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To the Rescue

Page 18

by Jean Barrett


  She continued her own effort with Sybil, pausing when a new thought occurred to her. Perhaps Sybil’s illogical assertion could be blamed, not on a dazed state resulting from her attack, but on liquor. If the woman had been drinking again…

  Jennifer leaned over her, smelling her shallow breath. She could detect no alcohol fumes. Shock then had to be the explanation for her raving.

  Or maybe…maybe there had been a sane meaning to her claim.

  What if Sybil had been referring to the elusive something she and Leo were chasing themselves? That unknown thing that had brought them out to the bailey to search the cars. That same whatever-it-was that the killer, who presumably was Sybil’s attacker, was so determined to keep a secret.

  It was a possibility that Jennifer wanted to discuss with Leo, but it would have to wait. He had succeeded in removing the last bar. Except for the short stub, which was all that remained of the third bar, the window was entirely open.

  “I’m going out,” he said, casting the second bar to the floor. “You know any good prayers, this is the time for them.”

  Pulling on her gloves, she picked herself up from the floor and went to the window. “Be careful.”

  “Always,” he promised her, swinging a leg over the ledge.

  He was a big man, and the opening wasn’t all that large. Could he fit himself through it and manage to lower himself onto the roof? He could and did. With all the virtuosity of a contortionist, he twisted his body through the window and, seconds later, disappeared over the side.

  Once he was out of the way, Jennifer crowded herself into the window seat and stuck her head through the opening. Leo already stood below her astride the ridge of the roof. Looking up, he saluted her with a confident grin.

  “See you at the door,” he called above the howl of the wind.

  This time, with the skill of a high-wire artist, he turned himself around and began to work his slow way across the roof where in places the wind had cleared away the snow. Jennifer followed his progress, her nerves as taut as that invisible wire.

  Arms stretched out on either side of him, swaying only slightly, Leo maintained his balance with seeming ease. An ease that would have carried him to that window in the other tower if he hadn’t been robbed of it by a sudden, powerful blast of wind. He was midway along the ridge when it slammed into him.

  Gasping, she saw him fighting to keep his balance by reaching for the figure of a leaping stag perched atop a weather vane. The ornament would have steadied him if the mast that supported it, like so many others things at Warley Castle, hadn’t suffered the ravages of time and weather.

  The rod toppled under Leo’s weight, carrying both him and the stag with it.

  Jennifer watched in horror as he was pitched over backward. He landed on the slope of the roof where his head must have struck one of the slate tiles. Struck with such force that, after skidding around in a half turn, he lay sprawled there, unable to move, in danger of sliding all the way down and over the edge.

  “Leo!” she shouted, hoping her cry would rouse him, enable him to save himself. “Leo, can you hear me?”

  Useless. He was obviously more than just stunned. The blow had knocked him out.

  He can’t help himself. You have to go out there and do it for him. Before it’s too late. Before you—

  Go ahead, say it. Before you lose him.

  Whether it made any sense or not, and maybe it didn’t, Jennifer realized now just how important Leo was to her. Enough to risk her life on that perilous roof in order to save him.

  There was no question about her resolve, no hesitation. Except for one thing. How was she to get down onto the roof? Leo had managed it without a problem. But she didn’t have his height or his athletic agility.

  Too far, she thought, judging the drop. She’d need some means of lowering herself to the ridge. What?

  Turning her head, she gazed frantically around the cell, as if she could will a rope to magically materialize. No rope. But there was Sybil’s brightly-colored scarf peeking through the fur of her coat. And there was her own woolen scarf. If she knotted the two of them—

  Yes, that would give her a line that should be long enough.

  She went to Sybil, lifted her head, drew the scarf from around her throat, whipped off her own scarf. Within seconds, she had both twisted scarves lashed together. Jerking at them to test their strength, she was satisfied they would bear her weight.

  What she was less certain about was the reliability of the iron stub protruding from the window ledge because she would have to tie her makeshift line to that broken bar. There was nothing else. But if it failed to stay anchored in its socket…

  She’d soon know just how dependable it was, she thought, swiftly securing one end of the line to the stub. Then, hanging on to the other end, she lifted a leg through the window, ducked her head, and climbed through the opening.

  Booted feet scrabbling against the rough side of the tower in an awkward effort to support herself, she worked her way down the line. Her foot slipped and she lost her purchase on the stone wall, dangling in space, her body turning under the impact of the harsh wind. Mercifully, the line held until she was able to get a fresh foothold.

  With a breathless relief, her boots finally touched the roof. Unlike Leo, she didn’t trust herself to remain upright. Not until she was seated facing the other tower, legs straddling the ridge, did she release the line.

  Leo. She needed to check on Leo.

  Squinting through the swirling snow, she saw that he was still there on the slope just below the ridge. But if she didn’t get to him soon, the relentless wind tugging at his body could send him down the incline that had to be slick with snow and ice. And once on his way and out of her reach, he would plummet to the ground. And maybe his death.

  Stung by the wind and the slanting snow, Jennifer scooted her way along the ridge. Her progress was slow but steady. Finally abreast of him, she faced a new problem.

  He was solid and heavy. Maybe too much of a load for her to move, provided she could even get a grip on him. Legs clinging to the roof, she leaned over carefully, stretching out her arm.

  His body had ended up with his head closest to the ridge. Just near enough that Jennifer was able to lock her hand over his coat collar and hang on.

  How she ever managed it she would never know. Maybe the urgency of saving someone who mattered, mattered more than she’d been willing to admit until she had watched him go down, fired her with a strength she ordinarily wouldn’t have possessed.

  Or maybe the ice and snow on the slate tiles, before this an enemy and now an ally, provided a lubrication that helped her to drag him toward her in slow stages. Straining every muscle, she finally succeeded in heaving him onto the ridge.

  Now what?

  Taking a moment to rest, she considered their dilemma. The window in the other tower was only yards away. Unlike the window behind her, it was low enough to the roof that she could probably scramble through it and go for help. For now Leo was all right on the ridge, his arms and legs dangling over the sides holding him in place. On the other hand, if he should stir in her absence, he could go tumbling down one of the slopes before he was sufficiently alert to save himself.

  She couldn’t chance it.

  That left only one option. She had to make an effort to rouse him. Not by shaking him or rubbing snow on his face either. She had tried both of those at the scene of his car accident that first day, and neither one had produced a result. But a third attempt had worked.

  His head was turned to one side, cheek exposed. She leaned down over him. “Like they say,” she apologized, “this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  Peeling off her glove, she lifted her arm to deliver a stinging slap. Her flattened palm came down, but it never made a connection. It was stopped in its descent by a strong hand that shot up and closed around her wrist.

  “You try it,” he growled, “and you’ll be eating
snow.”

  “You’re awake!”

  “With all the abuse my body was being subjected to, something had to happen.”

  “Careful,” she warned him as he started to push himself up from the tiles. “I don’t want all my work going to waste.”

  “Uh-huh.” He lifted himself into a sitting position, legs straddling the ridge like hers, and looked around. “What is this? You’re rescuing me?”

  “What other choice did I have? I mean, didn’t you save my skin back in the great hall?”

  “Yeah, but not by risking my own neck. Well, not by much. I’ll be damned. How did you ever manage to get yourself out here and me up on this ridge?”

  “Don’t ask. And if you’re going to make a fuss about it, I could always put you back where I found you.”

  “Bad idea, Jenny. It would mean leaving you, and I wouldn’t like that.”

  They were silent then as they sat there facing each other. Perched on a hazardous rooftop as they were, with a storm raging around them, it was a crazy moment to be sharing something that was suddenly deeply emotional. But that’s exactly what happened as Jennifer met his long, intimate gaze.

  When she felt herself growing light-headed under the sensual assault of those sinful eyes, in danger of losing her hold on the ridge, she forced herself back to reality with a concerned “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I will be as soon as I get us off this roof.”

  Levering himself around, he played it safe this time by imitating Jennifer’s technique of scooting himself along the ridge. She followed, and by the time she reached the tower, he had already clambered through the window and was lowering his hand to help her inside.

  Though it was a relief to be off the roof and inside again out of the cold, Jennifer was equally thankful for another winding stairway that took them down through what had once been a guardroom and out into the bailey.

  They were on their way back to the other tower when Leo asked tersely, “Sybil?”

  “Still unconscious when I left her.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not too late for her.”

  THEY STOOD in the gallery outside the closed door to the infirmary, waiting anxiously for a report on Sybil’s condition. Brother Timothy, who had been joined by the abbot, was in the process of examining her. Both men had been told the essentials when Leo carried Sybil into the infirmary.

  “Uh, do me a favor?” Leo asked Jennifer now.

  “Like?”

  “Don’t mention my little accident on the roof to Brother Tim. We’ve already got the reputation of the walking wounded. I don’t want to add to it.”

  “But he should check you out when he’s finished with Sybil. I mean, after that lump on your forehead in the car and now another one on the back of your skull—”

  “They weren’t the only knocks I’ve had, and probably not the last. The legacy of a P.I. I’ve survived them, and I’m still here. I’ve got a hard head.”

  “I won’t give you any arguments about that.”

  He grinned at her. “You saying I’m stubborn?”

  Since she might have gotten herself into trouble with her answer, it was just as well they were interrupted at that moment. The infirmary door opened, and Father Stephen emerged.

  “How is Mrs. Harding?” Jennifer asked the abbot.

  “In a serious state. She should be in a hospital, but as that’s not possible until the storm clears…” He shook his head. “Brother Timothy will do all he can for her. He intends to remain at her side, through the night if necessary.”

  “I’ve got a recommendation about that, padre,” Leo offered.

  “Yes?”

  “Get Brother Tim to lock himself inside the infirmary with his patient. If he needs anything, or anyone wants to communicate with him, it can be handled through the hatch there in the door. But no one gets admitted. And I mean absolutely no one.”

  “I think I understand. You’re afraid her attacker may try to eliminate her before she can name him.”

  “Unless she’s regained consciousness and already told you something useful.”

  “She has not.”

  And may never regain consciousness again, Jennifer thought sadly.

  “Your suggestion is a sound one, Mr. McKenzie, though I’m afraid her husband will be unhappy about his inability to be with his wife. But Roger is a good sort. He’ll understand the strict need for her protection when it’s explained to him.”

  “Has he been told what’s happened?” Leo wanted to know.

  “Not yet. I’ve sent Brother Michael to find him. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll give Brother Timothy instructions now about the door. Then I must hurry on to the office. I need to be there when Brother Michael arrives with Roger. This is going to be a terrible shock for the poor man.”

  Turning away, Father Stephen started to go back inside the infirmary. Then, pausing, he faced them again.

  “This all grows worse,” he said, and Jennifer knew he was referring to the ongoing trouble in his monastery. “If there is anything you can do…”

  He left the rest unsaid, but she understood him. He wanted them to put an end to that trouble.

  When the abbot was gone, Jennifer looked at Leo and saw that his hands were clenched into tight fists down at his side. The expression on his face also registered his frustration. And so did his voice.

  “The man is counting on us, and all we seem to be doing is letting him down.”

  “If we could learn who Sybil’s attacker is…”

  “That’s easy. We’ll just ask everyone. Whoever it is is bound to tell us.” He must have regretted his sarcasm the moment it was out of his mouth because he apologized to her with a muttered, “Sorry.”

  “I know. It’s getting to me, too.” And why wouldn’t it when proving her innocence depended on a solution to this whole thing? “I don’t suppose there’s any way to establish who was where at the time of the attack. Is there?” she added hopefully.

  His silence told her there wasn’t. All of the suspects would claim alibis. At least one of them would be lying, of course, but how could they possibly tell which one? They needed evidence.

  Jennifer thought about that, and then something occurred to her. Something they had overlooked in their urgency to rescue Sybil and themselves.

  “What were they doing there?” she asked Leo.

  “Uh, you want to expand a little on that?”

  “Sybil and her attacker. Why were they up in the tower?”

  Leo must have sensed she was more than just speculating aloud, that she had something definite in mind. “Go on,” he encouraged her.

  “I mean, why did we investigate the great hall? And why were we on our way to search the cars in the old stables? Because we thought the culprit had something he wanted to hide. Something important. What if we were right about that, only wrong about where he intended to conceal it?”

  “The tower,” Leo realized.

  “It’s possible, isn’t it? If whoever it is somehow discovered the perfect hiding place somewhere in that cell, and Sybil, for whatever reason, followed him…well, it could explain why they were there. Couldn’t it?”

  Leo didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, hand clamped to his jaw, he asked her brusquely, “What are you trying to do, Jenny? Put me out of business?”

  The admiration in his gaze lit a warm glow inside her. Dangerous. She countered it with a sassy “I’m experienced, remember? Have to be a detective when you’re tracking down antiques.”

  “Okay. You ready then?”

  “For?”

  “Us to go back up into that tower?”

  Minutes later, they stood again in the cold, barren cell at the top of the tower.

  “It’s not very promising, is it?” Jennifer observed, her hope dimmed by the sight of the chamber that long ago had been stripped of everything in it, leaving only the bare floor and the blank stone walls.

  Leo didn’t answer her. His attention was fixed on the recessed
window seat.

  “Nearly all of it is stone,” he said. “The bottom, the side walls. But not the seat itself. Seat is wood.”

  “They often were, unless cushions were intended as a barrier against the damp and cold of a stone seat. But in a place like this that kind of comfort wouldn’t have been considered.”

  Leo went to the window seat, hunkering down in front of it. “The seat is a single, wide board. You notice that, and how it’s been fitted here at both sides into slots in the stone? Not nailed down or pegged, just slid snugly into the grooves.”

  Jennifer joined him at the window. “Well, they could afford to be generous with the wood they used. Timber was plentiful in England in those days, and the medieval carpenters and masons were master craftsmen.”

  “Wonder just how snugly it fits. Let’s see.”

  Understanding then why he was so interested in the seat, she watched intently as he grasped both ends of the overhanging lip of the thick board and tugged. It moved toward him a few inches and then jammed in the grooves. Able now to get a better grip on it, he applied more pressure. This time the slab skated the rest of the way out of the slots, coming away in his hands.

  Leo dropped the board on the floor. Jennifer squeezed up close beside him. The area under the wood was not the solid stone it might have been, but a deep hollow.

  The space had probably never been meant to conceal anything of value, serving only as a form of storage in the absence of a chest. But to someone aware of its existence, it made an ideal hiding place.

  Did it contain a secret? The secret she and Leo hoped to find? Jennifer asked herself as she reached into the murky cavity.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Empty,” Jennifer said in disappointment.

  Unsatisfied, Leo plunged his hand into the hollow, his fingers searching the bottom and sides.

  “Got an opening in the wall on this end. A hole of some kind.”

  She waited, her excitement renewed, as he strained forward to reach into the pocket, his groping hand exploring its surfaces.

 

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