Seductive Suspect

“Yup.” I pretended to focus on slicing the tomato into equal-sized wedges. “I don’t trust anyone. I want to get out of here alive.”

“Understandable.” Adam glanced at where Ruth and Laura stood by the stove and lowered his voice. “Putting aside the fact you haven’t ruled me out as a suspect, what’s your read on the others?”

“You mean do I think those two are poisoning the pasta right now?”

He laughed. “I’m curious whether your perceptions are similar to mine or not.”

I pondered his question and cut into a third tomato. “That’sthe thing. Nobody stands out to me as having the potential to be a cold-blooded murderer. All the other guests seem like regular, everyday people. People I might run into anywhere and not give it a second thought.”

“I agree.” He peeked over his shoulder again. “So, what about the staff?”

“What, you think Brittany’s ditzy comments are an act and she’s secretly plotting to kill us all?”

A grin spread across his face. “Maybe. She could even actually be French, for all we know.”

I put down the knife and raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“No.” His smile disappeared and he resumed chopping the cucumbers. “What about Victor? He seems to know the most about this place and would have the easiest time carrying out his plans. Besides, don’t these stories always end with ‘the butler did it’?”

I shook my head. “I saw his reaction when the lights came back on and Jeremy was dead. He appeared genuinely shocked.”

“Okay. So that leaves the other guests.” Adam moved his cutting board over and opened a bag of pre-cut lettuce. “If you had to guess, who would it be?” The corners of his mouth turned up, and I saw a hint of dimples. “I promise my feelings won’t be hurt if it’s me.”

I tore open a second bag and contemplated everything I’d seen and learned about my companions. “Dylan’s kind of a jerk, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s violent, right?”

“Like would The Savage Sniper, or whatever his internet name is, grow tired of mowing down faceless enemies in a game and want to experience the rush of a real-life kill?” He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Anything’s possible, as we’ve established.” I emptied the lettuce into the salad bowl. “Who’s your pick, if you had tonarrow it down to one person?”

“It’s a tough decision, I won’t lie.” He used the flat end of his knife to scrape the sliced cucumbers on top of the lettuce. “But I’ll play along and say, if I had to choose, I’d go with Paul. He’s no stranger to death, working in the medical field, and I’m sure he’s seen plenty of gunshot wounds in the ER. Plus, I doubt it would have been much of a struggle for him to toss Mary over the railing.”

“Those are good points.” I added my tomatoes to the salad. “But he seems so nice.”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Adam chuckled. “Maybe with the exception of Dylan, as you’ve already noted.”

“Like Isabel’s been saying, we’re basically back at square one.” A chilling idea pierced my thoughts. “What if it’s not one of us?”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Have you been inside every room in this place? I haven’t.” My palms grew clammy, and I spoke in a whisper. “What if there’s someone else here in the lodge? Someone hiding, watching, waiting…”

“I suppose we can’t ignore that theory.” He set his knife on the cutting board. “Should we mention it to the others?”

“I don’t know. If there is another person here, I don’t want to tip them off. And if the killer is, in fact, one of us, then I don’t want the rest of us to let our guard down.”

“Makes sense to me.” His charming smile reappeared. “We’ll keep it between us for now.”

My cheeks flooded with warmth, and I turned my attention back to the salad. “I’ll see if I can find some dressing. Anything else you think should go in here?”

“Might as well keep it simple.”

I crossed the room to open the refrigerator and study the shelves. “How does balsamic vinaigrette sound?”

“Perfect.” Adam held the bowl while I poured the dressing in,and then gave it a good shake. “I think our salad is a success,” he said. “I’ll clean up over here if you want to go see how they’re doing with the pasta.”

When Ruth deemed the sauce seasoned to her liking, she summoned the others from the library. We took our places at the dining room table. Some of the tension had lessened since the morning meal, and the conversation didn’t feel as forced. Were it not for the two missing guests, I’d almost believe we had come here under the original premise of a fun get-together. My stomach had stopped twisting in knots, and the food tasted delicious.

Spearing a slice of cucumber, Adam leaned toward me. “We do make a pretty good salad,” he whispered, as if hearing my thoughts.