Текст книги "Dead Giveaway"
Автор книги: Joanne Fluke
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“You’re crazy, Ellen.” Walker released her at last. “And you’re so damned defensive you make me want to cry. But I’m crazy about you anyway.”
He was giving her that smile again, the smile she had to return. And then he was pushing her down on the couch. And kissing her again and again, the way she’d dreamed someone would kiss her. And this time their clothes did fall away like rain, perhaps because her head was whirling so hard she could barely think. And then he was carrying her into the bedroom, carrying her, Ellen Wingate, with her too-tall awkward body that seemed amazingly petite in his arms. And the light was on in the bedroom, and she wished he’d turn it off, but he seemed to want to look at her and touch her, running his hands over her skin with a feathery sweeping motion that made her breath catch in her throat. And then she was on top of her quilt, her face pressed against the smooth muscles of his chest and oh God! She knew she’d die if he didn’t kiss her again!
And he did, his lips painting a pattern of crimson pleasure that blossomed and rippled and ran through her in such a rushing torrent of desire that she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried out for him to love her. There was no hesitation, no painful shyness, no shame as she lifted her hips to meet him. And then she was whirling away in a glorious rainbow of pleasure that made her gasp. And sob. And laugh with delight at the incredible beauty of it all as he carried her with him to ecstasy.
EIGHTEEN
There was a little foil packet on her tray and Betty picked it up to examine it. Letters were on the top. S . . . T . . . R . . . and the rest were so smudged she couldn’t read them. She pulled off the top and stared at the contents. Red berries inside, to spread on the whole wheat toast Nurse had brought her for an afternoon snack. Now she missed Jack more than ever. He’d always brought her cookies with strawberry ice cream.
Strawberries! Betty held the packet to her nose and sniffed. There were strawberries inside the packet, but they didn’t smell as wonderful as the strawberries in Aunt Sophia’s garden. She remembered helping to pick them while Aunt Sophia held the basket. One for Betty, and one for the basket, over and over until she couldn’t eat any more. And then, in the middle of that warm, sticky summer, Aunt Sophia had given her a beautiful white ruffled dress and said to get ready, she was a birthday girl and they were having a party. The whole family was coming, even cousins from across the sea, and there would be music and games and clowns and balloons, everything to make the birthday girl happy, even her very favorite strawberry ice cream.
Car after car had pulled into the compound, people laughing and everyone hugging and kissing her. The big table in the dining room had been heaped with presents wrapped in gold and silver and pink and blue, all gifts for the birthday girl. She’d met all her cousins and tried not to get dirty as they’d played hide-and-seek in the yard. And then she’d sat in a folding chair next to Aunt Sophia and Daddy and her brother, Mario, to watch the clowns do their tricks.
One clown had a funny bicycle with only one wheel, and he’d ridden it around and around, swerving and swooping down the garden paths as all her cousins had laughed. Another clown had brought a little white dog who could prance on his back legs and jump through hoops. The clowns had been very funny in their polka-dot suits with too-big shoes and bright red hair. They had chased each other and turned cartwheels on the grass until there was a loud bang and Daddy had pushed her down so hard she’d cried.
Then the birthday party wasn’t fun anymore because Mario had a strawberry stain on his shirt and everyone was screaming. Aunt Sophia had taken her into the house when they came with the loud sirens and flashing red lights, and she’d heard them say that Daddy had been damn lucky he’d moved just then. But Mario was gone and he’d never come back, and opening her presents hadn’t been as much fun.
There were drops of wet on her dressing gown and Betty frowned. It was silk and the wet would leave a stain. Dishes rattled in the kitchen and Betty reached for a tissue to wipe her eyes. Soon Nurse would pick up her tray and she’d go for the needle if she suspected that Betty had been crying.
Betty sat up a little straighter and concentrated on the game show. A man in a yellow and green flowered shirt was trying to answer a question worth twenty thousand dollars. The host read the question out loud. What term do scientists use to describe the large boulders left by glaciers during the Ice Age?
The name popped into Betty’s mind like magic. The boulders were called erratics. She’d learned that a long time ago when they’d studied glaciers and she’d helped Charles make a mountain out of flour and salt and water. But the man in the yellow and green shirt didn’t know and he’d lost the game.
There was a happy smile on Betty’s face as Nurse opened the door. If she had been the contestant on that game show, she would have won twenty thousand dollars.
“Not very hungry?” Nurse took the tray. “You’ve got company, so we’ll have our bath later.”
Betty was careful not to laugh out loud. Since Nurse had never bathed with her, why did she use the plural? Perhaps Nurse was using the “royal we,” pretending she was Queen of England. And then Nurse was gone and the cowgirl was there, along with her foreign actor. Betty smiled, always glad to see faces besides Nurse’s.
The quiz program was over and a movie was on, something with stirring music. It was about a runner in an important race and the cowgirl watched for a minute. “That looks like Chariots of Fire. Have you seen it before, Betty?”
Betty shook her head, even though she really wasn’t sure. With this horrid disease, she sometimes forgot the movies as soon as she watched them. If everyone in the country had her disease, the television station could save a lot of money by running the same movie over and over.
The cowgirl spoke again. “You look tired. Did you stay up late watching television?”
Betty nodded. Yes, she had, she remembered, and she recalled the movie, too, because it had frightened her.
“Which program did you watch, Betty?” The foreign actor asked the question and Betty turned to look at him. He really wanted to know. She wished she could tell him about it, but the words were very difficult to catch.
“Movie.” She heard herself speak and she was very surprised. It must have been right because he nodded.
“That sounds like fun.” The cowgirl smiled. “Do you remember what it was about?”
Betty frowned. Of course she remembered, but now she’d forgotten the word for it. She opened her mouth and nothing came out.
“Was it a romance?”
Betty shook her head. It hadn’t been a romance. She knew that. Suddenly she had an idea, and she put her hands up to her eyes to peek through her fingers.
“It was a horror movie!” The cowgirl looked very excited. “Did someone get killed?”
Betty smiled. That was exactly right, someone had died.
“Were they shot? Or maybe stabbed?” The cowgirl turned to the foreign actor. “Help me, Paul. I can’t think of any other ways.”
“Perhaps there was a drowning? An explosion? Poison?”
Betty shook her head each time he spoke. If only she could find that word! Then, before she really thought about it, her hands moved up to her neck.
“Choking!” They both spoke at once and Betty gave them a smile. That was almost right so she did it again.
“Strangling?” the cowgirl guessed. “Or maybe someone got hung?”
“Hanged,” Betty corrected. “Clothes get hung, people get hanged.”
The cowgirl looked very shocked and then she reached out to hug Betty. “That’s right! Hanged. I never could remember which was which.”
Betty laughed out loud, glad there was something someone else had trouble remembering. And the cowgirl didn’t even have the disease.
“So the subject was hanging.” The foreign actor smiled at her. “That is very frightening. Are there no comedies for you to watch?”
Betty shook her head. No comedies, just awful movies where people got killed.
“I bet it was a western!” The cowgirl looked excited again. Betty knew she must like westerns because she always dressed in the costumes. “Channel eleven runs all those old cowboy movies. Were you watching channel eleven?”
Betty held up three fingers. She had been watching forbidden channel three.
“But we don’t even get channel three. Are you sure, Betty?”
Betty tried to concentrate on the question. What had the cowgirl asked? Suddenly her mind was blank. This was an interesting game to play, but her eyes kept falling shut.
“Come, Jayne.” The foreign actor stood up. “Would you wish us to come back later, Betty, after you have rested?”
Betty nodded. He was so nice. It was lucky the cowgirl with her in-between name had found him again.
It was almost one in the afternoon when Moira and Grace knocked on Hal’s door bearing a pitcher of orange juice and a large bottle of aspirin, just in case Hal didn’t have any. Moira knocked again, then used the key Hal had given them so they could keep an eye on things when he was out of town.
Silence greeted them, and the bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. “He must be in his studio,” Moira said, leading the way. “He probably holed up in there.”
Grace blushed. “Yes, but what if he’s . . . I mean . . . what if he doesn’t have any clothes on?”
“That shouldn’t bother you, especially if he’s passed out cold. Come on. You’ll probably have to help me carry him back to bed.”
Grace found she was holding her breath as Moira opened Hal’s studio door.
“Hell!” Moira spun Grace around and pushed her through the doorway. “Go get a couple of the guys.”
“But I can help you,” Grace started to protest. “What’s wrong?”
“Move it, Grace! Get the hell out of here!”
Grace hurried to the elevator and frantically stabbed at the button. When it didn’t come right away, she ran up the stairs. Moira had said hell twice without even trying to think of a substitute, and that meant that something was terribly wrong.
They’d all gathered at Grace and Moira’s again, and it had been almost eleven at night before they’d split up to go home. Jayne had claimed they were like spooked cattle herding together, and she wasn’t far wrong. No one had wanted to be alone. Hal’s suicide on the heels of Vanessa’s awful accident had been just too much to handle.
Laureen frowned as Alan opened the door to their apartment and they stepped inside. “I can’t do it, Alan. I simply can’t survive another night in those lounge chairs.”
“I know what you mean.” Alan winced a little and rubbed his neck. “I guess we should have taken Jayne and Paul up on their offer after all.”
“No, you were right. They need their time alone right now. I thought about asking Ellen if we could sleep there, but I know Walker’s using her guest room. Maybe we should have stayed at Grace and Moira’s.”
“We can still do that,” Alan pointed out. “Moira told us to knock on the door if we couldn’t sleep.”
“But Grace could hardly keep her eyes open, Alan.”
“Then how about Marc’s place? He’s always up late, playing his pinball machines. He’d put us up in his guest room.”
Laureen shook her head. “Remember the last time you slept on a water bed?”
Alan grinned. They’d gone to one of those adult motels once, and the water bed had thrown his back out for a week. “It seemed to me it was worth it.”
Laureen giggled and her face turned slightly red. It had definitely been worth it.
Alan started to grin. “I know what we can do. We’ll go up and sleep at Hal’s. After all, we’re putting him up in our freezer.”
“Oh, Alan!” Laureen looked shocked. “How can you joke about a thing like that?”
“If I don’t, I get scared. I can handle it if I joke about it. Betty’s place is out. The nurse is using her guest room, but how about Johnny’s? His place is vacant.”
“Not Johnny’s. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t seem to shake the idea that we’ll open a closet and find his body.”
“Then the only place left is Clayton and Rachael’s. Would that bother you?”
Laureen took a moment to think, then she shook her head. “Rachael’s such a good housekeeper, she’s probably got the guest room all made up. You don’t think they’d mind, do you, Alan?”
“If they were here, they’d be the first to invite us. Come on, honey. Let’s get our things together and go.”
The Caretaker frowned as he watched them step inside. Alan was carrying a bag and Laureen had two pillows. Clayton’s apartment was a lousy choice, but perhaps it would be all right as long as they didn’t start snooping around.
Betty was still sleeping soundly, but her lips were moving. Perhaps she was trying to speak. He leaned over to listen and smiled as he made out the word. Friend. Poor Betty, with her confused mind and her love for everyone. For the first time, he almost felt sorry for her. What would she think if she knew that he was the one who’d supervised the hit on her boyfriend and come up with the plan that had turned her into a vegetable?
Naturally, the Old Man had objected, but he’d finally seen that there was no other way, not if he wanted to keep his darling daughter alive. The Caretaker had hired Margaret Woodard himself. No one knew that he’d recruited her more than ten years ago, the daughter of one of the Old Man’s soldiers who’d been killed in the line of duty. It had been a brilliant move, training her in a profession that might prove valuable.
Margaret was smart enough to know what would happen if she didn’t repay her debt. She hadn’t been happy about her assignment, but she’d done an excellent job so far. The only problem he could see was her sympathy for Betty, an occupational hazard in the nursing profession. Of course, it didn’t really matter. If she made any wrong moves, she was expendable.
He smiled as Alan turned down the covers, a typical domestic scene. There was no need to turn up the audio as long as they went straight to bed. Other people might enjoy being voyeurs, but not him, and Laureen and Alan’s sex life was bound to be dull.
Now Laureen was yawning. That was good. Once they were asleep, he could catch a snooze himself. He’d confiscated Johnny’s stash. By rights it was theirs anyway, since the rat was cutting into family territory, but he hated to use it on such a regular basis. There was no substitute for sleep. And now Alan and Laureen were sitting down on the bed and . . .
The Caretaker groaned as he saw Alan reach for his robe. Now both of them were up again and he used Jack’s fancy system to track them into the kitchen. A late-night snack. He might have known. Laureen took out one of Clayton’s frying pans while Alan assembled the ingredients. It was almost like watching one of her cooking shows. In less than ten minutes, Brie and prosciutto omelets with a dollop of sour cream were ready. Garnished with chives and ripe olive slices, they looked delicious.
Laureen handed the plates to Alan and picked up the napkins and silverware. No problem. But he swore softly under his breath as they bypassed the dining room and headed out to the rose garden.
“It’s nice out here, isn’t it, honey?” Laureen smiled at her husband. They’d finished their omelets and were enjoying a glass of Chablis from Clayton’s refrigerator.
Alan nodded. “Yes, but you can tell Clayton’s no gardener. The rosebushes need pruning.”
“And the gazebo needs a new coat of paint.” Laureen frowned. “I’m surprised at Rachael. She keeps the rest of the apartment in such good shape.”
Alan fumbled in the breast pocket of his robe for a cigarette, wishful thinking since they were still safely hidden in his father’s desk. He really wanted a smoke, but he never smoked a pipe right before bed. It took about forty-five minutes to smoke a bowl and there was no way he’d risk ruining a good pipe by knocking it out before it was finished. The moisture and oils from the tobacco would sour the pipe. He settled for a walk around the garden instead, examining the rosebushes.
“Look at this, Laureen,” he called out, pointing to a patch of ground. “Maybe Clayton’s hired a gardener.”
Laureen walked over to join him. “I know I’m probably being ridiculous, but doesn’t this look a lot like a . . .” she swallowed hard, “. . . a grave?”
Alan laughed. “More like a flower bed to me. Remember that bed of zinnias you put in by our old house? I think it was about this size.”
Laureen gave a sigh of relief. “I guess my imagination is running away with me, honey. It’s just that so many people have died.”
“Yeah. And they’re all in our freezer. Pretty soon there won’t be enough room for your brownies.”
“Alan! You’re terrible!” Laureen was shocked, but she couldn’t help laughing.
Alan grinned and hugged her. Then, catching a glitter in the dirt, he stooped down to pick up a heart-shaped diamond earring. “Look at this, honey.”
Laureen stared down at the earring for a moment and then she gave a little cry. “That looks just like the earrings Hal gave Vanessa.”
“Might as well keep it.” Alan stuck it in his pocket. “I’ve got the other one. I found it on the floor of the freezer. She must have been wearing them the night she died.”
“But what was she doing out here?” Laureen shivered. “This doesn’t make any sense, Alan.”
“Maybe we’d better wake the others. Come on, honey.”
Laureen could feel her knees shaking as she walked through Clayton’s apartment and out the door. The lights on either side of Clayton’s door were out. She hadn’t noticed that earlier.
“It’s really dark, Alan.”
“I must have turned off the hall lights by mistake.” Alan led her calmly down the hall.
Laureen leaned against the wall as Alan pressed the elevator button. At least the arrow lit up, its faint glow reassuring her.
The elevator doors slid open, but the inside light was off. Laureen shuddered and stepped back. “I’m not getting in there in the dark.”
Alan put his arm around her shoulders. “The bulb’s just burned out. The elevator’s still working just fine.”
“But what if the power’s going out? We could get stuck!”
Alan sighed. There were times when his wife was terribly obstinate. “The doors opened and they’re electrical, and the button lit up. Come on, Laureen, we don’t have time to argue about this.”
“Let’s take the stairs. Please?”
“Be reasonable, honey. You told me your legs were stiff from sleeping on the lounge chair. Do you really want to walk down all those stairs? We’ll get there much faster in the elevator.”
Laureen took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, as Alan took her arm to lead her forward. Then she let out a cry and pulled him back. “It’s not there! Oh, my God, Alan! The elevator’s not there!”
Alan took a step back, away from the brink of the yawning shaft, and reached out to wrap both arms around her. “Jesus, Laureen! You saved our lives!”
“Thank God I noticed! If we . . .” Laureen’s voice broke and she found she couldn’t go on. Thinking about what could have happened was just too horrible. As they stood there hugging each other, glorying in the fact that they were still alive and safe, something connected solidly with the small of Laureen’s back, hurtling them forward into the empty shaft. They had a brief moment to clutch at the empty air as they fell five floors to the garage. Alan had been right. The elevator was much faster than the stairs. They didn’t even have time to scream.
NINETEEN
Betty let out a little cry. Her secret friend had gone down to forbidden channel zero to open the big box that ran the elevator and then he’d come back to channel five to push them. Now they were falling to the bottom of the elevator shaft to play dead. She didn’t want to watch the end of this movie. It was so scary that holding her hand in front of her eyes wouldn’t help.
Outside snow was falling again. Betty knew it was late at night because the other channels were playing their sleeping movies. Her secret friend had been here again and he’d given her more of her favorite candy. This time she had taken three pieces, but she’d saved them for later. Of course, she hadn’t let him see her. He was so nice to bring the candy and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
The thought of the candy made her mouth water, and Betty reached under her pillow. It was still there, wrapped in a tissue, but it didn’t look much like candy anymore. She tossed the gooey mass in the wastebasket by her bed and reached for a cracker instead. At least crackers didn’t melt, they only crumbled. She was just about to put on one of the Doris and Rock movies that Jack had given her, when she found something interesting on forbidden channel two.
“Did you hear something?” Moira sat up in bed. “Grace? Are you awake?”
Grace sat up and swung her feet out of bed. “I am now. What was it?”
“It sounded like something crashed into the living room wall. I think I’d better take a look.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Grace got into her robe and slippers and followed Moira into the living room. They switched on the lights, but there didn’t seem to be anything out of place.
“Maybe one of the animals fell over,” Moira guessed. “We’d better check.”
Grace lagged behind a bit as she followed Moira to the storage room. When her father had died, she’d wanted to sell off the whole collection, but Moira had been delighted with the variety of species her father had preserved. Grace never liked going to the storage room, but it was even worse at night. Paul had designed a huge temperature-controlled room to house and preserve her father’s legacy. It had a rustic look, almost like the inside of a log cabin, and Moira had arranged the specimens in a manner that was much too realistic. It frightened Grace every time she saw the big upright Kodiak bear, huge paws extended to rake her into his deadly embrace.
The black panther was another animal Grace avoided. His yellow glass eyes glittered savagely in the light and his lips were pulled back in a vicious snarl, exposing his long, sharp incisors. He looked ready to pounce on her and rip her flesh into shreds.
“Everything seems to be all right.” As Moira walked down the rows of animals, she reached out to pat the lion’s head. “Check on Penny, will you, Grace? If she fell over, she’d make an awful racket.”
Penny was Moira’s nickname for the giraffe, and Grace dutifully headed to the back of the room, giving the bear and the panther a wide berth. At least the giraffe didn’t scare her. She’d never heard of anyone being attacked by a giraffe.
“Penny didn’t tip over.” Grace’s voice quavered slightly and she was ashamed of her timidity. She’d never mentioned her fears to Moira, but she was very glad when they closed the door on her father’s menagerie and went back into the living room again.
“Your picture’s crooked.” Moira pointed to the publicity photo of Grace in her first role as a featured dancer. “Something must have bashed against the other side of this wall. That’s the elevator shaft, isn’t it?”
Grace nodded. “Maybe it got stuck and someone pounded on the wall to get our attention.”
They hurried out into the hall and pressed the elevator button. In a moment, the doors slid open. Moira was about to step in even though the inside of the cage was dark, when Grace pulled her back.
“Oh, my God!” Moira’s mouth dropped open as she peered into the empty shaft. “Thanks, Grace.”
Both women looked at each other for a moment and then Moira took charge. “Get the flashlight, Grace.”
Light in hand, Moira got down on her stomach and leaned over the shaft. When she spoke, her voice echoed hollowly. “There’s something down there.”
“Does it look like a . . . a person?” Grace wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but perhaps knowing was better than imagining.
Moira got to her feet. “More like a bundle of clothes. Come on, Grace. We’ve got to warn everyone so they won’t use the elevator.”
They ran down the stairs as quickly as they could and rang Alan and Laureen’s doorbell. When no one answered, Grace turned to Moira with fear in her eyes. “You don’t suppose . . .”
“Don’t be silly,” Moira interrupted. “I heard Jayne invite them to stay in her guest room.”
The third floor was Hal and Vanessa’s, the fourth floor Johnny Day’s. By the time they got to the fifth floor landing, Moira’s legs were trembling with fatigue.
“There’s no use stopping here.” Grace grabbed Moira’s arm. “We know Clayton and Rachael aren’t home. Come on, Moira. You can make it.”
“Oh, sure. That’s easy for you to say. You’re the dancer in the family. My legs will never be the same.”
“Only one floor to go.” Grace pulled her up the stairs. “Jack hooked up a battery intercom in Betty’s unit. We can call everyone from there.”
Sabotaging the elevator had worked perfectly. Naturally, some of them had been hysterical, but they’d pulled themselves together enough to carry the bodies to the freezer which was fortunately, only one floor up. He hadn’t found the earring, it must have fallen out of Alan’s pocket when he fell, but that didn’t really matter as long as it was out of the rose garden. And now they were all back in their own apartments, trying to sleep after the latest tragedy.
The Caretaker clicked through the closed-circuit channels, checking on everyone, watching Betty out of the corner of his eye. She was wide-awake, staring at the television screen, even though she’d eaten three pieces of tranquilizer-laden candy.
“Sleepy, Betty?” He reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away, almost as if she knew what he’d done. It was such an unexpected reaction that he turned to look at her closely. Of course that was impossible. He must be even more tired than he’d thought. The Caretaker sighed as he took the little gold vial out of his pocket and laid out a couple of lines. This whole thing was growing much too complicated.
What would the police do when the road was cleared and they were faced with a suicide and five accidental deaths? Not even the Old Man and his big-name friends had enough juice to stop an investigation. They’d go through this place with a fine-tooth comb and some eager-beaver young cop would discover something. Given the odds, it was inevitable. Perhaps it would be better to clean out the building floor by floor since they were all sitting ducks. Then he could arrange a convenient explosion.
He forced himself to think carefully. He didn’t want to make a mistake. A gas line weakened by the avalanche was a natural, and by the time they’d finished sifting through the debris, he’d be someone else. Their plastic surgeon had plenty of practice. The whole setup was even more thorough than the federal witness program. A couple of days from now he’d be recuperating at the resort, eating lobster, and reading about the terrible accident that had killed him.
But what about Betty? He looked over to find her watching him. Unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. Since the Caretaker had come up with the scheme to keep Betty alive, the Old Man would never suspect he’d killed her.
He stood up to look out the window. The winds had died down and he should be able to get through tonight. He’d call the Old Man to tell him that his beloved daughter had died peacefully in her sleep, heart failure or some such thing. And how he’d busted his ass to protect the family after the soldiers had botched the job with Johnny. There was no need to fill him in on the details, he’d just say it was impossible to cover any longer, that they were too close to the truth. The Old Man would have to agree that blowing up the building was the only way out.
There were tears in Margaret Woodard’s eyes as she punctured the top of the vial and filled the syringe. She’d done her best not to get personally involved, but she hadn’t been able to harden her heart against Betty completely.
As she punctured the top of a second vial and drew back the plunger, she considered the man waiting in Betty’s room. Once she’d administered Betty’s lethal shot, he wouldn’t need her services any longer.
The Caretaker wasn’t sure what had warned him, perhaps the expression in her eyes or the way her fingers tightened around the syringe. He whirled just in time; one well-placed blow was all it took to guarantee that she would never move again.
Turning back to Betty, he found her staring at him in horror. He smiled to reassure her and patted her hand. “It’s all right, Betty, just a bad dream. Now close your eyes and I’ll make it all go away.”
Betty closed her eyes obediently as he walked over to pick up the syringe that had fallen out of the nurse’s hand. Used to her bedtime shots, she hardly seemed to feel it as he slipped the needle into her vein and depressed the plunger. “Good night, Betty. And good-bye.”
He pulled the nurse’s body into the bathroom and shut the door. Betty might open her eyes again and there was no need to upset her. When he went back into her room, her breathing was slow and even. Mission accomplished. The double dose would push Betty into unconsciousness, and soon it would be over. There was a satisfied expression on the Caretaker’s face as he went down to Jack’s apartment to retrieve his shortwave radio.
Moira reached out to flick on the light, then shook Grace’s shoulder. “Wake up, Grace. I finally figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” Grace opened her eyes and groaned.
“The bodies, Grace, think about Alan and Laureen’s bodies.”
“Do I have to?” Grace mumbled, blinking groggily. Moira sounded very excited.
“Did they look as if they’d fallen only one floor?”
Grace winced. “I’m not sure. I tried not to look.”
“Well, I think they fell a lot farther than that. Besides, we live above them. How could they bang into our wall if they fell from their own floor?”
“You’re absolutely right.” Grace perked up. “I never thought of that before. What shall we do?”
Moira sighed. “I hate to even think of it, but we’d better go up to Jayne and Paul’s to see if Alan and Laureen were staying with them.”
“Wouldn’t they have mentioned it?”
“Not necessarily. We were all so stunned. And it never occurred to me to ask. Come on, Grace. Let’s go.”
“Do you really want to walk up seven flights of stairs?”
Moira shook her head wearily. “No, Grace, I don’t. But I’ll never be able to get to sleep if I don’t find out. You can stay here if you’re too tired, but I’m going.”
