Never Sleep With Strangers (28 page)

She didn't know whether to breathe easy or feel a greater sense of panic.

The others weren't commenting at all, just walking around, looking.

Anna Lee checked under the bed; V.J. searched the bath. Tom went out on the balcony.

“This is ridiculous,” Anna Lee said. “Obviously, no one is hiding Susan in his or her room.”

“I agree,” Sabrina managed to murmur, sitting at the foot of her bed. “But maybe Susan is playing a trick on us, trying to hide.”

“And if she is, she can hear us coming from room to room,” V.J. said.

“But could she keep disappearing, just one step ahead of us all the time?” Sabrina asked.

“Who the hell knows what Susan is doing?” Tom demanded irritably.

“And,” Anna Lee said, “the place is riddled with secret passages. The Scots have always been ornery—and Jon's family, being Stuarts, were into protecting the Stuarts, hiding the young prince Charles II, and, I understand, losing a few heads themselves when they supported the Jacobites. They hid priests and ministers, outlaws and so on. Maybe Susan knows more about the castle than we do.”

“Well, Jon certainly knows the place,” Brett said. “It is his castle.”

“Hmm,” Anna Lee mused. “But I did some research on so-called haunted castles in York once, and there were lots of instances where the ‘hauntings' were caused when someone other than the owner knew about secret passageways and the like. Maybe Susan has discovered some deep, dark secret about the place. Better yet, maybe she's walled herself up within it somewhere.”

“Now that would be fitting. Susan has never appreciated the genius of Edgar Allan Poe,” Tom said.

“We've only got one room left—mine,” Brett said. “Then I, for one, am going down for a drink. Then I'm coming back up to bed. Sadly, V.J., yes, alone. But I'm tired, so I'll accept my fate.”

“Onward,” V.J. said.

They entered Brett's room, together. Standing in the middle of it while the others walked around, Sabrina stared at the wardrobe, remembering how afraid she had been the night before.

Brett had been gone. Jon had been gone. Everyone, it had seemed, was walking the halls.

Shaving—in the middle of the night.

Or cutting themselves on lamps or the like.

But she had stared at the wardrobe, afraid, thinking that there might be someone inside it.

Someone ready to jump out at her.

Or someone unable to do so. Someone who lay cut, slashed, still bleeding…

“Under the bed?” V.J. asked Tom.

“Nothing.”

“Bathroom's empty,” Anna Lee said.

Sabrina suddenly felt her heart pounding. The wardrobe still haunted her.

She walked toward it.

“Sabrina!” Brett said sharply.

She ignored him and threw open the wardrobe.

 

It was his castle. The crypt contained his dead relatives.

Jon had never been afraid of the dead. Years and years ago, when he'd been a young child, his father had reassured him after he'd seen a horror flick. Don't ever be afraid of the dead, son. They're the safest people around, they can't do you harm anymore. Ever. Sometimes, son, you do, however, need to be afraid of the living.

Jon believed in God, in a supreme being, but he didn't believe that God had people come back as spirits to haunt the living. He wasn't superstitious. He'd never felt the least fear while walking any part of this, his family's ancient castle. He'd loved it since he'd come into his special inheritance. There was no part of the brick, stone, mortar or wood that had ever made him uneasy.

Until tonight.

The chapel was evidently empty. Nevertheless, they combed the pews, looked behind the altar, peered through all the shadows.

They walked the bowling alleys, even checked the mechanisms for the pins, and approached the pool area together.

“Well, she didn't drown,” Thayer said as they gazed into the water.

“Nope, apparently not,” Joe agreed.

“Did you look in the men's room?” Jon asked Joshua.

“And the ladies' too. Rest rooms are empty,” Josh reported.

“Well, the crypt is next, I guess,” Joe said. He actually sounded uneasy.

“Yeah, I guess.” Big, tough ex-cop Thayer sounded uneasy, too.

Jon led the way. They came in with kerosene lamps, lifting them high to dispel the gloom around the tombs. They methodically began to walk along the rows of the dead.

“Susan isn't here,” Jon said at last.

“I never thought she would be,” Thayer said gruffly. “She's got a big mouth, but she can be your basic chicken. Dianne might have the balls to come down here alone and pretend to be her mother's ghost, but Susan wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.”

Silence followed his words.

“Dead, you have no choice,” Joshua finally said. He turned to Jon. “There is no sign of her whatsoever, Jon. As furious as she was, maybe she did take off into the snow. Maybe she did make it down to the village, and maybe she's sipping a hot toddy and watching the latest flick on the telly.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jon said. But he didn't believe it. Not for a minute. “Let's move on to the chamber of horrors.”

“Oh, yeah, let's, can't wait,” Joe said.

The words broke the ice. The four laughed, recognizing their false machismo and owning up to a certain unease.

Joshua led the way into the chamber.

The others began to walk around.

Jon stood by the entry, staring down the rows of frozen tableaux. Nothing looked out of order. Nothing at all.

It was very cold. The temperature was supposed to be kept cool here to preserve the wax figures, and with the power gone, the rooms were shut down completely. But the cold wasn't what bothered him, though he couldn't quite say what was.

He walked into the room, moving among the tableaux. The others moved about as well, lamps held high.

“Susan, here Susie, Susie!” Joe called.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Thayer added.

Their words seemed to ricochet off the stone walls. The men took different aisles, crossed each other's paths. It was eerie, the way the wax figures stared down at them.

So very real.

Joshua was standing in front of the tableau of Lady Ariana Stuart being tortured on the rack.

“I am good,” Joshua said, realizing that Jon stood by him. “Damn good.” He shrugged. “Either that or it's a dark and stormy night, the lighting sucks, I'm a scaredy cat and I'm beginning to see my own work come alive.”

Thayer came up to them, clapping Joshua on the shoulder. “You're good. You're that damn bloody good. V.J. over there looks as if she's about to have us all for supper. I hate to admit it, but this place is giving me the chills. Cold as a witch's tit in here. Jon, think we can go back up? Nothing's stirring down here.”

“We've walked every aisle,” Joe said, reaching them. Despite the cold, little beads of sweat had broken out over his brow. “No one is here.”

“So where the hell do you think she is?” Thayer asked.

“I don't know,” Jon said, moving at last to exit the chamber. The others managed to squeeze out ahead of him. He almost smiled, but as he closed the double doors as they left, he felt a curious chill along his spine, and he paused, reopening the doors and lifting his lamp one more time.

Nothing. And yet something subtle was plaguing him. He didn't know what. But something was just slightly wrong. He had a sense of…

He didn't know what.

He closed the doors, shaking his head impatiently. And he followed the others up the stairs to the ground floor and the great hall.

Dianne was playing solitaire, a huge glass of wine in front of her.

Reggie was sitting at the table, drumming her fingers, looking entirely peeved. Camy, too, sat at the table, her head resting upon her folded arms. She looked up when the men came in.

“Jennie and the girls say they haven't seen hide nor hair of Susan,” Camy said.

“Nothing down below,” Thayer said cheerfully.

“And nothing here except for three tired, bitchy broads,” Reggie informed them.

Jon smiled. “Anyone for a drink?” He started to pour himself a whiskey.

That's when they heard the shriek from above.

 

Sabrina screamed, jumping back as a head bounced out of the wardrobe at her.

Long hair splayed everywhere.

“Sabrina! It's a mannequin head—and a wig!” Brett said, coming up behind her, slipping an arm around her.

It was.

A white plastic head, a black wig.

“Hey, honey, it's okay!” V.J. told her.

Sabrina felt like an idiot. It was, indeed, just as Brett had said. She stared at the wardrobe. Why the hell had she gotten in into her mind that something awful was going to be found in that wardrobe? It was simply so stuffed with clothing that opening it had caused the head to bounce from a top shelf.

As she stared at it, still trembling, the others burst into the room, Jon in the lead, Thayer behind him, Joshua, Joe, and even Dianne and poor Reggie, puffing away to keep up.

“What? What is it? What happened?” Jon demanded.

“Nothing, nothing,” Sabrina said quickly. “I just scared myself silly.”

Jon walked over to the fallen foam head and picked it up and the wig. He looked at Brett. “Not yours, I take it?”

Brett shook his head. “Not my color.”

Jon walked to the wardrobe, surveying the contents. “I hadn't realized these things were here,” he said.

“They were Cassie's?” V.J. asked.

“Yeah. Sorry, Brett, we didn't leave you with much space for your things.”

“My needs are few and simple,” Brett said.

“Yeah, right!” V.J. exclaimed with a laugh.

“Well…no sign of Susan, right?” Tom said to the others.

“Not a single hair off her head,” Joe answered.

Jon stopped in front of Sabrina. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I just feel like a fool.”

“We're all on edge.”

“And you were fixing drinks, remember?” Thayer reminded him.

“Yeah,” Jon said, his eyes still curiously dark on Sabrina's. He turned then and left the room. Everyone traipsed after him.

Joshua helped him mix drinks. “Believe it or not,” he commented, “we're finally running low on ice.”

“I don't need ice,” Joe told him, and he helped himself to two shots of bourbon.

Sabrina opted for a Tia Maria. As she accepted a glass and moved away, Jon said, “We've still got to find Susan.”

“But not tonight!” V.J. told him.

“No, I suppose not,” Jon said with a sigh. He glanced at his watch. Sabrina looked up at the clock over the mantel. Nearly 1:00 a.m.

“Joshua, Thayer, tomorrow we'll take the horses out and see if she did wander off somehow. Within another twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the roads should be cleared, and the electricity and phones should be back. But if she's out there…” he began unhappily.

“If she's out there without heat and shelter, she's already dead. And we'd probably freeze to death looking for her if we tried it now. And we'd never see a damned thing in the dark anyway,” Joe said.

It was true, Sabrina thought. They were done for the night. Jon knew it; he just didn't seem to like it.

“Well, then, everyone, let's call it a night, shall we?” He looked at Sabrina.

She drew her eyes from his, not wanting to face him.
The robe was gone!
she wanted to shout.
Your robe, with the blood all over it.

She started for the stairs instead.

 

An hour later the old castle was silent except for the creaks and groans that haunted its ancient stones and timbers every night.

Sabrina paced her room.

They were all locked in, weary, in need of a night's rest.

She waited. Afraid that he would come. Afraid that he would not.

They had searched the whole castle.

Except for the secret places. The places only Jon knew. She wanted to shout at him, and she wanted to run away. Except that…he didn't come.

Then, when she had walked toward the balcony, she suddenly felt his presence, and when she turned, he was there.

She kept her distance, staring at him. Tall, imposing, handsome, sexy, he was in a different robe, dark hair damp, with a fluff of hair showing at the V of his lapels.

He watched her gravely. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.