Hugh stared out his suite's window across to Westerby's quarters. The caretaker and that female cop were sitting outside on his little porch, feet up on the railings, bundled up against the weather and sipping something hot that sent steam circling their heads. The snow was in an on-again, off-again pattern that, at this moment, blurred the sight between the guest wing and the caretaker's.

He squinted to see the woman. He'd met a lot of women who smiled easily and openly but none whose smile could camouflage a purpose like hers did. She'd greeted them with those smiles, adding concern about Jackson and how he was doing and how they were doing. She sucked you right into feeling comfortable around her and her men.

Then she unleashed her dogs – her men – with their questions. Six easy questions, so simple, so straightforward, so disarming and charming. Back woods, country loving ol' boys of the mountain, "yes, ma'aming" and "yes, siring," and "you just relax we'll have you all down the mountain in the morning, everything will be taken care of."

But after they left you alone in you room you wondered what you said. Was it the right thing to say? Was the inflection you used right? Did it make you look guilty? Guilty of what? He pulled away from the window. Muriel was at the dressing table redoing her nails for the tenth time that night.

"What did they ask you?" He went to the mini bar already knowing what she'd say about that. But she surprised him and didn't tell him to stop drinking. For a fleeting moment he wondered why.

"This afternoon?" she asked. "Let me see, well, the older one, Remiriz? He questioned me. He asked about when we argued… when Mara yelled at us and when she left. Then he asked where I went."

"What did you say?" Hugh remembered her going in the kitchen but wasn't entirely sure.

"I told him that Laurel and I went in the kitchen to clean up the lunch dishes. Seeing as we rented this place as 'self-catering' and the caretaker really doesn't do anything for us."

Hugh nodded. "They asked me the same thing. Then they asked what I thought of Mara."

"Me, too. I suppose your answer was quite a bit different than mine?" Muriel glared at one of her fingernails as if it had deliberately messed itself just to annoy her. She vigorously started rubbing away the new color. The air filled with the sharp smell of nail polish remover. He hated that smell but she wasn't about to take the process in the bathroom just to please him.

He knocked back the rest of his drink. "I told them I thought she was an okay kid, a little head strong, but basically okay. And kind of funny sometimes, little jokes and all that."

Muriel applied a new coat of polish to the nail as if she wasn't interested or listening but he knew she was.

"I got the black trooper, with all the freckles. He's got those light eyes, not blue not green, kind of grey…ish…" He paused, wondering if she really wasn't listenting.

"And?" There it was, that accusatory tone.

"Well, he just fixed that stare on me with those eyes and I said the first thing that came to mind."

"So you didn't tell them you hated her because she didn't like your little passes at her and didn't think they were just kidding around and innocent." She sighed, "Do stop drinking, your secret is safe with me."

He put the drink down and went into the bathroom to wash his face. Muriel had a way of making you feel extra dirty. He would never convince her there hadn't been passes or his attempts at friendship – outsider to outsider – hadn't been sincere. Mara had known, and sympathized. The bathroom shared a wall with Dan and Laurel's suite and he could hear, faintly, Laurel crying and Dan's voice trying to sooth her.