Lane didnt stay to hear anymore. Remorseful, she backed away into the depths of the lounge until she was out of listening range. She had managed to overcome the longing to eavesdrop. She could do nothing, however, to control her curiosity about the mystifying exchange she had just overheard.
A moment later Allison returned alone to the lounge. She looked distracted and unhappy as she glanced in the direction of the kitchen. I suppose Id better go talk to Dorothy, she murmured. Shell want to know about to- morrow. Whatevers happened, people will still need to eat.
Lane didnt try to stop her when she went off to the kitchen. Nor did she detain Ronnie when she reappeared with her brandy glass, wanting to know, Wheres our hostess?
In the kitchen.
Think Ill join her.
Apparently Ronnie had no desire to be alone with her. That suited Lane just fine. She couldnt think of a subject the two of them might have in common. Unless it was Jack, and she certainly had no intentions of sharing her impressions in that direction. Least of all with Veronica Bauer.
Ronnie left. Lane was alone once more. And restless. She almost wished she had joined the men in their search. She wondered what, if anything, was happening with them. She could hear no activity overhead. The lodge was too solidly built. And the lounge, except for the ceaseless wail of the wind outside and the soft popping of the fire in the grate, was suddenly too quiet.
Lane decided she didnt want to remain in the room. She couldnt bear another minute of this empty waiting. She went out into the foyer and stood at the bottom of the massive staircase, listening. Silence.
She turned away and noticed that the door to the Viking banquet hall hadnt been closed. The room was too cavernous to be adequately heated. Cold air from the place invaded the foyer. Lane went to shut the door, and instead found herself venturing into the great room.
The soaring,
raftered hall was a well of darkness. Her hand groped for a light switch on the wall inside the entrance. She failed to find one. It didnt matter. There was a kind of grilled hatch in the wall that backed up to the library. Light from the library on the other side spilled a weak glow into the hall. It was just sufficient enough to permit her to make out the nearest objects in the gloom.
Lane could see the poinsettias massed on the long table. She could also make out an enormous sideboard where Teddy Brewster had arranged a collection of Father Christmases garlanded with holly and ivy. They were another depressing reminder to her that this was Christmas Eve. The members of the house party were supposed to be in the lounge drinking punch, decorating the tree, sharing a lively anticipation for tomorrows wedding. Instead, they were dealing with murder.
It wasnt the cold in the hall that made her shiver. It was the sight of the poinsettias on the table. They were as red as blood.
Mistake, she thought. I should never have wandered in here.
Lane turned sharply and started to leave. Instead, she collided with a shadowy figure who had slipped in behind her. She gasped with alarm, prepared to scream the house down, as a pair of hands reached out and gripped her by both arms.
Easy, muttered a deep voice.
He was no more than a silhouette against the light from the foyer. But she recognized that rich baritone. Though she hated to admit it, she was immediately reassured.
Jack! You might have warned me instead of sneaking up on me like that.
Sorry. I didnt know it was you I was investigating in here until you turned around.
Then you had no reason to grab me.
I wasnt grabbing. I was steadying.
His hands were still on her arms, and the sensation of his strong fingers scalding her flesh was decidedly unsettling.
Well, you can unsteady me now.
She could sense his reluctance as he slowly released her. What are you doing in here, anyway?
Just waiting for an all clear from the search party. Where are the others?
Still playing hide-and-seek upstairs. I got tired of the game.
Did you find anything?
Yeah, a hell of a lot of dust bunnies.
She hadnt expected otherwise. Then can I go to my room? I dont know about you, but Im ex
She never finished her plea. Jack silenced her with a shake of his head and a rapid finger against his mouth. She noticed that his attention was suddenly riveted on something over her shoulder. Her head swiveled in bewilderment, and then she saw it, too.
The lighted opening revealed someone stealing into the library on the other side, carefully closing the lounge door behind him. There was a definite furtiveness about the scene framed by the glowing hatch.
Jack seized her by the hand and drew her quietly toward the light.
What are you doing? she murmured.
Its called spying, he whispered.
You cant, she whispered back.
He ignored her warning. This is far enough, he breathed into her ear. Theres glass under that grille and no light on this side. If were careful, hell never know were here.
Lane decided not to challenge him any further. The activity in the next room was far too intriguing. The figure that had slipped into the library was Chris Beaver.