Chapter Two

I exited the bathroom to the relentless rhythm of rain pelting the balcony outside my window. Despite the gray clouds and downpour, I saw the tall evergreens and rolling hills surrounding the building. The lodge appeared to be the sole structure in the area, the perfect choice for a secluded weekend escape.

At least the thunder and lightning had let up overnight, I mused while drying my hair with a towel. If I was lucky, I'd get to take in the beautiful view in the sunshine before leaving. The dreary weather did little to dampen my spirits, and I looked forward to getting back to the mystery with the other guests.

Specifically Colonel Mandrake, if I was being honest with myself.

Once dry, I contemplated the contents of my wardrobe, but a shriek ripped through the quiet morning, followed by a thud. Pulling the bathrobe tighter around my body, I hurried to the door. When I opened it, a half dozen guests stood in their doorways. We looked around at each other, confusion displayed on every face.

Big Guy walked over to the railing and peered over the side. "Holy crap!"

I tiptoed closer to him, pulse racing, anxious about what I'd find. Though I didn't want to look, I forced myself.

Below us, Ponytail's body sprawled across the floor. Her limbs stuck out at unnatural angles, and her head didn't seem aligned with her back and shoulders. Big Guy ran down the staircase, his footsteps thudding on each step as he approached her. She didn't move.

A pit of dread formed in my stomach. The rest of us followed him. Victor came into the foyer, his jacket unbuttoned and his bow tie unfastened. Babette and Ruth entered after him. The former clutched her feather duster, while the latter carried a teacup and saucer.

Big Guy dropped to one knee and gave Ponytail a gentle nudge. Nothing. He leaned over her, bringing his ear to her mouth. His brow creased, and he pressed two fingers beneath her jawbone.

The color drained from his face, and he sat back on his heels. "She's dead. I mean, really dead ."

The pit grew larger. All the unkind things I'd thought about her the previous night came back to haunt me.

Victor rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Let's go into the dining room. Obviously, there are some…issues we need to discuss."

I plodded across the foyer in my bare feet, trying not to look at Ponytail's face when I passed her. Due to her position, I caught a glimpse of her lifeless eyes, and nausea churned in the back of my throat. I jerked away and focused on the giant animal sculptures to the other side. Realization dawned on me. Mr. Steele's shooting in the library hadn't been staged. A shiver rolled down my spine, and I tugged at the collar of my robe.

We sat in the same seats we'd been assigned at dinner. Ruth and Babette took the two vacant chairs. Some of the guests were dressed for the day, while others wore pajamas or a robe like me. Regardless of how we appeared, we were all wide awake by now.

Victor paced back and forth by the head of the table. "I didn't want to alarm anyone last night, but I'm sure it's clear by now Mr. Steele is also dead. I tried calling for help, but it seems the storm has knocked out the phone lines." He wrung his hands in front of him. "And cell phone reception has always been spotty up here, even in the best of conditions."

Those who carried their cell phones took them out to check their service and put them away just as quickly.

"I've been doing this for years," he continued. "Nothing like this has ever happened, I assure you."

"So, what can we do?" Rabbit's nose crinkled. "Sit around and wait for someone else to die?"

The murmurs around the table indicated she'd said what we'd all been thinking.

"I hope not!" He stopped pacing and pushed open the door to the foyer. "First things first. I have a list in my room of everyone who is supposed to be here, their real names. I think we need to forget about the aliases and roleplaying and learn who we really are."

He left the room. No one spoke. I cursed Trina for getting me into such a predicament, and then froze. Her name was going to be on the list, not mine. If that didn't make me the most suspicious person sitting at the table… I shook my head and tried to figure out the best approach. Should I pretend to be Trina or come clean?

While I mulled over my options, Victor returned with a piece of paper and a pencil. "Mr. Steele's real name was Jeremy Keyes, and Miss Taylor was played by Mary Stone." He glanced up from his list at the rest of us. "Perhaps, in addition to telling everyone who you are, you should discuss the circumstances that brought you here this weekend, or if you knew any of the others before last night. I have little information on the person who booked the block of tickets with me now, but some of you may be able to shed some light on what happened before we arrived."

Ruth sipped her tea and set the cup and saucer on the table. "Victor and I have worked for the same company for years, though this is the first time we were scheduled to be here on the same weekend. We hadn't met in person before last night." Frowning, she toyed with the strap of her apron. "Like him, I've never experienced anything like this."

"Well, this is my first time working this job," Babette said without any trace of an accent. "I thought it would be a fun way to earn some money while classes are done for the summer." She shrugged. "Also, my name's not Babette. It's Brittany. And I'm not really French."

"No shit," someone muttered.

She narrowed her eyes but didn't respond.

Silence descended upon the room once more. It seemed nobody wanted to be the first to volunteer any information. Brittany swatted Shaggy's shoulder with her feather duster, and he jumped. "Oh! Um…" He scratched the back of his head. "My real name is Dylan Rutter. Someone contacted me via my blog and then sent me the details and everything for this weekend."

Big Guy raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you think it was strange?"

"Not really. People send me free stuff to promote on my site and gaming channel all the time." He smirked. "Maybe you've heard of me, The Savage Sniper?"

Everyone stared blankly at him.

"Whatever. It pays the bills. And, like I said, free stuff."

The eyebrow arched higher. "You get money out of all that?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

"Money is not the important part," Victor said. "Do you remember anything about the person who contacted you?"

Dylan pulled out his phone and ran his finger over the screen. "I can't access my email, and I don't remember the name off the top of my head."

"For what it's worth, my story's similar," Redhead said. "I'm a librarian, and someone emailed me with a proposal for a project to get the community involved in local history, or something along those lines. He—or she, I don't remember the name offhand, either—invited me here for a fun mystery weekend and said we'd discuss further details on Sunday night."

Victor tapped his pencil against the list. "I'm sorry, your name?"

"Oh, right. I'm Laura Hendricks." She twirled a lock of bright red hair around one finger. "I did some research, about the company coordinating these events here and what goes in to plotting the mysteries. Everything sounded good, so I said I'd come."

Rabbit, next in line on the other side of the table, took her cue. "My name is Isabel Avery, and I'm a paralegal. We finished up a big case at work, and my boss said I could use a little vacation with all the hours I put in, so she got me the ticket."

"Mine came through my office, too."

My ears perked up when the man formerly known as Colonel Mandrake spoke. I wanted to learn more about him, and then felt foolish when I remembered our horrifying circumstances. While our flirtations had been fun, I had much more pressing matters to worry about now.

"I'm Adam Christensen. I work in marketing, and my ticket came from a former client. I assumed it was a gift to thank me for my work, or at least that's how it appeared." He drummed his fingers on the table. "With everything I've seen and learned, I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

Big Guy leaned back in his seat and propped one foot on the opposite knee. "Well, I don't really have anything earth-shattering to add. Same thing all of you said, some sort of promotion or community event thing, where someone wanted to highlight the employees at my hospital and all the hard work we do." The chair creaked as he rocked back and forth. "I won a ticket for this weekend, and another nurse up on the cardiac floor is coming next week, I think."

Dylan snorted. "You're a nurse?"

He fixed him in a steely glare. "Yeah, I am, in the ER. So what?"

Victor consulted his paperwork. "I take it you're Paul Sullivan?"

"Yup."

Only one person remained. Me. Swallowing hard, I prepared to confess. "I, uh, have to come clean about something. I realize this might look bad, but we're all being honest here, right?" I fidgeted in my chair. "The last name on your list is probably Katrina Campbell. I'm not Katrina. I'm her sister, Veronica."

A half dozen accusatory stares burned into me.

"I know how suspicious this must sound." My shoulders hunched, and I tried to shrink into a little ball. "Something came up, and she couldn't make it here this weekend, so she asked me to take her place. I swear I had nothing to do with people dying ."

Isabel sniffed. "A likely story."

I needed to defend myself before everyone in the room labeled me a murderer. "You know, I didn't have to say anything." Straightening, I tried to appear more assertive. "If I'd pretended to be Trina, no one would have known the difference. Why would I be telling you this if I had something to hide?"

"She has a point," Adam said.

I flashed him a grateful smile.

"Thank you for coming forward." Victor's pencil scratched across the page. "I take it none of you knew each other before last night?"

All of us exchanged wordless glances. A few people shrugged.

"That's what I expected." He looked at the list again. "My records indicate a person by the name of J.D. Smith booked the block of tickets for this weekend. Does the name sound familiar to anyone?"

Dylan nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's the guy who contacted me."

"Or woman." Laura leaned forward, propping her chin up on one hand. "But it's probably an alias, anyway."

Paul sighed and sat up, the legs of his chair slamming against the floor. "I don't mean to be rude, but why are we sitting around discussing this? If there is some crazy killer on the loose, then why are we still here?"

"Though the lightning seems to have ceased for now, I don't know how safe the roads are in this weather." Victor gestured toward the door. "If you wish to leave, I won't stop you."

Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. "But if you do leave, it'll look kind of fishy."

"Hey, if you're the guilty one, don't try to project that onto me." Paul stood and reached into his pocket. "A little rain never bothered me. If the phones aren't working, then I can drive to the nearest police station and tell them what's going on."

"Sure, dude. Whatever."

Adam slid his chair back. "I'll go with you."

"Thanks, but no thanks." He shook his head. "No offense, but I don't trust any of you. I'd rather go by myself."

"He's right," Victor said after Paul strode out the door. "While we're here together, everyone needs to be careful. Lock your door whenever you're in your room. Try not to be alone with another person. Take every precaution you can think of to keep yourself safe."

Isabel frowned. "Are we going to sit here in our pajamas until help arrives?"

"The lodge and all its amenities are available to you. Just…" Victor's brow creased and he rubbed the side of his head. "Like I said, be careful."

Since I'd grown tired of being scrutinized while wearing nothing but a bathrobe, I pushed away from the table and stood. "I'm going to get dressed. If anyone else is going back upstairs, we can travel together and hope for the best."

Isabel and Dylan followed me. I opened the door and was greeted once again by Mary's cold, dead eyes. My stomach churned, but before the wave of revulsion fully settled, the front door to the lodge opened with a bang. I yelped in surprise.

Paul stepped inside, his clothes drenched. He shut the door, and a puddle formed beneath him, the edge creeping toward us across the wooden tiles. He wiped the moisture from his face with both hands and grimaced.

"My car won't start."