"Yes, of course." He sucked in a deep breath. "You remember yesterday? I promised to keep an eye on Lenore. I did my best. But my job is to provide a worthwhile experience for all our guests, not be a babysitter. After I explained to Lenore how important it was that she stay with the group, I thought she got it. I really did."

"Go on."

"She's a-she was a sweet girl. Scatterbrained, but sweet. I knew she might forget the rules and Mark was all by himself. Like your security chief suggested-a buddy system. They were singles, traveling alone, and seemed to get along well enough. I thought I might be helping them both, in a way. Lenore didn't seem to mind, so they paired off."

"And someone in the mansion attacked them?"

He nodded, eyes reddening still. "We heard Mark shout and I ran back there to find him on the ground, bleeding. He'd crawled out of the stairwell, looking for help. Just outside the stairs near the Highland Guest Room. You know the one."

I nodded, but none of this was making sense. "What were they doing in the stairwell?"

John was having a hard time keeping himself together. "Lenore had been talking with one of the docents. I think she was interested in a particular piece and had questions. When it was time for the group to move on, I figured she was safe. How much trouble could she get into while talking with one of the staff? So we continued our tour. But because of the buddy system, Mark stayed back with her."

"He told you all this?"

"No. I'm telling you what I remember. Mark was in too much pain to say much. It was the docent who killed her. The guy who worked here." His words caught.

"Oh my G.o.d," I said. One of our staff? How could that be? "You saw him? You'd be able to recognize him?"

"I don't know."

"Where is he now?"

"The killer? I don't know."

"The man who was shot. Mark Ellroy?"

"We have a doctor in the group," he answered dully. "A woman. I left her up there with him."

I turned toward Lenore's body. "Did you touch anything around her?"

"I had to find out if she was still alive," John said in monotone and held up two fingers, covered in blood. "I checked. She wasn't."

"Has anyone called the police?"

"Your chief of security." Although John's voice had gone flat, his eyes were wild. I was afraid the man was going into shock.

"Are you sure?"

He shook his head, looking lost.

Monica took that moment to peer out the door again. "Get a chair for this man, would you?" I said.

The look of horror on her face reminded me that not everyone happened upon murder victims as often as I had. "Please," I added, "bring it to the door, I'll take it from here."

She disappeared and in a moment was back with an old metal folding chair that screeched as I opened it. I thanked her then grabbed John by the arm. "Here," I said, placing the chair in the doorway, facing him away from Lenore.

John lowered himself onto the small chair and dropped his head into his hands.

I pulled up my walkie-talkie. "Terrence, are you there?"

Lots of static. No answer.

"Terrence?"

I switched channels. "Security, this is Grace. Has anyone called the police?"

A woman at the other end answered, "On their way."

I glanced upward. Terrence and his team had managed to drag all the onlookers back from their perches above. The tall, empty stairwell was silent. "Ambulance on its way, too?" I asked.

"Affirmative."

Our security would be stretched to the breaking point so I wouldn't request a.s.sistance down here until I absolutely needed it. I was about to sign off, when, in a moment of brilliance, I said, "Get in touch with my a.s.sistant, Frances. Have her meet me at the bottom of the red stairwell. Tell her to cut across the main floor, not the second floor. Got it? Come via the main floor or the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"Copy that."

It would take Frances a few minutes to reach my position, but I needed someone I could trust to keep an eye on John until the police arrived. Monica would be a poor choice and I needed to get up to the second floor, where I could be of more use.

In the meantime, I tried to get more information from John. "This has been horrible. I'm so sorry. Is there something I can do for you?"

Sitting seemed to have helped his color return. He blinked, looking upward. "My tour group . . ."

"I'll go up there to check on them as soon as my a.s.sistant gets here."

"I'm all right," he said, taking a deep breath. "Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"I understand."

He looked up, his usually bright eyes clouded with sadness.

We fell silent.

Arms folded, I focused on the opposite wall, trying hard to keep from looking at Lenore.

"You've had a rough go of it here at Marshfield these past few months, haven't you?" John asked.

I nodded. I'd been thinking the exact same thing. I hadn't been here a full year yet and this was the third murder on Marshfield property. If I didn't know better, I'd consider myself a jinx.

"I know you need to be upstairs," John said. "Go ahead. Do what you need to do. I'll be okay."

"I'd rather wait for my a.s.sistant," I said. "Just in case."

"I'm not a child," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I know not to touch anything. I don't need a babysitter."

"Of course you don't," I said, smoothly, uncrossing my arms and stepping closer. "What else can you tell me about this Lenore? Do you have any idea who might want to harm her?"

John's eyebrows came together. "She hasn't been exactly tight-lipped about the fact that she's recently divorced. I got the impression it was ugly, but I never sensed fear from her. I think she said her husband was cheating. He divorced her."

"That doesn't sound very threatening."

"Unless she wasn't telling the truth." John looked frail all of a sudden. "But I doubt that. If anything, she shared too much. Drove a few of the other group members up a wall."

"Enough to kill her?"

His gaze rolled up to meet mine. "That isn't funny."

"It wasn't meant to be. The police will want to know."

He stared at the floor and bobbed his head. "That's true enough."

"That wouldn't explain the guy in the staff uniform," I said. "He must be an imposter. The fact that he was able to get in without being noticed, though, disturbs me greatly." Instinctively I turned toward Lenore, then wished I hadn't. "Do you think the killer chose her at random?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Can you tell me where you were when you last saw her?"

"The police will want to know that, too, won't they?" He rubbed his face, thinking. "We were outside the Highland Guest Room and I was giving the little spiel on how the room got its name. That's when the docent-or whoever he was-gestured to Lenore. I saw him. My first thought was that she'd gotten into trouble again, but the guy was smiling, so I ignored them and kept talking. When we moved on down the hall to the next stop, I noticed the guy pointing something out to Lenore. I didn't know what." He stopped, thinking. "Now that I look back, I believe he was pointing toward the stairwell."

"This is all good. Keep a mental picture of the guy. It may be our best lead to catch him."

Though overwhelmed, John pressed on. "I didn't even think twice," he said miserably. "Your staff is friendly. This all looked perfectly normal. Now Lenore is dead. What if Mark doesn't survive? This is all my fault."

I heard a voice cutting through the distant bas.e.m.e.nt chatter, and Frances appeared in one of the far doorways. The annoyance in her expression changed as she swept the area with keen attention. I could tell exactly when her gaze lighted on Lenore. "Oh my," she said bringing a hand to her mouth. Recovering quickly, she asked, "She fell?"

"Pushed," I said. "You know John, the tour guide. Would you please stay here with him until the detectives arrive? They should be here any minute."

"Where are you going?"

"To talk to the man who was shot."

Frances's eyes widened, but she pulled her lips in tightly and gave the briefest of nods.

To John, I said, "I'll get back as soon as I can. I'm very sorry." There wasn't much more to say and he remained silent. I didn't expect he really cared whether I returned or not.

Frances found her voice again as I started away. "How come we never had any murders at Marshfield before you got here?"

I stopped, but didn't turn. "You're slowing down, Frances," I said over my shoulder. "Took you almost thirty seconds to blame me this time."

Halfway out the door, a thought occurred to me. I spun. "Frances," I said. "This could have been a ruse gone wrong."

Understanding registered in her expression. "What do you want me to do?"

"Call Lois. Order an emergency inventory."

"Scope?"

"The entire mansion." I'd been fooled into falling for a ruse once before when a crime had been committed elsewhere in the manor. I wasn't about to let that happen again. "I'll alert Terrence."

I called our head of security on his radio as I ran out. "This may have already occurred to you, but our killer might have another agenda. If he was-"

"I'm on it," he said. "The woman might have seen him steal something and he reacted in fear. Problem is, murder is still murder. But, don't worry, as soon as I heard, I put the house on lockdown. No one gets out without being cleared."

After he signed off I realized he'd said, "As soon as I heard." Which meant that there was a chance our bad guy might have gotten away. I didn't want to think about that.

Before I could get far, I was notified via radio that the police had arrived. An alert front desk staffer had already rushed the paramedics up to the second floor so it fell to me to escort the police to the scene.

Detectives Rodriguez and Flynn had worked the two prior murders here at Marshfield. Rodriguez viewed the world through hooded eyes, a.n.a.lyzing everything with a ponderous demeanor that still drove me crazy sometimes. I'd first judged him slow and plodding, but came to understand that the portly detective absorbed far more than he liked to let on. I trusted him.

That was more than could be said for his young counterpart. Tall, lanky, and impulsive, Flynn leapt to conclusions before ensuring the evidence supported his claims. I supposed their two personalities balanced each other out, but I was disappointed that this mismatched team was the best Emberstowne had to offer.

I met them at the front door, where dozens of visitors had been brought to wait. "This way," I said to the detectives, trying my best to appear unruffled.

My efforts to avoid frightening people were in vain. All the guests I saw looked plenty shaken. Whether these people knew what had happened or were simply alarmed by the fact that armed guards were preventing their departure, I didn't know. Nor could I worry about that right now.

Still trying my best to keep quiet, I asked Rodriguez, "Where to first? The girl who was killed or the man who was shot?"

The detective spoke in a low growl, close to my ear. "What's going on here, Ms. Wheaton? A town like this shouldn't have these kinds of problems."

That was twice in as many minutes that someone had made a point to mention the recent upsurge in murders. Rodriguez hadn't called me out personally the way Frances had, but that didn't mean he wasn't thinking it.

I decided not to answer that as we walked quickly across the main floor.

"I want to talk to the shooting victim," Rodriguez said. "Let's hope he's still alive by the time we get there."

Chapter 8.

WITH HIS BACK UP AGAINST THE OAK WALL, the victim sat on the floor, head hanging down. At first I couldn't tell if he was unconscious or not, but the fact that he retained a grip his left shoulder and remained upright was encouraging.

Terrence's staff had managed to clear the immediate area and paramedics were working on the injured man, faces calm, expressions serious. One of them confirmed that the victim's vitals were being transmitted to the local hospital. "You're in good hands, sir," he a.s.sured his patient. "Try to keep alert. We need you to stay awake."

Another paramedic, nearer the victim's head, asked about allergies. Yet another set up a saline drip. The woman who had so spiritedly taken Lenore to task yesterday was now crouched on the floor conferring with the paramedics. It dawned on me that she was the doctor in the group who John had mentioned. I'd pegged her as a retired kindergarten teacher. What was her name again? I racked my brain. Marlene.

Marlene spoke in a crisp tone, asking questions, issuing directives.

"Oh," I said, startled, when the man on the floor looked up. Spotting me, he tried to straighten, and I could tell he was trying to place who I was. Just then, however, Marlene lifted the man's arm to examine his wound, causing him to stiffen and wince.

I winced, too. So much blood from one bullet hole. The victim clenched his eyes and turned away.

"You know him?" Rodriguez asked from over my shoulder.