White Wedding

by Jean Barrett

“Yeah, strong candidates. The missing Nils, too, except I don’t see a motive there.”

  “Oh, but there could be one.” She quickly shared with him what she had learned in the kitchen yesterday morning about Nils having been recently treated for a severe depression.

  “Did you hear why?”

  She shook her head. “Dorothy cut Chris off before he could say any more. It doesn’t mean Nils is homicidal, of course, but it does put him in the running.”

  “Agreed.” He favored her with another disarming smile. “I’m impressed, Eastman. What other little secrets have you uncovered?”

  “You think I haven’t? How about this, Donovan?” She told him what she had discovered about Stuart.

  “So the kid has been in some kind of trouble over this fondness of his for weapons. Interesting.”

  “Yes, but I think there’s more to that we haven’t learned.” She didn’t tell him what else she strongly suspected about Stuart. It didn’t really apply. “Anyway, I can’t convince myself he could be responsible for what’s been happening here.”

  “We can’t afford to eliminate any of them, Lane. Including Dorothy. She’s a large woman, and there’s strength there.”

  “Or Ronnie. She’s a ruthless predator, at least where you’re concerned.”

  “And let’s not forget the moody, difficult Hale.”

  After the final possibility, a thoughtful silence fell between them. Lane closed it, observing dismally, “It’s no use, is it, Jack? It could be any of them or none of them.”

  “You’re right, this isn’t getting us anywhere. So let’s forget the why and the who and concentrate on the where.”

  “The place he’s hiding?”

  “That, or if it is someone in the house, where he’s stashing his arsenal. Because if we could locate that someplace—”

  “Someplace.” She cut him off in excitement, suddenly remembering a vital morsel of information. With all that had been happening, she had neglected to share it with him. “Jack, Allison wasn’t out there just wandering. She was on her way to a certain place. I’m convinced of it.”

  Lane went on to describe for him her encounter with her friend in the house and how, afterward, Allison had sped purposefully along the bluff trail, as if she knew exactly where to find Chris.

  Jack turned his head in the direction of the toboggan behind them. “So she could have been on to the identity of our stalker. Doesn’t help us much, though, when she can’t tell us now what she remembered in the night.”

  “No, but if this hiding place does exist, there is someone who might know how to find it.”

  “Who?”

  “You. You’re holding out on me, Donovan. Down on the beach,” she reminded him. “Remember, you made that baffling little reference about not having searched everywhere on the island. So what was that all about?”

  “Patience, Eastman. I was getting around to it. Anyway, it’s only a possibility, and it doesn’t seem to tie in with Allison being out there on the bluff. Still—” He broke off, frowning over the puzzle.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Huh?”

  “This suspense you’re killing me with. Jack, are you going to tell me?”

  “No.” He surged to his feet and headed across the room. “I’m going to show you. We’ll need the flashlight.”

  “What flashlight?”

  “The one Dorothy gave me last night when we went out looking for Chris. Here it is.” He removed a powerful flashlight from the bedside drawer and tested it. “Fresh batteries, too.”

  “Jack—”

  “Why are you just sitting there? Get your coat on.”

  “What about Allison?”

  “We won’t be gone that long. She’s safe here if we lock the door behind us. Let’s hope none of them are in the kitchen. Better if we can sneak through without any questions.”

  “Where—”

  “Come on,” he urged her impatiently.

  I give up, she thought, reaching for her coat. When he was like this, on the trail of a new discovery—whether it was a fossil or, in this case, a killer—nothing would satisfy him but action.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Should be a switch here somewhere,” Jack mumbled, groping along the wall at the bottom of the stairway.

  “I’ve discovered,” Lane whispered beside him, “that none of the light switches in this house are where you expect them to be.”

  “Never mind. The flashlight is enough.”

  She didn’t agree, but she made no objections as she crept close behind him across the rough stone floor. She liked the shadowy confines of the cellar no better now than she had on Friday night when Allison had led them into the caves. There was the same dank chill in the air, the same strong odors of dust and mildew.

  From overhead came the muffled sounds of music. Stuart must still be in the lounge playing records on the old phonograph. She wondered if Hale remained in the library, feeling sorry for himself as he drank himself into a mindless haze. She had no idea where Ronnie and Dor- othy were at this moment, but they had met no one in the kitchen on their way to the cellar.

  Jack had yet to explain why they were down here, but there was one thing to be said for this mysterious investigation. He wasn’t leaving her out of it. He hadn’t insisted she stay behind in the guesthouse, protected but useless. It was an encouraging sign in their relationship.

  “This way,” he said, guiding her toward the sturdy plywood barrier that sealed off the entrance to the first of the two caverns.

  “The caves? But the door is supposed to be locked now, isn’t it?”

  “Locks can be opened, Lane. Let’s see if this one was.”

  As they approached the plywood wall, he directed the flashlight on the hasp and padlock that secured the door. Stooping, he closely examined the lock.

  “No,” he said, “it hasn’t been touched.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because I placed a hair over the key insert, and it hasn’t been disturbed. A little trick I learned on one of the digs when we were trying to catch a thief who was robbing our storeroom.”

  “Aha, that’s what you were doing sneaking around down here last night. You might have told me.”

  “We got involved in another direction, remember?” He grinned up at her wickedly from his crouched position. “Speaking of which, you never did match my confession.”

  “Which one would that be?”

  “The one in the cupboard bed where I admitted I’d missed you and was lonely without you. I’m still waiting to hear the like from you.”

  Only Jack Donovan would remind her of something like that in an inappropriate moment like this one.

  “Uh, isn’t there something a little more crucial here we’re supposed to be dealing with?”

  “Right. You can get back to me later.” He got to his feet. “Because I guess we should be concentrating now on how the killer is getting in and out of the caves.”

  “Wait a minute. How do you know he’s using the caves?”

  “I don’t for sure. It’s still a theory.”

  “Based on what?”

  “A memory of Friday night when Allison took all of us in there. The air was fresh in both chambers when it should have been stale if this closed door is the only entrance. A circulation of air indicates the possibility—no, make that probability—that there’s another opening.”

  “Then I guess we’d better get in there and find out.”

  Jack fingered the lock. “I suppose I could break it, but the noise would alert them upstairs. Wonder where Chris put the key after he locked up here Friday night?”

  “Probably on the ring along with all the other keys in the kitchen.”

  “You know where they are?”

  “Well, I knew where they were last night. I ran across them in a drawer when I was fixing supper. Let’s see if they’re still there and if one of them is what we want.”

  She was on her way to the stairs when he sto
pped her. “Do you think you could lay your hands on a bag of flour while you’re up there?”

  “Are you planning on baking a cake?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Jack, why do you always have to make a mystery out of everything?”

  He grinned that roguish Irish grin of his again. “Keeps you interested, doesn’t it?”

  She decided to ignore that and concentrate on getting into the kitchen again without being discovered by one of the others. She managed this successfully and was back in a moment bearing the ring of keys and a ten-pound bag of flour.

  Jack took the keys from her and sorted through them. “Looks like this small one here is the one we need.”

  It was, and within seconds the door was open to the yawning blackness of the cavern. Lane, peering into that dark cavity, made an effort to mask her sudden uneasiness. But Jack sensed her apprehension.

  “Lane, you don’t have to go in there with me. You can wait out here or go back to the guesthouse.”

  “You’re not going in there alone,” she insisted. “Anyway, I grabbed up some protection from the kitchen.” She produced a chef’s knife from the depths of her coat pocket.

  Jack smiled over her choice of weapon.

  “All right, so it isn’t much of a defense against a rifle or a compound bow, but having it makes me feel better.”

  “Just don’t get reckless with it. I’m not planning on any careless encounter with a killer. I mainly want to know if he’s keeping guns in there and whether I can lay my hands on one of them. But if he is around, there should be signs of his presence, probably a light. Then we back off fast. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Lane returned the knife to her pocket and squeezed close behind him through the opening. Once inside the first chamber, he played the flashlight over its limestone walls. The place was silent and empty.

  They moved on into the second chamber, occupied by the ancient graves. This time, when Jack panned the light in the direction of Teddy Brewster’s body, Lane looked away, unable to bear the sight.

  “Anything?” she whispered.

  “No, it’s all the same. Nothing has been disturbed in here.”

  “What now?”

  “We look for another cave or passage. Even if it doesn’t open to the outside, there must be one. I think it was Dan who suggested that night that there could be a regular network of chambers, though nothing had been explored. I figure he wouldn’t have said that unless somebody at some time noticed—ah, pay dirt.”

  Jack had been searching while he talked, swinging the beam of the flashlight into every corner of the chamber. It was behind a thick column of limestone, formed by the action of water ages ago, that he found a crevasse in the wall. Lane joined him behind the pillar and looked into the narrow gap where he focused the light.

  “Wide enough to squeeze through,” he said. “And you can see where it opens up after that into a passage.”

  “Wait a minute. Maybe we shouldn’t go in there. Caves are dangerous places to explore. People get lost in them because—” She stopped to shift the heavy bag of flour into a more comfortable position in her arms. It was then that she understood just why she was carrying it. “Oh, clever. We’re going to mark the trail so we can find our way back.”

  “Should work. The floors in here seem dry enough not to melt the flour.”

  “Let’s get in there and try it, then.”

  Lane knew she sounded a lot braver than she felt as she followed Jack through the fissure and along the twisting corridor behind it. She didn’t consider herself claustrophobic, but caves were not her favorite places. Especially when they were lit by nothing but a flashlight that made the bizarre dripstones shadowy and eerie. She stayed close to Jack.

  “Afraid of running into our stalker?” he whispered.

  “Actually,” she whispered back, shivering in the raw air, “at this moment I was thinking more along the line of bats.”

  “Not to worry. If there are any, they’d be hibernating at this time of year.” He chuckled softly. “Anyway, the only way they’d harm you is if you stepped into their deposits. I understand they can leave quite a layer.”

  “Thanks. And may I suggest you return the flour? You’re spilling more on yourself than you are on the floor. You’ll look like a ghost before we’re out of here.”

  He had taken the bag from her just after they’d passed through the crevice and was using it to trickle a little patch of flour every few yards or so along their route. Lane gave the flashlight back to him, trading it for the flour. She used the powder sparingly as they proceeded, marking only the questionable turns to prevent them from exhausting the supply before they were ready to turn back.

  Their progress was a slow, cautious one as they passed from one chamber to the next. The series of caverns was not the hopeless labyrinth they had feared. Each was connected to the other in a straightforward fashion by fairly direct passageways. Only rarely did a blind alley force them to retrace their steps. In places the ceilings sloped, requiring them to duck their heads or sometimes to bend over almost double before they could straighten again. But they never had to squirm through any tunnel on their hands and knees, and there were no frightening holes to slide into and trap them. The floor remained passably level.

  Lane wasn’t sure how far sound would carry in a place like this, but she and Jack talked only when it seemed necessary. Even then they spoke in careful whispers.

  “How far do you think we’ve come?” she finally risked asking him.

  “Probably not as far as it seems. But do you notice? The whole network is stretched out inside the bluff in the same direction Allison was traveling along the trail outside.”

  Lane didn’t know how he could tell. She had lost her sense of direction long ago. “But if there is another opening under here, and she was headed for it, why didn’t she mention it Friday night, or even yesterday?”

  “Don’t know. Whatever this place is she remembered, maybe she didn’t connect it at all with the caves here.”

  Lane could well believe that. There was no evidence anywhere that she and Jack weren’t the first beings to penetrate the awesome maze of silent caverns. There was certainly no sign of the killer. Not yet, anyway, she reminded herself tensely.

  The whole thing was growing creepier by the minute. She was about to suggest they consider turning back before the flashlight or the flour gave out when Jack, a few paces ahead of her, halted her with an upraised hand.

  “What is it?” she hissed.

  “Steps down to the next chamber. Well, not exactly steps, because they look natural. Layers, anyway, to another level. Better let me go first, and I’ll shine the light back for you.” He started down as he spoke. “They could be tricky, because there’s water here dripping from the ceiling, which is the first sign of moisture we’ve seen, and—”

  His own caution backfired as his foot struck a slick spot on the smooth rock and shot out from under him. Unable to recover his balance, he plunged headlong into the unknown void below. Lane heard his startled oath, then the thud of his body hitting stone. The flashlight must have flown out of his hand with the impact, because in the next instant there came the clatter of it striking the floor. Lane found herself immediately swallowed by an appalling blackness.

  For a few seconds she was too paralyzed to react. Then she realized that even worse than the complete darkness was the ghastly silence. There was no sound from Jack below, not so much as a groan.

  “Jack!” she called to him, not caring now what she risked with her frantic shout.

  Her only answer was the echo of her own cry in the hollow stillness.

  He could be hurt down there, seriously hurt. He needed her. Blackness or not, she had to go to him. She was still clutching the flour bag in one hand as she slowly, blindly groped her way along at the side of the steps, using the wall for support. Determined not to repeat Jack’s mistake, she carefully tested each step, exploring it with her toe before she p
ermitted herself to descend to the next level.

  There was no way she could anticipate the stalactite that barred her way. She was able to catch herself before she fell, but it cost her the flour. She could hear the bag exploding at her feet. It was useless to them now. Why hadn’t she thought to place it on the floor before she started down?

  Using both hands now, she went on feeling her way to the chamber below. In the end she did slip on the polished rock, and found herself tumbling into the depths. But she was near the bottom by then, and her fall was cushioned when she landed on Jack’s body. She would have welcomed one of his witty complaints, but he never stirred.

  Recovering herself, she fumbled in the darkness until her hands made contact with his face. She wanted to reassure herself that he was still breathing, that he wasn’t bleeding from a deep wound. But her sightless efforts were useless.

  The flashlight. She had to find the flashlight. And pray that it still worked.

  On hands and knees she began to crawl around the rough floor, covering every inch of the area with a slowly sweeping hand. It had to be here somewhere. Where was it?

  It wasn’t her extended arm that finally located the flashlight. Her knee bumped into it as she was swinging around to try a new direction. She snatched it up, her thumb closing on the switch. A steady, gratifying glow leapt from the instrument.

  Scrambling back to Jack’s side, she rested the flashlight on the floor and began to examine him. She could find no apparent injury and his pulse seemed regular, but he remained unconscious. First Allison, now Jack. Coincidences like this just didn’t happen. Except in moments when you’d give anything for them not to happen. And then circumstances went ahead and thrust them on you anyway. What was she to do?

  She sat back on her heels, panic threatening her as she struggled for a solution. If she went on crouching here, hoping Jack would regain consciousness, she might wait forever. On the other hand, there was no way she could carry him out of here. Not alone.

  There was only one answer. She had to go back to the house, bring help. Dorothy, she decided. Dorothy was a large, solid woman. Together they could somehow manage to carry Jack. She wouldn’t trust any of the others, but she thought she could risk Dorothy. There was no other choice.