Hugh sat on the edge of the bed and stretched his neck back, forward and side to side. It took much more effort than he thought it would to pull his pajama pants on. All he wanted to do was flop backward and stay there until daylight. But Muriel was there, sitting quietly, picking at her nail polish, something she did only in times of crisis.

He got under the covers and rested his hand on her arm. "Are you okay, love?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want me to get your pills?

Another shake, then a sigh. "I need to be able to wake up if Laurel needs me."

He nodded, it's why he didn't ask for one himself. He patted her arm and then pulled her close to cradle her. "Dan is with her now. He can take care of her."

"Who's with Jackson?" She asked.

"Molly and Todd."

"They need their sleep."

He kissed her widow's peak, something he'd started doing long before they were married. "We all do. But I don't think we're going to get much."

"The caretaker found Mara?" She was pushing a little away from him now, gathering up that resolve she was so well known for in her job, at church and anywhere she involved herself. He let her go; it was the only way to stay close to her.

"He knew exactly where she was. He took a body bag with him, got her into it and dragged her back here. Dan told me about it." He tried not to remember Dan's face as he described the injuries on Mara's body, her face – he took a breath – her neck.

"How could he possibly know where she was?" Her tone didn't edge on angry, it was angry. "This person waltzes in here and takes one look at Jackson and knows everything there is to know? Who the hell is he?" She snorted. "Caretaker. Glorified janitor and fetch and carry man is all."

"Muriel." He used a quiet tone that always brought her around. "Don't. The man has quite a background and he lives up here, all year long. He can probably find mushrooms if you hand him a leaf from the tree they grow under."

"I don't care, I don't like his attitude. He told me to go make coffee! Like he's taking over or something." She wasn't winding up, but she wasn't letting down either.

"As far as Dan and I are concerned, he can do that." He slid down further under the covers hoping she'd catch the hint he was ready to turn in now. But, in true Muriel fashion, she ignored it.

"We'll see how much you care about him taking over when he accuses one of us of murdering Mara."

He bit his lip for a moment, debating whether or not to say anything. Before he could stop himself he'd blurted out the news, "Funny you should say that."

And there it was, that slow turn of the head as she fixed her full attention on him.

****

Down the hall Dan heard Muriel's voice hit the high note that said Hugh had told her about Westerby asking who among them wanted Mara dead. He looked at Laurel, sleeping the sleep of someone who'd gone through a horror and then been given a sleeping pill. He doubted she'd wake for anything until morning and he was all for that.

He longed to crawl into bed next to her and drift off but he didn't dare. If Jackson needed him he didn't want to be groggy from being awakened from a deep sleep. At the same time he knew being tired could cause a minor problem to escalate.

From the bedroom window he could see the wing of the lodge that housed Westerby's quarters. The lights were on and he was no doubt tending his animals. After asking Dan who he thought would want to kill Mara he had left saying he needed to care for his animals. It had happened that quickly. One minute "Who wants her dead?" and the second minute standing and walking out talking about animals.

What animals? Cats? Dogs? Wild boar? No mention of animals for three days and all of a sudden: "The animals need to be taken care of." Is that what he was doing when Mara was killed? Dan grunted, he hadn't thought to ask him that. He hadn't even thought to ask him where he was when she was killed.

He realized he didn't know what anyone was doing, including himself at that time. How could he tell how long she'd been dead? How long had Jackson wandered around, cut and bleeding, lost and confused before he found his way back to the lodge? Every question brought on new questions.

They – he and Westerby – had tried to fix some sort of time of death but the weather was warm and the rain had washed her almost clean. How do you fix time of death with that? One hour? Two hours? Three? What were all of them doing during those hours? Did they all have the ability to account for themselves; for each other?

Jackson didn't. Mara took off immediately after she'd made the announcement she was expecting his baby and not keeping it. If it was, indeed, Jackson's. The escalating screaming of the women had driven her from the lodge. Todd and Hugh, along with himself had stepped back from the argument. Probably for self-preservation Jackson tried to field the women's entreaties as long as he could and then he, too, had left.

Three hours. Yes, that sounded right. Well, if not right at least plausible. Maybe. Three hours from her taking off and him coming back.

But then he remembered; almost all of them had left. Todd and Molly set out to explore the woods and joked about finding a portal to Middle Earth. He, himself ended up in the lodge's library looking for something to read but nothing had caught his eye. Hugh told him he was going to the little smoke house – a real, old fashioned smoke house that had been converted for smokers – at the edge of the property to have a nice read of the latest thriller while he enjoyed his cigar. Muriel and Laurel had gone into the kitchen to as they said, "clean up" but he'd learned through the years it was their way of saying 'keep away, female conference going on and you are not welcome.' "

As to Westerby, well, the man was there whenever he was needed and went away when the need disappeared. Dan assumed he retreated to his own quarters but there was no way that he could be sure.

Who among them wanted Mara dead, indeed? The answer to that was easy. All of them. She was a thorn in the family the minute Jackson brought her home six months ago. He seemed to love her so they all put out the welcoming mat but the word "welcome" was applied with washable ink. Even Laurel, the resident saint of the family, worked hard to be nice to her.

So yes, they all wanted her dead and if not dead gone for sure.

Laurel stirred in bed and muttered anxiously. He went to her and held her hand, then touched her cheek. Her eyes opened but they weren't focused.

"Is she dead?" She asked.

The question surprised him but, given everything that had happened, why wouldn't she ask that?

"Yes, honey, she is."

"Is she dead?" There was demand in her voice. He realized she wasn't really seeing him. "Is the bitch dead?"