“A reporter?” Jack said.
“Oh, my Lord!” Roxanne drawled. “You’re the woman who called me!”
Kristin nodded.
“But I thought you said your name was … oh. Kristin. But wasn’t it Kristin Kennedy?”
“There’s a nom de plume in there somewhere,” Christina murmured. Kristin didn’t correct her.
Jack started to laugh. “Still want to see the library, Harry?”
“Wait a minute, please! I’m not here to malign anyone!” Kristin insisted. “But you all must believe in Justin’s innocence, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Not necessarily,” Jack said dryly. “Some of us just may feel that the old boy had the right to do her in.”
“He didn’t kill her,” Kristin insisted.
“And here we have another member of his fan club,” Roxanne murmured.
“Justin does have that effect on women,” Christina murmured.
Did he have it on her? Kristin wondered. Then she wondered if she should have made her announcement so casually. They were a group. They knew one another. They might be disassociated in their real lives once the play wasn’t going on, but in this, they were a solid group.
The group that had been together when Myra Breckenridge was killed.
And one of them had done it.
It felt just a little bit as if it was them—against her.
It felt as if…! It was. But how on earth could anyone ever discover who had hated Myra enough to kill her?
A little chill snaked down her spine. There might be a way to draw a killer out. A very rash way.
She would be putting herself into danger to do it. Grave danger.
But was there any other way?
“You see,” Kristin threw out boldly, “I think I just may know the truth. I’m a researcher. I dig really deep. Justin did find me in a library.”
Once again, you could almost hear a pin drop.
“Then who—” Maria began.
“Not one of us!” Jack insisted.
“You want to interview us, right?” Harry said suddenly. “Make certain that your idea is correct?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But Justin is innocent?” Roxanne murmured.
“That’s right. I keep thinking—”
“Think all you want!” a male voice interrupted suddenly. Harsh, cold. Justin’s voice. He was standing behind Kristin with her coat in his hand. “But don’t think it here. Say goodbye to the nice people, Kristin. I’m taking you home.”
How much of what she had said had he heard? Kristin wondered.
“Oh, now Justin, don’t be churlish,” Jack said.
“Churlish?” Roxanne murmured.
“He’s been doing too much Shakespeare or something,” Harry told her. “But Justin, really, we don’t mind that Ms. Doria—er—Ms. Kennedy here is a reporter. Really, we don’t.”
“I do,” Justin said pointedly. “Come on, Kristin.”
The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it away from the table. He grabbed her hand. And she sensed that if she decided to have it out right there, he’d be more than ready to drag her out physically. She was really no match for him.
She jumped up and circled around the table. “Justin, you really can be rude, you know. I can’t leave just yet. I’ve—I’ve got to pick up a few things. In the bedroom. Excuse me.”
She was certain that he would have caught her by the roots of her hair if he could have done so, but she slipped around the table and hurried for the stairs. Then she ran up them as quickly as she could. She had barely reached the sitting room before he caught up with her.
“Justin—”
He pushed the door open and they were both inside. He slammed the door shut and looked at her as if he were ready to shake her hard.
Or throttle her.
But she knew his temper. Standing on her toes, she ran her fingers over his collar. “Justin, I had to talk to you alone. Give me a chance! I’ll be careful.…” she began huskily. She pressed close to him. She meant to tease and torment.
And it seemed that she did. He sighed softly, and he kissed her. Kissed her hard. The kind of kiss that seated to her soul and left her quivering and with hot little ripples dancing along her spine.
Then he pushed her away from him. “No!”
He grabbed her arm and led her—no, dragged her—out of the room. She had to step quickly to keep up with his pace as he led her back down the stairs and to the door.
“Kristin?”
Christina and Artie appeared from the kitchen. Then the others were all there, too.
“Say goodbye, Kristin,” Justin told her.
She smiled over gritted teeth. “Goodbye. It was lovely to meet you all. And I’m sure we will meet again.”
“Oh, we will, we will!” Jack said cheerfully.
They all gave her big hugs, as if they were telling a relative goodbye after too short a stay.
“Maybe he’ll let you come back for breakfast tomorrow,” Artie told her. “I do all kinds of literary work, too, you know.”
“Well, I don’t write novels—”
“You may one day.”
“Yeah. Myra’s murder would make a great whodunit,” Jack supplied dryly.
“Maybe I will write a book—” Kristin began to say to Artie.
“Jack, thanks for the vote of confidence. Artie, Kristin is taking you for a ride. She’s quite good at it.”
“And other things, too, so it seems,” Roxanne observed lightly.
Kristin gritted her teeth again, looking at her. Roxanne’s wide-eyed innocence was in full swing.
“Be a good girl and let’s go and maybe I will let you come back for breakfast,” Justin said.
There was another flurry of goodbyes, of kisses on her cheek. Kristin felt something brush her hand, and realized that she was now holding a piece of paper. A piece of paper that someone must have slipped to her. She closed her fingers over it.
Justin helped her into her coat, then opened the front door.
Roxanne smiled like the Cheshire cat, watching her leave.
And then Kristin was out in the snow and Justin was dragging her to his car. She was barely in it before he slammed the door, and walked around to the driver’s side.
“Take me to my car,” she told him primly.
“No way. I’ll take you to Roger’s.”
“Then Roger will just have to take me to my car. I’ve been thrown out. Now let me at least get my own transportation.”
He ignored her. Within minutes they were driving up in front of Roger and Sue’s. Justin stepped out to open her door and deposit her on the front step.
“Don’t come back!” he told her.
She closed her fingers more tightly over the piece of paper. She smiled demurely. “It will be a cold day in hell when I come back to you, Mr. Magnasun.”
“All of these seem to be cold days in hell lately,” he muttered.
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean you. Oh, hell, maybe I do mean you! Now stay home.”
He gave her a sharp blue stare to emphasize that he meant his words. Kristin just kept smiling. He turned and left her at last.
She waited until the Land Rover had disappeared down the road. Then she looked down at her hand and slowly opened her fingers. It was just a torn piece of napkin.
But scrawled on it was a message.
Meet me in the copse in the far rear of Justin’s property. Today. Noon. Alone. I could be in danger. I’ll give you the story.
There was no signature. But the script had been penned with flourishes. As if it had been written by a woman.
Roxanne?
Kristin closed her fingers around the piece of paper, and felt both excitement and anxiety sweep through her.
Very soon, she was certain, she would know who had really killed Myra.
Alone …
She’d be a fool to go alone. If she didn’t, though, she’d never discover the truth
. Maybe she could get Roger to help her.… No. Sue would have a fit, saying that Kristin could get them both killed. And she could. And then Roger’s brand-new little embryo wouldn’t have a father.
No, she couldn’t involve Roger.
But she didn’t even have her own car.
In the midst of her ponderings, she saw a car coming down the road. She walked closer to the embankment, watching. Then a smile touched her face and she started to wave wildly.
It was Miss Petrie from the library. And she was happy to give Kristin a ride back to her car.
When he returned from dropping Kristin off, Justin sat in his car in front of the house, tapping his fingers against the wheel.
Kristin. What was he going to do with her? She was so foolishly reckless, taking so many chances. And with every moment they were together, he realized more and more how deeply he was falling in love with her. She was very much like a dream—his own special dream—coming true. She belonged in the house, and she belonged with him. With her boundless energy and endless faith, those shimmering eyes, the warmth she exuded…
She could be in danger. He could be in danger him self because the real killer was probably in his house.…
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Through the years, he had gone over the night again and again. He had never been able to decide who the killer might be.
But one thing he was sure of. The way Kristin was poking around, she had to be making the killer very nervous.
He got out of the car and hurried back up to the house. The entry was empty, as were the living room and the kitchen. He didn’t see anybody, except Maria Canova.
She was stretched out on one of the floats in the pool, wearing a bathing suit and sunglasses, and sipping a drink. She patted the float and invited him in to join her.
“No, thanks.”
“The water is wonderful.”
“I know. It’s just not a novelty to me any longer.” He paused a moment. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Who are you looking for?” Maria asked him. Her voice had dropped an octave, it seemed. Her smile was damned practiced. “I mean, was there a particular reason you were so anxious to take your little friend home?”
“Actually, yes, there was a reason that I took her home. I love her, and I don’t want anything to happen to her,” he said bluntly.
“Well, then, she should watch her step,” Maria said idly.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, she announced this morning that she knew who the real killer was.”
“Excuse me, will you, Maria?” Justin said curtly. “I’ve got a few things to do.”
Frustrated, startled, worried and angry, he turned away from her and went back into the house and into his office.
You little fool! he thought. He sat at his desk, reaching for the phone. And then he paused. You’re playing with fire, when all I’m trying to do is protect you! Oh, Kristin, take care.
I love you.…
It was so very true. He was in love with Kristin. And he loved her. There were those subtle differences. He was in love with her because the mere scent of her perfume could excite him. A glance in her eyes could trigger his desire, a soft sigh from her lips made him feel as if the world had taken on a new spin. When she walked into a room, his breath caught. His heart took on a new beat. He wanted her so badly he had barely been able to lie by her side without touching her last night.
He was in love.
Twenty, forty years from now, he might not feel that same sweet flash of shimmering excitement every time she spoke. His desires could wane with age.
But his love for her never would.
And there, the subtle difference. He loved her for her wide trusting gray eyes. For the way she thought, for the way she spoke. He loved her for the way that she stood by him. He even loved her for being so damned stubborn. He loved her for the way she cared about her cousin, for the way she was with people. Perhaps she wouldn’t always be so trusting, but she was honest and level. And he knew that every word she had said to him was the truth. She had never come for a story. She had just stumbled onto him.
And he had stumbled onto her. After Myra, after being convinced that there was no truth in the world.
She was beautiful. So very beautiful with her rich dark hair and dark-lashed gray eyes and supple form. But she offered so much more, too.
“I hope I get to tell you,” he murmured. He picked up the phone and began to dial. It wasn’t something that he meant to say over the phone. He just wanted to make sure that she had gotten in okay.
Sue answered the phone.
“Hello, Sue. It’s Justin. Let me speak to Kristin.”
“What do you mean?” Sue said on a note of rising anxiety.
“Sue, I need to speak with her—”
“She’s not here. She’s been with you since last night, hasn’t she?”
“I let her off at your house more than an hour ago.”
“Well, she didn’t come in. Oh, Justin—”
“Don’t worry, Sue. I’ll find her.”
He hung up before she could say more, or get herself any more worried.
Kristin could be anywhere, he told himself. Anywhere at all. She had probably gotten a ride, and gone for her car. She was so damned stubborn. She was on her way back here. Any minute she’d ring the doorbell.
No, she wouldn’t. He didn’t understand it, but dread was sweeping through him with such a vengeance that he seemed paralyzed for a moment. He stood, tense-frightened half out of his wits.
She was in danger.
How did he know? Intuition…
Or the mere fact that she had been playing with a murderer?
And even more. If Kristin had gone somewhere without telling him or Sue, she had to know that one of them would have stopped her if possible. She had to be out there somewhere, playing with fire.
He looked out on the yard. It was snowing again. Big, soft flakes. The kind that obliterated footprints. The kind that had been falling the night Myra died.
And there was more. There was someone moving in the snow. Walking quickly, furtively. Heading for the forest behind the house.
Maybe there was nothing wrong. Maybe someone was just going for a walk.…
No. There was something going on. No one walked along in such a hurry, shoulders hunched, looking over their shoulders in such a way unless they were up to something. Unless they were on their way to some kind of clandestine meeting.
“Damn!” he swore out loud. Kristin was missing. Kristin had thrown out words just as if she were throwing out bait. And now she might well be meeting with someone out there in the forest.
He grabbed a jacket and hurried for the stairs. He raced through the house to the back, throwing open the door to the elements.
“Hey!” Maria called from the pool as the cold blast of wintry air swept into the glass enclosure.
He ignored her.
Parked at the bottom of the rolling slope was Kristin’s Cherokee.
And the figure in the snow had disappeared.
Wherever she was, Kristin was meeting the murderer.
Justin started to run.
From the cover of the trees, Kristin watched the figure coming closer and closer.
At first, she had barely been able to see the person. The snow had started to fall again. She felt the tension and fear sizzling through her, and she tried to judge the size of the person. She wasn’t small herself. Five foot eight and a fairly strong 130 pounds. She could take care of herself fairly well if only her opponent wasn’t…
As strong as the person who had killed Myra Breckenridge. That was the only person who might want to strangle her now.
The figure was small, she judged at last. Certainly no larger than she was.
And then, through the snow and the trees, the figure appeared.
“Kristin!” Her name was called in a soft, sibilant hiss. She felt an eerie unease sweeping up the length of her spine. As if someone
had run their nails over a blackboard.
Again the voice called her. “Kristin!”
Kristin stepped from the trees.
And came face-to-face with Roxanne Baynes.
“I’m here,” she said softly, keeping her fingers in the pockets of her coat. It was all that she could do. Was Roxanne going to wind her fingers around her neck?
“Oh, thank God!” Roxanne said. “And you came alone!”
“Yes,” Kristin said uneasily.
But Roxanne seemed even more nervous than Kristin was. She kept looking around the snow-covered landscape. “I had to write that note to you so quickly! I ran into the living room and did it when you were upstairs. I had the strangest feeling that someone was watching me, but when I turned around, I was alone. And I’m not sure if anyone saw me give it to you or not. I tried to be careful. And when I left the house … oh, I hope I wasn’t followed.”
Kristin looked around herself. “Maybe we shouldn’t be meeting out here.”
“Oh, but nobody must know that I know! Not until you can prove it! He’ll kill me!”
Wary, Kristin knit her brows. “Who?”
“It was Jack. Jack Jones.”
“Jones? Why? Was he really having an affair with Myra? I thought that he was a happily married man.”
Roxanne shook her head vehemently. “Jack is happy with lots and lots of people, and he is certainly not a discriminatory lover! He goes for any race, color, creed and even sex. See, I can’t prove this. I’ve been afraid to say anything. Because if he murdered her, he won’t think twice about murdering me!”
“But still, why would he murder Myra? Was an affair worth killing for?”
“Roxanne!”
The girl’s name rang out. Both Kristin and Roxanne jerked around.
A second figure was hurrying toward them across the snow. Huffing and puffing.
It was Jack. Jack Jones.
“I didn’t do it!” he cried out, scrambling over the white drifts to reach them. “She did it!” he cried to Kristin. “She did it! She was dying to get her hands on Justin, and Justin hadn’t divorced Myra. And Myra had a way of making people furious.”
“Oh, my Lord!” Roxanne gasped, coming around from behind Kristin. “You did see my note. You were watching me in the kitchen.”
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