Never Sleep With Strangers (9 page)

“Well, it must have been,” Tom Heart replied. “None of us was shot. Unless the murderer has horrible aim. Anybody's doors or walls covered in red paint?”

They all shook their heads.

“It had to have been something else,” Camy insisted.

“Sounded like shots to me,” Thayer Newby said.

He should know! Sabrina thought. He'd been a cop for over twenty years. Surely he recognized the sound of gunshots.

But the bottom line was none of them had been shot.

Sabrina saw Jon staring at Camy, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her. His arms were crossed over his chest.

“I was actually working,” Dianne said.

“So was I,” Anna Lee said.

“Working on what, dear?” Susan queried, arching a brow toward Joe, who had exited Anna Lee's room with her.

“Joe recently did some extensive forensic research with a bone expert. He was giving me some really great ideas.”

“Ah,” Susan said archly, the one syllable dripping with doubt.

“Don't forget, we've actually got a bowling alley and a heated pool in the dungeon, just down from the chamber of horrors,” Camy reminded them. “For those not working,” she added innocently.

“I haven't gone bowling in years,” Sabrina said, looking at V.J., who was usually up for almost anything. That way she could return to the dungeon area and find out exactly where the chapel was—without being alone—before it was time for her to go down and play the mystery game at dusk.

“Great! It always takes one person to get things started!” Camy said.

“If you and Brett aren't
working,
” Susan purred.

“We're not,” Sabrina assured her, trying to keep her voice level.

Jon arched a dark brow her way, murmured that he had some phone calls to make, and walked away without further comment.

“I wouldn't mind a dip in the pool, either,” V.J. said. “Why don't we put on suits so we can throw some heavy balls, complain about our aching arms, then relax in the water.”

“Sounds fine,” Sabrina said. She turned away to get ready. And glared.

Brett hadn't left yet.

“I think I'll join you two,” he said cheerfully.

“The amenities of the castle are open to all of us,” she said, adding dryly, “but you'll need your swimsuit, which I'm sure must be in
your
room.”

He reached over and pinched her cheek.

“Brett—”

“You really do love me,” he assured her.

But at last he walked away. And she closed and locked her door.

 

Camy's room was near the grand stone stairway that led to the foyer and the library and great hall below. The hallway had emptied of writers when Jon exited his room to reach his assistant's, but Joshua stopped him on his way, calling to him from his own doorway.

“Jon, come in here, I think you should see this.”

As Jon entered Joshua's room, the sculptor gestured at the large television set. A weatherwoman from a Stirling station stood before a large map of northern England and Scotland. Jon stood silently beside Joshua, watching as the meteorologist smiled her way through an explanation of the storm moving in from the North Atlantic. It was already hitting the islands, covering John o'Groat's with a blanket of snow and ice, and moving southward.

“What do you think?” Joshua said.

As if on cue, the weatherwoman smiled more broadly. “Due to atmospheric conditions, it's difficult to forecast the exact movement or speed of the storm, but it's possible that within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours we could have snow and blizzard conditions across the midsection of Scotland, all the way down to Yorkshire, England.”

“I think it's going to snow,” Jon said. “The staff here are extraordinary—I don't think we've ever run out of anything. But I'll speak with my housekeeper and make sure we're doubly provisioned, just in case we wind up snowbound.”

“Good idea. I thought you might want to know,” Joshua said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jon told him. He hesitated. “Josh, you and Camy are working together on all the clues and instructions for the game, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Did you slip the envelope under my door?”

Joshua shook his head, looking a little uneasy. “No, Camy was distributing the instructions today,” he said with a shrug. “Why, is something wrong?”

Jon showed Joshua the message he had received.

The sculptor went pale, shaking his head. “Someone is playing a dirty game,” he said angrily.

“So it seems.”

“Do you think you're in any real danger?”

Jon shook his head. “No.”

“But—”

“Never mind. I'm sorry I even bothered you with this.”

“Sorry!” Joshua said indignantly. “Someone did this! We have to know who—”

“Josh, I can handle it. Hey, you're an artist, my friend, filling in as game master for the good of my charities. This isn't your concern. Excuse me, and thanks for the weather report. I'll check with Camy.”

He left Josh and walked down the hallway to tap on Camy's door.

“Come in!”

He opened the door, strode to where she sat at her desk and tossed down his note. “Not funny, Camy. What in God's name would induce you to do something like that?”

“Something like what?” she demanded indignantly. She stared at him, then frowned and lifted the note and began to read.

He watched her face go parchment white. “Joshua said you did the notes and slipped them under the doors.”

“I did, but I didn't do this, Jon. Honestly. Honest to God, I swear! How could you think I would write something like that to you?”

“Is this what the other instructions look like?” he demanded harshly.

She nodded. “Yes, but—”

“Who had access to your office? This is castle stationery.”

“Well, I guess anyone might have slipped in here. And there's more of this stationery in the desk in the library. I think it's even in the guest rooms. Jon, I can't prove anything, but, honestly, I've seen how you've suffered over all this, and surely you can't believe that I…” She trailed off helplessly.

Jon felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he watched Camy. She was so distressed. “No, I don't believe that you would be so cruel, Camy. I'm sorry. But it did arrive under my door.”

She shook her head. “That's not what I sent you. Your note read, ‘You're demented but cunning. Watch the proceedings, and listen well. Naturally, you're Demented Dick, which makes you a suspicious character.' That's all that I said. And that's what I put under your door.”

“Did you see anyone else in the hallway at the time?” he asked her.

She shook her head strenuously, and he began to feel guilty; huge tears were brimming in her eyes.

“I didn't see anyone at all,” she said. “I went downstairs to check on arrangements for dinner, and I turned on all the lights in the cellar—dungeon, sorry. I keep forgetting it's a dungeon, no matter how long your family has owned this place! And then I came back upstairs, and everyone was in the hallway.”

“Well,” he murmured, “apparently, someone doesn't think I've suffered enough for Cassie's death. I would like to know who wrote this,” he said, pocketing the note again.

“Some of your friends are a bit eccentric,” she suggested meekly.

“Some of them are simply bizarre,” he agreed, grinning. “Well, keep your eyes open,” he said, and he turned to leave.

“Jon,” she said, calling him back hesitantly.

He paused, turning to look at her.

She cleared her throat. “I think…I think Cassie really was having an affair. I mean, she loved you, the best Cassie could love, but I think she was convinced that you had lost interest in her, that you were seeing someone else. And I think that she was seeing someone else. God knows, with Cassie, maybe she was seeing more than one person.”

He arched a brow. “And…?”

“Well, if Cassie had a lover, maybe he blames you for what happened.”

He nodded. “Was there something else?” he asked as she continued to look at him imploringly.

She flushed. “Well, if
you
were having an affair, maybe
she's
angry that you haven't pursued things, with Cassie now out of the way. Were you…having an affair with someone?” she ventured.

He crossed his arms over his chest, hiking up one eyebrow, a slight curl to his lips. “Camy, I'm not the type to kiss and tell. Never have been. So if I had been having an affair, I guarantee you, very few people would have known about it.”

“Maybe that narrows down the question of who might have written that note,” she suggested hopefully.

“Maybe. Except that I didn't say I'd had an affair.”

“You didn't say you didn't, either.”

He started to laugh. “Never mind Camy. Some of my friends are bizarre—let's leave it at that.”

He left her combination bedroom-and-office suite and started down the hall. Then he paused, noticing an irregularity in the smooth stone wall. He reached out and touched it, amazed. He ran his fingers over the grouting.

“Sweet Jesus…”

T
he dungeon was a remarkable place.

Actually, the entire castle was remarkable, Sabrina reflected. A flawless combination of the new and the ancient. From the main foyer, a sweeping stone stairway curved down to a central hall; to the left were doors that led to the horror chamber, the chapel and the crypt, while to the right were doors that led to the recreation areas.

Sabrina stood next to V.J. staring at the sparkling water in the heated pool. Lounge chairs graced its deck, and at the far end was a complete bar taken from a turn-of-the-century Glascow pub. The bar had been modernized to offer a sink, a refrigerator, a coffee urn and a microwave. The ultramodern entertainment center at the rear of the bar, complete with big-screen TV, somehow blended artistically with the antique stained glass.

“This is living,” V.J. commented with a soft sigh. “I do love Jon's invitations to come here. It was such a shame that something so terrible had to happen last time. I'm so glad he's decided to rejoin the world of the living. Imagine, a swimming pool in a dungeon!”

Sabrina had to admit that she was amazed as well. The castle had so many sides, so many faces. It was so incredibly historical that it was possible at times to walk along its hallways and imagine that hundreds of years had faded away. Yet she had yet to smell any mustiness or even feel a draft.

“It must cost an arm and a leg to keep this place up,” V.J. said, whispering suddenly as if someone might overhear.

“I'm sure. But Jon must make really good money with his books, don't you think?” Sabrina queried.

“Well, yes, he is really at the top of the commercial heap. And I understand he's also a smart businessman. He played the stock market extremely well, getting in very early on a number of computer and internet companies among other things. How on earth Cassie managed not to be happy with him is hard to imagine.”

Sabrina looked around, certain that others—Brett, for one—would be coming down to enjoy the amenities soon. But at the moment they were all alone in the big rec room. Two billiard tables and a Ping-Pong table separated the pool area from the two-lane bowling alley and some comfortable chairs and love seats cozily set up around a woodburning stove. It all looked so innocent, so fun. Yet Sabrina wondered if, despite the contemporary atmosphere in this part of the dungeon, she'd feel so comfortable in the castle depths if V.J. weren't with her.

“I thought that Cassandra actually did love Jon,” she finally replied. “I got the impression they had one of those passionate artistic marriages, that they were very much in love despite their quarrels.”

V.J. shrugged. “There's only so many mysteries one can solve in a week,” she said gaily. “Let's forget bowling; shall we? This pool looks just too delicious. I'm going in.”

She slipped out of her terry cover-up and headed for the deep end. Still elegant with her long legs and trim, toned figure, she executed a beautiful dive and emerged at the far end. “It's wonderful in here!” she called to Sabrina.

“Look at that!” Sabrina called back. The television in the entertainment center was on, and though the volume was low, she could see that much of the country was being blanketed in snow.

V.J. swam to the edge of the pool and rested her chin on her arms on the tiled rim to watch. “Imagine! All that cold weather out there, and here I am, swimming in eighty-degree luxury. Indeed, our boy does know how to live!”

She pushed away from the ledge and continued swimming laps. Sabrina shed her own cover-up and dived in after her. She, too, swam laps for a while, then finally stopped to rest.

V.J. joined her, picking up the thread of their earlier conversation. “Cassie couldn't have been happy with Jon. All he had to do was say hello to someone, and she was instantly jealous and suspicious. She hated this place, hated it, and always came up with some excuse to try to make him leave it. Before she died…”

V.J.'s voice trailed off, and Sabrina wanted to scream in frustration. “Before she died?” she prodded.

V.J. shrugged her shoulders, smoothing back her wet hair. “They had an awful fight at breakfast. We were into the third or fourth day of the week, I believe. My character had already been killed off—a few of the others as well—and everyone was having a wonderful time. Susan was being a pain, naturally, but she was having fun, too. I think she actually enjoyed sparring with Cassie. And they did spar. Fur flew!” V.J. laughed in reminiscence.

“But what about Cassie and Jon?” Sabrina prompted.

“Well,” V.J. continued, “Cassie seemed to be going out of her way to upset Jon. Dressing in outrageously revealing clothing, being provocative with every male in the place. But I think part of the problem was that she wasn't making Jon angry anymore.” She reflected for a moment. “When they were first married, I think Cassie put on a good act. She could pretend to be gentle and sweet, an ideal wife. But she had a mean streak in her, and the more it came out, the more Jon lost interest. I remember her trying to sock his jaw once when they fought, and he just caught her hand, stared at her, then waltzed away. He wasn't fighting anymore. I suspect he'd long since fallen out of love with her.”

“Maybe,” Sabrina said. “But, V.J., how can anyone know what someone else is feeling?”

The older woman looked at her, arching a brow. “Sabrina, love is something you can see in someone's eyes. And believe me, it was no longer in Jon's.”

“V.J.! I never imagined you to be a closet romantic,” Sabrina teased.

V.J. shrugged. “You just never can tell about people, can you?”

“Ah, correction, you can about me!” Brett called, striding into the pool area, wearing sandals, bathing trunks and a robe. He discarded the robe and struck a playful beefcake pose. “The entire world knows that
I'm
an incurable romantic,” he announced. “Right, V.J.? Tell my wife that, would you? And remind her that I'm in supreme shape, too, please.”

V.J. glanced at Sabrina, then back at Brett. “Sorry. But I imagine your ex-wife knows all about your glorious shape, Brett. Why don't you behave, dear? I'd love a mild vodka and soda, lots of lime. Why don't you go fix me a drink before you plunge in? I might find a few nice things to say about you.”

“Make it two,” called Thayer Newby, walking into the pool area.

He hadn't bothered with a cover-up; he had come down in cut-off jeans. Sabrina noticed that the ex-cop was wall-to-wall muscle. Thick-necked, broad-shouldered, and imposing, he looked a bit like the Incredible Hulk with red hair.

He plunked down into a deck chair, smiling. “Now all we need is a little sunshine.”

“No sunshine in the dungeon,” Brett said, “but there is a sauna back there beyond the bar, next to the rest rooms.”

“A sauna sounds good. If I ever decide to move,” Thayer said. He looked up at the entry to the rec area as Anna Lee Zane came in. She didn't need any sunshine, her tan was already perfect. She wore a white gossamer caftan over a white bikini, and she looked stunning.

She was followed by Dianne Dorsey, who was wearing a black open work cover-up over a stunning black suit.

“We could just lie on these lounges all day and imagine ourselves in a very strange paradise,” Dianne said, taking the chair next to Thayer. “Brett, you brilliant novelist you, will you make me a drink as well, while you're at it?”

“Mine is vodka and tonic,” Anna Lee advised him.

“Hey,” Brett protested, “what do I look like here, the—”

“The butler, Mr. Buttle,” Jon Stuart reminded him, joining them.

He was smiling, but in the strange light of the dungeon reflected by the pool, Sabrina thought that he looked tense and unhappy.

“But,” he added, “since I'm Demented Dick, what do I know? Right, Sabrina?” he inquired.

She hadn't realized he had even noticed her there in the water. But he was staring at her, and the expression in his eyes made her uneasy. Then she started as a loud, crashing sound suddenly filled the rec room. Jon didn't flinch; he kept looking at her.

“Strike!” Reggie called out happily. And Sabrina realized that Tom Heart and Joe Johnston had arrived, as well, opting to bowl rather than swim.

“So, Sabrina,” Jon said, “will you trust me to fix you a drink?”

Now, here was a man in extremely good shape. His shoulders were handsomely broad, his waist tight and lean, his legs long and nicely shaped. And Sabrina couldn't stop staring at him, remembering….

She forced her eyes to his, about to refuse a drink. It was so early.

“Gin and tonic,” she said weakly.

But he already knew her choice, and he'd already started for the bar.

She swam the length of the pool to step out at the shallow end. White-haired Tom Heart had left the bowlers and now offered her a towel as she walked up the steps. V.J. came out behind her, and Tom, in a courtly fashion, draped another towel over V.J.'s slim shoulders. Sabrina wrapped hers around herself and approached the bar. Dianne, Thayer and Anna Lee had already taken seats there and were laughing as Brett and Jon argued over the proper way to make a martini.

“Stirred, not shaken,” Jon said.

“Oh, come now, that's a bunch of British rot,” Brett protested. “This is the way!” he said, shaking a canister. “The ice just ever so slightly melts, giving the alcohol a perfect frost!”

“Speaking of frost,” Jon said, addressing all of them, “I'm afraid we've acquired a rather grim weather forecast. It has occurred to me to suggest that we nix this Mystery Week and that I move you all into Stirling so that—”

“What?” Tom interrupted. “Nix the party now?”

“Some bad weather is moving in pretty fast,” Jon said. “I'd like—”

“I'm not leaving,” V.J. insisted. “Jon, dear, I've come all the way from California for this! A little bad weather isn't going to drive me away.”

“I'm not going, either, old buddy,” Thayer said firmly. “Hell, I don't make your kind of money yet, Jon. Maybe not ever. This is my vacation with the rich and famous.”

“So what if we're snowbound?” Anna Lee demanded.

Jon hesitated. “I just have a bad feeling that—”

“Oh, Jon,” Reggie said, joining them, her elderly voice full of grandmotherly empathy. “Jon, I thought when you planned this that you'd gotten over what happened the last time. We're all here for some fun and for a good cause, and we're not going anywhere.”

“Cassie fell,” Dianne Dorsey said firmly. “It was simply an accident, and that's what the coroner said.”

“Exactly, Jon,” Anna Lee added, an edge to her voice.

They both defended him so passionately, Sabrina noted, and she couldn't help thinking that either of them might have had an affair with him. Either of them might have really hated Cassandra, too.

Jon shook his head. “Thanks, but I'm afraid there's more to my concern than unhappy memories. Or even the snow. Remember the gunshots we heard this morning?”

Nods and a chorus of yeses met his words.

“I found a bullet in the grout in the stone in the hallway.

“What?” Thayer demanded.

“Well, Jon, this place is ancient, much older than even I am!” Reggie exclaimed. “Perhaps—”

“It wasn't an old bullet, Reggie. It was a new bullet,” Jon told her.

Tom Heart shook his head in puzzlement. “Then it's part of the game.”

“It wasn't part of the game. It's a real bullet,” Jon said somewhat impatiently.

“Adding a little spice to the mystery, Jon?” Joe queried with a knowing smile, stroking his bushy beard.

“He's good at this,” V.J. said in agreement. “Jon, did you ever consider acting?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we're talking a real bullet, really fired in the hall, and someone might have gotten hurt. Or even killed,” Jon said grimly.

“Okay,” Joe protested, “so maybe one of us is an asshole who made it through the airport with a gun for protection in a strange country. God knows, we're all off-the-wall a bit. But I can't see ruining this whole Mystery Week because some moron mistakenly fired a gun in the hall.” Joe sounded for all the world like the world-weary, no-nonsense P.I. in his books.

“All right, then, who fired the gun?” Jon demanded, looking from one of them to the next.

There was no confession.

“Well?” he said softly.

“Someone is trying to add to the mystery. No one was hurt,” Joe mentioned.

“There's a bullet in the wall,” Jon repeated flatly.

“Can you be absolutely certain it wasn't there from sometime before?” Thayer Newby asked, sounding, as he often did, as if he were grilling a suspect at headquarters.

“I'm familiar with firearms and bullets,” Jon said.

“I'll take a look at it,” Thayer said. “But I, too, say it's one of us adding a little spice to the Mystery Week.”