by Jean Barrett
“Allison, what is it?”
“Nothing. Just a couple of things I want you to know.”
“All right.”
“I talked to Hale last night after supper. I told him that we’d made a mistake and I couldn’t marry him.”
“That’s good. If you’re sure of your decision, that’s good.”
“I don’t think he believed me, but that’s not important.”
“What else did you want to tell me?”
Allison frowned, looking suddenly vague and faraway. “I—I’m not sure.”
“Do you mean you don’t remember?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s being uncertain about what I do remember.”
“Allison, you’re not making sense.”
“I know, because it doesn’t make sense. But there is one thing I am sure of. Chris isn’t the murderer. He can’t be. I’ve been thinking about it all last night, remembering things, and...well, there is someone...”
“Who are you talking about?” Lane demanded.
“The someone who’s responsible for this whole nightmare, of course. It could be the explanation, you know.” Her frown deepened, and she slowly shook her head. “Only it just isn’t possible. It’s right, but it can’t be right. That’s why I’m...”
Her words trailed away into silence. There was a dreamy expression in her eyes that chilled Lane. Allison was talking in riddles. She was worried about her, fearing that her friend’s mind might have been affected by the exhaustion and strain of the past two days.
“Look,” Lane said gently, “I’m going to change, and then we’re going to sit down and talk about this. Why don’t you go on to the kitchen and wait for me. Maybe Dorothy is already up and starting breakfast. If not, I’ll be there to fix coffee for us. Just give me a few quick minutes. Okay?”
Allison nodded. “Yes, I’ll go on down.”
Lane watched her as she descended the stairs and disappeared into the shadows of the foyer. Then she turned and hurried to her room. She was unable to shake her concern over Allison’s disturbing behavior. In her bedroom she flung off her coat and the robe and began to drag on fresh clothes. She was dressed and passing the window, on her way to the mirror to run a comb through her hair, when she caught a movement in her peripheral vision. Swinging around, she pressed her face to the window.
Cutting through the topiary garden below was a figure headed purposefully in the direction of the back trail behind the chapel. It was Allison!
Alarmed, Lane struggled with the catch on the casement. A blast of cold air met her as she succeeded in opening the window. She leaned out and shouted, “Allison, no! Come back to the house!”
Allison paused at the edge of the garden, calling stubbornly, “Can’t. I have to find Chris.”
“Not on your own! It’s much too risky! Allison, please—”
“I’m not going to wait. I’m through waiting and talking. Chris is out here somewhere, and he needs me.”
She lifted her hand in a confident wave, turned and plunged into the woods.
Banging the window shut, Lane reached for her coat. Allison mustn’t be alone out there! She had to stop her, had to bring her back inside. There was no time to rouse any of the others. She would lose Allison if she didn’t immediately follow her.
The house was still silent, no one in sight, as she rushed down the stairs, pausing only long enough in the foyer to slip on her coat and boots. Then she was outside, drawing her gloves over her hands as she raced toward the chapel. Within seconds she had reached the back trail, where the trees swallowed her.
The daylight was improving, making visibility possible in the open, even with the wind. But in the woods, especially where the evergreens were the thickest, the morning was dim and heavy with shadows. Lane had trouble making her way. The path had seemed friendly, easy to negotiate when she and Jack had traveled it yesterday. Now it was a treacherous route with gnarled roots catching at her, buried rocks tripping her and low boughs slapping at her face.
In a careless moment, while checking for Allison’s footprints in the fresh snow to make sure she was still ahead of her, Lane slipped off the trail. She found herself clinging precariously to one of the twisted cedars that sprang from the solid limestone along the sharp lip of the bluff.
She had forgotten that the path in many places followed the very edge of the cliff. Nor did she realize just how high the bluff was until she glanced down through the cedars. It was a frightening drop to the massive boulders strewn along the shore below.
Lane wasted no time in swinging herself back onto the trail. Regaining her footing, she moved on. Every few minutes she would pause to shout through the trees.
“Allison, where are you? I know you can hear me! Answer me!”
There was no answer. And there was no movement, except for her own breath smoking in the frigid air. She hurried on, her gaze searching the woods ahead of her. Once she caught the flash of a movement far off through the trees. It could have been Allison. Or an animal.
She refused to consider it might be something far worse than that, but she was frantic just the same. A cold dread pressed in on her, growing more ominous with each step she took.
“Allison, this is dangerous! You’ve got to come back!”
No response except for the wind keening in the pines. Lane pushed forward along the winding path, her breath growing labored as she ran. How far had she come? She wasn’t sure, but the trail continued to hug the precipice. And Allison’s footprints were still there in front of her.
The prints made Lane realize something. She herself was moving fast, but she had failed to overtake her friend, which meant Allison was flying along the trail. It wasn’t a logical way to search for Chris. It suggested that Allison was on her way to a certain place. Where? What had she remembered in her long, sleepless night?
Lane had no choice but to stop for a moment. Her lungs were raw from the chase. She was leaning against a hemlock, fighting to recover her wind, when somewhere ahead of her the air was split by a sharp report that reverberated through the forest. At almost the same time, and from the same direction, came a shattering cry followed by the snapping of wood and rock. Then there was a deadly silence.
Lane’s blood turned to ice. She was sure that first sound had been the crack of a high-powered rifle, and the cry just behind it had been Allison’s. She dared not imagine what the other crashing sounds meant.
Rashly ignoring the obvious danger, thinking only that Allison needed her, Lane sped along the path. Dodging around trees and undergrowth, she reached the place where the footprints ended. There was no sign of Allison, no glimpse of her attacker. He must have melted off into the woods. She listened for sounds of his presence, but there was nothing, not even in the distance. There was only the wail of the wind.
Allison! Where was Allison? She searched the prints, and they told the story. There were long sliding marks in the snow, disappearing through a gap in the cedar thickets to her left. Lane crouched down and found herself peering over the edge of the bluff. Straight below, a good twenty feet or more, a ledge projected from the side of the cliff. Allison lay sprawled there in the snow, her eyes shut, her body motionless.
“Allison!” she called to her. “Dear God, answer me!”
But there was no reply, not so much as a feeble moan. Nor did Allison stir. Either the stalker’s bullet had killed her or she was injured, perhaps from the fall.
Lane had to reach her, help her. But how? The bluff wall was vertical, even undercut in places. She had no climbing skills, nor a rope to lower herself. There was only one choice. She had to go back to the lodge and get help.
She started to get to her feet when she heard the thudding of boots from the direction of the house. For a second she panicked, thinking it was the killer returning to check on his work. But there was no rifle in the gloved hands of the figure who burst through the trees.
It was Hale, and when he saw her kneeling there he shouted, “Was t
hat a shot I heard?”
“Yes,” she answered him. “Hale, it’s Allison.”
She indicated the ledge below as he dropped beside her. His handsome face tightened over the sight of Allison’s body. He looked sick with shock.
Before she could deal with him, two more figures pounded along the trail. Jack this time, with Stuart directly behind him.
“What’s happened?” Jack demanded as he reached them.
“He’s struck again,” Hale said. “That’s what’s happened. The killer’s struck again, and this time it’s Allison.”
Lane quickly explained the situation.
Jack, grim faced, hunkered down beside them in the snow and peered over the brink. For a long moment he studied the position of the ledge, saying nothing. Then he said calmly, “I think I can get down there to her.”
Lane didn’t doubt him. He was athletic enough. Also experienced. He had climbed down other cliffs in pursuit of dinosaur bones, and given her heart failure on those occasions. But this was one time when she didn’t argue with him. Allison’s life could depend on his skill.
“Get back, both of you,” Jack instructed Lane and Hale. “Give me some room here to lower myself over the rim. Stuart?”
The teenager was gazing off through the trees. “He could be out there now watching us,” he muttered nervously.
“Forget it,” he ordered the youth. “I want you to go back to the house.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Bring a couple of blankets. If she’s still alive, we’ll need to keep her warm until we can figure some way to get her off the ledge. Be careful about it, but be quick.”
For once Stuart didn’t argue. He took off along the path.
The next moments were long, taut ones as Jack descended the sheer bluff face. Hale was helpless as they watched. But Lane, carefully following Jack’s progress, tried to point out knobs of projecting rock or fissures that would offer him safe anchors for his hands and feet. There were also, sprouting from crevices, tough, stubby cedars that provided him with adequate handholds. But it was a slow, breathless process. Stuart was back with the blankets, followed in a moment by Ronnie and, seconds later, by Dorothy, before Jack was finally able to drop the last few feet to the ledge.
Leaning over the verge, they waited in anxious silence as Jack crouched beside Allison’s inert body. He was a long time examining her. When he finally lifted his head, there was a grave expression on his face. He met their tense gazes and, with a slow, sorrowful shake of his head, he conveyed that it was hopeless. Allison was dead.
Lane heard a ragged sob and for a second thought it was her own. Then she realized it came from one of the other women, Dorothy or Ronnie. She wasn’t sure which. She herself was in a state of numb disbelief. Her friend gone? It was too much to bear.
Hale looked genuinely devastated. Stuart, too, was useless with shock. It was Jack again who was left to deal with the situation.
“Throw down the blankets. The police won’t want her moved from here, but at least I can do the decent thing and cover her up.”
Stuart, bearing the two blankets, seemed unable to move. Lane removed the folded blankets from his stiff hands. Then, one by one, she tossed them down to Jack, who was on his feet waiting to catch them. She watched him as he knelt again beside Allison, gently drawing the blankets over her lifeless figure. It was when her blond head disappeared under the folds, making it final, that Lane turned away, unable to go on looking.
“I’m coming up now,” Jack called to them.
There’s nothing more I can do down here. That’s what he’s telling us, Lane thought, her body clenching in pain.
Jack, familiar now with the climb, was able to reach the top of the bluff with less difficulty than he’d had descending. Hale, his grief turning to anger, was there to meet him.
“You and the others can go on kidding yourselves, Donovan. Not me. Chris Beaver disappeared, and for a good reason. He’s out there somewhere on the loose with a gun, determined to eliminate us one by one.”
“No!” Dorothy cried.
“Face it,” Hale insisted. “Your brother is crazy. Now he’s even turned on Allison. Beaver is our killer, all right.”
Ronnie pushed forward, laying a pleading hand on Jack’s arm. “What are we supposed to do, Jack? If we don’t know where he is, how can we stop him?”
Lane was surprised by Jack’s patience and his inadequate answer. “We’ll go back to the house and lock ourselves in. All we can do is sit tight and wait it out. Unless the phone...”
Dorothy shook her head. “Still out.”
“Then we don’t have a choice. We stick together, and we guard ourselves.”
Not very sound advice, Lane thought, when all of them were eyeing one another distrustfully. But she herself had nothing better to offer.
The group returned to the lodge in a stricken silence, Jack and Lane bringing up the rear along the winding trail.
They were passing the chapel when Jack placed a hand on her arm, drawing her toward the porch. He halted the others ahead of them, calling out solemnly, “Lane and I are going to stop in here for a bit. She’d like to pray, and I think I’d better stand watch for her.”
Lane stared at him in astonishment. She had suggested no such thing. Not that prayer was such a bad idea. It was just that it hadn’t occurred to her. But the earnest expression on his face warned her not to object.
“You understand how it is,” he went on. “She and Allison were very close.”
The others accepted the plan without argument and moved on toward the house, leaving Lane and Jack alone on the chapel porch.
“What was that—”
“Not out here,” he murmured. “Come on inside, and I’ll tell you.”
The chapel was not the place she would have chosen for a confidential meeting. Its serene charm was a sad reminder that Allison was to have been married here yesterday. But Lane tried not to mind that as she faced Jack in the dim interior.
“You’re not going to like me for this,” he said.
“Just tell me.”
“Allison isn’t dead. As far as I could tell, and I checked her pretty carefully, the bullet never touched her.”
Lane was too appalled to do anything more than gape at him.
“She’s unconscious from the fall,” he went on quickly, “but seems to be breathing normally enough, and her pulse isn’t bad.”
Lane, overcoming incredulity, was suddenly furious. Her hand shot out before she could stop to think twice, punching him in the arm. At the same time she found her voice. “How could you do this? It’s unforgivable! And you didn’t trust me again!”
“Don’t hit, Lane. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it isn’t nice? And I’m trusting you now.”
“Then stop grinning at me. None of this is funny.”
“I thought you’d be relieved to know Allison is alive.”
“Of course I’m happy. And so will the others be when they hear.”
She started to reach for the door, but he caught her hand.
“Where are you going?”
“To tell them, of course.”
He shook his head. “Bad idea. I lied about Allison for a reason, Lane.”
“Which is?”
“Simple. If the killer is convinced she’s dead, he’s not going to strike at her again. Let him believe he’s succeeded in putting one more victim out of the way.”
“Are you saying the killer was one of them waiting with me at the top of the bluff while you climbed down to Allison?”
“No, I’m saying it could be. You never saw who was shooting at her, and we all arrived at the spot at slightly different times, didn’t we? All right, maybe that doesn’t make any of them the strongest candidate for our stalker, but I don’t think it’s smart to take chances on it.”
“But it’s cruel to let them go on believing Allison is dead.”
“No, it’s necessary. Lane, I don’t trust them. They’re panicking, and that m
akes them unreliable. Let them barricade themselves in the house and stay there. Right now it’s their best means of surviving. Meanwhile, we try to keep Allison safe.”
He was right. Allison had to be their chief concern at this moment. “Jack, she can’t stay on that ledge! It’s freezing out there!”
“She won’t lose body heat that fast. Not with the blankets I tucked around her.”
“But if she should regain consciousness, and no one’s there...”
“Right. We have to get her off the ledge and under cover.”
“How?”
“Thought about that all the way back here. How does this sound? There’s a storage shed behind the guesthouse. I checked it out yesterday when we were out searching. I remember seeing rope in there, a lot of rope, and a toboggan.”
She understood what he was planning. “Use the toboggan as a stretcher, you mean.”
“That’s it. If she’s injured, she needs to be kept flat.”
“And we use the rope to pull the toboggan up to the top.”
He shook his head. “The other direction.”
“Lowering the toboggan down to the beach?”
“The only way to work it. We could never draw a load like that to the top. Too many snags on the way up. There’s one problem, though.”
“Which is?”
“We’ll have to separate. I already know I can reach the ledge from the top. But from what I could see while I was down there, it’s not very likely I’d manage to climb up from the beach. I’ll take the rope with me, but that leaves you to drag the toboggan around by the shore.”
“I see. I’ll need to be there to attach it to the rope you let down. It would be much too tricky, maybe even impossible with all those snags, to lower the toboggan from the top, wouldn’t it? Besides, someone has to be down on the beach ready to catch the load when you ease it down.”
“I’m sorry, Lane. I’d do it by myself if I could.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let you.”
“I’ll see you as far as the shore with the toboggan, but then it means you’re on your own until we meet up again by the ledge.”
