Читать онлайн книгу «Never Sleep With Strangers» автора Heather Graham Pozzessere
Never Sleep With Strangers
Heather Graham Pozzessere
She almost looked as if she slept, except The trident had pierced through her. And the snow-white gown was turning ever more crimson. Four years ago, while vacationing at their country estate in Scotland, Jon Stuart watched his wife plummet from the balcony to a horrific death. Although cleared of any involvement, he's endured years of public suspicionlosing friends and his good standing in the community.But this was no accident, and now he's determined to prove it was murder. Orchestrating a dangerous plan, Jon has gathered the prime suspects at the scene of the crime. The stage is set as past and present collide, old lovers reuniteand a killer plots another perfect crime.
Praise for New York Times Bestselling Author
Heather Graham
Graham shines in this frightening tale. Paranormal elements add zing to her trademark chilling suspense and steamy romance, keeping the pages flying.
Romantic Times on Haunted
Grahams tight plotting, her keen sense of when to reveal and when to teasewill keep fans turning the pages.
Publishers Weekly on Picture Me Dead
An incredible storyteller!
Los Angeles Daily News
Demonstrating the skills that have made her one of todays best storytellers, Ms. Graham delivers one of this years best books thus far.
Romantic Times on Hurricane Bay
A suspenseful, sexy thrillerGraham builds jagged suspense that will keep readers guessing up to the final pages.
Publishers Weekly on Hurricane Bay
A roller-coaster ridefast-paced, thrillingHeather Graham will keep you in suspense until the very end. Captivating.
Literary Times on Hurricane Bay
The talented Ms. Graham once again thrills us. She delivers excitement [and] romancethat keep the pages flipping quickly from beginning to end.
Romantic Times on Night of the Blackbird
With the name Heather Graham on the cover, you are guaranteed a good read!
Literary Times
HEATHER GRAHAM
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Prologue
Cassandra Stuart was beautiful, and she knew it. She could manipulate others, and she knew that, too. If she could just make him turn around and look back at her
Jon! Jon!
She knew that hed heard her, but he didnt stop. He was really furious with her this time. As she watched, he continued down the gravel path that led to the loch. Maybe she had overplayed it this time, but she didnt want to be here in the back of beyond, in this godforsaken, remote patch of Scotland. Despite his famous guests, despite his famous charity game. They were his guests; it was his game. She hated the country; she wanted to be in London.
But she knew her husband, knew what he was thinking now. Hed known the day would go badly, that she would be rude and impatient and ruin it for them all. But damn him, he still wouldnt give it up! Hed hosted this event every year for the past decade. Hed made his plans; he had a life to live. The week was already underway. Besides, no matter how damned marvelous his wife might be, hed told hersounding awfully damned sarcastiche would be damned if a woman was going to lead him around by the nose. Any woman.
Jon!
She knew that he didnt want to look back, didnt want to see her.
Because he knew what she was planning. And he had planned ahead himself. He wasnt going to let her play him, wasnt going to let her manipulate him the way she intended to.
She meant to leave. Today. It was the last disruption she had up her sleeve. She hoped her departure would get through to him the way her pouting and petulance had not.
But she wanted him to come back to her first; she wanted to make love, to be passionate and exciting, to remind him that he couldnt exist without her. She would tell him that she needed him, remind him why he had married her. She could make him happy, could make him laugh, and she was damned good in bed, even if she had just taken a lover because she couldnt bear the look in Jons eyes sometimes, knowing that he might on occasion be thinking of someone else. Come back! she thought furiously. Let me seduce you just one last time so you dont forget, so maybe
She would wait until he had slipped away, and then she would pack, leaving behind a letter addressed to My Dearest Darling, explaining that she would be at the London Hilton, waiting for him when he could escape his dreary associates. And maybe, just maybe, he would come. He could be such a fool! She knew so much more about his guests and household than he did! Who was sleeping with whom. And why. Actually, she thought, and almost smiled, she knew a number of them very well. Intimately, one might say.
And still there was such a wretched hole of jealousy in her heart.
Jon! Come back! she called again. She experienced a strange new fear beyond the sense of powerlessness and loss she had been feeling so much lately. Jon! Please come back! Or Ill make you pay!
Her voice was both provocative and irritated. But he was still walking. So tall, hair so dark, shoulders broad and muscled. He was a beautiful man, and she was losing him.
Panic seized her. He had guessed she was having an affair with someone here. Did he know that she was trying to goad him, get even with him? Because she was certain he was having an affair, as well.
Jon! Jon, damn you!
Her tone was growing more petulant. She stood on the master bedrooms second-floor balcony, overlooking the rear courtyard. The rooms had been handsomely enough appointed, remodeled at the end of the seventeenth century and modernized by Jon himself just a few years ago. The balcony was a sweeping, curved affair that boasted views of three corners of the property. Here, in the rear, it looked over an elegant fountain with a priceless marble Poseidon, complete with trident, as its centerpiece. Despite the fact that winter was rapidly approaching, roses still bloomed around the tiled path that encircled the fountain. The path turned to gravel as it passed through the rose arbor and headed toward the loch. In the master chambers themselves, the walls were covered with antique tapestries, and there was a massive fireplace, as well as a state-of-the-art hot-water heating system with generator backup. A four-poster king-size bed sat on a dais, and one level down from the main section of the bedroom, just beyond a medieval archway, was a huge whirlpool bath and sauna. She had a huge dressing room and closet, as did he.
Whats not to like? Jon had asked her impatiently, offended.
The decor was fine. She just hated the country. No excitement, no sense of life. It wasnt London, Paris, New York or even Edinburgh, for Gods sake.
That was exactly why he liked it so much, hed told her.
He was walking away. Still walking away.
She was amazed to feel tears stinging her eyes. How could he care more about this pile of stones and his imbecilic friends than her? Jon, Jon! Damn you, Jon!
Hed talked about divorce; hed said that things just werent working out. But, he couldnt divorce her. He just couldnt! Shed already told him that she would make it impossible. She would drag him through the mud, give away a million filthy secrets about him and his associates.
Jo
She started to say his name, then realized that someone was behind her.
She spun around to see who had slipped in. You, damn you! Get out! Did he send you? Get the hell out of my room. Our room! Im his wife. Im the one who sleeps with him. Get out!
She spun back to stare out from the balcony. Jon!
She heard a rush of movement, like a whisper of air, and she turned back.
For a moment she stared into the eyes of her killer, and she knew.
Oh, God! she breathed, and, desperate, she began to cry out again.
Jon! Jon! Jon!
She felt the pressure of the rail at her back. And she screamed.
Because she was falling.
And she could see her own death.
Jon Stuart had been angry, really angry. Hed intended to make good his escape. But something in Cassandras voice gave him pause that time, and he swung around.
And there she was.
Falling
It looked as if she were sailing. In this, as in all other things, she was elegant. She was wearing a white silk dressing gown, and it billowed out around her. Her ebony hair was caught by the golden glory of the sun and shone with blue-black lights. It struck him that she even fell with dramatic grace and beauty.
And only after a split second of the mindless realization that he could do nothing at all to stop it did he realize that she was already in the act of dying. Screaming, crying out, shrieking his name, plummeting to earth.
She died in Poseidons arms. Cradled within them, like a wayward goddess. Eyes closed, ebony hair and snow-white gown caught by the breeze. She almost looked as if she were sleeping, except
The trident had pierced through her.
And the snow-white gown was turning crimson.
His heart hammering, he began to shout, running desperately, as if he could reach her, help her, despite the fact that he knew
He cried out.
Cried out her name.
Reached her, and held her.
As her blood spilled over him.
While her eyes stared into his with an ever silent reproach.
1
Three years later
The scene was definitely a chilling one. A beautiful woman in medieval dress, her long blond hair waving over the workings of the mechanism, was tied to the implement of torture, with a dark-haired, bearded and mustachioed man standing over her.
The Earl of Exeters Daughter, also known as the Rack, proclaimed the sign overhead. Named after the Man Most Proficient in the Art of Extracting Confessions from his Victims.
The artist who had created the wax figures had been proficient, as well. The blonde stretched out on the wicked wooden rack was exquisite, with fine, classically molded features and huge blue eyes widened by her fear of her tormentor. Any sane man would long to rescue her. While the fellow standing above herhis features were pure evil. His eyes gleamed in sadistic anticipation of the pain he was about to inflict.
Many of the exhibits in the hall were excellent, retelling ancient tales of mans inhumanity to man. This particular display outdid them all.
So Jon Stuart thought as he stood silently in the shadows, leaning casually against the stone wall, his presence obscured by the darkness of the dungeon. He stared watchfully, contemplatively, at the exhibitand at the flesh-and-blood blonde now standing in front of it.
She was nearlyin face, coloring and forma mirror image of the poor beauty stretched out on the rack itself. She was a young woman with a glorious mop of blond hair that cascaded freely over her shoulders and down her back. She was slender and beautifully shaped, doing incredible justice to the jeans and fitted sweater she wore. Her features were very feminine: fine, straight, slender nose; high, chiseled cheekbones; beautiful blue eyes; and full, lushly shaped lips. She was surveying the display with a certain amount of interestand wariness. She looked as if she wanted to laugh ruefully, reminding herself that she was looking at wax figures, but the scene was scary, and she was alone in the shadows. Or so she thought.
Sabrina Holloway.
He hadnt seen her in more than three and a half years now, and though he was somewhat surprised by her presence; he was glad she had decided to come. She had politely declined his invitation to the last, fateful Mystery Week. The occasion when Cassandra had died.
Whether Sabrina realized it or not, she had most certainly been Joshuas model for the beauty on the rack; she was the victims spitting image, and Joshua always enjoyed using people he knew in his art. He had mentioned to Jon that he had met Sabrina Holloway in Chicago, and he had sounded entirely infatuated, so Jon had refrained from telling Joshua that he, too, was acquainted with her. It was easy to understand Joshuas head-over-heels reaction; hed experienced something quite similar when hed met her himself. Before
Well, there was a lot to admireor covetabout Ms. Holloway. Jon hadnt been the only one to fall victim to her charm; she had attracted the attention of Brett McGraff, as well. Jon shook his head. Shed gone off and married McGraff. Whirlwind courtship, whirlwind marriagescandalous divorce.
Jon watched her now, glad of the distance between them. He stared at her in simple assessment. She possessed a rare grace and beauty. Even though hed been something of a recluse over the last few years, hed kept up with her career, reading about her in the papers and tabloids. Reporters had leaped wholeheartedly on Brett McGraffs last, noisy divorce from such a beautiful young creature.
She had been stunning when Jon met her. So innocent, eager, fascinated. He was certain that the rose-colored blinders were gone from her eyes now. She had matured. And now she was
Spectacular. More elegant than ever. She looked thoughtful, even wise.
And how would you know? Jon taunted himself.
She might well have matured into a hard, ambitious bitch, he reminded himself dryly. Life often did that to people. After all, shed walked away from him with a will of steel. And shed been able to stand her ground during the media blitz after her divorce, even in the midst of a shocking situation. Still, she now maintained a strange, compelling air that combined sophistication and innocence, although, God knew, hed learned the hard way that the most delicate, fragile females could be the worst black widows.
She was a Midwestern farm girl, Jon remembered, and he had to smile. She possessed both warmth and reserve, and yet there had been moments when shed let down her guard and hed felt that he had known her forever. He had found her to be both captivating and as down-to-earth as her natural beauty. Shed been twenty-four, fresh from the country, when they met. Shed turned twenty-eight last month. Plenty of time to learn, to harden, to change. If only
Well, it had been a different time, a different place, a different life. No one had ever been the wiser. He hadnt told tales.
She hadnt wanted any told.
Still
Jon suddenly felt a deep irritation. His feelings were totally unjustified, he told himself. Brett McGraff was here, as well. She and McGraff had actually been married. Jon had no right himself. And yet
Hell, it was his place, his party. And he intended to spend time with all his guests. McGraffs presence would only make it a more intriguing enterprise to attempt to get to know Sabrina again.
But was she in over her head? he wondered suddenly. Maybe he should have left her name off the guest list. But then, he hadnt really expected her to come. And they were all in over their heads. Still, he suddenly wished he hadnt taken the chance of making her, like the others, an unwitting pawn in this dark game.
But hed set this board into motion; hed had no choice. It was either this or give up his sanity. And there were others to whom he owed both the truth and justice, if not to himself. He wasnt exactly in this alone. He had promised to do things again, exactly this way.
Maybe he should just stay away from Ms. Sabrina Holloway. Of all the people here, she alone was clearly innocent.
He wondered if he could stay away from her. And he reminded himself that she was here by choice. Theyd all come willingly enough, ready to play. Some for the fun of it, some for the publicity. Cassie, the inveterate journalist, had once told him, Never miss a photo op, darling! Hed noticed that very few writers, actors, musicians or artists ever tended to do so, and, in a manner of speaking, this week was a major photo op. Even the reclusive types who preferred to remain in the shadows wouldnt dare miss this. The world had gotten far too competitive, and name recognition could mean the difference between starvation and healthy income.
Yet, he mused, Sabrina Holloway had inadvertently garnered enough publicity already. Marriage to and divorce from Brett McGraff had put her squarely in the public eye. But she had maintained a steady course, and though her notoriety had given her popular career a jump start, shed managed to accrue a respectable amount of critical praise for the writing. He hadnt been in the States for a while now, so he wasnt sure who else was doing the talk-show circuit, but apparently shed hit just the right chord with her Victorian thrillers. She was also young and lovely, and the media loved to hop on a personality with sex appeal and presence.
He was about to approach her when he realized that another woman was walking toward him. Susan Sharp. He groaned inwardly and considered a fast retreat up the secret staircase behind him. His ancestors had been Jacobites and had filled the castle with hidden doors and passages, a multitude of escape routes.
But Jon didnt escape; he didnt want his secrets known as yet, so he stood still while Susan sashayed closer, delighted with her good luck in discovering that he was literally cornered.
Well, well, she said happily. Darling! So here you are, in the darkness. How delightful. How wickedly delightful. Do give me a kiss, darling. Weve all missed you so much.
Sabrina Holloway stared at the disturbing display, marveling at its realism. The woman on the rack looked as if she were about to open her mouth and cry out. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were trying to deny the terror that was threatening her. Sabrina could almost hear the man demanding that his victim confess her terrible crimes and spare herself the agony of the rack.
A strange tremor snaked up Sabrinas spine.
Whoa. Excellently done. Totally unnerving. There were others ambling around the dungeon displays at Lochlyre Castle, many of them friends, but at the moment she felt thoroughly uneasy in the gloom. Just imagine. If the lights were suddenly to go out
She would be alone. In the darkness. With himthe dark-haired torturer with the slim mustache and sadistic eyes who looked upon his victim with such pure evil in his heart. The figures were so realistically done that she could easily believe they might come to life in the dark. They would move, walk, stalk, wield their weapons of death and destruction.
Hands landed on her shoulders, and she almost screamed aloud. She jumped, but somehow she choked back the sound that had risen in her throat.
Well, my love?
Another little shiver snaked along her spineshe was again unnerved, but not so frightened this time. Brett McGraff moved beside her then, settling an arm easily around her shoulders. She was ashamed to realize that his presence made her feel more secure in the shadowy dungeon, though still far from comfortable.
She was torn between clinging to him and shaking off his arm. As usual, she felt an amazing combination of emotions toward him. Sometimes he made her want to gag. Then again, she wasnt always immune to the purely sensual charm that had attracted her to him from the very beginning. Most of the time, however, she was only slightly impatient with him and fairly tolerant.
Its very real, she murmured. It actually scares me a little.
Good.
Why?
I think I want you scared.
Oh?
Might make you a little clingy. He tightened his arm around her and lowered his mouth to whisper huskily against her ear. Weve each been assigned our own room in the castleour host doesnt seem to remember that we were marriedbut Id be happy to keep you company during the long, spooky nights.
Were, she reminded him, is the operative word here. We were married, once upon a time, more than three years agofor all of two weeks.
Oh, it took longer than two weeks to get a divorce, he said smoothly. And dont forget how much we were together on our wonderful honeymoon.
Brett, the marriage ended while we were still on that honeymoon, she reminded him.
He wasnt to be deterred. And now were getting to be such good friends again, he added with assurance.
Despite herself, Sabrina felt a rueful smile curving her lips. Brett was tall and good-looking, with unruly brown hair, dark bedroom eyes to match and a laconic charm that had made him a media idol. He wrote medical thrillers, with both commercial and critical success. Hed made a small fortune at his craft and still managed to be annoyingly arrogant only on occasion. Sabrina had met him soon after the sale of her second book before it had even been on the marketwhich had been soon after his divorce from his third wife. To say that shed been naive was a terrible understatement. Shed also been healing from a far unhappier situation.
A whirlwind courtship had sent them on a honeymoon to Parisat a time that happened to correspond with the French publication of Bretts latest thriller. Shed been amused, at first, by the number of women who gave him less-than-subtle hints regarding their carnal interest, then less amused when she realized how many of them he already knew. Carnally. Still, being an optimist who longed for a future, shed decided she could live with Bretts past. It hadnt even been so bad that the women hed known hadnt seemed to care that he had a new wife; she hadnt held other peoples behavior against them. Ultimately, it had been Bretts indifference to the discomfort of her position that had disturbed her. He was a good lover; he could be amusing, charming. Hed made her laugh and love when shed felt adrift and unsure.
But Brett could also be self-centered, selfish and downright mean. Hed disappeared with the voluptuous owner of a major bookstore for several hours and been totally impatient with his young bride when shed demanded to know what was going on. Then hed informed her that he was Brett McGraff, and opportunities were going to come his way. Hed told her she shouldnt mind; she should just be grateful he had actually married her, had made her his wife.
To Sabrina, his words had been devastating. Shed been stunned. Then furiouswith herself. Shed been looking so desperately for someone to make her forget her past, to fill her life. And shed been so wrong. Shed cared for Brett, believed things could work. But shed been mistaken. So she was at fault, as well, for not seeing or believing that their visions of love and marriage were so wildly different.
Brett had seen the change, the new awareness, in her eyes, and hed tried to placate her, to seduce her.
The rest had been hell.
She didnt want to remember. Shed learned some good lessons from that time, and maybe even taught him a few. To this day, he still couldnt believe that shed left him and filed divorce papers, not asking for one red cent. In the months to come, when theyd met at various publishing events, hed sought her out. He still referred to her as his wife, and she could actually smile sometimes now at the various lines he deployed to try to get her into bed. She should sleep with him because they had been married; because shed already slept with him, and it wasnt good to sleep with strangers. Because she already knew himand as a result there would be no ugly little surprises. Because he was good in bed; and she had to admit that he was goodnaturally, because he was so practiced. Because surely everybody needed sex now and then, and since she was capable of being such a sweet, puritanical prude, coming from an apple-pie farm family and all, she was slow to form intimate relationships and therefore should simply indulge in a basic, necessary activity with him.
So far, shed managed to resist.
She was certain that she wasnt alluring above all others; she was simply the one who had left him, and therefore she remained a challenge.
Seriously, while were here, wouldnt you like to share a room with me? he asked now.
No, she said simply.
Admit it, Im fun to sleep with.
We have different ideas of fun.
Look around you. This is a scary place, he urged.
No, thanks, Brett.
I can behave.
Thats doubtful. Besides, you remind me of a warning my mother used to give me. Dont play with toys when you dont know where theyve been.
He grinned. Ouch! But if youd stayed with me, you would know exactly where Id been.
Brett, I never knew where you were when we were married, and I really didnt have all that much time in which to misplace you. I realize that it never occurred to you that marriage meant monogamy
Do you think it means that to everyone? he demanded.
Brett, I cant tell other people how to be married. I only know what I wanted myself.
He sniffed. If only you knew how many people slept aroundpeople you would never imagine.
Brett, I dont want to imagine.
Your own friends! he persisted.
Brett
All right, fine. Later youll be begging me for gossip, and I wont tell you a thing. When you need to know, youll be in the dark. Unless, of course, you want to forget the marriage thing for a while and just have fun? My intentions are honorable, though. I will remarry you.
She groaned. As I said, we have different ideas on funand marriage.
Fine. Play hard to get. But if things start getting spooky around here, youre going to want to crawl into bed with me, and it may be too crowded by then.
That I dont doubt.
Hey, Im asking you first. And surely you wouldnt want to sleep with a stranger.
Brett, Ive slept with you, and I really cant think of anyone much stranger.
Very funny. Youll be sorry, my pet. Youll see. He shook his head sorrowfully, returning his gaze to the display before them. Amazing, isnt it? he murmured, staring at the characters, his arm still around her.
Yes, very real, she agreed.
He shook his head. So real that in this lighting, she could fool even me. And I was married to you.
What are you talking about?
What do you mean, what am I talking about? Youve been staring at this tableau. He sighed with impatience. Sabrina! Take a good look. Thats you.
What?
Sweetheart, have you gone blind since youve been away from me? Take a look. That womanshes you. To a T. The blue eyes, the blond hair, the gorgeous features. Nice body. He lowered his voice even further. Great butt, too.
You cant even see her butt, Brett.
All right, all right, Ill concede that. But shes you. The spitting image.
Dont be silly. Sabrina protested, but her voice trailed away as she frowned.
Oh, Lord. Brett was right. The wax figure did bear an alarming resemblance to her. So much so that she felt chills begin to sweep up and down her spine again.
Good! Brett whispered huskily. I can feel you trembling. Youre getting uneasy, unnerved, good and scared. Youre not going to want to be alone all night in this spooky old castle. Youre going to want to come to me. Night will fall, youll hear wolves howling, youll run screaming from your bedroom and into mine, so you wont have to be afraid.
It was just a caricature in wax, nothing more, Sabrina told herself. Yet she still felt tremors racing through her limbs. It was her. The artist had executed the figure so well that the muscles and veins in the victims arms fairly leaped into animation as she struggled to free herself from the ropes that tied her mercilessly to the rack.
The fear in the eyes was real.
The silent scream on the lips was far too eloquent. It could almost be heard in the air.
Brett whispered warningly in her ear, You wont want to be alone.
From the darkness behind them, a deep, rich, masculine voice intervened. Well, now, shell hardly be alone, will she?
Sabrina knew that husky voice.
She spun around to meet their host.
2
His eyes were on her, studying her. He smiled pleasantly as he continued, Seriously, Brett, shell hardly be alone, considering the fact that there are ten writers hereincluding ourselves, of coursealong with an artist, my assistant and the castle staff, all in residence.
He sounded amused. Slipping from beneath Bretts arm, Sabrina stared at Jon Stuart. It had been a long time.
Jon, Brett murmured, an unmistakable edge in his voice. The two were supposedly friends; still, it seemed that Brett was less than pleased with Stuarts timing.
Brett, good to see you. Thank you for coming.
Its always a pleasure. We were all damn glad you decided to do it again. Jon, youve met my wife, Sabrina Holloway, havent you?
Sabrina gazed at the mesmerizing owner of Lochlyre Castle, but Jon Stuart had already arched a dark brow Bretts way as he took Sabrinas hand. She resisted the odd temptation to wrench it away.
Sabrina, good to see you again. I hadnt realized the two of you had remarried.
We havent, Sabrina said.
Ah.
Sorry. My ex-wife, Brett murmured innocently, smiling intimately at Sabrina as if there were still a great deal going on between them. Its so easy to forget we ever divorced.
Anyway, Im glad youre both here. Thank you for coming, Stuart said politely.
I wouldnt have missed it. You know that, Brett said.
It was nice to be invited, Sabrina murmured.
Youve been invited before, Jon said pointedly.
II was on a deadline last time. It was a lie, of course. An authors stock excuse for not being somewhere he or she didnt want to be.
Well, it must have been worth it, then. Your last book was very good.
You read it? she inquiredtoo quickly. Instantly she wanted to kick herself. She was blushing, unaccountably pleased that he had been interested enough to read her work. Then she felt her flush darken, wondering what he must have thought of the books graphic romantic encounters. And wondering how much her blush was giving away.
Ive loved all your recent work, she said quickly, trying to cover herself.
He smiled a slow, skeptical smile that clearly indicated he had heard the words before but somehow doubted them in this case.
Its the truth, she murmured, wishing she could gracefully end her awkward monologue. Brett was staring at her now with real interest, having picked up on the tension between her and Jon Stuart.
Really? Jon murmured, either unaware of her discomfort or amused by it. It was disturbing to realize that he maintained such an edge over her both in maturity and in simple confidence. He had been a success since his first novel, a thriller based in World War II Italy, had been published soon after hed graduated from college.
She forced a cool smile to her lips. She was not going to be intimidated. Okay, so I hated it when you killed the priest in your last bookhe didnt deserve it.
Her words didnt offend him; he laughed, apparently pleased with her honesty. Good for you, telling me the truth.
The truth is always different through different eyes, Brett interjected somewhat irritably.
Jon shook his head. No, theres only the truth, maybe just shaded a bit differently, he said somewhat solemnly, gazing at Sabrina. Then he seemed to collect himself and said more lightly, And the truth is, of course, that Im delighted you were able to tear yourself away from your busy schedule to be here, Ms. Holloway.
She knew I was coming and that shed be comfortable here, Brett said proprietarily.
Great, Jon responded.
I have a number of friends here, Sabrina murmured, wondering why she cared if Jon Stuart did or didnt think she was still sleeping with her ex-husband. But she kept talking. You know how it goes. We authors tend to stick together. You have an impressive guest list. Im flattered to be invited.
I very much wanted you to be here, he said politely. As you may recall, I wanted you last time, as well.
Right. He had wanted her. Shed first met him just months before his last Mystery Week party. And in that time, shed married Brettand theyd divorced.
And hed married Cassandra Kelly.
I had only one book out on the market at the time. I could hardly be ranked among the pros you had here then.
He arched a brow, cocking his head. Dianne Dorsey was even more of a babe in the woods at the time, and she was here, Jon commented.
But it did turn out to be a tragic occasion, so its a good thing Sabrina didnt come, Brett said. Glad to see you seem to be bucking up, old boy, he added, punching Jon lightly on the shoulder with his fist. We havent seen enough of you lately. By the way, wasnt Cassie actually the one who told us all what a great book Sabrina had written?
Yes, Jon said evenly, still studying Sabrina. Cassandra thought you had created superb characters in a compelling setting, then concocted the perfect murder for just the right dramatic twist.
That was quite nice of her, Sabrina murmured uncomfortably. Cassandra was deadand she felt incredibly guilty, because she hadnt cared much for the woman when she was alive.
All right, so shed jealously despised her. The one time theyd met face-to-face had been a horror worse than anything in this gallery.
It was only natural that she had hated Cassandra Stuart.
A hot tremor snaked through her again, having nothing to do with the tableau in front of them. The way Jon was staring at her was unnerving. Despite the ridiculously possessive way Brett was behaving at the moment, Sabrina was suddenly glad of his presence.
For Jon Stuart was imposing. Even intimidating, in a way. Perhaps by simple virtue of his height and hard-muscled build. He was very tall, about six foot three, and strikingly handsome in a rugged way. His hair wasnt just dark, it was jet black, thick and luxurious, long past his collar though neatly combed back from his forehead. His eyes were a marbled hazel, truly unique, merging blue, green and brown into a compelling, moody mix that could appear golden at times, dark as night at others. His features were strong, arresting: firm, square chin; broad cheekbones; generous, sensual mouth; high, defined brow. At thirty-seven, he was a renowned master of adventure and suspense writing; in real life, too, he had been named by a prominent international magazine to be one of the worlds ten most intriguing men. An American of Scottish heritage, he had never used fame or fortune to shirk duty; hed served overseas in the National Guard during Desert Storm.
Though Stuart had recently lain very low, remaining in Scotland more often than not, he still appeared in news stories now and then, usually upon the once-a-year publication of his latest book or the reissue in paperback of the previous title. It didnt matter that hed been something of a recluse for the past several yearsthat merely enhanced his reputation.
The mystery surrounding the death of his wife rendered him both fascinatingly dangerous and hauntingly sympathetic. Some journalists claimed he had gone into deep mourning for Cassandra, while others hinted he had retreated into guilt, that he had somehow killed hereven if he had been a hundred feet away from the balcony from which shed fallen at the time. Some suggested she might have committed suicide, that her marriage had been failing and she had cast herself from the balcony in a moment of dramatic self-pity, putting the blame on her famous husband, creating a scandal that would torment him until the end of his days. Others thought that perhaps the cancer consuming her beautiful breasts had driven her to despair. Whatever had happened had certainly given rise to endless speculation. And Jon Stuart had endured legal hearings into the matter and been tried by the press, his peers and fans, as well. His annual Mystery Week, a famed writers retreat orchestrated at his secluded castle in Scotland to raise publicity and funds for childrens charities, had been halted.
Until now.
Three years after the death of his wife, he had opened the doors of Lochlyre Castle to the outside world once again.
Come to think of it, Cassies praise of Sabrinas work was noteworthy, Brett mused suddenly, because she wasnt usually so generous. She supposedly liked my work, but she ripped Scalpel to shreds. Remember, Jon? She even blasted your work sometimes, and though I hate to admit it, thats hard to do.
Thanks. Thats quite a compliment, Jon said dryly.
Brett grinned. Im feeling chipper. Just got the word that Surgery is number two, the New York Times list, come a week from Sunday.
Congratulations, Sabrina told him wholeheartedly. He always made the bestseller lists, but his position was rising steadily, much to his delight.
Great, Jon said. You can keep everybodys spirits up during the week. Remind them that, dire perennial rumors to the contrary, publishing is not yet dead. Sowhat do you two think of the chamber of horrors this year?
Ghoulishly wonderful, Brett said.
Too real. Sabrina shuddered.
Ah, Jon murmured, eyes pure gold with sudden devilish humor. I wouldnt let your resemblance to the lady on the rack upset you, he said. An artist named Joshua Valine created the figures for the exhibit. Hes also done a lot of cover arthe met you at the booksellers convention in Chicago and was duly impressed.
Not very positively, if he has me on the rack, Sabrina commented.
Jon laughed, a deep, husky, compelling sound. Trust me, his reaction was quite positive. He always uses real people, whether hes painting or working in wax. And if youll look around, youll see that there really wasnt a pleasant situation in which he could have put anyone. Look to the far corner, he said, that glimmer still in his eyes.
As hardened as she told herself she had become, Sabrina could still feel the force of his charisma. He had just the slightest hint of a Scotsmans burr in his deep voice, acquired from all the time he had spent here. His features and buildhis entire presencewere exceedingly masculine. Even his subtle aftershave seemed intoxicating.
Indeed, Jon Stuart was a dangerous man, she reminded herself. And a stranger, really, though she had once known him wellin a way.
In the far corner over there, he said now, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette are off to face the guillotine, and Joan of Arc is about to be burned at the stake. In the next display, Anne Boleyn is ready to meet her swordsman, and over there, Jack the Ripper is in the midst of slicing Mary Kellys throat. He shook his head in mock sadness. Joshua is not fond of Susan Sharp, Im afraid. Go take a look at Mary Kelly.
So I suppose I should be grateful to be on the rack? Tortured for endless hours before death? Sabrina observed.
Jon cocked his head slightly, amused. Actually, Ms. Holloway, the beautiful blonde on the rack is the only victim in this room to survive. She is Lady Ariana Stuart, and before she could be stretched and brokenaccused of an attempt to turn young Charles over to Cromwells forces when his father was about to be beheadedher brother brought a plea regarding her innocence before the young Charles himself, who was by then returned to the throne as Charles II, king of England. Charles, being the lusty fellow he was, instantly saw the waste in destroying so fine a damsel, so he ordered her out of the torture chamber and into his bed. Naturally, being the charming man he was, he made her one of his mistresses. She bore him numerous illegitimate children and lived to a ripe old age.
How comforting, Sabrina said.
Very romantic, Brett sniffed. I bet you made all that up to placate Sabrina.
I swear its Gods own truth, Jon Stuart assured them.
Well, Joshua certainly had a field day with Susan Sharp, Brett said, chuckling with malicious pleasure. And what a perfect Rippers victim. After all, she has been known to entertain men for the rewards she might gain, he remarked.
Thats hearsay, Jon murmured, shrugging.
Sabrina gritted her teeth at Bretts boorish comment and silently applauded Jons refusal to speak ill of others.
Who did old Josh use for Joan of Arc? Brett asked, unfazed.
My assistant, Camy, Jon said. Shes actually quite religious herself, I believe, and a good, hard worker.
How apropos, Brett said. I approve.
Jon grinned. So far you do.
Brett let out a groan. So theres something Im not going to like?
Most probably not.
He used me?
Jon nodded.
As?
Jon indicated the torturer about to twist the rack with the blond beauty upon it.
Take away all the facial hair Jon suggested with a touch of rueful apology.
Brett gasped. I should sue!
Sabrina couldnt help but laugh, which irritated Brett still further.
Come on, Brett, be a sport. You were just a modeland with the beard and mustache, no one will guess. And remember, the weekend is all for charity. Have a sense of humor, she suggested.
Oh, very funny. I get to torture my ex-wife. So are you in this rogues gallery? he demanded of Jon.
Jon arched a brow. Yes. Yes, I am.
Where? Brett demanded.
Come on.
Brett looked at Sabrina, shrugging. Hes probably set himself up as a kingor as Gandhi.
Gandhi would hardly fit in here, and a number of kings werent such great fellows, Jon reminded him. But I didnt have anything to do with Joshuas choice of models. He doesnt tell me how to write, and I dont tell him how to sculpt.
They followed him down a corridor to another display. A tall man in European dress of perhaps the 1500s stood above the sprawled body of a woman. Her head was turned to the side, hiding her features from them. The man was staring down at the woman with a mixture of anger and confusion on his face. He had long, light brown hair, but he was still quite evidently Jon Stuart.
Who are they? Sabrina asked, confused.
Hes not well-known to Americans, Jon said, studying the display dispassionately. His name was Matthew McNamara. Laird McNamara. He was a Scotsman who did away with three mistresses and two wives.
How? Brett asked. I dont see a weapon.
He strangled them, Jon said simply.
How did he get away with so many murders before he was found out? Sabrina asked.
He was never brought to justice. He was considered so powerful among the clansmen that executing his own wayward women was considered his right, Jon said.
He turned away from the figures to look at her again, and she saw that his marbled eyes had gone very dark and cold. A strange trembling touched her as he slowly smiled. Was he mocking her? Or himself? She was afraid, she realized.
And worse.
She felt like a moth attracted to a flame. Time hadnt changed anything, nor had distance. That Jon Stuart was virtually a stranger to her meant nothing at all. She felt the same fierce and immediate fascination she had felt the first time shed met him, a little more than three and a half years ago.
The first timethe last time.
Whos the model for the wife? Brett asked. Then, as if suddenly realizing that he might not want to hear the answer, he hurried on. Joshua Valine is good. What an eye for detail.
Relax, Brett. It isnt Cassie, Jon said, a dry smile curling his lip. Its Dianne Dorsey. You can see her face if you look at the tableau from the other side.
Diannewell, yes, of course. I guess I thought of Cassie because of the black hair, but Dianne is dark, too. Brett murmured, clearing his throat. He looked at Jon uneasily.
Cassies over there, Brett, Jon said, indicating a figure praying in front of mullioned windows. Joshua used her for his Mary, Queen of Scots, contemplating the morning of the day of her execution.
Yes, yes, thats definitely Cassandra, Brett said, staring for a long moment. His eyes jerked back to Jons. Doesnt thatbother you?
They all bother metheyre so real, Jon admitted. But Josh is an artist, and thats how he works. Besides, I think Cassie makes a good Mary, Queen of Scots.
Theyre all women, the victims, Sabrina commented.
Jon smiled. Well, historically, it seems, lots of men were monsters. But I assure you, we have some lethal ladies here, as well. He pointed across the room. There you have Countess Bathory, the Hungarian blood countess. Allegedly she sacrificed hundreds of young women so she could bathe in their blood to retain her youth and beauty. V. J. Newfield is the model, as you might notice.
Oh, youre in trouble there! Brett warned.
Jon laughed. V.J. will get a good laugh out of it. Besides, the countess was supposed to be quite beautiful as well as bloodthirsty. He pointed out another tableau. There you have Lady Emily Watson, who poisoned no fewer than ten husbands to get their worldly goods. So you see, we do try to be an equal-opportunity chamber of horrors.
Whos the model for Lady Emily? Brett queried.
Anna Lee Zane. And her victim is Thayer Newby.
Brett laughed. Thayer, downed by a woman! Hes going to love that.
Jon shrugged. Theres Reggie Hampton as Good Queen Bess, signing the death warrant for Mary, Queen of Scots.
Who are the others? Sabrina asked, indicating the rest of the tableaux receding into the shadowy depths of the castles basement.
Naturally Tom Heart and Joe Johnston are in here, but Ill let you find them. Joshua used a few of the household staff, as well, so dont be surprised if you find your breakfast being served by Catherine the Great.
Sabrina, Brett puffed, we really should remarry, and quickly! Jack the Ripper could arrive for your laundry!
Oh, I think I can manage my own hand laundry, and Ill make sure to have breakfast with a crowd, Sabrina told him. She wanted to kick him when she saw that Jon was studying her again.
Jon merely shrugged and seemed to ignore the exchange. Joshua had lots of people working on this project for more than a year. Well be donating the sculptures to a new museum in the north country when were done here.
Youll need releases from the models, Brett warned him.
Jon smiled. I think Ill get them. The publicity will be phenomenal, you know.
Great, Ill go down in history as a maniacal torturer! Brett moaned, but the word publicity had won him over.
Dont feel bad. One way or the other, I go down as a wife murderer. Well, if youll excuse me, I have a few things to attend to. Enjoy yourselves. Brett, you know your way around. Ms. Holloway, please make yourself at home, as well. Ill see you at cocktails.
He turned and walked away with strong strides. In a moment the shadows swallowed him.
Yet somehow his presence seemed to linger, and Sabrina found herself turning to stare again at the wax tableau of Matthew, Laird McNamara.
Very tall, straight, broad-shouldered he was, with hands on his hips as he stood over the woman at his feet. Handsome, proud, merciless, powerfullaird indeed of his domain.
So powerful that he could kill and get away with it?
She forced herself to turn away, to look at the other figures as they engaged in their various dances with death.
The diffuse lighting made everything even more horrible. Shadows filled the room except where each scene stood, looming out of the darkness in eerie purple light, adding to the sensation of everything being real. Sabrina could imagine that the figures breathed. That they twitched, that they sweated. That they might move at any second
Matthew McNamara stood over his wife, fists clenched.
Jack the Ripper wielded his knife.
And Lady Ariana Stuart continued to scream in terror and chilling silence.
A new wave of chills began a route through Sabrinas bloodstream, and she jumped again when Bretts hands fell on her shoulders.
Lets get out of here, shall we? he said.
And she realized that even he suddenly sounded afraid.
3
Ms. Holloway!
Cocktails were being served in the library of the castle, just down the grand staircase from the guest rooms on the second floor and opposite the great hall, where everyone would gather for dinner. Sabrina found herself arriving rather late. Shed lingered in the modern bath for a very long time, drawing together the courage to dress and go downstairs. Her brief meeting with Jon Stuart had left her far more unnerved than shed imagined it would. For once she had to be grateful for Bretts presence. He kept her from feeling too lost and alone, even if he was annoying.
Shed barely reached the doorway to the library when she heard her name being called. A small woman with short-cropped, shiny brown hair was moving toward her, offering her a glass of champagne. She had powder blue eyes, a pretty, heart-shaped face and a tentative smile that immediately set Sabrina at ease.
Welcome, welcome, were so delighted that you could come. Well, Im delighted especially, since Im a true fan. She pressed the champagne flute forward into Sabrinas hand.
Thank you so much, Sabrina said. And you are?
Oh! The young woman said, and flushed, making her appear even prettier and more delicate. Im Camy, Camy Clark. Im Jons secretary and assistant.
Of course, Joan of Arc!
Camy flushed more deeply. Yes, that would be me. Joshua Valine is a good friend.
Sabrina laughed. He must be. You look lovely, even being martyred.
Well, Josh is a dear. He makes everyone look wonderful. Youre definitely the finest looking victim Ive ever seen on a rack.
Sabrina laughed again, lifting her champagne glass. Hes very talented, certainly.
So are you. I love your work. The male writers can be so dry. You know, all action but no endearing characteristics to their people. I just love your Miss Miller. Shes a delight. So real, so sympathetic, brave but not ridiculously so.
Thank you again. Very much.
Camy, Camy, Camy!
A slim woman of about five-five, with short, artfully styled dark hair, was bearing down on them. Her off-the-shoulder cocktail dress was elegant designer wear; her shoes matched its soft mauve. Sabrina knew Susan Sharp, because Susan herself made a point of knowing everyone. Most writers both feared and appreciated the literary critic because she had so much clout, especially in the world of the wealthy, and thus, by word of mouth, could help make or break a book or an author. She had written two mysteries herself and done very well with them, since her characters were clearly based on her acquaintances among the rich and famous. But she could also be loud, opinionated and abrasive, drawing mixed reactions from friends and enemies alike. It was rumored that she had absolutely hated Cassandra Stuart, who had often been her competition in talk-show bookings.
Camy, Camy, Camy! Susan repeated, reaching out to curl her perfectly manicured fingers around Sabrinas arm. You cant just pin Ms. Holloway down at the doorwaywere all waiting to see her. Authors get to be such good friends, you know.
Yes, of course, Ms. Sharp, Camy murmured, flashing Sabrina an embarrassed look. Susan had put her in her place. She was just an assistant. The rest of them were authors.
Camy, it was wonderful meeting you, and I look forward to getting to spend more time together, Sabrina told the young woman.
Camy lit up with a smile. Thanks!
Susan drew Sabrina on into the room. How have you been? Its been ages since Ive seen you.
It was just last June, in Chicago, Sabrina reminded her.
Yes, of course, you were doing so well. So many people adore that Miss Mailer of yours.
Miller, Sabrina corrected smoothly.
Yes, yes, Miss Miller. So tell me, whats up with you and Brett? Are you planning on remarrying?
What? Sabrina demanded.
Well, Brett does make it sound as if you two share so much passion, both of you being so talented and wild. Ill never forget how delicious it was when the tabloids ran those pictures of you running naked from your hotel room in Paris.
Susan, maybe youll never forget, but Id like to. It was a very painful time in my life, Sabrina said firmly. Oh, look, theres V. J. Newfield. I havent seen her in quite some time. Excuse me, will you?
Sabrina escaped Susan and hurried toward V. J.Victoria JaneNewfield. V.J. was somewhere in her fifties or sixties and had been writing forever, or so it seemed. Her work was dark and scary but far more psychological than graphic, always striking a resonant note on the human condition. She was very slim, tall, with silver hair and a graceful carriage. She was a stunning woman and doubtless would be so until the day she died. Sabrina had met her early on in her career at a group autographing, where V.J. had assured her that the nicest thing about doing signings with other authors was that there was always someone interesting to talk to if no one stopped to buy a book.
Trip the customers as they go by, dear, she had advised. When they think youre sitting at a table piled high with books just so you can direct them to the nearest ladies room, trip them! Then apologize to pieces, and youve snagged them! V.J. had been great. Already popular, she had convinced most of her fans that they simply had to buy Sabrinas book, as well, and Sabrina remained grateful to this day.
V.J.! she now said with pleasure, approaching the woman at the buffet table, where she was studying caviar-covered crackers and trying to decide whether or not to indulge.
Sabrina, dear! V.J. said, turning with a smile and offering her a warm hug. I wanted to call and make sure you were going to come. I was so sorry when I learned that you turned down the last invitation, though that did become quite a tragedy. I just got back from a cruise down the Niledo you remember my telling you how much I wanted to take one of those?
Yes, and Im glad you got to go. How was it?
Wonderful. Exhilarating. Awesome. The sense of history is so intense, so chilling. And I do just love a good mummy.
Ive got nothing against loving mommies, Brett said, slipping an arm around Sabrinas shoulder and smiling at V.J. Mommies these days can be just as exciting as the innocent girls. Its great to see you, V.J. You look splendid. Sexy as ever. A great mommy.
My children are all long grown up! V.J. reminded him.
Mummies, my boy, mummies. Were talking about dead women, though from what I hear of your indiscriminate womanizing, that might not make any difference to you. How are you, Brett? A kiss will be acceptable, but just on the cheek. And quit mauling Sabrina. The child has the good sense to be your ex-wife, and if the right man is out there, we dont want him being put off by your foolishness.
Brett laughed, freed Sabrina and good-naturedly planted a kiss on V.J.s cheek.
I am the right man, V.J., Brett protested in a mock-pitiful voice. One moments bad behavior, and she wont forgive me.
My boy, Im no marriage counselor, but I sense that it might have been a bit deeper than that. Still She smiled, lifting her champagne flute to him. Congratulations, I hear youre just below Creighton on the list.
Brett bowed his head in humble acceptance. Thank you, thank you. Creighton just had to put out another book the same month, huh? I might have made number one.
Well, theres always next year.
So there is. And since were all together here, a fine assembly of mystery, suspense and horror writers, surely we can come up with some new ways to bump off the competition. What do you say?
I say its in bad taste, considering where we are, a masculine voice stated softly, and Joe Johnston stepped into their circle. Joe was an Ernest Hemingway lookalike, a handsome man with a bushy beard and a pleasant way about him. He wrote a series about a down-and-out private investigator, charming and laid-back, who still solved the crime every time.
Joe clinked glasses with Sabrina by way of hello and continued, I mean, who really thinks that Cassandra Stuart threw herself from that balcony?
Joe, shush! V.J. warned. It was great of Jon to do this again after what happened last time.
My point exactly, Joe said. And thats why we cant talk about bumping off our competition.
Susan Sharp sidled into their group. We cant talk about bumping people off? she protested indignantly. Joe, its Mystery Week. One of us is supposed to be a murderer and bump off the others until the mystery is solved. Thats the whole point.
Right, but thats all pretend, Sabrina said.
Susan laughed dryly. Well, lets hope that Cassandras being dead isnt pretend. Can you imagine if she were suddenly to walk back into this room?
Susan, thats a horrible thing to say, V.J. admonished. If Cassandra were to suddenly appear here, alive
If Cassandra were suddenly to appear here, alive, more than half the people here would be thinking of ways to kill her again, Susan said flatly. Cassandra was vicious and horrible.
And smart, talented and very beautiful, V.J. reminded her smoothly.
Oh, I suppose. And just thinkeveryone who was here when she died is back again. The guest list is exactly the same, Susan said.
I wasnt here, Sabrina reminded her.
Susan shrugged, as if her presence were of little importance. Well, you were invited, and the point is that those of us who were here then are here again. All of us. Ready to defend ourselves if were accused.
Accused of murder? V.J. asked.
Accused of anything, Susan said blithely. We all have our little secrets, dont we? she demanded, staring hard at V.J.
V.J. stared right back at her.
Susan, if youre going to start implying things about the rest of us Joe began.
Oh, come now, Joe, were all grown-ups. Everyone knew that no matter how polite and controlled he seemed, Jon was furious with Cassandra. He thought she was having an affairand she implied to me on several occasions that she was!
Susan, Pass me the butter has made you think people were having an affair on at least one occasion, V.J. said impatiently.
V.J., its all in how someone says it. The point is, Jon thought she was having an affair, and she thought Jon was. If they were both right, then you have two other people involved. And God knows, Cassandra nearly destroyed some careers. Any number of us despised her at various points for what she said about our work.
You might well have despised her, a soft voice said. It was shy, retiring Camy, who smiled apologetically at Susan. After all, Ms. Sharp, you two were often in direct competition, werent you?
Susan arched a brow, staring at the girl imperiously. She didnt mind the accusation; she minded Camys interrupting her. My dear child, I have no real competition. But just for the record, I did despise Cassandra Stuart. She was an opportunist who used and manipulated people, and you should be grateful that shes dead, because she would have had you fired by now otherwise. Now please excuse me. She turned her back on the girl and spoke to the others. You mark my words. Everyone here has a secret, not to mention a reason to hate Cassandra Stuart.
Except Sabrina, Joe commented quietly.
Susan stared sharply at Sabrina. Who knows? Maybe she had as much reason as the rest of us. But you couldnt have tossed her over the balcony, could you, Sabrina? You turned down the invitation to come here last time. Why? Most writers would killif youll pardon the expressionfor such an invitation.
Fear of flying, Sabrina said sweetly.
Susan kept staring at her. Ill just bet, she said. Then, whirling around, she left the group.
I think she did it, Brett said with such simple conviction that they all laughed.
According to the police, no one did it, Joe said.
Cassandra didnt commit suicide, V.J. commented. She loved herself far too much for that.
But I thought she had cancer, Sabrina said.
She did, but maybe it was treatable, Brett said.
Maybe she simply tripped, Sabrina suggested.
Thats probably just what happened, another masculine voice interrupted. It was Tom Heart. Tall, lean, white-haired, handsome and dignified, he was the unlikely author of some of the most chilling horror novels on the market. He smiled, lifting a champagne flute to them all. Cheers, friends, gentlemen and ladies, Brett, Joe, SabrinaV.J. Good to see you all. And, Sabrina, you may be right on the money. From what I understand, Cassandra was shouting at Jon, who had simply had it with her mood of the moment and was walking away. Perhaps she leaned over to shout louder and leaned just a little too far. Ah, theres our host now, with the lovely Dianne Dorsey on one arm and the exquisite Anna Lee Zane on the other.
Sabrina looked toward the library door. Their host was indeed just arrivingin style.
He was in a tux, and achingly handsome. His height and dark good looks were enhanced by the elegance of his attire. His hair was slicked back, his crystalline eyes enigmatic as he talked and laughed with the two attractive women.
Anna Lee was a writer whose novels were based on true crimes. She was somewhere in her late thirties, very petite and feminine, and rumor had it that she happily chose her sexual partners from either gender.
Dianne Dorsey was considered the up-and-coming voice of horror. She was fond of creating alien beings with a bizarre hunger for human flesh. She was very young, having just turned twenty-two, and had published her first novel as a junior in high school, her second as a senior, and now, just out of Harvard, she was a veteran, with four books on the market. She was considered a genius and already had a huge following. Older writers had a tendency to be jealous of her amazing success at so tender an age, success acquired with what appeared to be so little effort. Sabrina was only envious because Dianne seemed to have acquired such self-assurance at so young an age. She would still give her eyeteeth for that kind of assurance. She had a feeling, though, that Dianne had had a tough childhood, that something had happened to make her a fighter even early on.
As she contemplated Dianne, Sabrina realized that Anna Lee was waving at her, smiling. She smiled and waved back.
Then Dianne spotted her, and she, too, grinned and waved. Sabrina lifted a hand in return. Dianne was into the Gothic look. She always wore black; her hair was jet-black; her lipstick was black; her skin was flawlessly white. She favored huge medallions, medieval-style jewelry and slinky clothing and yet managed her look with a sexy femininity that made her unique and appealing.
Still smiling, Sabrina suddenly became aware that Jon was watching her.
Once again, she was right next to Brett. Brett was, in fact, brushing up against her.
She quickly lowered her eyes. She told herself that she didnt want to get involved with anyone. She hadnt come here hoping to find something she had lost. She was a mature woman now, with a good career, lots of friends and a great family. She was here as a guest, participating in an important charity event, and it was icing on the cake that it might be a boon to her career, as well.
Liar! an inner voice taunted.
Ladies, gentlemen, dinner is being served in the great hall, Jon announced. He excused himself from his two companions, and Sabrina bit her lip to keep from taking a step back as he walked purposefully toward her. Ms. Holloway, youre the only one here who might not have had a chance to meet everyone. Excuse me, Brett, may I claim your ex-wife for a moment? he asked lightly.
Surefor a moment, Brett replied in kind.
Sabrina was dismayed by the warmth that filled her when Jon took her by the arm, flashing his smile, and led her across the room to where a tall, slim man with curly blond hair and clean, handsome features was standing. He looked like an artist, impeccable in his dress clothing except for a tiny drop of paint on his tie. Ms. Holloway, Im sure you remember Joshua Valine, our sculptor extraordinaire.
Oh, yes, Sabrina said, instantly remembering the man as his warm brown eyes touched hers. Theyd met briefly in Chicago, at the booksellers convention. Shed been signing books, and one of the sales reps had introduced him. Weve met, she told Jon, shaking Valines hand. How nice to see you again. Your wax work is incredible. But so real and scary! Im going to have nightmares about being tortured by my ex-husband, she told him.
Joshua flushed and flashed a smile. Thank you. Forgive me for putting you on the rack. You do live, though, you know.
She laughed softly. So Ive been told.
Youre rescued from the rack on the command of the king.
She nodded, adding, Im glad I didnt have to be one of Jack the Rippers victims.
Joshua wrinkled his nose, lowering his voice. Susan Sharp does it well, though, dont you think?
Shh. Susan has exceptional hearing, Jon teased. Lets see, Joshua, is there anyone here that Sabrina might not know yet?
Have you met Camy Clark? Joshua asked.
Yes, shes charming. Youre very lucky to have her, Jon.
Shes organized and incredibly competent, and I am very lucky, Jon agreed. How about?
As he turned to look around the room, they were joined by a solid-looking man with his bright red hair in an old-fashioned crew cut. He flashed a smile at Jon and Joshua and extended his hand to Sabrina. Weve met, but only briefly, at a conference in Tahoe. I dont know if you remember me or not, but Im
Of course I remember you, Sabrina told him. Youre Thayer Newby. I went to every one of your lectures. You probably didnt see me, because the rooms were so full every time you were speaking.
Thayer Newby flushed to the roots of what there was of his hair. Hed been a cop for twenty years before becoming a writer, and his talks on police procedure were excellent.
Thanks! he said, staring at her and still holding her hand. He shook his head slightly. How did McGraff ever let you get away? he inquired. Then he suddenly blushed again. Sorry, none of my business. I did see that picture, of course.
Sabrina gritted her teeth, trying not to blush herself. But she could feel Jon at her side, looking at her, and she knew that of course anyone who had ever seen that tabloid photo would wonder just what had caused her to go running naked from her honeymoon suite.
Brett and I have different ideas about marriage, she said as smoothly as she could manage.
But youve remained friends, huh? Thayer said, trying to be casual.
Somehow the words didnt sound right. And Sabrina realized that hed probably seen her with Brett most of the night and, like others, had jumped to the conclusion that they had remained more than just friends.
Yes, weve managed that, she said flatly.
Ah, theres Reggie, Jon said, lifting a hand. Do you know Reggie Hampton? he asked Sabrina.
Old yet somehow ageless, Regina Hampton might have been seventy or a hundred and ten. She had written scores of books about an amateur sleuth who was a grandmother and solved local mysteries with the help of her cat. Reggie was blunt, intelligent and a great deal of fun, and she had walked straight across to them as she came into the room. Reggie, Jon began. Do you know
Of course I know the dear child! Reggie exclaimed. She was tiny and thin and looked as if a breeze would blow her over, but she hugged Sabrina with an amazing strength that gave proof to the rumor that she was a tough old bird. How lovely to see you here, Sabrina! Jon, however did you convince this lovely young thing to come visit a morbid, reclusive old man in his decaying castle?
The same way I convinced you, you old battle-ax, he teased her affectionately in turn. I sent her an invitation.
Well, its just wonderful that youre here. We need new blood in on these affairs! Reggie said.
Ah, teased Susan, striding over to the group, lets just hope we dont shed new blood, eh? She smiled wickedly.
Lets eatIm famished! V.J. called from across the room. Jon, you did announce dinner, didnt you? If we dont eat soon, well all expire, and not so mysteriously.
Perish the thought! Joe Johnston quipped.
Perish! That is the thought, Reggie retorted.
Right, Jon, lets eat, Brett said. And by the way, think we could break out some brewskies? This champagne just doesnt cut it for me. How about you, Thayer?
Theres a full bar in the great hall, with beer on tap and all kinds, domestic and imported, in the bottle. Go on in and help yourselves, Jon said.
He glanced down at Sabrina, his eyes strangely dark. She felt as if he were studying her, assessing her. And he looked as if he suddenly wanted to push her away from him.
Excuse me, will you, please? he said quietly. And then he was gone.
4
Reggie Hampton linked arms with Sabrina. My dear, you are a breath of fresh air. Tell me, whats been happening with you since July?
Sabrina tried not to watch Jon Stuart as he strode away from her. She forced herself to focus on Reggie, and replied with enthusiasm, Ive been home visiting my family.
At the farm?
Yes. I have an apartment in New York now, but Ive been staying at my folks and my sisters for a while. She just had a baby, her first, a little boy. Naturally, were all just delighted. I spent a few months out there to help when the baby was born.
You should be having your own babies soon.
Reggie, not every woman has babies these days.
But you want children, dont you?
Yes, I do, when the time is right.
Are you going to remarry Br
No. Enough about me, Reggie. How is your family?
Reggie told her briefly about her sons, grandsons and new great-granddaughter as they crossed the entry to the great hall, where dinner would be served. They all milled around the bar first, making drinks.
Brett popped up again to supply Sabrina with a gin and tonic, heavy on the lime, then whispered happily that hed moved the place cards around at the dinner table and put her next to him. They sat down to a magnificent meal of pheasant and fish. As they ate, they all talked and laughed; it might have been a high school reunion. Then Jon, at the head of the table, rose, thanked them again for coming and reminded them that they were there not only for fun but also for the benefit of childrens charities. Each writer had submitted a favorite cause, and the one who solved the mystery claimed the lions share of the donations.
When do we start? Thayer called out.
Tomorrow morning, Jon replied. Those with the energy are welcome to catch up on each others lives tonight. Those who are too exhausted from jet lag can get some sleep. Things will be pretty much the same as they were previous years. Camy and Joshua have worked out the particulars. I wont know who the murderer is any more than any of you will. In the morning, youll all receive your character roles and a description of the situation. The murderer will discover who heor sheis, and then he or she will have to get busy before being discovered. The murderer will have been assigned the order in which the victims are to be dispatched. The victims will be murdered with a washable red paint, and naturally well take care of any cleaning expenses. Any questions?
Sure, Joe Johnston said, speaking up. Even if Im not the murderer, can I shoot Susan anyway?
Laughter rose, then faded, as Susan stared them all down. Youre right at the top of my list, too, Joe, she told him sweetly. She pointed a finger at him and made a popping sound, as if she were pulling a trigger. And youll be covered in something a lot worse than red paint!
Come, come, children, behave, Anna Lee Zane drawled.
Well, shit, Im sorry! Joe said.
Anna Lee shook her head, as if it were as impossible to deal with writers as with unruly children.
Jon rose. If you all will excuse me, I have a few things to attend to, he said. Please, make yourselves at home. Well meet here at nine tomorrow morning. For the early birds, coffee will be on the buffet by six.
He exited the great hall, closing the double doors behind him. Sabrina stared after him, biting her lower lip, wishing suddenly that she hadnt come.
Bretts hand landed on hers where it rested on the table. Want to see my room? he inquired hopefully.
She withdrew her hand, smiling because he could be so much like a child, so eager, so unwilling to admit defeat.
No. Im going to bed.
That will work with me.
To sleep. Im one of those guests with jet lag. I got to London late last night and came here this afternoon. Im tired.
All right. Im right next door to you, if you change your mind. If things go bump in the night.
Thanks. Ill keep that in mind, she told him.
She waved a good-night to the others as she escaped the great hall.
The castle foyer and magnificent staircase were empty. With the doors to the library and great hall closed, she suddenly felt very alone in the ancient edifice.
She hurried up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway with its Norman arches toward her own room.
It was huge, retaining a historical feel yet updated to offer incredible warmth and comfort. The bed sat on a richly carpeted dais, and heavy draperies hung at the balcony doors to ward off cold drafts. The closet and bath were large, and an antique desk sat to the side of a massive hearth. A fire had been built and stoked, and it burned brightly as she entered her room, hesitated, then carefully shot the bolt.
She kicked off her shoes and stripped away her stockings, then found herself wandering to the glass-paned balcony doors that closed out the night beyond. She opened them and stepped outside. From this vantage point she could see rolling fields, the shimmering waters of a small loch and the purple crests of mountains in the distance. The scenery, even by moonlight, was breathtaking. This trip was the opportunity of a lifetime.
She never should have come.
Sabrina drew a long, shaky breath. So, she asked herself aloud, did you come to try to convince yourself that your brief, shining moment in his company is completely over and forgotten? Or were you hoping to sleep with him just once more, whatever the consequences?
She felt her cheeks redden. How humiliating. Would he sleep with her again? She undoubtedly had a reputation for being rathercasual. Just think of the way she had left Brett, running away naked.
Funny. Brett was okay. She liked being friends. It was even flattering that he still pursued her. What he had done was terribly wrong, but what she had done was wrong, as well. She had married him without truly loving him.
Because, of course, she had been in love with Jon Stuart.
A cool breeze suddenly wrapped around her, and she remembered being in New York City for the very first time and winding up at a party for one of her publicists other clients, who had just had a Broadway opening. Sabrina had had no idea who the handsome party guest was when she met him, other than that his name was Jon. Hed had her laughing, telling her about the terrors of the big city and how it might well be a death-defying feat simply to survive her first experience with a New York cab driver.
Admittedly, shed drunk too much. Shed been exhilarated with the success of selling her book and excited at being in his company. He had a car, and he offered to drive her back to her hotel.
Shed fallen asleep on his shoulder in the car, and when theyd reached her hotel, she was still drowsy, intoxicated and giddy. She remembered opening her eyes and seeing his face above hers, his eyes dark, marbled, fascinating. Were here, hed told her.
And shed nodded, though she hadnt moved, and then hed said, I can carry you up to your room. Which is what I should do. Because if I bring you home with me, Ill take advantage of you. I wont be able to help myself.
Even with the breeze caressing her now on the balcony, she could still remember her reply.
Please do.
No amount of alcohol could forgive that, she told herself now. She hugged her arms around her chest. Yet it had been wonderful. The best time of her life. Theyd driven to his apartment in the city, and hed carried her upstairs. He had undressed her in his bedroom, and, still dressed himself, he had demanded to know if she was sure.
Then he had kissed her, and for the rest of her life she would remember his touch on her body, his lips, burning, intimate, demanding, everywhere. She would remember him, the feel of his flesh, the touch of his hands, the mole at the small of his back.
The night had been pure magic. The next day theyd cooked breakfast together, wandered through the Metropolitan Museum of Art and gone out for Chinese before returning to spend the evening making love again. Absurdly, after all that, it wasnt until the next morning that shed asked his last name and learned that he was the Jon Stuart, the well-known author.
Jon had been in the shower when his fiance, Cassandra, showed up. Sabrina herself had been wearing a terry robe, her hair wet and plastered around her face. Shed been stunned when the door opened. Cassandra had stared at Sabrina, looking her up and down, not appearing angryjust amused. Then shed made a comment about Sabrina being an annoying little whore, thrown some money at her and told her to get out.
One of the biggest regrets of Sabrinas life was that she had done soafter throwing the money back, of course. Shed come from the farmlands of the Midwest, and even with a college education, a little work experience behind her and a four-year relationship with the captain of her college debate team, she was incredibly naive. Every time she replayed the scene in her head, she was newly humiliated and newly furious with herself. Where had her backbone been? Why hadnt she challenged the woman? She should havebut she hadnt. Maybe she had just been too stunned, or too insecure. Shed grabbed her own clothing and left.
Jon hadnt made any promises to her. Hed been honest, asking about her life, admitting his involvement with Cassandra, saying that they were on and off more often than a water spigot. When Sabrina looked back at the situation, she realized that she had simply been too afraid she might lose if Jon had had to make a choice between the two of them. Life, shed since learned, meant taking chances. Shed just learned it a little too late.
Jon had tracked her down, all the way to Huntsville. But shed told her mother to tell him that shed gone to Europe. Hed written to her, telling her that he wasnt engaged, and that hed had no commitments whatsoever the night they met. Hed asked her to contact him, since he hadnt been able to convince her mother to quit lying for her.
Sabrina had just reached the point of deciding she was being a worse fool not to respond when she heard that he and Cassie had suddenly done the deed, marrying after a late night in Las Vegas.
Not much later, shed married Brett.
End of story.
Until shed run naked from her honeymoon suite. And Cassandra Stuart had plummeted from her balcony into the waiting arms of death.
The wind was growing sharp. Sabrina shivered and looked out into the darkness.
The moon was high, struggling to shine through the clouds. Outdoor lights slightly illuminated the courtyard below. The castle was built in a horseshoe shape, surrounding the courtyard. The maid who had brought her to her room earlier had told her that the far end of the left wing comprised the master suite, with balconies opening to the central courtyard and to the rear.
Glancing in that direction, Sabrina saw the shape of a man standing on the far balcony in the moonlight. His shirt ruffled in the wind; his hair flowed back. He stood tall and still, staring at the moon.
Then he turned, and she knew he was watching her, and she was watching him.
It was Jon. And standing there, watching him, she wondered if he was in pain, if he was missing his wife, if he was reflecting on her death.
He lifted a hand, as if saluting her.
Sabrina backed away, right into the door, and for a moment a scream lodged in her throat as she thought that someone was behind her.
She felt a moments strange fear. She was standing on a balcony. And whatever the situation, Cassandra had fallen to her death from a balcony not far away. She had plummeted into the arms of a statue of Poseidon below. His trident had torn into her, and she had died instantly, even before her husband had come running back to her. Poseidon still stood below that balcony, though the rosebushes surrounding his fountain were no longer in bloom.
It was so easy to feel that someone was standing behind her now, ready to push.
But when she spun around, no one was there. She went into her room and discovered that the bolt was still thrown.
The rooms were all supplied with brandy.
Sabrina hated brandy, but she poured herself a snifter, wrinkled her nose and swallowed a fairly large portion. If youre going to survive this week, youre going to have to cool your imagination, she told herself.
Shed claimed downstairs that she was tired. And she was. Shaky, exhausted from the time change and lack of sleep.
But she couldnt seem to get drowsy.
She stayed awake for hours. She sipped brandy, making faces at the taste, and read some magazine shed brought for the flight.
She had V.J.s latest book, and after she finished the magazines she began to read, until she realized that she just couldnt concentrate. She finally lay down, determined that she had to get some rest.
But even when she finally slept, she tossed and turned and began to dream disturbing dreams.
In the darkness of the night, he moved down the steps, silent, a wraith. He tried to tell himself that it would all go well, that he didnt need to be afraid.
But he was afraid. Because he loved her.
They had prearranged their meeting, yet even so, he was suddenly, perhaps ridiculously, uneasy. In the ancient dungeon, he suddenly felt as if long-dead murderers had come to life, as if they were mocking him, telling him that he was no better, even if he hadnt actually performed the deed. The lighting was pale, purplish, seeming to cast a ghoulish fog over the faces of torturers, swordsmen and more. Executioners in their dark masks seemed to move, taunting him, warning him.
He came to the tableau of Lady Ariana Stuart upon the rack, and for a moment he paused, forgetting both fear and reason. She was the finest of all the pieces. Something in her eyes was real, a touch of the innocence and sincerity that belonged to Sabrina Holloway. Startled anew by the resemblance to the living woman so nearby, he was tempted to reach out and touch her, to rescue the beauty from the beast who threatened her.
My love!
The whisper drew him back to the present, and he spun around. She had come. She rushed to him, and he wrapped her in his arms. Why are you so afraid? Why did we have to meet in secret? he queried gently.
She shook her head against his chest. This is all so dangerous. I know that they know. I know that were in danger. I just wish
Dont be so afraid. Dont create trouble before trouble appears.
She shook her head and stepped back. You dont know how vicious, how dangerous, they can be!
Our game is dangerous, my pet. We mustnt overreact. We must just wait, listen, watchand see what comes.
She leaned against him. Im so afraid. Hold me.
He did, feeling the movement of her body against his, her touch. He felt her tugging at his clothing. Felt her handsfinding bare flesh. To his amazement, he hardened instantly, a streak of desire flashing through him. He looked around at the ghoulish setting, amazed, somewhat aghast, and all the more excited because of it.
Someone could come. Look where we are.
They seemed to be staring at him. Headsmen in their black hoods, murderers, executioners, rogues. Joan of Arc, so saintly on her cross.
She laughed softly, and the sound washed over his senses. He groaned and slipped down with her, and within seconds they were sprawled out on the cold floor. She was as naked as a jaybird as purple light bathed them. She was insatiable, rising above him, crying out. He tried to hush her, but she laughed, and when they were both spent, she lay at his side and looked up at the faces surrounding them. It was fun, like an orgy, she teased.
You worry me.
Come on. It was as if they were all watching. It was an incredible turn-on.
He hesitated. You liked to watchher, he said, suddenly realizing the truth of his own words.
She shrugged. So? That was a turn-on, too.
But this is dangerous, meeting here, like this, he told her. Everything we do now is dangerous. The days to come are dangerous. We dont know what people know, what they saw, what they might have suspected.
Well be careful, she whispered. Well be okay. But I have to be with you.
He nodded slightly.
She knew how to move him, how to make him need her. Because he loved her, of course.
He closed his eyes and opened them, then started.
She was looking at him. Lady Ariana Stuart was turned his way, and she was looking at him with her huge, wide, beautiful blue eyes.
She was watching.
He could feel her eyes. Looking at him, seeing him. Watching
It was a turn-on.
And yet dangerous.
He was both aroused and afraid.
It was as if she knew.
She didnt want Jon Stuart; shed told herself that time and time again. She wasnt absurdly, naively young anymore; she was older now, wiser. But in her dreams, she was lying in her bed, naked, waiting, wanting.
Because he was there. Tall, towering, dressed in black. Standing over her
It was Jon.
It wasnt. The tall figure was surrounded by fog and changed with each slight flutter of a purple-gray breeze.
It was a torturer, intent upon her agony and destruction, and she was caught, tied, unable to move, to escape, because ropes bound her tightly, and all she could do was look up into the eyes of death with a silent, wax-cast scream.
She awoke with a start, shaking, drenched in sweat. She sat up wildly, looking around.
Her room was empty. The fire burned low; moonlight filtered in.
She could see plainly that she was alone, entirely alone.
And yet it seemed
There was a presence, a scent, a feeling, something in the air. A feeling she couldnt shake that someone had been there. Jon? Or Brett? Or an artists rendering of a medieval torturer in wax?
Too much time in the dungeon, she told herself softly. But her unease persisted.
She leaped up. The bolt was still secure. Shed been dreaming, and she was alone.
Shaking, she curled back into bed and tried to sleep again. But the moon began to set, and soon daylight was filtering in.
She sat up again. Oh, the hell with this! she groaned aloud.
So she rose and showered and was the first one downstairs for the six oclock coffee.
But not even coffee and sunlight could dispel the strange feeling that she hadnt been alone.
Someone had been with her in her locked and bolted room.
5
Sabrina had a pounding headache and felt so tired and wretched that she could barely sit up.
So naturally the first person into the great hall for breakfast was Susan Sharp.
Good morning! Nice to see you up! Susan said with a cheerfulness that was doubly irritating. Dont you just love this place? I slept like a baby.
The castle is beautiful, Sabrina replied.
Susan drew up the chair beside Sabrinas at the polished oak table. Can you believe that Cassandra absolutely hated this place?
Sabrina told herself that she didnt want to gossip, but with Susan there was little choice. And despite herself, she wanted to know everything she could about Cassandra Stuart.
Did she really?
Susan nodded grimly, stirring sugar substitute into her coffee. Hated it. I never understood why Jon put up with her. She shrugged. Frankly, I never understood why he married her.
Well, she really was beautiful. And smart, Sabrina heard herself comment.
Susan wrinkled her nose. Yes, butwell, Jon is gorgeous himself. He could have dozens of women. Has had dozens of women. Why marry that one?
He must have loved her.
Well, maybe he did. But I can tell you thishe was ready to divorce her when she died.
How do you know?
Susan added milk to her coffee. Because I was here, remember? They were fighting like crazy. Jon has always loved it here. He didnt grow up with money, you know. The family inherited this place, but it was a disaster, an albatross hanging around his neck when he first came into possession of the property. Cassandras family was swimming with cashshe never wanted or needed for anything. Jons dedicated to his childrens charities, and these little Mystery Weeks of his make some really big money. Cassandra didnt like games, hated half of Jons friends. She couldnt bear V.J., because V.J. would never suck up to her. She said whatever she damned well felt like sayingyou know her. Cassie tortured Jon every time he held one of these. Hed be in the middle of something, and shed supposedly be his hostessand then shed suddenly decide she simply couldnt bear it and throw a tantrum or be off. I know Jon had decided that he was done with her when she died.
Susan, maybe they had problems, Sabrina said, but how can you possibly know their marriage was over?
Because I know Jon, Susan purred. She leaned back, lifting her long-nailed fingers in a casual gesture. But then again, Jon wasnt the only one fighting with Cassandra. She and Anna Lee Zane had barely been civil to one another all week. For one thing, Cassandra had given a scathing review of Annas last book on national television in the States. And, of course, Anna is stunning, and she and Jon have been good friends for a very long time. Cassandra never understood the concept of friendship, especially not between a man and a woman, even a woman who goes both ways. Then again, I admit, I dont quite get friendships, either. I mean, its hard to like a man and not want to sleep with him.
Susan shrugged. But thats beside the point. Cassie also completely dished Tom Heart in a review that might have cost him a spot in a really important anthology that came out last year. And of course she was also afraid that Jon was sleeping with someone who was a guest here, and she herself was supposedly sleeping with someone else, as well. I dont know if she really was or wasnt, since she adored Jon. She really did. She just didnt know how to be a wife to him. She was always jealous but always taunting him. It was as if she thought she had to let him know at all times that other men found her desirable, that she was a special prize he needed to cherish. Jon never did take well to threats. But then, she threatened everyone all the timeshe seemed to need to hold something over the head of every single human being she ever met.
And you fought with her, too, of course.
Of course, Susan said, smiling. Ive admitted I hated her. She was the worst bitch known to man.
Oh, come now! Brett exclaimed, entering the great hall. He poured himself coffee and sat down at Sabrinas other side. Was Cassie really such a bitch? Or was she misunderstood? Maybe it was hard being married to Jon Stuart and giving in to his every whim. She loved cities, glamour, excitement, and he liked to tuck himself away here in the country and watch the wind blow.
Thats not true, Susan said, staunchly defending Jon. He has homes in London, New York and L.A., as well.
Poor fellow, Brett murmured lightly.
Poor fellow, indeed! V.J. announced, sweeping into the room with an audible sniff. She ruffled Bretts hair. As if youre going to be suffering financially after your next contract!
Brett smiled sheepishly. Okay, so Im not a poor fellow, either. Im a happy one right now. And Im going to be really, really rich, as well. You truly should remarry me, Sabrina.
Not a chance, Im afraid.
Sleep with me, then. Men always buy their mistresses better presents. And we were good together, right?
Susan and V.J. were both staring at her.
Brett! she said, nearly strangling.
He ignored her protest, his eyes suddenly on Susan again. Here you are, Sue, defending Jon now, but you seemed to be absolutely convinced he killed Cassandra when it happened.
Dont be silly. He was outside when she fell.
He could have paid someone to do the deed, Brett said, waggling his eyebrows.
Isnt it rather rude, the way were sitting around discussing our host as a potential murderer, V.J. queried.
But it is a Mystery Week, Brett said.
As if on cue, Camy Clark came into the room bearing a stack of envelopes. Good morning, everyone.
Everyone isnt here, Susan said snidely.
Sabrina frowned, wondering why the woman was continually so rude to Jons assistant. Camy didnt intrude; she was quiet and tended to stay out of the way.
Well, its still early, Camy said. But if youd like
Ah, you have our character descriptions and our instructions! Brett said, flashing her one of his devastating smiles.
Camy flushed, smiling. Yes, I do. Now remember, everyone is to know one anothers character but nothing else. Youll receive more instructions as we go along. The murderer will, of course, know who he or she is and where to get the murder weapons. And remember, the murderer may have an accomplice. If youre killed, youre dead, but youre a ghost, and you can still warn others of impending danger and help solve the crime.
Im dying for my envelope, darling, Susan told her, drawling the word dying.
The others laughed. As Camy began handing out the envelopes, more of their number began to arrive: Anna Lee, looking fetching and slim in stirrup pants and a halter top; Reggie in her inevitable flowered dress; Tom Heart, tall and dignified in a smoking jacket and flannel trousers; Thayer Newby in a Jets T-shirt and slacks; Joe Johnston, casual in a golf shirt and chinos; Joshua Valine looking very artistic, with a paint-smudged denim shirt over a plain white T and baggy pants; Dianne Dorsey in a calf-length skirt and sleeveless knit top. And Jon.
Jon, too, was casual, in a navy denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and form-hugging jeans. His dark hair was damp, as if hed just showered, and Sabrina couldnt help but wonder if hed slept latebecause hed been up late, wandering restlessly around his castle at night. She reminded herself that her door had been bolted. And that just because she hadnt forgotten a reckless sexual encounter in her youth, there was no reason to assume Jon might have any remaining interest in her whatsoever. Her reputation wasnt exactly a sparkling one.
She rose for more coffee. V.J. came up beside her, offering her cup to Sabrina to fill, as well.
Ah, youre watching our host, V.J. whispered to her as Jon greeted Camy and Joshua, listening to some of their last-minute instructions.
Hes an intriguing man, Sabrina said noncommitally.
And, of course, the question remainsis he a murderer? Does Susan really think so? Except Im sure Susan wouldnt think of Cassies death as murder. To Susan, if Jon did kill his wife, it was justifiable homicide.
V.J. shrugged, sipping her coffee. Honey, to half the people here, killing Cassandra Stuart would have constituted a public service.
Ladies! Reggie admonished from behind them. Were not supposed to speak ill of the dead.
Even if the dead caused tremendous ills? Joe Johnston whispered from behind her.
Sabrina, Camy said, walking across the room to her. She stopped, flushed and corrected herself. Ms. Holloway.
Sabrina, please.
Camy flushed again. Your envelope. You only get to know your character now. Youll get instructions later regarding what youre supposed to do and where youre supposed to go.
Great, thanks.
Do you have mine, dear? V.J. asked.
Camy gave V.J. hers, then handed Reggie her envelope, as well.
Ouch! Reggie exclaimed, looking up. She smiled. Im the Crimson Lady, a stripper, tryingor pretendingto reform.
Great, Thayer Newby groaned, flexing his muscles. Im the effeminate male dancer, JoJo Scuchi.
JoJo Scuchi? Brett said with a laugh.
Check yours out, Thayer warned him.
Brett read the letter in the envelope and made a face. Im Mr. Buttle, the butler. Number two on the New York Times list, and they make me the butler! he groaned.
Sabrina, reading her sheet, began to laugh.
And who are you, my dear? Brett demanded.
The Duchess. I run the church choir, she told him.
Oh, now that is apropos. The lady who ran naked from her honeymoon suite, Susan said, staring at Brett. Neither of you has ever explained that situation, she reminded him smugly.
Sabrina had lived with what had happened for a long time now, but she still felt her temper rising and her cheeks reddening, especially since she realized that Jon had been watching the exchange. Waiting for a reply?
Or perhaps not, because he was the one who responded to Susan. And I imagine they dont feel they owe you an explanation, Sue, he said.
Susan opened her mouth, then quickly shut it, lifting her chin.
Ah, but Susan, Joe Johnston said, reading over Sabrinas shoulder, the Duchess runs the choir by dayand a high-class call girl outfit by night!
Hey, its a dirty job, but someones got to do it, Brett declared. Does the butler get to be in on it? he asked.
The butler always did it, you know, Reggie teased.
I mean in on the sex, Brett said.
You would, V.J. said with a sigh.
You know Ive always wanted to make it with an older woman, Brett stated.
Older than what? V.J. demanded tartly.
He smiled innocently. Older than God, darling. Thats you, isnt it?
Cute, boy, cute! V.J. sniffed.
Dianne Dorsey suddenly started laughing. Sabrina leaned past V.J. to look at her. As usual, Dianne was in black. Black denim shorts, a ruffled black blouse, black socks and black hiking boots. Youll never guess who I am.
Who? V.J. obligingly inquired.
Mary, the Hare Krishna!
They all started to laugh.
Susan, who are you? V.J. asked.
Susan shuddered and looked up at Camy accusingly. Im Carla, the call girl with the clap.
Another round of laughter followed, but Susan was not amused. She glared at Camy. You did that on purpose!
Sue, chill! Brett said.
Camy didnt make these up, you know that. We hire writers from the game company, Jon said impatiently. He sighed. Trust me, mine is worse.
Why, who are you? Susan demanded.
Demented Dick, Jon said dryly. Serial killer, supposedly cured by his cousin, Sally Sadist, the psychologist.
Thats me! Anna Lee called out.
And Im Nancy, the naughty nurse, hired by Sally Sadist to look after you. Nancy the naughty nurse! V.J. repeated with a shudder.
You think thats bad? Joe Johnston said, laughing. Im Tilly the transvestite, Demented Dicks mother!
Hey, Mom! Jon said, and they all laughed.
Oh, no! Tom Heart groaned, looking at Joe.
What? Joe demanded.
Im Demented Dicks dadwhich means youre my wife. Ugh!
Well, baby, youre sleeping on the couch, Joe told him.
As they teased, Jennie Albright, the housekeeper, with the help of two younger maids, brought in the food platters, setting them up on the buffet. Jon thanked them and announced, Breakfast is served. While we eat, Joshua will show you the weapons with which you might be killed. Well wait until everyone is seated.
With a lot of talking and good-natured joking, they fixed plates of food and took their places at the table. Sabrina was glad to find herself next to V.J. rather than Susan, but Brett managed to remain on her other side. He was definitely trying to create the impression that they were a twosome.
Jon took a seat toward the end of the table between Anna Lee Zane and Thayer Newby. Anna spoke to him, and he lowered his head, smiling. Sabrina couldnt help but wonder if something had gone on between the two of them, since it was rumored that Jon and Cassandra had both been having extramarital affairs at his last Mystery Week. Still, so much about the past was speculation. What wasnt speculation, however, was the fact that Cassandra Stuart had died.
Joshua cleared his throat, smiling. Ladies and gentlemen, here is the situation. Demented Dick is newly home to take over as heir apparent to the family fortunes, due to the untimelyand unnaturaldemise of his older brother, Demented Darryl. Naturally, since he had the most to gain, Demented Dick is a likely suspect in his brothers murder, but since this is a whodunit, its for you to discover who did in Demented Darryl and why. Everyone in the house has a past and is hiding a secret, and it will turn out in the end that everyone had a reason for wanting to do Darryl in. The killeror killersare naturally afraid of what everyone else may know, and therefore, one by one, they will begin picking off the others. Now, there are a number of murder weapons, since the killer is to continue his or her spree until he or she is caught or until the entire household has expired.
So shoot, Joe said. What are our weapons?
Fine, well start with the pistol, Joshua said, showing them the gun in question. Shoots red paint. He proceeded to lift the other toy weapons as he described them. Rifle, shoots red paint. Bowie knife, complete with blood sack. Jackknife, bow and arrow, heavy vase, rope with noose, poisonactually, its a grape drink guaranteed to turn your mouth purple for twenty-four hoursand last but not least, a candlestick. So thats it, ladies and gentlemen. There will be clues left around the castle, and instructions for your characters will be slipped to you at various times as the week moves on. Ill warn you all, the first murder is planned for sometime today, so everyone take care. Oh, and anyone who choosesliving or deadcan meet at seven each evening for cocktails, to be followed by dinner at eight, and at that time discuss the case. More coffee, anyone? he asked blandly.
Only if you drink it first, Anna Lee replied dryly.
Sure, Joshua said. He procured the coffee carafe from the buffet, poured himself a cup, sipped it, then walked around to Anna Lees place, pouring her more. Smoothing back his blond hair, he leaned close to her, a teasing light in his eyes. One cant be too cautious around here.
Ill take more coffee, too, Jon said, pushing his cup forward. Late night, he explained.
Death by poison! V.J. said with a shudder. Well, Id been intending to go on a diet anyway. I can live without food, but never without coffee.
Never without a good gin and tonic, Reggie argued.
No, never without beer, Brett corrected.
Well, as far as coffee and foodor even cocktails and beergo, you can indulge now, Jon said dryly. The game doesnt begin until weve all exited the dining room. Everyone is then to go to his or her room for the next hour, while Camy and our master sculptor make sure that the weapons youve just seen have been properly hidden. If someone finds the weapon with which he or she was to be murdered, it can be used against the killer. But for now, feel free. Indulge.
Well, then, let me have just a wee bit more toast, V.J. said, adding a touch of a Scots accent to her voice.
Ill go for the bacon, Joe said.
Toast for me, too, V.J., Sabrina called to her.
And suddenly everyone at the table was hungry again. They ate like a group of loggers about to head out for hours of hard labor. But, finally, one by one, they began to leave. Sabrina, seeing Brett ahead of her, purposely lagged behind, lowering her eyes as she sipped her coffee. When she lifted her gaze again, she was startled to realize that only she and Jon remained in the room. He was seated across the table, studying her.
It really is good to see you again, he told her, voice husky, eyes firmly on her.
To her dismay, she felt a fluttering in her heart. Thank you.
He sat back, still watching her. She felt as if his eyes were penetrating her skin, and she groped about quickly for something casual to say.
So, are you the killer? she inquired.
He arched a brow. Are you talking about the gameor real life?
She flushed. The game.
If I were, he answered slowly, I couldnt tell you. Just as you couldnt tell me. It wouldnt be fair. He leaned forward then, a dry smile curling his lips. But dont you want to know about real life?
She stared back at him, feeling as if her breakfast had suddenly sunk from her stomach to her feet. Jon, I didnt come here to question you or to bring back unhappy memories.
Why not? Its why most of the others did, both my friends and my enemies. Dont you want to know the truth? Or did you really run away from me simply because you didnt give a damn?
She wasnt going to answer that, so she stared at him and demanded, So did you kill Cassandra? What a question! If you had killed her, you couldnt tell me, could you? Theres no real difference between the game and real life.
Oh, theres a difference, all right. As far as the game goes, I cant tell you if Im the killer or not. As for real lifeno, definitely, decidedly, on pain of every torture God or the devil could inflict, no. I did not kill my wife. Do you believe me?
Yes.
He arched a brow, sitting back cautiously. Why? Why should you believe me?
Well, I
You what? You know me? he queried, taunting slightly. He shrugged. You know me, he repeated mockingly.
I dont pretend to really know you, she snapped back angrily. But you were nowhere near her when she fell
She was pushed, he stated flatly.
She lifted her hands. How do you know?
Because I knew Cassandra. Very well. She was far too fond of herself for suicide.
Seated at the huge table, his eyes dark and sharp, he looked like a medieval lord, powerful ruler of all his domain. But there was a touch of bitterness in his voice, and despite his harsh demeanor, she reflected that the years since Cassandras death must have hurt him very badly. Had he really loved her, despite their fights? Or had there been another woman involved, an affair gone tragically wrong? Had there been another man, and did Jon Stuart still harbor anger deep in his soul?
He was still staring at her, his dark marbled gaze seeming to pierce through her, seeking something, giving nothing. The lines around his eyes had deepened since shed seen him last; he had aged, and yet he was even more attractive then he had been, and she felt as if she could feel his power reaching out across the table to mesmerize her.
Was she a fool? Even if he hadnt pushed Cassandra himself, he could have been her killer. Plenty of people seemed to think it would have been a miracle if he wasnt the one to murder her.
He was still watching, waiting.
She shrugged. From what I understand, nothing is certain. You cant be certain of anything, just because you think you knew her. She might have simply slipped and fallen. She might have been reckless. We none of us really ever know one another, do
Cassandra didnt kill herself.
Maybe thats what you want to believe.
Maybe its the truth.
Jon, she had cancer. She might have felt that
She was already undergoing treatments.
But she was a woman, and women can be vain. Maybe she was afraid of losing her hair, her looksor even losing you because of it.
He shook his head impatiently. She knew about the cancer when we were married. She told me about it, so she knew I was aware of everything we might be going through. She didnt kill herself. And she was very coordinated. She didnt trip.
Well, then, in your mind, you definitely believe that someone murdered her.
Yes, he said.
But who
He leaned forward. She could see leashed tension in the pounding of a vein in his throat.
Someone killed her, he said harshly, but I didnt. And the matter of who did is not your concern. I dont want you involved in any way.
But
Why did you run away from me? he asked abruptly.
What? II
Dont stutter. And dont tell me that it was a long time ago, or that you dont know what Im talking about.
She lifted her hands. Cassandra came. I left.
Why?
Sabrina stared at him blankly. It really was a long time ago
Why? he interrupted more heatedly.
She said she was your fiance. Apparently, she was.
He shook his head angrily. We were broken up. I had no commitments. I told you that.
She shrugged. But you married her.
Later. Yes, I did marry her. She was beautiful and tempting and all the rest, and we did have a history between us. And she was afraid of facing her illness alone, and she wanted me to be with her, and yes, she was a bitch as well, and yes again, it wasnt working at all and I was planning on getting a divorce.
There was a strange anger in his voice, as if he were revealing intimacies under duress, as if the words were spilling from him against his will. Then his tone changed abruptly and he queried wryly, And what about you? Running naked from your honeymoon suite in Paris?
That was a long time ago as well, and its really
None of my business? Youre absolutely right. It isnt. But that doesnt mean I dont want to know. He smiled a little. Whenever youre ready to tell me.
She stared at him, surprised to find that she was not offended. His words might have been blunt, even arrogant, but from the way he smiled, she suddenly realized that he understood a great deal.
Hey!
Camy Clark came back into the great hall and put her hands on her hips. You guys are supposed to return to your rooms for the next hourand that means you, too, boss! she said firmly.
Okay, okay, were leaving, Jon assured her.
He got to his feet with a lithe, easy movement and managed to be at Sabrinas seat before she could rise. He stood behind her, graciously pulling out her chair. His scent was masculine and subtleof soap and a hint of aftershave. He remained one of the most attractive and sensual men she had ever met, and even without touching, she could feel him at her back with every fiber of her being. She was tempted to turn around and throw herself at him.
Naturally, she didnt.
She rose, thanked him and smiled at Camy. And, leaving the great hall, she fairly flew up the stairs.
Yet as she reached her door on the second floor, she felt him behind her again. Knew he was there before he spoke.
.
.
, (https://www.litres.ru/heather-pozzessere-graham/never-sleep-with-strangers/) .
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Heather Graham Pozzessere
She almost looked as if she slept, except The trident had pierced through her. And the snow-white gown was turning ever more crimson. Four years ago, while vacationing at their country estate in Scotland, Jon Stuart watched his wife plummet from the balcony to a horrific death. Although cleared of any involvement, he's endured years of public suspicionlosing friends and his good standing in the community.But this was no accident, and now he's determined to prove it was murder. Orchestrating a dangerous plan, Jon has gathered the prime suspects at the scene of the crime. The stage is set as past and present collide, old lovers reuniteand a killer plots another perfect crime.
Praise for New York Times Bestselling Author
Heather Graham
Graham shines in this frightening tale. Paranormal elements add zing to her trademark chilling suspense and steamy romance, keeping the pages flying.
Romantic Times on Haunted
Grahams tight plotting, her keen sense of when to reveal and when to teasewill keep fans turning the pages.
Publishers Weekly on Picture Me Dead
An incredible storyteller!
Los Angeles Daily News
Demonstrating the skills that have made her one of todays best storytellers, Ms. Graham delivers one of this years best books thus far.
Romantic Times on Hurricane Bay
A suspenseful, sexy thrillerGraham builds jagged suspense that will keep readers guessing up to the final pages.
Publishers Weekly on Hurricane Bay
A roller-coaster ridefast-paced, thrillingHeather Graham will keep you in suspense until the very end. Captivating.
Literary Times on Hurricane Bay
The talented Ms. Graham once again thrills us. She delivers excitement [and] romancethat keep the pages flipping quickly from beginning to end.
Romantic Times on Night of the Blackbird
With the name Heather Graham on the cover, you are guaranteed a good read!
Literary Times
HEATHER GRAHAM
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Prologue
Cassandra Stuart was beautiful, and she knew it. She could manipulate others, and she knew that, too. If she could just make him turn around and look back at her
Jon! Jon!
She knew that hed heard her, but he didnt stop. He was really furious with her this time. As she watched, he continued down the gravel path that led to the loch. Maybe she had overplayed it this time, but she didnt want to be here in the back of beyond, in this godforsaken, remote patch of Scotland. Despite his famous guests, despite his famous charity game. They were his guests; it was his game. She hated the country; she wanted to be in London.
But she knew her husband, knew what he was thinking now. Hed known the day would go badly, that she would be rude and impatient and ruin it for them all. But damn him, he still wouldnt give it up! Hed hosted this event every year for the past decade. Hed made his plans; he had a life to live. The week was already underway. Besides, no matter how damned marvelous his wife might be, hed told hersounding awfully damned sarcastiche would be damned if a woman was going to lead him around by the nose. Any woman.
Jon!
She knew that he didnt want to look back, didnt want to see her.
Because he knew what she was planning. And he had planned ahead himself. He wasnt going to let her play him, wasnt going to let her manipulate him the way she intended to.
She meant to leave. Today. It was the last disruption she had up her sleeve. She hoped her departure would get through to him the way her pouting and petulance had not.
But she wanted him to come back to her first; she wanted to make love, to be passionate and exciting, to remind him that he couldnt exist without her. She would tell him that she needed him, remind him why he had married her. She could make him happy, could make him laugh, and she was damned good in bed, even if she had just taken a lover because she couldnt bear the look in Jons eyes sometimes, knowing that he might on occasion be thinking of someone else. Come back! she thought furiously. Let me seduce you just one last time so you dont forget, so maybe
She would wait until he had slipped away, and then she would pack, leaving behind a letter addressed to My Dearest Darling, explaining that she would be at the London Hilton, waiting for him when he could escape his dreary associates. And maybe, just maybe, he would come. He could be such a fool! She knew so much more about his guests and household than he did! Who was sleeping with whom. And why. Actually, she thought, and almost smiled, she knew a number of them very well. Intimately, one might say.
And still there was such a wretched hole of jealousy in her heart.
Jon! Come back! she called again. She experienced a strange new fear beyond the sense of powerlessness and loss she had been feeling so much lately. Jon! Please come back! Or Ill make you pay!
Her voice was both provocative and irritated. But he was still walking. So tall, hair so dark, shoulders broad and muscled. He was a beautiful man, and she was losing him.
Panic seized her. He had guessed she was having an affair with someone here. Did he know that she was trying to goad him, get even with him? Because she was certain he was having an affair, as well.
Jon! Jon, damn you!
Her tone was growing more petulant. She stood on the master bedrooms second-floor balcony, overlooking the rear courtyard. The rooms had been handsomely enough appointed, remodeled at the end of the seventeenth century and modernized by Jon himself just a few years ago. The balcony was a sweeping, curved affair that boasted views of three corners of the property. Here, in the rear, it looked over an elegant fountain with a priceless marble Poseidon, complete with trident, as its centerpiece. Despite the fact that winter was rapidly approaching, roses still bloomed around the tiled path that encircled the fountain. The path turned to gravel as it passed through the rose arbor and headed toward the loch. In the master chambers themselves, the walls were covered with antique tapestries, and there was a massive fireplace, as well as a state-of-the-art hot-water heating system with generator backup. A four-poster king-size bed sat on a dais, and one level down from the main section of the bedroom, just beyond a medieval archway, was a huge whirlpool bath and sauna. She had a huge dressing room and closet, as did he.
Whats not to like? Jon had asked her impatiently, offended.
The decor was fine. She just hated the country. No excitement, no sense of life. It wasnt London, Paris, New York or even Edinburgh, for Gods sake.
That was exactly why he liked it so much, hed told her.
He was walking away. Still walking away.
She was amazed to feel tears stinging her eyes. How could he care more about this pile of stones and his imbecilic friends than her? Jon, Jon! Damn you, Jon!
Hed talked about divorce; hed said that things just werent working out. But, he couldnt divorce her. He just couldnt! Shed already told him that she would make it impossible. She would drag him through the mud, give away a million filthy secrets about him and his associates.
Jo
She started to say his name, then realized that someone was behind her.
She spun around to see who had slipped in. You, damn you! Get out! Did he send you? Get the hell out of my room. Our room! Im his wife. Im the one who sleeps with him. Get out!
She spun back to stare out from the balcony. Jon!
She heard a rush of movement, like a whisper of air, and she turned back.
For a moment she stared into the eyes of her killer, and she knew.
Oh, God! she breathed, and, desperate, she began to cry out again.
Jon! Jon! Jon!
She felt the pressure of the rail at her back. And she screamed.
Because she was falling.
And she could see her own death.
Jon Stuart had been angry, really angry. Hed intended to make good his escape. But something in Cassandras voice gave him pause that time, and he swung around.
And there she was.
Falling
It looked as if she were sailing. In this, as in all other things, she was elegant. She was wearing a white silk dressing gown, and it billowed out around her. Her ebony hair was caught by the golden glory of the sun and shone with blue-black lights. It struck him that she even fell with dramatic grace and beauty.
And only after a split second of the mindless realization that he could do nothing at all to stop it did he realize that she was already in the act of dying. Screaming, crying out, shrieking his name, plummeting to earth.
She died in Poseidons arms. Cradled within them, like a wayward goddess. Eyes closed, ebony hair and snow-white gown caught by the breeze. She almost looked as if she were sleeping, except
The trident had pierced through her.
And the snow-white gown was turning crimson.
His heart hammering, he began to shout, running desperately, as if he could reach her, help her, despite the fact that he knew
He cried out.
Cried out her name.
Reached her, and held her.
As her blood spilled over him.
While her eyes stared into his with an ever silent reproach.
1
Three years later
The scene was definitely a chilling one. A beautiful woman in medieval dress, her long blond hair waving over the workings of the mechanism, was tied to the implement of torture, with a dark-haired, bearded and mustachioed man standing over her.
The Earl of Exeters Daughter, also known as the Rack, proclaimed the sign overhead. Named after the Man Most Proficient in the Art of Extracting Confessions from his Victims.
The artist who had created the wax figures had been proficient, as well. The blonde stretched out on the wicked wooden rack was exquisite, with fine, classically molded features and huge blue eyes widened by her fear of her tormentor. Any sane man would long to rescue her. While the fellow standing above herhis features were pure evil. His eyes gleamed in sadistic anticipation of the pain he was about to inflict.
Many of the exhibits in the hall were excellent, retelling ancient tales of mans inhumanity to man. This particular display outdid them all.
So Jon Stuart thought as he stood silently in the shadows, leaning casually against the stone wall, his presence obscured by the darkness of the dungeon. He stared watchfully, contemplatively, at the exhibitand at the flesh-and-blood blonde now standing in front of it.
She was nearlyin face, coloring and forma mirror image of the poor beauty stretched out on the rack itself. She was a young woman with a glorious mop of blond hair that cascaded freely over her shoulders and down her back. She was slender and beautifully shaped, doing incredible justice to the jeans and fitted sweater she wore. Her features were very feminine: fine, straight, slender nose; high, chiseled cheekbones; beautiful blue eyes; and full, lushly shaped lips. She was surveying the display with a certain amount of interestand wariness. She looked as if she wanted to laugh ruefully, reminding herself that she was looking at wax figures, but the scene was scary, and she was alone in the shadows. Or so she thought.
Sabrina Holloway.
He hadnt seen her in more than three and a half years now, and though he was somewhat surprised by her presence; he was glad she had decided to come. She had politely declined his invitation to the last, fateful Mystery Week. The occasion when Cassandra had died.
Whether Sabrina realized it or not, she had most certainly been Joshuas model for the beauty on the rack; she was the victims spitting image, and Joshua always enjoyed using people he knew in his art. He had mentioned to Jon that he had met Sabrina Holloway in Chicago, and he had sounded entirely infatuated, so Jon had refrained from telling Joshua that he, too, was acquainted with her. It was easy to understand Joshuas head-over-heels reaction; hed experienced something quite similar when hed met her himself. Before
Well, there was a lot to admireor covetabout Ms. Holloway. Jon hadnt been the only one to fall victim to her charm; she had attracted the attention of Brett McGraff, as well. Jon shook his head. Shed gone off and married McGraff. Whirlwind courtship, whirlwind marriagescandalous divorce.
Jon watched her now, glad of the distance between them. He stared at her in simple assessment. She possessed a rare grace and beauty. Even though hed been something of a recluse over the last few years, hed kept up with her career, reading about her in the papers and tabloids. Reporters had leaped wholeheartedly on Brett McGraffs last, noisy divorce from such a beautiful young creature.
She had been stunning when Jon met her. So innocent, eager, fascinated. He was certain that the rose-colored blinders were gone from her eyes now. She had matured. And now she was
Spectacular. More elegant than ever. She looked thoughtful, even wise.
And how would you know? Jon taunted himself.
She might well have matured into a hard, ambitious bitch, he reminded himself dryly. Life often did that to people. After all, shed walked away from him with a will of steel. And shed been able to stand her ground during the media blitz after her divorce, even in the midst of a shocking situation. Still, she now maintained a strange, compelling air that combined sophistication and innocence, although, God knew, hed learned the hard way that the most delicate, fragile females could be the worst black widows.
She was a Midwestern farm girl, Jon remembered, and he had to smile. She possessed both warmth and reserve, and yet there had been moments when shed let down her guard and hed felt that he had known her forever. He had found her to be both captivating and as down-to-earth as her natural beauty. Shed been twenty-four, fresh from the country, when they met. Shed turned twenty-eight last month. Plenty of time to learn, to harden, to change. If only
Well, it had been a different time, a different place, a different life. No one had ever been the wiser. He hadnt told tales.
She hadnt wanted any told.
Still
Jon suddenly felt a deep irritation. His feelings were totally unjustified, he told himself. Brett McGraff was here, as well. She and McGraff had actually been married. Jon had no right himself. And yet
Hell, it was his place, his party. And he intended to spend time with all his guests. McGraffs presence would only make it a more intriguing enterprise to attempt to get to know Sabrina again.
But was she in over her head? he wondered suddenly. Maybe he should have left her name off the guest list. But then, he hadnt really expected her to come. And they were all in over their heads. Still, he suddenly wished he hadnt taken the chance of making her, like the others, an unwitting pawn in this dark game.
But hed set this board into motion; hed had no choice. It was either this or give up his sanity. And there were others to whom he owed both the truth and justice, if not to himself. He wasnt exactly in this alone. He had promised to do things again, exactly this way.
Maybe he should just stay away from Ms. Sabrina Holloway. Of all the people here, she alone was clearly innocent.
He wondered if he could stay away from her. And he reminded himself that she was here by choice. Theyd all come willingly enough, ready to play. Some for the fun of it, some for the publicity. Cassie, the inveterate journalist, had once told him, Never miss a photo op, darling! Hed noticed that very few writers, actors, musicians or artists ever tended to do so, and, in a manner of speaking, this week was a major photo op. Even the reclusive types who preferred to remain in the shadows wouldnt dare miss this. The world had gotten far too competitive, and name recognition could mean the difference between starvation and healthy income.
Yet, he mused, Sabrina Holloway had inadvertently garnered enough publicity already. Marriage to and divorce from Brett McGraff had put her squarely in the public eye. But she had maintained a steady course, and though her notoriety had given her popular career a jump start, shed managed to accrue a respectable amount of critical praise for the writing. He hadnt been in the States for a while now, so he wasnt sure who else was doing the talk-show circuit, but apparently shed hit just the right chord with her Victorian thrillers. She was also young and lovely, and the media loved to hop on a personality with sex appeal and presence.
He was about to approach her when he realized that another woman was walking toward him. Susan Sharp. He groaned inwardly and considered a fast retreat up the secret staircase behind him. His ancestors had been Jacobites and had filled the castle with hidden doors and passages, a multitude of escape routes.
But Jon didnt escape; he didnt want his secrets known as yet, so he stood still while Susan sashayed closer, delighted with her good luck in discovering that he was literally cornered.
Well, well, she said happily. Darling! So here you are, in the darkness. How delightful. How wickedly delightful. Do give me a kiss, darling. Weve all missed you so much.
Sabrina Holloway stared at the disturbing display, marveling at its realism. The woman on the rack looked as if she were about to open her mouth and cry out. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were trying to deny the terror that was threatening her. Sabrina could almost hear the man demanding that his victim confess her terrible crimes and spare herself the agony of the rack.
A strange tremor snaked up Sabrinas spine.
Whoa. Excellently done. Totally unnerving. There were others ambling around the dungeon displays at Lochlyre Castle, many of them friends, but at the moment she felt thoroughly uneasy in the gloom. Just imagine. If the lights were suddenly to go out
She would be alone. In the darkness. With himthe dark-haired torturer with the slim mustache and sadistic eyes who looked upon his victim with such pure evil in his heart. The figures were so realistically done that she could easily believe they might come to life in the dark. They would move, walk, stalk, wield their weapons of death and destruction.
Hands landed on her shoulders, and she almost screamed aloud. She jumped, but somehow she choked back the sound that had risen in her throat.
Well, my love?
Another little shiver snaked along her spineshe was again unnerved, but not so frightened this time. Brett McGraff moved beside her then, settling an arm easily around her shoulders. She was ashamed to realize that his presence made her feel more secure in the shadowy dungeon, though still far from comfortable.
She was torn between clinging to him and shaking off his arm. As usual, she felt an amazing combination of emotions toward him. Sometimes he made her want to gag. Then again, she wasnt always immune to the purely sensual charm that had attracted her to him from the very beginning. Most of the time, however, she was only slightly impatient with him and fairly tolerant.
Its very real, she murmured. It actually scares me a little.
Good.
Why?
I think I want you scared.
Oh?
Might make you a little clingy. He tightened his arm around her and lowered his mouth to whisper huskily against her ear. Weve each been assigned our own room in the castleour host doesnt seem to remember that we were marriedbut Id be happy to keep you company during the long, spooky nights.
Were, she reminded him, is the operative word here. We were married, once upon a time, more than three years agofor all of two weeks.
Oh, it took longer than two weeks to get a divorce, he said smoothly. And dont forget how much we were together on our wonderful honeymoon.
Brett, the marriage ended while we were still on that honeymoon, she reminded him.
He wasnt to be deterred. And now were getting to be such good friends again, he added with assurance.
Despite herself, Sabrina felt a rueful smile curving her lips. Brett was tall and good-looking, with unruly brown hair, dark bedroom eyes to match and a laconic charm that had made him a media idol. He wrote medical thrillers, with both commercial and critical success. Hed made a small fortune at his craft and still managed to be annoyingly arrogant only on occasion. Sabrina had met him soon after the sale of her second book before it had even been on the marketwhich had been soon after his divorce from his third wife. To say that shed been naive was a terrible understatement. Shed also been healing from a far unhappier situation.
A whirlwind courtship had sent them on a honeymoon to Parisat a time that happened to correspond with the French publication of Bretts latest thriller. Shed been amused, at first, by the number of women who gave him less-than-subtle hints regarding their carnal interest, then less amused when she realized how many of them he already knew. Carnally. Still, being an optimist who longed for a future, shed decided she could live with Bretts past. It hadnt even been so bad that the women hed known hadnt seemed to care that he had a new wife; she hadnt held other peoples behavior against them. Ultimately, it had been Bretts indifference to the discomfort of her position that had disturbed her. He was a good lover; he could be amusing, charming. Hed made her laugh and love when shed felt adrift and unsure.
But Brett could also be self-centered, selfish and downright mean. Hed disappeared with the voluptuous owner of a major bookstore for several hours and been totally impatient with his young bride when shed demanded to know what was going on. Then hed informed her that he was Brett McGraff, and opportunities were going to come his way. Hed told her she shouldnt mind; she should just be grateful he had actually married her, had made her his wife.
To Sabrina, his words had been devastating. Shed been stunned. Then furiouswith herself. Shed been looking so desperately for someone to make her forget her past, to fill her life. And shed been so wrong. Shed cared for Brett, believed things could work. But shed been mistaken. So she was at fault, as well, for not seeing or believing that their visions of love and marriage were so wildly different.
Brett had seen the change, the new awareness, in her eyes, and hed tried to placate her, to seduce her.
The rest had been hell.
She didnt want to remember. Shed learned some good lessons from that time, and maybe even taught him a few. To this day, he still couldnt believe that shed left him and filed divorce papers, not asking for one red cent. In the months to come, when theyd met at various publishing events, hed sought her out. He still referred to her as his wife, and she could actually smile sometimes now at the various lines he deployed to try to get her into bed. She should sleep with him because they had been married; because shed already slept with him, and it wasnt good to sleep with strangers. Because she already knew himand as a result there would be no ugly little surprises. Because he was good in bed; and she had to admit that he was goodnaturally, because he was so practiced. Because surely everybody needed sex now and then, and since she was capable of being such a sweet, puritanical prude, coming from an apple-pie farm family and all, she was slow to form intimate relationships and therefore should simply indulge in a basic, necessary activity with him.
So far, shed managed to resist.
She was certain that she wasnt alluring above all others; she was simply the one who had left him, and therefore she remained a challenge.
Seriously, while were here, wouldnt you like to share a room with me? he asked now.
No, she said simply.
Admit it, Im fun to sleep with.
We have different ideas of fun.
Look around you. This is a scary place, he urged.
No, thanks, Brett.
I can behave.
Thats doubtful. Besides, you remind me of a warning my mother used to give me. Dont play with toys when you dont know where theyve been.
He grinned. Ouch! But if youd stayed with me, you would know exactly where Id been.
Brett, I never knew where you were when we were married, and I really didnt have all that much time in which to misplace you. I realize that it never occurred to you that marriage meant monogamy
Do you think it means that to everyone? he demanded.
Brett, I cant tell other people how to be married. I only know what I wanted myself.
He sniffed. If only you knew how many people slept aroundpeople you would never imagine.
Brett, I dont want to imagine.
Your own friends! he persisted.
Brett
All right, fine. Later youll be begging me for gossip, and I wont tell you a thing. When you need to know, youll be in the dark. Unless, of course, you want to forget the marriage thing for a while and just have fun? My intentions are honorable, though. I will remarry you.
She groaned. As I said, we have different ideas on funand marriage.
Fine. Play hard to get. But if things start getting spooky around here, youre going to want to crawl into bed with me, and it may be too crowded by then.
That I dont doubt.
Hey, Im asking you first. And surely you wouldnt want to sleep with a stranger.
Brett, Ive slept with you, and I really cant think of anyone much stranger.
Very funny. Youll be sorry, my pet. Youll see. He shook his head sorrowfully, returning his gaze to the display before them. Amazing, isnt it? he murmured, staring at the characters, his arm still around her.
Yes, very real, she agreed.
He shook his head. So real that in this lighting, she could fool even me. And I was married to you.
What are you talking about?
What do you mean, what am I talking about? Youve been staring at this tableau. He sighed with impatience. Sabrina! Take a good look. Thats you.
What?
Sweetheart, have you gone blind since youve been away from me? Take a look. That womanshes you. To a T. The blue eyes, the blond hair, the gorgeous features. Nice body. He lowered his voice even further. Great butt, too.
You cant even see her butt, Brett.
All right, all right, Ill concede that. But shes you. The spitting image.
Dont be silly. Sabrina protested, but her voice trailed away as she frowned.
Oh, Lord. Brett was right. The wax figure did bear an alarming resemblance to her. So much so that she felt chills begin to sweep up and down her spine again.
Good! Brett whispered huskily. I can feel you trembling. Youre getting uneasy, unnerved, good and scared. Youre not going to want to be alone all night in this spooky old castle. Youre going to want to come to me. Night will fall, youll hear wolves howling, youll run screaming from your bedroom and into mine, so you wont have to be afraid.
It was just a caricature in wax, nothing more, Sabrina told herself. Yet she still felt tremors racing through her limbs. It was her. The artist had executed the figure so well that the muscles and veins in the victims arms fairly leaped into animation as she struggled to free herself from the ropes that tied her mercilessly to the rack.
The fear in the eyes was real.
The silent scream on the lips was far too eloquent. It could almost be heard in the air.
Brett whispered warningly in her ear, You wont want to be alone.
From the darkness behind them, a deep, rich, masculine voice intervened. Well, now, shell hardly be alone, will she?
Sabrina knew that husky voice.
She spun around to meet their host.
2
His eyes were on her, studying her. He smiled pleasantly as he continued, Seriously, Brett, shell hardly be alone, considering the fact that there are ten writers hereincluding ourselves, of coursealong with an artist, my assistant and the castle staff, all in residence.
He sounded amused. Slipping from beneath Bretts arm, Sabrina stared at Jon Stuart. It had been a long time.
Jon, Brett murmured, an unmistakable edge in his voice. The two were supposedly friends; still, it seemed that Brett was less than pleased with Stuarts timing.
Brett, good to see you. Thank you for coming.
Its always a pleasure. We were all damn glad you decided to do it again. Jon, youve met my wife, Sabrina Holloway, havent you?
Sabrina gazed at the mesmerizing owner of Lochlyre Castle, but Jon Stuart had already arched a dark brow Bretts way as he took Sabrinas hand. She resisted the odd temptation to wrench it away.
Sabrina, good to see you again. I hadnt realized the two of you had remarried.
We havent, Sabrina said.
Ah.
Sorry. My ex-wife, Brett murmured innocently, smiling intimately at Sabrina as if there were still a great deal going on between them. Its so easy to forget we ever divorced.
Anyway, Im glad youre both here. Thank you for coming, Stuart said politely.
I wouldnt have missed it. You know that, Brett said.
It was nice to be invited, Sabrina murmured.
Youve been invited before, Jon said pointedly.
II was on a deadline last time. It was a lie, of course. An authors stock excuse for not being somewhere he or she didnt want to be.
Well, it must have been worth it, then. Your last book was very good.
You read it? she inquiredtoo quickly. Instantly she wanted to kick herself. She was blushing, unaccountably pleased that he had been interested enough to read her work. Then she felt her flush darken, wondering what he must have thought of the books graphic romantic encounters. And wondering how much her blush was giving away.
Ive loved all your recent work, she said quickly, trying to cover herself.
He smiled a slow, skeptical smile that clearly indicated he had heard the words before but somehow doubted them in this case.
Its the truth, she murmured, wishing she could gracefully end her awkward monologue. Brett was staring at her now with real interest, having picked up on the tension between her and Jon Stuart.
Really? Jon murmured, either unaware of her discomfort or amused by it. It was disturbing to realize that he maintained such an edge over her both in maturity and in simple confidence. He had been a success since his first novel, a thriller based in World War II Italy, had been published soon after hed graduated from college.
She forced a cool smile to her lips. She was not going to be intimidated. Okay, so I hated it when you killed the priest in your last bookhe didnt deserve it.
Her words didnt offend him; he laughed, apparently pleased with her honesty. Good for you, telling me the truth.
The truth is always different through different eyes, Brett interjected somewhat irritably.
Jon shook his head. No, theres only the truth, maybe just shaded a bit differently, he said somewhat solemnly, gazing at Sabrina. Then he seemed to collect himself and said more lightly, And the truth is, of course, that Im delighted you were able to tear yourself away from your busy schedule to be here, Ms. Holloway.
She knew I was coming and that shed be comfortable here, Brett said proprietarily.
Great, Jon responded.
I have a number of friends here, Sabrina murmured, wondering why she cared if Jon Stuart did or didnt think she was still sleeping with her ex-husband. But she kept talking. You know how it goes. We authors tend to stick together. You have an impressive guest list. Im flattered to be invited.
I very much wanted you to be here, he said politely. As you may recall, I wanted you last time, as well.
Right. He had wanted her. Shed first met him just months before his last Mystery Week party. And in that time, shed married Brettand theyd divorced.
And hed married Cassandra Kelly.
I had only one book out on the market at the time. I could hardly be ranked among the pros you had here then.
He arched a brow, cocking his head. Dianne Dorsey was even more of a babe in the woods at the time, and she was here, Jon commented.
But it did turn out to be a tragic occasion, so its a good thing Sabrina didnt come, Brett said. Glad to see you seem to be bucking up, old boy, he added, punching Jon lightly on the shoulder with his fist. We havent seen enough of you lately. By the way, wasnt Cassie actually the one who told us all what a great book Sabrina had written?
Yes, Jon said evenly, still studying Sabrina. Cassandra thought you had created superb characters in a compelling setting, then concocted the perfect murder for just the right dramatic twist.
That was quite nice of her, Sabrina murmured uncomfortably. Cassandra was deadand she felt incredibly guilty, because she hadnt cared much for the woman when she was alive.
All right, so shed jealously despised her. The one time theyd met face-to-face had been a horror worse than anything in this gallery.
It was only natural that she had hated Cassandra Stuart.
A hot tremor snaked through her again, having nothing to do with the tableau in front of them. The way Jon was staring at her was unnerving. Despite the ridiculously possessive way Brett was behaving at the moment, Sabrina was suddenly glad of his presence.
For Jon Stuart was imposing. Even intimidating, in a way. Perhaps by simple virtue of his height and hard-muscled build. He was very tall, about six foot three, and strikingly handsome in a rugged way. His hair wasnt just dark, it was jet black, thick and luxurious, long past his collar though neatly combed back from his forehead. His eyes were a marbled hazel, truly unique, merging blue, green and brown into a compelling, moody mix that could appear golden at times, dark as night at others. His features were strong, arresting: firm, square chin; broad cheekbones; generous, sensual mouth; high, defined brow. At thirty-seven, he was a renowned master of adventure and suspense writing; in real life, too, he had been named by a prominent international magazine to be one of the worlds ten most intriguing men. An American of Scottish heritage, he had never used fame or fortune to shirk duty; hed served overseas in the National Guard during Desert Storm.
Though Stuart had recently lain very low, remaining in Scotland more often than not, he still appeared in news stories now and then, usually upon the once-a-year publication of his latest book or the reissue in paperback of the previous title. It didnt matter that hed been something of a recluse for the past several yearsthat merely enhanced his reputation.
The mystery surrounding the death of his wife rendered him both fascinatingly dangerous and hauntingly sympathetic. Some journalists claimed he had gone into deep mourning for Cassandra, while others hinted he had retreated into guilt, that he had somehow killed hereven if he had been a hundred feet away from the balcony from which shed fallen at the time. Some suggested she might have committed suicide, that her marriage had been failing and she had cast herself from the balcony in a moment of dramatic self-pity, putting the blame on her famous husband, creating a scandal that would torment him until the end of his days. Others thought that perhaps the cancer consuming her beautiful breasts had driven her to despair. Whatever had happened had certainly given rise to endless speculation. And Jon Stuart had endured legal hearings into the matter and been tried by the press, his peers and fans, as well. His annual Mystery Week, a famed writers retreat orchestrated at his secluded castle in Scotland to raise publicity and funds for childrens charities, had been halted.
Until now.
Three years after the death of his wife, he had opened the doors of Lochlyre Castle to the outside world once again.
Come to think of it, Cassies praise of Sabrinas work was noteworthy, Brett mused suddenly, because she wasnt usually so generous. She supposedly liked my work, but she ripped Scalpel to shreds. Remember, Jon? She even blasted your work sometimes, and though I hate to admit it, thats hard to do.
Thanks. Thats quite a compliment, Jon said dryly.
Brett grinned. Im feeling chipper. Just got the word that Surgery is number two, the New York Times list, come a week from Sunday.
Congratulations, Sabrina told him wholeheartedly. He always made the bestseller lists, but his position was rising steadily, much to his delight.
Great, Jon said. You can keep everybodys spirits up during the week. Remind them that, dire perennial rumors to the contrary, publishing is not yet dead. Sowhat do you two think of the chamber of horrors this year?
Ghoulishly wonderful, Brett said.
Too real. Sabrina shuddered.
Ah, Jon murmured, eyes pure gold with sudden devilish humor. I wouldnt let your resemblance to the lady on the rack upset you, he said. An artist named Joshua Valine created the figures for the exhibit. Hes also done a lot of cover arthe met you at the booksellers convention in Chicago and was duly impressed.
Not very positively, if he has me on the rack, Sabrina commented.
Jon laughed, a deep, husky, compelling sound. Trust me, his reaction was quite positive. He always uses real people, whether hes painting or working in wax. And if youll look around, youll see that there really wasnt a pleasant situation in which he could have put anyone. Look to the far corner, he said, that glimmer still in his eyes.
As hardened as she told herself she had become, Sabrina could still feel the force of his charisma. He had just the slightest hint of a Scotsmans burr in his deep voice, acquired from all the time he had spent here. His features and buildhis entire presencewere exceedingly masculine. Even his subtle aftershave seemed intoxicating.
Indeed, Jon Stuart was a dangerous man, she reminded herself. And a stranger, really, though she had once known him wellin a way.
In the far corner over there, he said now, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette are off to face the guillotine, and Joan of Arc is about to be burned at the stake. In the next display, Anne Boleyn is ready to meet her swordsman, and over there, Jack the Ripper is in the midst of slicing Mary Kellys throat. He shook his head in mock sadness. Joshua is not fond of Susan Sharp, Im afraid. Go take a look at Mary Kelly.
So I suppose I should be grateful to be on the rack? Tortured for endless hours before death? Sabrina observed.
Jon cocked his head slightly, amused. Actually, Ms. Holloway, the beautiful blonde on the rack is the only victim in this room to survive. She is Lady Ariana Stuart, and before she could be stretched and brokenaccused of an attempt to turn young Charles over to Cromwells forces when his father was about to be beheadedher brother brought a plea regarding her innocence before the young Charles himself, who was by then returned to the throne as Charles II, king of England. Charles, being the lusty fellow he was, instantly saw the waste in destroying so fine a damsel, so he ordered her out of the torture chamber and into his bed. Naturally, being the charming man he was, he made her one of his mistresses. She bore him numerous illegitimate children and lived to a ripe old age.
How comforting, Sabrina said.
Very romantic, Brett sniffed. I bet you made all that up to placate Sabrina.
I swear its Gods own truth, Jon Stuart assured them.
Well, Joshua certainly had a field day with Susan Sharp, Brett said, chuckling with malicious pleasure. And what a perfect Rippers victim. After all, she has been known to entertain men for the rewards she might gain, he remarked.
Thats hearsay, Jon murmured, shrugging.
Sabrina gritted her teeth at Bretts boorish comment and silently applauded Jons refusal to speak ill of others.
Who did old Josh use for Joan of Arc? Brett asked, unfazed.
My assistant, Camy, Jon said. Shes actually quite religious herself, I believe, and a good, hard worker.
How apropos, Brett said. I approve.
Jon grinned. So far you do.
Brett let out a groan. So theres something Im not going to like?
Most probably not.
He used me?
Jon nodded.
As?
Jon indicated the torturer about to twist the rack with the blond beauty upon it.
Take away all the facial hair Jon suggested with a touch of rueful apology.
Brett gasped. I should sue!
Sabrina couldnt help but laugh, which irritated Brett still further.
Come on, Brett, be a sport. You were just a modeland with the beard and mustache, no one will guess. And remember, the weekend is all for charity. Have a sense of humor, she suggested.
Oh, very funny. I get to torture my ex-wife. So are you in this rogues gallery? he demanded of Jon.
Jon arched a brow. Yes. Yes, I am.
Where? Brett demanded.
Come on.
Brett looked at Sabrina, shrugging. Hes probably set himself up as a kingor as Gandhi.
Gandhi would hardly fit in here, and a number of kings werent such great fellows, Jon reminded him. But I didnt have anything to do with Joshuas choice of models. He doesnt tell me how to write, and I dont tell him how to sculpt.
They followed him down a corridor to another display. A tall man in European dress of perhaps the 1500s stood above the sprawled body of a woman. Her head was turned to the side, hiding her features from them. The man was staring down at the woman with a mixture of anger and confusion on his face. He had long, light brown hair, but he was still quite evidently Jon Stuart.
Who are they? Sabrina asked, confused.
Hes not well-known to Americans, Jon said, studying the display dispassionately. His name was Matthew McNamara. Laird McNamara. He was a Scotsman who did away with three mistresses and two wives.
How? Brett asked. I dont see a weapon.
He strangled them, Jon said simply.
How did he get away with so many murders before he was found out? Sabrina asked.
He was never brought to justice. He was considered so powerful among the clansmen that executing his own wayward women was considered his right, Jon said.
He turned away from the figures to look at her again, and she saw that his marbled eyes had gone very dark and cold. A strange trembling touched her as he slowly smiled. Was he mocking her? Or himself? She was afraid, she realized.
And worse.
She felt like a moth attracted to a flame. Time hadnt changed anything, nor had distance. That Jon Stuart was virtually a stranger to her meant nothing at all. She felt the same fierce and immediate fascination she had felt the first time shed met him, a little more than three and a half years ago.
The first timethe last time.
Whos the model for the wife? Brett asked. Then, as if suddenly realizing that he might not want to hear the answer, he hurried on. Joshua Valine is good. What an eye for detail.
Relax, Brett. It isnt Cassie, Jon said, a dry smile curling his lip. Its Dianne Dorsey. You can see her face if you look at the tableau from the other side.
Diannewell, yes, of course. I guess I thought of Cassie because of the black hair, but Dianne is dark, too. Brett murmured, clearing his throat. He looked at Jon uneasily.
Cassies over there, Brett, Jon said, indicating a figure praying in front of mullioned windows. Joshua used her for his Mary, Queen of Scots, contemplating the morning of the day of her execution.
Yes, yes, thats definitely Cassandra, Brett said, staring for a long moment. His eyes jerked back to Jons. Doesnt thatbother you?
They all bother metheyre so real, Jon admitted. But Josh is an artist, and thats how he works. Besides, I think Cassie makes a good Mary, Queen of Scots.
Theyre all women, the victims, Sabrina commented.
Jon smiled. Well, historically, it seems, lots of men were monsters. But I assure you, we have some lethal ladies here, as well. He pointed across the room. There you have Countess Bathory, the Hungarian blood countess. Allegedly she sacrificed hundreds of young women so she could bathe in their blood to retain her youth and beauty. V. J. Newfield is the model, as you might notice.
Oh, youre in trouble there! Brett warned.
Jon laughed. V.J. will get a good laugh out of it. Besides, the countess was supposed to be quite beautiful as well as bloodthirsty. He pointed out another tableau. There you have Lady Emily Watson, who poisoned no fewer than ten husbands to get their worldly goods. So you see, we do try to be an equal-opportunity chamber of horrors.
Whos the model for Lady Emily? Brett queried.
Anna Lee Zane. And her victim is Thayer Newby.
Brett laughed. Thayer, downed by a woman! Hes going to love that.
Jon shrugged. Theres Reggie Hampton as Good Queen Bess, signing the death warrant for Mary, Queen of Scots.
Who are the others? Sabrina asked, indicating the rest of the tableaux receding into the shadowy depths of the castles basement.
Naturally Tom Heart and Joe Johnston are in here, but Ill let you find them. Joshua used a few of the household staff, as well, so dont be surprised if you find your breakfast being served by Catherine the Great.
Sabrina, Brett puffed, we really should remarry, and quickly! Jack the Ripper could arrive for your laundry!
Oh, I think I can manage my own hand laundry, and Ill make sure to have breakfast with a crowd, Sabrina told him. She wanted to kick him when she saw that Jon was studying her again.
Jon merely shrugged and seemed to ignore the exchange. Joshua had lots of people working on this project for more than a year. Well be donating the sculptures to a new museum in the north country when were done here.
Youll need releases from the models, Brett warned him.
Jon smiled. I think Ill get them. The publicity will be phenomenal, you know.
Great, Ill go down in history as a maniacal torturer! Brett moaned, but the word publicity had won him over.
Dont feel bad. One way or the other, I go down as a wife murderer. Well, if youll excuse me, I have a few things to attend to. Enjoy yourselves. Brett, you know your way around. Ms. Holloway, please make yourself at home, as well. Ill see you at cocktails.
He turned and walked away with strong strides. In a moment the shadows swallowed him.
Yet somehow his presence seemed to linger, and Sabrina found herself turning to stare again at the wax tableau of Matthew, Laird McNamara.
Very tall, straight, broad-shouldered he was, with hands on his hips as he stood over the woman at his feet. Handsome, proud, merciless, powerfullaird indeed of his domain.
So powerful that he could kill and get away with it?
She forced herself to turn away, to look at the other figures as they engaged in their various dances with death.
The diffuse lighting made everything even more horrible. Shadows filled the room except where each scene stood, looming out of the darkness in eerie purple light, adding to the sensation of everything being real. Sabrina could imagine that the figures breathed. That they twitched, that they sweated. That they might move at any second
Matthew McNamara stood over his wife, fists clenched.
Jack the Ripper wielded his knife.
And Lady Ariana Stuart continued to scream in terror and chilling silence.
A new wave of chills began a route through Sabrinas bloodstream, and she jumped again when Bretts hands fell on her shoulders.
Lets get out of here, shall we? he said.
And she realized that even he suddenly sounded afraid.
3
Ms. Holloway!
Cocktails were being served in the library of the castle, just down the grand staircase from the guest rooms on the second floor and opposite the great hall, where everyone would gather for dinner. Sabrina found herself arriving rather late. Shed lingered in the modern bath for a very long time, drawing together the courage to dress and go downstairs. Her brief meeting with Jon Stuart had left her far more unnerved than shed imagined it would. For once she had to be grateful for Bretts presence. He kept her from feeling too lost and alone, even if he was annoying.
Shed barely reached the doorway to the library when she heard her name being called. A small woman with short-cropped, shiny brown hair was moving toward her, offering her a glass of champagne. She had powder blue eyes, a pretty, heart-shaped face and a tentative smile that immediately set Sabrina at ease.
Welcome, welcome, were so delighted that you could come. Well, Im delighted especially, since Im a true fan. She pressed the champagne flute forward into Sabrinas hand.
Thank you so much, Sabrina said. And you are?
Oh! The young woman said, and flushed, making her appear even prettier and more delicate. Im Camy, Camy Clark. Im Jons secretary and assistant.
Of course, Joan of Arc!
Camy flushed more deeply. Yes, that would be me. Joshua Valine is a good friend.
Sabrina laughed. He must be. You look lovely, even being martyred.
Well, Josh is a dear. He makes everyone look wonderful. Youre definitely the finest looking victim Ive ever seen on a rack.
Sabrina laughed again, lifting her champagne glass. Hes very talented, certainly.
So are you. I love your work. The male writers can be so dry. You know, all action but no endearing characteristics to their people. I just love your Miss Miller. Shes a delight. So real, so sympathetic, brave but not ridiculously so.
Thank you again. Very much.
Camy, Camy, Camy!
A slim woman of about five-five, with short, artfully styled dark hair, was bearing down on them. Her off-the-shoulder cocktail dress was elegant designer wear; her shoes matched its soft mauve. Sabrina knew Susan Sharp, because Susan herself made a point of knowing everyone. Most writers both feared and appreciated the literary critic because she had so much clout, especially in the world of the wealthy, and thus, by word of mouth, could help make or break a book or an author. She had written two mysteries herself and done very well with them, since her characters were clearly based on her acquaintances among the rich and famous. But she could also be loud, opinionated and abrasive, drawing mixed reactions from friends and enemies alike. It was rumored that she had absolutely hated Cassandra Stuart, who had often been her competition in talk-show bookings.
Camy, Camy, Camy! Susan repeated, reaching out to curl her perfectly manicured fingers around Sabrinas arm. You cant just pin Ms. Holloway down at the doorwaywere all waiting to see her. Authors get to be such good friends, you know.
Yes, of course, Ms. Sharp, Camy murmured, flashing Sabrina an embarrassed look. Susan had put her in her place. She was just an assistant. The rest of them were authors.
Camy, it was wonderful meeting you, and I look forward to getting to spend more time together, Sabrina told the young woman.
Camy lit up with a smile. Thanks!
Susan drew Sabrina on into the room. How have you been? Its been ages since Ive seen you.
It was just last June, in Chicago, Sabrina reminded her.
Yes, of course, you were doing so well. So many people adore that Miss Mailer of yours.
Miller, Sabrina corrected smoothly.
Yes, yes, Miss Miller. So tell me, whats up with you and Brett? Are you planning on remarrying?
What? Sabrina demanded.
Well, Brett does make it sound as if you two share so much passion, both of you being so talented and wild. Ill never forget how delicious it was when the tabloids ran those pictures of you running naked from your hotel room in Paris.
Susan, maybe youll never forget, but Id like to. It was a very painful time in my life, Sabrina said firmly. Oh, look, theres V. J. Newfield. I havent seen her in quite some time. Excuse me, will you?
Sabrina escaped Susan and hurried toward V. J.Victoria JaneNewfield. V.J. was somewhere in her fifties or sixties and had been writing forever, or so it seemed. Her work was dark and scary but far more psychological than graphic, always striking a resonant note on the human condition. She was very slim, tall, with silver hair and a graceful carriage. She was a stunning woman and doubtless would be so until the day she died. Sabrina had met her early on in her career at a group autographing, where V.J. had assured her that the nicest thing about doing signings with other authors was that there was always someone interesting to talk to if no one stopped to buy a book.
Trip the customers as they go by, dear, she had advised. When they think youre sitting at a table piled high with books just so you can direct them to the nearest ladies room, trip them! Then apologize to pieces, and youve snagged them! V.J. had been great. Already popular, she had convinced most of her fans that they simply had to buy Sabrinas book, as well, and Sabrina remained grateful to this day.
V.J.! she now said with pleasure, approaching the woman at the buffet table, where she was studying caviar-covered crackers and trying to decide whether or not to indulge.
Sabrina, dear! V.J. said, turning with a smile and offering her a warm hug. I wanted to call and make sure you were going to come. I was so sorry when I learned that you turned down the last invitation, though that did become quite a tragedy. I just got back from a cruise down the Niledo you remember my telling you how much I wanted to take one of those?
Yes, and Im glad you got to go. How was it?
Wonderful. Exhilarating. Awesome. The sense of history is so intense, so chilling. And I do just love a good mummy.
Ive got nothing against loving mommies, Brett said, slipping an arm around Sabrinas shoulder and smiling at V.J. Mommies these days can be just as exciting as the innocent girls. Its great to see you, V.J. You look splendid. Sexy as ever. A great mommy.
My children are all long grown up! V.J. reminded him.
Mummies, my boy, mummies. Were talking about dead women, though from what I hear of your indiscriminate womanizing, that might not make any difference to you. How are you, Brett? A kiss will be acceptable, but just on the cheek. And quit mauling Sabrina. The child has the good sense to be your ex-wife, and if the right man is out there, we dont want him being put off by your foolishness.
Brett laughed, freed Sabrina and good-naturedly planted a kiss on V.J.s cheek.
I am the right man, V.J., Brett protested in a mock-pitiful voice. One moments bad behavior, and she wont forgive me.
My boy, Im no marriage counselor, but I sense that it might have been a bit deeper than that. Still She smiled, lifting her champagne flute to him. Congratulations, I hear youre just below Creighton on the list.
Brett bowed his head in humble acceptance. Thank you, thank you. Creighton just had to put out another book the same month, huh? I might have made number one.
Well, theres always next year.
So there is. And since were all together here, a fine assembly of mystery, suspense and horror writers, surely we can come up with some new ways to bump off the competition. What do you say?
I say its in bad taste, considering where we are, a masculine voice stated softly, and Joe Johnston stepped into their circle. Joe was an Ernest Hemingway lookalike, a handsome man with a bushy beard and a pleasant way about him. He wrote a series about a down-and-out private investigator, charming and laid-back, who still solved the crime every time.
Joe clinked glasses with Sabrina by way of hello and continued, I mean, who really thinks that Cassandra Stuart threw herself from that balcony?
Joe, shush! V.J. warned. It was great of Jon to do this again after what happened last time.
My point exactly, Joe said. And thats why we cant talk about bumping off our competition.
Susan Sharp sidled into their group. We cant talk about bumping people off? she protested indignantly. Joe, its Mystery Week. One of us is supposed to be a murderer and bump off the others until the mystery is solved. Thats the whole point.
Right, but thats all pretend, Sabrina said.
Susan laughed dryly. Well, lets hope that Cassandras being dead isnt pretend. Can you imagine if she were suddenly to walk back into this room?
Susan, thats a horrible thing to say, V.J. admonished. If Cassandra were to suddenly appear here, alive
If Cassandra were suddenly to appear here, alive, more than half the people here would be thinking of ways to kill her again, Susan said flatly. Cassandra was vicious and horrible.
And smart, talented and very beautiful, V.J. reminded her smoothly.
Oh, I suppose. And just thinkeveryone who was here when she died is back again. The guest list is exactly the same, Susan said.
I wasnt here, Sabrina reminded her.
Susan shrugged, as if her presence were of little importance. Well, you were invited, and the point is that those of us who were here then are here again. All of us. Ready to defend ourselves if were accused.
Accused of murder? V.J. asked.
Accused of anything, Susan said blithely. We all have our little secrets, dont we? she demanded, staring hard at V.J.
V.J. stared right back at her.
Susan, if youre going to start implying things about the rest of us Joe began.
Oh, come now, Joe, were all grown-ups. Everyone knew that no matter how polite and controlled he seemed, Jon was furious with Cassandra. He thought she was having an affairand she implied to me on several occasions that she was!
Susan, Pass me the butter has made you think people were having an affair on at least one occasion, V.J. said impatiently.
V.J., its all in how someone says it. The point is, Jon thought she was having an affair, and she thought Jon was. If they were both right, then you have two other people involved. And God knows, Cassandra nearly destroyed some careers. Any number of us despised her at various points for what she said about our work.
You might well have despised her, a soft voice said. It was shy, retiring Camy, who smiled apologetically at Susan. After all, Ms. Sharp, you two were often in direct competition, werent you?
Susan arched a brow, staring at the girl imperiously. She didnt mind the accusation; she minded Camys interrupting her. My dear child, I have no real competition. But just for the record, I did despise Cassandra Stuart. She was an opportunist who used and manipulated people, and you should be grateful that shes dead, because she would have had you fired by now otherwise. Now please excuse me. She turned her back on the girl and spoke to the others. You mark my words. Everyone here has a secret, not to mention a reason to hate Cassandra Stuart.
Except Sabrina, Joe commented quietly.
Susan stared sharply at Sabrina. Who knows? Maybe she had as much reason as the rest of us. But you couldnt have tossed her over the balcony, could you, Sabrina? You turned down the invitation to come here last time. Why? Most writers would killif youll pardon the expressionfor such an invitation.
Fear of flying, Sabrina said sweetly.
Susan kept staring at her. Ill just bet, she said. Then, whirling around, she left the group.
I think she did it, Brett said with such simple conviction that they all laughed.
According to the police, no one did it, Joe said.
Cassandra didnt commit suicide, V.J. commented. She loved herself far too much for that.
But I thought she had cancer, Sabrina said.
She did, but maybe it was treatable, Brett said.
Maybe she simply tripped, Sabrina suggested.
Thats probably just what happened, another masculine voice interrupted. It was Tom Heart. Tall, lean, white-haired, handsome and dignified, he was the unlikely author of some of the most chilling horror novels on the market. He smiled, lifting a champagne flute to them all. Cheers, friends, gentlemen and ladies, Brett, Joe, SabrinaV.J. Good to see you all. And, Sabrina, you may be right on the money. From what I understand, Cassandra was shouting at Jon, who had simply had it with her mood of the moment and was walking away. Perhaps she leaned over to shout louder and leaned just a little too far. Ah, theres our host now, with the lovely Dianne Dorsey on one arm and the exquisite Anna Lee Zane on the other.
Sabrina looked toward the library door. Their host was indeed just arrivingin style.
He was in a tux, and achingly handsome. His height and dark good looks were enhanced by the elegance of his attire. His hair was slicked back, his crystalline eyes enigmatic as he talked and laughed with the two attractive women.
Anna Lee was a writer whose novels were based on true crimes. She was somewhere in her late thirties, very petite and feminine, and rumor had it that she happily chose her sexual partners from either gender.
Dianne Dorsey was considered the up-and-coming voice of horror. She was fond of creating alien beings with a bizarre hunger for human flesh. She was very young, having just turned twenty-two, and had published her first novel as a junior in high school, her second as a senior, and now, just out of Harvard, she was a veteran, with four books on the market. She was considered a genius and already had a huge following. Older writers had a tendency to be jealous of her amazing success at so tender an age, success acquired with what appeared to be so little effort. Sabrina was only envious because Dianne seemed to have acquired such self-assurance at so young an age. She would still give her eyeteeth for that kind of assurance. She had a feeling, though, that Dianne had had a tough childhood, that something had happened to make her a fighter even early on.
As she contemplated Dianne, Sabrina realized that Anna Lee was waving at her, smiling. She smiled and waved back.
Then Dianne spotted her, and she, too, grinned and waved. Sabrina lifted a hand in return. Dianne was into the Gothic look. She always wore black; her hair was jet-black; her lipstick was black; her skin was flawlessly white. She favored huge medallions, medieval-style jewelry and slinky clothing and yet managed her look with a sexy femininity that made her unique and appealing.
Still smiling, Sabrina suddenly became aware that Jon was watching her.
Once again, she was right next to Brett. Brett was, in fact, brushing up against her.
She quickly lowered her eyes. She told herself that she didnt want to get involved with anyone. She hadnt come here hoping to find something she had lost. She was a mature woman now, with a good career, lots of friends and a great family. She was here as a guest, participating in an important charity event, and it was icing on the cake that it might be a boon to her career, as well.
Liar! an inner voice taunted.
Ladies, gentlemen, dinner is being served in the great hall, Jon announced. He excused himself from his two companions, and Sabrina bit her lip to keep from taking a step back as he walked purposefully toward her. Ms. Holloway, youre the only one here who might not have had a chance to meet everyone. Excuse me, Brett, may I claim your ex-wife for a moment? he asked lightly.
Surefor a moment, Brett replied in kind.
Sabrina was dismayed by the warmth that filled her when Jon took her by the arm, flashing his smile, and led her across the room to where a tall, slim man with curly blond hair and clean, handsome features was standing. He looked like an artist, impeccable in his dress clothing except for a tiny drop of paint on his tie. Ms. Holloway, Im sure you remember Joshua Valine, our sculptor extraordinaire.
Oh, yes, Sabrina said, instantly remembering the man as his warm brown eyes touched hers. Theyd met briefly in Chicago, at the booksellers convention. Shed been signing books, and one of the sales reps had introduced him. Weve met, she told Jon, shaking Valines hand. How nice to see you again. Your wax work is incredible. But so real and scary! Im going to have nightmares about being tortured by my ex-husband, she told him.
Joshua flushed and flashed a smile. Thank you. Forgive me for putting you on the rack. You do live, though, you know.
She laughed softly. So Ive been told.
Youre rescued from the rack on the command of the king.
She nodded, adding, Im glad I didnt have to be one of Jack the Rippers victims.
Joshua wrinkled his nose, lowering his voice. Susan Sharp does it well, though, dont you think?
Shh. Susan has exceptional hearing, Jon teased. Lets see, Joshua, is there anyone here that Sabrina might not know yet?
Have you met Camy Clark? Joshua asked.
Yes, shes charming. Youre very lucky to have her, Jon.
Shes organized and incredibly competent, and I am very lucky, Jon agreed. How about?
As he turned to look around the room, they were joined by a solid-looking man with his bright red hair in an old-fashioned crew cut. He flashed a smile at Jon and Joshua and extended his hand to Sabrina. Weve met, but only briefly, at a conference in Tahoe. I dont know if you remember me or not, but Im
Of course I remember you, Sabrina told him. Youre Thayer Newby. I went to every one of your lectures. You probably didnt see me, because the rooms were so full every time you were speaking.
Thayer Newby flushed to the roots of what there was of his hair. Hed been a cop for twenty years before becoming a writer, and his talks on police procedure were excellent.
Thanks! he said, staring at her and still holding her hand. He shook his head slightly. How did McGraff ever let you get away? he inquired. Then he suddenly blushed again. Sorry, none of my business. I did see that picture, of course.
Sabrina gritted her teeth, trying not to blush herself. But she could feel Jon at her side, looking at her, and she knew that of course anyone who had ever seen that tabloid photo would wonder just what had caused her to go running naked from her honeymoon suite.
Brett and I have different ideas about marriage, she said as smoothly as she could manage.
But youve remained friends, huh? Thayer said, trying to be casual.
Somehow the words didnt sound right. And Sabrina realized that hed probably seen her with Brett most of the night and, like others, had jumped to the conclusion that they had remained more than just friends.
Yes, weve managed that, she said flatly.
Ah, theres Reggie, Jon said, lifting a hand. Do you know Reggie Hampton? he asked Sabrina.
Old yet somehow ageless, Regina Hampton might have been seventy or a hundred and ten. She had written scores of books about an amateur sleuth who was a grandmother and solved local mysteries with the help of her cat. Reggie was blunt, intelligent and a great deal of fun, and she had walked straight across to them as she came into the room. Reggie, Jon began. Do you know
Of course I know the dear child! Reggie exclaimed. She was tiny and thin and looked as if a breeze would blow her over, but she hugged Sabrina with an amazing strength that gave proof to the rumor that she was a tough old bird. How lovely to see you here, Sabrina! Jon, however did you convince this lovely young thing to come visit a morbid, reclusive old man in his decaying castle?
The same way I convinced you, you old battle-ax, he teased her affectionately in turn. I sent her an invitation.
Well, its just wonderful that youre here. We need new blood in on these affairs! Reggie said.
Ah, teased Susan, striding over to the group, lets just hope we dont shed new blood, eh? She smiled wickedly.
Lets eatIm famished! V.J. called from across the room. Jon, you did announce dinner, didnt you? If we dont eat soon, well all expire, and not so mysteriously.
Perish the thought! Joe Johnston quipped.
Perish! That is the thought, Reggie retorted.
Right, Jon, lets eat, Brett said. And by the way, think we could break out some brewskies? This champagne just doesnt cut it for me. How about you, Thayer?
Theres a full bar in the great hall, with beer on tap and all kinds, domestic and imported, in the bottle. Go on in and help yourselves, Jon said.
He glanced down at Sabrina, his eyes strangely dark. She felt as if he were studying her, assessing her. And he looked as if he suddenly wanted to push her away from him.
Excuse me, will you, please? he said quietly. And then he was gone.
4
Reggie Hampton linked arms with Sabrina. My dear, you are a breath of fresh air. Tell me, whats been happening with you since July?
Sabrina tried not to watch Jon Stuart as he strode away from her. She forced herself to focus on Reggie, and replied with enthusiasm, Ive been home visiting my family.
At the farm?
Yes. I have an apartment in New York now, but Ive been staying at my folks and my sisters for a while. She just had a baby, her first, a little boy. Naturally, were all just delighted. I spent a few months out there to help when the baby was born.
You should be having your own babies soon.
Reggie, not every woman has babies these days.
But you want children, dont you?
Yes, I do, when the time is right.
Are you going to remarry Br
No. Enough about me, Reggie. How is your family?
Reggie told her briefly about her sons, grandsons and new great-granddaughter as they crossed the entry to the great hall, where dinner would be served. They all milled around the bar first, making drinks.
Brett popped up again to supply Sabrina with a gin and tonic, heavy on the lime, then whispered happily that hed moved the place cards around at the dinner table and put her next to him. They sat down to a magnificent meal of pheasant and fish. As they ate, they all talked and laughed; it might have been a high school reunion. Then Jon, at the head of the table, rose, thanked them again for coming and reminded them that they were there not only for fun but also for the benefit of childrens charities. Each writer had submitted a favorite cause, and the one who solved the mystery claimed the lions share of the donations.
When do we start? Thayer called out.
Tomorrow morning, Jon replied. Those with the energy are welcome to catch up on each others lives tonight. Those who are too exhausted from jet lag can get some sleep. Things will be pretty much the same as they were previous years. Camy and Joshua have worked out the particulars. I wont know who the murderer is any more than any of you will. In the morning, youll all receive your character roles and a description of the situation. The murderer will discover who heor sheis, and then he or she will have to get busy before being discovered. The murderer will have been assigned the order in which the victims are to be dispatched. The victims will be murdered with a washable red paint, and naturally well take care of any cleaning expenses. Any questions?
Sure, Joe Johnston said, speaking up. Even if Im not the murderer, can I shoot Susan anyway?
Laughter rose, then faded, as Susan stared them all down. Youre right at the top of my list, too, Joe, she told him sweetly. She pointed a finger at him and made a popping sound, as if she were pulling a trigger. And youll be covered in something a lot worse than red paint!
Come, come, children, behave, Anna Lee Zane drawled.
Well, shit, Im sorry! Joe said.
Anna Lee shook her head, as if it were as impossible to deal with writers as with unruly children.
Jon rose. If you all will excuse me, I have a few things to attend to, he said. Please, make yourselves at home. Well meet here at nine tomorrow morning. For the early birds, coffee will be on the buffet by six.
He exited the great hall, closing the double doors behind him. Sabrina stared after him, biting her lower lip, wishing suddenly that she hadnt come.
Bretts hand landed on hers where it rested on the table. Want to see my room? he inquired hopefully.
She withdrew her hand, smiling because he could be so much like a child, so eager, so unwilling to admit defeat.
No. Im going to bed.
That will work with me.
To sleep. Im one of those guests with jet lag. I got to London late last night and came here this afternoon. Im tired.
All right. Im right next door to you, if you change your mind. If things go bump in the night.
Thanks. Ill keep that in mind, she told him.
She waved a good-night to the others as she escaped the great hall.
The castle foyer and magnificent staircase were empty. With the doors to the library and great hall closed, she suddenly felt very alone in the ancient edifice.
She hurried up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway with its Norman arches toward her own room.
It was huge, retaining a historical feel yet updated to offer incredible warmth and comfort. The bed sat on a richly carpeted dais, and heavy draperies hung at the balcony doors to ward off cold drafts. The closet and bath were large, and an antique desk sat to the side of a massive hearth. A fire had been built and stoked, and it burned brightly as she entered her room, hesitated, then carefully shot the bolt.
She kicked off her shoes and stripped away her stockings, then found herself wandering to the glass-paned balcony doors that closed out the night beyond. She opened them and stepped outside. From this vantage point she could see rolling fields, the shimmering waters of a small loch and the purple crests of mountains in the distance. The scenery, even by moonlight, was breathtaking. This trip was the opportunity of a lifetime.
She never should have come.
Sabrina drew a long, shaky breath. So, she asked herself aloud, did you come to try to convince yourself that your brief, shining moment in his company is completely over and forgotten? Or were you hoping to sleep with him just once more, whatever the consequences?
She felt her cheeks redden. How humiliating. Would he sleep with her again? She undoubtedly had a reputation for being rathercasual. Just think of the way she had left Brett, running away naked.
Funny. Brett was okay. She liked being friends. It was even flattering that he still pursued her. What he had done was terribly wrong, but what she had done was wrong, as well. She had married him without truly loving him.
Because, of course, she had been in love with Jon Stuart.
A cool breeze suddenly wrapped around her, and she remembered being in New York City for the very first time and winding up at a party for one of her publicists other clients, who had just had a Broadway opening. Sabrina had had no idea who the handsome party guest was when she met him, other than that his name was Jon. Hed had her laughing, telling her about the terrors of the big city and how it might well be a death-defying feat simply to survive her first experience with a New York cab driver.
Admittedly, shed drunk too much. Shed been exhilarated with the success of selling her book and excited at being in his company. He had a car, and he offered to drive her back to her hotel.
Shed fallen asleep on his shoulder in the car, and when theyd reached her hotel, she was still drowsy, intoxicated and giddy. She remembered opening her eyes and seeing his face above hers, his eyes dark, marbled, fascinating. Were here, hed told her.
And shed nodded, though she hadnt moved, and then hed said, I can carry you up to your room. Which is what I should do. Because if I bring you home with me, Ill take advantage of you. I wont be able to help myself.
Even with the breeze caressing her now on the balcony, she could still remember her reply.
Please do.
No amount of alcohol could forgive that, she told herself now. She hugged her arms around her chest. Yet it had been wonderful. The best time of her life. Theyd driven to his apartment in the city, and hed carried her upstairs. He had undressed her in his bedroom, and, still dressed himself, he had demanded to know if she was sure.
Then he had kissed her, and for the rest of her life she would remember his touch on her body, his lips, burning, intimate, demanding, everywhere. She would remember him, the feel of his flesh, the touch of his hands, the mole at the small of his back.
The night had been pure magic. The next day theyd cooked breakfast together, wandered through the Metropolitan Museum of Art and gone out for Chinese before returning to spend the evening making love again. Absurdly, after all that, it wasnt until the next morning that shed asked his last name and learned that he was the Jon Stuart, the well-known author.
Jon had been in the shower when his fiance, Cassandra, showed up. Sabrina herself had been wearing a terry robe, her hair wet and plastered around her face. Shed been stunned when the door opened. Cassandra had stared at Sabrina, looking her up and down, not appearing angryjust amused. Then shed made a comment about Sabrina being an annoying little whore, thrown some money at her and told her to get out.
One of the biggest regrets of Sabrinas life was that she had done soafter throwing the money back, of course. Shed come from the farmlands of the Midwest, and even with a college education, a little work experience behind her and a four-year relationship with the captain of her college debate team, she was incredibly naive. Every time she replayed the scene in her head, she was newly humiliated and newly furious with herself. Where had her backbone been? Why hadnt she challenged the woman? She should havebut she hadnt. Maybe she had just been too stunned, or too insecure. Shed grabbed her own clothing and left.
Jon hadnt made any promises to her. Hed been honest, asking about her life, admitting his involvement with Cassandra, saying that they were on and off more often than a water spigot. When Sabrina looked back at the situation, she realized that she had simply been too afraid she might lose if Jon had had to make a choice between the two of them. Life, shed since learned, meant taking chances. Shed just learned it a little too late.
Jon had tracked her down, all the way to Huntsville. But shed told her mother to tell him that shed gone to Europe. Hed written to her, telling her that he wasnt engaged, and that hed had no commitments whatsoever the night they met. Hed asked her to contact him, since he hadnt been able to convince her mother to quit lying for her.
Sabrina had just reached the point of deciding she was being a worse fool not to respond when she heard that he and Cassie had suddenly done the deed, marrying after a late night in Las Vegas.
Not much later, shed married Brett.
End of story.
Until shed run naked from her honeymoon suite. And Cassandra Stuart had plummeted from her balcony into the waiting arms of death.
The wind was growing sharp. Sabrina shivered and looked out into the darkness.
The moon was high, struggling to shine through the clouds. Outdoor lights slightly illuminated the courtyard below. The castle was built in a horseshoe shape, surrounding the courtyard. The maid who had brought her to her room earlier had told her that the far end of the left wing comprised the master suite, with balconies opening to the central courtyard and to the rear.
Glancing in that direction, Sabrina saw the shape of a man standing on the far balcony in the moonlight. His shirt ruffled in the wind; his hair flowed back. He stood tall and still, staring at the moon.
Then he turned, and she knew he was watching her, and she was watching him.
It was Jon. And standing there, watching him, she wondered if he was in pain, if he was missing his wife, if he was reflecting on her death.
He lifted a hand, as if saluting her.
Sabrina backed away, right into the door, and for a moment a scream lodged in her throat as she thought that someone was behind her.
She felt a moments strange fear. She was standing on a balcony. And whatever the situation, Cassandra had fallen to her death from a balcony not far away. She had plummeted into the arms of a statue of Poseidon below. His trident had torn into her, and she had died instantly, even before her husband had come running back to her. Poseidon still stood below that balcony, though the rosebushes surrounding his fountain were no longer in bloom.
It was so easy to feel that someone was standing behind her now, ready to push.
But when she spun around, no one was there. She went into her room and discovered that the bolt was still thrown.
The rooms were all supplied with brandy.
Sabrina hated brandy, but she poured herself a snifter, wrinkled her nose and swallowed a fairly large portion. If youre going to survive this week, youre going to have to cool your imagination, she told herself.
Shed claimed downstairs that she was tired. And she was. Shaky, exhausted from the time change and lack of sleep.
But she couldnt seem to get drowsy.
She stayed awake for hours. She sipped brandy, making faces at the taste, and read some magazine shed brought for the flight.
She had V.J.s latest book, and after she finished the magazines she began to read, until she realized that she just couldnt concentrate. She finally lay down, determined that she had to get some rest.
But even when she finally slept, she tossed and turned and began to dream disturbing dreams.
In the darkness of the night, he moved down the steps, silent, a wraith. He tried to tell himself that it would all go well, that he didnt need to be afraid.
But he was afraid. Because he loved her.
They had prearranged their meeting, yet even so, he was suddenly, perhaps ridiculously, uneasy. In the ancient dungeon, he suddenly felt as if long-dead murderers had come to life, as if they were mocking him, telling him that he was no better, even if he hadnt actually performed the deed. The lighting was pale, purplish, seeming to cast a ghoulish fog over the faces of torturers, swordsmen and more. Executioners in their dark masks seemed to move, taunting him, warning him.
He came to the tableau of Lady Ariana Stuart upon the rack, and for a moment he paused, forgetting both fear and reason. She was the finest of all the pieces. Something in her eyes was real, a touch of the innocence and sincerity that belonged to Sabrina Holloway. Startled anew by the resemblance to the living woman so nearby, he was tempted to reach out and touch her, to rescue the beauty from the beast who threatened her.
My love!
The whisper drew him back to the present, and he spun around. She had come. She rushed to him, and he wrapped her in his arms. Why are you so afraid? Why did we have to meet in secret? he queried gently.
She shook her head against his chest. This is all so dangerous. I know that they know. I know that were in danger. I just wish
Dont be so afraid. Dont create trouble before trouble appears.
She shook her head and stepped back. You dont know how vicious, how dangerous, they can be!
Our game is dangerous, my pet. We mustnt overreact. We must just wait, listen, watchand see what comes.
She leaned against him. Im so afraid. Hold me.
He did, feeling the movement of her body against his, her touch. He felt her tugging at his clothing. Felt her handsfinding bare flesh. To his amazement, he hardened instantly, a streak of desire flashing through him. He looked around at the ghoulish setting, amazed, somewhat aghast, and all the more excited because of it.
Someone could come. Look where we are.
They seemed to be staring at him. Headsmen in their black hoods, murderers, executioners, rogues. Joan of Arc, so saintly on her cross.
She laughed softly, and the sound washed over his senses. He groaned and slipped down with her, and within seconds they were sprawled out on the cold floor. She was as naked as a jaybird as purple light bathed them. She was insatiable, rising above him, crying out. He tried to hush her, but she laughed, and when they were both spent, she lay at his side and looked up at the faces surrounding them. It was fun, like an orgy, she teased.
You worry me.
Come on. It was as if they were all watching. It was an incredible turn-on.
He hesitated. You liked to watchher, he said, suddenly realizing the truth of his own words.
She shrugged. So? That was a turn-on, too.
But this is dangerous, meeting here, like this, he told her. Everything we do now is dangerous. The days to come are dangerous. We dont know what people know, what they saw, what they might have suspected.
Well be careful, she whispered. Well be okay. But I have to be with you.
He nodded slightly.
She knew how to move him, how to make him need her. Because he loved her, of course.
He closed his eyes and opened them, then started.
She was looking at him. Lady Ariana Stuart was turned his way, and she was looking at him with her huge, wide, beautiful blue eyes.
She was watching.
He could feel her eyes. Looking at him, seeing him. Watching
It was a turn-on.
And yet dangerous.
He was both aroused and afraid.
It was as if she knew.
She didnt want Jon Stuart; shed told herself that time and time again. She wasnt absurdly, naively young anymore; she was older now, wiser. But in her dreams, she was lying in her bed, naked, waiting, wanting.
Because he was there. Tall, towering, dressed in black. Standing over her
It was Jon.
It wasnt. The tall figure was surrounded by fog and changed with each slight flutter of a purple-gray breeze.
It was a torturer, intent upon her agony and destruction, and she was caught, tied, unable to move, to escape, because ropes bound her tightly, and all she could do was look up into the eyes of death with a silent, wax-cast scream.
She awoke with a start, shaking, drenched in sweat. She sat up wildly, looking around.
Her room was empty. The fire burned low; moonlight filtered in.
She could see plainly that she was alone, entirely alone.
And yet it seemed
There was a presence, a scent, a feeling, something in the air. A feeling she couldnt shake that someone had been there. Jon? Or Brett? Or an artists rendering of a medieval torturer in wax?
Too much time in the dungeon, she told herself softly. But her unease persisted.
She leaped up. The bolt was still secure. Shed been dreaming, and she was alone.
Shaking, she curled back into bed and tried to sleep again. But the moon began to set, and soon daylight was filtering in.
She sat up again. Oh, the hell with this! she groaned aloud.
So she rose and showered and was the first one downstairs for the six oclock coffee.
But not even coffee and sunlight could dispel the strange feeling that she hadnt been alone.
Someone had been with her in her locked and bolted room.
5
Sabrina had a pounding headache and felt so tired and wretched that she could barely sit up.
So naturally the first person into the great hall for breakfast was Susan Sharp.
Good morning! Nice to see you up! Susan said with a cheerfulness that was doubly irritating. Dont you just love this place? I slept like a baby.
The castle is beautiful, Sabrina replied.
Susan drew up the chair beside Sabrinas at the polished oak table. Can you believe that Cassandra absolutely hated this place?
Sabrina told herself that she didnt want to gossip, but with Susan there was little choice. And despite herself, she wanted to know everything she could about Cassandra Stuart.
Did she really?
Susan nodded grimly, stirring sugar substitute into her coffee. Hated it. I never understood why Jon put up with her. She shrugged. Frankly, I never understood why he married her.
Well, she really was beautiful. And smart, Sabrina heard herself comment.
Susan wrinkled her nose. Yes, butwell, Jon is gorgeous himself. He could have dozens of women. Has had dozens of women. Why marry that one?
He must have loved her.
Well, maybe he did. But I can tell you thishe was ready to divorce her when she died.
How do you know?
Susan added milk to her coffee. Because I was here, remember? They were fighting like crazy. Jon has always loved it here. He didnt grow up with money, you know. The family inherited this place, but it was a disaster, an albatross hanging around his neck when he first came into possession of the property. Cassandras family was swimming with cashshe never wanted or needed for anything. Jons dedicated to his childrens charities, and these little Mystery Weeks of his make some really big money. Cassandra didnt like games, hated half of Jons friends. She couldnt bear V.J., because V.J. would never suck up to her. She said whatever she damned well felt like sayingyou know her. Cassie tortured Jon every time he held one of these. Hed be in the middle of something, and shed supposedly be his hostessand then shed suddenly decide she simply couldnt bear it and throw a tantrum or be off. I know Jon had decided that he was done with her when she died.
Susan, maybe they had problems, Sabrina said, but how can you possibly know their marriage was over?
Because I know Jon, Susan purred. She leaned back, lifting her long-nailed fingers in a casual gesture. But then again, Jon wasnt the only one fighting with Cassandra. She and Anna Lee Zane had barely been civil to one another all week. For one thing, Cassandra had given a scathing review of Annas last book on national television in the States. And, of course, Anna is stunning, and she and Jon have been good friends for a very long time. Cassandra never understood the concept of friendship, especially not between a man and a woman, even a woman who goes both ways. Then again, I admit, I dont quite get friendships, either. I mean, its hard to like a man and not want to sleep with him.
Susan shrugged. But thats beside the point. Cassie also completely dished Tom Heart in a review that might have cost him a spot in a really important anthology that came out last year. And of course she was also afraid that Jon was sleeping with someone who was a guest here, and she herself was supposedly sleeping with someone else, as well. I dont know if she really was or wasnt, since she adored Jon. She really did. She just didnt know how to be a wife to him. She was always jealous but always taunting him. It was as if she thought she had to let him know at all times that other men found her desirable, that she was a special prize he needed to cherish. Jon never did take well to threats. But then, she threatened everyone all the timeshe seemed to need to hold something over the head of every single human being she ever met.
And you fought with her, too, of course.
Of course, Susan said, smiling. Ive admitted I hated her. She was the worst bitch known to man.
Oh, come now! Brett exclaimed, entering the great hall. He poured himself coffee and sat down at Sabrinas other side. Was Cassie really such a bitch? Or was she misunderstood? Maybe it was hard being married to Jon Stuart and giving in to his every whim. She loved cities, glamour, excitement, and he liked to tuck himself away here in the country and watch the wind blow.
Thats not true, Susan said, staunchly defending Jon. He has homes in London, New York and L.A., as well.
Poor fellow, Brett murmured lightly.
Poor fellow, indeed! V.J. announced, sweeping into the room with an audible sniff. She ruffled Bretts hair. As if youre going to be suffering financially after your next contract!
Brett smiled sheepishly. Okay, so Im not a poor fellow, either. Im a happy one right now. And Im going to be really, really rich, as well. You truly should remarry me, Sabrina.
Not a chance, Im afraid.
Sleep with me, then. Men always buy their mistresses better presents. And we were good together, right?
Susan and V.J. were both staring at her.
Brett! she said, nearly strangling.
He ignored her protest, his eyes suddenly on Susan again. Here you are, Sue, defending Jon now, but you seemed to be absolutely convinced he killed Cassandra when it happened.
Dont be silly. He was outside when she fell.
He could have paid someone to do the deed, Brett said, waggling his eyebrows.
Isnt it rather rude, the way were sitting around discussing our host as a potential murderer, V.J. queried.
But it is a Mystery Week, Brett said.
As if on cue, Camy Clark came into the room bearing a stack of envelopes. Good morning, everyone.
Everyone isnt here, Susan said snidely.
Sabrina frowned, wondering why the woman was continually so rude to Jons assistant. Camy didnt intrude; she was quiet and tended to stay out of the way.
Well, its still early, Camy said. But if youd like
Ah, you have our character descriptions and our instructions! Brett said, flashing her one of his devastating smiles.
Camy flushed, smiling. Yes, I do. Now remember, everyone is to know one anothers character but nothing else. Youll receive more instructions as we go along. The murderer will, of course, know who he or she is and where to get the murder weapons. And remember, the murderer may have an accomplice. If youre killed, youre dead, but youre a ghost, and you can still warn others of impending danger and help solve the crime.
Im dying for my envelope, darling, Susan told her, drawling the word dying.
The others laughed. As Camy began handing out the envelopes, more of their number began to arrive: Anna Lee, looking fetching and slim in stirrup pants and a halter top; Reggie in her inevitable flowered dress; Tom Heart, tall and dignified in a smoking jacket and flannel trousers; Thayer Newby in a Jets T-shirt and slacks; Joe Johnston, casual in a golf shirt and chinos; Joshua Valine looking very artistic, with a paint-smudged denim shirt over a plain white T and baggy pants; Dianne Dorsey in a calf-length skirt and sleeveless knit top. And Jon.
Jon, too, was casual, in a navy denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and form-hugging jeans. His dark hair was damp, as if hed just showered, and Sabrina couldnt help but wonder if hed slept latebecause hed been up late, wandering restlessly around his castle at night. She reminded herself that her door had been bolted. And that just because she hadnt forgotten a reckless sexual encounter in her youth, there was no reason to assume Jon might have any remaining interest in her whatsoever. Her reputation wasnt exactly a sparkling one.
She rose for more coffee. V.J. came up beside her, offering her cup to Sabrina to fill, as well.
Ah, youre watching our host, V.J. whispered to her as Jon greeted Camy and Joshua, listening to some of their last-minute instructions.
Hes an intriguing man, Sabrina said noncommitally.
And, of course, the question remainsis he a murderer? Does Susan really think so? Except Im sure Susan wouldnt think of Cassies death as murder. To Susan, if Jon did kill his wife, it was justifiable homicide.
V.J. shrugged, sipping her coffee. Honey, to half the people here, killing Cassandra Stuart would have constituted a public service.
Ladies! Reggie admonished from behind them. Were not supposed to speak ill of the dead.
Even if the dead caused tremendous ills? Joe Johnston whispered from behind her.
Sabrina, Camy said, walking across the room to her. She stopped, flushed and corrected herself. Ms. Holloway.
Sabrina, please.
Camy flushed again. Your envelope. You only get to know your character now. Youll get instructions later regarding what youre supposed to do and where youre supposed to go.
Great, thanks.
Do you have mine, dear? V.J. asked.
Camy gave V.J. hers, then handed Reggie her envelope, as well.
Ouch! Reggie exclaimed, looking up. She smiled. Im the Crimson Lady, a stripper, tryingor pretendingto reform.
Great, Thayer Newby groaned, flexing his muscles. Im the effeminate male dancer, JoJo Scuchi.
JoJo Scuchi? Brett said with a laugh.
Check yours out, Thayer warned him.
Brett read the letter in the envelope and made a face. Im Mr. Buttle, the butler. Number two on the New York Times list, and they make me the butler! he groaned.
Sabrina, reading her sheet, began to laugh.
And who are you, my dear? Brett demanded.
The Duchess. I run the church choir, she told him.
Oh, now that is apropos. The lady who ran naked from her honeymoon suite, Susan said, staring at Brett. Neither of you has ever explained that situation, she reminded him smugly.
Sabrina had lived with what had happened for a long time now, but she still felt her temper rising and her cheeks reddening, especially since she realized that Jon had been watching the exchange. Waiting for a reply?
Or perhaps not, because he was the one who responded to Susan. And I imagine they dont feel they owe you an explanation, Sue, he said.
Susan opened her mouth, then quickly shut it, lifting her chin.
Ah, but Susan, Joe Johnston said, reading over Sabrinas shoulder, the Duchess runs the choir by dayand a high-class call girl outfit by night!
Hey, its a dirty job, but someones got to do it, Brett declared. Does the butler get to be in on it? he asked.
The butler always did it, you know, Reggie teased.
I mean in on the sex, Brett said.
You would, V.J. said with a sigh.
You know Ive always wanted to make it with an older woman, Brett stated.
Older than what? V.J. demanded tartly.
He smiled innocently. Older than God, darling. Thats you, isnt it?
Cute, boy, cute! V.J. sniffed.
Dianne Dorsey suddenly started laughing. Sabrina leaned past V.J. to look at her. As usual, Dianne was in black. Black denim shorts, a ruffled black blouse, black socks and black hiking boots. Youll never guess who I am.
Who? V.J. obligingly inquired.
Mary, the Hare Krishna!
They all started to laugh.
Susan, who are you? V.J. asked.
Susan shuddered and looked up at Camy accusingly. Im Carla, the call girl with the clap.
Another round of laughter followed, but Susan was not amused. She glared at Camy. You did that on purpose!
Sue, chill! Brett said.
Camy didnt make these up, you know that. We hire writers from the game company, Jon said impatiently. He sighed. Trust me, mine is worse.
Why, who are you? Susan demanded.
Demented Dick, Jon said dryly. Serial killer, supposedly cured by his cousin, Sally Sadist, the psychologist.
Thats me! Anna Lee called out.
And Im Nancy, the naughty nurse, hired by Sally Sadist to look after you. Nancy the naughty nurse! V.J. repeated with a shudder.
You think thats bad? Joe Johnston said, laughing. Im Tilly the transvestite, Demented Dicks mother!
Hey, Mom! Jon said, and they all laughed.
Oh, no! Tom Heart groaned, looking at Joe.
What? Joe demanded.
Im Demented Dicks dadwhich means youre my wife. Ugh!
Well, baby, youre sleeping on the couch, Joe told him.
As they teased, Jennie Albright, the housekeeper, with the help of two younger maids, brought in the food platters, setting them up on the buffet. Jon thanked them and announced, Breakfast is served. While we eat, Joshua will show you the weapons with which you might be killed. Well wait until everyone is seated.
With a lot of talking and good-natured joking, they fixed plates of food and took their places at the table. Sabrina was glad to find herself next to V.J. rather than Susan, but Brett managed to remain on her other side. He was definitely trying to create the impression that they were a twosome.
Jon took a seat toward the end of the table between Anna Lee Zane and Thayer Newby. Anna spoke to him, and he lowered his head, smiling. Sabrina couldnt help but wonder if something had gone on between the two of them, since it was rumored that Jon and Cassandra had both been having extramarital affairs at his last Mystery Week. Still, so much about the past was speculation. What wasnt speculation, however, was the fact that Cassandra Stuart had died.
Joshua cleared his throat, smiling. Ladies and gentlemen, here is the situation. Demented Dick is newly home to take over as heir apparent to the family fortunes, due to the untimelyand unnaturaldemise of his older brother, Demented Darryl. Naturally, since he had the most to gain, Demented Dick is a likely suspect in his brothers murder, but since this is a whodunit, its for you to discover who did in Demented Darryl and why. Everyone in the house has a past and is hiding a secret, and it will turn out in the end that everyone had a reason for wanting to do Darryl in. The killeror killersare naturally afraid of what everyone else may know, and therefore, one by one, they will begin picking off the others. Now, there are a number of murder weapons, since the killer is to continue his or her spree until he or she is caught or until the entire household has expired.
So shoot, Joe said. What are our weapons?
Fine, well start with the pistol, Joshua said, showing them the gun in question. Shoots red paint. He proceeded to lift the other toy weapons as he described them. Rifle, shoots red paint. Bowie knife, complete with blood sack. Jackknife, bow and arrow, heavy vase, rope with noose, poisonactually, its a grape drink guaranteed to turn your mouth purple for twenty-four hoursand last but not least, a candlestick. So thats it, ladies and gentlemen. There will be clues left around the castle, and instructions for your characters will be slipped to you at various times as the week moves on. Ill warn you all, the first murder is planned for sometime today, so everyone take care. Oh, and anyone who choosesliving or deadcan meet at seven each evening for cocktails, to be followed by dinner at eight, and at that time discuss the case. More coffee, anyone? he asked blandly.
Only if you drink it first, Anna Lee replied dryly.
Sure, Joshua said. He procured the coffee carafe from the buffet, poured himself a cup, sipped it, then walked around to Anna Lees place, pouring her more. Smoothing back his blond hair, he leaned close to her, a teasing light in his eyes. One cant be too cautious around here.
Ill take more coffee, too, Jon said, pushing his cup forward. Late night, he explained.
Death by poison! V.J. said with a shudder. Well, Id been intending to go on a diet anyway. I can live without food, but never without coffee.
Never without a good gin and tonic, Reggie argued.
No, never without beer, Brett corrected.
Well, as far as coffee and foodor even cocktails and beergo, you can indulge now, Jon said dryly. The game doesnt begin until weve all exited the dining room. Everyone is then to go to his or her room for the next hour, while Camy and our master sculptor make sure that the weapons youve just seen have been properly hidden. If someone finds the weapon with which he or she was to be murdered, it can be used against the killer. But for now, feel free. Indulge.
Well, then, let me have just a wee bit more toast, V.J. said, adding a touch of a Scots accent to her voice.
Ill go for the bacon, Joe said.
Toast for me, too, V.J., Sabrina called to her.
And suddenly everyone at the table was hungry again. They ate like a group of loggers about to head out for hours of hard labor. But, finally, one by one, they began to leave. Sabrina, seeing Brett ahead of her, purposely lagged behind, lowering her eyes as she sipped her coffee. When she lifted her gaze again, she was startled to realize that only she and Jon remained in the room. He was seated across the table, studying her.
It really is good to see you again, he told her, voice husky, eyes firmly on her.
To her dismay, she felt a fluttering in her heart. Thank you.
He sat back, still watching her. She felt as if his eyes were penetrating her skin, and she groped about quickly for something casual to say.
So, are you the killer? she inquired.
He arched a brow. Are you talking about the gameor real life?
She flushed. The game.
If I were, he answered slowly, I couldnt tell you. Just as you couldnt tell me. It wouldnt be fair. He leaned forward then, a dry smile curling his lips. But dont you want to know about real life?
She stared back at him, feeling as if her breakfast had suddenly sunk from her stomach to her feet. Jon, I didnt come here to question you or to bring back unhappy memories.
Why not? Its why most of the others did, both my friends and my enemies. Dont you want to know the truth? Or did you really run away from me simply because you didnt give a damn?
She wasnt going to answer that, so she stared at him and demanded, So did you kill Cassandra? What a question! If you had killed her, you couldnt tell me, could you? Theres no real difference between the game and real life.
Oh, theres a difference, all right. As far as the game goes, I cant tell you if Im the killer or not. As for real lifeno, definitely, decidedly, on pain of every torture God or the devil could inflict, no. I did not kill my wife. Do you believe me?
Yes.
He arched a brow, sitting back cautiously. Why? Why should you believe me?
Well, I
You what? You know me? he queried, taunting slightly. He shrugged. You know me, he repeated mockingly.
I dont pretend to really know you, she snapped back angrily. But you were nowhere near her when she fell
She was pushed, he stated flatly.
She lifted her hands. How do you know?
Because I knew Cassandra. Very well. She was far too fond of herself for suicide.
Seated at the huge table, his eyes dark and sharp, he looked like a medieval lord, powerful ruler of all his domain. But there was a touch of bitterness in his voice, and despite his harsh demeanor, she reflected that the years since Cassandras death must have hurt him very badly. Had he really loved her, despite their fights? Or had there been another woman involved, an affair gone tragically wrong? Had there been another man, and did Jon Stuart still harbor anger deep in his soul?
He was still staring at her, his dark marbled gaze seeming to pierce through her, seeking something, giving nothing. The lines around his eyes had deepened since shed seen him last; he had aged, and yet he was even more attractive then he had been, and she felt as if she could feel his power reaching out across the table to mesmerize her.
Was she a fool? Even if he hadnt pushed Cassandra himself, he could have been her killer. Plenty of people seemed to think it would have been a miracle if he wasnt the one to murder her.
He was still watching, waiting.
She shrugged. From what I understand, nothing is certain. You cant be certain of anything, just because you think you knew her. She might have simply slipped and fallen. She might have been reckless. We none of us really ever know one another, do
Cassandra didnt kill herself.
Maybe thats what you want to believe.
Maybe its the truth.
Jon, she had cancer. She might have felt that
She was already undergoing treatments.
But she was a woman, and women can be vain. Maybe she was afraid of losing her hair, her looksor even losing you because of it.
He shook his head impatiently. She knew about the cancer when we were married. She told me about it, so she knew I was aware of everything we might be going through. She didnt kill herself. And she was very coordinated. She didnt trip.
Well, then, in your mind, you definitely believe that someone murdered her.
Yes, he said.
But who
He leaned forward. She could see leashed tension in the pounding of a vein in his throat.
Someone killed her, he said harshly, but I didnt. And the matter of who did is not your concern. I dont want you involved in any way.
But
Why did you run away from me? he asked abruptly.
What? II
Dont stutter. And dont tell me that it was a long time ago, or that you dont know what Im talking about.
She lifted her hands. Cassandra came. I left.
Why?
Sabrina stared at him blankly. It really was a long time ago
Why? he interrupted more heatedly.
She said she was your fiance. Apparently, she was.
He shook his head angrily. We were broken up. I had no commitments. I told you that.
She shrugged. But you married her.
Later. Yes, I did marry her. She was beautiful and tempting and all the rest, and we did have a history between us. And she was afraid of facing her illness alone, and she wanted me to be with her, and yes, she was a bitch as well, and yes again, it wasnt working at all and I was planning on getting a divorce.
There was a strange anger in his voice, as if he were revealing intimacies under duress, as if the words were spilling from him against his will. Then his tone changed abruptly and he queried wryly, And what about you? Running naked from your honeymoon suite in Paris?
That was a long time ago as well, and its really
None of my business? Youre absolutely right. It isnt. But that doesnt mean I dont want to know. He smiled a little. Whenever youre ready to tell me.
She stared at him, surprised to find that she was not offended. His words might have been blunt, even arrogant, but from the way he smiled, she suddenly realized that he understood a great deal.
Hey!
Camy Clark came back into the great hall and put her hands on her hips. You guys are supposed to return to your rooms for the next hourand that means you, too, boss! she said firmly.
Okay, okay, were leaving, Jon assured her.
He got to his feet with a lithe, easy movement and managed to be at Sabrinas seat before she could rise. He stood behind her, graciously pulling out her chair. His scent was masculine and subtleof soap and a hint of aftershave. He remained one of the most attractive and sensual men she had ever met, and even without touching, she could feel him at her back with every fiber of her being. She was tempted to turn around and throw herself at him.
Naturally, she didnt.
She rose, thanked him and smiled at Camy. And, leaving the great hall, she fairly flew up the stairs.
Yet as she reached her door on the second floor, she felt him behind her again. Knew he was there before he spoke.
.
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