by Joanne Pence
He gave her a steady stare. “I think I saw that movie, Angie. Ten Little Indians, was it?”
“Which version? There’ve been at least three. The original, And Then There Were None, was my favorite.”
Last, dry shoes. “If you’re talking movies, remember all the ones where the butler did it,” Paavo said as he brushed his hair.
“The butler! Of course, Reginald Vane. Who could look more guilty than a man who wears a bow tie all the time?”
Dressed and ready to be on his way once more, Paavo stepped in front of her and smoothed her hair back off her face. “You can joke about it, Angie, but the fact is, there’s a very dangerous person on this hill with us. Two people are dead, and one missing—”
“But Patsy could still be alive,” Angie insisted.
“That’s why we’re going back out to look for her. But you’ve got to be careful and not trust any of these people. The only ones I’m fairly sure you’re safe with are Chelsea and Moira. And even with them I’m not positive.”
“Moira! Why? She’s my prime suspect!”
He kissed her, then grinned. “I don’t think that has anything to do with murder, Miss Amalfi.”
She frowned. “Of course it does. First, when Finley was missing, she waited nearly twenty-four hours before telling anyone but her gardener there might be a problem. What could be more suspicious than that? Then, his death scarcely bothered her, and now the inn is hers. Opportunity and motive, Inspector. What else is there?”
“Inheriting a mortgage as large as this one is hardly a motive, Miss Amalfi.”
“What about insurance?”
“Tay didn’t carry any. He was relatively young, healthy, and couldn’t afford it.”
“I still say she’s guilty as sin. You’re being duped.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Forget Moira. I want you to stay with one of the women at all times when I’m not here. If I could, I’d get you off this hill right now, but we’re all stuck in this together. Am I clear?”
“Quite.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he commanded, his tone harsh, his eyes like flint.
“Yes, sir!” she said.
He looked at her proud little chin, her upturned mouth, the sparkle in her eyes, and something inside him melted. “And don’t be so goddamn sassy.” He gave her a kiss, hard and possessive, before he turned and walked out of the room.
Angie jiggled the phone’s receiver in the kitchen. It didn’t do any good. She hadn’t expected it would, but then Moira had said the phone company would fix the phones soon. Why didn’t they? She could have screamed in frustration…but she really did hate screaming women, despite what this place was doing to her.
If there was a killer here at Hill Haven, and the thought seemed more plausible with each passing hour, who would be in danger from him or her? Wouldn’t the killer be anxious to get rid of a homicide inspector, someone trained to spot mistakes, to apprehend criminals? Hadn’t she, then, in thinking she was bringing Paavo to an idyllic spot, actually brought him somewhere that his life was more in danger than ever?
Whoever this was had already killed two people, and if Patsy was dead, that made three. Facing capture, the killer might do anything at all to get away. What was another dead body to a fiend like that?
But who? Who? Much as she didn’t want to admit it, not even Moira seemed capable of such action. No one seemed evil enough.
It had to be someone from the town. Someone who snuck up onto this promontory, killed, and then snuck back down off it again. Living here all their lives, people from town surely knew a way here and back despite the rain and the roads being washed out.
That was the only logical answer.
She tried the phone again. The rain was steady, and she knew that there was still no way to leave the hilltop.
People were searching all over. All over…
Except, perhaps, for one spot.
But there was no way she’d go alone.
She ran up to Chelsea’s room.
“No. I’m not going down there,” Chelsea said, folding her arms after Angie had explained.
“Everyone is out looking around for her except you, me, and Bethel, and Bethel has the excuse of being arthritic. We don’t.” Angie stepped into Chelsea’s closet, found a jacket, and handed it to her. “We can’t let the men do all the searching.”
“I can.”
“Where’s your feminist spirit?”
“Gone.”
“This house probably does have too many spirits already, but we can’t let that stop us.”
“I only care about one spirit. And he’s got to be the most shy ghost who ever walked the Earth. Or didn’t walk it.”
“Maybe he’ll protect you. Now let’s go.” She guided Chelsea through the doorway.
Following Moira’s instructions from yesterday morning, Angie and Chelsea trudged across the garden in the back of the house and kept going until they reached a small knoll. The wind was howling, the rain pelting them. Angie didn’t understand how Paavo could spend so much time out in such horrible weather searching for Patsy. He hardly knew the woman. She guessed that was what dedication was all about.
“Help me,” Angie said as she lifted the bar that held shut the small door fitted into the slanting hillside.
“Is it safe?” Chelsea asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t think this is such a good idea, Angie.”
Angie grabbed the door handle and pulled. “But it’s the only place they haven’t looked. Or at least they haven’t said so if they did look here. But what if Patsy came down for something and fell? She could be hurt. It’s worth a try. I’m not sure the others even know this house has a root cellar back here.” The wind began to roar, and the rain fell more heavily. The two struggled to open the door against the galelike winds.
“In my pocket,” Angie said, “I’ve got a candle and some matches. Take them.”
“No, you go ahead. Any door that size was not made for a person my size to go through. It’s fate,” Chelsea said. “I’ll hold the door open or it’ll blow shut in this wind.”
“Don’t be silly. Let’s open the door as far as it’ll go. It’s heavy. It’ll stay,” Angie said. They pushed the door all the way open and peered through the munchkin-size doorway to steps that led down into the root cellar.
“Okay, Chelsea,” Angie shouted to be heard over the sudden loud wind. “You go first.”
“Me? Shoot!” Chelsea took a candle and some matches and started down the stairs. “Patsy?” No answer. “It’s too creepy. I’ve gone far enough.”
“You’ve only gone down three steps! Go on, Chelsea. I’m right behind you.”
“That gives me lots of confidence,” came the ungrateful grumble.
“Anyway, I thought you liked creepy things. Like ghosts,” Angie said.
“Funny, Angie. Real funny.” Chelsea kept going.
“How big is the cellar?” Angie asked.
“Uh…bigger than a bread box. But not exactly Grand Central.”
Angie started down the steps after Chelsea. “Ah, finally I’m out of that wind. Now I can light my candle and see what’s going on here.” She lit it and looked around. The root cellar was surprisingly large, with shelves lined with jars of preserves, stone crocks, and bunches of drying and dried vegetables.
“Patsy,” Angie called. “Patsy, are you in here?”
She went down a few more steps, then held the candle out so that she could see as much of the cellar as possible.
“I’m getting out of here,” Chelsea said and turned around. Her eyed widened in horror. “No!”
Angie turned to see the door swinging closed, just as a gust of wind extinguished her candle.
16
Running Spirit, Martin Bayman, and Paavo discovered an old bridge that spanned a deep gorge, one that almost cut the promontory off from the mainland and made an island out of it.
The bridge
’s dry rot was so bad it was visible with the naked eye. Paavo was surprised a strong gale hadn’t blown it down long before.
“Maybe that’s why we can’t find Mrs. Jeffers,” Bayman said. “She crossed over the bridge.”
“Would she chance it, Jeffers?” Paavo asked. “The bridge looks dangerous.”
“As I’ve said from the start, I can’t believe she’d have left the house,” Running Spirit replied. “She’s hiding…or she’s dead.”
“Nonetheless, one of us should try to get across it,” Bayman said. “We’ve got these ropes. We can tie one end of the rope to a tree, the other to one of us, then that person can try to cross. If the bridge falls, the others can pull the man up.”
Paavo was dubious. “She can’t weigh much over a hundred and ten or twenty pounds, but I still wonder if it could have held her.”
“She wouldn’t chance it,” Running Spirit said.
“Who’ll be the guinea pig?” Martin asked, ignoring Jeffers.
“She’s my wife,” Running Spirit said. “I guess that means I’m elected.”
“The bridge would come down for sure under your weight,” Paavo said. “The only one of us with any hope of crossing it is Martin. If the bridge starts to go, the two of us could pull him up easily.”
Although agreeing with Paavo’s contention, Martin muttered about the unfairness of it the entire time he was tying one end of the rope around his waist and Running Spirit was tying the other end to a nearby tree.
Slowly, being careful to cause the least disturbance, Martin stepped onto the narrow wooden bridge.
“Chelsea, are you all right?” Angie whispered into the darkness. Something grabbed her foot and she cried out.
“Sorry. It’s just me,” Chelsea said. “I’m trying to come up the stairs. It’s too scary down here.”
“Careful! You nearly knocked me off the steps. I’m going up to open the door.” She went up two steps and felt the door in front of her. She pushed, but it wouldn’t open.
“Is the wind holding it shut?” Chelsea asked.
Angie didn’t think so. “I hope that’s all it is. Help me.” Angie pulled Chelsea up the stairs to her side.
“Put your hands on the door,” Angie ordered, trying to keep her balance. “Okay, now, one, two, three, push!” They strained. The door didn’t budge.
“I don’t think it’s wind,” Chelsea cried and let go. “I had no idea the door would be so heavy.”
“It’s not. The bar that holds it shut must have dropped into place when the door closed.”
“Don’t say that, Angie! That means we’re locked in.”
A soft thump was heard.
“Oh, God!” Chelsea clutched Angie so hard she nearly smothered her. “What was that?”
“Nothing. Just your imagination.”
“Then how come you heard it, too?”
Angie pushed at the door again, to no avail. How long would it take for someone to find them down here? And worse, what creatures were down here with them?
Angie had dropped the candle, but she still had the matches in her pocket. Should she go down the stairs to find it? How far down was the ground? And what else would she be touching in this total darkness as she tried to find the spot where the candle had fallen?
Tha-thump.
The soft sound reverberated through the cellar.
All her fears of the dark, of things that go bump in the night, burst loose, and she and Chelsea held each other and screamed for help.
The bridge swayed precariously. Its creaks grew louder and more ominous with each step.
Martin made it almost to the opposite bank when there was a sharp crack, almost like a rifle shot, and the bridge crumbled under his feet.
“Martin!” Paavo shouted as he watched the man plunge into the deep chasm.
The rope slid from Martin’s waist upward to his underarms before it caught, stopping his free fall with a sharp jolt. He winced with pain as the rope tightened, cutting into his shoulders and back.
He took hold of the rope with his hands, trying to pull up, trying to lift some of the weight off his shoulders. But his feet weren’t able to touch the ground, and he was left dangling in midair like a fish caught by a line tossed off the end of a pier.
“You’ll be all right,” Paavo called down. He grabbed the rope and started to pull on it, trying to haul Martin back to the bank. The rope, like everything else at this inn, was old and rotten in parts. He could see it starting to fray. They’d have to work fast. “Pull, Jeffers,” he ordered. “Help me.”
Running Spirit folded his arms.
Paavo looked back at him. “Jeffers!”
No answer.
Paavo felt Martin drop lower as the rope began to thin in one part. He tugged on it, trying to get Martin up to what was left of the bridge as soon as possible. He made progress, but it was slow. The rope tore at his hands and his arm sockets burned from the strain of Martin’s deadweight. “Jeffers, damn it, there’s not much time.”
Running Spirit backed up. “He doesn’t belong here. Everything was fine until he got involved. It’s his fault all this is happening.”
“You don’t know that. Take hold of the rope. You can’t let him fall.”
Another part of the rope started to unravel, the fibers standing straight upright where they tore in two. “Jeffers, nothing will be solved by this. He was trying to find your wife, man!”
“I’m doing for him what he’d do for me. Nothing.”
Loose and muddy from the constant rain, the ground gave way under Paavo’s feet and he slid forward, toward the bank. Martin dropped about three feet. His terror-filled shriek reverberated through the gorge.
Paavo’s hands had gotten burned and bloodied from the rope, but he didn’t let go. Wordlessly, he looked over his shoulder at Running Spirit.
“Goddammit! All right.” Running Spirit picked up the rope and started to pull. Working together, he and Paavo were able to quickly drag Bayman up to what was left of the bridge. Martin was able to grab hold of it and hoist himself onto it, then scramble quickly to the bank.
Lying facedown, Martin shut his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. Paavo said nothing. He knew there was bad blood between the two, but he hadn’t realized it ran this deep.
Running Spirit stood over Bayman. “Don’t thank me,” he said.
Martin tried to stand, but his legs shook too badly, and he sat down again on the ground. “Thanks was the last thing on my mind,” he said bitterly. “A lawsuit was first.”
Their screams stopped abruptly. The cellar door rattled. Angie and Chelsea lunged against it, pushing with all their might, when all of a sudden it sprang open. A rain-soaked Reginald Vane held his arm down to them. “My goodness! What are you doing there?”
“Acting out my worst nightmare,” Angie said.
“Really?” Vane asked.
Angie clutched his arm in a death grip until she was outside in the wind and rain. “Help Chelsea,” she murmured as she dropped to the ground, not caring that it was wet and muddy. Her heart needed time to settle down, and her knees to stop knocking, before she could walk back to the inn.
“Miss Worthington,” Vane said softly, taking both Chelsea’s hands. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
Hearing his heartfelt kindness must have been Chelsea’s undoing, because all of a sudden she burst into tears. “I was so afraid,” she said.
“There, there, my dear,” he said, moving so that she stood within the circle of his arms as he patted her shoulder. “I didn’t know you were there, miss,” he said very softly.
But Angie had heard. “What do you mean? What difference would that have made?”
Chelsea, too, stepped back, a confused look on her face as Vane’s words penetrated.
Vane looked at them both, flustered. “I only meant, literally, I didn’t know she was in there. I only saw Miss Amalfi at first. And while you, Miss Amalfi,
have Inspector Smith to see to your emotional state after such a trauma, Miss Worthington has no one. I’m glad I could be here to help.”
“What brought you out here?” Angie asked.
“I heard the thumping sound of the ghosts,” Vane said. “I tried to ignore it, but somehow I couldn’t. I fled the house to walk about outdoors, despite the rain. Mercifully, I heard your cries.”
Angie stood up. She didn’t believe Vane’s story, but what was the truth? And why would he lie?
“Let’s go in,” Reginald said. He took Chelsea’s arm and held it as they walked back to the inn.
17
“My dear girl, what a horrible fright you’ve had.” Reginald Vane patted the back of Chelsea’s hand, then quickly wrapped his hands around his mug of the hot chocolate he’d made for himself, Chelsea, and Angie. The three of them sat at the kitchen counter, Reginald and Chelsea side by side, while Angie felt shunted off into the corner.
“It was awful,” Chelsea said.
“I don’t know how you stood it. You’re wondrously brave.” Reginald’s ears reddened with his last statement and he straightened his bow tie.
What was I, Angie thought, chopped liver down there?
Finally she got sick of the reprise of poor, brave Chelsea in the root cellar and left the kitchen, feeling decidedly sorry for herself. Not only did no one care what happened to her, no matter how frightening, but she had to listen to concern over everyone else.
She put on Moira’s wide-brimmed rain hat and slicker and went outdoors, planning to walk over to the cliffs to try to find Paavo and the others. She’d like to help search for Patsy, even though she knew she’d have to struggle not to slow the men down. Staying indoors felt too claustrophobic after having been stuck in that horrible root cellar. She needed to watch, and think, and figure out what was going on here.
She stuck her hands in her pockets and walked with her head down. The rain was steady, but the wind had stopped, so walking in it wasn’t unpleasant.