“I’ll give you a hand,” Hannah said.
“Now can I go get some firewood?” Jase asked somewhat woefully.
“I’m afraid not, Jase. The woodshed is a crime scene, off limits.” As the young caretaker’s face fell, Des added, “But I do have a job for you. The parking lot needs to be plowed. Could you do that for me?”
“You bet.” Jase brightened considerably. “Be happy to.”
“You’ll be needing the keys to your truck.” She reached into her pocket for his key ring.
“Naw, I left ’em in the ignition. Always do.”
Typical Dorset behavior. Des had never lived in a place where so many drivers left their keys in their cars. In fact, she hadn’t known such places still existed. “Mitch can give you a hand,” she said, glancing at her doughboy. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Totally,” Mitch assured her. “Let’s get cracking, amigo.”
They all started out of Spence’s room now.
Until, that is, Des put her hand on Spence’s arm to stop him. “We need to talk,” she told the studio executive.
“Whatever you want,” he said readily.
Spence had kept a small fire going in his room. He poked at it and fed it with the last log from his woodpile, then sat in the armchair before it, looking very at ease and preppy in his burgundy crewneck sweater and flannel slacks. He was a handsome, well-put-together man. But he was also the type of man whom Des had never been attracted to. Too much smooth, corporate charm. Too few endearing personal quirks-they’d been bred out of him. Des preferred men who came fully equipped with all of their rough edges and flaws and surprises. Men like Mitch who were, for better or worse, real.
“What’s that you’re working on?” she asked, noticing the Astrid’s stationery and ballpoint pen parked on the end table at Spence’s elbow.
“A good old-fashioned love letter,” he replied.
Des turned the desk chair around and sat, gazing at him. Spence gazed right back at her, unperturbed. He gave every indication of being agreeable, sincere and innocent. If this man was a cold-blooded killer, then he was in the wrong end of the film business-he belonged in front of the cameras.
“I understand from Mitch that you’ve stayed at Astrid’s before.”
“Many times, yes. Ever since I was a little boy. We held our Sibley family reunions here.”
“Did you know anything about those trapdoors?”
Spence let out a laugh. “Hell, yes. Every red-blooded kid who’s ever stayed here knows about them. My cousins and I used to sneak from room to room in the middle of the night. We’d tell ghost stories, smoke cigarettes, major mischief like that. It was great fun.”
“What happened to Les wasn’t great fun,” Des pointed out, knowing that it would be a long time before she forgot the sight of the innkeeper on the woodshed floor with that hatchet stuck in his head. She’d taken photographs, her third set of the day. It would take her months to draw her way out of this particular winter storm. “Someone used their trapdoor to sneak out and kill him.”
“I realize that,” Spence said somberly, lowering his eyes.
“Why didn’t you warn me about them, Spence? Don’t you realize you could have prevented his death?”
“You seemed very sure of what you were doing, so I assumed that you knew. Didn’t think it through, I guess. I should have spoken up. You’re absolutely right.” He glanced up at her uncertainly. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“I have no reason not to,” she replied, wondering if he was lying to her. But say he was. Say he was behind all of this. How on earth had he been thinking he’d get away with it? He wasn’t dumb, and sure didn’t seem crazy.
“Do you have any idea who did it?” he asked her.
“It could have been anyone. Anyone who knew about those trapdoors. I assume Aaron does. Hannah I’m not so sure about. What would you say?”
“About Hannah? I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask her.”
“Then again, it could have been you.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” he assured her wholeheartedly. “I have nothing to do with any of this. I’m as shocked and horrified as can be. Plus I’ve just watched a solid month of hard work go right down the drain. I can’t begin to tell you how many man-hours I’ve spent putting this damned weekend together. The movie-going public thinks these gala events just happen. That the stars rush in to attend every tribute or benefit that comes along. Trust me, they don’t. They have to be begged, every last one of them.”
“There’s something personal I need to ask you about, Spence.”
“Absolutely. Fire away.”
“Carly told me she heard you entertaining someone in here last night.”
Spence reddened, but said nothing.
“The strange part is that she swears she didn’t hear anyone come in or out of this room all night long.”
“What was she doing, spying on me?” Irritation had crept into his voice.
“No, on her beloved Acky. You just got caught in the crossfire.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Carly also mentioned hearing footsteps up on the third floor. I didn’t know about the trapdoors at the time. But now that I do I’m sitting here thinking this must be how your late-night visitor got in and out of here, am I right?”
Spence thumbed the light brown stubble on his square jaw for a long moment before he said, “Look, this is extremely personal…”
“I’m well aware of that. I’m also somewhat surprised by your behavior, Spence. What with you telling Mitch how deeply involved you’ve gotten with a certain unnamed East Coast lady.”
“I am involved.” He glanced at the love letter he’d been writing. “Very involved. It’s complicated.”
“I’m cool with complicated,” she said. “Complicated is fine by me. Just as long as it’s the complicated truth. Give it up, Spence. Is she anyone I know?”
Spence got up and held his hands out to the fire for warmth. Then he turned to face her, sighing. “Look, she’s Natalie Ochoa, okay?”
Des stared at him blankly. “Okay…”
Spence seemed stunned by her response. “You don’t live in the New York media market. Her name doesn’t actually mean anything to you, does it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Des said. Outside, she could hear the harsh scraping of Jase’s plow as it cleared the parking lot, his truck’s engine roaring. “Give me a boost, will you?”
“Natalie anchors the five-o’clock news on Channel Four. She’s rated number one in her time slot. She’s so popular that the network is grooming her to take over their morning show. Natalie’s the complete package, Des,” he exclaimed, a warm glow coming over his face, “she’s beautiful, smart, classy. Not to mention Latina, which hooks her up with the fastest-growing demographic base in the nation. She’s very, very hot in network news circles right now. She’s also very, very married.”
“Hence your reticence regarding her name?”
Spence nodded. “We’ve been seeing each other for six months or so. We have to be real careful or it’ll end up in the gossip columns, which could really hurt her image. She and her husband are definitely planning to separate. It’s over between them. But for now, it’s just a real mess. And it’s weighing heavily on my mind, what with my own career thing getting thrown into the mix. That’s what I was just writing her about. I’m supposed to relocate to the West Coast next month. Natalie’s future is here in New York. She has zero interest in moving back to L. A, where she started out. I don’t know what we’ll do. I just know… it can be a real mess sometimes. This whole love thing.”
“I’m with you there. Although I’d drop the word sometimes.”
Spence sat back down in the armchair, studying Des in guarded silence. “You don’t actually think I have anything to do with these deaths, do you?”
Des tried a new approach on for size. “Are you kidding me, man? You’re my prime suspect.”
Spence’s eyes widened in dismay. “I’m what?”
“Real deal, Spence,” she assured him, nodding her head slowly up and down. “I’ve been waiting and waiting
