White Wedding. Jean Barrett
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Without a word he turned and headed toward the kitchen. Allison started to go after him.
“Chris, wait!”
The proud, retreating figure never paused. He brushed silently past his bewildered brother-in-law, who had just arrived in the lounge doorway, and disappeared into the darkened dining room.
A sickened Lane, suddenly needing to put distance between herself and the nasty scene she’d just witnessed, left the fireplace and drifted across the room to one of the French doors overlooking the bay. From this position she sympathetically watched Allison realize that it was her fiancé she was supposed to comfort, not Chris Beaver. Allison tried to put a concerned hand on Hale’s arm, but he shook it off.
With Hale in this kind of nasty mood, Lane wondered how she would ever find the courage to approach him on the subject of her sensitive mission. Or whether now there would even be the opportunity. But she’d promised, so eventually she must find a way.
An uncertain, puzzled Nils Asker went on hovering in the doorway until Jack pressed him for the news they were all waiting to hear.
“How soon can we expect the sheriff?”
The lanky Nils shook his head, reporting gloomily, “We can’t. Not for now, anyway. I kept trying, but the phone is useless. It’s that devil of a wind out there. Communication tower on the mainland must be down. It can happen along the peninsula with these cellular phones, the power getting interrupted when the weather’s nasty like this.”
“Dear God!” Ronnie cried. “You mean we’re cut off out here with a dead body on our hands?”
“Until the phone’s on again,” Nils admitted. “Should be back in service by morning. That is, if this wind ever quits long enough.”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Jack asked. “What then?”
Nils took a slow, deep breath before answering. “Then I cross over in my truck as soon as there’s enough light.”
“And I, for one, am going to be riding with you,” Ronnie insisted. “I have no intention of staying trapped out here.”
Nils shook his head stubbornly. “If I end up going, I go alone. I know the ice, and I can make it. But if there’s whiteout conditions still, it’s gonna be real tricky. And I won’t risk a passenger with me.”
“He’s right,” Dan agreed. “We’re much safer waiting here. Besides, the sheriff will expect us to remain on the scene. Involved or not, we’ll all of us have to answer a slew of questions.”
His affirmation brought on a fresh burst of objections and speculations. Dan quietly slipped away from the commotion at the other end of the room and joined Lane where she remained at the window.
“Sorry about this,” he apologized in a low, grave voice.
Lane gazed at him, not certain what he was referring to.
“Out there,” he said, nodding at the glass behind her.
She realized then that he was talking about the wind that was still blasting fearfully around the corners of the lodge. “You’re apologizing for the weather?”
He smiled gently. “In a way I do blame myself. You see,” he explained, “Allison made me responsible for checking out the forecast for this weekend. You know, making sure we weren’t going to get snowbound here.”
“But there isn’t any blizzard.”
“No, but these winds... The thing is, I let someone else do the checking for me.” His gaze traveled in the direction of the group at the other end of the lounge. “And they promised... Oh, well, I’m being foolish. The forecast was probably off. And, anyway, you don’t think about freak winds stranding you if it’s precipitation you’re worried about.”
Lane had no opportunity to hear a further explanation. A storm of another kind had surfaced across the room.
“Here we go,” Dan muttered. “Ronnie is being Ronnie again.”
He left Lane to rejoin the group as Ronnie, in a loud voice, raised another storm of objection and demand.
“I don’t care how safe you all keep insisting we are! It’s only a theory the murderer left the island, not a guarantee! This is a big house, and that lunatic could be hiding anywhere inside! I think the least the men could do is offer to check the lodge from top to bottom before we all go to our rooms for the night. I’ll never sleep a wink otherwise!”
Veronica Bauer was clearly no advocate of equal rights for women, Lane thought wryly. Not in this situation, anyway.
Jack, leaving the others to placate the tiresome, difficult woman, crossed to Lane at the window. “What was that all about just now?” he asked her in a low voice.
She knew he was referring to her hushed exchange with Dan Whitney. Jack was far too observant. And his virile nearness was still much too disturbing. She shared with him the judge’s brief conversation.
Jack frowned. “What was he suggesting? That someone here deliberately withheld the truth about the weather conditions for the weekend?”
Lane shook her head. “I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
At the other end of the lounge Ronnie seemed to realize Jack had left the circle that was supposed to be paying attention to her. There was displeasure in her expression when she looked around and discovered him with Lane at the window.
“Jack,” she coaxed from across the room, “you’ll be my supporter, won’t you? Tell them that the men should spread out and search the house before we lock ourselves in for the night.”
Lane could see that her handsome ex-husband was very close to telling Ronnie Bauer exactly what he thought of her pretentious state of nerves. “Please,” Lane urged him in a hurried undertone, “just humor her. Anything to get this situation over with.”
She suddenly found the whole emotional scene excessive and exhausting. All she wanted was to go to her room and crawl into bed, even if sleep itself wasn’t possible. She was all for Ronnie’s plan, no matter who the search included or excluded, if only it achieved for them a blessed state of release.
Jack eyed her. She could see that he, too, had no desire to prolong the strained gathering. “All right,” he agreed dryly, “we’ll look under the beds.”
The men, Stuart with them, filed out of the lounge in the direction of the staircase. Allison followed them as far as the foyer, offering instructions for access to the attics.
Lane found herself alone with Ronnie. The older woman spared her no word or glance. She was interested only in her brandy glass, which she had long ago emptied. Getting to her feet, she drifted off to the library to help herself to a refill.
Lane was grateful for the solitude. And then, with a rush of guilt, she remembered Allison. She had failed to offer her friend a single word of comfort regarding her spoiled wedding. Allison must be sick about the disastrous result of what was meant to be a memorable holiday weekend.
Intending to comfort her, Lane headed for the foyer. Tense voices stopped her just short of the doorway. Before she could retreat, she realized she was overhearing for the second time today a conversation that was meant to be private. This time it was Allison and her cousin engaged in a low, hurried dialogue from a corner just around the archway.
“Sweetheart,” Dan pleaded kindly, “I know you don’t want to think about it, but it’s bound to come up in the investigation. Right or wrong, Chris and his brother have gotten reputations for themselves since that Dream Dance, and when questions are asked—”
“I won’t listen to this!” Allison fiercely cut him off. “Being militant about something doesn’t mean you’d resort to—well, I won’t even name it. It’s unthinkable!”
“I know. I’m just saying you have to be prepared.”