Alice Sharpe - Westin's Wyoming

Well, hopefully the storm would run its course by morning so these folks could depart on time. Any which way, if the one feeble clue Analise had provided pointed where Pierce thought it pointed, it was beyond reach for the time being which was fine by him.

He turned as he heard a noise at the door leading to the dining room, expecting to see someone push their way into the kitchen. Analise’s gaze followed his. When no one appeared, he got off his stool and approached the door, but a sudden cry from Analise caused him to turn before he’d made it that far.

She pointed at the television with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, her beautiful eyes wide with alarm. He looked at the TV.

What appeared to be a stock photo of Analise on a ski slope filled the small flat screen. It was immediately replaced by a new photo, one of a man with a flaming red handlebar mustache. Pierce quickly adjusted the volume.

“—the driver for the daughter of King Thomas of Chatioux during her Seattle stay. Falstead’s body was found stuffed into the trunk of his limousine which was pulled out of Puget Sound early this morning as commuters looked on. Police are not disclosing the cause of death at this time but sources say it appears Falstead’s been dead since he was reported missing three days ago. Police plan to question Princess Analise in the days to come.”

The news moved on to the next story and Pierce turned to look at Analise. She was still standing, fingertips braced on the cutting block as though they supported her entire weight.

“Your driver?”

“I didn’t know his name,” she said, eyelashes fluttering against pale cheeks, voice raised to be heard over the volume of the television. “I thought he didn’t come that morning because he was lazy.”

“Did you call the agency he worked for?”

“Personally? No, of course not. Someone must have, though.”

Pierce took a step around the island. “Princess—”

“Who would do such a thing? Why?”

He shook his head. “You’d better call the Seattle Police Department.”

“My mobile phone doesn’t work here.”

“There’s one on the wall over there but the unit in the office would be more private.”

“I don’t know anything about Mr. Falstead,” she added, but there was a resigned quality to her voice.

“Still,” he said gently.

“It’s my duty to check in with them. That’s what you’re saying. And you’re right, of course. I should do it soon before they contact my father. Anyway, maybe his murder has nothing to do with…me.”

He gently caught her wrist as she turned away and she looked back at him, her gaze darting to his hand. Releasing her, he added, “I think you’d be better off facing the facts.”

“What facts?”

“Someone threatened you, someone killed your driver and someone injured your bodyguard. The people with the best access to you in Seattle are here right now in this house. They traveled with you.”

“No,” she said, but her eyes revealed she’d already grasped the truth of this statement.

At that instant, the television went dead, plunging them into tomblike silence.

They house had just lost electricity.

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