White Wedding

by Jean Barrett

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “I still don’t like the thought of you down there.”

  “About as much, I imagine, as me liking the thought of you up here alone. So we’ll both be careful. And, Donovan?”

  “What, Eastman?”

  “I’ll worry about you, but don’t get any wrong ideas. I haven’t forgotten that little scene in the guesthouse this morning. I’m just putting it on hold.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lane stood on the shingle beach, keeping an anxious watch as Jack descended from the high ledge. Using a rapelling technique, he worked his way in careful stages down the double line, alternately sliding and bumping through the sixty-foot distance.

  She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until he finally touched bottom and she found herself breathing deeply in relief. She waited beside the toboggan bearing Allison while he unknotted the rope, which he’d looped around the thick trunk of a dead cedar on the overhanging ledge. A sharp tug on one of the lines freed it from the tree. The rope came slithering to the beach, where Jack rapidly wound it into a skein.

  Coiled rope slung over his shoulder, he joined Lane by the toboggan. “That about does it,” he said, looking satisfied. “I was afraid this last length of line here might bind on the cedar, and I’d have to abandon it. But this way we don’t leave any evidence of what we’ve done.”

  “What about the other blanket?” she reminded him. “There were two of them, and it looks like you’ve wrapped Allison in just the one.”

  “Left it behind on the ledge with a few stones under it. If our killer should check from the cliff path, he’ll assume Allison is still there. I hope.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “How’s our patient?” he wondered, glancing down at the toboggan on which Allison was securely bound.

  Lane shook her head. “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t stirred, and she looks so pale.”

  “Well, she took a pretty nasty dive. I suppose she lost her balance on the path when he fired at her. Anyway, we managed to give her a safe trip down. Now all we can do is get her inside.”

  “And try not to jar her on the way,” Lane added.

  They found it was possible to achieve this by hauling the loaded toboggan behind them on the level ice as they started back to the house. The beach itself would have been an impassable route, littered as it was with tumbled slabs of rock. But they hugged the shore as much as possible. The massive shoulder of the overhanging bluff provided a cover for their activity and helped to shield them from the worst effects of the bellowing wind. The whirlwinds of snow out on the frozen bay were as bad as ever.

  “You didn’t see any sign of our stalker on the way out, I hope?” he asked.

  “No, no movement. I kept under the overhang as much as I could.”

  She had hesitated before answering him, and Jack didn’t miss it. He turned his head, gazing at her sharply. “You did spot something, didn’t you? What is it?”

  Until now she had deliberately avoided mentioning her unhappy discovery, fearing it would only delay Allison’s rescue. But he had to know.

  “It’s just along here. Something that got missed in the search yesterday.” She pointed toward a great cleft in the limestone where a grove of mature cedars occupied the base of the bluff. “I caught the gleam of metal in there when I was passing by.”

  “And I suppose you went and investigated, which you shouldn’t have done.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “I had a quick peek.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Better see for yourself.”

  They had drawn abreast of the extensive cedar thicket. There were no boulders here. The snowy beach was fairly smooth, permitting them an easy access to the grove. Jack dropped the toboggan rope and parted the dark cedar fronds, revealing an opening among the trees. Hidden in this tight space was a blue pickup truck.

  “It’s Nils’s truck, isn’t it?” she said, peering over his shoulder.

  “Looks like it.”

  “It means he never made it to the mainland. Never left the island at all. Either he’s dead out there somewhere like the others, or...” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  Jack said it for her. “Or he’s our killer.”

  “Jack...”

  “Hang on a minute. I want to check something.”

  He pushed through the boughs into the tiny clearing. She waited for him, shivering with a mixture of cold and apprehension. She heard him opening and closing the driver’s door, then the bang of steel as he raised and lowered the truck’s hood. He was back in seconds.

  “No keys,” he reported, “and the distributor cap is gone. The truck isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Are we going to tell the others we found it?”

  He shook his head. “No point in adding to their alarm. Not yet, anyway.”

  They moved on with the toboggan.

  Lane stretched her head back, her gaze raking the bluff top. “Where do you suppose he goes when he’s not stalking one of us? Where can he possibly be hiding? We’ve searched the house, covered everywhere on the island now. So where is he?”

  “Not quite everywhere.”

  She glanced at him, mystified. “What does that mean?”

  “Later,” he insisted. “Right now we’ve got to concentrate on getting Allison under cover.”

  * * *

  THE DOOR WAS LOCKED behind them, the shutters drawn at the windows. They were safe inside the guesthouse. They had been cautious through every stage of the operation. As far as they could tell, their arrival with Allison hadn’t been observed.

  Lane wasn’t comfortable about being back in the guesthouse, but she had agreed with Jack when he’d suggested it. It was the best place to hide Allison.

  He had dragged the toboggan itself straight into the little house. Now they stood on either side of it, gazing at Allison’s still figure.

  “Should we transfer her to the bed?” Lane wondered.

  “Let’s leave her where she is. If she has internal injuries, we could be making them worse by shifting her.”

  “I suppose we can keep her warm enough down there, and that’s the important thing.” Lane knelt on the floor, resting a hand against her friend’s cheek. It was slightly cool to the touch. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. “There hasn’t been a mumble out of her, not so much as a flicker of an eyelid. Do you think she’s gone into some kind of deep shock?”

  “Lane, I don’t know. I’m not that kind of doctor, remember?”

  She felt frustrated by their helplessness. “Well, we have to do something.” She got decisively to her feet. “I’m going back to the lodge. There are scads of books in the library. One of them has to be a family medical guide. Everybody keeps one these days.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t hurt to consult one. What will you tell the others if they ask why you want it?”

  She considered that problem for a moment. “What if I say your leg is hurting, that you think you may have hurt it when you climbed down to the ledge?”

  “That ought to cover it. While you’re gone, I’ll see what I can do about getting this toboggan out of sight and making Allison more comfortable.” He gave her the key to the side door of the lodge. “Just be careful out there.”

  Lane was on her way along the arcade when she remembered that Jack had yet to explain his obscure comment on the beach about there being a place on the island that hadn’t been investigated. Come to think of it, there were a couple of other explanations he owed her. Maddening. Well, once they had Allison settled, she was going to insist that he come clean. And there was still the question of what had happened to Chris.

  There was the unexpected sound of music playing when Lane let herself into the lodge. She found the source of the mystery in the lounge. The restless Stuart had found a new toy. He was seated cross-legged on the floor with a stack of dusty records from the big band era.

  He glanced up
when she arrived, jerking his head in the direction of an ancient windup phonograph that was delivering a scratchy version of “Moonlight Serenade.” “A hoot, isn’t it?”

  She wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance. She knew that inwardly he was as tense and worried as the rest of them. But at least this current occupation was healthier than his fascination with the weapons collection.

  “Where are the others?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “Somewhere upstairs. At least, the women are. Ma roped Dorothy into checking the house again from top to bottom. Hale refused to play hide-and-seek this time. Don’t know where he got to.”

  Lane left him and moved on into the library, closing the door behind her to shut out the sounds of the tinny music. She went straight to the shelves and began scanning the rows of books. To her satisfaction, she almost immediately located a current medical guide. She had the volume in her hands when she was startled by a voice behind her cutting through the stillness.

  “You must have been doing a lot of praying out there.”

  She swung around to discover the speaker. Hale had been there the whole time, sunk in the depths of a wing chair in the shadows. The liquor tray was on the table beside him, and he had a glass in his hand.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The chapel. You and Donovan were gone long enough.”

  “Actually, we went back to the guesthouse. His leg is bothering him. He thinks he may have pulled something when he climbed down to the ledge.” She approached the wing chair, displaying the medical guide.

  Hale’s chuckle was a cynical one. “Suppose he’s anxious to mend himself so he can get back to hunting for the Indian brave. A waste of time. All of it’s a waste of time. The killer is smarter than the rest of us.”

  He was half-drunk. Lane could see that now. Not that there was anything sloppy about his condition. Even liquored on brandy, he maintained an immaculate image, though it was also a weak and pathetic one. She tried to remember he was the father of someone she loved, that he was entitled to her sympathy. But he must have seen the flicker of contempt in her eyes.

  “Why shouldn’t I drink?” he challenged her. “Why shouldn’t I numb myself? I’ve just lost the woman I love, haven’t I?”

  Lane felt sudden pangs of remorse. If Hale genuinely felt that way, then it was wrong for Jack and her to keep Allison’s survival a secret. She considered confiding the truth to him.

  Before she could risk it, he added bitterly, “I’ve also lost the life-style I would have had with her.”

  Allison’s wealth. That was what he was really mourning. He didn’t deserve to know she was still alive. Disgusted, she turned away from him as he was refilling his glass from the brandy decanter. She started out of the room, but he stopped her at the door.

  “Shut that again on your way out,” he instructed her. “Gotta keep temptation behind a closed door.”

  She turned her head, frowning at him in puzzlement.

  He laughed harshly. “Oh, I’m doing more than just guzzling brandy in here. I’m serving a useful purpose.” He jerked his head in the direction of the weapons display on the wall. “Guarding that against my sweet brother. Gotta see that he doesn’t get his hands on any of that stuff again.”

  Lane moved a few steps back toward the wing chair. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know about our Stuie, do you? Has a sick obsession with things that maim and kill. Like the gun he once got hold of. Took it with him to school, and another kid was—”

  “Hale, that’s enough!”

  The sharp warning came from behind Lane. She turned around to find Ronnie in the doorway. Her dark eyes were narrow with anger.

  “At least I know how to keep my mouth shut when I drink, but you never could touch the stuff without broadcasting the family business to anyone willing to hear it.” She shot Lane a malevolent glance. “I want you alert, Hale. Put the glass down.”

  Hale smiled at his mother, lifted the glass in a little salute and downed the contents in one gulp. “There,” he said, placing the empty tumbler on the table beside him. “Don’t let it ever be said that I’m not an obedient son.”

  “Yes, you’re my son, and you’re a fool!”

  Lane had had enough of the scene. Nor did she want to give Ronnie any chance to question her about Jack. She brushed by the woman without a word, firmly closing the library door behind her.

  Jack was waiting for her back in the guesthouse when she arrived with the medical guide.

  “What’s happening with the others?” he wanted to know.

  She told him briefly.

  He swore under his breath. “They’re giving the killer exactly what he needs, losing their heads and turning on each other. That’s probably the one unpleasant little aspect of human nature he’s been counting on. Well, we can’t worry about them now.”

  He was right. Allison was still their main concern.

  “Where did you put her?” Lane asked, shedding her coat.

  “Over here,” he indicated.

  Jack had moved the sofa far enough away from the wall to slide the toboggan behind it. He had also removed the bindings from Allison, added another blanket and made her as comfortable as possible without disturbing her position.

  “It’s the best place I could think of to conceal her,” he said. “It won’t help much if someone gets in here searching for her. We’ll just have to see that doesn’t happen. Let’s have a look at the medical guide.”

  They settled side by side on the sofa, their heads together as they consulted the thick volume. The references to Allison’s type of injury were frustratingly brief and general.

  “Not much help here,” Jack complained.

  “The same advice over and over. When you suspect anything serious, call for professional medical assistance. And we can’t. There is this bit here about checking for enlarged pupils.”

  “Already did that. And her pupils are dilated somewhat.”

  “Along with an abnormally deep sleep that could indicate—” She broke off to stare at him in concern. “Oh, Jack, it could mean she’s sliding into a coma.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions. It also says—” he tapped the place on the page “—that it’s important the patient be given plenty of time to rest. In other words, the opportunity to recover on their own. Which means we’re doing what we can.”

  Lane shut the book on her lap. “So what now?”

  Jack didn’t answer her for a moment. His long legs, crossed at the ankle, were stretched out from the sofa, his chin lowered to his chest. She could hear him whistling softly under his breath, the familiar sign that he was pondering a complex problem, examining all the options.

  Waiting for his reaction, she gazed at him, noticing his black, tousled hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the hard definitions of his body. She thought about how she was ready to put aside their differences in order to work with him to solve their dilemma. She also realized how difficult this was going to be. She was too aware of his physical closeness. Too conscious that, whatever emotions he invoked in her, Jack Donovan was at all times a compelling man.

  Complicating the situation was her breathless memory of the passion they had shared in this room last night. There were also her confused feelings about the two of them. All of this, especially his exciting presence, was something she would need to overcome if she was to help him defeat the menace that had trapped them on the island. Starting now.

  “Hey.” She cut in on his reverie. “Is this a game for one, or do I get to play, too?”

  He lifted his head and considered her. “You’re right. There’s no one we can rely on now but each other, is there?”

  There was an intensity about the slow, probing gaze he directed at her that had Lane already doubting the promise she had just made to herself. But something in the depths of his blue eyes told her that maybe, at last, she was about to be treated as an equal partner. The prospect filled her with a thrilling warmth. Treacherous, t
hough. She would have to do better than this to satisfy that promise.

  “So, what are we mulling over here?” she asked him with a spirited self-control.

  He smiled at her approvingly. “The way out. And our chances for that have just been reduced.”

  Fearful though his assertion was, she appreciated his honesty. “Because of Allison, you mean?”

  “Exactly. We can’t run now, even if the whether did permit it. It would mean abandoning Allison.”

  And that, she realized, was unthinkable.

  “Besides,” he added grimly, “reckless or not, I’m at a point where I want to stay and beat this bastard at his own game.”

  “But just what is his game? Does he have certain victims he’s targeting, or does he intend to pick all of us off one by one? And whichever it is, why?”

  Jack sat up on the sofa and leaned forward, his posture making a forceful statement. “I’ll tell you what I think, and what I’ve thought all along. This isn’t just the random violence of a psychopath. There’s method and purpose behind it. It was all carefully planned from the start, and that includes the loss of the telephone.”

  She stared at him. “You think it isn’t down because of the winds, that it was sabotaged?”

  “I’d wager my best dinosaur bone on it.” His hands gripped his knees in another position of determination. “But the whys and whats aren’t going to help us stay alive. We need to decide just where the danger is coming from, because if we know that...”

  “Then we stand a chance of beating it.” She finished the observation for him. “Jack, do you think the killer could be one of us?”

  “As opposed to a total stranger lurking out there somewhere? Hard to say, since it’s impossible to sort out just where everyone was at the times of the murders. Okay, who have we got?”

  “Chris, for one. Or even his brother, Mike, who could have faked that illness you witnessed and been hiding here the whole time. Remember there was the revealing snapshot we found Chris destroying. Maybe it wasn’t as innocent as he claimed—and Allison did admit that the brothers had become militant.”