Chilled by Death (21 page)

Christine and Mark came back with several bottles of wine and a third tray.

After that, it was chaos. Kevin was glad he’d come in right now.

The only thing that bothered him was their ability to forget the missing woman. He could almost understand.

But if he was that missing person, he’d sure be hoping they’d be looking for him all night.

*

They were all
fools. If they were really friends, they’d have gone looking for her even if the search had been called off until first light.

Idiots. They still had no clue. Of course that’s how he wanted it, but it would be so much fun to add an element of suspense to this mess. But he wouldn’t give himself away. This was too much fun to cut short.

Besides, he had worked hard. If he was the only one to appreciate his skill, then so be it.

Too bad though, he’d love to have someone show some appreciation.

He studied Stacy. Maybe if he kept her alive long enough, maybe she’d come to understand.

Maybe she’d see him for who he really was. Finally.

T
he evening was
subdued as everyone kept expecting the phone to ring or a vehicle to come up to the door and Yvonne to walk inside. It never happened. There was no word from her or about her. Neither did she come home. Stacy, already in her pjs, sat curled in the armchair all evening, sipping her wine. She’d hoped this wouldn’t be a sleepless night but given the circumstances…the wind picked up outside, screaming through the cabin and howling as it pounded on the door. Several times she jumped, thinking it was Yvonne trying to open the door against the wind.

Royce leaned over and patted her hand. “It’s just the wind.”

“I know.” She gave him a small smile. “I just keep hoping it’s her.”

“We all are.”

She nodded. The long day was having an effect on her. Not to mention the warm fire and the several glasses of wine she’d had to help her relax. She couldn’t get over the thought of Yvonne lying injured in the snow somewhere wondering if she’d make it through the night. And damn if it didn’t bring back all the old fears of her friends being buried alive in that damn avalanche. She hadn’t slept for months after the accident, always waking up from the nightmare of seeing her friends waiting for rescue – a rescue that never came.

She stood up slowly, feeling her muscles seize up. She gently stepped around the many legs stretched out in front of the fire.

“Are you heading to bed, Stacy?” George asked quietly.

She nodded. “That sledding wore me out today. I was laughing and screaming so much my throat is feeling a little rough.”

He frowned. “That’s not good. Your immune system is already shot.”

She’d have hugged him if she could reach him, but he appeared to be cradling Kathleen in his arms as she snored gently.

“She needs to go to bed, too,” Stacy said, nodding toward Kathleen.

“I’m thinking we all do.” Royce stood up. “I’m beat.”

“Yeah, me too.” Stevie stood up. “Good night all.”

Stacy called out to him as he started toward the bathroom. “Goodnight, Stevie, you worked hard today, you need some sleep.”

“Ha, I work hard every day,” but his words slurred. His eyes dropped, and damn if he didn’t sway in place. As Stacy watched in alarm, Royce walked over and led him down the hall to his room.

“Almost there.” At the doorway, Royce gave him a gentle push. “Go lie down.”

Stevie went like an obedient puppy.

Stacy stood on the bottom of the stairs and felt her heart melt a little. Royce had done just the right thing. Stevie was a big kid, but he’d had a tough day. To know Royce could take care of others like he did said a lot about who he was on the inside.

And she found she liked that inside man more and more.

After brushing her teeth, the same lassitude that had overtaken Stevie filled her bones. Then he’d had more wine than she had. Chances were good the alcohol was stripping the energy from her bones.

Just moving up the stairs made her feel like she’d gained a hundred pounds. As she crested over the top step, Royce pounded up the stairs after her.

“Are you okay, Stacy?” he asked. “You are starting to scare me.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, not even trying to hold back a yawn. “Just did too much today.” She stumbled over to her bed, crawled in and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Stacy,” his voice sounded strange.

“Hmmm?” she mumbled, so grateful to be in her bed at this moment. It was cold but her skin was colder, so even that little bit felt wonderful. She slowly relaxed.

“Stacy,” Royce snapped sharply. “Look at me.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

He shook her shoulders hard, her head snapping back and forth.

“Ouch. Stop that, it hurts.”

“Good. Open your eyes.”

“No, go away.” She wanted to be pissed, but there was no heat in her voice. She tried again. “Leave me alone. I just want to sleep.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Royce lowered his head, “Think, Stacy. You are too sleepy. Too tired. This isn’t normal for you.”

She struggled to think from behind the black fog in her mind. “No, been sick. Did too much.”

“Maybe, but if you’d open your eyes, you would see how dilated they are.”

Silly. “I’ve been drinking,” she mumbled, trying and failing to open them. “Course they’re going to be dilated.”

Her eyelids were roughly opened and light flashed.

She wanted to cry out but couldn’t. She sagged against him, heard the heartfelt “shit” coming out of his mouth – then knew no more.

*

Shit, shit,
shit
. Royce cradled Stacy’s limp body in his arms for a long moment. He laid her back down on the bed and stared at her precious face. Stevie had been just as tired. Then he remembered Kathleen. He leaned over the railing and stared down into the darkness. The only light was coming from the fire. The flames flickered and danced as if appreciating an audience – finally.

Royce raced down the stairs. George snored on the couch; Kathleen snored gently in his lap.

He raced to Stevie’s room to find Mark already out cold just like the others.

“Kevin?” He pushed the door open. The heavy rhythmic noise coming from Kevin’s chest said much about the depth of his slumber. Christine slept in a tight ball above him. Geoffrey snored loudly on the opposite bunk. They’d all helped kill several bottles of wine tonight.

Royce spun around and ran back to George. He lifted Kathleen and carried her to George’s bed then came back and shook George’s shoulder hard. When that got no reaction but a disjointed movement of his head, Royce hauled back and smacked him across the face. George groaned. Royce repeated it. George groaned again. “Wha—”

Royce smacked him a third time.

George’s eyes popped open and he glared at Royce. “You’d better have a hell of a reason for doing that.”

“Everyone’s been drugged.”

George’s eyes widened. His gaze was unfocused, but Royce could see the wheels attempting to turn behind them.

“What?” he choked out as he tried to stand up. Royce grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He stood, swayed, and fell back down again. He looked around, then back at Royce, “Kathleen? Stacy?”

“They’re both out of it. They’re in their beds.”

The relief in his eyes made Royce realize just how much he cared for Kathleen. Like Royce, George had many relationships in his active life. He loved women. And women loved George. But Kathleen appeared to be his sweet spot.

Royce was happy for his friend. Now if only he could get Stacy back into his life, he’d be happy for both of them.

“Help me up,” George ordered, a little more grit in his voice than before. Royce hefted him back to his feet.

“To the boot room,” he ordered. “Maybe the cold will knock some sense back into my brain.”

With Royce keeping a steady hand on his friend’s arm, he led him out to the anteroom where the gear and outerwear were stored. The bite of cold air hit their faces.

“Take a few deep breaths,” Royce said.

George walked back and forth in the small space as he focused on getting fresh air into his system and clearing his head.

Then he turned and faced Royce.

“What the fuck is going on?”

*

Rage sat in
George’s gut and festered. He stared down at Kathleen, seeing the drug-induced coma for himself.

“I want to call the police. Have them sort this out.”

Royce had already collected the wine glasses and empty bottles in a box to take to the police. Hopefully they’d test and find the drugs used. George wasn’t showing too much reaction at this point, which was a damn good thing. Then again, he was a big guy and wasn’t much of a wine drinker. But how else had the drugs gotten into their systems if not through the wine? It was the only thing everyone had drunk – except for Royce. He’d just had pop in his glass. It could have easily looked like wine, particularly in the evening light.

He tasted wine in his glass at one point as a bottle had been emptied and another opened. Used to it, as often the others tried to trick him into drinking it, he’d just gotten up quietly and dumped it. Casting his mind back, he tried to remember who had opened the bottles. They’d need to know that in order to determine if they’d been tampered with. And it was likely too late for that given everyone’s comatose state.

Royce spun. “Jesus. You’re fine, but what about Kathleen? She’s really tiny.”

“I checked. She’s definitely drugged but when I shook her, I did get a response.” He glared at Royce. “I won’t be smacking her around.”

“I wouldn’t either.” Royce smacked him on the shoulder. “Just you.”

“Next time, go a little lighter,” George snapped.

As they walked into the kitchen and stared from the doorway, George wondered out loud, his voice hard. “Is it one of us?”

Silence.

He looked over at Royce to see the muscle flickering in a staccato tempo on his jaw. “What?”

“I’m wondering if it’s related to Yvonne.”

“Her disappearance? Or are you thinking she did this and booked it?” George laughed, his voice harsh. “How badly did you let her down? Would she have done this in revenge?”