Muriel listened to every intake and funny little wheeze of Hugh's normal sleeping breaths until she was sure he was deep asleep. Once he was he was extremely hard to wake up, especially when exhausted, like tonight.

Convinced it was safe she slipped out of bed and, watching out the window at Westerby's quarters, got dressed.

****

Westerby relaxed in his recliner, feet up, a bowl of popcorn next to him, one of the cats in his lap and the other curled next to the Golden Retriever at the fireplace. He had a map of the area projected on a pull down screen and with a laser pointer was tracing his footsteps and possibly Jackson's to the old greenhouse.

The animals didn't budge at the knock on the door. "Great bunch of protection you lot are," he muttered. "It's open," he called out.

Muriel pushed her way in and stopped. "You don't lock your door?"

"Outside one is, the inside one to the lodge isn't. You'll excuse me if I don't get up. Old Adelaide here gets a little huffy if she's disturbed. What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

She moved so that she was standing in front of him, legs planted and a look on her face he knew too well having experienced it with his own ex-wives.

"Hugh tells me you are accusing one of us of murdering Mara?"

He wasn't surprised that Muriel Rogers would be the first to confront him on the question.

"Are you here to confess? We've got a back storage room that's been used to house a prisoner before. It's even heated and has clean bedding in it."

"How DARE you?" As soon as she said it she regretted how clichéd the sentence sounded. The dog now looked at her, mildly interested, with its ears up and head cocked making her feel even more childish in her demand.

She tried to find another way to object but felt everything else would sound equally as trite so she rocked back on her heels and glared at him. Maddeningly he put popcorn in his mouth and chewed it while he studied her and made her wait for his answer. Just before she was ready to blow he spoke.

"Any reason why I shouldn't?"

She stared at him, not really comprehending his answer.

"You know," he went on, "they're right when they say silence speaks volumes."

"It was an accident!" she blurted out.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Because none of us are murderers."

This time Westerby and not his dog cocked his head to look at her. "How do you know?" he repeated.

"I've known Dan and Muriel since we were in college together. For God's sake, our children married."

He nodded and ate some more popcorn. He held out the bowl towards her but she shook her head.

"Close knit group, then?" he asked.

"Yes!" She was getting more than annoyed now at this glorified janitor playing the role of wanna-be cop.

"No room for an outsider, then?" he asked. "Especially one like the dead girl."

Muriel's face went stony.

"Not up to your standards?" He pressed the point. "A little too strong minded, independent, someone you couldn't push around?"

"I don't push people around." Her defense was quick and automatic; she'd been accused of that before he thought.

"Hmph. Okay. Instead of push let's just say… nudge firmly."

"We're not murderers." She repeated. "Whatever happened was an accident."

Her knees gave and she sat in a nearby chair, realizing by insisting it was an accident she was as good as confessing she'd done it, whatever "it" was.

He held out the popcorn again and she refused it, again. By now the dog sat in front of her but made no movement to beg for a pat or a treat. It sat there, head cocked, ear lifted and stared. She was sure it was judging her intrusion into their evening time.

"You want to tell me about it?" Westerby asked.

"What?" She pulled her eyes away from the dog.

"The "accident"? Do you want to tell me about it? How did it happen?"

"I… she… what are you talking about? How should I know? It was an accident."

He nodded, "That's what you said."

"Surely it's obvious?"

"I'm not a crime scene guy, so no, it's not. Tell me about it, except, how do you know? Did you find her and not come back to get help? Did you just leave her there to bleed out?"

She rose, alarmed. "No. No! I'm saying it was an accident because, well, because it has to be. How can you suggest anything else?"

"There was a fight earlier in the day." He offered.

"Oh that. Yes, histrionics was all. She HAS to be the center of attention. After the awful thing was over she went off and, well, it just HAD to be an accident." Her demeanor hardened. "Yes, that's what it was. And that's all. You can play amateur detective all you want but you're wrong. No one murdered Mara. She did this to herself. Her kind always does."

And with that, she left, slamming the door behind her.

Westerby watched the closed door a moment. "Her kind." He repeated. I don't know Adelaide but didn't Shakespeare have something to say about a woman protesting too much? In Hamlet if I remember correctly. Hmm, guess it's time to reread that."

****

In the darkened hallway outside Westerby's quarters Todd watched his mother stalk away. He debated stopping her to talk with her but decided against it. He knew that posture of hers, it said she was highly offended and hadn't received satisfaction to her complaint so he waited until the sound of her footsteps faded away and then he knocked on Westerby's door.

"Come in."

Westerby's expression said he was a little surprised to see Todd but he recovered quickly, held out the bowl of popcorn and said, "Are you Christmas present?"

"What?"

"I think that was Christmas past that just left, I'm not entirely sure yet."

"Oh, my Mom."

Westerby nodded, "sorry, bad joke. What can I do for you, Todd?"

"What did my Mom want?"

If there was one thing about the Rogers family, they were straightforward. Westerby appreciated that. "She didn't want anything in particular except to make sure I understood Mara's death was an accident."

"Do you think it was?" Todd asked.

Westerby shrugged. "I'm not a cop. But your mom seems convinced."

"She would be." He gave a half smile and shrugged, "she always tries to think the best of people and she'd be positive none of us would have killed her, so, yeah. Can I see the body?"

That was a surprise, tacked on to the end of his mother's defense this sudden request to view a dead friend. If, indeed, Mara was a friend.

"Come again?" Westerby asked.

"Dad told me what you thought happened."

"Did he, now?"

"Yes, when Molly and I relieved him watching Jackson. And, well, I thought maybe if I looked at her I could figure out what happened. He said something about a severe cut to her neck?"

"You have experience examining dead bodies, son?" Westerby decided to tell the lodge owners not to rent it out for Christmas any more. Last year's sorority sisters were wild enough but this...

"Well, I thought, maybe… maybe the killer left something behind."

He shook his head at the younger man. "That's for the police to decide when they get here. Why don't you go back to bed and keep that young wife of yours company, I'm sure she's hurting and could use your support. You leave the grisly stuff to me."

Todd left and Westerby, lips pursed and frowning, finally turned to the dog. "Now what the hell do you suppose he thinks the killer left behind?" He grunted. "Next year we're all going down to Albuquerque to visit my sister for Christmas." Then he chuckled. "Muriel Rogers tries to see the best in people. Suuuurrrre she does."