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Bernie turned in from the window. His face was ghastly. “I thought you
couldn’t disturb a crime scene.”
The
Mountie cleared his throat; he was obviously uncomfortable. “I mean, we
couldn’t just leave the poor woman lying there...”
There
was a small sound of pain, as if from a wounded animal, and I realized I
was making it. I had never liked Jane Hall, but I couldn’t think of
anyone I disliked enough to wish such a fate.
“Please!” Anita hissed, her grip on my arm tightening. “Elizabeth is a
very sensitive girl!”
“I’m
all right, really I am. What... what killed her? There was so much
blood...”
“A
knife. One of the hotel knives.”
“That
means it had to be one of the staff, doesn’t it?” I asked, grasping at
straws. Anything to distance this horrible crime from people like me. “I
mean, to have had access to the kitchen knives...”
The
sergeant nodded. “A wooden handled steak knife. We’ve got it bagged, but
I doubt there’ll be any prints on it. There must be at least a thousand
like it here in the hotel. There’s even a set-up chest full of them just
outside the Empress dining room.”
Now
Anita was clinging to me as much to be comforted as to comfort. “But we
used some like that just last night!”
I
thought I might be sick. A lot has been written about how most of a
queasy stomach is all in the mind and now I believe it. One moment all I
could think of was getting to a bathroom where I could throw up in peace
and the next I had forgotten all about it.
We
were all startled when the door flew open with a crash. Even the
steadfast Sergeant Hunter jumped
“Elizabeth!”
It
was Jared, a wild-eyed, distraught Jared I had never seen before. In the
comparative warmth of the room the snow was melting off his flapping
parka and dripping like tears onto the carpet.
My
response was instinctual and immediate. Without a word he held out his
arms to me and, all thoughts of my queasy stomach forgotten, I flew into
them, burrowing against him as I had so many other, happier times. My
head still just fit in the hollow of his neck. His arms closed around
me, wrapping me inside the parka with him. The warmth of him seemed to
melt something deep within me and the tears I had held back for so long
began to ooze from under my eyelids.
“Elizabeth!” Anita’s shocked voice was like a cold shower. Next to it
Sergeant Hunter’s growling, “Jerry, what the hell is this?” carried no
weight at all.
We
ignored them. Jared cradled me close and our bodies fit together as if
the bitter years had never been.
“I
heard that one of the Wingate writers had been killed... a woman... I
had to know it wasn’t you,” he crooned, one hand doing a slow circle in
the middle of my back. He hadn’t forgotten how much I loved that. His
lips pressed against my hair. “I had to know you were all right.”
“It
was Jane Hall. I found her. Oh, Jared, she was right next door to me!
While I was sleeping she was dead like that...” I began to shake again
and he held even closer.
“You
couldn’t help that! Just so you’re all right...”
“Jerry!” This time everyone heard the sergeant. “What is going on?”
“I
had to make sure Miss MacAllister was all right.”
“I
was not aware you knew any of the staff here,” Anita said repressively.
“Elizabeth, who is this?”
Jared
and I looked at each other. Even after all this time we could still
sense each other’s thoughts. Somehow he had managed to skin out of his
parka without ever letting go of me. He tossed it into the corner while
the ever-helpful Sergeant Hunter answered Anita’s question.
“He’s
Jerry Grant. He plays piano in the lobby bar.”
I
nodded and Jared gave me a crooked smile. There was nothing to be lost
by telling the truth.
“Not
really. I’ve just been going by the name of Jerry Grant.”
“It’s
not your real name?” Sergeant Hunter’s eyes bulged.
“No.
My real name is Jared Granville.”
“The
concert pianist?” Now it was Anita’s turn to be startled.
“Yes.
And,” I said, burrowing my head into his chest to avoid her penetrating
gaze, “he’s also my ex-husband.”
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