilledher?”
“Itlooksthatwaytome,”Davidsays
Matthewturnsbacktostareatthefire,freshtearsspillingfromhiseyes.“DearGod.”Hecovershisfacewithhishandsforamomentuntilheregainscontrol.ThenheremovesthemandturnstoDavid.“Ifsomeonedeliberatelykilledher,thenIwanttoknowwho,andIwanttoknowwhy.”HelooksbackatDavid.“Itwasn’tme,Iswear.”Heisclearlytormented.
DavidobservesMatthewshrewdly.He’salmostconvincedthemanisinnocent.“Okay.Buthere’smyadvice,anyway.Don’tsayanythingtoanybodyaboutthis.Just—saynothing.Itmaynotbeabadideatostayuphereinyourroomuntilthepolicegethere.Andwhentheydogethere,iftheycautionyou,andarrestyou—andeveniftheydon’t—saynothing.Getyourselfagoodattorney.”
Matthewhasturnedevenpaler.“Whataboutyou?”
“Idon’tthinkso.ButIcanrecommendsomeone,ifyoulike.”Davidgetsuptoleave.Heknowsthatwithnophoneservice,there’snoonethatMatthewcancall,noonehecantalkto.He’sisolatedhere.“Areyougoingtobeokay?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“I’mhereifyouneedme,”hesays.Hemeansit.“I’llcheckinonyouagaininabit.”
Matthewnodsandturnsbacktothefire
Davidletshimselfout.
???
Matthewhearsthedoorclickclosedandturnstolook.He’saloneagain.
Hestandsupsuddenlyandbeginstopace.He’sovercomewithgriefforDana,buthe’salsofrightenedandagitatedbywhatDavidPaleyhassaid.Danaisdead!Andtheattorneythinkshedidit.Ifhethinksso,thepolicewillthinksotoo.
Hesuppressesasobashepacestheroom.HetoldtheattorneythatheandDanahadn’targued,andnowhethinkshe’smadeamistake.HeandDanahadargued,tensionabouttheimpendingweddingeruptingoutofnowhere.They’vebothbeenunderalotofstress.
Danahadbroughtuphismotheragain—complainingthathismotherhasneverapprovedofher,neverthoughtshewasgoodenough.Danagotlikethatsometimes—moreoften,recently—emotionallyoverwrought,alittleinsecure.Lookingather,youwouldneverbeabletotellthatsometimesshelackedconfidence,butoccasionallysherevealedittohim.Itdidn’tbotherhim.Hewasusedtopeople—friendsandgirlfriends—beingintimidatedbyhiswealthy,powerfulfamily.
He’ddeniedit,ofcourse.Saidthatshewasbeingoversensitive,thatofcoursehismotherapprovedofher.Buthewastiredofhavingtosaythesamethingoverandover.Especiallybecauseitwasn’texactlytrue.Hismotherdidthinkhecoulddobetter,andshe’dhadtheaudacitytotellhimso,onmorethanoneoccasion.She’dtriedtogethimtowait,thinkinghewouldtireofDana,thinkingthathewassimplytakeninbyDana’sbeautyandthathisfeelingsforherwouldchange.He’dmadeitcleartohisstrong-willed,wealthymatriarchofamotherthathelovedDanaandthathewasgoingtomarryher.Butitwaswearyingtobeconstantlycaughtbetweenthetwowomen,unabletoentirelyplease—orappease—eitheroneofthem.Lastnight,hisexasperationhadgottenthebetterofhim.
Hewonderssuddenlyifanyoneheardthemarguing.
ELEVEN
Saturday,8:00a.m.
Theguestsfilterslowlyfromthediningroomintothelobby,subdued,avoidingthestaircase,someofthemstillholdingcoffeecups.
Henryiscursinghisluck.Ifonlythesnowhadnotturnedtodrivingiceinthenightthiswouldhavebeenaratherfabulouswinterwonderland.Hecouldhavegonecross-countryskiingallday,workedoffsomeofthisgodawfultension.Nowhestandsclosetothefrontwindowsofthelobbyandlooksgloomilyoutattheice—coatingeverythinglikeglass—andfeelscheated.Thishotelisn’texactlycheapandeverythingseemstobeconspiringtomakehimhaveamiserabletime.Hemakesthemistakeofglancingathiswife,whoiswatchinghim
Hefeelssorestless.Heleansforwardandpracticallypresseshisnoseagainstthecoolglassofthewindow.Heseesthatamassivebranchhasbrokenofftheenormousoldtreeonthefrontlawnandliesshatteredinpieces,darkwoodagainstsparklingwhite.Hefeelshiswifecomeupbehindhim.Hearshersay,“Youaren’tthinkingofgoingoutinthat.”
Hehadn’tbeen,butnowshe’sdecidedit.“Yes.”
“Don’tberidiculous,”shesays,asifscoldingoneofthekidsforsomeharebrainedidea.
Hemovesovertothecoatstandnearthedoorwheremostofthemhadlefttheircoatsthenightbefore,theirbootsbelowthemonthemat.Hefindsandpullsonhiswinterjacket,bendsoverandslipsoffhisrunningshoes,andpullsonthewinterbootsthathearrivedin.
“Areyousurethat’sagoodidea?”Iansays,butwithouttheoverlayofhysteriaandtheneedforcontrolHenrydetectssofrequentlyinhiswife’svoice.
“Iwon’tgofar,”hetellsIan,pullingonhishat.“Ijustwanttogetsomefreshair.”
“Makesureyoustayawayfromanypowerlines,”Ianadviseshim.
They’reallstandingwatchinghim,asifhe’ssomekindofcanary,testingtheconditions.
Henryturnsaroundandopensthefrontdoor.Hefeelsthecoldairhithisface,andeveryone’seyesonhisback.Hestepsoutontotheporchandpullsthedoorclosedbehindhim.It’snowthathenoticesthewind—howwildandlouditis.Frominsidethehotelitsoundslikeaconstant,dullroarwiththeoccasionalshriek,somethingfaraway,butouthereit’salive,it’samonster,andit’smuchcloser.Helookstowardtheforestattheedgeofthelawnandseeshowthewindiswhippingthetopsofthetreesbackandforth.Andthenoise—it’slikeakeening.Worstofallisthecreaking,sawingsoundasthewindbringsitsforcetobearontheice-ladenbranchesofthetreeinfrontofhim.Hecloseshiseyesforamomentandlistens;heimaginesthatthisiswhatanoldwoodensailingshipmighthavesoundedlikeatsea,inastorm.Thenheopenshiseyesandliftsthemuptothetree,wonderingifanymorebranchesareabouttocomedown.
He’sbeenstillnowforsomemomentsandheknowsthey’reallwatching.Hegrabstheporchhandrailandlooksdown.There’sathickcoatingoficeonthewoodenstairsandhestepscarefully,holdingonfirmlytotherail.It’sveryslippery,buthemakesittothebottomofthethreestepswithoutincidentandstandsthere.He’sbeginningtowonderwhathe’sdoingouthere.Hestartswalking—notwalking,walkingisimpossible—butslidinghisfeetalongtheice,tryingtokeephiscenterofbalancelow.It’slikewalkingafterTeddyontheicerinkathockeywhenhewaslittle,justaftertherinkwasflooded,onlytherinkwasflat,andthisiceslopesallovertheplace.
Withoutwarning,Henry’sfeetgorightoutfromunderhiminspectacularfashionandhelandsheavilyonhisback,winded,nottwentyfeetfromthefrontporch.Heliestheretryingtogethisbreathback,wheezingloudly,lookingupattheclouds,feelinglikeafool.Hehearsthefrontdooropenbehindhim.Thatwillbehiswife,tellinghimtocomebackin.
Butbeforeshecansayanythingthere’safrightfulcrackingsoundoverhead.Heturnshisheadtowardthetree.Hisheartjumpsinhischestasherealizeswhat’sgoingtohappen.Hecloseshiseyesaspartofabranchcomesdownandlandswithashuddernomorethanafewfeetaway.Heslowlyreopenshiseyes.
Thatbranchcouldhavekilledhim.
Unabletogetbackuponhisfeet,Henrycrawlsandslidesonallfoursbacktothefrontporchandthenhaulshimselftostandingatthefrontstepsusingthehandrail.
Thefrontdooriswideopen,andeveryoneislookingathim,alarmed.Theypracticallypullhimbackinsidethehotel
Oncehe’sregainedhiscomposure,hiswifesays,“Ifyouwantsomethingtodo,youcangohelpBradleytrytoclearthewalkouttotheicehouse.”Helooksbackatherinannoyanceandsheadds,“Hetoldmetherearen’tanytreesthere.Itshouldberelativelysafe.”
???
CandicefeelsrathersorryforHenry,whoisclearlyfrustratedatbeingtrappedhere.Mostofthemseemtofeelthatway.Eitherlongingtogetout,likeHenry,orhanginglistlesslyabout,likeIanandLauren.
She’sgotplentytodo—aslongasherbatteryholdsup—andplentyheretointeresther.ShewandersovertoDana’sbodytohaveanotherlook.Shecanfeeltheothers’eyesonher,disapproving,assheliftsthesheet.Thistimeshelooksmorecarefullyattheheadinjury,andthenatthebloodonthestair,andherheartbeatsalittlefasteratwhatshesees.Thenshewandersbacktothefireplaceandstandsinfrontofitforamoment,lostinthought,warmingherhands.Shereallycan’taffordtoletherselfbedistractedbythis.Butshesuspectsthatsomeonemurderedthatpoorgirl.
Laurenstartlesheroutofherthoughtsbyasking,“Whatkindofbookareyouworkingon?”
Candicesmilesalittleevasively.“Oh—Idon’tliketotalkaboutit.InevertalkaboutwhatI’mworkingonuntilit’sfinished,”shesaysapologetically.“Ifinditjustsucksalltheenergyoutoftheproject.”
“Oh,”Laurensays.“Ithoughtwritersalwayslikedtotalkaboutwhattheywereworkingon.”
“Notme,”Candicereplies.
Graduallytheguestsbegintoleavethelobby,scatteringindifferentdirections,subduedbythetragedythathasoccurredintheirmidst.Bradleyhadbroughtacoupleofoillampsandsomematchesandleftthemonthecoffeetable,butmostofthemopttousetheflashlightappontheiriPhonestohelpthemfindtheirwayupthedarkstaircaseandaroundtheunlitcorridorsupstairs.It’sunnervinglydarkonceyouleavethefirstfloor,wherethewindowsacrossthefrontofthehotelletindaylight.
It’stimetogettowork.Candiceskirtsthecorpseandtrudgesupthestaircasetoherroomonthethirdfloor.Thecorridorislitonlybytherathersmallwindowsateachend,anditisdarkandgloomy,madeevenmoresobythedarkcarpetanddullwallpaper.Candicesupposesthatallthebedroomshavewindows—herscertainlydoes—andthatifthedrapesarepulledback,therewillbeenoughlightformostpurposes,butprobablynotenoughtoreadeasily.
Upstairs,it’scolder.Thelargefireinthelobbymakesitundoubtedlythemosthospitableplacetobe,ifyouareabletoignorethepresenceofthedeadbody.Butmostoftheguestsseemtohavegonebackuptotheirrooms,badlyspooked.
Candicefindsherroomtoocold,toogloomy,andtoodarkforherliking.Shereturnsdownstairscarryingherlaptopanddiscoversthelibrary.ShesearchesoutBradley,findshiminthediningroomclearingthingsaway,andaskshimtobuildafireinthelibraryforher.Bradleylooksabitharriedandharassed.Itmustbedifficult,Candicethinks,tokeepahotelgoingwhileshortstaffedduringapowerfailure.
“IthoughtIheardyouwereshovelingthepathtotheicehouse,”shesays,astheywalktothelibrary.
Hesmilesatherbriefly.“Yes,butI’vegotHenryhelpingwiththatnow.It’stoughgoingbuthe’shavingsomeluckwiththesnowblower.”
ShefollowsBradleyintothelibrary.Shelongstocomplainabouttheawfulpositionthepowerfailurehasputherin,butshedoesn’twanttoburdenhimanyfurther.Andsheisawareofhowpettyitwouldbe,whenthere’sayoungwomandead,andtheremaybepeopleoutthereinrealjeopardyfromthisstorm.
Still.Thereisnoquestionthepoweroutageiscausinghergreatinconvenience.Shecameupheretowork,andshecan’tworkwithoutafunctioninglaptop.Shehasonlyafewhoursofbatteryleftatmost.Shemaybereducedtowritingwithaballpointpen,wrappedinablanket.It’snotwhatsheimagined.Shethinksofhermothertrappedinherbed,andwondersifhersistersaretakingcareofherthewaytheyshould.
Shesettlesherselfintoacomfortablearmchairbythecrackling,spittingfire,thanksBradleyprofusely,andaskshimtobringherahotcupofteawhenhegetsachance.Thensheopenshercomputer.Butit’sawhilebeforeshecanstopthinkingaboutDana,andgetdowntowork.
Saturday,9:15a.m.
Gwenhadfoundbreakfastinthediningroom—whichshecouldn’thelpcomparingunfavorablytothedelightfulbreakfastexperiencepromisedtoherintheMitchell’sInnbrochure—excruciating.Sheonlymanagedtoeathalfamuffin,withouttastingit.
Davidhadn’tapproachedher,butRileyhadbeenstandingbesideheroozingafierceprotectiveness.OrmaybeitwasbecausehewasdistractedbywhathadhappenedtoDana.GwenknewhewasconcernedaboutMatthew.Shedidn’treallygiveashitwhatRileythought,butshehadn’tlikedtheideaofRileygrabbingherarmifshetriedtowalkovertoDavid,andcreatingascene.Rileywasunpredictable.WhenDavidleftthediningroom,Gwendecidedshewouldfindhimlater,whenshehadthepossibilityofalittleprivacy.
Shecouldn’thelpthinkingabouthim.Justafewhoursearlierhe’dbeentouchingher,lovingher.
They’dwanderedouttothelobbyandwatchedHenrymakeafoolofhimselfontheicylawn.ThenRileyhadsuggestedthetwoofthemexplorethehoteltogether.Gwenshowedherthelibrary,thentheywentintothesittingroomnexttothelibrary.Itwasquitecharming,withanarrayofplumpchintzsofasandchairsandlowtablesandanoilportraitofawomanoverthefireplace.
“Shallwestayhere?”Gwensuggested,rubbingherhandsalongherarmsforwarmth.ButRileywasrestlessandwantedtokeeplookingaround.Theyexploredthelittlecorridoroffthelobbyandcametothebar.
“Thisisnice,”Rileysaysnow,glancingaroundthebarapprovingly.“I’llmakeafireforushere.”
Ofcourseshecanstartherownfire,Gwenthinks,watchingher.She’slivedinIraq,andAfghanistan,intheroughestofconditions.ShewonderswhatelseRileycandothatGwencan’t.Driveastandardtransmission.Treatawound.Protectasource.Negotiatewithterrorists.SherealizesthatRileyhasneverreallysharedanyofthesekindsofdetailswithher;sheprobablythinksGwenwouldn’tbeabletohandleit.Rileyisthestrangestcollectionofimpressiveskills,fiercebravery,andnow,aterrible,unpredictablefragility.
GwenisacutelyawareofthebottlesbehindthebarandworriesthatRileywillwanttogetintothem,eventhoughit’sjustpastbreakfast.Sheturnsherbackonthebarandwandersaroundtheroom,perusingthetitlesofthebooksshelvedalongthewalls,studyingthepaintings.
SuddenlyGwenfindsherselfthinkingaboutthelastyearofjournalismschool,wheneverythingchangedforher.Rileyknowswhathappened;shewasthere.SheknowswhyGwenthinksshedoesn’tdeservetobehappy.ButGwenknowsthatifshewantsachancewithDavid,shemustconfrontthepast.Shemustfaceitandcometotermswithitsomehow.
Theywereoutonenightataparty.Therewasalotofdrinking—itwastheendoftheyearandeverybodywastyingoneonbecausetheywouldsoonbegraduating.Gwenwitnessedaterriblecrime.Shewatchedthreemenrapeayoungwoman.Andshedidnothing.Nothingatall.
Sheremembershowshe’dbeenupallthenightbefore,finishingsomeassignment.She’dhadalottodrink,andneededtoliedown.Shefoundabedroom—itwasahouseparty—withabedandasparemattressonthefloor.Shecrawledundersomeblanketsonthemattress.Thenagirlcamecrashingintotheroom,wakingherup.Itwasdark,withonlythelightfromthestreetlightoutsidepenetratingtheroom.Gwenrecognizedthegirl—shewasinsomeofherclasses.Shewastryingtoshrugsomeguyoff,buthewasn’thavingit.Hestartedpullingoffherclothes.Gwenwasabouttogetup—shethoughtthetwoofthemcouldmakehimstop—butthentwomoremencameinandclosedthedoorbehindthem.Oneofthemproppedachairupunderthedoorknobsonoonecouldopenthedoor.Gwenwasparalyzedwithfear.
Theothergirlscreamed,butthemusicwassoloudnoonecouldhaveheardher.Theyheldherdownonthebedwhiletheyrapedher.Theywerelaughing.Itallhappenedsofast.Shehadn’twantedthemtoknowshewasthere.Shewasafraidtheywoulddothesametoher.
Theyleftthegirlthere,sobbing,onthebed.Assoonastheyweregone,Gwenthrewup.Shewentovertoseehowtheothergirlwas,butshe’dpassedout.Gwenturnedheronhersidesothatshewouldn’tchokeonherownvomit,andthenshewenttofindRiley.AndRileytoldhersheshouldhavefoughtback.
Rileyhastoldhersincethenthatshedoesn’tthinkthatanymore.WhenGwenfoundRileyatthepartyandtoldherwhathadhappened,theywentuptoseethegirltogether.Gwentoldhershe’dbeenintheroom;thegirldidn’tsayanything,butGwencouldseethereproachinhereyes.SheaskedGwenifshewouldbeabletoidentifythemenwhorapedher,andtocorroborateherstory.She’dtoldRileythatshethoughtshe’dbeabletorecognizethem,buttheminutethegirlputheronthespot,Gwenpanicked.Shedidn’twanttheresponsibility.Shetoldherthatitwastoodark,andthatshecouldn’tbeartowatch,thatshe’dhidunderthecovers.Thatshewouldn’tbeabletoidentifythem.Thatshecouldn’thelpher.
Thegirlwantedtopresscharges,butshedidn’twanttodoitwithoutGwen’shelp.ButGwendidn’thelpher,eventhoughRileyurgedherto.Shetoldherthatshecouldn’tbeawitness.Shedidnothing.Shegraduatedandmovedawayandtriedtoforgetaboutit.Butshe’salwaysbeenhauntedbythethoughtthatthosecollegeboys—whoevertheywere—arenowgrownmen.Andiftheycouldbehavethatwayonce,theycoulddoitagain.Sheheardthatthegirlkilledherselfnotlongafter.AndGwen’sbeenlivingwiththeguilteversince.
Ithasdefinedher,shapedherlife.She’sacoward,someonewhofailedtodotherightthing.Sheknowsshenolongerdeservesanyofthegoodthingslifehastooffer.
Rileyhasalwaysjudgedherforit.Evennow,yearslater,Riley’sgenerallyholier-than-thouattitudeinfuriatesher.ShesometimeswondersifRileydideverythingsheshouldhavedoneinallthosewarzones,whethershe’dalwaysdoneeverythingabsolutelyfuckingmorallyperfectly.ShewondersifRileyevermadeamistake,ifshe’deverbeenafraid,allthattimeinIraqandAfghanistan.
Lostinherthoughts,shesuddenlyhearsRileysuckinherbreathwithaloudgasp.Sheturns,startled,andseesRileyinthechairinfrontofthefire,herfacedrainedofcolor.
“Oh,no,”Rileysays.
“What?”Gwen’salarmedatthevisiblechangeinRiley.“Areyouallright?”
“IknewI’dheardhisnamebefore.”
Gwenturnsawayuneasily.
“Comeoverhere.Listentome.”
Gwenlooksatherwarily,andreluctantlygoesandsitsacrossfromher.
“I’vejustrememberedwhoheis.”SheleansforwardandlooksatGwenintensely,genuineconcernonherface.
NowGwenisstartingtoworry.Surelythere’snothingwrongwithDavid.Therecan’tbe.
Rileysays,“He’stheattorneywhowasarrestedonsuspicionofmurderinghiswife.”
TWELVE
Saturday,10:00a.m.
Jamesscrubsthefryingpaninthebigkitchensinkandpondershowtorejigthingssothathecanfeedhisguestsadequatelywithoutanyelectricity.Therefrigeratorisn’tworking.Atleasthecancookwiththegasoven.Buthe’swithoutadishwasher.Breakfastwaseasyenough—eggsandpastries,andnobodymuchfeltlikeeatinganyway,fromwhathecouldsee,afterthatpoorgirlfelldownthestairs.
He’slosthisappetitetoo.Hefeelsterribleforthatman’sloss.Andthewholethingmakeshimsickwithanxiety.It’sthekindofsituationeveryhotelownerlosessleepover—anaccidentinhishotel,afatalaccidentatthat.Hehasinsurance,butChrist.Whatathingtohappen.Heknowshe’snottoblame.Hiscarpetsaren’tloose—he’dgoneuptothelandingandcheckedoverthatcarpethimselfthefirstchancehegot.Itwasfine.Shemusthavestumbledfornoreason.There’sabsolutelynowayanyonecanblamehimorhishotel.
Hethinksagainabouthowmuchshemighthavehadtodrinkthenightbefore.He’daskedBradley,inthekitchenearlierwhentheywerepreparingbreakfast.
“Doyouthinkshewasdrunk?”heaskedhiminalowvoice.“Doyouthinkthat’swhyshefell?”
Bradleyshookhishead.“Don’tworry,Dad.Shewasn’tdrunk.Iwasserving,remember?”
“ButIhadyouputthatbottleofchampagneintheirroom,remember?Doyouknowiftheydrankit?”
Bradleyshookhisheadagain.“Idon’tknow.Ihaven’tbeenintherethismorning,Daviddidn’twantmeinthere.”
Jameschewedhislip,somethinghedoeswhenhe’sworried,ahabithe’sbeentryingtobreak.Hehadn’tlookedforthechampagnebottlewhenhewasintheroom,hadn’tthoughtofit.
“Dad,don’tworry,”Bradleyrepeatedfirmly.“Youhavenothingtoworryabout.Shedidn’tfallbecauseshe’dbeendrinking.”
ButJamescouldn’thelpnoticingthatBradleyalsoseemedshakenbywhathadhappened.Helookedtired;therewereringsunderhiseyes,asifhehadn’tslept.
“Wereyouuplatelastnight?”Jamesasked.
“No,”Bradleysaid,pickingupthetrays.“Ineedtotaketheseout.”Thenhe’dtakenthemuffinsandcroissantsouttothediningroom.
Jamesfinisheswithhisfryingpanandputsitonthedryingrack.Hewishesthepowerwouldcomebackon.Hemisseshisbloodydishwasher.Hewishesthepolicewouldgethereandtakethebodyaway.Hecan’tbelievehe’sgottotakecareofalmostadozenpeoplewithoutelectricityandthatthere’sadeadbodyatthefootofthegrandstaircaseinhisbelovedhotelandhecan’tdoanythingaboutit.
Saturday,noon
Laurendescendsthestaircaseintothelobby,steppingwithdistastearoundDana’sbody,Ianrightbehindher.It’saratherhorriblechoicetheyallhavetomake—whethertousethecreepybackstaircaseorthemainonewiththebodyatthebottom.Whenshelooksup,thelobbyisemptyexceptforCandice,whohurriedlyputsabookdownonasidetableandturnstofaceher.It’sLauren’sbook.
“That’smine,”Laurensays.“IthoughtI’dleftthatbookdownhere.”
Candiceasks,“DoyouknowwhereBradleyis?Icameouttoaskhimtobringmesomehottea.”
“IcantellhimifIseehim,ifyoulike,”Laurensays.
“Oh,wouldyou?Andtellhimtobringmylunchtothelibrary.Thanks.Ididn’treallywanttobotherhisfatherinthekitchen.”Candicehurriesaway.
Laurenwatcheshergo.
Shesitsdownonthehearthofthelobby’sbigstonefireplaceandpullsIandownbesideher,tryingtowarmupwhiletheywaitfortheotherstoappearandforlunchtobeserved.Laurenstaresacrosstheroomatthefrontwindows.Shecan’tstopthinkingaboutit.Danaisdead,atthefootofthestairs.Sheavoidslookinginthatdirectionasbestshecan.“Thisissoterrible,”shewhisperstoIan.
“Iknow,”heagrees,besideher.Hetakesherhand,claspsitinhisown.“Idon’tknowwhatI’ddoifsomethinghappenedtoyou.”
Shelightlykisseshischeek.Thenshewhispers,“Idon’tseewhyshecan’tbemoved.Whydowehavetowaitforthecoroner?”
“It’sawfultoleaveherlyingthere,”Ianagrees.
“Doyouthinksomeonemighthavepushedher?”Laurenwhispers.
“No,ofcoursenot.Itmusthavebeenanaccident.David’sanattorney—he’sjustfollowingprocedure.”Headds,pushingastrandofherhairbehindherear,“Lawyersalwaysthinktheyknoweverything.”Heglancesoverhisshoulderatthebodyandsays,“Butifthepolicedon’tgetheresoon,surelywecan’tjustleaveherthere.It’stoocreepy.”
???
Onebyone,theguestsreappearinthelobby,asifsummonedbyaninvisiblebell.Hungry,nodoubt,Davidthinks,wonderingwhatthereistoeat.
AfterspeakingtoMatthew,Davidhadspentthemorninginhisroom.ThinkingaboutDanaatthebottomofthestairs.Abouthowitmighthavehappened.Thinkingaboutthebereftyoungmanholedupinhisroom,waitingfortheinevitablevisitbythepolice.
ThinkingaboutGwen.ThinkingalotaboutGwen.
Now,inthelobby,Davidlooksather.Sheseemsevenmoredistressedthanshehadearlierthatmorning,atbreakfast.Andshehasn’tturnedhiswayoncesinceheenteredthelobby.She’ssittingbythefire,holdingherhandsouttoitforwarmth,notlookinghisway.Hewouldliketogotoher,buthesensesshedoesn’twanthimto.Hetriestounderstandit.Shecan’tbeoneofthosewomenwhoenjoyone-nightstandsbutwantnothingmore.Hedoesn’tthinkshe’sthetype.He’scertainofit.Ofcourse,they’realldistressedbythedeathofDana.
Andhedoesn’tknowwhatherfriendRileymighthavesaidtoher,oncetheywerealonetogether.Warnedheroffhim,nodoubt.
Heknewitwasbetternottogetinvolved,withanyofit.Notwithher,andnotwithMatthew.He’shadenoughtrouble.Whathewantsnowispeace.Buthefearsthatpeacemighthavetowait.
???
GwencatchesDavidlookingatherandavertshereyes.WhatRileytoldheraboutDavid—itcan’tpossiblybetrue.Maybeshe’sjustsayingthistorestorethebalanceofpowerbetweenthemtowhatitwasbefore.MaybeRileyisdeliberatelysabotagingher.ThatiswhatGwendoesn’tknow.Howeasyitwouldbetodo—towarnhertostayawayfromDavidallweekend,andthenwhentheygetbacktocivilizationandGoogleDavidPaley,heprobablywon’tbewhoshe’sthinkingofatall.Theonlythinghewillhaveincommonwiththemanwhowasarrestedformurderinghiswifeisthattheyarebothattorneys.AndRileywilljustlaughitoff,Oh,Iwassosure.Sorry.Butitwillbetoolate.HeropportunitywithDavidwillbegone.She’salreadythirtyandshemightnevermeetanyoneelse.ShestudiesRileyresentfullyandthenturnsaway.
Ormaybeit’snotdeliberateatall;maybeRiley’sparanoiaissimplyspillingoverintoeverything.
???
Henryissittingbesidehiswife,notlookingather.Hismusclesarepleasantlytiredfromclearingthepathouttotheicehouse,andhe’sbuiltupanappetite.Surelylunchwillbesoon.
HecanfeelBeverlylookingsidelongathim.Hewonderswhattheywouldbedoingrightnow,ifthishadn’thappened.Dismantlingtheirlifetogetherbitbybit,hethinks,overcoldcupsofcoffeeinsomecornerofthehotel.Herealizesthatheisalmostgladofthediversiontheaccidenthasbrought.
Hethinksaboutwhattheattorneysaid.It’sforthecoronertodecide.Hedipshisheaddownnowtohiswifeandwhispers,“Doyouthinkshewaspushed?”Shelooksbackathim,worried.
???
Beverlyanswershimanxiously,“Idon’tknow.”ShouldshebringuptheargumentsheoverheardbetweenDanaandMatthew?Shetellsherselfit’snoneofherbusiness.
She’sdecidedtosaynothing,atleastforthetimebeing.Nooneeverreallyknowswhatgoesoninotherpeople’srelationships,orwhatanotherperson’srelationshipislike.Perhapstheyquarreledallthetime,anditmeansnothing.
ShelooksnowatHenryandrealizesthatshedoesn’tactuallyknowwhatgoesthroughhismindmostofthetime.Shemakesassumptions,that’sall.Andbelievestheyarethetruth.Alltheseyearsshethoughtsheknewhimsowell,butdidshereally?Howutterlyshockedshe’dbeenlastnightwhenhesaiditwastoolateforthemtofixtheirmarriage.Thetruthis,shedoesn’tknowwhathe’sthinkingatall.
Perhapshehasamistress.It’sthefirsttimethethoughthasoccurredtoher.Maybeitisn’tsohardtobelieve.Shehasn’tbeenthatinterestedinsexforalongtime.Perhapshe’sfoundsomeoneelse,andthat’swhyhewantstoleaveher.Otherwise,shedoesn’tthinkhe’dbother.That’sit,shethinks,thatmustbethereasonforthisbombshellhe’sdroppedsocallously.Hecan’twanttoteartheirfamilyapartjustsothathecanbeawayfromher—they’renotthatbadtogether.Hecan’tbelookingforwardtobeingfinanciallyruinedandlivingaloneinsomesadapartment,missinghischildren,justtobeawayfromher.No.Theremustbesomeoneelse.Someonewhomakeshimthinkthatleavingherandthekidsisgoingtobesomefun,giddy,sex-soakedadventure.Shewonderswhoitis,whetherit’ssomeonesheknows.
Sheremembershowannoyedhe’dbeenwhenherealizedtherewasnowi-fihereattheinn.Perhapshewashopingtobeabletostayintouchwithhisgirlfriend;perhapsshehadexpectedhimtostayintouchwithher—thegirlfriendthatBeverlyisnowafraidactuallyexists.
Howquicklyandhowabsolutelytrust—builtovermanyyears—cancollapse.Sheneedstobesure.Sherealizessheneedstolookatherhusband’scellphone,buthealwayskeepsitonhim,oratleastnearhim.Andshehasnoideawhathispasswordis;shecan’tevenguess.Butsheissuddenlycertainthatifshecouldgetintohiscellphone,shewouldfindthetruth.
Andthenshewouldknowwhatshe’sdealingwith.
THIRTEEN
LaurenwatchesHenryandhiswife,Beverly,seatedsidebyside.Theyarebarelyspeakingtooneanother.
RileyandGwenaresittingfarapart;Laurensensesarift.ShehasbeenwatchingRileyespecially.TheedgeofhysteriathatLaurenfirstnoticedwhenthey’drescuedheroutoftheditchthenightbeforeisstillthere.Amplified,even.Rileyfidgetsendlessly,twirlingthesilverringonherindexfinger,hereyesconstantlyscanningtheroomasiflookingforsomething,somethreat.LaurennoticesthatGwenisignoringRiley,whichisodd.Lastnight,Gwenhadseemedoverlysolicitous,tryingherbesttomanageRiley’smood,butnowshedoesn’tseemtocare.Somethingmusthavehappened.Laurenrememberslastnight,noticingthelittleflirtationbetweenDavidandGweninthediningroom
???
RileyknowsGwenisangryather.Butithadtobedone.RileystudiesDavid,watchinghim,tryingtorememberwhatsheknowsaboutthecase.She’salmostcertainhe’stheNewYorkattorneywhowasarrested—andreleased—fortheviolentmurderofhiswife,threeorfouryearsago.Shetriestorecallthedetails.Itwasabludgeoningdeath,aparticularlybrutalone.Thewomanhadbeensobadlybeatenthatherbackwasbroken.She’dbeenstruckrepeatedlyintheheadwithsomethingheavy,inthekitchenoftheirhome,inoneofNewYork’sexpensivesuburbs.Themurderweaponhadneverbeenrecovered.Thehusbandclaimedthathe’dreturnedhomelatefromworkandfoundher.He’dcalled911.Buttherewassomediscrepancyaboutthedetailsthatdidn’tworkinhisfavor.Therewassomelosttime.Aneighborhadinsistedthathe’dnoticedthehusband’scardriveinconsiderablyearlierthanthe911call.Theattorneyhadthenexplaineditbysayingthathehadn’tgoneintothekitchenwhenhefirstgothome.Ithadn’tsoundedlikely.
ShestaresatDavid’shands,hangingdownbyhissidesashestandsnearthefireplace,calmlywaitingforlunch.Strong,masculinehands.Shewonderswhatheiscapableof.Sheliftshereyesandcatcheshimstaringather.Shelooksaway.
Therewereothersuspiciouscircumstances,Rileyrecalls.Themarriagehadbeenintrouble.Therehadbeentalkofdivorce.Thatmightdescribehalfthemarriagesoutthere,buttherehadbeenaninsurancepolicy—alargeone.Andtherehadbeennosignofforcedentry.
Asfarasshecanremember,thechargeshadbeendropped.Theycouldfindnobloodyclothes,nomurderweapon.Withnophysicalevidencetyingthehusbandtothecrime,andnowitnesses—otherthantheneighborwhosaidhe’dbeenhomeearlierthanheatfirstclaimed—therewasn’tenough.Theylethimgo.Andasfarassheremembered,thecasewasstillunsolved.
RileystudiesDavid’sfaceashestandsnearthefire,andasksherselfifitisthefaceofakiller.ShethinksofhiminbedwithGwen,hishandsonher—imagineshimpummelinghisfistsintoGwen’sface,overandover—
Sheisbreathingtooquickly.Shemuststopthinkinglikethis.Shemustcontrolherthoughts.Ifonlytheycouldgetthehelloutofhere.
???
Finally,JamesandBradleyappearandinviteeveryoneintothediningroom.They’veputtogetherahugeplateofsandwichesandsuppliedmorecoffee.
Gwenfindsherselfwishingforastiffdrink,eventhoughit’sonlylunchtime.ShehearsLaurensaytoBradley,“Candicewantedmetomentionthatshe’dlikeyoutobringherlunchtoherinthelibrary,ifthat’sallright.Oh,andhottea.”
“Yes,Ifiguredasmuch,”Bradleyanswers,andbendsovertheplatterandselectsafewsandwicheswithapairofsilvertongsandarrangesthemonasmallerplate.Heheadsofftowardthelibrary.
Evenwiththecorpselyingatthefootofthestairsinthenextroom,onlyyardsaway,thesandwichesquicklyvanishfromtheplatter.
Gwenwatchestheotherseatwithdistaste.Shewantstoleave.Shedoesn’twanttospendanothernighthere,inthishotel,inwhatwillbealmosttotal,claustrophobicdarkness,withnoheat.
ShestealsaglanceatDavid.Shecan’tbelievewhatRileysaidabouthimthismorningistrue.Itcan’tbe.Hecan’thavekilledhiswife.Hecan’tbeamurderer.Theideaisabsurd.Rileymusthaveitwrong.
Whenthey’veallfinishedeating,theydrifttogetherouttowardthelobby,andthewarmthofthefire.
Gwensays,“Idon’tknowaboutanyoneelse,butIcoulduseadrink.”
???
Ianisdelightedthatsomeoneelsehasmentioneddrinks,sothathedoesn’thaveto.He’ssurprisedthatit’sthepretty,paleGwenwhohassuggestedit,ratherthanherhard-drinkingfriendwholookslikeshe’sescapedfromrehab.
“Yes,whydon’tIfetchthebarcart,”Ianoffersnow,glancingatLauren,asifforpermission.Bradleyisn’tthere,andJameshasreturnedtothekitchen.“Ithinkwecouldallusealittlesomething,considering.”
Iangetsupandwheelsthecartcloser,thenstartsservingdrinks.Foratime,thereisonlythetinklingsoundoficeagainstglassandthewindhowlingaroundthebuilding.
There’sanawkwardsilence,asifnooneknowswhattosay.
Saturday,1:30p.m.
Rileyissittingonherown,awayfromthosearrangedaroundthecoffeetablenearthefire,lookingoutoccasionallyacrossthelobbytothewindows.Butsheislisteningtotheirconversationastheyhoveroverthegameboardonthecoffeetable.IanhadfoundsomegamesonabookshelfandsuggestedtheyplayScrabble.
SheseesBradleyreturntothelobbyandtendtothefire.
It’sIanwhostartsit,bluntlyaskingtheattorneywhyheseemstobesuggestingthatDana’sdeathmightnothavebeenanaccident.
“Oh,please,let’snottalkaboutit!”Gwensays,obviouslypreferringtofocusonthegame.ShehasalwaysexcelledatScrabble,Rileyknows.Andshe’salsogoodatavoidingthingsshedoesn’twanttoface.
“Whynot?”Ianreplies.“It’sallanyofusarethinkingabout.He’sacriminalattorney—Iwanttoknowwhathethinks.”
“I’dliketohearwhathethinkstoo,”Henrychimesin.
RileyturnsandstaresnowatDavid,whohasjustbeenputonthespot.
“Idon’tknowanymorethantherestofyou,”theattorneysaysevasively.“IsimplysaidthatIthinkweoughttowaitforthecoronertodecidewhathappened.”
“I’mnotaskingyouwhatyouknow,I’maskingyouwhatyouthink,”Ianpresses.
“Verywell,”Davidsays,lookingaroundattherestofthem,asifconsideringwhattosay.Hetakesadeepbreathandexhales.“Idon’tthinkthatDana’sdeathwasanaccident.”Hepausesandadds,“Infact,Ithinkshewaspushed.AndthenIthinkherheadwasdeliberatelyandforcefullysmashedagainstthebottomstair.”
Rileyalmostspillsherdrink.SheseesIan’seyebrowsgoupinsurprise.
“Seriously?”Iansays.“Youthinksomeonemurderedher?”Heshiftsinhisseat,looksuneasy.“Ithought—”Butheletshissentencetrailaway.
Rileyistryingherbesttoappearcompletelycalm,completelynormal.She’shadtwoglassesofwinealready,whichhelps.SheseesDavidlookatGwen;Gwenavertshereyes.FrightenedlittleGwen,Rileythinks.Ifshecouldburyherheadinthesand,shewould.
“Ithinkit’sadistinctpossibility,”theattorneysayscrisply.
Rileygripsthearmsofherchairtightly.Shefeelsthetensionbuildinthesilentroom;it’spalpable.ThenRileyblurtsoutwhatthey’reallthinking:“DidMatthewdoit?”
Shehearsseveralgaspsfromtheguestsaroundher.Shehasbeenimpolite.Shedoesn’tcare.Theyallseemtothinkshe’satrainwreckanyway.
Davidturnstoherandsays,“Ihavenoidea.”
Ianasks,“Areyouactingashisattorney?”
“No,Iamnot.Ihaveenoughcasesonmyplateasitis,”heanswersratherirritably.“I’vemerelysuggestedheremaininhisroom.”Hetakesalastdrinkfromhisglass,finishesit.“Thepolicewillsortitalloutwhentheygethere—whichIhopewillbesoon.”Headds,“Butfornow,nobodyismovingthebody.”
FOURTEEN
Itseemstome,”Henrysays,inhisslightlypompousway,“thatifthisisamurder,itwouldbealmostimpossibletosolve.Itseemstohavehappenedinthemiddleofthenight.Wewereallasleepinourbeds.Therearenowitnesses.Unlesssomeonewantstoconfess,orsharesomehelpfulinformationaboutseeingsomeonecreepingaboutinthenight,Idon’tseethatthere’smuchtogoon.”
Beverlylistenstohim,licksherlipsnervously,andwaits.Nooneelsevolunteersanything.
Finally,sheblurtsout,“There’ssomethingIshouldprobablysay.”
Alleyesturnherway.Shealmostlosescourage.Shedoesn’tknowiftheargumentbetweenDanaandMatthewisrelevantornot,butitwillcertainlysounddamning.
“Whatisit?”Davidsayscalmly,asshehesitates.
“Iheardthemarguing,lastnight.”
“DanaandMatthew?”Davidsays,asifinsurprise.
“Yes.”
“Whatwastheargumentabout,doyouknow?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Iheardthemshouting,butIcouldn’tmakeoutanywords.Theirroomisnexttoours,onthesamesideofthehall.”Shelooksatherhusband.“Henrysleptthroughitall.”
“Whattimewasthis?”
“Idon’tknow,butlate.”
“Diditsound…violent?”Davidasks.
“Idon’tknow.Itwasjustraisedvoices.Nocryingoranything.Nothingslamming,ifthat’swhatyoumean.”
There,she’ssaidit.IfMatthew’sdonesomethingwrong,thenit’sgoodthatshe’stoldthem.
???
Davidcansensetheheighteneddistressoftheothers.Theydon’tlikewhatBeverlyhassaid;itmakesthemuneasy.Theydon’tliketothinktheunthinkable.Hecanseefromtheirfacesthattheyareallimaginingit—theargument,thepushdownthestairs.
He’ssorryfortheirdistress,buthe’sonlytellingithowheseesit.Itdoesn’tseempossiblethatDanacouldhavebeeninjuredlikethatfromherfall,andhedoesn’twantthemmessingaboutwiththebody.Andnowthisnewinformation—MatthewhadtoldhimthatheandDanahadnotargued.IfBeverlyistobebelieved,Matthewliedtohim.
Itdepresseshim.Matthewseemedsoshattered,sogenuinelygrief-stricken.ButDavidremindshimselfthatmanyamurderer—especiallyonewhokillsinpassion—isgenuinelyregretfulatwhathe’sdone,andhe’sstillguilty.
Perhapsit’smorepersonalthanthat.MaybeDavidisgivingMatthewthebenefitofthedoubtbecausehehashimselfbeenaccusedofkillinghiswife,andheknowshowitfeels.Perhapsthatisall.
Perhapshe’swrong,andMatthewdidforceDanaoffthelandingandthenfinishheroff.Hejustdoesn’twanttobelieveit.
Buthedefinitelythinksit’smurder.AndifMatthewdidn’tdoit,whodid?
???
Gwengetsupsuddenlyandwalksawayfromthelittlecirclebythefireplace.Shecan’tbeartositthereanylonger.Shegoestothefrontoftheroomandpacesbackandforthbeforethewindows.Sheglancesoutoccasionallyattheicydrive,asifhopingforrescue.
Sheflicksalookoverhershoulderattherestofthem,stillsittingbythefireplace.NooneispretendingtocarryonwiththegameofScrabblewithouther.WhatDavidsaid—andnowwhatBeverlyhassaid—hasunsettledthemallfartoomuch.
Shecouldn’tbeartobenearDavidanylonger.Thatdelicioustensionthathadexistedbetweenthemlastnighthasbeencorrupted.Nowshe’snotsurewhatshefeelswhenshelooksathim—it’saconfusingmixofattractionandfear
Shedigshernailsintothepalmsofherhands.Howcanhebesodetachedaboutaman—evenifheisacompletestranger—killingawomanhepurportstolove?
Afterawhile,Rileyjoinsherbythewindows.Gwenturnstoherbriefly.Riley’seyesarelargeandalert.Foramomentthetwoofthemstandtogetherlookingoutatthefrozenlandscapethatholdsthemtrappedhere.
Finally,GwenleansinclosetoRileyandspeaksquietly.“DoyouthinkDavidisright?ThatDanamayhavebeenmurdered?”
Rileylooksbackather,hereyeshuge.“Idon’tknowwhattothink.”
GwenstudiesRileyclosely.She’sverypaleandthereisperspirationonherface,asifshe’srunningafever.Maybesheshouldn’tevenbetalkingtoheraboutthis.Riley’sbroughtherwineglasswithher;herhandsarevisiblytrembling.
“Areyouallright?”Gwenasksher.
“No,I’mnotfuckingallright,”Rileysays.“Areyou?”
“No.I’mnotallrighteither,”Gwensays,hervoicelow.“Butyouhavetopullyourselftogether,Riley.Easeuponthebooze.”
Rileynarrowshereyesather.“Mindyourownbusiness.”
“Oh,becauseyoumindyours?”Gwensnapsbackbitterly.Shedoesn’tknow,suddenly,whethershewillremainRiley’sfriendaftertheygetoutofhere.Andshe’snotevensureshecares.
Rileysoftensalittle.“I’msorry.IdidwhatIthoughtwasbest.ButIthinkDavidPaleyisexactlywhoIsayheis.”
“Well,Idon’t.”
“Whydon’tyouaskhim?”
“I’mnotgoingtoaskhim.”
“ThenIwill,”Rileysays,andturnsaway.
“Stop!”Gwenhisses,andreachesoutandgrabsRileybythearm.“Wait.”
Rileyturnsandlooksbackather.“Why?Ithinkweshouldclearthisup,don’tyou?”
“Just—wait,”Gwenpleads.
Rileyhesitates.
“Don’tsayanythingaboutDavid.Youcouldbewrong.”GwenwatchesRileyanxiouslyassheconsiders.
“Fine,”Rileysays.“Iwon’tsayanything—fornow.”Sheliftsherwineglasstoherlipsandtakesalong,needyswallow.
FIFTEEN
Beverlyhaschangedherseatsothatsheisnolongersittingbesideherhusbandandsothatshedoesn’thavetoseeDana’sshapebeneaththesheet.
Sothisiswhathasbecomeoftheirweekendaway,forwhichshe’dhadsuchhopes.Hermarriagefacingimminentruin.Stuckinanisolatedhotelinthethrallofadeadlyicestorm,withoutpower,sharingthelobbywiththecorpseofawomanwhomayhavebeenpusheddownthestairsbyherwealthyfiancé.Ifso,whatashockthatmusthavebeentoher.
ShewatchesGwenandRileyreturn.GwensitsbackdowninthechairacrossfromDavidthatshe’dabandonedearlier,withoutlookingathim.Davidglancesatherguardedly.Somethinghashappenedbetweenthetwoofthem,Beverlyissureofit.She’dnoticedthechemistrybetweenthemlastnight;thatchemistryisgone,replacedbysomethingelseshecan’tquiteputherfingeron.Somekindofawkwardnessorwariness.
RileysayssuddenlytoDavid,fidgetingnervouslywithherring,“Idon’tthinkyoushouldbejumpingtoconclusions.”
“I’msorry?”Davidsays,turningtoherpolitely.
“SayingthatDana’sfallwasn’tanaccident.”
“She’sright,”Henrysaysaccusingly,glaringatDavid.“Youdon’tknowwhathappened—unlessyoukilledheryourself,whichIhighlydoubt.”
Beverlywatchesherhusband,cringingathissupercilioustone.SheknowsHenrycanbeabitofanass.He’sprobablyfeelingtoohemmedin,andit’smakinghimalittleaggressive.He’slikeabordercollie;heneedsajobtodo.
Thecorneredattorneysaysmildly,“IneverintendedtoimplythatIknewwhathappened.IwasaskedwhatIthought,andIgavemyopinion.Idon’tpretendtobeanexpert.”
Butheisanexpert,Beverlythinksnervously,andtherestofthemaren’t.
???
Laurenexaminesabrokenfingernail,tryingtorecallwhethershebroughtanailfilewithher.Sheglancesatallthegloomyfacesaroundher.Nooneappearstobeenjoyingthemselves—eveniftheywantedto,itwouldbeinbadtaste.Candicegoingofftothelibrarytowork,asifnothinghashappened,seemsabitcallous.God,she’dlovetogetoutofhere!And
Davidthinksit’snotanaccident,butmurder.Shetriesnottoletitgettoher.
LaurenthinksofMatthewupstairs.He’skeepingtohisroom,ontheattorney’sadvice.Beverlysayssheheardthemarguing.Shewondersifthat’strue,andifitis,whetherthatmakesMatthewlookguilty.Shewouldliketoknowwhattheattorneythinks.
???
Bradley,alwaysobservant—it’soneofthethingsthatmakeshimagoodserver—notesthevariousundercurrentsinthelobbyofhisfather’shotel.Alltheguestsarebehavingverydifferentlyfromthewaytheyhadthenightbefore.
Davidseemsthoughtfulandpreoccupied,andGwenseemsdistressed.Iannolongerhastherelaxed,pleasure-seekingdemeanorhehadthenightbefore,andhisgirlfriend,Lauren,seemsquiet,observant.AndwhateverhadbeenbotheringHenryandBeverlythenightbeforeonlyseemsworsetoday.OnlyRileyseemsunchanged—shewasanervouswreckwhenshearrived,andshe’sanervouswrecknow.
WhenDavidsaidhethoughtDanahadbeenmurdered,everyoneoftheguestslookedstartled,butBradleyalsosensedfear.
Bradleygoesabouthiswork,turningthingsoverrestlesslyinhismind.
Saturday,2:00p.m.
Theyareallstillhuddledinthelobby.Beverlyhasbeenbroodingabouthersituation.ShehasbecomefixatedontheideaofHenrybeinginvolvedwithsomeoneelse.Shetellsherselfthattheideaisabsurd.Henryisnotaparticularlyexcitingman,notthetypetohaveanaffair.Theidea’sneverevencrossedherminduntilthismorning.Shetriestopushtheunwelcomethoughtaway.
ShecatchesDavidobservingBradleyashescurriesabouthistasks.Davidsuggestscasually,“Whydon’twepitchinandeasetheloadonBradley?Henry,doyoumindmakingatriptothewoodshedwithmetobringinmorewoodforthefireplace?Andmaybeforthewoodstoveinthekitchen.”
“Youdon’thavetodothat,”Bradleysays,flushing.
“Noproblematall,”Davidassureshim.“Youmusthaveyourhandsfull.”
BeverlywatchesHenrydrophisgoodsweaterinhischairbythefireandfollowDavidtograbhisjacketfromthecoatstand.Bradleyprovidesthemwithasingleflashlight,whoserechargeablebatteries,headvisesthem,probablywon’tlastlong.Davidtakesitwiththemtothewoodshed.
Beverlylooksattheothers—theyallseemlostintheirownworlds.Shefindsherselfstaringatherhusband’ssweateronthechairclosetothefire.She’sprettysurehiscellphoneisinthepocket.Sheneedstogethisphoneoutofhispocketwithouttheseotherpeoplenoticingwhatshe’supto.
Shegetsupandwalksoverandsitsdownbythefire.Thesweaterisbeneathher.Nooneisshowinganyinterestinher.Shecanhear,faintly,JamesandBradleyrattlingaroundinthekitchen.
BeverlyfeelsquietlyaroundinthesweateruntilshefindsHenry’scellphoneandclosesherhandaroundit.Sheslipsitintoherownpocket.Shedoesn’twanttolookatithere,infrontofeveryone.Andshedoesn’twantherhusbandtocomebackinfromthewoodshedandfindherinhisseat.
Shegetsupandmovesaroundrestlessly,asiflookingforanewmagazineamongtheonesinthelobby.MaybeHenrywon’tnoticethathiscellismissingforawhile.They’vegottheflashlight,andhewouldn’tbelookingathisphoneotherwise,sincethere’snocoverage.Sheonlywantstoseehisoldmessages.Ifhemissesit,hewon’thaveanyparticularreasontobelieveshehasit.Shehasherownphonewiththeflashlightapp.
Sheclutchesitinsideherpocket.Shetellsherselfnottohopefortoomuch;shehasnoideawhathispasswordis.
HenryandDavidcomeinwiththeirfirstarmloadsofwoodanddropthembythehearth.Davidtossesanotherlogontothefire.Sparksflyupinashowerandthenheprodsatitwiththeironpokertogetthefiregoingagain.Thentheyleaveformorewood.Herhusbandhadn’tevenlookedather.
“I’mgoingtogobackuptomyroomforabit,”Beverlysays.
LaurensuggeststoIan,“Maybeweshouldgouptoo.”Shepicksupherbookfromthelittletableattheendofthesofa.
Itseemsasifnoonereallywantstostayinthelobbyanylonger,Beverlythinks.Theyarealreadytiringofoneanother.Shewalkstowardthestaircase,eagertoslipintotheprivacyofherroomtoseeifshecanaccessherhusband’sphone.Assheturnsonthelanding,shelooksdownandseesGwennudgingRileyuptoo.
Itdoesn’ttakeBeverlylongtogettoherroomonthesecondfloor,lightingherwaywithherowncellphone.Sheopensthedoorwithherkeyandclosesitbehindher.
Shesitsdownonthebedinthegloomyroomandpullsherhusband’scelloutofherpocketandlooksatit.She’sseenhimusehisphonecountlesstimes.Andhealwaysdoesthesamethingwithhisindexfinger—twoquickswipesdown,oneacross.Inspired,shetriestheobvious,acapitalH,forHenry.Butitdoesn’twork.Shethinkshardaboutthelasttimeshesawhimusinghisphoneandrealizeshemusthavechangedthepassword.Hewouldn’tdothatunlesshehassomethingtohide.Shestaresatthephone,frustrated.Shetriesdifferentcombinationsofnumbersbutgetsnowhere.ThenshemovesherfingerinacapitalTpattern,forTeddy,herhusband’sfavoritechild,andthephoneopens.Foramoment,she’sexhilarated.Shethinkswhatafoolherhusbandcanbe,andhowfrequentlyheunderestimatesher.
Shequicklygoesthroughhisemailsbutthere’snothingbutworkemails,longandboring;ifhe’shiddenamistressinthere,she’llneverfindher.Thenshelooksatthetexts.Shestartsfromthetopofthelist,ignoringnamesofpeoplesheknows,butthensheseesawoman’snameshedoesn’trecognize.Sheclicksonitandopensthetext;thereisapictureofher.Beverly’sheartalmoststops.Shestartsatthebottom,withthemostrecenttext,andworksherwaybackward.
Idk.Ihavetogoawaythisweekendwiththenag.WhenwillIseeyouagain?
Thenag.Thatiswhathecallshertohisgirlfriend.Awaveofhurtswellsinsideher.Sheknowsshenagshimandthekids.Shenagsthembecausetheydon’tlisten.Iftheydidwhatwasexpectedofthemthefirsttimeshewouldn’thavetonag.Butthewordnagalsomakesherthinkofanold,broken-downmare—whiskered,swaybacked,andugly.Shefightstearsandcontinuesreading.
Imissyouterribly!Doyoumissme?
Attachedtothetextisapictureofher,topless,withashamelessgrin.Beverlystaresatthephoto,shockedtohercore.She’syoung,andgorgeous.Ahome-wrecker.Sheknowsnothingaboutlifeatall.
Shecan’timaginewhatthisgirlseesinherhusband.Ifshe’saftermoneyshe’sgoingtobedisappointed.He’snotgoingtohaveanyleftwhenshe’sdonewithhim,Beverlythinksfuriously.Andthenshestopsherself,takesadeepbreath.
She’snotgoingtodivorcehim.Surelythisisjustatemporaryinfatuation,amidlifefling.He’smadeamistake.Amistakethattheycanrecoverfrom.Shedoesn’twanttolosehim.Sheneedshim.
Shetabsupquicklythroughtherestofthetextstothebeginningofthethread,anxioustoseehowlongthishasbeengoingon.Onlyaboutamonth.Hemetheratabar.
She’smarriedtoacliché.
Well,nowsheknows.
Herfingeritchestosendatextofherowntothisbitch.Butshehesitates.Andthensheremembersthere’snocoveragehereanyway.Justaswell.Finallyshedropsthecellbackinherpocket.She’sgoingtohurrybackdownstairsandslipitbackintoherhusband’ssweateruntilshedecideswhattodo.Shemusthandlethistherightway.Sheopensthedoortothehall.
SIXTEEN
Saturday,2:20p.m.
Matthewsitsaloneinhissecond-floorroom,thelunchtraythatBradleybroughtonthesidetableuntouched.Hedesperatelyneedstotalktohisfather,buthehasnowaytoreachhim.Hisfatherwouldknowwhattodo.He’salwaysgoodinacrisis.
Matthewrisesfromhischairandgoesrestlesslytothewindow.Helooksoutattheicylandscapebelow.Hecan’tdriveinthat.Hecouldn’tpossiblygetbacktoNewYorkCity.Andevenifhecould,howwoulditlook—ifhefledbeforethepolicearrived?
No,he’sstuckhere.Waitingforthepolice.
???
Henry,drowsingbythefire,startsatasoundandopenshissleepyeyes.Hiswifeiscomingdownthestairs,holdingtherailuntilabouthalfwaydown,whenshestartstomakeawidedetourtoavoidDana’sbodyatthebottomofthestairs.There’salookonherfacethatmakeshimuneasy.
Heknowshiscellphoneisn’tinhissweaterpocket.Hedoesn’tthinkhe’sdroppedit,andbesides,he’sretracedhissteps.It’snowheretobefound.Butwhenheseestheexpressiononhiswife’sface,therealizationhitshim.Shehasit.
ThatcanonlymeanthatshesuspectsthetruthabouthimandJilly.Hewondersifshewasabletogetpasthispassword.
Christ,hethinkswearily,watchinghiswifeapproach.Maybeitwillbebettertohaveitoutintheopen.Nowshe’llunderstandthatshehastolethimgo.She’llbebitter,atfirst,buthe’sinlovewithsomeoneelse.Beverlyhasagoodjob.She’llmanage.Itwillbedifficultforbothofthem—harderforher,ofcourse—buthewillgetbackonhisfeet,andlifewillbegoodagain.
Hiskidsmighthatehimforawhile,butthey’llgetoverit.BothTedandKatehavefriendswhoseparentsaredivorced.It’stotallynormalthesedays.Kidsdon’tevenblametheirparentsforitanymore—theypracticallyexpectit.Theyevenworkit,playingtheguiltcard,togetmorestufftheywant.Heprepareshimselfasshesitsdownacrossfromhim,herseriousfaceon.
???
Beverly’sheartsinkswhensheseesHenrysittingthere,asifhe’sexpectingher.There’snowayshe’llbeabletoputhisphoneback.Verywell.Theyhavetotalkaboutitsometime—itmightaswellbenow.There’snoavoidingit.Maybeit’sforthebest.
“There’ssomethingIneedtosay,”Beverlybegins,takingthechairacrossfromhimandpullingitalittlecloser
Herhusbandgivesheraparticularlyhardstare.“Didyoutakemyphone?”
Shelooksdownforaminuteatherlap,gatheringhercourage,andthenlooksupagain.“Yes.”
“Iknewit,”hesayscoldly.
“Iwantedtofindoutifyou’vebeenunfaithfultome.”Shewaitsabeatandthencontinues.“Imanagedtofigureoutyourpassword.”ShelooksatHenry,whoseemssurprised.“Ibetyoudidn’tthinkI’dbeabletodothat,didyou?”Shetriesasmilebutstumbles,unnervedbytheexpressiononhisface.Butshehastokeepgoing;shehastodothis.MaybeHenrywillseehowridiculoushisaffairis.Shealsowantstohurthimjustalittle—ifonlytoshowhimhowterriblyhurtsheis.Maybeshewantstoshamehimintodroppingthisgirl.“Ifoundthetextsbetweenyouandyour…girlfriend.”Whenhedoesn’trespond,shecan’thelpit,herannoyanceshows.“Itwasveryilluminating!Isawpicturesofher.Ievenknowwhatshelookslikenaked.”Shesaysthisquietly,hereyesonherhusband,whilehesitsfrozen.“She’sconsiderablyyoungerthanyou,isn’tshe?”Shetriestokeepalidonherdisgust.“Ican’tbelievewhatyoucallme,youtwolovebirds.”Theoutragehascreptintohervoice,eventhoughshehasdoneherbesttokeepitundercontrol.“Thenag.Youcallmethenag.”Shetriestolookintohiseyes,butheshiftshisgazeaway.Thecoward.“Howdoyouthinkitmakesmefeeltoknowthatthetwoofyouarehavingsexbehindmyback,andcallingmethenag?Ihavetogoawayfortheweekendwiththenag.”Hestillwon’tlookather.
“Dowehavetodothis,here?”Henryaskshernow,hisvoicetight.“Can’titwaittillwegethome?”
“Actually,yes.Wedo.Whywait?Whypretend?Itfeelsgoodtogetthisoffmychest.”She’sgettingcarriedawaynow.“DoyouknowwhatIcallyou?Icallyoutheman-child.Becauseyou’reagrownman,facingthesadfactofagingandmortalityanddisappointmentjustliketherestofus,butyou’rehavingthechildish,selfishreactionthatsomanymeninmidlifegetandit’s—sad.Sadandunnecessary.”Shepausesforamoment,gatheringherthoughts.“Youdon’tloveher,Henry—it’sjustaphase.”Sheletsthatsinkin.Atleastshehopesitsinksin.“Youthinkyoucanrunoffwiththisyoungwomanandit’sgoingtobefabulous.You’llmoveintoherapartment,maybebuyyourselfaconvertible.Nomorevanforyou,schleppingthekidstosoccerthreenightsaweek!You’llseethekidsonweekends—whenyoufeellikeit—andrenegeonyoursupportpayments,likemostmendo.It’llbeallsexanddinnersoutandvacationsandnoobligations.Well,thinkagain,becausethat’snothowit’sgoingtobe.”Shewaitsamomenttoletthatsinkin,too,andthenpausesforalongmomentandsaysinamoreconciliatorytone,“Itwon’tlast.You’llgettiredofher.She’llgettiredofyou.You’llmissmeandthekids.Therewon’tbeenoughmoney.You’llregretit—I’msureofit.”Herhusbandliftshiseyesandlooksatheratlast.“Henry,don’tdestroywhatwehave.Forgether.”
Thisishischancetochooseher,Beverlythinks.Shewaits,holdingherbreath.But—hedoesn’tsayanythingatall.Herheartplummets,abodygoingoverthefallsinabarrel.
Suddenlysheremembershowshefelttheeveningbefore,whentheyarrivedhereattheinn—itseemssolongagonow.Howfoolish,howwrongshe’dbeentothinkthatthey’dmerelydriftedapartandneededonlytospendtimetogethertorecallwhattheylikedabouteachother.Sheremembershowhedidn’tevencomeuptotheroomwithherwiththeluggage,howhe’dstayeddownhere,inthelobby,lookingatexcursionstokeepthembusysotheywouldn’thavetimetothink,totalk.
Sheremembershowhelookedatherinhernewnegligee.
He’dknownallalongthathewasinlovewithsomeoneelse.
Well,shewon’tacceptit.Infatuationisn’tlove.Hejustneedstimetocometohissenses.Thisis—akindofmiddle-agedmadness.Hewillcomebacktoher.Itwillbefine.Shemustbepatient,that’sall.
“Thinkitthrough,Henry,”shesays.Sheslowlyrisesandmakesherwaybacktoherroom,leavingHenryalonebythefire.
Saturday,3:30p.m.
Candice’slaptopbatteryisdying.Shecursesoutloudtotheemptylibrary.Shesavesherworkagainandthendecidestoshutdownwhileshestillcan.Sheneedstosavesomebattery—incasesheneedstoreferbacktosomethinginherdraft.Sheshouldhaveprinteditoutandbroughtitwithher.Fuck.Shewon’tevermakethatmistakeagain.Fromnowon,shepromisesherself,shewillalwaysprintthemanuscriptandbringitwithherwhenevershegoesanywhere.Shegetssolittleundisturbedtimetowork.
Shelooksdownattheclosedlaptopandthinksaboutwhattodonext.Shewillhavetowritelonghand,shesupposes.It’stoobadherhandwritingissoillegible—evenshehastroublereadingit.Andofcourseshedidn’tbringanypaperwithher.Thepaperlesssociety.Ha!Shelooksupandscanstheroomaroundher.Shegetsoutofhercomfortablechairbythefireandapproachesthedeskinthecorneroftheroomnexttothedoor.Itmustbeoriginaltothehotel—theageisaboutright.Itssurfaceisalmostpristine—justanold-fashionedleatherblotterwithanelegantletteropeneronitssurface.Shetriesthetopdrawer.Itopenseasily.Thereisnothinginsidebutasingle,lonelypaperclip.Withherfrustrationrisingandherhopesfallinginequalmeasure,shetriesthesidedrawersnext.Mykingdomforapenandpapershemuttersunderherbreath.Nothing.Shit.
Thensherecallsthewritingdeskinherroom.Surelytherewasafolderwithfull-sizednotepaperprintedwiththehotelletterheadsittingonthesideofthedesk.Ofcourse!Mosthotelsprovidenotepaper,andapen.Andifsherunsoutofpaper,shecanborrowmorefromtheotherguests.Nooneelsewillbeusingit.Shehopesshedoesn’thavetorelyonquillandinkinthisquainthotel.
Shehastensoutofthelibrarywithherlaptophuggedtoherchest.It’sstillwarm,whichsheappreciates.Sheturnstoherrightandstartstowalkbacktothelobbyandthemainstaircase,butthensheremembersthatthere’saservants’staircase,nearthekitchen.Curious,sheturnsbackandfindsthehallthatrunsalongthebackofthehotel.Attheendofthehall,outsidetheclosedkitchendoor,isthedoortotheservants’staircase.Shepushesitopen.
She’sshockedathowdarkitisinsidethestairwell.It’slikefallingtothebottomofawell.Shethinksaboutretreating,butthentakeshercellphoneoutofherpocketandturnsontheflashlight,noticingwithresignationthathercellphone,too,isalmostoutofbattery.Sheclimbsupthenarrow,plainwoodenstaircase,slowlymakingherwaytothetop,feelingtense.Perhapsshewouldhavebeenbetteroffgoingbacktothelobbyandtakingthemainstaircase,afterall,sheetedcorpseornot.Atlastshemakesittothetopandopensthedoorontothethirdfloor.Withrelief,shefindsherselfinthedimcorridor,litonlybythenarrowwindowattheend.Herroom,number306,isacrossthehall.Shehurriedlyinsertsthekeyandenterstheroom,notbotheringtoclosethedoor—she’splanningongettingwhatsheneedsandgoingrightbackdowntothefireinthelibrary.Thechillupheremakesherbonesache.
Hereyesfallonthewritingdeskacrosstheroomnestledunderthewindows.Shespiesthefolderofnotepaper.Shecrossesthethickrug—sothickitmufflesallsound—andopensthefoldereagerly.Itcontainsseveralsheetsofcreamy,goodquality8x11writingpaper,andapen.Shesmileswithrelief.
SEVENTEEN
Saturday,4:00p.m.
Theguestsstarttodriftdowntothelobbyagainaroundfouro’clock,eagerfortheirtea.Theycontinuetodotheirbesttoignorethecorpseatthebottomofthestairs,filingpastitquicklyontheirwaytothediningroom.Matthewstilldoesnotappear.Jameshasmadesconestogowiththeteaandcoffee,andtheyallagreethattheyaredelicious.
Gwensipsthescaldingtea,gratefulforthewarmthofthecupinherhands,andwondersifshewilleverspeakwithDavid.
Henrysays,“Isuggestweallgocheckouttheicebar.Thepath’sallclear,andIhadasneakpeek.It’sreallysomething.”
“Thankstoyourhardworkwiththesnowblower,”Bradleysays.
GwengoeswiththerestofthemtograbtheirjacketsandbootsatthefrontofthehotelandthentheyallfollowBradleydownthebackhallandintothewoodshed—smellingwonderfullyoffreshlychoppedwood—wheretheydontheiroutdoorgear.Bradleyopensthedoorandabitterwindgustsintothewoodshed.BradleyandHenrygooutfirst,thenIanandLauren.Davidgoesnext,andBeverlystepsinfrontofGwenandfollowsDavid.
Gwengoeslast,behindRiley,andpullsthewoodsheddoorshutbehindher.Theskyissullenandthewindviolent.Gwencan’tseemuchdirectlyinfrontofher—justRiley’sback—astheytrudgesinglefiledowntheclearedpath,banksofsnowoneitherside.Butshelooksuptotheforestbeyond,wherethewindisgivingthetreesathrashing.Rileysayssomethingtoheroverhershoulder,butGwencan’tcatchthewordsbeforethewindtearsthemawayandtheyarelost.Thetipofhernoseisalreadyfreezing.Atleasttherearenolargetreestocomecrashingdownbetweenthewoodshedandtheicehouse.Finallytheystopandthepathwidensoutintoaclearedareainfrontoftheicehouseandshecansee.
Itlookslikeanigloo,oraQuonsethutmadeofsnow.Thefront,however,ismadeoflargeblocksoficecutandfittedtogether.Apairofwoodendoorsisaffixedtotheicesomehow.Gwenstudiesitwithinterest.
“Thedoorsaretheonlypartnotmadeoficeorsnow,”Bradleysays,hisbreathpuffingoutclouds.“Ithastoberebuilteverywinter—andthenitmelts.”
“That’salotofworkforsomethingthatjustmelts,”Beverlysays,herfacepinchedwithcold.
“Butthebeautyofitis,itlooksdifferenteveryyear,”Bradleysays.“Theydodifferentdesigns,differentsculptures.Waittillyouseeinside.”
“Soyoudon’tmakethisyourself,”Iansays.
“Hell,no.”
Bradleyopensthedoorandtheyallstepinside.
Gwengasps.It’slikesteppingintoasparkling,twinklingfairyland.Beneathavaultedceiling,thecurvedbarissculptedoutoftranslucentice.Infrontofitareseveralbarstools,alsocarvedfromice.Behindthebar,bottlesrestoniceshelves,shimmeringintheunusuallight.
Bradleystepsbehindthebar,abrightspotofcolorwithhisredwoolhat,andsays,“Ihighlyrecommendthevodkamartinis.”
Gwenwaitsforherdrinkandlooksaround.Apartfromthebaritself,therearesmallroundtableswithcurvedseats,alsomadeofice.Butit’sthesculptureoverthebarthatreallytakesherbreathaway.It’sabirdofpreywithitswingsspreadoutanditsfeetextended—eventheclaws—asifit’sabouttolandonitsquarry.It’shuge—thefulllengthofthebar—anditseemstohoveroverBradleyashemixesthemartinis.
Davidappearsbesideherandhandsheralargemartiniglasswithglovedhands.Nowthatshe’sfacinghim,shefindsshe’snervous.“Iwouldn’twanttobeinherewithoutmywintercoat,”shesays.
ShecanfeelRiley’seyesonher,watchingher,butshedoesn’tcare.
“Quitebeautiful,”Davidsays.
“Itis,isn’tit?”Gwenagrees.
“Iwasn’ttalkingabouttheicehouse,”hewhispers.
Shefeelsherselfmelting,eveninallthiscold.Rileyiswrong.Davidcannotbethemanshe’sthinkingof.Rileyisconfused.Riley’sconfusedaboutalotofthings.
Davidtakesagulpofhismartini,watchingher.Gwenflushesandsays,moreloudly,“Candicereallyshouldseethis.”
“She’sinthelibrary,”Bradleysays,frombehindthebar.“Sheaskednottobedisturbed.”
“Ithinkshe’dbesorrytomisstheicebar,”Gwensays.“It’sprettyfabulous.”
Bradleysmiles.“Ithinkyou’reright.I’llruninandseeifIcancoaxhertocomeout,”hesays,steppingoutfrombehindthebar.
“Relax,”Davidsays,chidinghergently.Shesmilesnervouslyathimandsipshervodka.Helowershisvoiceandsays,“Ithinkweshouldfindatimeandaplacetotalk.Justthetwoofus.”
Shenods.Theyobviouslycan’ttalknow,inthisconfinedspace,withsomanypeoplearound.WithRileylookingon.Buttheymusttalksoon.Sheisbothlookingforwardtoitanddreadingit.
???
Bradleystepsbackoutsideintotheblusterywindandheadsforthewoodshed,hisheaddownandcollarup.Thepleasantsmilefallsaway.There’salwayssomuchtodo,owningahotel,hethinkstiredly.It’sendless.Runningaround,beingnicetopeople.Thisbunchispleasantenough.Buthedoesn’twanttoworkinthishotelforever.Servingdrinksandmeals,pickingupafterpeople,beingattheirbeckandcall.Hisfatherwantshimtotakeoverthehotelsomeday,butBradleydoesn’twanttobestuckouthereinthecountry,farfromeverything.AsmuchasBradleylovestheplace—andloveshisdad—he’sitchingtoleave.Hedoesn’twanttobetrappedhere,cateringtopeoplewithmoremoneythanhim,withthefreedomtogowherevertheywant.Andunlikehisfather,hedoesn’tlovetocook.
Butwheneverhethinksaboutleaving,theguiltkicksin.Hecan’tleavehisfatherherealone.Heknowshisfather’sworried;he’salwaysworried.Ifhisfatherwouldsellthehotelandretire,thenBradleywouldbefree.
Whenhelooksinthelibrary,Candiceisn’tthere.Hetakesaquicklookaroundthefirstfloor,butdoesn’tfindher.Shemustbehavinganapinherroom,buthedoesn’tfeellikerunninguptwoflightsofstairstofindout.ForamomentheforgetsaboutCandice.Hehasbigplans.He’sgoingtogetsomemoneytogetherand—
Hehearshisfathercallhimfromthekitchen.“Bradley,isthatyou?”
Bradleypopsintothekitchen.“Yeah.”
“Ineedyoutohelpmewiththefoodprep.Canyoustartchopping?”
“No,Ican’t,”Bradleysnaps.Hisfatherlooksupathiminsurprise.“I’msupposedtobeservingdrinksintheicehouse.”
“What’sthematterwithyou?”hisfatherasks,lookingathimmoreclosely.Hesayscautiously,“IhopeIdon’thavetoremindyouaboutnotcrossingthelinewithourguests.”
Andthat’sanotherthingBradleycan’tstand—beingremindedofhisplace.Hefeelshistemperflare.Hedoesn’tanswer,justslamsthedooronhiswayout.
???
DavidisthinkinghowappealingGwenlooksinherbright-redskijacketandpink-and-red-stripedhat,whenBradleyreturns.
“Shewasn’tinthelibrary,”Bradleysays.“I’mnotsurewheresheis.”
Bynoweveryonehasfinishedtheirdrinksandthey’regettingcold.Theydecidetogobackinside.Whentheyleavetheicehouseit’sstartingtogetdark.DavidsticksclosetoGwenastheyfilebackupthepathtothewoodshedinthedeepeningdusk,accompaniedbytheshriekingwind.
“ThisiswhatthewindislikeonMountEverest,”Rileysays,oncethey’reinsidethewoodshed.
“Haveyoubeen?”Henryasks.
“No,butIsawthedocumentary.”
Theyreturngratefullytothefireinthelobby.Someofthemkeeptheirhatsandglovesonforwarmth.Gwenstandsinfrontoftheflames,rubbingherhandstogether.Davidconsidersaskinghertocomewithhimsomewhereelse,wheretheycantalk.Maybetheycouldgotothebar.Hecouldmakethemafire,andtheycouldbealone.BradleyhasgonetothelibraryagaintoseeifCandiceisthere.Laurenisinfrontofthereceptiondesk,leaningoverit,lookingforapenforacrossword.
Bradleyreturnstothelobbyshakinghishead.“She’sstillnotthere.I’velookedarounddownhere.Shemustbeinherroom.I’llcheck.”
Davidfeelsatwingeofunease.HewonderswhyCandiceisn’twhereshesaidshe’dbe.“I’llcomeupwithyou,”heoffers.
“I’llcometoo,”Gwensays.
Nooneelseshowsanyinterestingoingupthosedarkstairs.Bradleygrabsoneoftheflickeringoillampsoffthecoffeetableandusesittolighttheirway.It’sgettingproperlydarkoutnow,hardlyanylightatallfilteringinthroughthewindows.
Bradleyholdsthelamphigh,andDavidandGwenfollow.Theoillampthrowsshadowsonthedark-paperedwallsastheyascend.Davidhashiscellphone’sflashlightontoprovidemorelightfortheirfooting.There’snotmuchchargeleft.
Astheytrudgeupthestairs,Bradleysays,“IsawherafterlunchwhenIwenttotakethetrayaway.Itoldherwe’dbehavingteaatfouro’clock.Shesaidshewouldcomeoutifshewantedanytea,butotherwiseshewasnottobedisturbed.”Headds,“It’sreallyashameshemissedtheicebar.Butwecanalwaysgobackoutagain.”
Theyreachthethirdfloor,whichifanything,Davidthinks,seemsdarkerandgloomierthanthefloorsbelow.It’sbloodycold.Candice’sroomistotheleftofthestairs,acrossfromthehousekeepingcloset.Bradleyknocksonthedoor.Thereisnoresponsefromwithin.Heknocksagain.David’suneasinesshasgrowntoamildalarm,buthetriesnottoshowit.
Bradleyturnstohim,lookingworried.“Doyouthinkweshouldopenit?”
Davidhesitates.“Isthereanywhereelseshemightbe?”
“I’velookedeverywhereelse.”
Davidnods.Bradleyhandshimthelampandfishestheappropriatekeyoutofthebunch.Hefeedsitintothelockandslowlyopensthedoor.Davidholdsthelamphigh.
HeseesCandicelyingonthefloor,herscarfpulledtightlyaroundherneck.
Saturday,5:35p.m.
Intheluridlightoftheoillamp,Gwenseesthebodyslumpedonthefloor,aflashofpaleface,theprettyscarfaroundCandice’sthroat,andscreams.ShefeelsDavidgrabherwithonestrongarmandquicklypullherheadintohischestsoshecan’tseeCandice,butit’stoolate.Shefeelstheacidcorrodingherstomach,feelsthebileslipupherthroat.
GwentremblesagainstDavid’schest,tryingnottobesick,hermindreeling.Danahadatleastlookedlikeanaccident.Gwenhadn’tallowedherselftoeventhinkthatitmightbedeliberatemurder,despitewhatDavidsaid.Shedidn’twanttobelieveit.Butthere’snomistakingthis.Candicehasbeenstrangledwithherownscarf.
Filledwithdread,shehearsthesoundofrunningfootstepsstumblingupthedarkenedstairs.
EIGHTEEN
RileyhearsGwen’sscream,anddespiteherownimmediatefear,tearsupthestairs.Theothersarecloseonherheels.ShearrivesattheopendoorwaytoCandice’sroom.ThefirstthingsheseesisGwenwithherfaceburiedinDavid’schest,toherright,andthen,beyondthem,thebodyonthefloor.Shegivesastrangledcry,feelsasifallthebreathhasleftherbody.
Theotherscrowdaroundher,tryingtosee.Candiceisclearlydead.Theyspillfromtheopendoorwayintotheroom.Rileystepstooneside,allowingtheothersin.Shefeelsheranxietyspiking,asherminddesperatelytriestomakesenseofwhatthismeans.SheseesGwenpullawayfromDavid,andDavidplacestheoillamponthedesk.ItcreatesapooloflightaroundCandice,asifshe’sanactressonthestage,underaspotlight.Shedoesn’tlookreal.
Rileycan’tbeartolookatthebodyanymore;sheturnsherattentiontotheothersinstead.
BradleyisstaringatCandiceasifhe’sseenaghost,grabbingtheedgeofthedesktosteadyhimself.
David’smouthissetinagrimline.
Gwen,besidehim,hasherhandpressedhardagainsthermouth,tryingnottothrowup.
Ianmutters,“DearGod,”andstandsflat-footed,asLaurenpushespasthimtothebody.Shemovestopullthescarfloose,touchingCandice’sneck.
“Getback,everyone,”Davidcommandsharshly.“There’snothingwecandoforher.”
Laurensitsbackonherheelsandlooksup,paleandshaken.
RileyhearsasobandturnstoseeHenryandBeverlystandinginsidetheopendoorway,lookingatCandice.Beverlyisobviouslytryingtocontrolherself.AndnowMatthew,tallanddisheveled,appearsinthedarknessofthedoorway,James,outofbreath,behindhim.
Rileyturnsherattentionbacktothebodyandforcesherselftolook.Candiceislyingonherstomach,herheadturnedtotheleft.Herfaceisbloodlessagainstthedarkcarpet.Hereyesareopenwideinsurprise.Sheis…ghastly.Terrifying.
There’snocomingbackfromdeath.
Shebeginstofeelthefamiliarsensationofpanic,andshecloseshereyesbrieflyandbreathesdeeply,tryingnottogiveintoit.Sheopenshereyesagain.Everyoneisintheroomnow,ignoringDavid’scommandtostayback.Shewonders,fleetingly,whoisgoingtokeepordernow.Sheknowshowquicklythingscanfallapart;she’sseenit.
RileylooksnowatGwen—GwenisstillstandingclosetoDavid,andislookingatthedeadwomantoo.Herfaceiscrumplinglikeshe’sabouttocry.She’stoosqueamishforthis,Rileythinks.
“Wemustleaveherassheis,”Davidsaysquietly.“Thepolicewilldealwithitwhentheygethere.”
“Whenisthatgoingtobe?”Laurensays,hervoicetense.
“Idon’tknow,”Davidsays.
“Howcanyoubesocalm?”Laurenasks,hervoiceshrill.“She’sbeenmurdered!Weneedtogetthepolice!”
“Howthehellarewegoingtodothat?”Henryshouts.
“Idon’tknow!”Laurensnaps.“Butwe’dbetterthinkofsomething.”
???
Henryfindsthesightofthebodydeeplydisturbing.Hecan’tbeartolookatitanylonger,soinsteadhestudiesMatthew,whomhehasn’tseensinceDana’sbodywasfirstdiscoveredearlythatmorning.Gwen’sscreamhaspulledhimfromtheseclusionofhisroom.Someofthem,hethinks,suspectthatMatthewpushedhisfiancéedownthestairs.Thischangesthings.HeglancesatDavid.Theattorney’susuallycalmexteriorisdefinitelyruffled
ThefactthatCandicehasbeenmurdered—itmeansthatthereisdefinitelyakillerhere,inthehotel.Andthepolicearen’tcoming.
Henrylooksaroundattherestofthelittlegatheringandcanseetheyareofonemind.Thefearispalpable.
HecanhearBeverlybreathingheavilythroughhernosebesidehim.Henrywondersjusthowmuchdangerthey’rein.Andsuddenlyhehasaterriblethought.HerealizesthatifonlyithadbeenBeverlywhohadbeenstrangled,insteadofCandice,allhisproblemswouldbesolved.It’sthefirsthe’srecognizedthathewouldbefreeifonlyhiswifeweredead.Itmakeshimfeelstrange,agitated.Hehasafleetingfantasyoffindingherstrangledintheirroom,butit’sinterruptedbyDavid.
“Itmightbeoneofus,”Davidsays.
There’sanawfulsilence.
ThenBeverlyshakesherheadindisbelief.“Surelynot,”shesays.WhenDaviddoesn’tanswer,shebeginstoprotest.“Youthinkthatoneofusisamurderer?”
“It’spossible,”Davidsays.
“Butthat’sabsurd,”Beverlyinsists,lookingaroundwildlyattherestofthem.“Youseemtothinkthatalmostanybodyiscapableofmurder.Murderersarenotnormalpeople.”Shelooksdesperatelyaroundtheroomattheothers.
Henrysilentlyagreeswithhiswife—theideathatit’soneofthemisludicrous,likesomethingoutofanovel.HewaswillingtocreditthatMatthewmayhave,inafitofanger,killedhisfiancée.Buthedoesn’tthinkthatMatthewalsokilledCandice,incoldblood.
Davidhasspenttoomuchtimewithcriminals,Henrytellshimselfnow.Hecan’tpictureanyofhiscompanionspushingthatyoungwomandownthestairs,thensmashingherskullagainstthestep.NorcanheimagineanyofthemstranglingCandice.Theremustbesomeoneelsehere.Helooksaroundanxiouslyintheflickeringdark.
Saturday,5:45p.m.
“Weshouldsearchthehotel,”Davidsuggests,astheystandaboveCandice’scorpse.
Theothersturnhisway,startled.
Davidknowstheyareallinshock,andprobablynotthinkingclearly.“Twopeoplearedead.Murdered.Wemaynotbetheonlyoneshere,”hesaysbluntly.
Frightenedfaceslookbackathimfromtheshadows.
“Whoeverdidthismustbeinsane,”Laurenwhispers.
“There’snooneelsestayingatthehotel,”Jamesstammers.
“Nootherstaffwedon’tknowabout?”
Jamesshakeshishead.“No.JustmeandBradley.Becauseofthestorm.Theotherscouldn’tmakeitin.”
“Someonemightbeherewithoutourknowingit,”Davidsays.
“No,”Bradleysays,shakinghishead.“Theroomsarekeptlocked.”
“Thisroomwaslocked,”Davidsays,“andthere’sadeadbodyinside.Howdidthathappen?”Theyallfallsilentforamoment.
“Maybesheansweredthedoor,”Matthewsuggests,nodoubtthinkingofhisownDana,inexplicablyfounddeadoutsideofherownroom.
“Possibly,”Davidsays,thinkingaloud.“Butjudgingfromthepositionofthebody,shewasstandingatthedeskwithherbacktothedoorwhenshewasstrangled.Sheeitheransweredthedoortosomeonesheknows,andtrusts,oratleastrecognizes—oneofusperhaps—andwascomfortableenoughtolettheminandthenturnherbackonthem,orsomeoneunlockedthedoorwithoutherbeingawareofit.”
“Butthat’snotpossible,”Jamessays.“Thekeysarekeptbehindthereceptiondesk.”Thenhecolors,asifrealizingtheinadequacyofhisargument.
“Butthereisn’talwayssomeonethere,”Davidpointsout.“Notthisweekend.”
Henrysays,“Someonecouldhavetakenthekey—iftherewasnooneinthelobbytoseethem.”
“Butwouldn’tshehaveheardthedooropen?”Ianasks.
Davidraisesahandcallingforquiet.ThesoundofthewindhowlingviolentlyoutsideanswersIan’squestion.
“Jesus,”Laurensays,indeepdismay.
Rileyblurtsout,withbarelyconcealedhysteria,“You’resuggestingthatthere’ssomeoneelseinthishotel?Akiller?Whocangetintoourrooms?”Hereyesarewild.
GwenlooksanxiouslyatRileyandsaysquickly,“Maybethedoorwasalreadyopen.Maybesheleftitopen.Maybeshejustcameuptogetsomething.”
“Maybe,”Davidsays.
There’salongsilenceaseveryonepondersthepositiontheyareallin.
Davidsaysagain,“Isuggestwesearchtheentirehotel,includingourownrooms—unlessthereisanyoneherewhoobjects?”Hesurveysthemallcarefully.Hewantstoknowifanyonehasanythingtohide.Andhewantstofindoutifthereissomeoneelsehere.Someonetheydon’tknowabout.
Theguestslookateachotheruneasily,butnooneobjects.
“Shallwecoverher?”Bradleyasks,hisvoiceuneven.
“No,leaveherassheis,”Davidsays.Headds,“Itwouldprobablybebetterifonlysomeofussearchandtherestofyougobackdownstairsandstaybythefire.I’llneedJamesandBradleywithme.”
“I’llgobackdownstairs,”Rileyoffersquickly.
“I’llcomewithyou,”Laurensays.“Idon’twanttogoaroundthisplaceinthedark.”
“I’mstayingwithyou,”Iansaysprotectively.“I’mnotlettingyououtofmysight.”
Henrysays,“Iwanttohelpsearch.”Heturnstohiswifeandsays,“Whydon’tyougobackdownstairsandstaywarm,withtheothers.”
“No,Iwanttobewithyou,”Beverlysays,asifbeingwithherhusbandistheonlywayshewillfeelsafe.Herhusbandistheonlyonesheknowshere.
DavidturnstoMatthew.“Whataboutyou?”
“I’lljointhesearchparty,”Matthewsaysdecisively.
DavidsaystoGwen,“Whydon’tyougowithRileyandtherestofthem?”He’sworriedabouther.Shelookssofrightenedandvulnerable.
Shenodsandslipsawayfromhim.DavidwatchesIanusherLauren,Gwen,andRileyoutthedoorontheirwaybacktothelobby.
???
RileyfollowsIan,Lauren,andGwenoutofCandice’sroom.ShestickssoclosetoGwenthatshealmoststepsonherheels.Outinthehall,thedarknessseemsabsolute,eventhoughthere’sapinprickoflightaheadfromIan’scellphone.Butsheisatthebackofthelittlegroup.Astheymaketheirwaysilentlydownthestairsfromthethirdfloor,RileytriestoextinguishtheimageofCandice’slifelessbodyfromhermind.Butshecan’tdisciplineherthoughts.Herimaginationtakescontrol—sheimagineswhatCandice’sfinalmomentsmusthavebeenlike.Someonecametofindherinthatcold,darkroomandsnuffedthelifeoutofher.Rileyimagineshowitmusthavefelttohavethatscarfpulledsotightlyaroundherneckthatshecouldn’tbreathe.Shemusthavestruggled….
Rileycanfeelherownbreathquickenandbecomeshallower.Sheglancesuneasilyoverhershoulder,intothedark.Thedarknessislikeadrapeofrichblackvelvet—youcan’tseepastit.Sherealizessheisfallingbehind,herfeetnotassteadyonthestairsastheothers.Shegripsthebanistertightly.Sheransoquicklyupthesestairs,justashortwhileago,butnow—sinceseeingCandicedead—shefeelslikeshe’swalkingthroughmolasses,oneslow,thickstepafteranother.She’snotherself.Shetriestohurry,tocatchupbeforetheothersmaketheturnonthelandingandthesmallbeamoflightdisappears.
Shecan’tshakethesensethatthereissomeoneelseinthehotel,someonewatchingtheireverymove.HemusthavebeenwatchingCandice,andnowshe’sdead.Maybehe’swatchingRileynow,maybehe’sbehindheronthestairs,waitingtopickheroff,thestragglerleftbehind….Suddenlyshecanfeelhimwatching,knowsthatheisbehindher,behindthatblackcurtain,agrimreaperreachingoutforher.
Shesensesmovementaboveandbehindheronthestairs,hearssomeone,something.Panicking,sherushestowardtheothers,stumbling,leaningheavilyonthebanister.“Wait!”shecries.ShetumblesintoGweninfrontofher;Gwenisnotsofaraway,afterall.Gwentakesherinherarms.
“I’mrighthere,Riley,”shesays.
“Ithinktheremightbesomeoneupthere!”Rileygasps.
Thelightfromthecellphoneflashesinherface,almostblindingher,thenmovesoff,playingagainstthestairsandwallsbehindher.Theyalllookup.Theycan’tseefar.
“Idon’tthinkthere’sanyonethere,Riley,”Iansaysfirmly.
“Comeon,”Gwensays,takingherbythearm.“We’realmostthere.”
???
Davidturnstotheothers.“Let’sstartwiththeemptyroomsonthisfloor.”
Davidnoticesthatthistime,Bradleyseemsmoredistraughtthanhisfather.HewatchesasJamesquietlytakesthekeysfromBradley—whosehandsarevisiblyshaking—andsortsthroughthem.TheystartwiththeroomnexttoCandice’s,whichisacrossthehallfromLaurenandIan’s.Jamesinsertsthekeyintothelock,asDavidholdstheoillampupsoJamescanseewhathe’sdoing.Davidglancesoverhisshoulderattherestofthem,hoveringinthedarkenedcorridor.Thedoorswingsopen,andDavidenterstheroomfirst,carryingthelamp.Theothersfollow,somewithiPhonesgivingoffbeamsoflight.
There’snothingthere.Theroomispristine,asifwaitingforthenextguest.Theycheckthebathroom,theclosets,lookundertheneatlymadebed.There’snothing.
Theyexittheroomandmoveontothenextunoccupiedroom,theonenexttoCandice’sontheotherside.It’semptyaswell.
It’swhentheymovetothelastunoccupiedroomonthatside,acrossthehallfromtheroomcurrentlyoccupiedbyGwenandRiley,thattheyfindsomethingdisturbing.Jamesinsertsthekeyandopensthedoor,Davidbesidehimwiththelight.James’sfaceregisterssurprise,andDavidturnshisattentionawayfromtheownertotheroomitself.Thefirstthinghenoticesisthatthebedhasbeensleptin.
“Nobodymove,”Davidsaystersely.Hestandsstill,listeningkeenlyforanysound.Hiseyesflytothebathroomdoor,whichisopen.Someonehasbeeninthisroom.Maybehe’sstillhere,inthebathroom.Hefeelsachilloffear.Butsomething,perhapshissenseofhearing,orsmell,somethingrunningbelowhisconsciousradar,tellshimthatthereisnooneelsehere.Hestepsquicklytothebathroomandlooksinside.It’sempty.
“What’sgoingon?”Beverlyasksfromthecorridor,hervoiceshrill.
“Nothing,it’sfine,”Davidsays.
TheothersspillintotheemptyhotelroomandDavidhearstheirgaspsofdismayatthesightoftheunmadebed.
“Christ,”Henrysays,hisvoicetense
Davidwalksupmorecloselytothebed,itscoversthrownbackindisarray.Theoillampcastsasmallpoolofflickeringlightashemovesobservantlyaboutthedarkroom.There’snoluggage,noclothing,nosignofanyone’seffects.It’sasifthepersonhadcheckedoutandtheroomhadnotbeenmadeup.Butthereisnocustomarytipforthehousemaidlyingonthepillow,orrestingonthedeskorthebureau,asyouwouldcertainlyexpect.Davidopenstheclosetdoors,butfindsonlyemptyhangers.Helooksagainintothebathroom,morecloselythistime.Thereiswatersplashedaroundthesink,atowelleftonthecounter,butnopersonalitems.Theothersaremillingaroundtheroomnow,clearlydistressed.
“Idon’tunderstandthis,”Jamessays,visiblyunnerved.
Davidasks,“Isitpossiblethathousekeepingsimplymissedthisroom?Thatthepreviousguestcheckedoutandtheroomwasmissedsomehowandnotmadeupagain?”
“Thatwouldneverhappen,”Jamessaysemphatically.“Thisisasmallhotel.It’snothardtokeeptrackoftherooms.”
“Bradley?”
“Idon’tknow,”Bradleysays,soundingshaken.“Ithinkit’sveryunlikely.It’sneverhappenedbefore.”
“Well,it’seitherthat,orsomeonewedon’tknowabouthasbeenusingthisroom,andpossiblymovingaboutthehotelwithoutusknowing,”Davidsays.TheroomisdirectlyacrossthehallfromtheroomGwenandRileyarestayingin.HefeelsasuddenfearforGwenclutchingathisheart.Helooksaroundattheothers,huddledtogether,theirfacesdrawn.
“Let’smoveon,”Davidsays.
NINETEEN
Henrydoesn’tknowwhichisworse—thepossibilitythatoneofthepeopleintheirlittlegroupmightbeamurderer,orthepossibilitythatthereissomeonethey’renotawareof,movingaboutthehotel,whohasalreadykilledtwopeople.
AstheysearchGwenandRiley’sroom,Henrywonderswhatitisthey’reevenlookingfor.He’snotsurewhyDavidsuggestedtheysearchtheguests’rooms,too,notjusttheemptyones,orwhytheyallagreedtoit.Hedoesn’tknowwhatDavidexpectstofind.Itfeelslikethey’replayingatsomething,somesortofparlorgame,ormurdermysteryevening,withthelightsout.Onlynoone’shavingfun.
BeverlyfindssomemedicationinRiley’sbagandholdsituptothelight.
“Whatisit?”Henryasks,forallofthem.
Davidlooksatit.“Foranxiety,”hesays,andBeverlyputsitbackinRiley’sovernightbag.
Continuingwiththethirdfloor,theysearchthesittingroombythestairsandthenthehousekeepingcloset.InLauren’sroom,theydiscoverthatsheusesstrongsleepingpills—Ambien.Buttheydon’tfindanythingelseofinterest.
Atlasttheyarefinishedwiththethirdfloor.Theymovedowntothesecondfloor,wheretherestoftheguestshavetheirrooms.David’sroomisinthenorthwestcorner,directlybelowGwenandRiley’s,nexttothesittingroom.AcrossthehallfromthesittingroomisDanaandMatthew’sroom,kitty-cornerfromDavid’s.Nexttoit,acrossfromDavid’s,isanotherunoccupiedroom.
TheystartwiththeemptyroomacrossfromDavid’s.Itlooksthewayaproperlymade-uphotelroomshouldlook.
Next,Davidleadsthemtohisownroom,acrossthehall.Henry’scertainthey’renotgoingtofindanythingthere.TheymoveaboutinthedarkwiththeirfadingiPhones,pullingopenthedrawersofthebedsidetable,thedresser,thebathroomvanity.Matthewstirsthecoldremainsofthefireinthegratewithapoker.Theroom—theentirehotel—ischilly,andHenrywisheshehadathickersweater,orhisjacket.Henrylooksunderthebed.BeverlylooksthroughDavid’sluggagewhileDavidwatches,pickingthroughthecontentsofhisovernightbag—boxershortsandsocks,clothes,books—andopeningzipperedpouches.MeanwhileHenryliftsthemattressandlooksbeneathit.Heremembershidingpornmagsunderhismattressasateenager.
Finally,theyarefinished,andastheyallleavetheroom,Henrycastsananxiouslookoutthewindow.Theskyisblackoutside.Thewindhowlsaroundthehotel.Hecanhearthecreakingoftheice-coatedbranchessawinginthewindoutsidethewindows.Hefeelsasinkingsensationinhiscore—morethanthat—it’sasensationofdread.
???
Theystepoutoftheroom,andDavidcloseshisdoorbehindthem.TheothersarealreadyenteringMatthew’sroom,whereDavidleavesittothemtofeelthroughluggage,opendrawers,liftcarpets,stirashes.HewatchesMatthew’sreactionashisandDana’sroomandprivatebelongingsaresearched.Heisuncomfortableathavinghisthingsexamined,butnothingmorethanthat.
DavidisstartledwhenHenryfindsagun.It’sinMatthew’sluggage,properlylockedandstowed,alongwithammunition.
“Ihaveapermit,”Matthewsaysalittledefensively.“Idon’tnormallytakeitanywhere,”hetellsthem.“Ikeepitinmybedsidetableathome,incaseofintruders.ButIthoughtitmightbehandyifwedidsomeskiingorhikinguphere.Therearebears.Bettertobeprepared.”HeturnstoJames.“Youcanscarethemoffeasilywiththesoundofashot.Isn’tthatright?”
Jamesnodsnervously.“Yes.”
Davidnods,andHenryreturnstheguncarefullytotheovernightbagandputsthebagbackdownonthefloor.
Matthewleansoverandgrabstheovernightbagandpullsittowardhimandputsitonthebed.Hetakesthegunoutofthebagandmethodicallyloadsit.Davidfreezes.Everyonehasstoppedwhatthey’redoingtowatchMatthew.Hegrabsextraammunitionandshovesitintohispockets.He’snotlookingatanyone.Heholdstheguninhishand;Davidwondersifheshouldsaysomething,dosomething.
Timeseemstostop.David’sheartisracing.EveryoneistransfixedbythesightofMatthewhandlinghisgun.AsiftheyareafraidthatMatthewisthemurderer,andheisgoingtokillthemall.ButthenMatthewlooksup,andit’sjustMatthew.
“Wecouldusethis,forprotection,”hesays.Andthemomentpasses.
HenryandBeverly’sroomisbesideMatthew’s,acrossfromtheemptyhousekeepingcloset.Theyfindnothingthere.NowevenDaviddoesn’tknowwhatthey’relookingfor.He’sstartingtothinkhe’sonafool’serrand,searchingtheguests’rooms.Thetworoomsacrossfromeachotherattheendofthehall,nearthebackstaircase,areunoccupied,andcleaned,preparedforthenextguests.
Saturday,6:30p.m.
“We’dbettersearchtherestofthehotel,”Jamessays.“Theentirefirstfloor,andthenthecellars.”Jamesisverydisturbedbytheappearanceofroom302.Nothinglikethishaseverhappenedbefore.Heaskshimselfifitispossiblethatthereissomeoneherethatthey’renotawareof—someinterloper.Buthehasnoenemies.Notthathecanthinkof.Nomadrelativeshiddenaway.Nodisgruntledemployees.Hewishesnowthathe’dinstalledsecuritycameras,buthehadn’twantedtheminhisquaint,old-fashionedhotel.Hehadn’tthoughttheywouldeverbenecessary.Butnow,ifonlyhe’dhadcamerasinstalledinthecorridors,theymighthaveshownwhathappenedtoDana—ifithappenedbeforethepowerwentout.Butthenherealizestheywouldn’thavebeenabletoreviewthevideoanyway,withoutelectricity.
JamesglancesatBradley.Bradleyisstandinginthehallwiththerestofthem,staringdownatthefloor,unawarethathe’sbeingobserved.There’snakedfearonhisface.AndsomethingelsethatJamescan’tquiteread.It’salookhe’sseenbefore—
Jamesfeelshisstomachdropwithasickeninglurch.Hedoesn’treallyknoweverythingabouthisson.Noparentdoes.Bradleyhashadsomebrusheswiththelaw.Jamesthoughtthosedayswerebehindthem.DearGod,hehopesBradleyhasn’tbecomeinvolvedwithsomethingbiggerthanhecanhandle.ButthenheassureshimselfthatanythingBradleymightbeinvolvedincouldn’thaveanythingtodowiththis.Bradleyisagoodboy,whooncegotinvolvedwithsomebadpeople.Buthe’lltalktohim,whenhegetsachance.
Hecomesupbesidehissonandwhispers,“Areyouokay?”
Bradleylooksupathim,startled.“Yeah,I’mfine.”Andthatlookonhisfaceisgoneandhelookslikehealwaysdoes,andJamestellshimselfhe’sworryingfornothing.ThishasnothingtodowithBradley.He’sjustfrightenedlikeeverybodyelse.
“Bradley,”Jamessays,“you’vegotthelamp,whydon’tyoulead?”
???
Thistime,theytakethebackstaircasedowntothefirstfloor.It’sthefirsttimeBeverly’sseenit.It’snarrowanduncarpeted.Theygodownsinglefile,theirstepsechoing.
“Thiswastheservants’staircase,”Bradleysays.
“Isthereanatticweshouldbecheckingout?”Davidasks.
“No,”Jamessays.
Theyarriveatthebottomofthestairs,whereadooropensontoahallthatrunsalongthebackofthehotel.Immediatelytotheleftisthekitchen.
“Let’sleavethekitchenandcellarsforlast,”Jamessays.“Let’strythewoodshed.”
Downthehallfromthekitchenisthedoortothewoodshed.TheyfollowBradley.Beverlyhadn’treallylookedcloselyatthewoodshedwhenshewasherebefore,beinginahurrytofollowtheotherstotheicehouse.Butshelooksatitnow.It’sreallycoldinhere.Thewallsaresimplebarnboard.It’snotinsulated.There’salargewoodenstumpwithanaxplungedintoitinthecenteroftheearthenfloor.Cordsofwoodareneatlystackedallaround.Kindlingtoo.Therearesomegardeningtools,andamustysmell,butthereisnowheretohideinhere.
Theymovefartheralongthehallatthebackofthehotelandturnleft,towardthelobby.Ontheright-handsideisthelibrary.Jamesopenstheglass-paneddoorandtheyallfollowhim.There’snowheretohideinhereeither.
Theymoveonnexttothesittingroom,butagain,there’snothingtofind.
Whentheygetbacktothelobby,theyturndownthecorridortowardthebar.Ityieldsnothing.FartherdownthecorridoristhedoortoJamesandBradley’sapartment.Jamesunlocksthedoorandinvitesthemin.Theapartmentissmallbuttidyandnicelyappointed.There’snoonethereeither.Astheyreturntothelobby,Beverlyisbothrelievedanddisheartened.Shedoesn’tknowwhattheyaregoingtodo,howtheywillfindthekiller.
“There’snothingleftbutthekitchenandthecellar,”Bradleysays.
Beverlyfeelsuneasyatthethoughtofgoingdowntothecellar,butshefollowsalongastheygobacktothekitchen
“Comein,”Bradleysays.WithBradleyholdingtheoillampaloft,theyentertheenormouskitchen.It’shalfcountrykitchen,halfindustrial.Beverlynoticestheenormousrefrigeratorthatmustbeeightfeetwide,andwhichisnowfulloffoodthatmustbethawingandspoiling.There’sanoversizedislandinthemiddleofthekitchen—obviouslyabusyworkspaceonmostdays.Cupboardslinethewalls,andthere’salargedoublesinkandanindustrialdishwasher.
BeverlywatchesJamesopenthelargerefrigeratorandlookinside.Nothing.Thenheopenstheclosetandtheyalllookinsidewiththeaidofthesputteringoillamp.It’semptytoo.
Jamesturnstothemandsays,“Onlythecellarleft.”Heopensanoldwoodendoorandautomaticallyreachesforthelightswitchbeforeremembering.“Givemethat,”hesaystoBradley,andreachesforthelamp.
“No,letmegofirst,”Bradleyinsists,andpushespasthisfatherwiththelight.
Theycreakdowntheroughwoodenstairs.Therearenobacksonthestairs,andthere’snohandraileither.Beverlykeepsherhandagainsttheroughstonewallforbalance.Whenshearrivesatthebottom,it’slikesteppingintoanothercentury.Thick,heavyceilingbeamssupportthebuildingoverhead.Thefoundationwallsaremadeofstone.
“Twofeetthick,”Bradleysays,pointingcasually.
Beverlylooks,impressed,atthewhitewashedstone.Thepaintisflakingoff.
“Arethereratsdownhere?”sheasks.Thereareprobablyrats.Beverlyisterrifiedofrats.Thisisthecountry,andthecellarisdirectlybelowthekitchen.
“Wetakecareofthem,”Bradleysays.“Don’tworry.”
“How?”Henryasks.
“Warfarin,”Jamessayscurtly,andBeverly’suneasinessincreases.
Jamesseemsuncomfortableabouthisguestsseeingthisratherprimitivecellar,andpossiblyrats;it’snothinglikethefancyhotelupstairs.Hemustfeellikehe’sstrippingdowntohisunderwearinfrontofthem,Beverlythinks.
Sheseesarudewoodenshelfbuiltintothestonewallthatmustbeoriginaltothebuilding.It’sempty.Bradleyseesherlookingatit.
“Wedon’tusethebasementmuch,”Bradleyexplains.“Wekeepeverythinginthepantryupstairs.”
Beverlygazesaroundtheverylargeopenspace.Thecementfloorisuneven.Therearesomesmallwindowssetintothestonehighupinthewall.Amodernelectricalpanelstandsoutforbeingcleanandnew.Thefurnaceisrelativelynewaswell.
“There’snoonehere,”Davidsays,peeringaroundbehindthefurnace.
“We’renotdoneyet,”Bradleysays.Hemovestowardthebackofthecellarandslipsthroughanotheropeningtotheright.“Thecisternsareinhere,”hesays,hisvoicesoundingfaraway.
Notwantingtobeleftbehind,Beverlyreluctantlyfollowstheothersandglancesthroughtheroughdoorway.Therearetwolargeconcretesquarecisternstotheright.
“Emptynow,”Bradleysays.
Beverlyshudders.Shedoesn’tgoinsidetheroomwiththecisterns.Shestandsattheopening,watchingasBradleylooksdowninsideeachone,holdingthelightaloft.Davidcomesupbesidehimandlooksdownwithhim.
Bradleyshakeshishead.“Allclear,”hesays.
“Look,”Davidsays,hisvoicesharp.
BeverlyfollowswhereDavidislooking.There’sawindowonthefarwall,neartheceiling.
“Shit,”saysBradley.
Beverlywatches,tense,asBradleyapproachesandexaminesthewindow.Shecanseethattheglassisbroken;therearefragmentsonthefloorbelow.
“Thewindowisstilllatched,”Davidsays,standingbesideBradley,studyingthewindow.
“Soitmightjustbeabrokenwindow,”Bradleysays.
“Oritcouldhavebeendeliberatelybroken,unlatchedfromoutside,andsomeonecouldhaveslippedinthiswayandlatchedthewindowagain.”
Beverlyfeelsherselfgoalittlefaint
Davidsays,“We’dbettergooutsideandtakealookaround.Seeifthereareanyfootprints.BradleyandIwillgo.Everybodydoesn’thavetocome.”
Matthewsays,“I’llcome.”
Saturday,7:10p.m.
MatthewpullsonhiswinterjacketandbootsandfollowsDavidandBradleyoutsideontotheporch.Thewindisaforcetobereckonedwith,angryandnoisy;thetreesseemtocowerbeforeit.They’vecheckedallthefirst-floorwindowsanddoorsfromtheinside,andtheyareallsecure.There’sjusttheonebrokenbasementwindowtheyhavetogolookatnow.Matthewwondershowthey’regoingtomakeitaroundtheeastsideofthehoteltocheckthewindow,givenhowslipperyitlooksoutthere.
They’vehadtoleavetheoillampinsidebecausenoonewantstoscrambleovertheiceholdinganoillamp.Insteadthey’vegotMatthew’siPhoneflashlight—Davidhashardlyanychargeleftinhisandwantstoconserveit.ButMatthewisn’tgoingtoleadtheway—he’sgivenhisphonetoBradley.
“Followme,”Bradleysays.
Theyslideslowlyacrossthefrontofthehotel,andthenroundthecornerandmaketheirwayalongthesideofthehotel,theirhandsagainstthewallforbalance.Astheynearthebasementwindow,theycanseethere’sabrokenbranchlyinginfrontofit,fallenfromanearbytreecrippledbythestorm.Theybenddownandpeeratthewindow,Bradleyshiningthelight.
Buttheycan’ttellifthebranchfellandbrokethewindow,orsomeoneusedthebranchtobreakthewindow.Withtheice,theycan’tseeanyfootprints.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Matthewasks,studyingthewindow,thebranchesstrewnaboutinfrontofit.
“Idon’tknow,”Davidsays,lookingworried.
TWENTY
Saturday,7:30p.m.
David,Bradley,andMatthewreturntothelobby,totheanxiousfacesoftheotherswaitinginside.
Davidsagsintoachairbythefireandexplainstheirfindingstotheothers.Hefinisheswearily,“So,wehavearoomthatlookslikeit’sbeenused,andamysteriouslybrokenwindow.Otherthanthat,wehaven’tseenanysignofsomeoneelseinthishotel.Orofanyonegoinginorout.”
Theyallglanceatoneanotherinsilence,asiftheycan’tpossiblymakesenseofthisinformation.They’revisiblyonedge.
“Soistheresomeoneelsehereornot?”Rileyasks,hervoicestrident.
“Idon’tknow,”Davidsays.“Maybe.Maybenot.”
Iansays,“AreyoureallysuggestingthatitmightbeoneofusthatkilledDanaandCandice?”Ian’svoiceriseswithincredulity.“Whyonearthwouldoneofuskilleitherofthem?Wedon’tevenknowthem.”
“Wedon’tknowthat.Wedon’tknowthatnoonehereknewDanaorCandice,”Davidsaysevenly.“Idon’tknowanythingaboutanyonehere.”Helooksaroundthemasifdaringsomeonetospeak.“AsfarasIknow—asfaraswe’veledeachothertobelieve—weareallstrangers.Butmaybethat’snotthecase.”Helooksaroundslowlyattheassembledgroup.“Inanyevent,whenthepolicegetheretherewillbeaninvestigation.TheywilllookverycarefullyintoDana’sbackgroundandCandice’sbackground—andintoallofus,aswell.”
Andheknowswhatthat’sgoingtobelike.Hewatchestheothersastheylookuneasilyateachother.“Justforamoment,let’sassumeitisoneofus.Weneedtoknowwhereeverybodywasthisafternoon.BradleysawCandicealivewhenhepickedupherlunchtrayfromthelibrary—whenwasthat,Bradley?”
“Itwasaboutonethirty,”Bradleysays.
Davidcontinues.“Allofuswerehereinthelobbytogether,withtheexceptionofJamesandBradley,untilaroundtwo,whenHenryandIwenttogetwoodandeveryoneseemedtogotheirownway.Weallmetdownhereforteaatfouro’clock.Allofusthenwentouttotheicehousetogetherandcamebacktogether.WiththeexceptionofJames.”Hepauses,andadds,“Ofcourse,Bradley,youcamebackintolookforher,whentherestofuswereintheicehouse.”Hegiveseveryoneafrankglance.“Butlet’sfocusonwhereeveryonewasbetweenabouttwoo’clockandfour.Iwasinmyroom,alone.”
Gwensays,“RileyandIwereinourroom.”
Laurensays,“IanandIwereinourroomtoo.”
Matthewsays,“Iwasinmyroom—youtoldmetostaythere.IonlycameoutwhenIheardthatscreamwhenyoufoundCandicedead.”
Henrysays,Iwasdownhere,inthelobby.Ifellasleepinmychairforabit.ThenIwentupstairstofreshenupjustbeforefour.”
Beverlynods,“Iwasinourroom—IcamedownbrieflytochatwithHenryinthelobby,butwentbackuptoourroomafter.Hecameupjustbeforefour.”
Jamessays,“Iwasinthekitchen,andBradleywashelpingme.”
Davidsayswearily,“So,thatdoesn’thelpmuch,doesit?”
???
“Ifyouthinkit’soneofus,”Henrysaysintotheensuingsilence,“ifIhadtoguess,mymoneywouldbeonMatthew.”
Matthewturnstohiminshock.
Henry’sbeenthinkingaboutthisduringthelong,coldsearchofthehotel.Ifit’sevenpossiblethatthemurdererisoneofthem,maybeit’stimetoshakethingsupabit.He’sdecidedtoplaydevil’sadvocate.“You’rethemostlikelyculprit,”hesaysmildly,turningonMatthew.“MaybeyoukilledDanaafteryourargumentandCandicefigureditoutandyouhadtoshutherup.”
Theotherswatchinalarm,butnoonetriestodefendMatthew.
Laurensays,“Howcouldshehavefigureditout?”
“Idon’tknow.Sheseemedkindofsnoopytome.Ormaybe”—he’sthinkingoutloudhere—“maybeCandicewaswritingabookaboutMatthew—thefamous,wealthybusinessman.OraboutDana,whowasabouttomarryhim.AndDanaarguedwithheraboutitatthetopofthestairsandCandicepushedherdown.AndMatthewknewitmusthavebeenherthatkilledDana,sohestrangledher.”
“Thatsoundsprettyfar-fetched,”Iansays.
“Murderisfar-fetched,”Henrysays.“We’renotdealingwithnormalhere.Somebodyaroundhereisakiller.SomebodyhadgoodenoughreasonstokillDanaandCandice.I’mjusttryingtofigureoutwhattheyare.”
LaurenturnstoMatthewandsayshaltingly,“CandicewasstaringatyouandDanaatdinnerlastnight.”
Matthewlooksbackather,frowning.Heshiftsuneasilyinhisseat.“Wasshe?I’m—wellknowninthebusinessworld.Ourengagementwasannouncedinallthesocietypages.Soyes,it’spossiblesherecognizedmeandknewwhoIwas.”
Laurensays,“Sheknewwhoyouwere—shetoldusallatbreakfastthismorning.”
“ButIdidn’tknowher,”Matthewsnaps,“andDanadidn’teither.Ifshewaswritingabookaboutus,wedidn’tknowaboutit.Andneitherofushaveanythingtohide,sowewouldn’tgiveashit.”
ThenRileysays,“ButmaybeDanadidhavesomethingtohide,somethingyoudidn’tknowabout.MaybeCandiceknewaboutit,andwaswritingaboutit,andsheandDanafoughtonthestairsandCandicepushedherdown.”
“ButifIdidn’tknowaboutit,whywouldIconcludethatCandicepushedherdownthestairsandthenkillCandice?”Matthewsayssarcastically.
“Maybeyoudidknowaboutit,”Henrysays.“Weonlyhaveyourwordforit.”
Matthewleansforwardandsays,deliberately,“Ididn’tkillanybody.”
Rileysays,hervoiceintense,“Youbroughtagun.MaybeyouknewCandicewasgoingtobehere.MaybeyouplannedtokillherallalongbutthethingwithDanahappenedfirst.”
“Idon’thavetolistentothis,”Matthewsays.
Beverlybreaksin.“Holdon.MaybethefactthatCandiceisdead,too,meansthatMatthewdidn’tkillDana,andthathehasnothingtodowiththis—didyoueverthinkofthat?”SheturnstoHenryandsays,“Doesn’titmakehimlesslikelytobeguilty?”
“Possibly,”Henrysays.
“That’skindofwhatIwasthinking,”Gwenadmits.“IfitwasjustDana,thenyes,I’msorry,Matthew,butyouwouldseemliketheobvioussuspect.Especiallysince—Beverlyheardyouarguinglatelastnight.”Sheturnstotheothers.“Butoncethere’sanotherdeath,doesn’tthatmakeitseemlesslikelythatMatthewdidit?”
“Shekindofhasapoint,”Iansays.
Henrywatcheseveryonecarefully.Hedoesn’tknowanythingforcertain,buthe’sgoingtokeephiseyesopen.
???
“Ifwecouldalljuststoppointingthefingeratmeforaminute,there’ssomethingI’dliketobringup,”Matthewsays.Heknowshesoundsabitaggressive;hedoesn’tcare.They’vepracticallyaccusedhimofmurder,forGod’ssake.
“What’sthat?”Davidsays.
“IthinkJamesandBradleyarehidingsomething.”
Jameslookscompletelytakenaback.Bradleyflushestotherootsofhishair.“Whatdoyoumean?”Jamesstammers.
MatthewleanstowardJamesandBradley,whoareseatedtogether.“Thisisyourhotel.Maybeyouknowsomethingtherestofusdon’t.”
“Likewhat?”Jamessays,onthedefensive.
“Idon’tknow.ButI’veseenyoutwowhisperingtogether.Whathaveyoubeenwhisperingabout?”
“Wehaven’tbeenwhispering,”Jamessays,coloring.
“Yes,youhave,I’veseenyou.”
“Oh,forChrist’ssake,”Ianinterjects,“they’vegotahoteltorun.”
DavidturnstoJames,hisfaceserious.“Isitatallpossiblethatthereissomeonewhomightwishyou—oryourhotel—harm?”
MatthewwatchesJamesclosely.Outofthecornerofhiseye,heseesBradleyshakinghishead.
Jamesshakeshisheadstiffly.“No.IfIthoughtthatwaspossibleIwouldhavesaidso.”
Matthewsinksbackinhischair,dissatisfied,unconvinced.“Idon’tbelieveyou.”HelooksfromJamestoBradleyandbackagain.“Istillthinkthere’ssomethingyou’renottellingus.”
???
DavidwatchesasGwenrisesrestlesslyfromherchairandwandersovertothewindows.It’sdarkerbythewindowsbuthecanseeherinthegloom.Shelooksout,pointlessly.Nooneiscoming.Davidleaveshisseatandgoestoher.Hecanfeeltheotherswatching,buthedoesn’tcare.
Sheturnstowardhimasheapproaches.Hereyesaretroubled.
“There’ssomethingIhavetoaskyou,”shesayswithoutpreamble,hervoiceawhisper.
Hereitcomes,Davidthinks.She’sgoingtoaskhimabouthiswife.She’sbeenlisteningtoRiley;he’ssureofit.HeshouldhavetoldGwenabouthispastfirst.Heshouldhavetoldherlastnight.But—itwasn’ttherighttime.Youdon’ttellawomanyou’reterriblyattractedtothatyouwereoncearrestedformurder.
“Anything,”hesays,hisvoicelow,hisexpressionopen.Hewilltellherthetruth.It’suptoherwhethertobelievehimornot.Hecan’thideit;it’sallovertheinternet.
Gwenglancesbackattheothersaroundthefire.“Notnow,”shewhispers.“Butweneedtotalk,privately,atsomepoint.”
Henods.Itwillgivehimtimetopreparewhathe’sgoingtosaytoher.Howtoputit.Hedoesn’twanttofrightenheraway.
???
AllBeverlywantsistogohome.Shewantstoseeherchildren.Thishotelnolongerseemslovelyandluxurioustoher—it’sdarkandcoldandawful.Sheshudderswhensheremembersthecellar.Itlookedlikeitcouldbethesettingforsomehorrorfilm.Shefeelslikeshe’slivinginahorrorfilm.Thiscan’treallybehappening,nottoher.She’saverynormalwoman,withaverynormal,evendull,life.Nothingexceptionaleverhappenstoher.Anddeepdown,shelikesitthatway.
It’shorribletohaveDana’sbodystilllyingatthefootofthestairs.Really,it’stoomuch.Shefeelsaboutoftearscomingon,andforcesthemback
Shewantsthatbodymoved.Shethinksit’sbeginningtosmell.Ithasbeenlyingtheresincesometimelastnight.Itmustbedecomposingbynow.Thatmustbewhatthatsmellis.Can’tanyoneelsesmellit?She’salwayshadaveryacutesenseofsmell.She’ssensitive;she’salwaysbeensensitive.Teddy’slikethattoo.Doesn’tliketagsinhisclothes,veryfussyabouthissocks.Sheliftsherwristtohernoseandtriestobreatheinherownfadingperfume.
Asthetimeticksby,shefindsherselfstaringatDana’sbody,drapedintheghostlysheet.Shecouldn’tevenlookatitbefore,butshe’sgloweringatitnow.Becauseshe’safraidofit.Shedoesn’twanttoturnherbackonit.It’sirrational,butthat’showshefeels.She’sunraveling.
Shethinkssheseessomethingmovinginthedark,overbythebody.Adarkshape,arustling.AndnowitlooksasifDanaismovingslightlyunderthesheet.She’sheardaboutthat,aboutbodiesmovingafterdeath,shifting,becausethey’refullofgas.Shestaresmoreintently.
Whatisthat?Isthatarat?Shescreams.
Henryboltsoutofhischair.
“There’sarat,overthere,bythebody!”Beverlycries,gettingupandpointing.Everyoneturnstosquintintothedarkwhereshe’spointing.
“That’simpossible,”Jamessaysdefensively,jumpingoutofhischair.
“Youalreadyadmittedyouhaverats,”Laurenpointsoutuneasily,tuckingherfeetupunderneathheronthesofa.
“Notuphere!”Jamessays.
“Butthere’sadeadbodyuphere,”Laurensays,“andmaybeit’s…attractingthem.”Sheshuddersvisibly.“Oh,God,Ican’tstandthis!”
BeverlyagreeswithLauren;shecan’tstanditeither.Shestartstosobandshake;outofyearsofhabitsheturnsandburiesherfaceinHenry’schest.Heputshisarmsaroundher,andeventhoughshe’sstillfuriousathim,it’scomforting.
“Weneedtogetthatbodyoutofhere!”Henrysayscrossly.
“Wereallyshouldn’tmoveit,”Davidbegins.
“Tohellwithwhatweshouldandshouldn’tdo,”Henrycries.“There’sadeadbodythere,it’sfestering,andattractingrats,andit’sfrighteningmywife!”
BeverlyliftsherheadfromHenry’schestandlooksatMatthew.He’sgonewhite.She’ssuddenlysorryforheroutburst.
“I’msorry—”
ButMatthewignoresherandpickstheoillampupfromthecoffeetableandgoesovertoDana’sbody.Heholdsthelightoverher,lookingdown,lookingforarat.It’samacabresight,butBeverlyfindsshecannotlookaway.
“Idon’tseeanyrats,”Matthewsayssullenly.“Therearen’tany.Youmusthaveimaginedit.”
Iangetsupandstandsbesidehim.“Still,maybeweshouldmoveher,”hesaysgently.HeturnsandlooksbackatDavid.
Davidlooksaroundtheroom,asifgaugingthemood.Finally,henods,asifheknowshe’soutnumbered.Hetakeshiscellphoneoutofhispocket,pullsbackthesheetandsnapssomepictures.Thenhemakesasoundoffrustrationandsays,“Nowmyphone’scompletelydead.”Helooksupattheothers.“Okay.Wherecanweputher?”
“Thewoodshed?”Bradleysuggeststentatively.
“No!”Matthewsays.“Theremaybe…ratsmightgetherthere.”
ItmakesBeverlyfeelsick,thethoughtofratsgnawingonDana.
“Howabouttheicehouse?”Jamessuggests.“It’scold.It’scompletelysealed.Nothingcan…disturbherthere.”
FinallyMatthewswallowsandnods.Beverlyfeelsthemostawfulpityforhim.ShewatchesasDavidlaysthesheetdownonthefloorbesidethebody.ThenhetakesDana’sfeetandMatthewtakeshershouldersandtheyclumsilyliftherontothesheet.Herheadfallssuddenlytotheside.Theywrapheruptightlyinthesheettomakeiteasiertocarryher.
Bradley,Matthew,andDavidputontheircoatsandbootsandbeginthesad,awkwardjourneywiththebodyouttotheicehouse.
Oncethey’reoutofsight,Beverlyburstsintotears.
TWENTY-ONE
Saturday,8:30p.m.
Ontheirreturnfromtheicehouse,Davidputstwomorelogsonthefireandgetsagoodflamegoing.Thenheturnsreluctantlytotheothers,seatedaroundthefire,theirfacesglowinginthefirelight.Matthewsitsapart,alienatedfromtheothersbyhisgriefandbythesuspicionthathasbeencastonhim.
Theroomisquitedark,withjustthelightthrownbythefireandthesingle,sputteringoillamp.Theotherhasrunoutofoil,andBradleyhasexplained,embarrassed,thatthereisnomore.Noonewasexpectingtohavetouseoillamps.
Rileyfidgetsnervouslywiththeringonherindexfinger,herversionofwringingherhands,Davidthinks.
Shesays,“Whatarewegoingtodo?”
DavidthinksthatsomeoneshouldgiveRileyanotherdrink.Oroneofthosepillsofherstheyfoundupstairs.Hesays,“We’regoingtosticktogether.We’regoingtomakeitthroughthenight.”Thestormshrieksaroundthem,slammingagainstthewindows,asifmockinghim.“Andinthemorning,whenit’slight,Ithinkweshouldtrytomakeitouttothemainroad.”
Hedetectssomenodsintheshadows.
“We’llstayhere,inthelobby.Ifanybodyhastogotothebathroom,we’llgotogether,ingroups,”Davidinstructs.“Andthen,atdaybreak,we’llgo.Maybetheroadcrewswillbeoutbythen.We’llgethelp.Butwehavetosticktogether.Nothingcanhappentoanyoneifweallsticktogether,understand?”
Everyonestaresbackathim.Now,onebyone,theynod.EvenRiley,wholicksherlipsnervously.
“It’sstillcoldinhere,”Davidcontinues.“Weneedtostaywarm.Wehavetokeepthefiregoing.”Hestopstothinkforaminute.“Weshouldgetsomemoreblanketsfromtherooms.”
“I’mnotgoingbackupstairs,”Gwensayswithfeeling.
Davidisdistractedforamomentbyhowanxiousshelooks.Butthey’reallfrightened.Otherthankeepingthemwarmandfedandalltogetherinoneplace,hehasnoideahowtokeepthemalive.
“Ourphonesmustbeverylowonbattery;mine’sout,”Davidsays.Therearenodsallaround.
“Mine’sstillworking,fornow,”Matthewsays.“Butitwon’tlastmuchlonger.”
DavidturnstoIanandBradley.“Whydon’twegoupstairsnowandgrabsomeblankets.”
BradleyandIannod,andthethreeofthemheadforthecentralstaircase,intothedark,Bradleyholdinguptheoillamptolighttheirway,leavingtheothersbythelightofthefire.
???
Gwenstaresintothedarkafterthem.She’sremindedsomehowofthestoryofHanselandGretel,lostinthedarkforest,tryingtomaketheirwayhome,wheretheyaren’tevenwanted.Thefairytalehadterrifiedherasachild,andnowshefeelsasifshe’sinsidethestory,inthedarkforest,abandonedbythosewholoveher.Sheshivers.She’slettingherimaginationrunawaywithher.
???
Rileywatchesandwaits,herheartbeatingfast,likeanoverrevvedenginethatmightburnitselfout.Shelistenstoeverylittlesound—thewindagainstthewindows,thecracklingofthefire,thestartlingsoundofthelogsshiftingsuddenlyinthefireplace.Butshe’slisteningforsomethingelse,somethingunexpected.She’slisteningforsomethingthatshouldn’tbethere.
Shepullstheblanketmoretightlyaroundherbody.Shetellsherselfthattheyhavetomakeittothemorning,thentheycantrytogetthehelloutofhere.Shetriestothink.Maybethere’saconnectionherethattheydon’tknowabout,asDavidsuggested.IfanyonehereknewDanaorCandicepreviously,theyaren’tadmittingit.It’spossiblethatMatthew’sright,andJamesandBradleyarehidingsomething.ShehadseenJamesandBradleywhisperingtoo.OrMatthewmightsimplybetryingtoshiftattentionawayfromhimself.
Sheknowsshe’sbecomealittlefixatedonDavidPaley.Yetasmuchasshethinkshemighthavemurderedhisownwife,she’snotparticularlyafraidofhimnow.
ButshewishesGwenwouldstaythehellawayfromhim.
Saturday,9:05p.m.
Theysettleintotheirsofasandchairsaroundthefireplace.They’veeatenamealhastilythrowntogetherbyJamesandBradley,withDavidkeepingthemcompanyinthekitchen.Jameshasbrewedanotherbigpotofcoffee.
Noonewantstosleeptonight.Noonewantstoevenclosetheireyes.Theysittogetherinachargedsilence.Nooneistalkingabouttheelephantintheroom.
Gwensquirmsinanattempttofindamorecomfortablepositiononthesofa.Shedoesn’tknowwhoorwherethekilleris.Shecan’tbeartothinkaboutitanymore.Herneckisstiffwithtension.Shejustwantstosurvive.Theywilltrytomaketheirwayoutofherefirstthinginthemorning.She’sholdingontothat.
Theysitwrappedinblanketswiththeirfingersaroundtheirmugsofcoffeeforwarmth.There’sabottleofKahlúatakenfromthebarcartsittingonthecoffeetable.Theytaketurnstoppinguptheircoffeeswithit.
Maybeit’snotsuchagoodideatogetdrunk,Gwenthinks,buttheKahlúatastesgood,andit’ssoothing.ShenoticesgratefullythatDavidisn’tputtinganythinginhiscoffee.He’sgoingtokeephiswitsabouthim.Theirprotector.ShehasmorefaithinhimthaninMatthew,withhisgun,whichseldomleaveshishand.Heplayswithitrestlessly.Shewisheshewouldputitdown.ShewishesDavidwouldtellhimtoputitdown,ortakeitawayfromhim.It’smakinghernervous.
Therestofthemarenowtryingtotalkaboutotherthings—otherhotelsthey’vestayedat,inothercountries—anythingtokeeptheirmindsoffthelongdarknightstretchingoutinfrontofthem.ShefindshereyesdriftingmoreandmoretoDavidasthenightwearson.Shekeepsthinkingaboutthetwoofthemtogetherthenightbefore.Occasionally—infact,moreandmorefrequently—heglancesherway.
Helooksdarkandsolidbythemeagerlightofthefireandtheoillamp.He’sunshaven,buthewearsitwell,andalockofhishairfallsforwardoverhisforeheadinawaythatshefindsappealing.Shewantstobrushitback.Shewishesthatthetwoofthemweresittingclosetogether,sharingasofa,butshe’ssharingasofawithRiley.
ShewonderswhatDavidwouldthinkofher,ifheknewthetruthabouther.She’snotgoingtotellhim.Notyet.There’sonlyonepersonwhoknowsthetruthabouther,aboutwhatshedid—andshe’ssittingrightbesideher.ButRileyisn’tgoingtosayanything.
TWENTY-TWO
Riley’sbeenslippingKahlúaintohercoffeeatafasterratethantherestofthem.Theyalreadythinkshe’sgotaproblemwithalcohol.Maybeshedoes.Butthatpalesincomparisontotheproblemsthey’veallgottonight.Shejustwantstotaketheedgeoff.
ShenoticesthewayGwenandDavidarelookingateachother,anddecidesshe’snothavingit.Shecanbeabitmeanwhenshe’shadacoupleofdrinks.
“So,”shesays,venturingintoaconversationallull,“maybeweshouldgettoknoweachotheralittlebetter.”She’slookingrightatDavid.She’sprettysure,fromthewayhewaslastnightatthedinnertable,thatheknowsshe’sontohim.Sheknowswhoheis.
ShecanfeelGwentighteningupbesideher.Bristling.
ButthenLaurensays,“Sure,whynot?”ShestaresatRileyacrossthecoffeetable,challengeinhereyes.“Whydon’tyoutellusabitaboutyourself,Riley?Like,whatexactlyisbotheringyousomuch?”
Rileylooksbackather,surprisedandthrownoffcourse.Shedoesn’tlikeLauren.She’sseenherrollinghereyes.Andnowshe’sgivingherahardtime.Howdareshe?
Rileyhesitates,angryatLauren.Thenshesays,“Youdon’twanttoknow.”There’sawarninginhervoice.
“SureIdo,”Laurensays.
Pushybitch,Rileythinks.Shepausesandthensays,hervoiceicy,“I’veseenthingsthatwouldmakeyourgutsturninsideout.Sodon’tyoudarejudgeme.”
“I’mnotjudgingyou,”Laurensays.“Ijustwanttounderstandyou.Irememberwhenwefirstgotherethinkingthatmaybeyouwere—disturbedinsomeway.Becauseyouseemedfreaked-outbeforeanyofthisstartedhappening.”Laurenleansforwardinthedark.“Sodoyouknowsomethingaboutwhat’sgoingon?BecauseIdon’ttrustyou.”
Rileyfreezesinherseat,speechless.Shecan’tbelievewhatshe’sbeingaccusedof.
“Whatareyousaying?”Gwenprotestsfrombesideher,clearlyindignant.“Shedoesn’thaveanythingtodowiththis!”
“Really?Shemaynotbetheonekillingpeople,butIwouldn’tbesurprisedifsheknowssomething!Lookather!”
NoweveryoneisstaringatRiley.Shecanfeelherselfbecomingagitated.Shetriestostayincontrol.
“Shehasapoint,”Matthewsays,glaringather.“You’vebeenreallynervoussinceweallgothere.Everybodycanseeit.Ithoughttherewassomethingwrongwithyou.Sodid—sodidDana.”
“Maybeweshouldalltakeastepback,”Iansayscalmly.
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutwhat’shappeninghere!”Rileyprotests.
“Tellthem,”Gwensaysbesideher,hervoiceboldandfurious.“Tellthemwhatyou’vebeenthrough.Tellthem,orIwill!”
RileyflashesGwenagratefullook.Shesighsheavilyandsays,enunciatingcarefully,“I’majournalist.”Shehesitatesabittoolong.Takesanothergulpofherdrink—morestraightKahlúathancoffeebythispoint.
“Yeah?Sowhat?”Henrysaysprovocatively.
Riley,feelingcornered,turnshereyesonhim.Shehasn’treallygivenHenryanythought,butsuddenlyshedespiseshim.Shelooksaroundtheroom.Shedespisesallofthem,exceptforGwen.Gwenistheonlyfriendshehashere.
“IwasstationedinAfghanistan—mostlyinKabul.Ispentalmostthreeyearsthere.Isawterriblethings.”Hervoicebeginstoshake.“Isawsomanycivilianskilled—children,babies.Limbstornoffbybombs,justlyinginthestreet.Somuchbrutality—”Shestops.Shecan’tsayanymore.Hervoicehasfallentoawhispernow,andshefeelsGwenputherarmaroundhershoulder.ShefocusesonthepressureofGwen’sarmaroundher,groundingher.“ThenIwastakenhostage.”
“What?”Gwensaysbesideher,obviouslyshocked.“Younevertoldmethat.”
Rileystaresdownintoherlap.“Itwaskeptquiet.Iwasheldprisonerforsixdays,untiltheynegotiatedmyrelease.Everydaytheywouldholdaguntomyheadandpretendtheyweregoingtofire.Theywouldpicksomeoneatrandomandshootthemonthespot.”Herentirebodyisshakingnow,anditmakesherfeelashamed,eventhoughsheknowssheshouldn’tbeashamed.“IthoughtIcoulddoit.Thesewereimportantstories,theyhadtobetold.SoIstuckwithitforaslongasIcould.Youtrytocope.Untilyoucrack.”Shewaitsabeat.“Butafterthat,”shefalters,hervoiceawhisper,“Icouldn’tdoitanymore.”
Gwenisrubbingherbacknow,inlarge,slowcircles,comfortingher.Theothersaredeadlyquiet.
RileyfocusesonthefeelingofGwenrubbingherbackinfirmcircles.Itfeelsgood,actually,togetthisout.She’stiredofpretendingshe’sfine,wheneverybody’slookingatherliketheyobviouslythinkshe’sgotascrewloose.Atleastnowthey’llknowwhy.Sheremindsherselfit’snothingtobeashamedof.Herillnessisasignofherhumanity.Whenshespeaksagain,shetriestomakehervoicesoundmorematteroffact.
“Ihadtocomehome.I’mtryingtogetwell.I’vegotPTSD.Itakemedicationforit,”shesays.“Thesehorribleimageskeepcomingbacktome,andIneverknowwhenthey’regoingtocome.Ihearasound—it’slikesomethingtripsinmyhead,andI’mbackthere,inthechaos,waitingforthekillingtostart.”Sheraiseshereyesthenandlooksateachoneofthem,theirpalefacesloomingabovetheirdarkblankets,asiftheirheadsaredisembodiedandfloatingintheair.
Gwenwhispers,herfaceclosetohers,“Oh,Riley—I’msorry,Ididn’trealize—Ihadnoideawhathappenedtoyou.”
Riley’shandsaretrembling,andsheclaspsthemtogether.“Lastnight,whenIwasfallingasleep,IthoughtIheardascream,butIignoredit,becauseIdidn’tthinkitwasreal.IhearscreamsinmyheadeverynightwhenItrytogotosleep.”Shelowershervoiceagaintoawhisper.“AndIhearthemeverynightwhenIdream.”
Whenshestopsspeaking,thesilenceiscomplete,exceptforthecracklingofthefire.Eventhewindhasdieddownforthemoment.
ThenLaurensays,“I’msosorry.”
Henrysaysnothing.
Matthewplaysnervouslywithhisgun.
???
Beverlyshrinksintoherblanket,chilledtothebone.She’ssickenedbywhatRileyhassaid.ShewatchesGwenrubbingRiley’sback.Riley’sobviousterroriscontagious
Beverly’sfrightenedofwhat’soutthere,lurkingintheshadows.Shedoesn’tthinkthekillerisoneofthesepeoplesittingaroundthefire.Shethinkshe’soutthere,waiting.Shefeelslikeacorneredmouse,eyesbright,chestheavingrapidlywitheachbreath.
Henryissittingnearthefireplaceinthedark.Shethinksabouttheirchildren,TeddyandKate.Howwilltheycopeiftheirmotherandfatherdon’tcomehome?ShejustwantstogohomewithHenry,shetellsherself.Shewantsthingstobethewaytheyusedtobe.
???
Daviddrinkshiscoffeedowntothedregs,eventhoughit’scoldnow.Hemuststayawake.Hegotverylittlesleeplastnight,andnowhiseyesburnandfeelgritty.Hesurveyshislittleflockofsheep.Forthat’showhethinksofthem.Theyseemlikesheepbecausetheyareallfrightened,andtheydon’tknowwhattodo.
Matthewismakinghimuneasy.Heseemsabitagitated.Davidwouldliketogetthegunawayfromhim,butdoesn’twantaconfrontation.Hecan’tpredictwhatMatthewmightdo.
Hecan’tpredictwhatanyofthemmightdo.TherevelationsaboutRileymakesense.Herhistory,herexperience—theyexplainhervolatilepersonality,herstartledeyes,constantlyscanning,hertension,herdrinking.Heknewshewasajournalist,butifshe’sbeeninAfghanistanforthelastthreeorfouryears,maybeshedoesn’tknowabouthimatall.MaybeshewasjustjealousthathewasinterestedinGwenratherthanher.MaybeGwenhasnoideaabouthispast.
ButGwentoldhimtherewassomethingshewantedtotalktohimabout.Nodoubtit’shismurderedwife.Or—itjustoccurstohimnow—maybeit’ssomethingabouther.Maybeshe’sinvolvedwithsomeone,andneglectedtotellhimlastnight.
HewillhavenopossibilityofanykindoffuturewithGweniftheydon’tmakeitthroughthenight.Heneedstothinkabouttheproblemrightinfrontofhim.TohellwithRileyandwhatshemightthinksheknows.
Davidtriestolookatthesituationanalytically,thewayhewouldlookatacase.ThemostlikelyscenarioisthatDana’sfiancé,Matthew,killedher.They’dargued.Perhapshe’dpushedherdownthestairs.Perhapshehadn’tmeantto,butoncehe’ddoneit,herealizedhehadtofinishheroff.Maybe.
ButCandice…MaybeshedidhavesomethingonMattheworDana.OrmaybesheknewsomethingaboutDana’sdeath—perhapsshe’dseensomething,heardsomething.HadshebeensnoopingonDanaandMatt?Sheknewwhotheywere.Shemighthavebeenlisteningoutsidethedoor,overheardtheirargument,andthenscuttledoutofsightwhenthedooropenedandseen—orperhapsheard—MatthewpushDanadownthestairs.Ifso,whydidn’tshesayanything?
Maybeshewastooafraidtosayanythinguntilthepolicearrived,andwasbidinghertime.Maybethat’swhatgotherkilled.
Ifhehadtogiveanopinion,he’swithHenryonthisone:hethinksitwasprobablyMatthew.Heliedabouttheargument;he’sthemostlikelyonetohavemurderedDana.Candicemighthaveknownsomething,orhavehadsomeconnectiontotheminsomeway.AndMatthewmaybetryingtothrowsuspiciononJamesandBradley,whilebolsteringtheviewthatthere’ssomeoneelseoutthere.
Ormaybethereissomeoneoutthere,killingthemforsport.
Andifhe’skillingthemforsport,becausehecan,becausehewantsto—noneofthemissafe.
TWENTY-THREE
Saturday,10:20p.m.
Gwentriestorelaxintothesofa.Shefeelsrelativelysafehere,surroundedbytheothers.ShewatchesMatthewoutofoneeye.He’shypervigilant,hiseyesconstantlyscanningthedarkvoidbeyondthem,asifalerttoanythreat.Buttheeffectofhisattentivenessisnotcalmingatall,buttheopposite.ShehasmoreconfidenceinDavid.Hispresencemakesherfeelsafe.Shepullstheblanketmoretightlyaroundherneckandwithdrawsintoherself.She’srelievedthatthetruthisoutaboutRiley.Shehadn’tknownaboutthePTSD,aboutherbeingheldhostage,butitallmakessense.ShethinksitwillhelpRileyforpeopletounderstandher,tobesupportive.Andshewilltrytobemoresupportivetoo.
Traumachangespeople.Sheshouldknow.
Shebroodsintothedark.
Iftheysurvivethis—ofcoursetheywill,shetellsherself,theyarealltogethernow,andnothingisgoingtosplitthemup—thenshehastotellDavidthetruthaboutherself.Butfirst,shewantstoaskhimaboutwhoheis.Shehopes—it’sfrighteningjusthowmuchshehopes—thathe’snotthepersonRileybelievesheis.Shehopeshe’ssomeoneelsealtogether,thatRiley’sconfusinghimwithsomeoneelse.ButRileyisusuallyrightaboutthings.
First,theyhavetogetoutofhere.Shecloseshereyesbrieflyandsaysalittleprayer,beggingforthepolicetocome.
Sunday,12:05a.m.
It’saftermidnightwhenthingsstarttounravel.Thelobbyisquiet,butnooneissleeping.
Rileyfindsthesilenceunbearable.Sheneedsconversationtokeeptheterrifyingimagesatbay.ShekeepsglancingintothedarkatthespotwhereDana’sbodyusedtobe,rememberingherawful,lifelessface.Candice,withherscarfwoundtightlyaroundherneck.Shedoesn’twanttothinkaboutthekillings,oraboutwhatmighthappentotherest
Foramoment,shethinkshe’sgoingtoignoreher,pretendhedidn’thear.She’sabouttorepeatherself,moreloudly,butthenheleanstowardher.Shecanseehisface,resolute,intheglowoftheoillamp.
“Whatisitthatyouthinkyouknow?”hesaysbackinalowvoice.Buthe’snotwhispering.
RileyfeelsGwentensebesideher.Gwenplacesarestraininghandonherleg,undertheblanket,butshedisregardsit.“IknewIrecognizedyourname,lastnight,butIcouldn’tplaceit.ButIkeptthinkingaboutitandthenIremembered,thismorning.”She’snotwhisperinganymore.She’sawareoftheothers—nowalert—listening.Hestaresbackather,waitingforhertosayit.Soshedoes.“You’rethatattorneywhowasarrestedformurderinghiswife.”
Thesilencearoundthefireplacesuddenlytakesonadifferentquality;it’sfraughtwiththeshockoftheothers,hearingthisforthefirsttime.
“Arrestedandcleared,”hesayscrisply.
“Soitisyou,”Rileyhisseswithsatisfaction.Itfeelsgoodtoberight.SheturnstolookatGwen,wantingtogloat.ButGwenlooksbackatherwithsomethingalmostlikehatredinhereyes,whichthrowsherforaminute.“Itoldyou!”Rileysaystoher.
“Thechargesweredropped,”Davidsays,morefirmly.“Ididn’tdoit.”He’slookingnowatGwen,togaugeherreaction.
“Justbecausethechargesweredropped,”Rileysays,“doesn’tmeanyoudidn’tdoit.Itjustmeanstheydidn’tthinktheycouldproveit.”Shesmirksandaddsdismissively,“It’salwaysthehusband.”
Gwensays,“Shutup.”
Rileylooksatherinsurprise.“I’mdoingyouafavor.Itoldyouthisguyisbadnews.”
Gwensays,“Hesayshedidn’tdoit.”
“Oh,andyoubelievehim?”Rileysayssarcastically.
Laurensays,lookingatDavidinshock,“Yourwifewasmurdered?”
“Yes,”Davidadmits.“Butnotbyme.”
There’salengthy,stunnedpauseaseveryonetakesthisin.ThenIanasks,“Didtheygetthepersonwhodidit?”
“No.”
“Hangon,”Henrysays,hisvoiceaccusing.“Whyshouldwebelieveyou?”He’sraisedhisvoice.“We’resittingaroundherewaitingforsomeoneelsetogetkilledandwefindoutthatyourwifewasmurdered?”
“Let’sallcalmdown,”Iansays.“Whydon’twelethimtellhisstory?”
“Icantellyouthestory,”Rileysays,withouttakinghereyesoffDavid.“Itwasinallthepapers.Someofyoumusthaveheardaboutit.RespectedNewYorkCitydefenseattorneycomeshomelateonenightandfindshiswifelyinginapoolofbloodinthekitchenoftheirupscalehomeinanexpensivesuburb.She’dbeenbeatentodeath.”SheleansaggressivelytowardDavid.“Herheadwasbashedinandherbackwasbroken,Ibelieve.HaveIgotitrightsofar?”sheaskshim.Hedoesn’tanswer,butstareswoodenlybackather.
Rileycontinues.“Heclaimedhecamehomeandfoundherdead.Thetroublewashedidn’tcall911foralmostanhour.Theydidn’tgetalong.Andshewasinsuredforamilliondollars.Hewasarrestedalmostimmediately,buthegotaverygoodlawyer.Because,yousee,heknowspeople.”
Shesitsbackinsatisfactionandlooksateveryoneelseintheroom,onebyone,exceptforGwen—shedoesn’tdarelookather.They’veallbeenlisteningattentivelytoher—andnowtheyallturnandstareatDavid.
???
HearingRileytellit,inheraccusing,sneeringway,Davidknowshowterribleitsounds.He’sawareofthemallstaringathimandfeelsangrythathehastodefendhimself—again.Heisalwayshavingtodefendhimself.Atthismoment,hehatesRiley.Hateshernotbecauseshehasoutedhim—he’susedtopeoplerecognizinghim,afterall,whisperingabouthim;hiswasaverypublicdisgrace—butbecauseofheruglymotives.ShewantstopreventGwenandhimfromgettingcloser.HewasgoingtotellGwenhimself.Butnowshe’sheardittheworstpossibleway.
Whathappenedtohimwillnevergoaway.Hewillalwaysbedefendinghimself.Andtherewillalwaysbepeoplewhodon’tbelievehim.He’slearnedthatpeoplewillbelievewhattheywanttobelieve.Andit’strulyfrighteninghoweasilythey’llbelieveit.
He’dcomehomelatefromwork,likemostnightswhenhewasinthemiddleofatrial.Hecanhardlyrememberthedetailsofthattrialnow—hedidn’tfinishitinanycase;someoneelsefromthefirmtookitover.Hiswife’sviolentmurderhadresultedinaninvestigation,andhisarrest;hehadn’tworkedformonthsafterward.
Herememberscominghomethatnight.Thehousewasmostlydark;therewasonelightleftonovertheporch,butinside,theonlylightwascomingfromthekitchen,thestovelight.Theyusuallyleftitonallnight,asasortofnight-lightforthefirstfloor.
Hecameinthedoorquietly,likehealwaysdidthosedays.Hedidn’tcallout,“Barbara,I’mhome,”likeheusedto.Thewayhedidbackwhenshewasstillhappytoseehim.Hetookoffhiscoatandhungitinthehallcloset.Hisfirstthoughtwasthatshe’dalreadygonetobedwithouthim.Itwasperfectlytruethattheyhadn’tbeendoingtoowelltogetheratthetime.Hecouldn’tdenythatthey’dbeenhavingmaritalproblems.
Justlikehecouldn’tdenythatherlifewasinsured.Itdidn’tseemtomatterthathewasfinanciallywelloffalready;theyseemedtothinkthateventhefinanciallysecurecouldneverbetoogreedy.Ithadbeenastrikeagainsthim.He’dbeenastonished.Hewasinsuredforthesameamount,butthathadn’tmatteredeither.Theythoughtamillion-dollarlifeinsurancepolicywasexcessive.
He’dsatdowninthelivingroom,exhausted.Trialsworehimout.He’dsatthereforsometime,thinkingabouthowthingshadgoneincourtthatday,howtheymightgotomorrow,andthenabouthislife,howhardthingswerewithBarbara.Hewastoodepletedeventogetupandgointothekitchentopourhimselfadrink.Which,asthingsturnedout,wasverybadforhim.Buteventuallyhegotupandmadehiswaythroughthedarklivingroomanddiningroomtothekitchen.Itwasonlywhenhewasalmosttherethatthelittlehairsonthebackofhisneckbegantostir.Hestilldoesn’tknowwhy.Hesuspectsthathecouldsmelltheblood—onsomelevel,eventhoughhewasnotconsciouslyawareofit.Thenhemadeittothekitchendoorandsawher—
Shewascrumpledonthekitchenfloorinhernightgown.Itlookedasifshe’dbeenstruckdownwhilemakingherselfacupofherbaltea.Therewasacuponthecounter,anopenedpackageofteabesideit.Butshewasonthefloor,soakedinherownblood.She’dbeenbludgeonedtodeath.Herheadsmashedin,herfacebeatentoapulp.Onearmwassplayedbeneathher,obviouslybroken.
Throughhisparalyzinghorror,oneofhisfirstthoughtswastowonderifshe’dsuffered.Whetherthefirstblowhadcaughtherbysurprise,andwhetherithadkilledher.ButheknewBarbara,andhesuspectedshefoughtbacktoothandnail.Therewasbloodeverywhere.Ofcourseshe’dfoughtback.Barbarahadneverbeenmeek.Herarmhadindeedbeenbroken.Anditturnsout—theytoldhimlater—thatherbackhadbeenbrokenaswell.Shehadbeenkickedviciouslyafterdeath.That’sanotherthingthatmadethemsuspecthim—itlookedlikeacrimeofpassion.Butperhapsitwasjustmadetolookthatway.That’swhatDavidthoughtatthetime.Someonehadtriedtosethimup.
Hefinallyspeaks.“Mostofwhatyousayistrue.Iwasworkinglatethatnight.WhenIgothome,thehousewasdark.IassumedBarbara,mywife,hadalreadygonetobed.”Hetakesadeepbreath,exhales.“Wehadn’tbeengettingalong;we’dtalkedaboutseparating.Itwasn’tasecret.She’dtoldsomeofherfriends,I’dtoldafriendortwoatwork.It’salsotrue,”hesays,lookingdirectlyatRiley,“thatshehadalifeinsurancepolicyforamilliondollars.AsdidI.We’dbothhadthosepoliciesformanyyears,fromearlyinourmarriage.”
Helooksaroundthegroup,hiseyesrestingfinallyonGwen.Hetriestoreadherexpression,buthecan’t;it’stoodark.Sheisleaningbackagainstthesofaacrossfromhim,inshadow.“Ididn’tkillher.ShewasalreadydeadwhenIgotthere.Ifoundherlyingonthekitchenfloor,coveredinblood.”Hehesitates.“Iswitchedontheoverheadlight.Itwas—themosthorriblemomentofmylife.”Hepausesforamoment,torecoverhimself.“Ithoughtshe’dbeenstabbedrepeatedly,therewassomuchblood.Buttherewasnoknifethere.Shewassobadlybeaten—”Hecovershisfacewithhishands.
Slowly,hebringshishandsdownagainandcontinuesspeaking.“Icalled911immediately.IsaidthatI’dcomehomefromworkandfoundher.Mymistakewasthatinthat911call,Ididn’tmentionthatI’dbeensittingaloneinthelivingroomforalmostanhourbeforeIfoundher.Ididn’tthinktomentionit.Iwasverydistressed—Iwasn’tthinkingclearly.Andthenmynext-doorneighbortoldthepolicethathehadnotedthetimethatIdroveinthedrivewayandparkedthecar.He’dseenthelights,andknewtheexacttime.Then,whentheyaskedmeaboutthediscrepancybetweenthetimeIgothomeandthetimeofthe911call,Iimmediatelytoldthemthetruth,buttheyweresuspicious.Theyarrestedme.Afterall,”—hegivesRileyabitterlook—“Iwasthehusband.Peopleknewourmarriagewasintrouble.Thensomebodymadeabigdealabouttheinsurancepolicy.”
Hetakesadeepbreathandexhales.“Itwasalivinghell.Anunbelievablenightmare.MywifehadbeenmurderedandIwasarrestedforit—putinjail,deniedbail—andIhadn’tdoneit.”
There’salongsilencewhileeveryonetriestodigestwhatthey’vejustheard.
“Buttheydroppedthecharges,”Gwensays,hervoicelow.
Helooksbackather.She’sleanedforwardabit.“Yes.Theydidn’thaveanyevidenceagainstme.TheyassumedIhadamotive,buttherewasn’tonescrapofphysicalevidencetopinthecrimeonme.IfI’ddoneit,Iwouldhavehadbloodonme,onmyclothes.TheytriedtofigureouthowIcouldhavekilledherandcleanedmyselfupanddestroyedanyevidenceinthathour.Buttheydidn’thaveanything.Theydidn’tevenhavethemurderweapon.
“ThemostdamningthingwasthatIdidn’thaveanalibi.Iwassittingaloneforthathour,inmyownlivingroom.TheydeterminedthatthetimeofdeathmusthavebeenveryclosetoaroundthetimeIarrivedhome.Imusthavemissedwhoeverdiditbyafewminutes.Theinvestigatingofficersaskedtheneighborifhe’dseenanything,buthe’dbeenoutathisbridgegameupuntiljustbeforehesawmearrive,sohewasnohelp.Andtheneighborontheothersideofuswasoutoftown,andtheonesacrossthestreetgotobedearly.Noonesawanything.”Helooksintentlyatthesmallgroupseatedaroundhim,listeningwithwideeyes.“Anyonecouldhaveparkedonthestreetandwalkeduptothefrontdoor—orsnuckintheback.Nothingwasstolen.Therewasnosignofforcedentry,butBarbaramighthaveletsomeoneinifsheknewhim.Shewasn’tafraidofanyone.Maybeshewashavinganaffair.Idon’tknow.Ineversuspectedsuchathing.Theydidn’tfindanythinglikethat.”
Davidshakeshisheadslowly.“Someoneobviouslywantedherdead—orwassettingmeup,”hesays.“I’dlikenothingmorethantofindoutwho.”Hefrownsdeeply.“Theyhadtodropthecharges.Butthis—stigma—hasbecomepartofmylife.IwishIcouldsayI’vegottenusedtoit,butIhaven’t.Idon’tthinkIeverwill.”
Helooksateachoftheminturn.“Ican’tmakeanyofyoubelieveme.I’vetoldthetruth,butI’vefoundthatpeoplebelievewhattheywanttobelieve.Ican’thelpthat.”
TWENTY-FOUR
GwenhaslistenedtobothsidesofDavid’sstorywithafeelingofhorror.Sheismuchcolderinsideherblanketnowthanshewasbefore.
Itsoundsworsethansheexpected.Shethoughtatfirstthatmaybethey’darrestedhimsimplybecausehewasthehusband,andhadquicklyrealizedtheirmistake.Butthissoundssoinconclusive.Unsatisfactory.Therehadn’tbeenenoughevidencetosendhimtotrial—butdoesshebelievehim?Rileyisrightaboutonething—hewouldhavehadthebestpossibledefenselawyer.
It’sverydisturbing,theadmissionofthemissinghourbetweenhisarrivinghomeandcalling911.Andhe’sacriminaldefenseattorney.Hewouldknowwhattodo—howtodestroyevidence,orgetridofit.Shedoesn’tknowwhattobelieve.
???
Henrysquirmsuncomfortablyinhisseat.Hisbreathingisshallow.Thisentiresituationisbecomingmoreandmoresurreal.Alltheserevelationsarebizarre—Rileywithherstoriesofbeingheldhostage,ofhavingagunheldtoherhead,ofseveredlimbsinthestreets—nowondershe’ssopeculiar.AndthisthingaboutDavidhasgivenhimanastyjolt—myGod,didhemurderhiswife?
Henrysuspectsheislookingatitfromaslightlydifferentperspectivethantheothers.Helooksathiswife,seatedashortdistanceaway,andallowshisgazetorestonher.Hedoesn’tdoubtthatDavidkilledhiswife.Becausehecanunderstandit.Hecanunderstandtheimpulsetowanttokillyourwife.Tojustwanttoendthings,andtobeabletomoveon,withoutallthecarping.Hewouldliketoreachovertothehearthandgrabtheironpoker—it’sanarm’slengthaway—andstrikehisunsuspectingwifeovertheheadwithit.Heknowsjusthowitwouldfeel,howthepokerwouldfeelinhishand,becausehe’sbeentendingthefireoccasionally.Heimaginesleaningdownasiftopoketheflames,thenchangingcourseandturningsuddenly,raisinghisarmandbringingthepokerdownasfastandashardashecanandspillingherbrains.Wouldshelookupintimetorealizewhathewasdoing?Whatwouldherfacelooklike?Hewouldhavetomakethefirstblowcount.Hewondersifapokerwoulddoit,ifitwouldbeheavyenough.Wouldhehaveenoughforceinhisarm?Howmanytimeswouldhehavetohither,tobesure?Perhapssomethingheavier
Henryrealizeshe’sclenchinghishandsintofistsunderneaththeblanket.Heblinkshiseyesrapidly,asiftodispelthefantasy,whichhasrunawaywithhim.Ofcoursehewouldn’tdothat.Eveniftherewasnooneherewatching,hestillwouldn’tdoit.Thoughtsarenotactions.Theyaren’tthesamethingatall.Buthecanunderstandtheimpulse.SohehasnodifficultybelievingthatDavidmighthavemurderedhiswife.
Hecatcheshisownwifestaringbackathiminthedark.Foramoment,hewondersnervouslyifshecanreadhisthoughts.
Butthenhehasathought,andbeforehefullyconsidersithevoicesitoutloud.“MaybeCandiceknewDavid.Maybeshewaswritingabookabouthim.”HeleanstowardDavid.“Yousaythecasewasinallthepapers.”
“That’sridiculous,”Davidsaysdismissively.
“Isit?Maybesheknewsomethingaboutthecaseandwasgoingtoputitinabook,andyoufoundoutshewasgoingtobehereandyoucameupheretoputastoptoit.”
“That’snonsense!”Gwensaysindignantly.“ThenhowdoyouexplainDana’sdeath?Whyonearthwouldhekillher?That’sridiculous.”
“No,itisn’t.Becausehere’smytheory:MatthewarguedwithDanaandpushedherdownthestairs.DavidkilledCandicebecauseshewaswritinganexposéabouthim.Thetwoareunconnected—purecoincidence.”
“Whodoyouthinkyouare?”Beverlysnipes.“HerculePoirot?”
Henrygiveshiswifeadirtyglance.
Laurensaysslowly,“IdidnoticeCandicestaringatDavidatdinnerlastnight.ShewaspayingattentiontoMatthewandDana,andDavid—nobodyelse.Youhadyourbacktoher,David,butshewasdefinitelystaringatyou.”
???
“Maybeit’stimeforanotherdrink?”Iansaysintothechargedsilencethatfollows.
WhenBradleydoesn’tmovefromhisseat,Iangetsupandpullsthebarcartcloserhimself.It’shardtoseeinthedimlight.Hepicksuptheoillampfromthecoffeetableandholdsitaloftoverthebarcart.“There’sstillplentyhere,”hesays.
Ianpoursandhandsoutthedrinks,sitsdownagaininhisplacenestlednexttoLauren,andsaysthoughtfully,“Ihaveastorytotelltoo.It’snotmuch,really.Nodarksecrets.Ihaven’tbeenaccusedofmurderinganyone.I’veneverbeenarrested.I’veneverbeentoawarzoneandseenpeopleslaughtered.IhadaprettynormalchildhoodgrowingupinIowawithtwoparentsandmybrothers.”Hegoesquietforamoment.“Except—whenIwasthirteen,myyoungerbrotherdied.Hewasten.Thatwastough.”
Gwenasks,“Whathappened?”
“Hedrowned.Inalocalpond.”
“I’msosorry,”Gwensays.
Henods,andlooksdownatthedrinkinhishand.“Mymotherwasbesideherself.He’dgonetothepondbyhimself.Hewasn’tallowedtogoonhisown,buttherestofuswerealloffdoingsomethingelse,andhewentanyway.Hewaslikethat.Willful,hardtomanage.Didn’tdowhathewastold—alwaysdidwhathewanted,tohellwiththeconsequences.Whenhedidn’tturnupforsupper,wewentlookingforhim.Itwasn’tthatunusual,wewerealwayscominghomelateforsupper.”Hehesitatesamoment,takesagulpofhisdrink,thensays,“Iwastheonewhofoundhim.”
Laurenreachesoutandtakeshishand,pullsitintoherlap.He’dalreadytoldherthis.
“Myparentsneverreallygotoverit.Itprettymuchshatteredthem.SoIguessthat’sablipinmyotherwisenormalchildhood.”
“That’stragic,”Rileysays,withgenuinesympathy.
“Itwasalongtimeago,”Iansays,andreachesforhisdrink.
???
DavidisobservingIancarefully.He’sbeenobservingallofthem,whiletryingtoappearasifheisn’t.TherewassomethingaboutthewayIantoldthestoryabouthisbrotherthatbothershim.
David’susedtointerviewingclientswhoareprettydamnedgoodatlying.Usuallyhecantell.Thewaytheeyesdriftupandtotheleft.Thehesitations.Thefleetingfacialexpressions.There’sjustenoughlightfromtheoillamptoseeIan’sface.Andifhe’dbeenaskedtogiveanopiniononwhetherIanwastellingthetruthabouthisbrother,hewouldhavesaidno.
Heknowsit’snotalwayspossibletotellifsomeone’slying.He’sbeenprovedwrongbefore.Andhe’stired,stressed,andthecircumstancesarehighlyunusual—forallofthem.ButsomethingaboutIanjustnow—amanhehassofarfoundtobewarm,open,anduncomplicated—hasputhimonnotice.
TWENTY-FIVE
There’sastrange,compellingsortofintimacyinthisroom,withtheoillampflickeringandthefirecrackling,allofthemsittingaroundtogetherwrappedinblanketsbecausethey’reafraidtogototheirrooms.It’sseductive.
ButLaurensaysquietly,“I’mafraidIdon’thaveanydarksecretseither.”
That’snotexactlytrue.Shehassurvivedadysfunctionalfamilyandanawful,short-livedstintinafosterhome,butshehassurvived.Shehasmadesomethingofherself.Shedoesn’thavetosharethatwithanyoneifshedoesn’twantto.“Ofcoursetherehavebeensomethingsinmylifethathavebeendifficult,whichIwon’tsharewithyou.Familyproblems,theusual.Idon’tthinkanybodycomesoutofafamilyunscathed.”Shesmileswanly.“ButIcertainlyhaven’tgotanythingtohide.”
“Nothing?”Rileyprods.
LaurenstudiesRiley,whoislookingatherasifshedoesn’tbelieveher.Rileyseemstohavesomethingagainsther.Fairenough.Laurenwasabithardonheralittlewhileago.Sheprettymuchtoldhershethoughttherewassomethingseriouslywrongwithher.Atleastnowtheyknowwhatitis,andwhy.Still,she’snotgoingtotakeanyshitfromRiley.
“Whyisthatsohardtobelieve?”Laurenasksherpoint-blank.
Rileyshrugs,looksaway.
Laurendecidestoletitgo.
ButHenryasks,“Thenwhat’swiththesleepingpills?”
Laurenistakenaback.“Ihavetroublesleeping.Ialwayshave.SoItakesleepingpills.”
“It’strue,”Iansays,noddingbesideher.
Then,surprisingly,RileyturnstoGwenandsays,“Ifit’strueconfessiontime,whydon’tyoutelleveryoneyourdeepdarksecret?”
Startled,LaurenwatchesGwengiveRileyahardlook.ButRileyhasdrunkdownherglassofwineveryquicklyandseemstobesheddingherinhibitionsandpossiblyhergoodsense.She’sasloppydrunk,Lauren’snoticed.She’ssuddenlyverycuriousaboutwhat’sgoingtohappennext.ShewonderswhatRileyhasonGwen.She’dliketoknow.
???
“Pissoff,Riley,”Gwensays.
Herheartisflutteringanxiously.Shedoesn’twanttobeputonthespot.Gwendoesn’twanttoshareherpastwithanyone.Shedoesn’twanttospillitallinfrontofthisgroupofstrangers.NotinfrontofDavid.Definitelynotlikethis.
Butshewondershowitwouldfeeltounburdenherself,toconfesstosomeoneotherthanRiley.Perhapsitwouldbeliberating,perhapsshewouldbeabletoforgiveherselfthen.Rileywouldnolongerhavethisholdoverher.Maybetheywouldnolongerbefriends.
ShelooksacrossatDavid,hishandsomefaceinscrutable.Shewantstotellhim;shewantstoseehowhe’llreact.Shelooksathimanddoesn’tevenknowwhatkindofmanshe’slookingat.Hecouldbeamanwhokilledhiswife—withsufficientpresenceofmindtosuccessfullycoverhistracks.HenrysuggestedthathemighthavekilledCandice.Shedoesn’tknow.Shewishestheyhadnevercomeheretothishorrible,godforsakenplace,wishesshehadnevermetDavid,whohasherinturmoil,oranyoftheseotherpeopleeither.
“Areyouokay?”Davidasksher.
Hisconcernissotempting,butshemustguardagainstit.Shefeelsherselfgosuddenlycold,emotionless.“I’mfine.”
Sheknowshervoicesoundsharsh,asifshe’spushinghimaway.Shewantstopushallofthesehorriblepeopleaway—especiallyMatthew,playingincessantlywithhisgun.But,shetellsherself,itmustbeverydisorientingtosuddenly,violently,losesomeonewhoknowsyoubetterthananyoneelse,someoneyou’vecountedontoanchoryourworld.
Sunday,1:10a.m.
Davidslumpsbackagainsthisseat,exhausted,stingingfromGwen’srebuke.Matthew’sfidgetingisputtingeveryoneonedge.
Davidsaysabruptly,“Matthew,putthegundown,it’smakingeverybodynervous.”
Matthew’shandsgostill,buthedoesn’tputthegundown.Insteadhesays,“Youcanallsithereandwait.I’mgoingtogoafterthissonofabitch.”Hegetsupsuddenlyfromhischair.“Where’sthatflashlight?”
“Youcan’t,”Davidtellshimsternly.“Youcan’tgoanywhereonyourown,evenwiththegun.It’stoodangerous.”
“WhatdoIcare?”Matthewlookswithcontemptattherestofthem.“Areyougoingtogivemetheflashlightornot?”
“It’salmostdead,”Davidremindshim,asMatthewsnatchesitup.
“Don’tdothis,”Davidsays.Thisiswhathefeared,thegroupsplittingup.Hethinkstheyshouldsticktogether.Hedoesn’twantMatthewgoingoffonhisown—nobodywantsajumpy,overwroughtmanrunningaroundwithaguninhishand.Hislittleflockiscomingapart.Theremightbesomeoneoutthere,waitingforoneofthemtobreakranksandrunintothedarktobehisnextvictim.Orthekillermightberightherewithinarm’sreach
ShouldhejustletMatthewgo?
Maybehewillbekilledoutthere,andthentheywillknowitisn’toneofthem.He’stemptedtouseMatthewasbait,Davidrealizeswithasickeningfeeling.
“Doesanyonewanttocomewithme?”Matthewasks.
Davidwrestleswithhimself—shouldhego,too,leavingtherest?Heglancesattheothers,watchingMatthewnervously.Nooneelseanswerseither.
“Fine,I’llgomyself.”
“But—”Gwensays,“howdoyouthinkyou’llfindhim?We’vebeenalloverthishotel.Stayhere,withus.Inthemorning,we’llallgotogetherouttotheroad.”Shepausesandadds,“Please.”
Hegivesheralast,dismissivelook,turnsawaytowardthestaircase,andisslowlyswallowedupbythedarkness.
???
Beverlywatchesanxiouslyasthegroupremainingfallsintoafraughtsilence.Therearenineofthemleftsittingaroundthefireplace:GwenandDavidsittingacrossfromoneanother;LaurenandIanononeofthesofas;sheandHenrysittinginarmchairsacrossfromeachother;Riley,whohasleftthesofawhereshe’dbeensittingwithGwenandmovedtothehearth;andJamesandBradleysittingtogethercloseby.
BeverlywondersifMatthewhasjustgonetohisdeath.
SuddenlyDavidgetsup,muttersanexpletive,andfollowsMatthewintotheinkyblackness.
Rileysays,“Whatanidiot.”
BeverlywishesferventlythatDavidwouldcomeback.Shewantstogetoutofherealive.Shewantstosurvivethenight.Shecan’tbearthathehasdesertedthem.
???
ForMatthew,thelossofDanahasbeencompletelydestabilizing.
Hewalksquicklyupthedarkstaircaseandarrivesonthethirdflooroftheoldhotel,holdingthefadingflashlight,whichcastsafaintlightonthefloralcarpet.
Hepausesinthecorridor.Howcoldanddarkitisuphere,hethinks.It’sascoldasamorgue.Hehearsasoundbelowhim.Helooksbackoverhisshouldertowardthestaircasebehindhim,fadingtoblack.Heswitchesoffthefeebleflashlightandimmediatelycan’tseeathing.Hestandsperfectlystillandlistenscarefully,tiltinghishead.ThenhehearsDavid,callinghisname.Itsoundslikehe’sonthesecondfloor,belowhim.
Matthewdoesn’tanswer.Davidwillonlywanthimtogobacktotheothers.ButMatthewdoesn’tfeellikepartofthislittlegroup.Hedoesn’thavetofollowtheirrules.Andhehasagun.Hisheartpounding,Matthewmakeshiswayquietlyalongthehallwaytohisright,silentlytryingallthedoorknobsashegoes.Hishandsaresweaty.Allthedoorsarelocked,ofcourse.Comingbackdownthehalltowardthestairs,hepeersintothedarksittingroom.Hestandsstillforamoment.Thereisthefaintestlightcominginfromthewindows;it’sslightlylessdarkthanthecorridor.Butallhecanpickoutaretheghostlyshapesofthefurniture—chairsandsofas,emptyandsinister-seeming.Thenhehearssomeonecomingupthestairstothethirdfloor.Hestepsquicklyintothesittingroomandstandsbehindthewallasstillasasentry.Hetightenshisgriponthegun.It’sDavid—hecanhearhimquietlycallinghisname.Matthewwaits,whileDavidsearchesthissideofthestaircase—passingbythesittingroom,peeringin,seeingnothing—andthenwalksslowlydownthehallontheothersideofthestairs.Afterashortwhile,MatthewdecidesDavidmusthavegonedowntheservants’staircase.
Matthewfollowsinhisfootsteps,totheotherendofthehall.Thedoortothehousekeepingclosetisunlockedandopensbeneathhishand.Hestepsinside,turningtheweakflashlightonbriefly.Heturnsitoffagain.Continuingdownthehall,hereachesthebackstaircaseandpushesthedooropenandfindshimselfonthenarrowlanding.Thedoorclosesbehindhim,andhestandsmotionless,listening.SatisfiedthatDavidisnolongeronthebackstairs,heswitchestheflashlightbackon.Heventuresslowlydownthestaircasetothesecond-floorlanding,allsensesonalert.
Heturnstheflashlightoffagainandcautiouslyopensthedoorwayontothesecondfloor.Hedoesn’thearDavidcallinghimanymore;he’sprobablygivenupandgonebacktothelobby.Here,onthesecondfloor,istheroomthatheandDanaweresharing.
Hepeersdownthesecond-floorhall,listening.It’ssodarkthatwithouttheflashlightonhecan’ttellifanyoneelseishere.Hewalksquietlydownthecorridor,peekingintothehousekeepingclosetandthesittingroom,thenreturnstothebackstaircaseandfindshimselfonceagainonthefirstfloor.Theservants’staircaseopensintothedarkhallwayoutsidethekitchen.Hemakeshiswaysilentlyalongthehallwayatthebackofthehotelandturns,findinghimselfoutsidethelibrary.Hestepsinside.ThefaintestsliverofmoonlightfallsnowthroughtheFrenchdoors.Foramomenthejuststaresaroundtheroom.
Hespiesalargebookopenonthecoffeetable.Heswitchestheflashlighton,andseesapictureofanineteenth-centuryshiplockedintheice.Hewonderswhowasreadingit.Hesweepstheflashlightaroundtheroomandturnsitoffagain.Losinginterest,hepausesatthedoorway.Ifhegoesright,heknowshewillfindanothersittingroomandwindupbackinthelobby.Hedoesn’twantthat.Instead,heturnstohisleft,andmovesbackalongtherearofthehotel.Thistimeherecognizesthedoortothewoodshed.Hehesitates,thenpushesopenthedoor.
TWENTY-SIX
RileyisgladthatDavidisgone.Shethinkshe’sreckless,butshe’sgladhe’sgone.Maybehe’llgethimselfkilled.
Shehearsthemuffledsoundofadoorclosingsomewhereinthehotelandhernervesjump.
“Whatwasthat?”shesays,frightened
Henryanswersnervously,“It’sprobablyjustMatthew,orDavid.”
Strainingtohearwhat’shappeningoutsidetheirlittlecircle,allshecanhearisthewinddrummingagainstthewindows.Whetherthestormsubsidestomorrowornot,theymusttrytomaketheirway—nomatterhowslowly,orwithhowmuchdifficulty—outtothemainroadandtrytogethelp.
Shethinksofhertherapist,Donna—thewomanwhohasbeenhelpingherregainasenseofcontroloverherlife,oratleasttryingto.WithDonna’shelp,she’sbeentryingtolearnhowtomanagehernegativethoughts.Shecertainlywouldn’tbehappywiththewayRiley’susingalcoholtocopethisweekend.Butshe’strappedinaremoteinnwithabunchofstrangers,andpeoplearebeingmurdered.SheimaginesbeinginDonna’soffice,tellingherallaboutit.Shewouldsay,Youhaveexperiencedsometerriblethings.Yes,shehas.Shewouldsay,Becauseofthis,yourmindwillsometimesplaytricksonyou.
“Areyouallright?”Gwensayssuddenly.SomehowGwenisstandingrightinfrontofher.Shedoesn’trememberseeinghermovefromthesofa.ButGwenissquattingdowninfrontofhernow,lookingintentlyintohereyes,concernstampedonherface.
“Idon’tknow,”Rileywhispers.Gwenstaresbackather,alarmed.“Idon’tknow,”Rileyrepeats,moreurgently.She’sinastrangeplace.Hellisn’timaginary;it’sreal.It’sarealplaceandit’salsoastateofmind.Andshecanfeelherselfslippingintothepit,shecanfeelthefeartakingover,theparanoia,theneedtoreact.Shedoesn’twantthattohappen.God,nothere.Notnow.ShegrabsGwen’shandtightly.“Staywithme,”shesays.
“Ofcourse,”Gwensays,andsitsdownbesideher,thetensionbetweenthemseeminglyforgotten,atleastfornow.“Iwon’tleaveyou,”Gwenpromises.
???
Insidethewoodshed,asuddenrattlingsoundcomingfromthedirectionofthedoortooutsidestartlesMatthew.Hewhirlstowardthesoundandtripsoversomething,droppingtheflashlightbeforehecanturniton.Completelyblind,hesensessomethinginthedarkness,somethingmoving.Matthewfumblesfromcoldandnerves,clutchesthegunandraisesit.Hefireswildlyinthedark.
???
DavidfollowedMatthewasbesthecould.Hefelthiswayupanddownthesecond-floorcorridor,andthenmadehiswayupthemainstaircasetothethirdfloor.Hewalkeddownthewestsideofthehall,quietlycallingMatthew’sname,andthentheeastside,finallyfindinghimselfoutsidetheservants’staircase.
Hepushedopenthedoorandlistenedcarefully.Itwasdeadquiet.Itwasalsodarkaspitchinthebackstaircase.Hewishedferventlythathehadalight.HehadtofindMatthew.Matthewdidn’tknowwhathewasdoing.Hewasliabletoshootatanyone.
Hecalledsoftly,“Matthew?”Therewasnoanswer.Buthecouldbethere,inthedarkstairwell.Perhapshe’dturnedofftheflashlight.“It’sDavid.”Hewaitedandlistened,buttherewasnoanswer.Hesteppedcautiouslyintothestairwell.Hefeltaroundclumsilyforthehandrail.Hesearchedforthefirststepwithhisfoot,foundit.Hestarteddownthestairs,movingslowly,feelingforeachstep,listeningcarefully.WherethehellwasMatthew?Davidwasfrustratedathowdifficultitwastoknowwhatwasgoingoninthedark.Thedarknesswassoabsolutethatitwasdisorienting.Itwaslikefloatinginspace,withnothingtomarkwhereyouwere.Hefeltunmoored;he’dfeltthatwaysincethey’ddiscoveredDanadeadthatmorning.
Hefoundhiswaytothesecond-floorlandingandhesitated.Hehadapoundingheadache.Hethoughtlonginglyofthebottleofaspirinthathehadinhiscarry-oninhisroomattheotherendofthesecondfloor.
Davidopenedthedoorontothedarkenedsecond-floorhall.Hemadehiswaytohisownroomattheotherend,earssharpenedforanysound.Whenhegottohisroom,hefumbledwithhiskeyandopenedthedoorwithrelief.Hisroomwasnotquiteasdarkasthecorridor.Therewasthebriefestglintofmoonlightcominginthroughtheopendrapesofthewindows—andthenitdisappeared.Davidclosedthedoorbehindhim.Hefeltaroundforhisbagandfounditonthefloor,bythenightstand.Hesearchedfortheaspirinandthenmadehiswaytothesink.Hepouredhimselfsomewaterintoaglassbyfeel,andtookthetablets,relievedtobealone,ifonlyforafewminutes.Spendingsomuchtimewithalltheothers,undersomuchstrain—hewisheditwereallover.Hewassotired.Hewantedtoliedownonthebed,burrowunderthecovers,andnevergetup.Instead—despitethecold—hespentacoupleofminutessplashingicy-coldwateronhisface.
Feelingabitbetter,helefthisroomandreturnedtotheservants’staircase,intendingtoresumehissearchforMatthewonthefirst-floorhallalongthebackofthehotel.Hecouldbeinthekitchen,thecellar,orinanyoftheotherroomsonthefirstfloor.
Davidiscomingdownthebackstairswhenhehearsthegunshots.
Hefeelstheshockthroughhisentirebody,aspurtoffear.Hefreezes.Triestofocusonwheretheshotscamefrom.Hethinksfromsomewhereonthefirstfloor.Fromthewoodshed,maybe.Hestumblesdowntherestofthestairsasquicklyashecan.Hisbreathisragged.WhatifsomethinghashappenedtoMatthew?Whatifhe’stoolate?
???
Matthewfeelsthekickinhishandfromthepistolandwhirlsandflees.He’snotsurewhathesaw,doesn’tknowwhatheshotat.Hedoesn’twanttostayandfindout.Heclutchestheguntightlyinhishandandboltsoutofthewoodshedanddownthedarkhall.Hestumbleshiswaybackintothelibraryandstops,breathingheavily,tryingtolistenoverhisownnoisygasps.
???
ThesoundofgunfirefinallysendsRileyovertheedge.Shespringsupabruptly,flingingGwenoff.GwentriestocalmherbutRileyistooagitated;shetakesoffsuddenlytowardthefrontdoor,asifsheneedstoescape.Rileydoesn’tknowwhatshe’sdoing,Gwenrealizes—she’sjustreacting,runningblindly.
“Riley!”Gwencallsafterher,pointlessly.“Stop!”
ButRileypullsopenthedoorandfleesintotheblusterynight,leavingthedooropenbehindher.
Gwenhesitatesforonlyasecond,castingadesperatelookattheothersforhelp,andthengrabshercoatoffthecoathookandfollowsRileyoutside.She’swearinghersneakers.Shehasnolight,andshemustfeelherway.It’spitchdark,themoonhiddenbehindtheclouds.ShehurriesafterRiley.Gwenisterrifiedofgoingoutintothedarkness,butshecan’tletRileygoalone.ShewishesDavidwerewithher.
ShecanhearRileysomewhereaheadofherinthecold,canhearherscramblingontheice,fallingandpickingherselfupagain,canhearherpanicked,heavybreathing.Gwenfollowsheroutovertheicylawn,barelyabletostayupright.Sheslamshardintothebrokentreebranchthatshe’dforgottenwasthereandfalls,herbarehandsscrabblingattheground.GwenrealizesRileyisrunningaimlessly,likeafrightenedanimal—she’srunningandthat’sall.Shemaynotevenbeawareofwheresheis.Shemustreachherandcalmherdown.Persuadehertocomebackinside,whereit’ssafe.
Shehearsvoicesbehindher.Shestopsbrieflyandlooksback.ShecanseeJamesandBradleydimlyoutlinedinthedoorway;theyarecomingtohelp.Thedoorclosesandallisdarkagain.Shecanhearthembehindher,quicklycatchingup.SheglancesoverhershoulderandseesnothinguntilBradleyandJamesarealmostuponher.Thensheseesthem,loomingtowardherinthedarkness.Shefeelsintenselygratefulthatthey’vecomeafterher.Theydon’thavealighteither;theyareallswimminginthedark.
“Whichwaydidshego?”Bradleyasks.
“Idon’tknow.Shewasaheadofme,butIcan’thearheranymore.Idon’tknowwhereshewent,”Gwensaysanxiously.
Thefrontdoorofthehotelopensagain,andGwenbarelydiscerns,inthefaintlightoftheopendoor,LaurenandIancomingouttojointhem.GwenthinksofHenryandBeverlysittingaloneincoldanimositybackinthelobby.Whatifsomethinghappenstothem?Butshedoesn’treallycare.They’renotherproblem—herfirstdutyistohelpRiley.ThekillermightbeoutheresomewhereandRileymightrunrightintohisarms.Sheturnsawayfromthehotelandlooksoutintothedarkness.
“Riley!”Gwenscreams.Theyallholdstill,earscocked.
Butalltheycanhearisthelashingofthetreesinthewind.
“Weshouldspreadout,”Bradleysays.Hemovesofftoherright;Jamesmovesofftoherleft.
Gwenmovesforwardovertheice,towardthedrive,thetreelineloomingtotheright.She’sslippingandfalling,herunglovedhandsfreezingfromcontactwiththeicyground.WheredidRileygo?
Shecan’tseeanyoneanymore.They’rethere,butthey’veallslippedawayagainintothedarkness.Thetreesandshrubsaremenacingshapesinthedark.Wehavetofindher,Gwenthinks,assheslidesprecariouslyforward.
TWENTY-SEVEN
David’sheartispoundingsoloudly,hisbreathcominginsuchshort,loudrasps,thathecan’thearanythingoverhisownfear.Hefeelshisway,touchingthewallofthefirst-floorhallwithhisrighthandashemakeshiswaytothedoorofthewoodshed.Whenhereachesit,hetakesadeepbreathandpushesthedooropen.Hecurseshimselfagain
“Matthew?”hesays.“Areyouthere?”He’smetwithabsolutesilence.Andhecan’tseeathing.
???
Rileyrunswildlyintothecold,icydark.Theterriblefearhastakenover,drivingher.Sherunsandslides,fallsandpicksherselfupagain,instinctivelysearchingforsomewheretohide,somelowplacewhereshecancrouchunseen.Sheneedstotakecover.Shesensestheforestaheadofherandheadsforit.Somewhereintherecessesofhermind,sheknowstostayhidden,nottomakeasound.Shereachestheedgeoftheforestandcrawlsintosomebrush.Shecrouchesontheground,turningherselfintoatightball.Shesqueezeshereyesshutandrocksbackandforth,herhandsoverherears,tryingtoblockouteverything.
???
Gwenhasneverbeensofrightenedinherlife.
There’ssomecomfortinknowingthattheothersareoutherewithher,evenifshecan’tseethem.It’slikeshe’saloneinadarkvoid.Shecan’tbeartothinkaboutDavid,whatthegunshotsmightmean.Issomeoneelsedead?Shewondersifsoontherewillbenooneleftatall.Shewantstolive,butshehopesthatifshehastodie,sheisn’tthelastone.Shedoesn’tthinkshecouldbearit.Sheisdefenseless.Shethinksofthesmall,sharpletteropenerthathadbeenlyingonthewritingdeskintheirroom.Shewishesshehaditwithhernow.
Shekeepsgoing,pastthelawntothedrive,everyfootsteptreacherousontheice.“Riley!”shecalls.“Whereareyou?”Shetakesafewmorestepsdownthedriveandstopstolisten.Shecanseenothing,hearsnothingaheadofher.Howshewishesshehadaflashlight!Suddenlyshehearsawildhowling.Coyotes,shethinks.Orwolves.Shestopsinhertracks,overwhelmedwithterror.Howhasitcometothis?
Shesuddenlyrealizesthatshecan’thearanyoneelse.“Bradley?”shecallsurgently.ButBradleydoesn’tanswer.Nooneanswers.Perhapstheycan’thearheroverthefuriouslygustingwind.Gwen’sheartpoundsfrantically;shecanhardlybreathe.Sheturnsaround,looksbacktowardthehotel,whereshelastheardtheothers.“Bradley?Lauren?”shecriesagain,moreloudly,hervoiceinfectedwithpanic.Butnooneanswers.Shecan’tthink.Sheisallalone.
Gwenstopsmoving.Shedoesn’tknowwhereanyoneelseis,whetherthere’sakillerouthere.There’sacrushingpaininherchest.
Shethinksshehearsasoundlikesomethingfallingheavily,butshecan’ttellwhereit’scomingfrom.Withthedarknesslikeavoidandthewindswirlingaroundher,everythingisdistorted;shedoesn’ttrusthersenses.Foramoment,shedoesnothing.Shedoesn’tmove,forhowlongshedoesn’tknow.Shehaslostallsenseoftime.Maybeaminute,maybeten.She’ssofrightened,socold,thatshedoesn’tthinkshecanmove.Shehastowaitfortheacheinherribstosubside.
Shebeginstofeelherwaybacktowardthehotel,bodylow,armsoutstretched,lookingforBradleyorJames,LaurenorIan—anyonewhocanmakeherfeellessalone.Lessterrified.Evenasshedoessoshe’sawarethatshe’sabandoningRileytoherfate.Riley,herfriend,whoisafraid,andvulnerable,andirrational.Riley,whoneedsher.
Butshedoesn’tcare.Rightnow,shecan’tthinkofanyonebutherself.Shestopsforamomentinthedark,tremblingviolently,listening,convincednowthatthekillerisnearby,thathehasmurderedtherestofthemwithoutasound.Andthensheisfleeingbacktothehotel,recklessontheice,slippingandsobbing,terrifiedthatshewillbenext.Sheaimsforthehotel,whichishulkinginthedark,desperatetogetbacktothelobby,tothelightofthefire.
???
Aloneinthelobby,Henryandhiswifesitfrozeninsilenceandfear.Hewatchesherstareintothefire,whichisstartingtofalter.Heneedstoaddanotherlog.
SomewhereoutthereDavidissearchingforMatthew,whoisarmedandpossiblyakiller;RileyandGwenareoutside.HecanunderstandwhyJamesandBradleyfelttheyhadtogoafterthetwowomen,butoncetheydid,hedoesn’tseewhyLaurenandIanhadtogoafterthemtoo.He’sangryatthemforchoosingRileyandGwenoverhimandBeverly.NowheandBeverlyhavebeenlefttofendforthemselves.Whatifthekillercomesforthem?
Hewatcheshiswifecarefully.Henolongerfeelsashredofaffectionforher.Heloveshischildren,thathasn’tchanged.Butsomethingabouther—somethingaboutherfillshimwithrevulsion.Hethinksofherflabbywhitethighs,theveinsthatruninlittlemapsalongherlegs.Herbreaststhataretooheavy.Theperpetuallookonherfaceofbeingfedup.Asiflifeisonlytobeendured.
Butit’smorethanthat.It’sthewaysheviewshim.Overweightfamilyman.Abitofafool.Someonewhoselifeismostlyover,whowillneverdoanythinginterestingorexcitingagain.Justherpresencenearhim,knowingthatshebelievesthisabouthim,makeshimhateher.Whathadshesaidtohim?—It’sjustaphase.Shediminisheshim;shealwayshas.Jillydoesn’tdothat.Sheadmireshim.Shefindshiminteresting,attractive.Shetoldhimshewantstospendtherestofherlifewithhim.Shewon’tgettiredofhim,asBeverlysays.
Hiswifedoesn’twanttospendtherestofherlifewithhim,butshewould.Ifthishadn’thappened.Allshethinksaboutisduty.Thetyrannyoftheshoulds.Ishoulddothis,oryoushoulddothat.Youshouldbehomemore.Youshouldspendmoretimewiththekids.Youshouldtryforapromotion.
Hegetsuptostirthefire.Hereachesforthepokerwithhisrighthand.Oddly,timeseemstoslowdown.Hegraspsthepokerverytight.She’ssittingrightthere.Itwouldbesoeasy.There’snooneheretoseeit.Hecouldrunoutsideaftertheothers,makeupsomestory….
Hegripsthepokertight.
???
Davidfeelshiswayacrossthewoodshedfloor,slidinghisfeetalong,incaseMatthewisthere,somewhere,onthefloor.Hecallshisname,butgetsnoresponse.Heforceshimselftogetdownonhishandsandkneesandfeelaroundonthesawdust-coveredfloorforMatthew.Hereachesthestumptheyuseforchoppingwood,feelsitsroughsurfacewithfrantichands.
Allhefindsistheflashlight.
???
Rileyhuddlesintheforest,herentirebodyshakingwithfearandcold,relivingsomeoftheworstmomentsofherlife.Memoriesofvictims—screaming,suffering,dying—beardownonher.Shepressesherhandstoherearstotrytoblockoutthenoise,butitdoesn’tworkbecausethetumultisinsideherhead.Shecloseshereyestighttostopseeing,butitdoesn’thelp,becausetheimagesareinhermind’seye.
???
Matthewhearssomeoneapproachingthelibrary.Someonewhoistryingnottomakeasound.Withoutwarning,outsidetheFrenchdoors,thecloudsparttorevealthemoon,andaglimmerofghostlylightfiltersintothelibrary.Matthewstandsfacingthedoor.Hehashisguninhishand,andheknowsthereareseveralbulletsremaining.
Andthen—heseesDavidappearinthedoorway.“Oh,it’syou,”hesays.Heexplains.“IthoughtIheardsomeone,inthewoodshed…”
“You’dbettergivemethegun.”
Matthewhandsthegunover.
Sunday,1:45a.m.
WhenGwenopensthedoorandstumblesintothelobby,she’salmostsurprisedtofindHenryandBeverlystillthere,exactlywhereshe’dleftthem,exceptthatHenryisstandingnearthefirewiththepokerinhishand.Hestartsanddropsthepokersuddenly,anditrattlesasitstrikesthefloor.
Shehalfexpectedtofindthemdead.
Davidappearssuddenlyfromoutofthedarknearthestaircase.Matthewiswithhim.Shealmostfaintswithrelief.
HenryturnsfromhertoDavidandMatthewandasks,“What’shappened?”
“Nothing.We’refine,”Davidsaysbluntly.“Wherethehelliseverybodyelse?”
Gwenwhispers,“Outside.”Herentirebodyisshaking.
Henrysays,“Rileyranoutsidewhensheheardthegunshots.Therestofthemwentoutafterher.”
“Wecan’tfindher,”Gwensays.“Shewon’tanswerus.It’ssodark—theothersarestilloutthere,lookingforher.”Shecan’tstoptrembling.
“Jesus,”Davidsays.“We’dbettergetoutthere.Weneedtofindher.”Hesoundsdesperate.HeturnstoGwenandsays,“YoustayinherewithHenryandBeverly.”
“No!I’mcomingwithyou.”ShewillstayclosetoDavid.She’llbesafewithhim.TheyhavetofindRiley.
“Areyoujustgoingtoleaveushere?”Henrysplutters.
Nobodyanswershim.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Matthewslipsofftheporchandvanishesintothenight.Davidwatcheshimgo,wonderingaboutthewisdomofallofthemtearingoffindifferentdirections.ButtheyhavetofindRiley,andtimeisoftheessence.Theycancovermoregroundiftheyspreadout.It’sfreezingouthere.
“Isshewearingacoat?”DavidasksGwen.
Sheshakesherhead.Mumbles,“Justasweater.”
Davidswearsunderhisbreath.Theymaketheirwayalongslowly.Davidcanhearnothingbutthehowlingofthewind.“Isanybodyoutthere?”heyells.Thewindtearsthewordsfromhismouthandtheyarelost.
“Anyone?”hetriesagain,cuppinghishandsaroundhismouth.
“I’moverhere.”It’sIan’svoicecomingfromsomewhereinthedirectionofthedrive.
“Anybodyelse?”Davidyells.
Andthenlessfaint,fromnotsofaraway,Laurenanswers.“I’mhere,ontheeastside,nearthetrees.Ihaven’tseenher.”
Thisisimpossible,Davidthinkswearily.Hecan’tseethehandinfrontofhisfacewithouttheflashlight,andtherestofthemhavenolightatall.Hecanbarelykeephisfooting.HeturnstoGwen,“Whatdoyouthinkshe’ddo?Wherewouldshego?”
Gwenlooksathimblankly,herfaceclosetohis.“Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkshe’sthinkingatall.Idon’tknowifshe’drundownthedrivewaytotheroadorhideinthetrees.Ihavenoidea.”
“Therearetreeseverywhere,”Davidsaysmiserably.
Hecupshishandsaroundhismouthandcalls,“Bradley?James?”
“I’mhere,”Jamesshoutsback.ItsoundslikehisvoiceiscomingfromDavid’sright,westofthehotel.“Ihaven’tseenhereither.Butyoucan’tseeanythingouthere.She’snotanswering.WherethehellisBradley?”
Davidsuddenlyfeelsanxious.Whyhasn’tBradleyanswered?Maybehe’salreadymadeitintothewoodsandcan’thearthem.HeandGwenmaketheirunsteadywayforward,towardtheforest.
They’realmostacrossthelawntothetreeswhenDavidhearsamuffledcryandthesoundofsomeonefallingdown.Andthenit’sapenetratingcryofpurepain.Comingfromsomewherebehindthemtotheirright.
“James!”Davidcallswildly.Heturnsandtriestohurrytowardthesound.HehearsGwenpantingandscramblingbehindhim.
“Bradley!”It’sJames’svoice.ThedesperationinitmakesachillrunalongDavid’sspine.
Davidstumblesandslidesfasterandfaster,frantictoreachthem,leavingGwenstrugglingtokeepup.ButwhenhefinallyseesJames,hewantstoclosehiseyesandblockeverythingout.HisweakflashlightpicksoutthedarkshapeofJamesbendingoverBradley,whoislyingstill,apparentlylifeless,ontheice-coveredsnow.
Davidcomescloseruntilheisalmostuponthem.Bradleyliesfacedowninthesnow.He’drunoutwithoutahat,andthereisanugly,viciousgashatthebaseofhisskull.Bloodisspatteredalloverthesnow.
Jameslooksupathim,hisfacealmostunrecognizableinhisgrief.“Helphim!”hescreams.“Youhavetohelphim!”
DavidkneelsinthesnowbesidehimandshinesthefeeblelightonBradley’sface.Hiseyesareclosed,hislipsareblue.Helooksdead.Davidfeelsforapulse—hecanfeelnothing,butforamomenthehopesthat’sbecausehishandsareshaking,frozenandnumb.Butit’snouse.There’snothing.Bradleyisdead.
Jamesbeginsaterriblekeening.It’sthemostdreadfulsoundthatDavidhaseverheard—aloud,despairingwretchedness,thesoundofafathermourningthelossofhisonlyson.Hecan’tbearit.HelooksupatGwenandseesfearreflectedbackathim.Hesitsbackonhisheelsandwantstoweephimself.
Hehearsothersapproachingnoisily.Heshinesthelighttowardthem.HeseesMatthew,andbehindhimisLauren.
“Whathappened?”Laurencriesbeforeshereachesthem,beforeshecanreallysee.
“Stayback,”Davidwarns.
Herisesunsteadilytohisfeet,andsplaysthelightaround.Hespotssomethingdark,droppedinthesnow.Helurchestowardit.Somedarkshape,withbloodonit.He’sseenitbefore.It’sfamiliar.Helooksatitforabitlongerandthenherecognizesit.It’stheironbootscraperfromthefrontporch.SomeonepickeditupandmusthaveusedittomurderBradley.Who?When?Astranger?OroneofthepeoplewhocameoutheretolookforRiley?
Hewhirlsaroundagaintofacethem.
Laurenstepscloserintotheirlittlecircleoflightandstopsabruptly.ShelooksdownatBradleyinthesnow,hisfathercrouchingoverhim.
“Oh,God,”shewhispers,takingitallin.“Ishe…?”
“He’sdead,”Davidsaysdully.
“Oh,God,letme—”
“Stayback,”Davidsaysagain.“There’snothingyoucandoforhim.It’stoolate.”
“Areyousure?”She’shysterical.“Hecan’tbedead!Hecan’tbe!”ShetriestogetpasthimtoBradley.“Maybehe’sstillalive!Maybewecanstillhelphim!”
Heshakeshisheadandstandsinfrontofher,blockingtheway.ShebeginstocryandbeatsherhandsagainstDavid’schest,sobbing.“There’snothingyoucando,”hesays.
Hehearssomeonecomingcloser,hisbreathingheavyasheapproaches.Ianloomsintoview,takesinthescene.
“Oh,no,”hesays.
???
IanwatchesJamesweep,collapsedontohisson’sbody.Hisshouldersjerkspasmodicallyashesobs.Itremindshimofhismother’sendlessweeping,herrelentlessgrief.Heturnsaway.
“Wecan’tleavehimouthere,”Davidsaysfinally,hisvoicelow.
Hedoesn’thavetosaywhatthey’reallthinking:iftheyleavehimouthereovernighttheanimalswillgethim.Thecoyotes,thewolves.AndGodknowswhatelse,Ianthinkstohimself.
FinallyJamesslumpsbackinthesnow,hiseyesvacant.
“Doesanyonehaveanychargeleftintheirphone?”Davidasks.“I’dliketotakeaphotobeforewemovehim.”
Theyallshaketheirheads.
“Damn,”Davidsays.
“Whatarewegoingtodowithhim?”IanasksDavidquietly.
“Ithinkweshouldtakehimtotheicehouse,”Davidsays.“Itwillbeeasierifwetakehimthroughthehotel,ratherthanallthewayaroundthebuilding.”
IannodswearilyandturnstoLauren.“HelpJamesbackinside.We’vegotthis,”hesays,indicatinghimandDavidandMatthew.
Shenods,andwaitsasDavidslowlynudgesJamesbacktohisfeet.
Oncethey’vegoneahead,Gwentrailingmiserablyafter,thethreementrytopickupBradleyandcarryhim.Butit’simpossible.Theycan’tcarryhimandremainuprightontheice.Theyendupdragginghim.Theyleaveasmearofbloodalongthesnow.Thentheylifthimontotheporchandinside,intothelobby.
Theyputhimdownonthefloorforaminutetorest.Ianstraightens,catchinghisbreath,andlooksuptoseeBeverlyandHenrystaringaghastatBradley’sbody.Theyarebothspeechlesswithshock.Ianlooksaway,backdownatthebody.
Davidtellsthem,“We’retakinghimtotheicehouse.”
???
TheygobackoutagaintolookforRiley,foraslongastheycanstandthecold.Thistimetheyallstayveryclosetogether;theyareafraidofoneanother.ButRileyisnotansweringtheirdesperatepleas.It’sbittercoldandpitchdarkandthegoingisimpossible.Theycan’tfindher.Theywillneverfindher.Shedoesn’twanttobefound.
Sunday,3:10a.m.
Beverlywatchesthemreturn,silently,withoutRiley.Onebyonetheyshrugofftheircoatsandbootsandslouchtowardthefireindefeat.
BeverlythinksRileymustbedead,likepoorBradley.She’salmostgladtheyhaven’tfoundherbecauseshedoesn’tthinkshecanstandthesightofanothercorpse.Shehasneverbeensoclosetodeath.Itfeelsasifdeathisstandingoverher,justwaitingfortherightmoment.It’sanawfulfeeling.
BeverlythoughtshecaughtanoddlookonIan’sfaceintheshadows,whentheybroughtBradleyin.Somethingcoldinhiseyesthatshehadn’tseenbefore.Itgaveherachill.She’snotsure—theexpressionwassofleeting.Shemighthaveimaginedit.
???
Gwenslumpsonthesofa,numb.Rileyisoutthere,dead,ordying.It’sallGwen’sfault;theyshouldn’thavecome.Shelooksdownatherhands;they’reshaking.She’sbeginningtorealizethatalmostanyoneofthemcouldbethekiller.
???
Henrystaresmoodilyintothefire.Threepeoplearedead—andmaybeRileytoo—buthiswifeisstillhere.
Hefailed,interruptedatthelastmoment.Hehadhesitatedfortoolong.Coward!Buttheymighthavecomebackjustashe’dfinishedbashingherbrainsout,andthenthey’dhavebeenonhimlikeapackofhyenas.
Hiswifeappearssilentlyathisside,kneelingdownbyhischair,makinghimjump.It’salmostasifshe’sreadhismind.
“Henry,”shewhispers,hervoicesolowthathehastoleanhiseardownnexttoherlipstohearwhatshewantstotellhim.Hecansmellherbreath.Hewondersifshecanpossiblyknowwhathe’sthinking.
“IthinkIknowwhothekilleris.”
Heraiseshisheadandlooksatherfrightenedeyes,gleaminginthedark.
TWENTY-NINE
Iandoesn’tlikethewayBeverly’sbeenlookingathim.She’sgoneovertoherhusbandandisleaningclosetohim,whisperingsomethinginhisear.That’sinteresting,seeingasusuallyshe’sstayedagooddistanceawayfromherhusbandlately.Hewonderswhatshe’ssaying.Maybesomethingabouthim.
Iansitsinthedark,thinkingintheshadows.
???
Henrywouldliketofigureoutwhoisresponsibleforthesemurders.HereallythoughtitwasMatthewandDavid.Twounconnectedmurders.ButBradley’smurderchangesthings.
Hiswifehasbeenwhisperinginhisear,hasalmostpersuadedhimnowthatit’samadmanwhoisdoingthekillings.AndshethinksIanisthekiller.Shethinksthere’ssomethingwrongwithhim.Butifhecommittedthemurders,BeverlythinksLaurenwouldhavetoknow.They’realwaystogether.Shewouldhavetoknow.
Henrygivesthissomeconsideration.Hiswifehasalotofirritatingqualities,butstupidityisn’toneofthem.HelooksatIannowwithnarrowedeyes,tryingtoseewhathiswifesees.Tryingtoimaginehimkillingsomeone.
HefindsthathehasnodifficultyimaginingIanasakiller,becauseHenryhaslearnedathingortwothisweekend.He’slearnedthathehimselfhasitinhimtobeakiller.Hefindsit’snotthatbigaleap,afterall,toimagineanyoneelseasakillereither.
HewondersifLaureniscoveringforIan.Hestudiesherfromacrosstheroomwithanewinterest.Hedoesn’tknowhowfarshewouldgoforlove.Loveissomuchhardertounderstand—andpredict—thanhate.
???
Laurenshiftsuneasilyinherspotonthesofa.Thewindstillhowlsandslamsagainstthewindows.It’sgloomyinthelobby,theoillampgutteringsoftlyonthecoffeetable,andthefireneedingattentionagain.
Howlongwillitbeuntilthepolicecome?
Shesurveysthemallsittingaroundthefire.Howdifferentitisfromwhentheyfirstarrived,Laurenthinks,rememberingcocktailhourFridayevening.Howcheerfuleveryonehadbeen,howrelaxed.ShethinksofBradleygailymixingdrinks.ShethinksofthehandsomeMatthew—nowsochanged—andhisbright,shinygirlfriend,whoislyingintheicehouse.ShethinksofCandice,withherscarfwoundaroundherneck.
ShewouldliketoknowwhoDavidthinksthekilleris.
Shedoesn’tknowwhat’sgoingtohappennext.
???
Jamesreelswithshockandgrief.Hekeepsturningthingsoverinhismind.HeremembershowacoupleofyearsagoBradleyhadbegundealingdrugs.Hethoughthe’dseenanopportunitytomakesomeeasymoney,butithadn’tturnedoutthewayhe’dexpected.
Suddenly,Jamesshakesoffhisapathy,andspringingupoutofhischair,cries,“Whodidthis?Whichofyoukilledmyson?”Hefeelsanoverwhelminggriefandrage.“Why?WhyinGod’snamewouldanyonekillmyson?”Hisvoiceiswild,accusing,ashelooksateachoftheminturn.Hecanseethathehasfrightenedthem.
Davidrisesandapproacheshim,triestocalmhim,butJamesdoesn’twanttobecalmed.Hewantsananswer.
“Idon’tknow,James,”Davidsays.“I’msosorry.Butwewillfindout.Youwillknowwhomurderedyourson.”
“Oneofyoukilledhim!”
“Unlessthere’ssomeoneelsehere,”Laurenremindshimshakily.
“There’snooneelsehere!”Jamesscreams.Thenhecollapsesbackintohischair,putshisfaceinhishandsandsobs.
Sunday,3:30a.m.
Despitehowlateitis,Laureniswideawake.Everyoneisglancinguneasilyateveryoneelseandthenlookingawayagain.EveryonebutHenryandBeverly.HenryandBeverlyaresittingsidebysidenowandwatchingherandIanintently.Shefindsitunnerving.Shewonderswhatthey’rethinking.
“Whyareyoustaringatuslikethat?”shesaystoHenryatlast,hervoicesharp.
“I’mnotstaring,”Henrysays,quicklyavertinghiseyes.
“Yes,youwere,”Laurenaccuseshim.“Istheresomethingyouwanttosay?”
Theairissharpwithtension.Shedoesn’tcare.Shewantstoknowwhyhe’slookingatthemlikethat,andshewantshimtostop.
Butit’sBeverlywhospeaksup,surprisingher.
“IthoughtIsawsomething.”
DavidturnstoBeverly.“What?Whatdidyousee?”
“IsawsomethingonIan’sface,”Beverlysays.
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Davidasksimpatiently.
“IsawIanlookingatBradleywhenyoubroughthimin.”
“WewerealllookingatBradley,”Laurensayssharply.“Sowhat?”
“It’sthewayhewaslookingathim,”Beverlysaysnervously.
“Whatthehelldoyoumean?”Ianasks
NowBeverlylooksatIanmoreboldlyandsays,“Youwerelookingathim—asif—asifyouweregladhewasdead.”
“What?”Ianlooksshocked.“That’sridiculous!”heprotests.
“Howdareyou!”Laurenexclaims,turningfromIantoglareatBeverly.“Iwasrighttherebesidehim.Hedidnosuchthing.”
Beverlyturnsonher,andsayswithconviction,“IknowwhatIsaw.”
“Youwereimaginingthings,”Laurensays.SheflickshereyestowardIan.
“Mywifewouldn’tmakesomethinglikethatup,”Henrysaysinherdefense.Hisfaceflushesinthefirelight,andhesoundsbelligerent.“Whywouldshe?”
Laurencan’tthinkofananswer.
???
DavidisstartledatthisoutburstofBeverly’s.Hedoubtsthereliabilityofwhatshesays.Nooneknowsbetterthanhehownotoriouslyunreliableeyewitnessesare.Theyseeablackcarandthinkitwasred.Theymissthingsthatarerightinfrontofthemandseethingsthataren’tthereatall.Howmuchissheprojectingherownfear?Beverlyhadseemedfairlysoliduntilnow.
YethehadhimselfbeensuspiciousofIan,eversincehesensedhemightbelyingaboutthedeathofhisyoungerbrother.He’dwonderedaboutthesleepingpills,howmuchtheycouldrelyonLaurenevenknowingwhereIanwasthenightDanawaskilled.He,too,wouldliketoknowmoreaboutIan.Hewouldliketopresshim.
???
Gwenwatchesthisexchange,appalled.BeverlyseemstobeaccusingIanofbeingthekiller.Itseemsimpossible—he’ssocharming,soeasytogetalongwith,andhehasthatwonderfulsmile.ShethinkssuddenlyofthatlinefromShakespeare—wherewasitfrom?—Onemaysmile,andsmile,andbeavillain.Herbodyhasgonerigid,everymuscletightandstiff.Iancouldhavedoneit.HecouldhavekilledDanawhileLaurenwasknockedoutwithhersleepingpills.Hewasupstairs,withLauren,whenCandicewasmurdered.AndhewasrunningaroundinthedarkliketherestofthemwhenBradleywaskilled.Itwassodark—hecouldhavedoneit.Laurenmightbelyingforhim.Gwenclenchesherhandstight.
ShelooksacrossthecoffeetableatDavidbutshecan’ttellwhathe’sthinking.
“Something’sbeenbotheringme,”Davidsays.AndnowtheyallturntolookatDavid,whoiswatchingIan.“Somethingaboutthestoryaboutyourbrother.”
“What’sthatgottodowithanything?”Ianaskssharply.
“It’sjustthatsomethingdidn’tquiteringtrue,”Davidsays.
“Whatmakesyouthinkthat?”Ianasks,lickinghislipsnervously.
Gwen,watching,feelssick.
“Icanusuallytellwhensomeoneislying,”Davidasserts.Heleansforward,outoftheshadows.“Wastheresomethingmoretothatstory?Somethingyouaren’ttellingus?”Hewaitsabeatandadds,“Ifthereis,maybeyou’dbettershareitwithusnow.”
???
Ianswallowsnervouslyandconsidershisposition.Davidhadcaughthiminalie.Hehadliedabouthisbrother.Hefeelscornered.
“Okay,”Iansays,hisvoicelowanddistraught.Helooksupattheattorney.“You’reright.Ididn’ttellthewholetruthaboutmybrother.”
“Idon’tseehowthatmattersmuch,rightnow,”Henrysays.“Whocaresaboutyourbrother?”
DavidsendsHenryalooktoshuthimup.“Iwanttoknowwhyhewaslying.”
“I’venevertoldanyonethisbefore,”Iansaysnervously.HeglancesatLauren.“Iwasthirteen.AndJason,hewasten.Hecouldbedifficult.Ididn’tlikehangingoutwithhim,keepinganeyeonhim.Jasonwantedtogotothepondthatday.Hewasn’tallowedtogobyhimself.SoIwentwithhim.Butwhenwegottherewegotintoafightaboutsomethingstupid.Hewassostubborn.IgotpissedoffandIleft.Ilefthimtherealone.Ididn’tthinkhe’dgointhewater.Heknewbetter.”Hepauses,takesabreath,andexhalesheavily.
“WhenIgothome,later,andwecouldn’tfindhim,Iwentbacktothepond.Hewasfloatingthere,dead.AndIknewitwasmyfaultforleavinghim.Inevershouldhavelefthimthere.I’vehadtolivewiththatmywholelife.
“Iliedtomyparents.Theydidn’tknowwe’dgonetothepondtogether.Iletthembelievethathe’dgoneonhisown.ThatitwasjustaflukethatIwastheonetofindhim.Alltheseyears,I’vebeenlivingwiththeguilt.Andmyparentsstilldon’tknow.”Helooksupattherestofthem.“Idon’tknowifI’mguiltyunderthelaw.Ilefthimtherealone,andI’vebeenlyingaboutiteversince.Iprobablyknewhe’dgointhewater.ItoldyouthesamestoryI’vetoldeveryone,evenmyparents.”HelooksatDavid—he’safraidtolookatLauren.“ThisisthefirsttimeI’vetoldthetruthaboutit.”Heslumpsbackinhisseat,exhausted.“Nowyouallknow.”
THIRTY
LaurenwatchesIan,herlover,throughstartledeyes.Thensheglancesattheattorney,triestogaugewhathe’sthinking.HelooksasifhebelievesIannow.Butshedoesn’tknowwhattobelieve.MaybeithappenedthewayIansays.OrmaybeIanpushedhisbrotherin.Maybeheheldhimdown.
He’dtoldherabouthisyoungerbrotherbefore,theoriginalversion—thelie
He’ssittingclosetoher,theirbodiestouching,butnowshepullsaway.Helooksbackatherinconsternation.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmethetruth?”shesays,hereyesglancingoffhis.
“Ididn’teventellmyparents!Icouldn’ttellyou—Iwasafraidoflosingyou.”Helooksbackatherimploringly.“Ididn’tmeanforittohappen.DoyouthinkIhaven’tblamedmyselfeverysingledaysincethen?DoyouthinkIdon’tfeelguiltyeverytimeIthinkaboutmyparents?EverytimeItalktothem?”
Sheturnshereyesawayfromhim.
“C’mon,Lauren.Don’tletthiscomebetweenus.”
Shedoesn’tanswerhimforamoment.Thensheturnstohiminthedark.“Youshouldhavetoldyourparentsthetruth.”Itcomesoutsoundingalittletoopious.
“Iwasakid,”hesaysdefensively.
LaurenshiftsfartherawayfromIanonthesofa,andspeaksnervously,withoutlookingathim.Shefeelseveryonestaringather.Shetakesadeepbreathandsays,“You’renotakidnow.Andwehavetotellthetruth,Ian.Itwillcomeouteventually.”
“What?”Iansays,startled.
“Whatisityouwanttotellus?”Davidasks.
Shesaysreluctantly,“Whenwewentupstairsafterlunch—IknowIsaidthatweweretogether,but—Iwentdowntothelittlesittingroomonthethirdfloortobealoneforabit,toread.Iansaidhewasgoingtohaveanap.Iwasn’twithhim.”ShefeelsIanstironthesofabesideheruneasily.“Weweren’ttogetherallafternoonlikewesaid.”
“Whydidyoulie?”Beverlysays.
“BecauseIdidn’tthink”—Lauren’svoicefalters—“Istilldon’tthinkthatIanhadanythingtodowiththis.”
Iansays,“It’struethatLaurenwenttoreadinthesittingroomintheafternoonwhileIwasaloneinourroom.Weprobablyshouldhavesaidso.ButI’mnotakiller.That’sridiculous.It’snotme!”HeturnstoLauren.“Youdon’tthinkit’sme,doyou?”Hesoundsalittleworried.
“No.”Sheshakesherheadbutshesoundsuncertain,andsheknowsit.Shecanhearitinherownvoice.Perhapstheyallcan.
“Whyonearthwouldanyonethinkit’sme?”Ianasks.Helooksnervouslyattheothersseatedaroundthefireplace.“Whyme?Itcouldbeanyone.”
“Itmightbeyou,”Laurenwhisperssuddenly.“MaybeI’vejustbeentooblindtoseeit.”
“What?”Iansplutters.“Lauren,comeon.”Helooksgenuinelyalarmednow.“Thisisinsane.”
“WhenDanawaskilled—Ijustassumedthatyouwerewithmeallnight.”
“Iwaswithyouallnight!Ineverlefttheroom.Iswear.”Herunshishandthroughhishairnervously.“Andhowwouldyouevenknow?Youwereasleep.”
“That’sjustit,Ian.”Shelooksdoubtfullyathimnow.“YouknowItakesleepingpills.ItooktwoonFridaynight.YouknewItookthem.YoucouldhaveleftourroomforhoursandIwouldn’thaveknown.”
“Butthatdoesn’tmeanIdid!”Herunshishandsupanddownhisthighs.“Soyoucan’tvouchformebeingintheroomallnight.”Helooksuneasilyattheothers.“Sowhat?Noneofyoucanprovewhereyouwereallnight.Whyareyoupointingthefingeratme?”Hesays,“Ithinkweallneedtotakeastepbackhere.We’reallgettingalittleparanoid.”
Laurenglancesattheothersintheroom.TheireyesarealltrainedonIan.Sheshrinksfartherawayfromhim.“ButIwasn’twithyouintheafternooneither.”
“SonowyouthinkImighthavekilledthem?”Heshakeshisheadfuriously.“No.No.WhyonearthwouldIkillthreepeople?”Helooksaroundattheothersasifforvalidation.“You’dhavetobecrazy!”
“Maybeyouarecrazy.”BeverlyhasspokenandLaurenturnstolookatherinsurprise.“IsawthewayyoulookedatBradleywhenyoubroughthisbodyinhere.”
“What?Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout!”Ianprotests.“You’remad,”hesays,glaringatBeverly.
“I’mnottheonewho’smad!”shecries,hervoiceshrill,asIanshrinksbackintohischair,alookoffearonhisface.
Laurenwatchesitall,hereyeswide.
???
Iansizesupthesituationanddoesn’tlikeitatall.Hedoesn’tlikethewayeveryoneisstaringathim.“I’mnotakiller,”Iansays,morequietly.“LaurenandIweren’ttogetherforpartoftheafternoon.Itdoesn’tmeanImurderedthreepeopleincoldblood.Youhavenoreasontosuspectme.”
Laurenlooksathim,herfacepale,andsays,“Buthowcouldyoulietoyourparentslikethatforallthoseyears?Howcouldyoudothat?Maybeyou’renotwhoIthoughtyouwere.”Shelurchesupsuddenlyandmovestotheothersofaafewstepsaway.ShesitsdownbesideGwenandlooksbackathimwithsomethinglikefearinhereyes.
“Lauren,”hebegsher.Butsheturnsherheadaway.Shewon’tevenlookathim.
???
Gwenwatchesallofthisfeelinglikeshe’sgoingtobesick.Shewantstovomitupallherfearandgriefandguiltandgetitalloutofher.Shedoesn’tknowwhattobelieve.Shedoesn’twanttobelievethatIanmaybethekiller.Butshehastoadmitit’spossible.
Theymustsurviveuntilthepolicearrive;letthemfigureitout.ButGodonlyknowswhenthey’llgethere.She’sevenmorefrightenednow.Shenolongerfeelsthereissafetyinnumbers.ShethinksofRileyoutthereinthecold,probablydead.Shewondersifanyoneelsewilldie.
???
Matthewbroodsinthedark,staringmalevolentlyatIan.Suddenlyheleansforwardandsays,“Whyshouldwebelieveyou?”
“Believewhatyoulike,”Iangrowlsback.“Thepolicewillgethereeventually,andthey’llbelieveme.There’snoevidenceatallthatIkilledanyone.BecauseIdidn’tkillanyone.”HeturnstoLauren,“Andyou’llknowIdidn’tdoit,too.”
MatthewseesLaurenlookingatIan,asifwantingtobelievehim.
“Youliedaboutyourbrother,”Matthewsays.
Iandoesn’tanswer.
Matthewletshisvoicegrowquieter,andmoremenacing.“Maybeitstilldidn’thappenthewayyousaid.Maybeyoukilledyourbrother.Maybeyoudrownedhimonpurpose.Becausemaybeyou’reakiller.Maybeyou’rejustmadethatway!”Matthewglaresathimaccusingly.Everyoneremainsfrozen,watching.
“No.”
“Idon’tbelieveyou,”Matthewsays.“IthinkyoukilledDana.AndIhavenoideawhy.”Hestiflesasob.“I’dliketostrangleyoumyself.”
Davidstirs,asifreadytojumpin.
Matthewfindshimselfstandingnow.Davidrises,too,andstepsinfrontofhimandputsahandonhischest.Matthewistaller,andbroader,butDavid’shandisfirmagainsthim.
“Ididn’tkillher!”Ianprotests.“Ididn’tkillanyone!”
“Sitdown,Matthew,”Davidsaysfirmly.
Matthewhesitates.Andthen,grudgingly,hesits.
???
Davidslumpsbackdownintohisseat,hisheartbeatingfast.Foramoment,itlookedlikeMatthewwasgoingtoattackIan.Emotionsarerunningdangerouslyhigh.Peoplewhoarefrightenedcanbeunpredictable,anddangerous.Davidknowshemustnotlethisguarddownforevenaminute.
???
Beverlyshiversbeneathherblanketandwatchestheotherscarefully.She’sconvincedthatshesawsomethingoddcrossIan’sfacewhenhelookedatBradley’sbodyonthelobbyfloor.AndnowLaurenherselfhassaidthatshewasn’twithIantheafternoonthatCandicewaskilled.Andthatstoryabouthisbrother—thatgaveherthechillstoo.Whatkindofpersoncanlietotheirparentsaboutsomethinglikethatforyears?He’scold,that’swhatheis.MatthewobviouslybelievesIanisthekillertoo.
BeverlyasksherselfwhatIan—oranyone—hastogainfromthesemurders.Ifthere’saconnectionhere,noneofthemcanseeit.Whoeverisdoingthisismad.Andthat’swhatscaresherthemost.Becauseifsomeoneiskillingforthefunofit,becausetheywanttokill,becausetheycan’thelpit,ratherthanforarealreason,thenallbetsareoff.Youcan’tknowwhatthey’regoingtodo,wherethey’llstop.Youcan’tknowhowmuchriskthey’lltake.PerhapsIanisplanningonkillingthemall.Perhapsatsomepoint,beforefirstlight,hewillstartlaughingandslaughtertherestofthem.
Maybe,Beverlythinks,it’sfinallydawnedonthatfoolishLaurenwhatmighthappen.Shelooksscaredoutofherwits.
???
Gwenwantstoclosehereyesandsleep.Shewishesshewerehomesafelyinherownbed.Shewishesthepolicewouldcome.She’sexhaustedbyfearandgriefandguilt.Shecan’tstopthinkingofRiley,outtherealoneinthefreezingcold—andshe’stheonewho’sresponsibleforbringinghertothisterribleplace.Furtively,shewatchestheothersthroughtear-swollen,half-closedeyes.HerheartbreaksforJames,whohasjustlosthisson.Helookslikehewillneverrecover.Well,thatmakestwoofthem.ShetriestofeelsympathyforMatthew,butshedoesn’ttrusthim.Ianlooksfrightened;hedoesn’tlooklikeamurdereratall.Butperhapsthatisallforshow.
Shemustnotfallasleep.Shegivesherheadalittleshake,tryingtostayawake.
GwencatchesDavid’seyeacrossfromher,butshecannottellwhatheisthinking.DoeshethinkIanisthekiller?IfLaurenwasinthesittingroom,thentheycan’tbesurewhereIanwaswhenCandicewaskilled.Butthen,theycan’treallybesurewhereanyofthemwereatthetimeofthekillings.That’stheproblem,it’sallsoconfusingandunclear,andshe’ssotiredshecan’tthinkitthrough….
Shedriftsoffforamomentandthenwakeswithastart.Sheshiftsherposition,fightingtostayawake.Thisishersecondnightofalmostnosleep.Shewishesagainthatshehadsomethingtoprotectherselfwith.Butthetruthis,evenifshehadaknife,shedoesn’tthinkshecoulduseit.Ifthekillercameforher,orforsomeoneelse,couldsheplungeaknifeintohisneck?ShelooksatIan,staringmoodilyintothefire.CouldsheplungeaknifeintoIan’sneck?Shestudieshisneck,theAdam’sapplethatprotrudeseversoslightly.Shewatcheshimswallowinthefirelight,unawareofherscrutiny,ofwhatshe’sthinking.
Shedoesn’tthinkshewouldhavetheguts.SheshiversbeneaththethickwoolblanketthatcoversLaurenandher.ShereachesforLauren’shandbeneaththeblanketandholdsit.Laurensqueezesherhandback.
Sunday,4:05a.m.
“Weshouldkillhim,”Henrysaysintothedarkwithoutwarning,“beforehekillsus.”
Davidfeelsthesmallhairsonthebackofhisneckstirring.It’sasifeveryonehasstoppedbreathing.Hetakesadeepbreathandsays,hisvoiceoutragedbeneaththeevenness,“Don’tberidiculous,Henry—wedon’tknowthatIankilledanybody.”
Henrysaysrecklessly,“It’shimorus!”
He’sinnomoodtolistentoreason,Davidrealizes.Theyareallreachingthebreakingpoint;perhapsHenryhasjustreacheditfirst.
DavidglancesquicklyatIan;helookspetrified.
Davidgetsangrythen,attherecklessnessofit.“Wecan’tjustmurderhim.”
“Whynot?”Henrysays.“Itwouldbeself-defense!”
DavidshakeshisheadatHenry.“Youfool,”hesays,raisinghisvoice.“Itwouldbemurderincoldblood.Wedon’tknowthathekilledanyone.Lookathim,coweringinhischair.Therearesevenofus,andonlyoneofhim.Doyoureallythinkyoucankillhimandgetawaywithit?Youwanttobejudge,jury,andexecutionerallatonce?”Hecan’thelpit;theoutragehastakenover,andcomesthroughloudandclear.
Henrygrudginglysettlesbackintohischair,hisfacehiddeninshadow.
Sunday,4:59a.m.
Henry’seyesflutter.He’shavingadream,averyunpleasantdream,thatheisparalyzed,thathecan’tmove,can’tact.He’shadthisdreambefore—it’ssymbolicofcourse,butithasneverseemedsoreal.He’sheldfastinsidethisnightmare.Hecan’tmovehisarms,orlegs,notevenhisfingersortoes.Hecannotmovehistongue,whichfeelsthickinhismouth.Theonlythingthatisaliveishisbrain,hismind.
Herealizesnowthatsomethingisterriblywrong.He’dbeensleeping,butthisisn’tadream.Hetriestospeak,buthecan’topenhismouth,can’tformanywords.It’sdifficulttoswallow.Hethinkshiseyesareopen,buthecan’tmovehiseyelids,andallisdarkness.Hecan’tseeanything—it’sasifablackfilmhasfallenoverhiseyes,likethatmomentbeforeyoupassout.Heknowshe’sdyingbuthecan’ttellanyone.Hewantstoflailandthrashtogettheirattention,butheisunableto.Heknowswhereheis,eventhoughhecannolongersee.Hissenseofsmellisstillworking,andherecognizesthescentofthelogsburninginthefireplace;itremindshimofChristmasesasaboy.He’sstillinthelobbyofMitchell’sInn,andthemurdererhasgothimtoo.
THIRTY-ONE
Sunday,6:30a.m.
Outsidethehotel,wildthingsscurryandhowlintheforest.Thewindhasdroppedtoawhimper.Theskyisjustbeginningtolightenintheeast,butinside,itisstilldark,andquietasthegrave.Suddenlythechandelieroverheadflickersandturnson,floodingthelobbywithlight.Theremainingguestsstirandlookupinsurprise.Therearesoundsofwhirringandclickingasvariouspartsofthehotelcomebacktolife.Thepowerisbackon.
David,whohasn’tclosedhiseyesallnight,glancesfirstatGwen,whoappearstobeasleep,herdarklashesasmudgeagainstherpaleface.She’sbreathingpeacefully,forthemomentatleast.Laureniscurledbesideher.HeshiftshiseyesnexttoBeverly.She’slookingathim,blinkinginthesuddenbrightness.
“Theelectricity’sback,”shesayswithfeeling.“ThankGod.”
Atthesoundofhervoice,Gwenstirs,openshereyes.
Laurenstraightensupsuddenlyonthesofa.“Hallelujah,”shesays.
MatthewandIanshiftbeneaththeirblankets;Daviddoesn’tknowiftheywereeverreallyasleep,butthey’rewideawakenow.Jamesisslumpedinhischair;hiseyesareopen,andDavidcan’ttellifhe’ssleptatall.
NowBeverlygivesastartledcry,andtheyallquicklyturnherway.She’sstaringatHenry.
“Henry!”Beverlycries.Herfaceisaghast,andsheshakeshisarm.
Butthere’snomistakingthatHenryisdead.He’sperfectlystillinhischair,hisheadthrownback,hiseyesclosed,hismouthopen.Inthelightofthechandelierhisfacehasahideouspallor.
“Henry!”Beverlyshrieksagain,shakinghimharder,panicking.
DavidrisesswiftlyandgoesovertoHenry,butthere’snothingtobedone.Beverlyisnowsobbinghysterically.DavidlooksupandmeetsGwen’seyes,andseespurefear.
Jamesslowlygetsupandmakeshisstumblingwaytothereceptiondesk.DavidwatchesasJamesdialsthenumber,hishandsshaking,andrealizeshe’sholdinghisbreath.Tohisprofoundrelief,thephoneappearstobeworking.Atlast.
Jamesspeaksintothephone,hisvoicebreaking,“Weneedhelp.”
Sunday,6:45a.m.
SergeantMargaretSorensen,fortyish,stocky,blondhairgoinggray,alwaysanearlyriser,isenjoyingherSundaymorningcoffeeathomeinherfavorite,leastflatteringflannelpajamaswhenshegetsacallfromoneoftheofficersatthestation.
“Ma’am,we’vegotasituationoutatMitchell’sInn.”OfficerLachlansoundstense,whichisunusual.He’sgenerallyalaid-backsort,especiallygoodwithcommunityevents.
“Whatkindofsituation?”sheasks,puttinghercoffeecupdown.
“Wejusthadaphonecallfromtheownerthere.JamesHarwood.Hesaidatleastthreepeoplehavebeenmurdered,maybemore.”
“Isthisaprank?”sheasksindisbelief.
“Idon’tthinkso,ma’am.”
Shecantellfromhisvoicethathedoesn’tbelievethecallwasanythingbutgenuine.GoodGod,shethinks,shocked.
“Weneedtogetoutthere,ma’am.”He’sbreathingquickly,shallowlydowntheline.
“Who’veyougotthere?”
“PerezandWilcox.We’llgetthesnowmobilesready.Nootherwayoutthereatthispoint.”
“I’dbetterletthechiefknow.I’llbethereintenminutes.”Goodthingshelivessoclosetothestation;it’sjustaroundthecorner.
Sunday,7:35a.m.
SergeantSorensenpushesthesnowmobilehardovertheice-coveredsnowupthelong,windingdrivetoMitchell’sInn.Shehasgunneditasfastasshecanallthewayfromtown.
Atriplehomicide.Thingslikethisarerareuphere.Theydon’tevenhaveadetectiveatthestation.ShewillhavetodountilNewYorkStatePolicecansendsomeone.OfficerLachlanhadbriefedhermorefullywhenshearrivedatthestation,butthefactsaresketchy.Threeguestsandtheowner’ssonaredead,andanotherguestismissing.Sheisshocked.Shedoesn’tknowwhattheymightbewalkinginto.She’sfamiliarwiththehotel,andwiththefamily.YoungBradley—dead.Shecanhardlybelieveit.Heradrenalineispumpingfiercelyastheyapproachthefinalcurveinthelongdrive.
Shecutstheengineoutsidethehotelonthebrittle,glitteringlawn.Shereachesforhergunandgesturestotheotherofficersparkingtheirsnowmobilestodothesame.Theyapproachthefrontentrancecautiously,theirheavybootsslidingontheice.It’ssocoldshecanseeherbreath.
Sorensennoticesasmearofbloodontheicenearthefrontporch,andsilentlypointsitout.Shecreepsupthesideoftheporchstepsandlooksinthewindow.Finally,shepullsopenthefrontdoor,herweaponready.Itopenseasily.Shestepsinsidethelobbyandhereyesautomaticallyturntowardthegrouparoundthefireplace.Sheseespalefacespeeringoutfromblankets,staringbackather.Shethinks,Iwillalwaysrememberthismoment.
Shehearsthethreeofficerscominginbehindher.Shetakesineverythingwithherquickeyes.Thepeoplesittingaroundthefirelookhaggardanddisheveled,asiftheyhaven’tslept.Asifthey’vesurvivedsomekindofsiege.SherecognizesJames,blindsidedbythelossofhisonlyson.Shefeelsastabofpityforhim.Shecountseightsurvivorssittingaroundthefire.No,makethatseven.Oncloserinspection,oneofthechairsisholdingacorpse.
Sheapproachesthesmallgathering,holsteringherweapon.“I’mSergeantSorensen,andtheseare”—sheindicateseachwithanodofherhead—“OfficersLachlan,Perez,andWilcox.We’reherenow,andwe’regoingtohelpyou.”Shetriestosoundauthoritativeandreassuringatthesametime.Sorensenstepsforwardtolookmorecloselyatthedeadman.Shecan’ttellfromlookingathimwhetherhewasmurderedordiedofnaturalcauses.
Shetakesinthepallidfaceslookingupatherandwishesferventlythatthemedicalexaminerandtheforensicsteamwereherewithher.Shehasnoideahowlongitwillbeuntiltheroadsarepassable.She’sonherownhere.
“Fornow,I’mafraideverybodyhastostayput,”shetellsthem.“There’snowaytogetyouallsafelyintotown.We’regoingtotakealookaround,thenIwillhavequestionsforallofyou.Whentheroadsareclear,youwillbetakenintotowntothestationtogiveofficialstatements.Inthemeantime,Ineedallofyoutohelpmeasmuchasyoucan.”
Shegetsafewwearynodsinresponse.“BeforeIlookaround,Ineedsomeonetoputmeinthepicturehere.Justaquickoverviewfornow.”Hereyeslightonamaninhislatethirtieswithanintelligentlookabouthim.“What’syourname?”sheasksinafriendlyway.
“DavidPaley.”
Shepullsupachairandsitsdownbesidehim.“Maybeyoucouldtellmewhoeverybodyis,andthentellmewhathappened.”
Shelistensgrimlyashegivesherthestory.Whenhe’sfinished,shesaystothemall,“We’lllookforRiley,justassoonaswecan.”
???
Afterthat,SergeantSorenseninstructsPerezandWilcoxtoremaininthelobbytoensurethesafetyofthesurvivors.ShekeepsLachlanwithher,totakenotes,andasasecondpairofeyesandears.Shedoesaquickwalkthroughthehotelanditsenvirons,withLachlanbyherside.
Theystartinthelobby.Shepullsapairoflatexglovesoutofherpocketandputsthemon,thenwalksovertothebottomofthestaircase,feelingtheeyesofthesurvivorsonherback.Shesquatsdown,notesthebloodontheedgeofthestair.Shelooksuptothetopofthestaircase,andbackdownagain.
ShemotionsLachlantofollowher.Sheclimbsthestaircase,hardlymakingasound.Howquietthestairsare,shethinks.Allshecanhearisthesqueakofherboots.Shecontinuestothethirdfloor,Lachlanbehindher.Theyarriveattheroomtotheleftofthestairsacrossthehall,number306.TakingthekeythatJameshadhandedher,sheopensthedoorcarefullywithherglovedhands.Sheflicksontheoverheadlight.Insidesheseesthebodyofthesecondvictim,slumpedonthefloor,herscarfstillwoundtightlyaroundherthroat.SheandLachlantakeacloselook,carefulnottodisturbher.
Nexttheyvisitroom302,theroomthathadnotbeenmadeup.Shetakesinthemessybed,theunwipedsink.SheglanceswordlesslyatLachlan,whopurseshislips.Forensicswillgooverthisroomwithafine-toothcomb,whentheygethere.
Thetwoofthemmaketheirwaybackdownthestairsandoutthroughthewoodshedandthebittercoldanddownthepathtotheicehouse.Whentheystepinside,thefirstthingsheseesisBradley’sbodylyingnearthebackwall,theonlycolorintheglittering,translucentinterior.Shestops,takesadeepbreath.Sheknewwhatshewasgoingtofind,butstill,it’shardtoseeBradleystiffonthesnowfloor,dead.Shetakesacloserlook.Suchafine-lookingboy.Suchanawfulblowtothehead.
Besidehim,anotherbodyhasbeenplacedontheflooragainstthewall.It’swrappedtightlyinawhitesheet.“Mightaswellunwrapher,”shesays.Lachlanputsonapairofglovesandcarefullypullsthesheetpartlyaway.Theylookdownatthewoman’sfrozenface,distortedbydeath.Shecanseethatshewasbeautiful.She’sdressedinanegligeeandanavysatinrobe.Seeingherthere,dead,lyinginanicehousesoscantilyclad,Sorensenshiversinvoluntarily.
“Christ.Whatahorrorshow,”shesays,withfeeling.
Sheleansdownandstudiestheheadwound.
Eventuallyshestandsup.“IwanttoseewhereBradleywaskilled.”
Theyheadbackinsideandthengooutagainthroughthefrontdoor.Outside,theyfollowthesmearsofblood.ThespotwhereBradleywaskilledisaboutthirtyyardsfromthehotel.There’sanimpressionintheicysnow,andadarkredpatchofbloodwhereBradleyfell.Sheseesthebootscraperintheiceacoupleoffeetaway.Shegivesitasthoroughalookasshecanwithherbareeyes,andthenturnsaway,sickatheart.ShelooksbackatthehotelandsaystoLachlan,“Whatthehellhappenedhere?”
Lachlanshakeshishead.
Backinthelobbyagain,SorensenpullsPerezandWilcoxasideandexplainsthesituation.“Thetwoofyouneedtosearchthishotelthoroughly,fromtoptobottom.Checkallthenooksandcrannies,theclosets,thecellars,theattic,ifthereisone.TakeJameswithyou,ifhe’suptoit.Treathimgently;he’sjustlosthisson.Checkoutside,too,andallthedoorsandwindows,everyoutbuilding.Weneedtobeabsolutelysurethereisnooneelsehere.Andthatnooneelsewashere.”
“Willdo,”Perezsays.
“Meanwhile,LachlanandIwillsearchtheareainfrontofthehotelforRiley.”Sheaddsgrimly,“Shecan’thavegotfar.”
???
Outside,sheandLachlanstandatoppositesidesofthebroadlawnwherethescrubbeginsandstarttheirsweep,workingtowardoneanotherandoutagainastheyproceed.Whentheyreachtheedgeofthewoods,theymustmovemorecarefully,lookingforsignsthatsomeonehaspassedthisway.Sorensenremembersothersearchesinwoodslikethese,lookingforlosthunters,sometimesforlostchildren.Occasionallysearchesendhappily;she’sundernoillusionsaboutthisone.Awomanalone,notdressedfortheelements—itwouldn’thavebeenlongbeforehypothermiasetin.Unlesssheknewsomethingabouthowtosurvivealoneinthewinterwoods,andSorensendoubtsthat.Tomakemattersworse,Rileywasinapanic,notthinkingclearly.Andthefirstruleofsurvivalistonotpanic.
Thebranchessnapbeneathherboots,andthecold,sharpairmakesherchestfeeltight.Shescanstheforest,alwaysawareofLachlan’scarefullymovingpresencetoherleft.Sheusuallyloveswalkinginthewoods,butnottoday.Alongwiththeurgencyshealwaysfeelswithagroundsearch—thesimultaneoushopeandfear—sheknowsthattheremightbeakillerheresomewhere.
Whenthey’vebeenatitforawhileandSorensenisreallystartingtofeelthecold,theyenteralittleclearingwherethesnowisdeeper.Sheliftshereyesacrosstheclearingforsignsofhumantrespass,noticingnothing,butthenLachlancalls,“Overhere.”
Justfromthetoneofhisvoice,sheknows.
Nevertheless,shehastensovertohimasfastasshecan,clumsyinthedeepsnow.Lachlanisstandingoversomethingdarkeragainstthewhite,ashapehuddledupagainstalargeboulder.Asshecomescloser,sheseesthatit’sawoman,approximatelythirty,faceaneeriewhite,lipsblue,eyesopenbutcrustedinice.She’sdressedinjeansandagraysweater.Runningshoes.Nocoat,nohat.She’scrouchedupagainsttheboulder,stiffasaboard,herkneestoherchestandherarmsaroundthem,asifhiding,orwaitingforsomethinginevitable.Herhandsaretuckedintohersleeves.ItalmostbreaksSorensen’sheart,butshe’scarefulnottoshowit.Instead,shebendsforwardtoexaminehermoreclosely.Therearenovisiblesignsofviolence.Shepullsbackagain.
“Shit,”Lachlanmutters.
Crowsgatherandflyoverhead,darkagainstthepalesky,andSorensenwatchesthemforamoment.
“Nosignsoftrauma,”Sorensensaysfinally,glancingatLachlan.
“Butwhowassherunningfrom,”Lachlansays,shakinghishead,“outherewithoutacoat?”
“Idon’tthinksheevenknew.”
THIRTY-TWO
Sunday,10:05a.m.
SorensenandLachlanreturntothehotelanddeliverthebadnews.Sorensendoesn’tthinkanyoneexpectedRileytostillbealive,butitisdifficultnonetheless.Predictably,herfriendGwentakesitthehardest.Shesobsloudlyandbeginstorock,wailinguncontrollably.SorensensitsbesideGwen,ahandonhershoulderuntilshecalmsdown.
Finally,sheandLachlanleavethegroupandgototheprivacyofthediningroom,wherePerezandWilcoxsoonreportthattheyarecertainthereisnooneelseinthehotelotherthanthepeopletheyknowabout.Therearenosignsofanyonehavingleft.Theytellheraboutthebrokenwindowandthebranch,buttheyfeelthebranchlikelybrokethewindowonitsown.Whichmeans,Sorensenrealizes,thatitishighlylikelythatoneofthepeoplehereisamurderer.Fornow,eachoneofthemisasuspect.“I’dbettercautionallofthem,”shesaystoLachlan.“Tobesafe.”
Sorensen’sfirstinterviewiswiththehotelowner,JamesHarwood.Shecallshimintothediningroom,whereshehassetupaninterviewtable.Someofthewarmthfromthekitchenfiltersthrough.It’stakingawhilefortheheatingtocomebackup.Theshuttershavebeenopenedsothattheroomisfilledwithdaylight.Inthenaturallight,Jameslooksterrible.ShewondershowhewillbeabletogoonwithoutBradley.Hesitsdowninfrontofher.Besideher,Lachlanhashisnotebookout.SheadvisesJamesofhisrights,andheindicatesthatheiswillingtoproceed.
Shebeginsgently.“James,I’msosorryaboutBradley.”
Henods,hislipsfirmlytogetherinadeepfrown,fightingbacktears.Sheknowshe’snostrangertomisfortune.Hiswifediedofcancersomeyearsback,andhe’sraisedBradleytheselastfewyearsonhisown.He’shadhisstruggleswithBradley.
Sheleansforwardalittleandsays,“Thismightbedifficulttotalkabout,James,butyouknowI’veknownyouandBradleyforalongtime.”Helooksupatherwithred-rimmedeyes.“YouknowIlikedBradley.”
Henods.“You’vebeengoodtous,”hesays,hisvoiceabrokenwhisper.
“Sodon’ttakethisthewrongway.”
Hehuncheshisshoulderswarily,asifheknowswhat’scoming.Ofcourseheknowswhat’scoming.She’scertainhe’shadthesesamequestionshimself,especiallysinceBradleywaskilled.
“IsthereanywayBradleycouldhavebeeninvolvedwiththis—thissituation?”Shelooksathimintently,withcompassion.
Helooksbackathertearfully.Hetakeshistimeanswering.“Bradleywasalotofthings,buthewouldneverbeinvolvedinsomethinglikethis,”Jamessays,hislipstrembling.“Hehadhisproblems.Youknowthat.Youknowwhathewaslike.Hewasimpulsive,helikedexcitement—hethoughthewasinvincible.Drivingtoofast,runningwiththewrongcrowd.Thedrugs.”Hesighsheavily.“Helikedmoney,andwhatitcouldbuy.Hedidn’twanttohavetoworktoohardforit.Andhedidn’talwaysknowwhenhewascrossingtheline.Buthewasagoodkid.”Hiseyesfloodwithtears.“Hewouldn’tdoanythingreallybad,”Jamessays.
“James,Idon’tmeantosuggestthatBradleycouldhavehadahandinthesekillings,”shesays.“Butperhapshestuckhisnosein,perhapsheknewsomething,somethingthatgothimkilled.”
“I’vewonderedthat,”Jamessaysatlast,exhalingheavily.“HehadthislookthatIrecognized,thelookhehadthattimehegotcaughtdealingdrugs.Remember?Hewasalwayssococky,butheknewwhenhewasinoverhishead.That’sthewayhelookedafterwefoundCandice’sbody.”Heshakeshishead.“AndIthoughthelookedtired,likehehadn’tsleptthatnight,thenightDanawentdownthestairs.”Helooksupather.“Whatifhesawsomething?Whatifhesawwhodidit?”
“Didyouaskhimaboutit?”Sorensenasks.Jamesnods,tearsrunningfreelydownhisfacenow.Hewipesthemaway.“Whatdidhesay?”
“Hesaidhewasjustfreakedoutaboutthemurders,likeeverybodyelse.”Helooksdown.“Ididn’tpushit.”
Sheputsherhandonhisshoulder.“James,Idoubttherewasanythingyoucouldhavedonetomakethingsturnoutdifferently.”
Hesniffsloudly.“MaybeifI’dtriedhardertotalktohim.Ishouldhave.Andnowhe’sdead!”
Sheletshimcry,herhandrestingonhisshoulder.Finally,hewipeshiseyesandblowshisnose.Helooksupatherandsays,“Room302,withtheunmadebed.”
“Yes?”
“There’snowaythatroomwasmissed,”hesays.“There’snowayitwasn’tmadeupproperlyafterthelastguestleft.Thathasneverhappenedbefore.AndonceyoucantalktoSusan,thehousekeeper,Ithinkyouwillfindthatshesaysthesamething.”
“Sowhatdoyouthink?”
“Idon’tthinkthere’sanyoneinthehotelwedon’tknowabout.Ineverdid.Iknowthishotellikethebackofmyhand.Iftherewassomeoneelsehere,IthinkI’dsenseitsomehow.OrBradleycertainlywouldhave.Andhewascertaintherewasnooneelsehere.Maybeheknewwhothekillerwas.”Hechokesbackasob.“Ithinkthatoneoftheguestsisthekiller,andwhoeveritisgotintothatroomandmessedituptomakeusthinktherewassomeoneelseinthehotel.Bradleythoughtsotoo.Hetoldme.”Helooksatherharshly.“Oneofthemkilledmyboy.”
She’salreadycometothatconclusionherself.
“Thankyou,James.”Shelooksathimsympatheticallyasshestandsup.“We’llfindoutwhodidthis.”
ShedismissesJamesandcallsinDavidPaleynext.
“Sergeant,”DavidPaleysayscourteouslytoher,ashetakestheseatacrossfromherandOfficerLachlan.
“CanIgetyouanything?Water?”sheasks.
Davidshakeshishead.“I’mfine.”
She’sprettycertainheisthesameDavidPaleywhowaschargedandreleasedafewyearsbackinthemurderofhiswife.Sheremembersthecase;itremainsunsolved.She’snotgoingtoaskhim—yet.
Shehasalreadyhadhisbriefaccountofwhathappened.Now,aftercautioninghim,sheleadshimthroughallofitagain,eachpainfulstep,eachawfuldetail.
“HadyouevermetDanaHartorCandiceWhitebeforethisweekend?”
“No,never.”
“Everheardofthem?”
Heshakeshishead.“No.”
“Evermetanyoneelsewhowasherethisweekend?”
“No.”
Finallyshetiltsherheadathimandasks,“Whatdoyoudoforaliving?”
“I’manattorney.”
So,itishim.“Whodoyouthinkcommittedthemurdersinthishotel?”
Hehesitates,andthensays,“Idon’tknow.”
Sheremainssilent,waitingforhimtocontinue.
“Theothers—BeverlyandHenryandMatthew,especiallyHenry—seemedconvincedlastnightthatitwasIan.Theywerelookingathimasiftheythoughthewasgoingtomurderusall.”Herubshiseyestiredlybeforegoingon.“Perhapsitwasreliefatfinallyhavingsomeonetoblame.Theydesperatelyneededtoknowwhoitwasandtheythoughttheydid.”Helooksupather.“Inmyexperience,thehumanminddoesn’tliketodealwithuncertainty.”
Hetellsher,then,whathehadn’ttoldherbefore,thewaytheyturnedonIan.
“Jesus,”shesays,imaginingit.
“Theycalmeddown.I’llneverforgethowrelievedIanlooked.”
“Youmayhavesavedhislife.”
“Idon’tthinkitwouldhaveactuallycometothat.”Heshrugsandlooksupathercynically.“Butthat’sme,protectoranddefenderoftheaccused,nomatterhowheinousthecrime.”
???
Next,SergeantSorenseninvitesBeverlySullivanintothediningroom.OfficerLachlan,whohasanexcellentbedsidemanner,sympatheticallyoffersthebereavedwomanaglassofwater.Sheacceptsit,takesasip.
“Mrs.Sullivan,”shebegins,havingadvisedherofherrights.“MayIcallyouBeverly?”Beverlynods.“I’msosorryaboutyourhusband.”
“Thankyou,”shesaysquietly,tearspoolinginhereyes.Lachlandelicatelypushesaboxoftissuestowardher.He’dfoundtheminthekitchen.
“Wedon’tknowthecauseofdeathyet.Itlookslikehediedofnaturalcauses,buttherewillhavetobeapostmortem.”Beverlynods,wipingfiercelyathereyeswithatissue.“Iknowthismustbeverydifficult,”Sorensensays,“butI’msureyouunderstandthatImustspeaktoeveryonewhowasherethisweekend,totrytodetermineexactlywhathappened—andwhy.”
Beverlynodsagain,blowshernose.“Ofcourse.”
SheasksBeverlytogiveheraccountofwhathappenedoverthecourseoftheweekend.WhenshegetstothepartaboutbringingBradley’sbodyintothelobby,Beverlyleansforwardslightlyandsays,“Somethingoddhappenedthen.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Sorensenasks.Sheknowswhat’scoming—shehasalreadyheardaboutthisfromDavid.
Beverlylooksatherforamoment,andthenexplains.“ItwasIan.HewaslookingatBradley—”Shehesitates,asifunsurehowtodescribeit.
“Howwashelookingathim?”
“Hehadthislookonhisface,butonlyforamoment.Itwasthere,andthenitwasgone.Butitgavemethecreeps.Ididn’ttrusthimafterthat.IwhisperedtomyhusbandthatIthoughtIanwasthekiller.RightafterI’dseenthatlookonhisface.”Shesitsbackagaininherchair.“Henryhadn’tseenit.Then,whenLaurentoldthetruth—thatshe’dbeenshieldinghim,thathehadn’tbeenwithherallafternoon—”
“Goon,”shesays,whenBeverlystops
“WhenLaurensaidshe’dbeencoveringupforhim,itallbegantomakesense.Hedeniedit,ofcourse.Hewasdesperatethatwebelievehim.Thesituationwas—indescribable.”
“Andwhatdidyouthink?”
“IknowwhatIsaw.IthinkIanisthekiller,althoughhewasdoingaconvincingjobofdenyingit.Buthe’sprobablyagoodactor.”Sheleansforwardintentlyandsays,“Allthoseyearsheliedtohisparentsabouthislittlebrother.Whocoulddothat?Hemustbeapsychopath.”Shestops,takesadeepbreath.“I’venevermetapsychopathbefore.Iwasterrifiedofhimthen.Weallwere.”
???
SorenseninterviewsGwennext.Sheisobviouslydeeplytraumatizedbywhat’shappened,andverydistraughtoverthedeathofherfriend.
WhenGwenhasgivenheraccountofwhathappened,sheasks,“SoRileywasn’tmurdered?Shediedofexposure?”
Sorensensays,“Wewon’tknowforsuretilltheteamgetshere,butthat’swhatitlookslike.”
“Soshedidn’thavetodieatall,”Gwenwhispers.
Sorensencomfortsherasbestshecan.
WhenshefinallysendsGwenbackouttothelobby,Sorensenfeelsslightlyoverwhelmedforamomentbythesituationshefindsherselfin,butshethruststhefeelingasideandrefocusesonthejobinfrontofher.
???
WhenSorensencallsinMatthewHutchinsonforquestioning,shewatcheshimgetupstifflyfromhischairandmakehiswaytothediningroom.
Normallytheywouldseparatewitnessesintodifferentrooms,butit’seasiertohavethemstickaroundthefire.Shereliesonthevigilanceofherofficers,PerezandWilcox,tomakesuretheydon’ttalkamongthemselves.
Afteradvisinghimofhisrights,SorensentakeshertimegoingthroughwhathappenedovertheweekendwithMatthew.Shecantellhowupsetheis.Hisfiancéeisdead.Butheanswersallofherquestionswillingly.Hehasnothingtosaythatcontradictswhattheothershavetoldher.
Sheasks,“Youhadnoreasontokillyourfiancée?”
“What?”Helookswarynow.Afraid.
“Beverlysayssheheardyouarguingearlierthatnight.Tellmeaboutthat.”
Hedropshishead,buthedoesn’tdenyit.Shethoughthemight.It’sonlyBeverly’swordagainsthis.
“Yes,wedidarguethatnight,butitwasnothingserious.Justabitoftension,weddingjitters,youknow?Shewasfindingitstressful.”
“Shewasfindingwhatstressful,exactly?”
“Theweddingpreparations.Dealingwithmyfamily.Theycanbeabit…difficult.Intimidating.”
“Yourfamilywasn’thappyaboutthewedding?”
“Iwouldn’tsaythat,exactly.”Helooksaway.“Mymotherwasn’tonehundredpercentonboard,butIlovedDana.AndsheknewIwasgoingtomarryher.”
“Okay.”
“Ididn’tkillher,oranybodyelse,”hesaystruculently.
“Butyoucouldhave.”
“What?”
“Youcouldhavecommittedallofthemurders.Thereisnoonewhocansweartobeingwithyouwhenanyofthevictimswerekilled.”
“WhythehellwouldIdothat?”
“Idon’tknow.Youtellme.”
Hestaresatherindismay.
“Whywouldyourfiancéehaveleftyourroominthemiddleofthenight?”
“I—Idon’tknow.”
“Youadmityouhadanargument.Youdidn’tgoafterher,andperhaps—inamomentofanger—pushherdownthestairs?Andthen—inforapennyinforapound—whenyousawthatshewasn’tdead,youdidn’tgrityourteethandsmashherheadagainstthebottomstep?”Sheknowsshe’sbeingratherharsh.Shewantstoseehowhe’llreact.
“God—no!”Helooksappalled.“Ididn’tkillher!”
“Andthen,perhapssomeonehereknew.Maybesomeonefoundout.MaybeCandiceknewwhatyou’ddone,orsuspectedit,atleast.OrmaybeBradleysawsomething.Didoneofthemtrytoblackmailyou?Weretheybothtryingtoblackmailyou?”
“No!That’soutrageous!”hemanagestosputter.
“Isit?”
“Ofcourseitis!Ididn’tkillmyfiancée!Ilovedher.”
Shegiveshimalong,thoughtfullook.
Helooksbackather,uneasy.
“Candicewaswritingabook.Wasthatbookaboutyou?OraboutDana,perhaps?Somethingthatwouldbedamaging?”
“No.I’dneverheardofher.Wedidn’tknowanythingaboutabook.AndDanaandIhavenothingtohide.Whywouldanyonewriteabookaboutus?”
Shewaits,letshimsquirm.“Okay.That’sallfornow.”Shegetsupandopenstheglassdining-roomdoors.“Youmaygobacktothelobby.”
THIRTY-THREE
Sunday,12:45p.m.
SergeantSorensenreturnsMatthewtothelobbyandasksforLauren.
ShewatchesLaurenriseandwalkpastherintothediningroom.Laurentakesherseatatthetable.Sorensensitsdownacrossfromher,cautionsher,andtheybegin.
Sorensengivesherasmallsmile.“Youokay?”sheasks.
Laurennods.“Iguessso,considering.”SheacceptsaglassofwaterfromOfficerLachlanandtakesasip.Sheadds,“Itwillprobablyallhitmelater.”
Sorensennods.“Shock.”
Laurennodsback.Sheseemstense.Theyhaveallbeentense.
“YoudiscoveredDana?”
“Yes.IwentdownearlytoseeifIcouldfindsomecoffee.Ididn’tevenknowifanyonewouldbeupyet.”
Shesays,“Goon.”
“WhenIgottothelanding,IsawDanalyingatthebottom.”SheglancesatLachlan,asifembarrassed.“I’mafraidIscreamed.Icouldtellshewasdead.Shewasso—still.Irandowntoherand—thentheotherscame.”
“Didyoutouchheratall?”
“Yes,Idid.Ifeltforapulse.”Shehesitatesbeforegoingon.“Thentheothersarrived.Wewereallveryupset.Youdon’texpectsomethinglikethattohappen.Wethoughtshe’dfallendownthestairs.AndthenDavid—later,Davidsaidhethoughtitwasn’tanaccident.”
“Whendidhesaythat?”
“Itwasafterlunch.Hesaidthatshehadtostaywhereshewasuntilthepolicecame.Thatitmightbeacrimescene.”Laurenlooksupather.“Idon’tthinkanyonebelievedhimatfirst—wethoughtitwasanaccident,thathewasoverreacting.UntilCandicewaskilled.”
Sorensenhashergothroughtherestoftheday,thediscoveryofCandice’sbody,whathappenedthatnight.WhenLaurenisfinished,Sorensensays,“Someoftheothersthinkthatitmighthavebeenyourboyfriend,Ian,whowascommittingthemurders.”
“Idon’tknow,”Laurensaystightly,lookingdownatthetable.
“Doyouthinkit’spossible?”
Shehesitatesbeforesheanswers.“It’spossible.”Laurenlooksupather,clearlyuncomfortable.“Ispentsometimeintheafternooninthesittingroomonthethirdfloor,reading.Iwasn’twithhim.Isuppose—Isupposehecouldhavedoneit.”Shelooksbackdownatthetable.
“Whataboutyou,yourself?”Sorensenasks.
“Pardon?”
“YoucouldhavekilledCandiceyourself.Youdon’thaveanalibieither.Youwerealoneinthesittingroom.Forthatmatter,youcouldhavekilledDana,andlater,youcouldhavekilledBradley.”
“Oh.Well.IcanassureyouthatIdidn’t.WhatpossiblereasoncouldIhavehad?”
“Idon’tknow.HadyouevermetDanaHartorCandiceWhitebefore?”
Laurenanswersfirmly,“No,ofcoursenot.”WhenSorensensaysnothing,Laurenleansforwardearnestly.“Youhavenoideawhatitwaslike,beingtrappedherewithallthisgoingon.Lastnight,wheneveryoneranoffintothedark—DavidrunningafterMatthew,therestofusrunningoutsideafterRiley…”Sheshakesherhead,asifindisbeliefthatiteverhappened.“Itwassodark,youcouldn’ttellwhereanybodywas.ButthenIheardGwen—shemusthavebeennearby,Icouldhearherbreathing,slidingontheice.Shesoundedlikeshewaspanicking,asifshethoughtsomeonewasafterher.”Laurenpauses,asifrelivingthememoryofthoseawfulmomentswheneverythingwasfallingapart.Shewhispers,“Iheardhercallingmyname.ButIdidn’tanswer.Ithoughtmaybe,ifthekillerwasthere,hewouldfollowher,insteadofme.SoIkeptveryquiet.”Asobescapesfromherthroat.Andthensheiscryinginearnest.
Sorensengiveshertimetorecover.She’spatient.Sheofferstheboxoftissues.OfficerLachlanwaits,hispenpoisedabovehisnotebook.
Finally,Laurensays,“I’mnotproudofthat.”Shelooksupather.“ButIcertainlydidn’tkillanybody.”Shereachesforadrinkofwater.
SorensennotesthatLauren’shandisshakingasshebringstheglasstoherlips.“Takeyourtime,”shesays.
Laurencontinues.“I’vebeentryingtothinkofsignsthatImighthavemissed,signsthatIanmightbeinsane,buthonestly—thereweren’tany.”ShestaresacrossthetableatSorensenwithdark,disbelievingeyes.“Heseemedcompletelynormaltome.Hecharmedeveryone.Hewasso—likeable.Peoplewarmedtohim,justlikeIdid.It’ssounnerving,tothinkthatyoumightbesowrongaboutsomeone,so…takenin.Icertainlyneversawanycrueltyinhim.Ithought—IthoughtthathewassomeoneIcouldbecomeseriousabout.”
“Truepsychopathscanbeveryconvincing,”Sorensensays.
Laurenlooksbackather,herfacebleak.“Idon’tthinkyouhaveanyideahowfrighteningitwas,sittinginthatroomallnightknowingtherewasamurderersomewherenearby,waitingtoseewhatwasgoingtohappennext.”
“Ican’timagine,”Sorensensays.
AsLaurenisleaving,OfficerPereztapsatthedining-roomdoor.Sorensenturnsandasks,“Whatisit?”
Perezenterstheroomandspeakstoherinalowvoice.“I’vejustrememberedsomething.Itmightbeimportant.”Shenods.“YouwantedtoknowifIorWilcoxhadeverheardoftheauthorCandiceWhite.IthoughtthenamesoundedfamiliarbutIcouldn’tplaceit.Ithoughtmaybeitwassomeonemywiferead.Shereadsalotofbooks.”
Sorensennodsherheadagainimpatiently.“Yes?”
“ButactuallyI’vereadoneofherbooks.ShewroteatruecrimebookafewyearsagothatIquiteenjoyed.That’sprettymuchallIread.”
“Isthatso?”Sorensensays.“Whatwasitcalled?”
“Idon’trememberexactly,butitwasaboutthatschoolprincipalwhomurderedoneofhisstudents.”
PerezleavesthediningroomandSorensenglancesatLachlan,whoispursinghislipsatthisnewinformation.
Sherubsherhandstogetherandwalkstothedining-roomwindowstolookoutattheforest.Shethinksaboutwhatmightbehidinginthatdarkwood—bears,wolves—thingsthatkill.Shethinksaboutthehumankillershehasinthisveryhotel.
Shehearssomeoneenterthediningroom.SheturnsawayfromthewindowandseesJamescarryingatraywithcoffeeandsandwiches.ThesightofJamesdoingwhatBradleywouldnormallydoalmostbreaksherheart.Itmustbelunchtimealready.Shewantstosaythankyou,butdoesn’ttrusthervoice.Heplacesthetrayonthesidebuffettable,nods,andleavestheroom.
Shewalksoverandpoursacupofsteamingcoffee.Thenshetakesasandwichandhercup,goesbacktothewindow,andlooksoutthoughtfullyattheforest.
???
Davidhasreturnedtothediningroom,summonedagainbySergeantSorensen.Hewonderswearilywhatshewantswithhim.He’stoldhereverythingheknows.Whathewantsrightnowissleep.
“Mr.Paley,”Sorensensaysafteralongpause.
Hervoicehaschanged.It’snotquiteasfriendlyasbeforeandhisbodytightensautomatically,asifexpectingablow.
“Iknowwhoyouare.”
Theblowisdelivered,exactlytheonehewasexpecting.“I’vetoldyouwhoIam,”heanswerscoldly.
Shenods.“Yougavemeyourname,yes.Youdidn’ttellmeeverything,didyou?”
“WhywouldI,whenit’snotrelevant?”
“Perhapsitisrelevant,”shesays.
“Idon’tseehow.”
“CandiceWhitewaswritingabook.”
“Yes,”Davidadmits.“That’swhatshesaid.”
“Doyouknowwhatitwasabout?”
“Ihavenoidea,”hesays,feelinguneasy.“Shedidn’tsay.”Headds,“Noneofushadeverheardofher.”Hefeelshisheartsink.Hereitcomes,hethinks.
“Youarestillundersuspicionforthemurderofyourwife,areyounot?”
“No.”
“That’snotexactlytrue,isit?”sheprods.
Helooksatherangrily.“Idon’tknowwhatyouexpectmetosay.Iwasarrestedandthechargesweredropped,asI’msureyouknow.Therewasinsufficientevidencetoproceed.AsfarasI’mconcerned,that’stheendofit.Idon’tconsidermyselfunderinvestigationanylonger.”
“Oh,butyouare,ofcourse.Theseinvestigationsdon’tjuststop,dothey?Justbecausetheydon’thaveenoughtonailyounow,doesn’tmeantheywon’thaveenoughtonailyoudowntheroad.”Shepauses.“Agoodpoliceofficernevergivesup.Youmustknowthat.Theyjustgoaboutitmorequietly.”
“What’syourpoint?”heasksangrily
“I’mjustwonderingifyoumighthavebeeninmortalfearofsomeonewritingabookaboutyou—andwhatCandicemighthavehadtosayaboutthemurderofyourwife.”
“That’sridiculous.Itoldyou—I’dneverheardofher.Shewasn’twritingabookaboutme.”Hisheadfeelslight,andhisheartisbeatingfartooquickly.Heknowshedidn’tmurderCandice.Oranyoneelse.She’sbarkingupthewrongtree.
“Ihopenot.”Sheadds,“Butit’sbeenbroughttomyattentionthatCandiceWhiteisknownforwritingtruecrimebooks.”
Davidfeelshimselfgopale.
“Inanycase,it’sjustamatteroftimeuntilwegetintoherlaptop,andthenwewillsee,”shesays.“That’sallfornow.Youmaygo.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Sunday,1:45p.m.
SergeantSorensensitsbackheavily.Shedoesn’tknowhowmuchlongeritwillbeuntilthecrimeteamgetshere.Shelooksimpatientlyatherwatch.Afterspendinghoursinchillyrooms,drinkingendlesshotcoffee,she’sstartingtoappreciatewhatitmusthavebeenliketobetrappedinthisgodforsakenhotelfortheweekendwithnopower.Shecan’tevenimaginetherestofit.
Buttheevidenceisthere.Atleastthreepeoplehavebeenmurdered.Anotherhasprobablydiedfromexposure,havingfledthehotelinterror.Andafifthhasdiedundersuspiciouscircumstances.Thesurvivorsareclearlytraumatized.
ShecallsinIanBeeton,theonethey’reafraidof,theonesomeofthemseemtothinkmightbethekiller.Ianappearspaleandapprehensiveasheentersthediningroom.Heregardsherwarily.Shewonderswhathethinksisworse—beingaccusedbytheothersinthemiddleofthenightwhentheirfearandparanoiawereattheirgreatest,orbeingquestionedbythepoliceinthecoldlightofday.
Hemustbeunderthemostterrificstrain,shethinks.Shesays,“Pleasehaveaseat.”
Hesitsdownandlooksatherasifhe’sexpectingtobearrested.Shewondersifhewillbethefirstonetorefusetotalktoheraftershecautionshim
Buthenodsassentandglancesnervouslytowardthelobbywheretheothersaregathered;theglassdoorsareclosed.Haltingly,guidedbyherquestions,hegiveshisownaccountoftheweekend.HedenieseverhavingmetorheardofDanaHartorCandiceWhite.Hetellsherhe’sasshockedbythemurdersaseveryoneelse.
“Theothersthinkyoudidit,”shesays.
“They’recrazy.Ididn’tkillanyone,”hesaysdefensively.“Itcouldhavebeenanyofthem.”
“Whodoyouthinkdidit?”
He’ssilentforamoment,andthensays,“Idon’tknow.”
Sheraiseshereyebrowsdeliberately.“Noideaatall?”
“I’mnotadetective,”hesaysstubbornly.“Butwhoeverdiditmustbecrazy.Thiswholesituationiscrazy.”Helickshislipsnervously.“Honestly,lastnightIwasscaredformylife.Ifitwasn’tforDavid—ifithadn’tbeenforhim,theymighthavemurderedme.ThatassholeHenrysuggestedit.Davidmanagedtocalmhimdown.”
Shelooksbackathimimpassively.“AndnowHenryisdeadtoo.”
Helooksup.“Ihadnothingtodowiththateither,Iswear!”
“Wedon’tknowhowhediedyet,”shetellshim.“Therewillbeanautopsy,ofcourse.That’sallfornow.Youmaygobacktothelobby.”
Sunday,3:30p.m.
SergeantSorensenandOfficerLachlanmovetothefirst-floorsittingroom,whereJameshasmadethemafire.It’smorecomfortablethanthediningroom.Theothersremaininthelobby,underthewatchfuleyesofWilcoxandPerez.Perezreportsthatthey’vebeenfed,butaregettingrestless.Sorensenknowsthereisn’tmuchshecandoaboutthat.She’sfeelingimpatienttoo—thepolicechief,themedicalexaminer,theforensicsteam—andthedetectives—willgetherewhentheroadsarenavigable,andnotbefore.
Shehaslookedatthephysicalevidenceasbestshecanherself;untiltheforensiccrewarrives,thereisnotmuchmoreshecandoonthatfront.Shehasinterviewedeveryonepresentasfarasshedaredwithoutthemallclammingupandstartingtoaskforlegalcounsel.She’snothappyaboutbeinginthisremotehotelwithoutthetechstoquicklyandexpertlysecuretheevidencethewayitshouldbesecured.Shewishestheywouldhurrythehellupclearingtheroads.
There’snothingtodobutwatchhercharges—keepthemsafeandmakesurenoonetamperswiththeevidence.Trappedhere,withouttheforensicteam,shehasonlyherwitstoworkwith.
“Atfirstglance,”shesaystoLachlan,sittingacrossfromherbythefire,“noneofthesemurdersseemsrelatedtooneanother.Thevictimsdidn’tknoweachotheruntiltheyarrivedatthishotel.Atleast,notasfarasweknow.Maybesomethingwillcometolightaswedigdeeper.Whatwedon’thaverightnow,”sheadds,“isanykindofmotive.”
Lachlansayswithobviousfrustration,“Ihatesittingherewithourfeetupandourhandstied.”
Shesighsandsays,“It’sBradleywho’sbotheringme.”Shecontinuestothinkoutloud,butinalowervoice.“IknewBradley.Hewasalwaysuptosomething—veryenterprising,alwayshadsomeschemegoing.He’sinvolvedwiththissomehow,I’mcertainofit.Hesawsomething,orknewsomething,anditgothimkilled.Whatdidheknow?”
“Uptoabitofblackmail,perhaps?”Lachlansuggests.
Shelooksupathimandnods.“That’swhatI’mthinking.Iwouldn’tbeatallsurprised.Butwhowasheblackmailing?Whichoneofthemisourkiller?Ordowehavemorethanone?”Shelooksintothefireforamoment,andthensays,“AnyoneofthemcouldhavekilledDana.AnyoneofthemcouldhavekilledCandice.AnyoneofthemcouldhavekilledBradley,exceptforHenryandBeverly.They’retheonlyoneswhodidn’tgooutsidewhenhewaskilled.”
“Yes,”Lachlanagrees.
“AndanyofthemcouldhaveslippedsomethingintoHenrySullivan’sdrink,forinstance,ifinfacthewasmurderedsomehowanddidn’tdieofnaturalcauses.Theyalladmittheyperiodicallywarmedthemselvesinfrontofthefire,andHenrywassittingrightthere.”Sheadds,“Nottomention,itsoundslikeHenrywasmakinghimselfabitofapestwithhissnoopingandhistheories,andourkillerhadtobegettingnervous.”
???
Davidachesalloverfromsittinginthechairwithhismusclestensedallnight.Helongstogohome.Butheknowsit’sgoingtobeawhilebeforeanyofthemcanleave.
HepassesthetimewatchingGwen—wonderingifthereisanypossiblewayshemightbewillingtoseehimwhenthisisallover—andthinkingaboutwhothemurdereris.Therestofthemseemconvinced—orhadatleastseemedconvincedlastnight—thatIanwastheculprit.Buthedoesn’tthinkso.
Thereisonlyonepersonherewhoknowsthetruth,hethinks,andthat’sthekiller.Andhehasaprettygoodideawhothatis.Hejustdoesn’thaveanyproof.Andhedoesn’twanttosharehistheorywithSorensen.Atleast,notyet.
???
Gwendesperatelywantstoknowwhothekilleris.
Shethinksuneasilyaboutwhathappenedintheearlyhoursofthemorning—whenHenryhadsuggestedkillingIan.Howdangerouspeoplecanbecomewhenthey’rescared,shethinks.She’sgratefultoDavidforputtingastoptoit.Surelyamanwhomaintainshisreasonwhileothersaroundhimarelosingtheirs—surelysuchamancouldneverkillhiswifeoranyoneelse?
SheneedstoknowwhothemurdererisbecauseshehastoknowforcertainthatDaviddidn’tdoit.
???
Ianpacesbackandforthinfrontofthewindowsofthelobby,ignoringtheothersasbesthecan,buthecanfeelthemallwatchinghim.He’sgladthere’sapoliceofficerintheroom,watchingeverybody,protectinghim.Evenso,he’sfrightened.He’sinsistedtoallofthemthathedidn’tkillanyone.Theydon’tseemtobelievehim.Whatmattersiswhatthepolicebelieve.Hemightneedaverygoodlawyer.HethinksaboutDavidPaley,sittingovertherewiththerestofthem.Davidprobablysavedhislife.Perhapshewillrepresenthim,ifitcomestothat.Ifhe’sarrested.
THIRTY-FIVE
Sunday,4:10p.m.
Thefirehasburnedlowinthegrate,andJamesarrivesinthesittingroomtobuilditupagain.SergeantSorensenandOfficerLachlanarestillinfrontofthefirewhentheyhearasoundinthedistance.Thesoundofheavymachineryoutonthedrive.
“Theroadcrewsmustbeout,”Lachlansays,standingupeagerly.
“ThankGod,”Sorensensayswithrelief,risingfromherchair.“Itwon’tbelongbeforeeverybodyelsegetsherethen.”
Theyleavethesittingroomandreachthelobby,whereeveryone’sattentionisturnedtowardthewindows.Thesoundislouderouthere.Throughthewindows,sheseesabigyellowsnowplowcomingslowlyandlaboriouslyupthedrive.
Sheturnsawayfromthewindowandlooksbackatthesurvivorsinthelobby.Jameshascomeoutofthekitchenatthesoundoftheplow;therestremainwheretheyare,asiffrozeninplace.Sorensenlooksateachoneoftheminturn:James,Beverly,Matthew,Gwen,David,Ian,andLauren.
Sorensenturnsbacktolookoutthewindow.Sheseesthenthatthere’satruckfollowingbehindthesnowplow—andsherecognizesthecrimeteam.Shefeelsherfacebreakintoarelievedsmile.
???
Gwenwatchesastheforensicsteamdispersesandgetstowork.OfficersWilcoxandPerezremaininthelobby,asifafraidthatsomeonemighttrytomakearunforit.
Gwenwonderswhatthecrimeteamwillfind.
Shehasspentsomuchtimewiththesepeopleoverthisappallingweekend.Shehaslearnedtheirsecrets—atleastsomeofthem.Theyhaveallbeenscrapedraw.Andyet,shestillfeelssheknowsthemhardlyatall.Shehassurvivedthisweekendonlytotakesomethinguglyawaywithher—she’slearnedthatyouneverreallyknowanyoneelse.Thatisterrifying.Becauseyoucan’ttell,canyou?Whensheleaveshereandgoesbackoutintotheworld,shewillthinkofeveryoneshemeetsashavingthepotentialforevildeepinside.
???
SergeantSorensengetsacallsayingthatthedetectivehasbeendelayed.Fornow,sheisstillincharge.Shewatchesthetechsastheywork,quicklyandefficiently.Nomatterhowcarefulsomeoneis,sheknows,it’sveryhardthesedaystogetawaywithoutleavingatraceofevidenceofwhatthey’vedone.
Shefollowsthetechniciansaroundthehotelastheyputouttheircarefullittlemarkersandtaketheirlaboriousphotographs.Shehoversoverthemwhiletheystudythebodies,oneaftertheother,andmuttertoeachotherastheywork.Itwillbeawhileyetbeforethebodiescanbemoved,althoughtheyareworkingasquicklyastheycan.
Nowshe’soutside,watchingthemporeovertheareainthesnowwhereBradleydied.Brightfloodlightshavebeensetupinthelateafternoon;theeffectisalmostblinding.
“Lookslikehewashitonce,onthebackofthehead,”oneofthetechssays.“Theblowwasstrongenough,andheavyenough,tokillhim.”
Nowoneoftheothertechswaveshercloser.“Lookatthis,”hesays.
Shelookscloselyashebendsoverandpointsatsomethinginthesnow.Butshecan’tseeanything.Sheadjustsherglassesupwardabit,togetthefulleffectofhertrifocals.“Idon’tseeanything,”shesays.
Thetechbendsforwardagain,andusingapairoftweezers,removessomethingtinyfromdeeperinthesnowandholdsitupforher.It’sasmalldiamondearring.Nowondershecouldn’tseeit.
“Areyoutellingmethatthatwasunderneaththebody?”shesays.
Thetechniciannods.“Itwasfrozenintothesnow,soitcan’thavebeenherelong.OnlysincethesnowfallFridaynight.Andit’sapiercedearring.OughttobeabletogetsomesatisfactoryDNAoffofthat.”
“Soit’sawoman,”Sorensensays,unabletohidehersurprise.
“Lookslikeit.”
“Goodwork.”
???
Backinside,SorensenasksIanBeetontocomewithherintothediningroomtoanswersomemorequestions.Shedoesn’tlookathimwhensheasksforhim.Shenoticestheothersstirinexpectation.
Ian,paleandshaken,lurcheshiswayintothediningroom.
Sheaskshimtosit,remindshimthatheisstillundercaution,andhedropsasifhiskneeshavebuckledbeneathhim.
“I’vegotacoupleofmorequestionsforyou,Ian,”shesays.
Helooksather,hiseyeswidewithfear.
Sheholdsupalittleclearplasticevidencebagandplacesitonthewhitelinenofthediningtable.“Haveyoueverseenthisearringbefore?”
Helooksdownatit,asifstrickendumb.Whateverhewasexpecting,itobviouslywasn’tthis.
“Doyourecognizeit?”sheasks.
Henodsslowly.“It’sLauren’s.Imean,itlooksliketheonesshewaswearing….”
“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawherwearingit?”
Hesitsbackinhischair,awarenowofwhatisbeingaskedofhim.“Wheredidyoufindit?”
Shedoesn’tanswer;shewaits.
“Shewaswearingthatpairyesterday,Ithink.”
“Youthink?”
“Shewaswearingthemyesterday.”
“Okay.”SorensenmadeapointofnoticingwhenshecamethroughthelobbythatLaurenisn’twearinganyearringsnow.ButBeverlyandGwenbothare.Sheknowsthatnoneofthemwouldhavehadtheopportunitytogobackuptotheirroomstogetanotherpair,ifthey’dlostone.“Didyouhappentonoticewhenshestoppedwearingthem?”
Heshakeshisheadandwhispers,“No.”
???
TheyallwatchwarilyasSergeantSorensenreturnstothelobby.They’vebeenontenterhookssinceIanreturned,whiteandsilent,tothelobbyandsatdown,clearlyshaken.
LachlanstandsbesideSorensen,readywithapairofhandcuffs.
Davidnoticeshowstilleveryoneis,howalert.HefeelshisheartbeatescalateastheycometostandinfrontofLauren.
“Pleasestand,”thesergeantsaystoLauren.
Laurenrises,visiblytrembling.
Thesergeantsaysinafirmvoice,“LaurenDay,youareunderarrestforthemurderofBradleyHarwood….”
Davidtunesouttherest;astheyreadLaurenherMirandarights,he’swatchingher.Sheopenshermouthtoprotestbutitlooksasifshecanbarelybreathe.ShethrowsapanickedglanceatIan,buthe’sunresponsive;heseemstooshockedtoreact.
ThenLaurenturnstoDavid,hereyesfullofpanic.Sheneedssomeoneinhercorner;sheneedsanattorney.Butwhenshelooksathim,hemeetshereyesonlybriefly,thenturnsaway.Heseestheothers’faces,stunnedattheturnofevents.
???
WhenIanhearsthehandcuffsclickastheylockaroundLauren’swrists,hefeelsphysicallysick.
Thiscan’tberight,Ianthinks,hisheartpoundinginhischest.Hecan’tbelieveit.Thiscan’tbehappening.Herunshishandsagitatedlythroughhishair.
Sheseemssonormal.
HethoughtitwasMatthewwhohadkilledeveryone—bornwithasilverspooninhismouth,maybehe’dkilledhisfiancéeafteranargumentandthentriedtocoveritupwiththenaturalarroganceofthebornrich.MaybeCandiceandBradleyknewsomething,andhe’dhadtokeepthemquiet.Butithadn’tbeenMatthewatall.Matthewisavictim;hehaslostthewomanheloves.Ianlooksathimnowandfeelsterribleforhim;hewillneverbethesame.
Ianwillneverbethesameeither.Noneofthemwilleverbethesame.
Hehasasuddenboutofdizziness,fightsanotherwaveofnausea.Maybethepolicehavemadeamistake.SurelyLaurendidnotkillallthesepeople.Whatpossiblereasoncouldshehave?
Helooksatheragain,herlipsnowpressedinatightline,hereyesclosed.Andsuddenlyheknowsit’strue.Hecan’tstopstaringather,wonderingwhat’sgoingonbehindthoseclosedeyelids.Herealizesthathedoesnotknowheratall.
Hetellshimselfthathehasmadeaverynarrowescape.Heshudders.Theyhavespentmonthstogether.He’dthoughthewasfallinginlovewithher.
???
MatthewwatchesthepolicearrestLauren.Hedoesn’tknowwhatevidencetheyhave,buthetruststhepolice.Theymusthavegoodreasonforarrestingher.Heisfilledwithinexpressiblegriefandrage,butalsorelief.Reliefthatheisnolongersuspectedofkillinghisfiancée.HetakesoneinstinctivesteptowardLaurenandstops.She’stheonewhomurderedDana!Itwasher.Hecanhardlybelieveit.She’stheonewhopushedDanadownthestairsandhitherheadatthebottomtomakesureshewasdead.Andthen,foratime,sheallowedeveryonetobelievethathehadprobablydoneit.He’dalmostwantedtokillhimselfoutofdespairandfear.
“Whydidyoukillher?”hedemands,hisvoiceloudwithanguish.
“Pleasestepback,sir,”thesergeantsays.
Lauren’seyesflyopenandshelooksbackatMatthewwithdesperation.“Ididn’tkillher!”shecries.“Ididn’tkillanyone!They’vegotitwrong.Thisisallamistake.Itwasn’tme!”SheturnsfranticallytoIan.Surelyhewillhelpher.“Ian,tellthem!Tellthemit’snotme!”
Buthelooksbackatherstrangely,asifhe’safraidofher.Whatdidhesaytothepolicejustafewminutesago,whenhewasinthediningroom?Whatdoesheknow?Hecan’tknowanything!
Davidstepsforwardandcautionsher.“Don’tsayanything.Notaword.”
THIRTY-SIX
Sunday,5:45p.m.
LaurenlooksintoDavid’seyes—andtheyaren’ttheeyesofsomeonewhobelievesher,someonewhowillprotecther.Shecollapsestothefloor,handcuffed,andcloseshereyesagain.Theyletherstaythereonthefloor,leaningagainstthesofa;shehearsthemtalkinginlowvoicesinthebackground.
She’snotgoingtotellthemanything.Shehastherighttoremainsilentandshe’sgoingtouseit.
WhenIaninvitedheruphereforanaughtyweekend,shehadnoideawhatwasgoingtohappen.Noneofitwasplanned.
Shethinksbacktothatfirstnight.She’dtakenadisliketoDanarightfromthestart.Shethoughtitwasbecausesheremindedherofsomeone,butshecouldn’tthinkwho.Itwasn’tuntilaftercocktails,whentheywerehavingdinner,thatsherealizedwhoDanaremindedherof.Itwasn’tuntilDana’scomment,Itsoundslikesomeonefellofftheroof,andherlaughingaboutit,thatsherealizedexactlywhoDanawas.AndthenLauren’sheartbegantopoundandshecouldfeelherselfturninghotandcoldandbreakingintoasweat.
Dana—shehadbeenDaniwhenLaurenknewher—hadgivennosignofrecognizingher.Notuntilthatcomment.ThensheknewforcertainthatDanihadrecognizedher,buthadpretendednotto.Danialwayswasagoodactor.ButDaniobviouslywantedLaurentoknowthatsheknewwhoLaurenwas.
They’dbothchanged.Atleastontheoutside.
Itwasalongtimeago.Fifteenyears.Halfherlifetime.Laurenhadbeenaplain,sullen,overweightteenthen,andDanihadtauntedherrelentlessly.Butshehadrecognizedher.
Danilookeddifferentnowtoo.Atfifteen,she’dwornherhairveryshort.Shehadatough,meanlook.Shewasatough,meangirl.Now,fifteenyearslater,shewascompletelydifferent.Thisnewversion—Dana—wasveryfeminine,polished,expensive-looking—nowonderLaurenhadn’trecognizedheratfirst.ButLaurenwascertainthatthescrappyDaniwasstillthere—Danawasafake.Danadidn’tlooklikeshe’deverspentasinglenightinamiserablegrouphome,takingherfrustration,rage,andfearoutonothersmorevulnerablethanshe.
Lauren,too,hadputherpastbehindher.Shedidn’twantittocomeoutnow.ShehadIannow.Shecouldn’tletDanaruineverything.ShehadtobesurethatDanawouldn’tsayanything.
Fortherestoftheevening,hermindwasinturmoil.SheletIanfuckherinthebackstaircase,buthermindwasonotherthings.WouldDanatell?
ShetoldherselfthatDanaalsohadalottolose.Shewasabouttomarry,andobviouslyintomoney.LaurenwascertainMatthewdidn’tknowaboutDana’spast.Danawouldkeepthatfromhim,surely.Shewouldn’twantamanlikeMatthewtoknowwhatshe’dcomefrom.ButDanaknewsomethingaboutLaurenthatLaurencouldn’tallowtogetout.
Ofalltheshittyluck.
Howeasilyitallcamebacktoherthatnight.Thathorribletimeinherlife.Shewasfullofrage.She’dbeenremovedfromherfamily’shouseandsenttothatwretchedgrouphomeontheothersideofthecity.Herparentshadfoundherunmanageableandshethoughttheywantedtoteachheralesson.Shehatedthemforit.Herfatherhadhadenoughofher,buthermother—hermotherthoughtLaurenwasjustunhappy.Herpoor,long-sufferingmother.SheneverreallyunderstoodwhoLaurenwas.
Thegrouphomewasawful.Shedidn’tevenhaveherownbedroom,buthadtosharewithtwoothergirls.OneofthemwasDani,tallandskinnyandvicious.SheneverknewwhatDani’sdealwas—theynevertalkedabouthome,andhowtheyendedupinthatshithole.Thebathroomwassharedamongsixofthem.Nooneeverseemedtocleanit.Thefoodwasbarelyedible.Butsheateitanyway,andhatedherselfforshovelingitin,lookingforcomfortwherevershecouldfindit.
Theywouldgoupontotheroof.Itseemsunlikelynow,unbelievable,thatwhentheywereincare,theywouldclimbuptheTVantennatowerinthebackyardandgetontotheroof.Thehousewasattheendofthestreet,andiftheystayedonthebackoftheroof,noonesawthem.Theywouldhangoutupthere,smokingcigarettesthatDanistolefromMrs.Purcell,thewomanwhowassupposedtobelookingafterthem.Oneafternoon,oneofthekids,Lucas—hewasthirteen,butseemedyounger—climbedupafterthemandaskedDaniforasmoke.
Danitoldhimtofuckoff.
Hestayed.HekeptpesteringthemuntilDanitoldhimhisparentsweredrugaddictsandtheywerenevercomingbackforhimbecauseshe’dheardthesocialworkertellingMrs.Purcellthatthey’doverdosedandhewasanorphannow.Shereallycouldbeacoldheartedbitch.
“You’relying!”heshouted,furioustearsstreamingdownhisface.“I’mgoingtotellonyou!”
“Goahead,”Danisaid,flickinghercigaretteash.Thensheadded,“God,you’resuchababy.”
GettingnowherewithDaniandstingingwithhurtandtheneedtohurtsomeoneelse,LucasturnedonLaurenandsaid,withacontemptbeyondhisyears,“You’refatandugly!”
AndLaurenstoodupsuddenlyandpushedhimofftheroof,justlikethat.
Daniturnedtoherinshock.“Jesus!Doyouknowwhatyoujustdid?”
Theylookeddownattheboyonthepatiostonesbelow.Hewasn’tmoving;hisheadwassplitopenandleaking.Theylitoutforthemallanddidn’tcomebackuntilsuppertime.
Itwasassumedhe’dfallen,orjumped.Hewasatroubledboy,thechildofdrugaddicts,withprobablefetalalcoholsyndromeandpoorimpulsecontrol.Nooneevenquestionedwheretheywere.ButDaniknewwhatLaurenhaddone,andforafewdaysshehelditoverher,threateningtotellwhenevershefeltlikeit.
Danileft,nomorethanaweekafterLaurenpushedtheboyofftheroof.Shestuffedherthingsinagarbagebagandsaid,“Seeya,loser.”Andthenshewasoutofthehouse,slammingthedoorbehindher.Laurendidn’tknowifshe’dgonebacktoherparentsortoanotherfosterhome.
Laurenwantedtogohome.Shehadn’tthoughtshewouldbetherelong.Butitdraggedon,weekafterweek,untilshewonderedifherparentswouldeverasktogetherback,andnoonetoldheranything.Lauren’sragegrewandgrew.
WhenLaurenwasfinallyreclaimed,hermothercameforheralone.Herfatherwasgone;sheneversawhimagain.Hermothertookherhomeandthingswentbacktonormal,withLaurendoingwhatevershewanted.Acoupleofyearslater,hermotherremarried.Herstepfatheradoptedherandshechangedhernametohis.
AndthenDanishowedupatMitchell’sInn.
Thatnight,Laurendidn’tactuallytakehersleepingpills.ShewaiteduntilIanwasasleep,andthen,whenallwasquietexceptfortheblusterandrattleofthewind,sheslippedoutofherownroomandpaddedquietlydowntothesecondfloorandknockedlightlyonDana’sdoor.Shewasallaloneinthehall;everyonewasasleep,thestormcrashingoutsidetheirwindows.Shedidn’thavetoknocktwice.
Danaansweredthedoor,lookingguardedlyather.Laurensaidthattheyshouldtalk.Danaglancedbackatthesleepingformofherfiancé,slippedtheroomkeyintothepocketofherdressinggown,andsteppedintothehallwithoutaword.ShefollowedLaurendownthestairstothelandingandthenstopped.“Wait,”shesaid,hervoicelow.“Wecantalkhere.”Andshestoppedasifshewouldn’tgoanyfarther.So,atthetopofthestairs,LaurenlookedDanaintheeyeandsaid,“Weneedtoclarifyacoupleofthings.”
Danastared,hereyeswide,thesamewayshe’dstaredatLaureninthediningroomwhenshemadethecrackaboutsomeonefallingofftheroofTheyhadafraught,sharedhistory.Theonlyquestionwas,Whathappenednow?
Acool,blankexpressionsettledoverDana’sface.“Whatisit,exactly,thatyouwanttoclarify?”sheasked.Andthenshesimperedandsaid,“Oh,wait!Iknow.YouwanttobesureI’mnotgoingtotellanybodythatyou’reamurderer.”
“Shutup,Dani,”Laurensnapped,hervoicelow.“Don’tthinkyoucanpushmearoundanymore.Thingshavechanged.”
Danasnorted.“Oh,Idon’tthinkthey’vechangedthatmuch.IthinkI’vestillgottheupperhandhere,givenwhatIknowaboutyou.”
“ButIdon’tthinkyouwantMatthewtofindoutaboutyourpasteither,amIright?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.Mypastmaybesad,butit’snotcriminal,”Danasaid.
LaurenreachedoutandgrabbedDana’srobeandyankedatit.There,overDana’sleftbreast,wasthesmall,telltaletattoo.Aviper.“Youdidn’tgetridofthis?”Laurenalmostlaughed.“Youcangetthoseremoved,youknow.”
Danalookedatherandspat,hervoicelow,familiar,“Youalwayswerealittlesociopath.Whatareyougoingtodo—areyougoingtopushmetoo?”
Andwithonesudden,violentthrust,LaurenpushedDanadownthestairs.Danafellclumsilytothebottom,herdescentmuffledbythethickcarpet.SheletoutoneshortscreamthatpanickedLauren.Shefroze.Butshewascommittednow.
Danalaycompletelystillatthebottomofthestairs.Laurenhadonlymomentsbeforeothersmightcomerunning.Sheranlightlydownthestaircase.Atthebottom,shefeltDana’spulsestillbeatinginthesoftcurveofherthroat.ShegrabbedafistfulofDana’sshinyhairandpulledupherheadandsmashedit—ashardasshecould,withallherrage—againsttheedgeofthestair.Lauren’sheartwaspoundingviolently.Shelookeduptowardthetopofthestaircase,expectingsomeonetocomeatanymoment;someonemusthaveheardthescream.Shewasgettingherstoryready.Butstillnoonecame.Shefeltagainforapulse.Danawasdead.Glancingaround,certainthatnoonehadseenher,butnotwantingtorunintoanyonewhomighthaveheardsomething,Laurenranquietlyalongthebackhallandmadeherwayupthebackstaircasetothethirdfloorandletherselfbackintoherroom.Ianwassoundasleep.
She’dkilledher.She’dkilledDani,theonepersonwhoknewwhatshe’ddoneallthoseyearsago,andallshefeltwasrelief.Andtoknowthatshekilledherbeforeshecouldmarryarichmanandhaveeverythingsheeverwantedwasespeciallysatisfying.
TheywouldthinkDanafelldownthestairs.
Laurencrawledbackintobedandlayawakeallnightthinkingaboutwhatshe’ddone.Shefeltnoremorse.
Butasthelongnightworeon,shestartedtoworry.Ithadallhappenedsofast.SheworriedthatDanamighthavealreadysaidsomethingtoMatthewabouther,thattheymightbeabletotellitwasn’tanaccident,thatDanawasn’treallydead.
Finally,sheroseveryearlyinthemorning—havingnotsleptatall—andcreptdownstairsbeforeanyoneelse.Shewentquietly,carefultowakenoone.Herheartwaspoundingasifithadgrowntofillherentirechest.ShestoodonthelandingatthetopofthestairsandlookedwithcoldreliefdownatDana,soclearlydead.Shesweptdownthestairsandbentoverher,andconfirmedthatshewasdeadasastone.Shewassorelievedshealmostlaughed.
Andthensheletoutherunholyscream.Peoplecamerunningthen,andshemadesuretheyfoundherfeelingforapulse,incasethepolicefoundtracesofhertouch.Shehopeditlookedlikeanaccident.Andifanyonethoughtitdidn’t,therewasMatthew—theobvioussuspect.Shethoughtshewasintheclear.
ButthenDavid,theattorney,hadsuggestedthatitwasn’tanaccidentatall,thatitwasmurder.Still,shethoughtshemightbeallright.ShethoughttheymightthinkMatthewdidit.Andeveniftheydidn’t,therewasnothingtopinitonher.Shewascertaintheywouldn’tfindtheconnectionbetweenherandDani.
Butthenafterlunchshefoundthenoteinherbook.Thebookshe’dleftinthelobbyafterbreakfast.Shetookthebookbackupstairswithherafterlunchandopeneditandsawthesmallslipofpaperinside,notfolded,withherbookmark.Andwrittenonit,inbigblockcapitals,inanobviousattempttodisguisethehandwriting,was:IsawwhatyoudidtoDana.
Shefeltherheartjumpinherchestlikesomeonehadjolteditwithelectricity.Someonehadseenher!Thenotewasunsigned.Butshe’dseenCandiceinthelobbywiththebookinherhand,andshe’dputitbackdowninahurry.Ithadtobeher.Wasshegoingtotrytoblackmailher?Laurenthoughtuneasilyaboutthehotel,howsomeonecouldhaveThebitch.ButLaurenwasnotthekindofpersontobeblackmailed.
Sheknewwhatshehadtodo.Itdidn’tbotherhertokill.Notifitwasnecessary.She’salwaysbeenabletodowhateverisnecessary.She’sdifferentfromotherpeople.She’salwaysknownthis,eversinceshewasalittlegirl.
Shehasalsoknowntheimportanceofhidingsuchafact.Andshe’sbeencleverenoughnottohavebeendiscovered.Itgivesheracertainfreedomthatotherpeopleseemtolack.Shecandothingsthattheycan’t.Butshe’slearnedhowtohideitbywatchingwhatotherpeopledoandpretendingtobelikethem
Afterfindingthenote,shetoldIanshewantedabitoftimetoherselfandwenttothesmallsittingroomonthethirdfloorwithherbook.Sheknewshecouldn’tconfrontCandiceinthelibrary—itwastoorisky.Candicewouldprobablycomeuptoherroomatsomepoint.She’dalreadynoticedthatCandicehadbeenwearingasilkscarfaroundherneckthatmorning.
Afterawhile,sheheardasoundinthehall.Shegotupfromherseatbythewindowwherethelightwasgoodenoughtoread,andmovedquietlytothedoorandlookedout.ItwasCandice,unlockingthedoortoherroomacrossthehall.Candiceopenedthedoorandwentinside,leavingthedooropen.Laurencreptdownthecorridortowardtheopendoor.Shelookedquicklyupanddownthehall;noonewasthere.Candicewasstandingatthedesk,herbackturnedtoher.Laurenwasn’tgoingtonegotiate.Therewasonlyonewaytodealwithablackmailer.ItwaseasytosneakupbehindCandice,herfeetsinkingnoiselesslyintothecarpet.ShequicklygrabbedbothendsofthescarfaroundCandice’sneckandpulledwithallherstrength.Shedidn’tletgountilshewassure.SheletCandiceslumptothefloor.OnceLaurenwasabsolutelycertainshewasdead,sheleft,usinghersleevetoclosethedoorbehindher.Andthensheretracedherstepstothesittingroom,whereshetookupherbookagain.
Problemsolved.
Andthenshehadanotheridea.Checkingthatnoonewascoming,sheslippedacrossthecorridorand,pickingthelock—askillshe’dlearnedasatroubledteenager—slippedquietlyintotheemptyroomattheendofthehallacrossfromGwenandRiley’sroom.Shehadtobeveryquiet,sothattheydidn’thearher.Shemessedupthebedabit,madeitlooklikeithadbeensleptin.Shewentintothebathroom,andtakingatowel,turnedonthefaucetandsprinkledsomewateronthesink.Thensheslippedcarefullyoutoftheroomandreturnedtothesittingroomfeelingratherclever.Shewassurenoonehadseenherthistime.
Shethoughtitwouldendthere.
WhenCandice’sbodywasdiscovered,shefounditeasytodissimulate,topretendahorror,afear,shedidnotfeel.Shebehavedliketheothers,mirroringtheiremotionslikeachameleon.She’sbeendoingthisallherlife.Itwaseasy.
They’dallcrowdedaroundCandice’sroom,messingupthemurderscene.ShedeliberatelybentdownoverCandiceandmadeashowoftouchingherinfrontofeveryone,tryingtoloosenthescarf,justincase.Soshewouldn’thavetoworryabouttraceevidence.
Butbythenshe’dalreadyrealizedthatshe’dmadeaterriblemistake.
Itwaswhenthey’dreturnedfromtheicehouse,beforeCandice’sbodyhadevenbeendiscovered.Bradleyhadgoneofftothelibrarytolookforher.Laurenhadstoodinfrontofthereceptiondeskandreachedacross,usingheriPhonetosearchforapen.Shewantedtodoacrosswordbythelightoftheoillamp.Hereyesfellonasmallwhitenotepadwithpaperthesamesizeasthedisturbingnoteinherbook.Sheheldthelightcloser.Shecouldseethefaintimprintofblockletters.Evenupsidedown,shecouldmakeoutthewordssawandDana,clearlyenough.
ItwasBradley’sdesk.She’dneverseenhisfather—oranyoneelse—behindthedesk.Bradleymighthavewrittenthenoteandputitinherbook.MaybeCandicehadnothingtodowithit.ItmighthavebeenBradleywho’dseenherkillDana.Shequicklygrabbedapenandturnedawayfromthedesk,herheartpoundinginherchest.
Still,shethought,settlingdownandpretendingtoworkonacrossword,Candicemayhaveseenthenote—IsawwhatyoudidtoDana—insidethebook,whichwasinherhand.AndLaurentoldherthebookwashers.ItwasprobablyjustaswellthatCandicewasdead.Snoopybitch.ButBradley…Hemustbetheonewho’dseenher.
Later,afterCandicewasfound,sherealizedthatBradleymustbeafraidthatshehadalsokilledCandice.Shethoughtthatmaybehe’dlosthisnerve,wastooafraidnowtoapproachherandaskformoney.Heknewwhatshe’ddone.Sheknewshehadtokillhim.
WhenRileyranoutsideintothedark,andBradleyfollowed,shesawheropportunity.Shegrabbedhercoat.Herleathergloveswereinsidethepockets.IanwaswithherbutsheurgedhimtogoafterRileyquickly,pretendingtostrugglewithherboots.Aloneontheporchinthedark,shepickedupthebootscraperandslippedquietlyinthedirectionshe’dseenBradleytake.Whenshefinallycameuponhimsheletherragetakeover—shestruckhimwitheverythingshehad.
Thenshefrozeinthenight,listening,worriedthatsomeonehadheardhimfall.Butitwastoowindytohearmuchofanything.Noonecame.Shecouldjusthear,faintly,GwencallingforRiley,panicinhervoice.LaurenstayedinacrouchandmovedawayfromBradley,abandoningthebootscraperbyhisbody.Sheheadedfortheothersideofthehotel,farawayfromthebody.Soonafter,shesawthelightappearatthefrontdoorandsawDavidandMatthewcomingoutsidetojointhem.
Whensheheardtheshouting,shemadeherwayovertowhereshe’dleftBradleydead.Butthenthingsdidn’tgothewaytheyweresupposedto.Davidwasthere,holdingthefadingflashlight,Gwenbesidehim.ShesawJameshoveringoverBradley,andshetriedtogotohim,toofferhelp,tocheckBradley’spulse,toseeifhewasreallydead.ButDavidwouldn’tlethernearhim.Hestoppedher.Hewouldn’tlethergotoBradley,evenwhenshepummeledhischestandsobbed.Shethoughtsheseemedprettyconvincing.Butshehadn’tbeenabletogetnearthebody.Hewouldn’tletherhelpcarryBradleyinsideeither
ShewonderedthenifDavidwasontoher
Itwasunfortunatethatshe’dhadtorevealthetruthaboutherandIan.Thattheyhadn’tbeentogetherthatafternoon,afterall.She’dunderminedhim,suggestedhewasthekillerwithoutlookinglikeshewasdoingit.Itwaslucky,thatlieabouthisbrother.ShelovedIanasmuchasitwaspossibleforhertoloveanyone,butultimately,hewasdisposable.Itwasnecessary.Shewouldfindsomeoneelse.
Ofcourse,theyhavenomotive.She’snotworriedtheywillbeabletofindtheconnectionbetweenherandDana.They’dbeeninthesamegrouphomeforonlyacoupleofweeks.Peoplecameandwentthereinaconstant,sadprocession,withtheirpitifulplasticgarbagebagsholdingalltheirworldlypossessions.Theywereinfostercare,notinthecriminalsystem.Anditwasinanotherstate.Lauren’slifesincehasbeenacleanslate.She’sneverbeencaughtforanythingshe’sdone.
She’sbeensocareful.ShetouchedDanainfrontofeveryone—that’swhyherDNAwillprobablybeonher.Candicetoo.Iftheyfindtraceevidenceofheritwillbemeaningless.AndBradley—she’dbeenwearinggloves,andthereweresomanyofthemaroundhim,andthey’dmovedhim.Theevidencemustbehopelesslycontaminated.
Buttheymusthavesomethingonher,shethinksanxiously,somethingdefinitive.Maybetheyfoundherearring.ThatmustbewhytheybroughtIaninagain,toidentifyit.Shefeelslittlepricklesofmoistureriseonherskin.
She’dnoticed,inthedark,earlyhoursofthemorning,thatshewasmissinganearring.Shecouldhavelostitanywhere,longbeforeshewentoutsideafterBradley.Therehadbeennostruggle.She’dliftedthebootscraperandbroughtitdownonhisheadandhe’ddroppedwithoutasound.Butshewasworried:WhatifshehadlosttheearringwhenshekilledBradley?
Justincase,sheremovedtheremainingearringwhennoonewaswatching,andslippeditontotheendtablebesideher.
Nowshe’sgladshethoughtahead.Iftheydohaveherearring—iftheyfounditnearBradley—shewillinsistthatshetookbothofthemoutbeforeRileyranoutside,andputthemdownonthelittleendtable.Thekillermusthaveseenherdoit.Thekillermusthavetakenone,anddeliberatelyplanteditnearBradley’sbody.
It’sperfectlyplausible.Especiallyastheywon’thaveanyotherevidenceagainsther.Itshouldbeenoughforreasonabledoubt.
Theywon’tgetanythingoutofher.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sunday,6:00p.m.
Theroadcrewsareoutinforce,plowing,sanding,andsaltingtheroads.Theywillsoonbeabletoletthesurvivorsdrivetothestationintowntogivetheirstatements.SergeantSorensenhasbeenadvisedbytelephonethatadetectivewillbearrivinganyminute.They’vedoneprettywellsofar,shethinks,withoutone.
Atechnicianapproachesherholdingupalaptop.“IwasabletogetpastCandiceWhite’spassword.Ipulledupwhatshewasworkingon.”
Sorensenraiseshereyebrows.“And?”
“Itlookslikearomancenovel.Abouttwowomenwhofallinloveandadoptababy.”
“Really?”Sorensensays,surprised.
Henods.“Yup.Havealook.”
Sunday,6:30p.m.
Ianhasbeenoutsideforthelasthalfhour,runningthecars,warmingthemup,andtryingtoscrapetheiceoffthewindows.It’salreadydarkout,butthehotelisbrightlylit.
Gwenstopsonthefrontporch,lookingout.HercarhasjustbeenpulledoutoftheditchandbroughtbacktoMitchell’sInn.
ItseemswrongtogetbackinthecarwithoutRiley.Sohorrible,toleavewithouther,toabandonherhere.She’sstillintheforest,withvariouspeoplephotographingher,examiningher,underfloodlights.Gwenissureshe’llneverforgiveherself.
ShebecomesawareofDavidcominguptostandbesideher.Shedoesn’tknowwhattosaytohim.Isthereanyfutureforthetwoofthem?Immediately,shefeelsdisloyaltoRiley,tohermemory.Howresentfulshewouldbe.
“Gwen,”Davidsays.It’sjustthetwoofthemontheporch.“Areyouokay?”Hisgenuineconcernalmostmakesherbreakdown.Shewantstopressherfaceintohischest,butshedoesn’t.Insteadshejustnodsquickly,blinkingbacktears.
Sheturnstohimsuddenly.“DidyoususpectitwasLauren?”
“Yes,”headmits.“ShetouchedDana,andshetouchedCandice,too,infrontofeveryone.It’sasmartthingtodoifyou’reworriedaboutthepossibilityofhavinglefttraceevidence.It’sverydifficulttonotleaveforensicevidence.AndshetriedtogettoBradley,too,butIstoppedher.Physicallystoppedher.That’swhenIsuspectedher.ButIdidn’tknow,notforsure.”
“IhadnoideaitwasLauren,”Gwensays.She’dbeenshockedbyLauren’sarrest.IanwhisperedtoherandDavidafterwardthatthey’dfoundLauren’searringoutside,andthathefiguredithadtohavebeennearthemurderscene,becausethey’dquicklyarrestedher.
Davidsays,“Shedidn’tgetnearBradleyafterwefoundhim.Soiftheyfoundherearringnearhim—”
“Ilikedher.Itrustedher,”Gwensays.Shelooksupathimindisbelief.“Whywouldshedoit?”
“Whatherreasonswere,Ihavenoidea.Iimagineitwillcomeoutintheinvestigation.IsuspectBradleyknewwhatwasgoingon,andthathewaskilledforit.”Helooksdownather,hisfaceserious.“IthinkLaurenisprobablyapsychopath—andverygoodatpretendingthatsheisn’t.”Hehesitates.“They’redifferentyouknow—notlikeyouandme.”
Shelooksathimmoreclosely.Heseemsdifferentthanhedidthefirstnighttheyarrived.Moreweary,lesssureofhimself.They’realldifferent.Shewondershowsheseemstohimnow,howshe’schanged.Sheknowsthatwhenshegetsintohercar,Rileywillbeinthepassengerseatbesideher,saying,Hekilledhiswife.Stayawayfromhim.
???
BeverlywalksslowlyandsadlyoutthefrontdoorofthehotelpastDavidandGwenanddownthesteps.ButHenryisstillinthehotel,inhischairbythefire,asifhewillneverleave.Itfeelsstrangetoleavewithouthim,toleavehimstuckthere.Butofcoursethecoronerwillhavehimtakenawayforanautopsy.Theremustbeanautopsy.Therewillbearrangementstomake,afuneraltoseeto.Shethinksabouthowtotellthekidsthattheirfatherisdead.Itwillcomeasashock.Youdon’texpectyourparentstogoawaytogetherforaweekendandonlyoneofthemtocomeback.
Butfirstshemuststopatthepolicestationandgiveherstatement.Then,they’vebeentold,theywillallbeallowedtogohome.AllexceptLauren.
Matthewisgettingintohiscar.Hisgriefweighshimdown.DavidandGwenarestilltalkingonthefrontporch.Beverlygetsintohercar,backsup,andthenturnsslowlydownthedrive,towardtownandthepolicestation.
Whatadifferenceaweekendcanmake.She’dcomeuphereinhopesofreconnectingwithherhusband.Nowsheisgoinghomeawidow.
Shechecksherrearviewmirrortoseeifanyoneiswatchingher.There’snoonebehindher,andnoonecanseeherinthedark.Evenso,shewaitsuntilsheisaroundthefirstcurveofthedrivebeforeshesmiles.
Shefeelssolightit’slikeshe’sfloating.
Shethinksbacktowhentheyweresearchingthehotel,whenshehelpedsearchtheothers’bags.ShesawthedrugsthatLaurenhad,thesleepingpills.Anentirevialofthem.Full.Afterholdingitupforalltosee,noonehadnoticedherspillpartofthebottleintoherhandinsidetheovernightbagandthenslipthepillsintoherpocket.Itwasdark,andnoonewaspayingmuchattention.
Shehadn’tknownforsurethatshewoulddoit,notuntilBradleyhadbeenkilledtoo.Andshehadn’tknownforsureifitwouldbeenough,butshesnuckthepillsintoherhusband’sscotchinthedarkandhopedforthebest.Perhaps,combinedwithallthescotchhe’dbeendrinking,itwouldbeenough.Itwas.Sheknowsthattheautopsywillshowthesleepingpills,thathewasmurdered.ButhewillbeoneoffourpeoplemurderedatMitchell’sInnthisweekend.AndLauren,themurdereroftheotherthree,can’texactlysayanythingwithoutimplicatingherself.Shecan’tsay,ButIdidn’tkillHenry!
Shecan’tsayathing.
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
ShariLapenaworkedasalawyerandasanEnglishteacherbeforeturningtowritingfiction.AStrangerintheHouse,aswellasLapena’ssuspensedebut,TheCoupleNextDoor,werebothNewYorkTimesandinternationalbestsellers.