Кей Хупер - Chill Of Fear

"And you still believe all this is connected?"

Quentin nodded without hesitation.

Grimly, Nate said, "Well, whether it is or isn't, this is one murder that is damned well not going to go unsolved." He checked his watch. "Shit. After midnight. Once Sally and Ryan finished processing the scene, I okayed the removal of the body; it'll be in the hospital morgue by now. Doc said he'd do a preliminary check, but I want the post done by the state crime lab."

"And I bet they're backed up," Quentin said.

"It won't be fast," Nate conceded. "But it'll be thorough. And that's what I want. In the meantime, we have whatever forensic evidence my CSI team found, and God knows we've got plenty of questions."

"Yeah," Quentin said. "We've got plenty of those."

"Captain, you do realize I have to be up in a few hours?" The housekeeper's voice was frosty.

Nate wasn't intimidated. "One of your maids was brutally murdered not twelve hours ago, Mrs. Kincaid; I would think you'd want to help in any way possible to find out who killed her."

As unaffected by his tone as he was by hers, she snapped, "In the morning would be soon enough for your questions; no one here is going to be running away."

"Still, I'm sure you won't mind answering a few questions tonight." Nate deliberately placed his notebook on the spotless butcher-block work island in the huge kitchen, turning the pages until he found the notes he'd made earlier.

Mrs. Kincaid crossed her arms over her ample bosom and waited, standing on the other side of the island. She hadn't suggested they adjourn to another room nor try to make themselves more comfortable in this one.

"Well?"

Nate didn't allow himself to be rushed, and refused to admit even to himself that he found the big, empty kitchen very cold and more than a little spooky somehow, especially so late at night. He checked his notes, then said to her, "You informed Ms. Boyd that you believed Ellie Weeks was up to something, did you not?"

"I did."

"What was it you suspected?"

"I'm not a mind reader, Captain. But I've worked with young girls long enough to know when one of them is up to no good, and Ellie was."

"So you were watching her?"

"I was keeping a close eye on her, of course."

"Was there anything in particular she did to alert you that something was going on with her?"

"I saw her hanging around Ms. Boyd's office. Her duties took her nowhere near that area."

"She could have just been passing through on her way to another part of the hotel."

"That's what she said."

"You didn't believe her?"

"I know when I'm being lied to."

Nate wondered, but didn't question her on that point. "What else?"

"She kept slipping out to the smoking porch every chance she got, for one thing."

"That was suspicious?"

"She didn't smoke."

"So what do you think she was doing out there?"

"Probably using her cell phone. The maids aren't allowed to carry the things while on duty, but some of them sneak and do it anyway. To call their boyfriends."

"That seems innocent enough," Nate observed, making a note to look for that cell phone.

"Ellie didn't have a boyfriend." Mrs. Kincaid smiled thinly. "Here, anyway."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she might have been stupid enough to get involved with one of our guests. That was, of course, forbidden. She would have been dismissed the instant I had proof."

"That's what you were watching for? Proof?"

"She would have betrayed herself sooner or later. They all do."

Nate frowned. "You've had that problem before? Maids getting involved with guests?"

"Well, men will be men, won't they, Captain?"

Thinking about the old double standard, Nate said, "Then why blame the maids?"

"Because they aren't being paid to provide... entertainment... for guests. The Lodge is not that sort of place." Mrs. Kincaid drew herself up even more stiffly. "I've told you when I last saw Ellie and what I said to her when I did. If you have further questions, Captain, I'm sure you can ask them in the morning. I'm going to bed."

Nate didn't try to stop her. He gazed after her for a moment, then looked around the spotless, curiously sterile kitchen, and felt a shiver for no reason he could explain.

Though he couldn't help wondering if the ghost of a murdered maid was trying to get his attention.

"Bullshit," he murmured, but without much force. Without much force at all.

"She wasn't very big, was she?"

Quentin turned a bit on the sofa to better look at Diana where she sat at the other end. She was leaning forward, elbows on her knees as she gazed into the cold fireplace nearby.

The lounge was empty except for the two of them, and though it was nearly one in the morning, neither of them had suggested they call it a night.

"Ellie, you mean?"

Diana nodded, still without looking at him. "She wasn't very big at all. And couldn't have been more than...what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"

"About that."

"We didn't talk about her much. I mean, she was lying there, dead. Murdered. Just a few yards away. And we hardly talked about her."

"We were all thinking about her. You know that."

"I guess."

Quentin drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Without a certain amount of detachment, cops couldn't do their jobs. Not for long, anyway."

"But what was my excuse?"

"It isn't an excuse, Diana, it's just the way things are. Death is always around us. We all learn to deal with it the best way we can, sometimes just moment to moment. But you of all people know it's not an ending. Or at least not an absolute ending."

She turned her head then and looked at him, frowning. "I hadn't thought... but that should make me feel differently about death, shouldn't it? That I know there's some kind of existence beyond it. That I know we don't just...stop."

"Maybe you will feel differently about it one day."

"But not today?"

Quentin hesitated. "A lot's happened in a very short time. You probably haven't even begun to process it all."

"Have you?"

He found the question surprising at first, but then not so much. "You're wondering why I haven't asked you any details about Missy."

"You've spent so many years thinking about her. Working to solve her murder. Going over the facts again and again. It's been an obsession."

"Yes. It has."

"So, yeah, I guess I'm surprised you haven't asked me more about her."

"What could I ask? If she looks the same? I know she does. If she's happy? I know she isn't. If she'll help me solve her murder? I know she won't."

"She said... it wouldn't help me to know who killed her. That it wouldn't help you. I don't know what she meant by that. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

Diana shook her head. "It isn't all right. Because now you're here. And Missy's here. Not so far away, in one sense, not with me here too. Almost close enough to touch. I touched her. I touched her hand, and it was... surprisingly warm. And then I opened my eyes, and it was your hand I was touching."

Quentin didn't say anything, just looked at her.

"We're connected, aren't we, the three of us? I'm connected to Missy by blood, and you're connected to us by what happened twenty-five years ago."

"It's a little more complicated than that," he said finally.

"Is it? Why is it?"

"Because we're alive, and Missy's dead."

Diana turned that over in her mind. "I don't understand."

"I know you don't. It's another thing you haven't really had the time — or the emotional energy — to process."

Her frown returned. "Is there something between us? You and me?"

"What do you think? No — what do you feel?"

A little laugh escaped her. "I feel... raw. Overloaded. Numb one minute and incredibly aware of everything around me the next. I feel afraid a lot. And anxious. Confused. But not in the gray time. Isn't that strange? In the gray time, I feel calm and sure of myself. It's like pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans I've worn so long they're almost a part of me."