“Whoever cut the line didn’t leave,” she said. “Just like we thought.”
Jason’s voice was low. “They went back inside.”
The two of them exchanged a look.
Together, they trailed the faint depressions to the back door of the inn.
Olive’s pulse quickened. “So I think our fears are confirmed. The killer’s not out there somewhere in the storm. He or she is in the inn. With us.”
Jason’s jaw flexed. “I was really hoping that theory wasn’t true.”
“Me too.”
They exchanged another look and turned to check the doors and windows.
Olive moved around the inn, checking the windows and doors to make sure they were secure.
She made a mental note of every entrance as she did so.
There was the front door, of course. Then at the deck at the back, there was a sliding glass door. Locked also.
Another door came from the side of the house. It led to Mara and Warren’s personal suite.
There was also a basement door that led directly there.
However, having four entrances/exits to the inn could prove difficult to manage.
That meant four possible ways an intruder could get inside.
All were locked and secured right now, and the security on the doors was decent—more than decent, actually. The locks were strong and would be hard to breach.
Still, nothing about this situation seemed ideal—especially considering there was a killer out here.
“Ready to get back inside?” Jason asked.
She glanced at the woods one more time before nodding. “Yeah, we need to get warm.”
But no fireplace could melt the cold burst of apprehension that had settled in her chest.
Inside, the inn was lit only by the orange flicker of the fireplace, the soft fairy lights in the jars on the windows, and the few flashlights the others held. Everyone had moved from the dining room to the great room near the fire. Mara insisted the dishes could be done later when it was warmer inside.
Rex looked up from where he stood near the back window. “Well?”
Jason shut the door behind them, muting the howling wind. “The generator line was cut clean through.”
A ripple of unease passed through the room.
“Cut?” Tevin echoed. “As in deliberate?”
“Very deliberate,” Olive said. “Someone used a knife. And we found tracks. Someone tried to hide them, but they led straight back to the inn.”
Mara pressed a hand to her chest. “Are you saying the person who did this is?—?”
“Inside,” Olive finished. “Yes.”
There was no need to sugarcoat the truth.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the wind pressing against the windows and the fireplace crackling.
