“Why would she kill the cook?” Caro mused aloud, after Dana had been locked in her room. Turner had jammed a chair against the doorknob for good effect, and everyone had breathed easier. Now they were all in the small dining room where breakfast had been served earlier. Lit candles gave an appropriately spooky glow to everyone’s face. “That’s the only one we haven’t found, right? The cook? Anna what’s-her-name?”

“Barkmeier,” Rich confirmed. “She’s been in my employ for about a month. And I don’t know why.”

“You never heard them—Dana and the cook?—arguing about anything?” Corinne pressed. “About money, men, whatever?”

“No. Nothing. I barely saw Dana before she…you know.”

“This might be kind of a dumb question,” Turner said, “and it’s off the subject, but has anyone tried their cell phone?”

“Yes,” Todd and Caro said gloomily. Todd added, “The storm must have taken out the tower, or whatever cell phones have. Nobody can get a signal.”

“And land lines are out, needless to say,” Corinne observed.

“Right.”

“Well, getting back to the subject, as a former cop, I can tell you, people kill other people for the dumbest reasons in the world…or no reason at all. I once arrested a guy who shot his wife because she burned the pork loin. Honest to God.”

“Well, maybe Dana didn’t like Anna’s cooking,” Todd said, trying to smile.

“Maybe Anna had something she wanted. Or did something she didn’t like. Or knew a secret Dana didn’t want to get out. Seriously, you guys, it could be anything.”

“I just wish we could get her body,” Caro said.

Corinne shook her head. “It’s better you leave it where it is. The first commandment of crime is, Thou shalt not fuck up thy crime scene.”

Grant snickered, then sobered when everyone looked at him. “Sorry. That was amusing to me.”

“So…what?” Todd asked. “We’re just going to sit here in the dark and stare at each other? Blurgh.”

A short silence, followed by, “Well, there’s really nothing we can do, right? Dana confessed, and we locked her in. We can’t get the body—and shouldn’t, anyway. We know who’s dead. Everyone else is accounted for. And it’s now…” Corinne grabbed her husband’s wrist and squinted at his watch. “Eleven-thirty-two P.M. And the storm…” Another crash of thunder. “Isn’t letting up anytime soon. And…frankly, you guys…I’m on my honeymoon, here.”

“Darling, you’re insatiable.”

“Shut up, Grant. Anyway. I vote we all go back to our rooms and hit the sheets.”

“That sounds all right,” Lynn said cautiously. “I mean, I was against tromping around in the woods from the start. If there’s really nothing more we can do…”

“I’ll post watch outside Dana’s door,” Rich volunteered.

“I’ll do it,” Turner said, shooting a glance at Caro. “Maybe I could have some company?”

Caro opened her mouth, but Rich interrupted with, “No, no. It’s my mansion, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, but then I’ll relieve you at…what? Three o’clock?”

“That sounds fine, my boy.” Rich rose, adjusted his pleats, and bowed. “Until tomorrow morning, then.”

“Turner, will you walk me to my room?” Jana asked. “It’s so dark…and scary…and you’re so…big…”

“I can’t,” he said. “I promised Caro I’d…look at her JAMA collection.”

“What?” Caro asked.

“JAMA?”

“Journal of the American Medical Association,” Caro said automatically. Then, “Oh. Oh! Right. I’ve been dying to show you my, uh, collection.”

Later, as they scampered down the hall like kids freed early for recess, Caro asked, “How in the world do you know about JAMA?”

“My sister’s a doc,” he replied easily. “Thanks for going along with it. Badly, I might add.”

“Well, give a girl some warning next time!”

“How about this?” he asked, and pulled her into his arms and, right below the painting of the elderly woman with the flashing eyes and wispy moustache, kissed her.