“I think the person was wearing that,” I said. “I felt something slick like it against my skin. Oh, and look there.”
I pointed to a rusty branding iron, one of the old farm tools I’d seen displayed on the walls. It was lying a few feet away from the poncho.
“That must be what the person used to scratch on the doors,” I said.
“What a fucking mess,” Scott said. “Who in God’s name would do something like that?”
“Good question.”
“What about you?” Scott said. “Should we try to get you to a hospital?”
Wow, wouldn’t it be sweet to see this place in the rearview mirror, but I didn’t feel in dire need of medical attention—and I couldn’t abandon Jessie.
“My wrist seems to be the only thing really hurting, but I think it’s just a bruise. Why don’t I just put ice on it for a while and see how it feels.”
He scooted upstairs to the fridge, returning in a minute with ice wrapped in a dishrag, two ibuprofen, and a glass of water. He’d also managed to locate another flashlight. I winced as I touched the pack gingerly to my wrist.
“Let’s get you back to your room,” Scott said. “Plus I want to check it out over there.”
He walked me back to the small barn, and we surveyed the damage to each door.
“I need to let the police know about this,” he whispered. “But it’s probably best to wait till morning. Otherwise we’ll freak everyone out. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll have Ralph sit on the ground floor of the barn and keep an eye out.”
I asked him to leave me at Jessie’s door, and as soon as she’d opened it, he took off. Jessie went bug-eyed at the sight of the ice pack. As I filled her in on what had happened, she began to tear up.
“What if something worse had happened to you?” she said, wiping at her eyes. “We’ve got to get out here.”
“The road should be clear tomorrow morning. We just have to tough it out for a few more hours. Try to get some sleep, okay?”
The second she closed her door, I heard her drag the table back against the door. I stood for a few seconds in the hall, examining the scratch marks on her door with the flashlight, trying to determine if there might be message a there—a word or a symbol. But there wasn’t. And none on my door either. They were just random scratch marks.
Back in my room I barricaded my own door and then, shivering, climbed into bed. As I lay there, taking a few long, deep breaths to try to relax, I heard male voices rising from the first floor. Scott had obviously brought Ralph, as promised.
Once the voices subsided, I replayed in my mind those few seconds at the top of the stairs. Come on, I urged myself. There had to be some kind of clue that would point to the night raider’s identity. But the only thing I had to go on was that awful stench of sweat. It suggested a man, and yet a woman could sweat heavily too if she was racing around playing a nasty trick and then was forced to hide, fearful of being caught.
Scott had asked who in God’s name would do something like that, and I honestly had no clue. It might be some kind of warning. One thing suddenly occurred to me. If Cap or Whitney or Tory or Tommy were the culprit, his or her partner had probably become aware of the sudden absence of the person sharing the bed.
Finally, at around four, I drifted off into a fractured sleep, fraught with vague, scary dreams.
When I opened my door the next morning at seven, bundled up in two sweaters, Scott was standing right there, his hand raised to knock.
“I’m getting everyone up,” he announced. “The police are due shortly, and the morgue van won’t be much later, since the road will be cleared within the next hour.”
The power was still out, which meant no hot water. So I skipped a shower and just splashed cold water on my face and torso. There was enough light from the bathroom window for me to study my bruises. I had black and blue marks on my ass and legs and a small bump on my forehead. My wrist was sore, but it was clear nothing was broken. I popped two ibuprofen, dressed quickly, and picked up Jessie before heading to the big barn.
There were already a few people waiting when we arrived, including Sandy, who had set out bagels and muffins on the counter. The two stoves were working their butts off, but there was a chill to the room. As each new person came up the stairs, they demanded to know what was going on. All Scott would say was, “Grab a mug of tea. There’s been a new development, but let’s wait until everyone arrives.” Once we were all seated, he broke the news—the vandalism of the doors, me being pushed down the stairs, and the fact that the cops would be back this morning. Every person sitting there glanced quickly around at the others, looking shocked. Clearly one person was faking it.
“I saw the marks when we were leaving the room just now,” Cap said. “Are you saying one of the guests made them?”
“Yes,” Scott said soberly. “I hardly think Sandy or Ralph came over here during the night and played a prank on us all.”
“Now that you mention it, I thought I heard someone at my door last night,” Tommy said, “but to be perfectly honest, I thought it was Bailey dropping by for a late-night interview. I was just too spent to answer.”
Oh, yeah, just me and a can of Reddiwip.
“Well, I don’t care if I have to hike out by foot and pick Devon’s car up next spring, I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Jane declared.
“Aren’t there rescue workers who can help us?” Tory wailed. “We’re trapped—like people in that Hurricane Katrina.”
Tommy started to say something, and Scott raised his hand to quiet everyone. He explained that the road would be plowed by the time we were done speaking to the cops again, and then everyone would be free to leave.
“Shouldn’t we be asking how poor Bailey is?” Richard said, though his tone didn’t suggest much sympathy.
“Much better, thank you,” I said.
The police arrived twenty minutes later, and my conversation with Detective Collinson went far less smoothly than the earlier ones. As I described my tumble down the stairs, an irritated look formed on his ghost-white face, as if I’d just announced I’d accidentally rear-ended one of the town’s police cruisers.
“You’ve no idea who it might have been?” he asked impatiently.
“None,” I told him. “Except of course that it had to be one of the houseguests. I doubt a stranger broke in and decided to go on a branding rampage.”
He sighed. “And you thought it was a good idea to just follow this person in the dead of night?”
“I wasn’t really in pursuit. In fact, I thought the person had probably gone back to his or her room. I was going to wake Scott, and when he didn’t answer, I went upstairs to find another flashlight.”
“Where do you think he was?”
“Probably crouched behind one of the couches in the great room.”
“No, I mean Mr. Cohen.”
Interesting question.
“He said he was in his bedroom but didn’t wake up right away.”
Collinson told me to call him if I learned anything new, and in turn I promised to be in contact with him as I followed the story. He seemed positively thrilled.
When I returned to the great room, people were buzzing about the fact that the road was finally navigable. As soon as Jessie’s interview with Collinson was over, we walked back to our rooms, packed up quickly, and prepared to leave.
“Can you take our bags out to the car?” I asked her. “There’s one last thing I need to do.”
Following Devon’s death, I’d managed to talk to everyone but Sandy and Ralph. Now, with people in exit mode, it might be a chance to catch at least one of them alone.
I found Sandy wiping down the top of the island. Dressed in a camel turtleneck sweater and puffy sleeveless brown vest, she looked ragged, as if she’d gotten little sleep herself. Her short blondish gray hair was pressed flat against her scalp. Like me, she’d obviously decided to skip the cold shower.