Scavenger Hunt

SCAVENGER HUNT

A Country House Mystery
of Intrigue and Repartee

by R. D. Johnson

GROUNDS

Paddock
Barn

Van Eyck’s
Cottage

Duck Pond
Gazebo

Tennis Court

Garage

Croquet
Lawn

Formal
Garden

Carriage
House

To meadow

FIRST FLOOR

(Victor)
Fireplace
Suite
(The
Taylors)
B
a
t
h
(Mrs.
Lindstrom)

Patio

B
a
t
h

Sitting
Room

Kitchen
Library
Bath

Screen
Porch

Master
Bedroom Suite

Dining Room

Parlor
Common Room

Front
Door

Chimney Suite
(Christian & Abby)

Chip

SECOND FLOOR

Brian

Bath

Cynthia

Kendall

B
a
t
h
Taupe Room
(Lawrence)

Carolyn &
Alan

CHAPTER ONE
Jack was only half–listening. It was nice that he had married a
woman so organized. It meant he didn’t have to be.
Leigh was running through the things that needed to be done
before the weekend, ticking off the items on her slender, perfectly
manicured fingers. At thirty and holding, Leigh was still strikingly
attractive, with lustrous black hair framing violet–blue eyes, an aristocratic
nose, and a generous mouth.
“. . . and you’ll probably want to mow the lawn on Thursday, I
would think, so it’s perfect when people start to arrive.”
“It will be dark when people start to arrive,” Jack pointed out. A
youthful thirty–five, he had what were often described as boyish good
looks, with a ready smile and laughing brown eyes beneath a head of
unruly dark brown hair.
He turned the black Range Rover off the hardtop, as the locals
called it, and onto the dirt road that a half mile later would wind past
Greenfield.
“When they get up, then. A sunny morning in the country with the
birds singing and flowers blooming and the scent of fresh–mown grass in
the air.”
“I’ll be happy if it’s sunny even if the birds are as tight–lipped as
clams and the flowers are all dead. Can you imagine if it rains and we’re
all cooped up inside? The house is big, but still. . .”
“First of all, Mr. Gloom and Doom, clams don’t have lips. Second
of all, if it rains we’ll simply play games and things.”
“Tableau vivant, I suppose. Or karaoke. Maybe you should put
that on your list: buy karaoke machine.”
“No, we have the piano for that.”
“Who’s going to play it?”
“I will.”
“I don’t think Chopin is going to cut it no matter how sensitively
performed, my little chopstick—no one knows the words.”
“And we can play charades and dictionary . . .”
“All day?”
“. . . or go out in the barn and play basketball or ping pong. That’s
why I’m having Hans

Johnson  6
clean it.”
“And why I have to mow the lawn.”
“Hans already has a full plate and it will do you good to get some
exercise.”
“Sitting on a tractor mower?”
“Besides, it’s going to be sunny.”
“I see.”
“Good. I’m glad we have an understanding on that point. And
so. . . you’ll probably want to mow the lawn again Thursday afternoon, so
it looks perfect on Friday morning.”
“Dew–covered and glistening in the sun, its surface free of
blemish, a symbol of nature’s effulgence brought to order.”
“Precisely. Now, you’ve got it. That’s very good, Jack.”
“Thank you.”
“So where was I?”
“Thinking of things for me to do.”
“Now, Jack, there you go again. All that negativity.”
“Sorry.”
“This whole thing was your idea, after all.”
“My idea! I said, maybe we should think about having some
friends up for the Fourth of July weekend. I didn’t say let’s host an
extravaganza with a cast of thousands.”
“We discussed the whole thing and you agreed.”
“You discussed. I listened.”
“And agreed.”
“And didn’t have the strength to resist.”
“Oh, Jack, don’t be such a poop. I know you’re looking forward to
this as much as I am.”
“That was before I discovered I’d have to mow the lawn every
hour to keep it looking fresh.”
“It seems to me you mow Pebble Beach East at least that often—
and won’t let Hans go near it.”
“Only the greens. Hans mows the fairways and rough.”
“And anyway, it’s not an extravaganza. About a dozen people,
that’s all.”
“Yeah, and what people. I said friends.”
“Skip and Muffy are our best friends.”
“Yes, and normal, pleasant people. That’s why I feel guilty about
subjecting them to some of the weirdos you’ve invited.”

Scavenger Hunt  7
“They’re creative people is all. And creativity and individuality
oft go hand in hand.”
“Particularly with members of the same sex.”
“Oh, that’s delightful, Jack. Very enlightened. Homophobia is
such an attractive trait. Besides, only Lawrence is gay.”
“Well they’re still weirdos in my book. And as for being creative,
as far as I can see the only thing most of them are creative about is
spending other people’s money—ours included.”
“Jack, I’m glad you’re getting this out of your system now,
because we certainly will have none of this nonsense once our guests
arrive. I’d also like to point out that the reason Chip Dawson is coming is
because he has money—more than you and I ever will.”
“Oh, is that the reason?”
“Jack, don’t start that again. Chip is a friend, that’s all—a friend
who is very generous about supporting the charitable and cultural
activities in which I’m involved.”
“I wonder why.”
“You’re being silly, Jack. But if it’s any comfort to you, one of the
reasons I’ve invited Kendall Jorgenson this weekend is to see if maybe she
and Chip might not hit it off.”
“A woman as poised and attractive as Kendall would never go for
a twinkie like Chip Dawson.”
“I don’t know what your sophomoric definition of a twinkie is, but
Chip is a very nice—and very rich—guy, one of the most eligible
bachelors around. He and Kendall would be a perfect match. Were you
thinking perhaps she was going to hold out for you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, Jack.”
“Now who’s being silly?”
“You can’t deny you’re attracted to her.”
“Of course, I am. She’s a very attractive woman. But I’ve already
found the love of my life.”
“Oh, really? Anyone I know?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. And hard as it may be to believe, she’s
even more attractive than Kendall Jorgenson.”
He beamed at Leigh.
“I see from that smirk on your face that you think I’m still a sucker
for that old Jack Hewitt charm.”
“It had occurred to me, yes.”

Johnson  8
“Well let me tell you—” she began, but then smiled. “Well, you
may be right about that. But only that.”
They fell silent as they rounded the last curve and the house came
into view.
An imposing, twenty–four room structure of white clapboard, Greenfield
featured a two–story central edifice in the Georgian style with a steep,
wood shingled roof and massive brick chimneys at each end. Eight
double–hung multipaned windows were arrayed across its front around an
elaborate Adamesque entryway whose columns supported a second story
balcony accessed by Palladian french doors. A flat–roofed, single–story
wing extended from one side, a screened porch from the other.
Jack and Leigh had purchased the house and its ninety–eight acres
of rolling meadows and woodlands in the Hudson River Valley hunt
country three years earlier with a portion of the money Jack had inherited
from his grandmother, Abigail, only daughter of hot–water bottle magnate
Joshua Spence. It had been love at first sight, the end to a frustrating
search for the place of their dreams. Their requirements had been simple:
remote yet readily accessible from the City, with a fantastic house and
outbuildings and lots of land all at a reasonable price. Simple.
Impossible.
And then they had found Greenfield—at two million some odd
dollars it was a steal.
“Well, it’s still here,” Jack said. He made a left into the gravel
driveway that swept through a gauntlet of ancient sugar maples to the
turnaround in front of the house.
“You always say that.”
“Well, it is―and let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Amen to that,” Leigh said.
Later, they sat on rockers on the screened side porch, gazing out
over sun–washed meadows limned by stone walls and rail fences, and
farther away, the dark tangle of the woods.
“It sure is peaceful,” Jack said, sipping his iced tea.
“It sure is,” Leigh sighed, contemplative for the moment.
“Mrs. Lindstrom arrive all right?”
“Yes, although she had the usual complaints about Hans driving
recklessly on the way here from the station.”
“That crazy kid, he must have gone over thirty again.”
“Well, I guess when you’re pushing eighty, a sixty-year-old is a
kid.”

Scavenger Hunt  9
“Yes, but even when Mrs. L was a kid, cars went over thirty.”
“She lived in the City her entire life after she came to this country
and as far as I can recall the only time she ever left the house was to do the
marketing—and she walked to do that. That kitchen and her bedroom
were her world. Coming here is quite a challenge for her.”
“Then why does she insist on doing it?”
“What, and let someone else cook for us? Not while there’s breath
in her body will anyone but Bebe Lindstrom cook for the only child of the
sainted Owen and Priscilla Bushnell. I might be poisoned. It’s bad
enough we go to restaurants.”
“Speaking of that delinquent Hans, here he comes.”
A tall, stooped man of about sixty wearing coveralls, a white T–
shirt, and an Agway cap over bristly gray hair was approaching along the
drive that continued from the front circle past the carriage house and barn
and ultimately the caretaker’s cottage and garage before making its way
out to the rear gate.
“We’re here, Hans,” Leigh called out as he prepared to knock on
the side door.
Hans Van Eyck, descendant of one of the Hudson River Valley’s
earliest settlers, had been the Hewitt’s caretaker since shortly after they
had bought Greenfield, having come to them after he had lost his dairy
farm in the next town to bankruptcy.
“Hello, Hans,” Leigh said gaily as he shuffled to a halt in front of
the porch.
“Morning, ma’am. Morning, Mr. Hewitt,” Hans replied, taking off
his cap. He looked up briefly than dropped his eyes, twisting his cap in
wiry hands weathered by years of labor and sun.
Whether Hans’ reserve was a product of bitterness over his fate or
an outgrowth of innate temperament, Jack and Leigh could never decide.
They only knew that it was unshakeable. He was a diligent and competent
worker, however, so they were happy to overlook his shortcomings in the
personality department.
“So, how is everything going?” Leigh asked.
“The painting’s finished except for the upstairs trim, the back step
has been repaired, the tennis court has been groomed, and the gardening is
done. I can start on the barn this afternoon.” He looked up. “I didn’t mow
the lawn because you told me not too, but I really think I should.”
“No that’s all right, Jack wants to do it.” She gave Jack a honeyed
smile. “Don’t you, Jack?”

Johnson  10
“Haven’t been able to think of anything else all day,” Jack said,
taking another sip of his tea.
“And besides,” she said, returning her attention to Hans, “I really
would like you to get going on the barn. I’m sorry to have sprung it on
you at the last minute like this, but I do think it needs to be done—just in
case.”
“Yeah, just in case,” Jack echoed.
“Do you understand what I want you to do?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The important thing is the loft area, to get that swept and dusted
. . .”
“Dusted?” Jack interrupted. “You’re having him dust the barn?”
“Only the hayloft. And not dusted exactly. You know what I
mean, don’t you, Hans? Get rid of the cobwebs and things like that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And then set up the ping pong table to one side with a light over
it—we have one, don’t we?— not blocking the basketball court.
Downstairs, you just need to tidy up. It shouldn’t be too bad down there
since the horses have been out to pasture—which reminds me that you
should probably put them in the paddock so we can get them easily if
people want to ride.”
“Jenny and Sugar, too?”
“Yes, I think we’d better have all six ready to go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Then why don’t you get started and I’ll come out in a
while to see how you’re getting along.”
After Hans had left, Jack snorted, “Dusted! Even Martha Stewart
doesn’t dust her barn.”
“Martha Stewart’s slovenly approach to entertaining is no concern
of mine, I’m sure,” Leigh sniffed, “but you have given me an idea.
Flowers. Some flower arrangements would brighten the barn up
considerably. Just something casual, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And that, I think, should about do it for the barn.”
“What? No string quintet?”
“Music! You’re right! I totally forgot.” She thought for a moment.
“It’s no problem though. We can bring the boom box out there. That
ought to be good enough, don’t you think?”
“Well, I don’t know. . .” he said with mock concern.

Scavenger Hunt  11
“Jack, I wish you would be a little more serious. They’re your
guests too, you know.”
“That’s why I mentioned the music. But seriously, Leigh, don’t
you think you’re getting a wee bit carried away? We’re not entertaining
the queen, you know. Things will take care of themselves. We’ll get up
Friday—hopefully it will be a beautiful day—and we can spend the day
relaxing. A little tennis, maybe a swim, some drinks in the afternoon and
later a little croquet. . .”
“Don’t forget the scavenger hunt.”
“Scavenger hunt?”
“Yes, I told you last week.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You were looking at some financial reports or something in
the den and we were discussing the arrangements for this weekend.”
“We were, were we?”
“Yes, we were.”
“I see. Well, why don’t we pretend that I never heard anything
about it and you can fill me in.”
“Well, I was thinking about how we were going to entertain all
these people all weekend and I had a brilliant idea: a scavenger hunt.”
Jack looked at her blankly.
“You know, where you split people into teams and they have to
find things. I got the idea watching My Man Godfrey.
Jack’s expression had not changed.
“The movie. With Carole Lombard. We went to see it last week.”
“We did? My memory must really be going. I don’t remember it
at all.”
“Not us. We. The girls at the Foundation. You were at a dinner
or something.”
“I thought Carole Lombard was dead.”
“She is. It’s an old movie. It was at the Film Forum.”
“I see.”
“Yes, and in it there’s a scavenger hunt, to raise money for charity
as a matter of fact, and afterward we were talking about whether
something like that would work for the Foundation, you know, a little
different than the usual fundraiser, and it occurred to me that it would be
perfect for us.”
“Meaning us, I assume. What kind of a scavenger hunt?”
“Well, in the movie they’re looking for all sorts of odds and ends
including a man forgotten by society which is where William Powell—the

Johnson  12
actor from those Thin Man movies—comes in because he’s a bum
although he’s only pretending to be because he’s actually rich.”
“I see.”
“I can see you don’t but it doesn’t actually matter because we’re
going to do it a little differently.”
“We are?”
“Yes. Our scavenger hunt is going to have a nature theme.”
“No bums, in other words.”
“Only you and Skip, dear.”
“Ouch.”
“No, ours is going to be strictly nature since we’re here in the
country. We’ll divide people into groups and give them a list of things to
find, like ferns or feathers or fossils or bird nests, with different points to
be awarded depending on how hard the things are to locate, and then we’ll
set the groups off in different areas of the property with a time limit for
their return and whichever one gets the most points wins.”
“Wins what?”
“Our everlasting admiration.”
“What if no one wants to play?”
“Oh, they have to play. And anyway, they’ll want to. It will be
fun.”
“But isn’t it a bit. . . energetic?”
“We’re not just going to sit around and drink and talk about stocks
and sports, Jack.”
“I know, I know. But not everyone enjoys nature as much as we
do. Your friend Judith won’t swim in water that has fish in it or walk
through a field unless you promise her there aren’t any insects.”
“Judith’s not coming.”
“Still.”
“It will be fine.”
“I guess that settles that, then.”
“I’m glad we agree. Now, why don’t you call Skip while he’s still
at the office and see if he and Muffy are still planning to arrive Thursday
evening.
Jack sighed then heaved himself out of his rocker.
“Nothing like a quiet weekend in the country, “he said. “Rest,
relaxation, tranquility . . .” his voice trailing off as made his way into the
house’s interior.
“Skip? Jack.”

Scavenger Hunt  13
Jack was on the kitchen phone, leaning across the butcher block
island that occupied the center of the spacious room, the cord stretched
painfully from where the phone hung near the door fifteen feet away.
There was a brief silence while he listened to Skip’s greeting.
Then Jack said, “Good. Good. What’s up with you?”
Another pause, then, “No. Who?”
“You’re shitting me. No, I hadn’t heard. Carmichael? For
Benson? What the hell kind of trade is that? Straight up?”
“I’m tellin’ you, Skippy, the Giants are clueless these days.”
“Exactly.”
“And don’t forget Aikens. They let him get away just when he
was coming into his prime. And then they pay a stiff like Honecker a
buck and a half a year for nothin’.”
“I agree with you one hundred percent. They’ll be lucky to win
four games.”
“No. What, did all this happen today?”
“Oh, come on.”
“Jenkins?!? For Marbury?!? Man, they need drug testing for
general managers. Pilozzi’s gotta be smokin’ somethin’.”
From the doorway, Leigh cleared her throat loudly.
Jack twisted to look at her and received a simpering smile.
“Uh, Skippy,” he said, obviously interrupting something Skip was
saying, “You guys are still coming this weekend, right?”
“Great. Great.”
“No, not too many. About a dozen, I think Leigh said. They’re
mostly Leigh’s supposed friends. Cultural types. That’s why I need you
guys here. A little reality.”
“Yeah, you probably have. At our Christmas party, most likely.”
“Well, there’s Caroline Vernon, I’m sure you remember her.”
“That’s the one.”
“You got me. I just live here.”
“Who?”
“Yeah, he’ll be here—the little twerp.”
“Chip.”
“Leigh insists.”
“Uh–huh: Kendall Jorgenson. You remember her? She was at the
party too. Blonde, good–looking? She’s a dresser at Calvin Klein.”
“Actually, I think she’s called a retail sales consultant or
something silly like that. She helps celebs and big spenders try on clothes.

Johnson  14
It’s a critical function from a societal standpoint—indeed from the
standpoint of Western civilization in general.”
“Yeah, a real babe.”
“You and me both.”
Leigh cleared her throat once more, although not as loudly this
time.
Jack continued hurriedly.
“And Christian Barstowe. He was at the party too. With his wife.”
“No, you’re thinking of Christian Barlow.”
“Yeah, at Penn State.”
“That’s right. Barlow caught the winning pass for the national
championship.”
“Yup, the Rose Bowl.”
“Absolutely. A great team. Szaz, Griffiths, Ricky Melina . . .”
The throat clearing was much louder again, and accompanied by a
stamp of Leigh’s foot. Jack put up his hand to beg Leigh’s indulgence.
“Anyway Skip, are you still planning on arriving Thursday night?”
“Uh–huh, I see . . .”
“Uh–huh.”
“Hello?”
“Skip?”
“Hello?”
“Skip, can you hear me?”
Jack punched the redial button on the handset, listened briefly, then
pulled the handset away from his face disgustedly. He turned to Leigh.
“The phone’s dead.”
“Not again.”
“Yup.”
“This is the third time this year.”
“Yup.”
“And the timing couldn’t be worse.”
“Nope.”
Leigh paused on the verge of saying something, then said, “Jack
dear, could you stop saying that?”
“What?”
“Yup and nope.”
“What would you like me to say?”
“How about something helpful?”
“Such as?”

Scavenger Hunt  15
“How about, ‘Don’t worry dear, I’ll go to the phone company first
thing and wring the neck of the every person I encounter,’ which won’t get
our phone fixed but will make us both feel a whole lot better.”
After breakfast the next morning, Jack strolled across the hundred
yards of lawn that separated the main house from the Van Eyck’s to see if
their phone was working, pausing on the way to confirm that Hans had
indeed groomed the clay tennis court. Whereas the main house had been
built according to classic Georgian principles, the caretaker’s cottage,
constructed a century later, was decidedly Gothic Revival, with board and
batten siding painted white, a broad porch, vaulting eaves festooned with
gingerbread trim, and a green metal roof.
Hans lived there with his wife Doris and daughter Lena, now away
at nursing school nine months out of the year. The Hewitts didn’t see
much of Doris, who had no duties with respect to the Hewitts―a brief
attempt at having Doris clean house was terminated quickly at Leigh’s
insistence―and mostly kept to her house, watching television courtesy of
the satellite dish the Hewitts bought for them.
Doris answered Jack’s knock, coming to the door with her lumpy
bulk wrapped in a ratty, pink housecoat of pilled synthetic fuzz and her
gray hair in curlers under an orange scarf.
“Good morning, Doris.”
“Hans ain’t here. He’s gone to the barn.”
“That’s all right, I just wanted to use the phone if yours is working.
Ours is out again.”
For an answer, she turned wordlessly and shuffled into the living
room and plopped heavily into a worn overstuffed chair. The TV blared
with a morning talk show where two middle-aged women were yelling at
each other over a subject obviously of vital importance.
Jack opened the screen door and went to the phone that sat on a
small table in the front entrance hall.
“Doris, would you mind turning that down a minute,” Jack said as
he dialed. He watched as she picked up the remote and pointed it at the
television without appreciable result before placing it back on the tray
beside her.
The phone company informed him that they would have someone
there that afternoon. He then called Skip Taylor who reported that he and
Muffy would be arriving after dinner on Thursday.
“Jack, there’s one other thing. We’ll be bringing the kids and
Buck too, if that’s all right.”

Johnson  16
“That’s fine,” Jack said. “There’s plenty of room and the
Barstowes are bringing their dog too.”
On the way out, Jack stuck his head into the living room.
“Doris, is Lena around? Leigh asked me to find out what time
she’ll be over.”
Lena had agreed to help Leigh and Mrs. Lindstrom over the
weekend.
“She’s upstairs.”
“May I speak with her?”
“Sure. Just yell. She’ll hear you.”
That was not what Jack had in mind but decided that getting Doris
to do more was not worth the effort. He walked to the bottom of the stairs.
“Lena? “he called in a tentative voice.
There was no answer.
“Gotta yell louder than that,” Doris offered from the living room.
“Lena!”
A door opened and then Lena appeared at the top of the stairs
tucking a white cotton blouse into tight fitting jeans. She brushed her
hand through her no–nonsense bob of honey blonde hair and smiled.
“Hello, Jack.”
Although Lena had none of her mother’s bulk, the link between
them was clear in the gray eyes and strong cheekbones. Jack found Lena
attractive despite the resemblance.
“Hello, Lena. Sorry to bother you, but Leigh wanted me to ask
when you’d be coming over.
“Whenever she wants, I guess.”
“Oh. Well, I guess she wants you now then.”
“OK, let me finish getting dressed and I’ll be right there.” She gave
Jack an enigmatic smile then disappeared.
Jack stuck his head into the living room again.
“Goodbye, Doris. Thanks.”
For an answer Doris nodded, unwilling or unable to break her
concentration on the program she was watching. Jack watched her for a
few seconds then, shaking his head, made his way back out into the
brightness of the morning.
As Jack had predicted, night had fallen by the time the Taylors
arrived on Thursday. Jack and Leigh had retired to the rockers on the side
porch after dinner to watch the sunset and were sitting in the dark when
headlights swept into the drive and winked toward the house through the

Scavenger Hunt  17
trees. They walked toward the front of the house to greet the new arrivals
as a green Jeep Grand Cherokee rolled to a halt in the turnaround.
“Skip. Muffy. Welcome,” Jack exclaimed as the Taylors’
Weimaraner, Buck, exploded from the car and ran excitedly in circles
around him. “How was the drive?”
“Not bad,” Skip said, climbing from behind the wheel and
extending his hand to Jack as Leigh kissed the air near Muffy’s cheeks.
“Not bad at all. A little sluggish at the bridge but that’s about it.”
Skip, short and slender with blond hair prematurely scant, was
Jack’s closest friend, a relationship begun when they were freshman
roommates at college with a shared history of undistinguished careers at
distinguished prep schools. Jack and Skip saw each other less often now
that the Taylors had children and had moved to Long Island where Skip
had joined a small law firm, but they still spoke regularly by phone and
the couples got together as often as schedules would permit.
“Glad to hear it,” Jack said, as he struggled in vain to keep Buck
from jumping up on him. “And how about the little rascals? They helped
with the driving, I hope.”
He tousled the blond heads of the young boy and girl who stood
shyly next to the car, then squatted in front of them.
“How about it Oliver? Did you help your dad with the driving?”
Oliver merely shook his head while staring hard at the ground.
“He’s not old enough to drive, Uncle Jack,” proclaimed his sister
Paige, her exasperation at Jack’s ignorance evident in her tone.
“No? I thought the driving age was seven, now,” Jack said
wonderingly.
“Oliver’s only six!” Paige exclaimed.
“Only six! Why I never would have believed it. But I guess that
explains it. So you were the only one who could help your dad, I guess.”
“I’m not old enough either.”
“But I thought you were eight. In fact, I was almost sure of it.”
“I am eight, but kids can’t drive, silly.”
“Can’t drive?” Jack stood up. “Well, I never.” He shook his head
in bafflement.
“It’s so nice when Jack has a chance to talk to kids his own age,”
Leigh said to Muffy. Standing next to one another, Leigh and Muffy were
a study in contrasts, Leigh, tall and elegant in expensive though casual
clothes, Muffy, plain and chunky and dressed in sweats. Despite their
differences they got along well.

Johnson  18
“Yes, I’m sure,” Muffy said, then added in a stage whisper, “He
seems a bit—how shall we say—dimwitted, though. Is he . . .”
“Yes, a little slow for his age,” Leigh said. “But the doctor says
it’s nothing to worry about. He’ll grow out of it with time.”
“So, anyway,” Jack said, ignoring them. “Come on in and we’ll
fix you some drinks. I’m sure you must be thirsty after your trip. I know I
am.”
“Has anyone else arrived?” Muffy asked as they lifted suitcases
from the car and headed for the house.
“Not yet,” Leigh replied. “And unfortunately, we don’t know if
anyone else was planning on arriving tonight. The phone wasn’t working
until late this afternoon, so it’s possible people tried to call and couldn’t
get through.”
“I wondered about that. I tried to call this afternoon to see if you
needed anything.”
“It took them two days just to figure out what the problem was,”
Jack said disgustedly. “And even now it’s only jury rigged until they can
get the part they need.”
“But I tried your cell, too.”
“Unfortunately, the benefits of modern technology haven’t really
reached us here yet,” Leigh said. “I don’t know if it’s the terrain or what,
but it’s a rare day when we can get a signal. We do have email, though!”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Ah, the joys of country living,” Skip said, as Jack flicked on the
lights and they entered the house. “Where should we put these?”
“You’re in your usual rooms, downstairs at the back.” Leigh said.
“The famous Fireplace Suite?” Skip asked.
“Correct,” Leigh said.
“Fine,” Muffy said. “How about if we go get settled in, then we’ll
join you for those drinks Jack promised.”
“Great. I’ll get them ready,” Jack said. “White wine for you,
Muff?”
“Please.”
“Skippy?”
“How about a martini? Let’s start this weekend off right. I’ve
brought you a box of Romeo y Julieta that should go perfectly. They’re
Habanos too. A client smuggled them in from Antigua for me.”
“You got it,” Jack said. “And I reckon I’ll just have to join you. A
man shouldn’t have to drink martinis and smoke cigars alone. Bombay,
straight up, olives?”

Scavenger Hunt  19
“You got it.”
“Frankly, I think that’s exactly how one should have to smoke
cigars,” Leigh said.
“What’s that, my little puffball?”
“I think alone is exactly how one should smoke cigars.”
“Now, Leigh,” Jack said. “Let’s not forget that Skip is our guest
and these cigars are a gift—a very thoughtful gift, I might add.”
“That’s amazing,” Leigh said. “That’s exactly what I was
thinking.”
“Leigh, I want you to know I had no idea . . .” Muffy began.
“It’s all right, dear,” Leigh interrupted. “We’ll have our drinks on
the porch and the boys can indulge to their hearts’ delight.”
Jack, Skip and Muffy were gathered around the table on the side
porch with the soft glow of an antique brass hurricane lamp providing
illumination.
“Where are the kids?” Jack asked.
“Playing with the toys you bought for them,” Muffy said. She had
changed into slacks and a sweater. “It was really nice of you, but you
shouldn’t have.”
“We figured if they had to spend the weekend with a bunch of
boring adults the least we could do was try to entertain them,” Jack said.
Leigh came into the porch.
“That was Caroline, “she announced. “She says she’s going to
come. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to because she hasn’t been feeling
well.”
“Nothing contagious, I hope,” Jack said with no evidence of
sympathy.
“No, only her allergies acting up.”
“Is she bringing the fiancé?”
“Yes, and a friend.”
“Of the fiancé?”
“No, a childhood friend of Caroline’s who’s visiting from Florida,
a girl who was placed with a family in Caroline’s neighborhood after her
parents were killed in an auto accident. They were apparently as close as
sisters.”
“Isn’t Caroline the one Skip tried to pick up at your Christmas
party?” Muffy asked.
“Tried to pick up?!?” Skip protested.

Johnson  20
“I’m sure it was merely a misunderstanding,” Leigh said
soothingly.
“It was not a misunderstanding,” Skip declared.
“You know, Leigh,” Muffy said, “I should be annoyed but I can’t
help admiring him for being so open about it.”
“She came on to me!” Skip protested.
“Of course,” Muffy said.
“She did.”
“So why did you insult her?”
“I didn’t. I merely pointed out that I was married.”
“Oh, puh–lease,” Muffy said, rolling her eyes.
“I did.”
“That was smart, Skip,” Jack said. “Especially with Muffy in
earshot. You want to keep a low profile in situations like that.”
“Thanks, Jack. I knew I could count on your support,” Skip said.
“It’s the least I can do.”
“That sounded like the voice of experience, Jack,” Leigh said.
“Not at all, dearest. I was speaking on a strictly theoretical basis.”
“So, who is this fiancé, anyway?” Muffy asked.
“Yes, he must be quite something,” Jack said.
“Actually, I hear he’s not very impressive,” Leigh said.
“What does he do?” Skip asked.
“I don’t think he does anything. He has a trust fund.”
“Well that’s certainly impressive enough,” Jack said.
“It’s not how much money you have, Jack,” Leigh said primly.
“It’s what you do with it.”
“And what does this fiancé do with his?”
“Not much from what I understand, but I’m hoping to talk him into
supporting Dance in the Park. His family is from Cleveland—cement or
something like that—but even there he’s apparently just about invisible. I
have no idea how Caroline hooked up with him, although I know she’s
been out there discussing cultural exchanges.”
“With Cleveland?” Jack said. “We send them culture and they
send us what?”
“A rich husband for the Commissioner of Cultural Affairs,
apparently,” Muffy said. “Might be a good deal for New York if it keeps
her hands off other people’s husbands.”
“So you do believe me,” Skip said.
“I’m taking it under advisement.”

Scavenger Hunt  21
“She’d had a little too much to drink that night is all,” Leigh said.
“She’s not usually like that.”
“Oh yeah. Usually, she’s a charmer,” Jack said.
“She has a strong personality, I’ll admit, but you need that in her
job—and she’s been a great help to me with Dance in the Park. And now
that I’m on the board of the Institute for Period Design, I’m hoping she’ll
come through again. I’ve invited the head of the Institute, Lawrence
Finch—”
“Now there’s a piece of work,” Jack muttered.
“—so he’ll have a chance to meet Caroline in relaxed
circumstances. I’ve also invited Christian Barstowe, the Director of
Dance in the Park—whom you’ve met—so he can pitch her for funding
for next year.
“I’m not sure what to do with the friend, though. I hadn’t planned
on her. Maybe I’ll put Caroline and her fiancé upstairs in the front in the
Green Room with the friend next door in the Blue Room. There’s a
connecting door, but if they’re such good friends we can hope they won’t
mind.”
“If she’s going to spring uninvited guests on you, I don’t think
she’s in much of a position to complain,” Muffy said.
“True, but there’s the fiancé and friend to consider.”
“They’ll survive, I’m sure.”
Leigh took a last sip of her wine and stood up.
“I don’t know about you folks, but I’m ready to turn in. It’s been a
long day. If anyone else shows, they’ll just have to wake us up.”
“Me too,” Muffy said. “Those kids are too quiet. I better go see
what they’re up to.”
“Skip, would you like another drink? “Jack asked.
“I can’t see how one more would hurt.”
“Not till morning anyway,” Muffy said.
“And with them gone,” Jack said, “maybe we can do some
compensating with those totems you brought—although what I might have
to compensate for is certainly beyond me.”
“What about the car? Is it all right in front?”
“Yeah. We’ll park it by the garage tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TWO
After a hearty breakfast of eggs, home fries, and sausages with
toast and a variety of jams, jellies and preserves—blueberry, raspberry,
juneberry, elderberry, blackberry and grape—that Mrs. Lindstrom had
prepared from the prior year’s harvest, Leigh, Muffy and Lena joined her
in the kitchen, the goal being to prepare as much food as possible before
the guests started to arrive in earnest. Although Jack and Skip made
perfunctory offers to help, Leigh shooed them away saying the best thing
they could do to help would be get out of the way. The men vowed to do
their best to hold up their end of the bargain and took their clubs and the
kids out to Jack’s pride and joy: the two hole, par six golf course Jack had
hacked from the wilderness of the south meadow.
Jack and Skip had returned and Lena was setting up the lunch
buffet on the rear patio by the time Christian and Abby Barstowe arrived,
their advent announced by the deep woofs of Buck which were soon
joined by the higher–pitched barking of the Barstowe’s cocker spaniel,
Sammy.
The Hewitts and Taylors spilled into the turnaround to see Sammy
chasing a thoroughly intimidated and yelping Buck around the Barstowes’
car while the Barstowes watched in amusement.
As greetings were exchanged above the canine cacophony, Jack
said, “Buck has inherited your nerve, Skip.”
Even as Jack spoke, Buck finally seemed to realize how small his
tormenter was and turned on him with a growl that sent Sammy scurrying
back the other way around the car with Buck now hot on his heels.
“Heart of a lion, just like his master,” Skip said. “Get ’im Buck.”
“I think you all know one another,” Leigh said as the dogs moved
off.
“We’ve brought you a gift,” Christian said gravely after greetings
were exchanged. He handed Leigh a gift wrapped bottle. Tall and lean
and in his thirties, his dark hair was cut short. A Vandyke beard gave his
handsome face a vaguely menacing appearance. Abby, by contrast, was
diminutive and mousy looking, with drab brown hair hanging limply to
her shoulders and obscuring her face. She was also young—very young—
seemingly 22 or 23 at the oldest, her apparent youth accentuated by her
diminutive stature and slender build.

Scavenger Hunt  23
“Why thank you,” Leigh said, handing the bottle to Jack.
“You’re very welcome.”
“Hey! Absinthe!” Jack said, unwrapping it. “That’s different.”
“I find it to be a nice change of pace.”
“Christian has been teaching me all about liqueurs,” Abby said.
“He says they’re a neglected part of our cultural heritage.” She beamed up
at him admiringly.
“Well, you know what they say,” Jack said cheerily. “Absinthe
makes the heart grow fonder.”
As total silence greeted this remark, Jack said, “It’s a joke, get it?
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder—absinthe.” He surveyed his
audience eagerly as Skip and Muffy shook their heads in dismay.
Christian stared without expression.
“We got it, Jack,” Leigh said grimly. “Now get rid of it.”
“Christian. Abby. I’d like you to meet our kids, Oliver and Paige,”
Muffy said, bringing the kids forward. “Say hello to Mr. and Mrs.
Barstowe, children.”
While Paige immediately gave forth with a sprightly hello,
Oliver’s response to the spotlight suddenly thrust upon him was to hide
behind his mother while clutching her thigh for dear life.
“Now, Oliver,” Muffy began, but Abby stepped forward quickly
and squatted in front of him.
“Hi, Oliver,” she said, her face now alive. “I’m glad to meet you.
And you too, Paige.” She smiled sweetly at them. “I think we’re going to
be very good friends.” She looked back at Christian. “Aren’t they
adorable?”
“Very nice,” Christian said stiffly.
“Wait till you get to know them,” Muffy began—but was
interrupted by the sound of a car turning into the drive. All watched as a
maroon Saab made its way toward them.
“Who’s that?” Jack asked.
“Perhaps it’s Caroline,” Leigh suggested.
“With Minnesota plates?”
“Oh, that must be Kendall then,” Leigh said. “She’s originally
from Minnesota.”
“There’s someone with her.”
“I asked her to give Lawrence a ride.” She addressed Abby. “You
may remember Kendall from our Christmas party. She works at Calvin
Klein and is very active on the cultural circuit. I think Christian knows
her fairly well.” She glanced at him for confirmation. “Lawrence Finch is

Johnson  24
the Director of the Institute for Period Design, where I’m newly on the
Board.”
The car drew to a halt and Kendall Jorgenson and Lawrence Finch
got out as the group moved forward to greet them. Kendall, stunningly
attractive with shoulder–length ash blonde hair framing shockingly blue
eyes and features of model–like perfection, was impeccably casual in dun–
colored slacks, white blouse and an earth–tone houndstooth vest: a ready–
to–go–riding look right out of Town and Country. Her companion,
fiftyish and thin with close cropped gray hair, a wispy mustache, and
wire–rimmed glasses covering watery blue eyes, was dressed improbably
in a canary double–breasted jacket and navy blue pants. An ascot of
brilliant white completed the ensemble.
Leigh exchanged air–kisses with both.
“Ah, Mrs. Hewitt,” said Lawrence Finch when he and Leigh had
separated. “A pleasure to see you as always. And such a charming
country abode. Your invitation was gracious in the extreme.”
Jack caught Skip’s attention and rolled his eyes.
“And Mr. Hewitt!”
Jack started as his name was called out, embarrassed that his
gesture may have been seen. “Thank you also. You are indeed the lord of
an impressive manse.”
“You’re very welcome I’m sure, Larry.”
“Lawrence not Larry, please. I find Larry quite déclassé.”
“Oh sorry. I forgot.”
“Jack is very forgetful when it comes to names,” Leigh said tossing
an annoyed glance his way. She turned her attention to Kendall. “And
how are you? You look fabulous.”
“She is an absolute delight,” Finch proclaimed. “An exquisite
driver and scintillating conversationalist.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Jack piped up.
“Jack, you’ve never seen me drive,” Kendall said laughingly.
“Perhaps not, but if I had . . .” He beamed at her.
“Yes, well,” Leigh said. “Let’s get the introductions out of the
way—the Barstowes have also only this second arrived—and get you
settled in your rooms so we can eat. If you will all grab your bags and
follow me . . .”
Leigh led the newcomers, bags in hand, through the entry portico
and into the front entrance of the house. Before them, the main stairs
climbed to the second story. To each side, hallways ran toward the rear of
the house.

Scavenger Hunt  25
“For those who haven’t been here before,” Leigh began once they
had all crowded in behind her, “Let me describe the basic layout. To our
right—”
“What a charming étagère,” Finch exclaimed. “Simply exquisite.
A trifle ornate to be sure, but then Renaissance Revival tends to be. A
Dessoir, no?”
“Why, thank you,” Leigh stammered, disconcerted. “I think so, as
a matter of fact.”
“Charming.”
“I had to go to a dozen shops to find it,” Jack said. “To find just
the perfect one for this setting, I mean. So many are simply abominable.”
“Now, as I was saying,” Leigh continued with a sharp look in
Jack’s direction, “to our right, are the front parlor and further down the
hall, the library and one of the downstairs bathrooms. The master
bedroom suite is down the hallway that goes off to the right between the
parlor and library. That’s where you can find Jack and me in the event of
any night–time emergencies—unless, of course, Jack has been acting up,
in which case I’ll be in the bedroom and Jack will be sleeping in the barn.”
“The paddock actually if the weather’s nice,” Jack said.
Leigh continued, “To the left are the common room and dining
room, and behind the dining room, the kitchen, the back stairs—where
Mrs. Lindstrom has her bedroom—and another bathroom. The Taylors,”
she gestured to indicate Skip and Muffy, “have their rooms back there
also.
“That about does it for the downstairs except that you should know
that you can reach the patio—where we’ll be serving lunch—through the
library.
“Now if you’ll follow me.”
They climbed the stairs into the open hallway that surrounded the
stairwell.
“May I say, Mrs. Hewitt,” Finch said, taking in the gilt–framed
landscapes by Cole and Church and lesser Hudson River School masters
lining the walls, “that your taste is impeccable, the perfect embodiment of
rural elegance. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing you a small token of my
appreciation for your gracious invitation—a one of a kind side–table lamp
by Handel, priceless actually—that should fit in admirably with your
existing ensemble. If you like, I would be happy to select a site for it
myself.”
“Why thank you, Lawrence. That’s very thoughtful of you. But
please, no more Mrs. Hewitt. Leigh will do just fine.

Johnson  26
“Now, the rest of you will be staying up here. Christian, you and
Abby will be in the back at the end of the hall in the Chimney Suite.
Lawrence you will be at the front in the Taupe Room, and Kendall you
will be right here next to him.” She gestured to the door immediately to
the left at the top of the stairs. “Lawrence and Kendall, I’m afraid we
have a full house this weekend and you’ll have to use the public
bathrooms. There are two up here. One right here,”—she indicated the
doorway directly across the hall from Kendall’s at the top of the stairs—
“and a larger one down the hall in the back.
“Other than that, there’s the back stairs—also at the end of the hall
next to the bathroom—and that about does it. Oh, and there’s a small
balcony over the front portico through those doors.” She indicated the
french doors that stood open to the summer breeze at the front of the hall.
“One word of caution for you, Lawrence. Although George Halstead, the
architect who designed Greenfield, was one of the most distinguished of
his generation, the house has its defects. One of them is that the portico
balcony provides an unobstructed view into the front bedrooms on either
side. You may want to keep your front window shuttered if privacy is a
concern. There are two others on the side that should provide plenty of
light.
“So now why don’t you all get yourselves settled and then come
down for lunch on the rear patio—down the stairs, make a left to the
library and there you are. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
After lunch, they took their drinks outside for a tour of the grounds
in the immediate vicinity of the house for the benefit of those who had
never visited Greenfield before, while Abby took the kids to the pond to
feed the ducks.
They were gathered at the center of the formal garden on the east
side of the house, where four marble benches faced a worn Victorian–era
fountain surmounted by a grinning three–foot–high Cupid, when the next
car load of guests arrived.
Jack and Skip were standing to one side as the black Lexus made
its way up the drive.
“This must be your girlfriend, Skip,” Jack said.
“Wonderful. Well, hopefully she’ll be on her best behavior with
her fiancé here.”
“Don’t count on it. Besides, I suspect even her best behavior still
falls considerably short of accepted norms of civil interaction.”
“Well, it will be interesting anyway, I guess.”

Scavenger Hunt  27
“No doubt,” Jack said. “No doubt.”
The new arrivals climbed from their car: Caroline Vernon, short
and buxom with brassy orange hair fixed in a helmet–like pageboy, a pale,
dark–haired man wearing black–framed glasses—Caroline’s fiancé
apparently—and a heavyset woman, with close–cropped brown hair and
round–lensed Coke–bottle glasses with tortoise shell frames. A fourth
person, a portly, silver–bearded man of about sixty wearing a purple
caftan, was struggling to extricate himself from the rear of the car.
It was Caroline who spoke first.
“We’re here,” she called out. “The weekend has now officially
begun.”
“Well, thank goodness,” Jack muttered. “I was getting tired of just
having a good time.”
He grunted as Leigh gave him a sharp poke in the ribs with her
elbow.
“Welcome,” Leigh said. “We’re so glad you could make it. You
must be Alan,” she said focusing on the dark–haired man who was now
holding Caroline’s hand.
“Uh, well, yes,” he said.
“We’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.”
“We certainly have,” Jack echoed heartily, and received a warning
look from Leigh for his trouble.
“And I’ve been looking forward to meeting more of Caroline’s
friends,” Alan said.
“Is that what you’ll be doing after you leave here?” Jack asked
innocently.
“No, I meant now,” Alan said.
“Oh, I see,” Jack said. “Sorry about that. Not as sharp as I could
be today, I guess.”
“Not as sharp as you could be every day, dear,” Leigh said acidly,
then continued, “And you must be Cynthia.”
“Yes,” Cynthia said, without breaking her concentration on the
ground at her feet.
There was a silence while Leigh waited for her to say more.
“Well, you’re very welcome. And that leaves only . . . ?” Her
voice trailed off as she looked quizzically from Caroline to the silver–
bearded stranger.
“Dr. Victor Proveaux,” the man boomed, having at last extricated
himself from the clutches of the car. He strode forward on what could
now be seen to be sandaled feet, his caftan flowing behind him, one hand

Johnson  28
extended, the other holding a large handkerchief with which he dabbed his
florid forehead. His gray hair was tied in a small pony tail with a red
ribbon.
Leigh shrank back briefly from the forcefulness of his presentation
but then quickly recovered her composure and offered her hand—which
Proveaux grasped daintily and then quickly kissed.
“A million thanks for having me, madam,” he said. “I know how
difficult it can be to accommodate last minute guests. The dinner and
sleeping arrangements are all made and suddenly there’s one more.
Delicate balances can be tossed akimbo.” He pressed the handkerchief to
his forehead again.
“Yes, well, you’re right,” Leigh said uncertainly, rubbing her hand
where Dr. Proveaux had kissed it. “I mean, not at all. There’s always
room for one more.”
“And the more the merrier,” Jack said cheerfully, enjoying Leigh’s
discomfiture.
Proveaux glanced questioningly at Leigh.
“You did know I was coming?”
“Well . . .” Leigh began tentatively.
“Yes and no?” Jack offered helpfully.
“That’s right. Yes and no,” Leigh said.
“Go on dear,” Jack prodded.
“Well, yes, we’re always ready for guests—and no, I wasn’t
completely clear about the timing of your arrival.”
“Very good,” Jack said.
Caroline gasped.
“Oh, Leigh! Did I forget to tell you Victor was coming? I’m so
very, very sorry.”
“It’s no problem,” Leigh said. She looked at Dr. Proveaux.
“We’re delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“I meant to tell you,” Caroline said. “But with one thing and
another I simply forgot. You see Victor has been treating me for my
allergies, which have been particularly bad this summer. I mean I always
have trouble with them, my system is so sensitive, but this summer, with
the heat and the humidity and the stress I’ve been under they’ve been
simply unbearable. My nose has been stuffed up, my throat sore, I’ve had
non–stop headaches and I’ve been so tired I can hardly make it through
the day. I’d have gone crazy if it wasn’t for Victor.”
She and Proveaux exchanged smiles.

Scavenger Hunt  29
“Well as I’m sure you can imagine, when you invited me out here
for the weekend my first thought was that there was no way I could go, not
with the flowers and trees and dirt and insects—in addition to all the rest,
I’m deathly allergic to bees—but then I said, no, that wouldn’t be fair to
Leigh. I knew how much you wanted me to come and that if I said no it
would ruin the whole weekend for you, so I said to myself, ‘Caroline, you
must find a way.’ And then it struck me. Why not bring Victor? I
normally get my injections on Fridays anyway so it would work out
perfectly and in addition if I was to have an attack or something while I
was here, he would be right here to treat me. So I called him, and he told
me I was doing exactly the right thing, not only in helping Leigh, but in
confronting my fears and answering the spiritual challenge they
represented.”
“So you’re a medical doctor?” Jack asked.
“Reformed,” Dr. Proveaux replied.
“Victor has rejected the outmoded precepts of western medical
science in favor of a holistic approach,” Caroline said.
“Holistic?” It was Muffy.
“Indeed. I see my role not so much as healer, although that is in
part my role, but more importantly as a guide, a guide to the spiritual
oneness that is the wellspring of good health.”
“Victor only accepts patients who he feels have the essence of the
godhead well–developed within them,” Caroline said. “He says that’s the
only way he can insure that the purity of his own connection to the realm
of the spirit is maintained.”
“Have you been working with Caroline long?” Jack asked.
“Almost a year now,” Proveaux said.
“And she’s well on her way to the spiritual realm?”
“It’s not a question of being on her way. We all are already one
with the universe, perfect in every way. There’s no place we have to go.
The problem is, we don’t realize it. Realization—self–realization—is the
key.”
“Victor has completely changed my life by making me understand
the inter–connectedness of all things. I’m not only a healthier person, but
a better person. I’m just so grateful.” She beamed at him. “I’ve even
named him in my will.”
“But I thought you were giving Caroline injections for her
allergies,” Skip said.
“Indeed. Limited though western science is, there is a place for it
in the holistic method.”

Johnson  30
“Is that a crystal?” Muffy asked.
All eyes focused on the large milky stone that hung from a silver
chain around Dr. Proveaux’s beefy neck.
“It is,” he said solemnly. “From a sacred vein in the Himalayan
Mountains. It is my touchstone, my constant companion.”
“I have one too,” Caroline said and held hers out for the group to
admire. It was more delicate than Proveaux’s, with a dark stone encased
in a finely wrought silver basket. “Alan bought it for me. I saw it at
Cartier and simply had to have it.”
There was a silence, which Leigh ended.
“Well, let’s finish the introductions. Caroline, I think you’ve met
everyone except Lawrence Finch. Lawrence is—”
“I know Lawrence,” Caroline said.
“You do?” Leigh looked at Finch.
“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure,” Finch said, with a barely concealed
grimace.
“I didn’t know that,” Leigh said. “Well, that’s wonderful.”
“Quite,” Finch said.
“Oh, Lawrence, you’re not still put out with me, are you?”
Caroline exclaimed. She turned to the others. “A few years ago,
Lawrence asked me to help get a friend of his into the annual City Hall art
exhibit, but it was simply impossible. There was no slot available and
there’s just so much of that AIDS art around. I mean, it’s perfectly
wonderful the way these people carry on in the face of everything, but
there’s a limit. How’s your friend doing? Is he still painting?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“I’m very sorry, Lawrence,” Leigh said, as the others murmured
words of sympathy.
“Yes, that’s too bad,” Caroline said. “But there is a bright side,
you know. His paintings will probably be much more in demand now. I
might even be able to get him into this year’s show. It’s past the deadline
but that doesn’t matter. Give me a call.”
“Let’s finish the introductions,” Leigh said hurriedly as Finch
glared at Caroline. “Alan, Cynthia, Dr. Proveaux, meet Jack, Skip, Muffy,
Lawrence, Kendall and Christian. Abby who goes with Christian and little
Oliver and Paige who go with Muffy and Skip aren’t here at the moment
but are around somewhere. I know you’ll never remember all the names
but now at least you’ve been formally introduced and can feel comfortable
about getting to know one another better.” She took a deep breath.

Scavenger Hunt  31
“Very impressive, dear,” Jack said. “Very impressive indeed.
Such grace and refinement. Just the way you were taught at Miss
Peabody’s, I’m sure.”
“Miss Peabody’s?” Alan asked.
“Yes. Home for the criminally insane,” Jack said. “Leigh spent
several years there before her coming out. I met her there as a matter of
fact. A basket weaving exchange program.”
“That was your major at Hobart, too, wasn’t it, Jack?” Skip
quipped.
“I had a double major, actually. Drinking and basket weaving.
But after a couple years I decided that drinking suited my talents better
and concentrated on that.”
“Which is where Skip came in, no doubt,” Muffy said.
“Yes, I think Skip had already been concentrating on that for quite
some time. We were a great team.”
“Anyway,” Leigh broke in. “Although I’m sure everyone would
be content to stand here all day and listen to you two brag about just how
immature you were in college, I think we should move along. Why don’t I
show you folks to your rooms and then we can join the others. Now
Doctor, although Caroline and Alan are upstairs at the front of the house,
I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you downstairs . . .”
“What about my car,” Alan asked “Where should I put it?”
“The others are parked in front of the garage, but that’s full up, so
why don’t you park it in front of the carriage house,” said Jack. “Which is
right there,” he said, pointing.

CHAPTER THREE
“Here’s your ice water, dearest,” Alan said, as he closed the door
to their room.
“It wasn’t too much trouble, was it?”
“No, Mrs. Hewitt was in the kitchen. She got it for me.”
“Oh, good.”
“I saw that man Finch just now, coming in from the balcony. I’m
not sure I like him. He seems a strange sort.”
“Queer sort, is what you mean.”
“Queer?”
“Yes, queer—as in swinging from the other side of the plate.”
“Oh that. No, I mean strange. I realize he was disappointed that
you couldn’t help his friend, but that’s no reason to avoid me. We’re all
guests here and we might as well get along. And after all, you said you’d
help with his friend’s paintings this year. But he saw me coming and
ducked into his room like I was a leper.”
“He didn’t even acknowledge you?”
“No. It’s simply ridiculous. I wasn’t even involved with his
friend’s dumb old paintings.”
“Yes, but you’re involved with me.”
“But still.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to defend him to you. If you had
seen the way he carried on about that art exhibit for his boyfriend. Such
tantrums as you wouldn’t believe.
“Alan, darling, would you zip me up, please?”
She had changed out of her jeans and blouse and into a low–cut
sleeveless print dress that zipped up the back.
As he pulled on the zipper she leaned back into him.
“You seem awfully good at that,” she said. “I’m not so sure you’re
the innocent you pretend to be.” She turned and pressed her body to him,
looking up into his face. “You haven’t been holding back on me, have
you?”
“Oh no,” he said, his voice thick, “You’re the only one.”
“You mean now,” she said. “But I’ll bet you’ve had lots of girls, a
rich, good–looking guy like you.”
“No, honest.”

Scavenger Hunt  33
He leaned down to kiss her, but she twisted away.
“Not now,” she said. “But maybe later if you’re good.”
She walked to the Chippendale dresser and primped herself in the
ornately framed oval mirror that hung above it.
“You don’t think I’m looking old, do you?” she asked.
“Oh no. You look beautiful.”
“I thought Christian was looking quite old.”
“Christian?”
“Yes, Christian, the man with the Vandyke. We were an item, you
know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, I had to break it off but I still think he carries a torch for me.
It’s so embarrassing when men do that. For me, it was never anything
more than physical. He was quite a good–looking man and of course with
the dancing in absolutely wonderful shape—a butt like you wouldn’t
believe. But he wanted more than I had to give, so I had to end it. He’s
still attractive, of course, but somehow now he seems much older—or
maybe it’s just that his wife is such a child.”
“Did . . . did you love him?”
“No, never. I told you. It was never more than a physical thing for
me.”
“Did he want to marry you?”
“Oh no, he would never leave little miss trust fund.”
“You mean he was already married?”
“Yes, he was married—oh Alan, don’t look so grim. He doesn’t
love her. How could he? Look at her. He only married her for her
money, because you don’t make much of that heading up a modern dance
troupe no matter how successful it may be. And she’s got plenty of the
green stuff, believe you me. Her grandfather was Cedric Hawkins,
founder of Eastern Aeronautics. In fact, he was always petrified that she’d
find out about us. She told him flat out before they were married that if
she ever caught him cheating on her she’d file for divorce the very next
day. Insecure, I guess—and who can blame her?
“Anyway, despite that, Christian’s making a fool of himself over
that Kendall Jorgenson bimbo these days. It’s nothing but ego on
Christian’s part, of course, not a real attraction. He’ll get over it.”
She faced Alan, hands on her hips.
“So, do I truly look beautiful?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not just saying that?”

Johnson  34
“No, not at all,” he said fervently.
She smiled with satisfaction.
“Shall we join them downstairs then?”
“Uh, sure,” he said, but as Caroline turned to go he continued
“Caroline, I love you, you know.”
He stepped toward her and took her hands.
“You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course, silly.”
She started to turn once more.
“Do you love me?”
He looked searchingly into her eyes, but she pulled away.
“Sure,” she said.
“Will you say it?”
“Alan, don’t be a pest. If there’s anything I hate it’s a man who’s a
pest. Now let’s go down and enjoy the party.”
When the knock came on the hall door, Cynthia was still standing
by the door that joined her room with Caroline and Alan’s—although she
had moved her ear away from the door panel.
“Cynthia, it’s Caroline. Are you in there? We’re going down
now. Do you want to join us?”
Cynthia started briefly, but then composed herself. She had heard
them leave their room but hadn’t expected them to come fetch her.
Caroline usually ignored her when other people were around—especially
men.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” she called out. “I’m just freshening
up.”
“OK, we’ll see you downstairs then.”
Cynthia listened as their footsteps faded down the stairs. The
sounds of talk and laughter drifted through the open window from the
patio behind the house.
Turning, she regarded herself in the full–length mirror that stood in
the corner and frowned. She had long since given up on the game of
trying to satisfy male society’s dictates of what was attractive. She was
who she was and proud of it. Not like Caroline, always primping and
flirting, dyeing and plucking, and all that. Why did Caroline bother? She
was better than that. And it wasn’t as if she liked these men she was
always coming on to. What was to like? And this latest one. What a
loser, even if he did have a lot of money, panting after Caroline like a
rutting goat. Pawing at her. Thankfully, Caroline had put him off—

Scavenger Hunt  35
Cynthia wasn’t sure she could have stood listening to that—but why put
up with it at all?
The patio lay outside the french doors that dominated the north
wall of the library, a comfortable room at the back of the house with floor
to ceiling bookshelves and a massive fieldstone fireplace flanked by a pair
of overstuffed chairs in blue leather. A walnut table sat on a richly
patterned oriental rug in the center of the room, a brass table lamp with a
green china shade providing illumination. A PC at one end of the table
added a jarring note.
The patio itself was a fairly recent addition made of cemented
flagstones nestled in the alcove formed by the rear and east wings of the
house, with french doors opening onto to it not only from the library but
also from the sitting room of the master bedroom suite next to it. A low
stone wall formed a parapet around the two sides not abutting the house,
separating it from a lawn that sloped gently down to the tennis court, and
further to the east, a duck pond and old orchard.
A folding table had been set up to one side of the patio to hold an
elaborate buffet of beef tenderloin stuffed with duck rillettes and goat
cheese, tagliatelle with tomatoes and red onions, grilled teriyaki swordfish,
mesclun salad, and a host of cheeses, breads and fruits. Next to it, Lena
presided over a makeshift bar. Four round white tables with white
wrought iron chairs around them and green umbrellas sprouting from
holes in their centers were stationed casually in the remaining space.
People were scattered in clumps in the library, on the patio and on the
lawn.
“Help yourselves to the buffet and seat yourself where you like,”
Leigh announced as Caroline and Alan stepped through the french doors.
“Is Cynthia on her way?” she asked Caroline.
“She said she’d be right down, but knowing her that could mean
anything.”
Skip and Jack had ambled over to the barn to inspect the basketball
court that had been installed since Skip’s last visit.
“Jack? Skip? Did you hear me?” Leigh called.
“Be right there,” Jack responded.
Within a few minutes, everyone had gotten food and settled down
to eat: Caroline and Alan Huffington with Dr. Proveaux at one table,
Muffy and Skip Taylor at another, Kendall Jorgensen and Lawrence Finch
at another, and Abby at the fourth with Paige and Oliver.

Johnson  36
Jack and Leigh stood to one side surveying the arrangements.
Christian Barstowe lingered at the buffet table full plate in hand,
apparently reluctant to join his wife and her two young charges.
“Muffy must be ecstatic,” Leigh was saying. “It seems as if Abby
is going to spend the whole weekend watching her kids.”
Jack nodded in Christian’s direction.
“Christian doesn’t look too happy about it. I don’t get the
impression kids are his thing.”
“I know what you mean. But Abby’s desperate to have a baby.”
“Well, if she plays her cards right Muffy may just let her take
Oliver and Paige home with her.”
“So where shall we sit?” Leigh asked.
“Well, I was considering joining Lawrence–don’t–call–me–Larry
and Kendall. It seems a shame somehow to leave a woman as attractive as
Kendall alone with a man insensible to her charms.”
“Maybe the reason Kendall is sitting with Lawrence is that he
doesn’t drool all over her.”
“Are you trying to imply something?”
“Oh no, dear, only that you should wipe the saliva from your chin
before you go over. It’s so unbecoming.”
“As is jealousy, my little spittlebug.”
“I’m not jealous, sweetkins. Only trying to prevent the man I
adore beyond all measure from embarrassing himself.”
“A rose by any other name, my little rosebush.”
“Yes, well, fine. You go sit with them. I want to speak with
Christian, anyway.”
“Christian darling, why don’t you go sit with Caroline and her
fiancé,” Leigh said as she came alongside him. “One of the reasons I
invited you both here is so that you and she could get to know each other
better. She could be a great help to us. And I know you don’t want to sit
with the kids, so maybe this is the time to get started.”
“Frankly, I don’t think I need to know Caroline any better than I
already do. And I’m afraid sucking up to people so they’ll support my
work isn’t me. I’m an artist not a politician, thank God.”
“I know you’re more the creative type but fundraising is part of
being the Director. You’re the person people want to talk to. And besides
you are good at it even if you think you’re not.” She smiled
mischievously. “Particularly with the ladies. I never see Gertrude Beach
but she asks me about that terribly handsome young Director. I’ll be

Scavenger Hunt  37
shocked if we don’t get a very generous donation from her. And engaged
or not, Caroline has always saved her, shall we say, greatest enthusiasm
for members of the opposite sex.”
“Yes, I know. But . . .”
“No buts now, Christian. You be a good little boy and go sit
down. I’ll join you a little later. Right now I have to attend to one of my
guests.”
Cynthia stood at the open library door blinking owlishly against
the light. Leigh went to her.
“Help yourself to some food, Cynthia dear, and find yourself a
seat. May I get you something to drink?”
“Oh no, don’t trouble yourself, you’ve done so much already. I
can get it myself.”
“It’s no trouble.”
Cynthia looked uncertain.
“Really.”
“Do you have any Evian?”
“No, but I’ve got something even better: Keeper Springs. Bobby
Kennedy, Jr.—who’s very active in environmental affairs in the Hudson
River Valley—set up the company that sells it and all the profits go to
groups who work to keep the region’s water pure.”
“Oh.”
“What? You don’t like Bobby Kennedy?”
“Oh no, it’s not that. It’s just that I sometimes have reactions.”
“To the Kennedys?”
“No. To other brands of bottled water.”
“Really?”
“Only some.”
“Oh. How about something else then? Regular water?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It comes fresh from the well.”
“Oh, thank you, but I better not. I forgot to bring my filtration
system.”
“Well then of course not. Wine? Beer? Juice? Milk?”
“What kind of juice?”
“I think we have orange, grapefruit, cranberry, tomato. . .”
“V8?”
“Uh, no. I don’t think we have that. But tomato is very similar.”
“No, that’s all right. Thank you so much.”

Johnson  38
“But Cynthia you can’t go all weekend without fluids.” She
thought for a moment. “How about iced tea?”
“Is it real?”
“We’ll make it real, by George. Boil the water, steep the tea, toss
in the ice. Lemon and sugar on the side. In fact, it’s a good idea anyway.
I should have thought of it before. I’ll get Mrs. Lindstrom on it right
away. How does that sound?”
“Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. It will just take a little while.”
“All right then.”
“Great. You help yourself to some food,” Leigh said and headed
for the kitchen.
She decided she didn’t hear when Cynthia asked, “What kind of
tea is it?”
After Leigh left, Cynthia filled her plate and walked to the table
where Caroline sat holding court attended by her fiancé, Christian
Barstowe and Dr. Proveaux.
“It certainly is hard to understand why a woman would leave an
attractive, intelligent man like you, Victor,” Caroline was saying as
Cynthia approached.
“May I join you?” Cynthia asked.
Caroline twisted in her chair.
“Why Cynthia, you’re here. I was beginning to think you’d gotten
another one of your headaches.” She turned to the others. “She’s always
getting headaches or colds or allergies or one thing or another. Not that
there’s anything actually wrong with her. She’s strong as an ox. It’s
perverse really, but I think she sees the way I suffer with my allergies and
feels left out somehow. So she makes up these little maladies to get
attention.”
Christian rose to offer Cynthia his chair.
“Oh, don’t get up,” Caroline said. “She can get a chair from over
there.”
“Yes, please sit down,” Cynthia said. “If I could just put my plate
down I’ll get myself a chair.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Christian insisted in a tone that brooked no
argument.
After Cynthia settled in, Caroline continued. “Now as I was
saying, Victor, I just feel so sorry for you.”
“Well, it was years ago.”

Scavenger Hunt  39
“It’s simply a shame how many marriages don’t work out these
days, but people are just so selfish, that’s what I think it is. That or they’re
so mismatched that it never has any hope of working in the first place.
“Take your marriage, Christian. Although there certainly have
been many successful May/December marriages, I would think that when
two people have nothing in common it puts a strain on things.”
“I like to think of it as a June/August marriage myself,” Christian
said with a bleak smile. “And I wouldn’t say we have nothing in common,
either.”
“Well, putting a good face on things is always sound strategy, but
it must be hard for a man of your sophistication and maturity to be married
to someone so immature, no matter how rich and ‘trusting’ she may be.
Money is nice but it’s no replacement for experience and compatibility.”
She patted her fiancé’s leg. “That’s how Alan and I feel about things
anyway, don’t we darling?”
“I guess so, yes,” Alan replied, flustered.
“Cynthia of course doesn’t know about such things—she’s still
waiting for Mr. Right—but I’m sure you must agree, Victor. Was your
wife very young also?”
“We were more or less the same age.”
“So what was the problem, then?”
“Well . . .”
“Not a wandering eye, I hope. If I told you the number of married
men who have hit on me.” She paused. Christian had gone rigid, his
mouth a grim line. “Did I say something?”
“No, it wasn’t a wandering eye,” Proveaux said. “It was actually
just a case of dissonant modalities. Two spirits travelling separate paths
toward enlightenment.”
“Well, at least you didn’t have children—although sometimes that
can provide a bond between two people who don’t have much in common
otherwise. You and Angie don’t plan on having children, do you
Christian? I mean, you’d be almost sixty by the time they were grown.”
“It’s Abby. And I have no interest in discussing our plans with
you or anyone else.”
“Well, Angie certainly seems to adore children.”
“Yes, she does,” Christian said. “And if you’ll excuse me I think
I’ll go see how she’s doing.”
The torches and candles had been lit and cake and coffee served
when two figures appeared out of the gloaming.

Johnson  40
“Chip!” Leigh exclaimed. “Jack, Chip’s here.”
“Oh goody,” Jack said, but Leigh had already gone to greet the
newcomers.
“Everyone,” Leigh was announcing, “I want you all to meet Chip
Dawson and his cousin Brian . . .?”
“Driscoll,” came the answer from the taller of the two, a well–
tanned athletic looking man with curly sand–colored hair and a mustache.
“Driscoll,” Leigh continued. She put her arm around the other
man, a preppy looking thirty–something wearing tan chinos, a pink polo
shirt, and horn–rimmed glasses.
“Chip is a dear, dear friend of mine—as of course are you all—
who’s on the board of Dance in the Park with me as well as a generous
supporter of the Cancer Foundation, where, as you all know, I am
chairman of the development committee.
“Brian I don’t know as well but plan on finding all about,
particularly the size of his bank account, so I can make him a member of
the Foundation family.”
“Well, you don’t make much money in the hotel business,”
Driscoll said good–naturedly, “so I’m afraid I won’t be a very good
investment of your time. I’m the proverbial poor relation.”
“Brian? Brian?!? Is that you?!?” It was Caroline, shouldering her
way through the crowd.
“Oh my God, it is! Brian Driscoll!” she shrieked. She rushed toward him
and gave him a vigorous hug that was not reciprocated by a blushing
Driscoll.
Caroline pulled back and regarded Driscoll at arm’s length.
“Just as strong and handsome as ever. Oh God, how long has it
been? Four years?” She addressed the group. “Brian and I were an item
a while back. Talk about a summer of love.”
Driscoll still hadn’t said anything.
“So, how are you? How long has it been anyway?”
“Two years this winter, I guess,” he replied stiffly.
“Two years, imagine that. My, but time flies. Seems like only
yesterday.
“Alan!” She looked for him in the crowd. “Alan, come and meet
an old flame of mine.”
Huffington, who had hung back when Caroline made her advance,
now came reluctantly forward.
“Brian, I want you to meet my fiancé, Alan Huffington. Alan, this
is Brian Driscoll. Brian was the bartender at the hotel I stayed in on St.

Scavenger Hunt  41
Maarten. He absolutely made the best mai–tais on the island. I hope you
two will be good friends.” They shook and she focused on Driscoll again.
“This is just such a surprise,” she gushed. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, it sure is,” Driscoll replied without enthusiasm. “Nice to
meet you, Alan. Congratulations.”
“That’s the way, Brian,” Caroline said. “I knew I could depend on
you to be a good sport about things.” She addressed the group once more.
“Brian was heartbroken when I told him it was over, but it wasn’t as if he
didn’t have a lot of girls on the string. Speaking of which, I saw in the
papers where that awful Lydia Bagley died.”
Driscoll colored but said nothing.
“She chased him shamelessly,” Caroline continued. “And she was
old enough to be his grandmother.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well,” Leigh said brightly. “Now that we’ve had that little
reunion, why don’t we get on with the introductions?”

CHAPTER FOUR
Soon after the introductions were finished, Chip and Brian were
directed to their rooms on either side of the upstairs back hall, Muffy put
the children to bed with Abby’s help, and the remainder moved indoors to
the common room while Lena stayed behind to clear the dishes.
Located at the front of the house across the entry foyer from the parlor, the
common room was a bright but low ceilinged room of generous
proportions that sported a bar, two gaming tables, and a large screen TV
fronted by a black leather couch. A Yamaha baby grand piano occupied
the front corner near the french doors that led to the side porch. Japanned
Windsor chairs and settees were scattered throughout.
The air had grown chill for midsummer so there were many takers
of Jack’s offer of brandy.
“So, Skip,” Jack said after handing Skip his snifter. “Shall we go
try out the hoop?”
“You ready for a butt whipping already?”
“That’ll be the day. No, I thought it might be time to remind you,
mano a mano, of your proper place on the athletic ladder.”
“Mano a boyo is more like it, but all right. Let me make sure
Muffy and the kids are all right and change and we’ll have at it.”
Leigh drifted over to Jack a short while later.
“Jack, I was thinking of organizing a game of charades. What do
you think?”
“I think you’re going to organize everyone right out of their minds.
Just let everyone relax.”
“But a hostess’ job is to see that everyone is entertained.”
“Who says they aren’t? Hell, that scene with Caroline and darling
Chip’s cousin was worth the price of admission right there.”
“I know. I had no idea. Brian looked like he was ready to strangle
her on the spot. So you think charades would be too much?”
“I think this scavenger hunt is probably enough organization for
one weekend. I think you should relax and let people do what they want
for the rest of tonight.”
“I suppose you’re right.”

Scavenger Hunt  43
“I am. If you need to organize something, go load your
tableseating software and see if it’s possible to seat everyone at dinner
tomorrow without having any of the people who would like to strangle
Caroline—and you can include me in that distinguished company—sitting
near her. I think that will be time well spent in the interests of digestive
serenity.”
“You ready?”
It was Skip, dressed now in sweats and t–shirt.
“Ready for what?” Leigh asked.
“Jack challenged me to a game of hoops. I’ve never seen a man
face the prospect of certain defeat with such relish.”
“Hoops, Jack?”
“Well, that’s why we built the court,” Jack said meekly.
“So you could neglect our guests to go act like a fourteen year old
with your little friend Skippy?”
“Now, Leigh. . .” Skip began to protest.
“Skip, I’d appreciate it if you would keep quiet while I’m scolding
at my husband.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now then, Jack. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“That I wish I were a bug so you could squash me into the dirt like
I deserve?”
“Very funny but I’m not laughing.”
“How about, I wish we were in South America so you could cover
me with honey and tie me to the side of a volcano where army ants would
gnaw my tender flesh until the lava finally got me?”
Leigh just looked at him.
“OK. OK. You can play with us, how’s that? I can’t think of a
worse torture than that.”
“You’re simply not using your imagination, Jack. But maybe
something will come to you later when we’re in bed.”
“Now that’s dirty pool.”
“There will be nothing dirty about it, I assure you.”
“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” Skip said edging away.
“Stay right there, Mr. Taylor,” Leigh snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jack, can I assume we have an understanding?”
“Yes, mas–ter,” Jack said in a Hollywood zombie monotone.
“Fine. Were you planning on inviting all our guests to participate
in this game of basketball you and Skip were discussing?”

Johnson  44
“Yes, mas–ter.”
“Splendid.” She turned. “Everyone? Jack has suggested that we
move to the barn for a little basketball for anyone who wishes to play.
There is also a ping pong table and we can bring our drinks along.”
“Does anyone else want to play?” Jack asked. “Skip is already in.”
“Sounds great,” Brian Driscoll said.
“OK, that’s three. Anyone else? Chip?”
“No, I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come on, Chip. You don’t want to miss an opportunity to test
your mettle in the field of battle.”
“I was never very good at basketball.”
“That’s all right. You can guard me.”
“Jack, I don’t think he wants to play,” Leigh said.
“Yes. I’d rather relax this evening, if it’s all right.”
“Sure,” Jack said. “If sports aren’t your thing, I understand.”
“It’s not that exactly. Basketball just isn’t my thing. How about
some tennis tomorrow? I’m pretty good at that.”
“Sure, Chip. If you’re more comfortable with that, we’ll play
some tennis.”
“Good. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Likewise. Christian, are you a hoops man?”
“I’ve played in my day.”
“Well, you must be in good shape with all that dancing. Are you
in?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Fantastic. We’ll have a nice game of two on two.”
“May I play?” Dr. Proveaux asked.
“Uh, well, uh, sure,” Jack said hesitantly.
“I know, I know,” Proveaux said. “You think I’m old and fat and
likely to die right on the court. Well, let me assure you that, appearances
notwithstanding, I am in the pink of health—and, I might add, not a bad
roundball player in my youth.”
“Well then, you’re in,” Jack said.
“I’ll play.” It was Caroline.
Jack’s face fell.
“Are you sure?” he said. “It could get a little rough out there.”
“Oh, that’s OK. I can mix it up with the boys, don’t worry.”
“Caroline, I don’t really want to play.” It was Alan.
“Then don’t,” Caroline retorted. “But I’m playing whether you do
or not.”

Scavenger Hunt  45
“I’ll play too.” It was Cynthia.
Caroline grimaced.
“Cynthia, you know how bad you are at sports,” she said.
“I want to play,” Cynthia said, her mouth a stubborn line.
“Kendall, how about you?” Jack asked. “I’ll bet you’re a good
athlete. Care to join in?” He smiled at her.
“No thanks. Sounds a little too energetic for me. I was thinking
maybe I’d take a stroll under the stars and enjoy some of this country air
then hit the sack.”
“There you go, Lawrence,” Leigh said. “You said you were
thinking of taking a walk. Why don’t you and Kendall go together?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It won’t be an intrusion, will it Kendall?”
“Oh. Well. Of course not,” Kendall said. She directed a
welcoming smile at Finch.
“That’s great, then. OK, why don’t those who want to play go
change and we’ll all meet in the barn,” Leigh said. “If anyone doesn’t
have proper clothes let me know, and we’ll see what we can do.”
They reconvened in the loft where powerful lights suspended from
200 year old beams illuminated a twenty by thirty polyurethaned wooden
playing surface crowned with a gleaming new backboard and basket.
“Wow. This is really something,” Brian Driscoll said.
“I’m pretty pleased with it,” Jack said, unable to suppress a smile
of satisfaction. “I wanted to make it full court, but Leigh didn’t think that
was an appropriate use of our fiscal or spatial resources.”
“Yes, it’s a terrible burden for Jack being married to an adult,”
Leigh said.
Jack appealed to the assembled players. “You see what I’m up
against. OK, let’s choose up teams. How about me, Skip, Alan and
Cynthia against Brian, Christian, Caroline and Dr. Proveaux?”
They began to play, tentatively at first and then with increasing
energy. Muffy and Abby watched, sitting on one of the low wooden
parapets that separated the hay lofts from the main floor while Chip and
Leigh squared off across the ping pong table.
On Jack’s team, Cynthia was atrocious, not only lacking in
basketball instincts and shooting and dribbling ability, but unable to even
catch the ball with any consistency. More than once she was hit with the
ball after it passed through her hands when Jack or Skip passed it to her.
Alan was better, though not much. He spent most of his time being in the

Johnson  46
wrong place at the wrong time and flailing ineffectively as play swirled
around him—when he wasn’t being knocked to the ground.
On the other side, Christian was quickly revealed to be a skilled
and fierce competitor, equally adept at passing, shooting and dribbling,
who played with total concentration and determination. Brian was not as
skilled, but made up for it with boundless energy, playing smothering
defense and rebounding shot after shot. Caroline was hardly better than
Cynthia and no better than Alan, although that didn’t stop her from
criticizing their play continuously. Unlike Cynthia and Alan, however,
Caroline made herself useful to her team by chasing loose balls
energetically, obviously enjoying the physical contact. Dr. Proveaux,
clad in a loudly patterned bathing suit and dashiki, zestfully adopted the
role of enforcer in the middle, blocking the lane with his bulk and fouling
mercilessly.
Jack’s team had no chance. The game ended at 21 to 10 in favor of
Caroline’s team with the last hoop being scored by Christian (one of a
dozen) on a slashing drive that left his defender, Skip, looking foolish and
sent Alan sprawling. As soon as the ball fell, Caroline began whooping in
victory and rushed to Christian who stood chest heaving and drenched in
sweat under the hoop.
“Christian, you were wonderful,” she gushed. She stood on tiptoes
and kissed him on both cheeks then put her arm around his waist. “And
you too, Brian.” She reached out and put her arm around Brian’s waist
and stood between the two men.
“Hey, what about me?” Victor Proveaux demanded in mock
protest. “I did my part.”
“You certainly did,” Caroline said. “But you’ve got to admit
Christian and Brian were spectacular.”
“Indeed,” Proveaux agreed.
“Weren’t they wonderful, Alan?” Caroline asked, as Christian and
Brian extricated themselves from her grasp.
“Yeah, sure,” Alan said without enthusiasm. “I didn’t know it was
a contact sport, though.”
“Oh Alan, don’t be a sore loser. Just because you’re not a good
athlete that’s no reason be jealous of people who are.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Well, you certainly act as if you are.”
“Hey, I’m sorry if I got a little rough,” Brian said. “It was just the
heat of competition.” He held out his hand. “Shake?”
Reluctantly, Alan took his hand.

Scavenger Hunt  47
“Yes, I apologize for knocking you down at the end there,”
Christian said. “I didn’t know you were going to move into the lane like
that.”
“There’s no need for you guys to apologize,” Caroline said. “If
Alan knew what he was doing he wouldn’t get knocked down all the time.
Now, let’s play again.” She smacked Brian and Christian on their rear
ends and moved to pick up the ball.
“I think I’ll sit this one out, thank you,” Alan said. “It’s been a
long day.”
“Come on, Alan, don’t be like that,” Brian said. “We’ll calm it
down.”
“I’m not being ‘like that’,” Alan said in a huffy tone. “I’m tired
and ready to get into bed.”
“Perhaps we should change teams to make things more even,”
Christian suggested.
“Let him quit,” Caroline said. “We can give them Victor and still
win.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can enjoy yourselves perfectly well without
me,” Alan said icily.
“You know, it’s getting pretty late to start another game,” Jack
said, making a show of scrutinizing his watch. “I think we should call it
quits for tonight.”
“I think you’re right, Jack,” Dr. Proveaux. “Emotions have been
aroused. Not a bad thing, but I think all would benefit from a respite from
the crucible of competition.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Doc. Tomorrow’s another
day.”
“Indeed.”
“Did you lock the doors?” Leigh asked, as she and Jack prepared
for bed.
“All except the front. Brian said he wasn’t tired and wanted to go
for a walk so I told him I’d leave the front door open.”
“Even after all that basketball?”
“He’s in incredible shape and I get the sense he’s a night owl—you
know, swinging single and all that.”
“Sounds like you envy him.”
“Who wouldn’t? You sleep late, hang out at the beach, tend some
bar when you need a little scratch, and generally have a good time.”
“And girls?”

Johnson  48
“Girls?”
“Yes, Jack, you know, the things that turn into wives and mothers
if you aren’t careful.”
“Oh them. Well sure. But only three or four. And I’d still want to
see you.”
“How big of you.”
“Yes, well, I’m that kind of guy.”
“You certainly are. So, what happened during the basketball
game? Alan seemed upset.”
“Yeah, he got pissed off because Brian and Christian kept running
into him.”
“Why were they doing that?”
“Because Alan kept getting in the way. He was trying to play
defense—particularly after Caroline kept ridiculing him for letting them
blow by him—but he doesn’t really know how and those guys are fast and
strong.”
“Is Christian good?”
“Yeah—and dead serious.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, he’s very intense about his dancing
too.”
“The guy’s not exactly a barrel of laughs at any time from what
I’ve seen.”
“No, he’s not, you’re right. So now Alan’s angry with both him
and Brian?”
“To be honest with you, I think he’s angrier at Caroline because of
the fuss she made over them and the way she kept putting him down.”
“She sure does that, doesn’t she?” Leigh said, shaking her head in
wonder. “But he puts up with it. He’s the classic Caspar Milquetoast.”
“Yeah, someone she can push around till death do them part. But
I’ll tell you something. I think the boy has a temper. The look on his face
while he watched Caroline throwing herself at Brian and Christian was
something to behold. I’m not sure I’d want to be her when Caspar gets a
chance to give her a piece of his mind.”
“Yes, I noticed the same thing a few times when I looked.”
“Really? I’m surprised you had time to notice anything the way
you were hanging all over the little Chipmeister.”
“We were playing ping pong, Jack.”
“Funny that’s who you ended up playing with.”
“I had to do something to make him feel welcome after that
ridiculous display you put on.”

Scavenger Hunt  49
“What display?”
“Oh, come on, Jack.” She lowered her voice into a gruff, dumb
jock, voice. “A little hoops wit da men, Chip? Or are ya chicken?” She
resumed her normal tone. “What were you going to do, knock him
down?”
“I was simply asking him if he wanted to play. It’s not my fault
he’s a wimp.”
“If he’s such a wimp, why are you so jealous of him?”
“Of that twerp?” Jack snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have more
confidence in your good taste than that. You married me, after all.”
“Yes, I was so very young then,” Leigh said wistfully. “But
despite that there’s no reason for you to be jealous. As I already told you,
it’s my hope that Kendall and Chip will hit it off.”
“And as I told you, Kendall will never fall for the Chipmeister—
even if he manages to put aside his obsession with you.”
“Bet?”
“Bet. What stakes?”
“Winner’s choice.”
“Winner’s choice?”
“What’s the matter, Jack? Scared?”
“Not in the least.”
“Fine then.”
They climbed into bed and turned out the lights but before they
drifted off, Leigh left Jack with one final thought for the evening.
“By the way, Jack, on the subject of Chip, you probably ought to
know before you play him that that little twerp you’re not jealous of was
the captain of the tennis team at Princeton and still holds several records
there, if I’m not mistaken. The good news for you is he only plays two or
three times a week nowadays. But even with his declining skills, we’ll
have to make sure everyone is there to watch you beat him since it
certainly will be a most impressive victory.”
She leaned over and kissed him.
“Good night, dear,” she said.
Jack just groaned.
An hour later, Leigh was roused by the sound of horses whinnying
frantically in the paddock, followed by the barking of the dogs in the front
hall.
“Jack, something’s disturbing the horses,” she said.
For an answer, Jack emitted a loud snore.

Johnson  50
“Jack! Wake up!” she repeated as the cacophony continued. She
shoved him in the shoulder.
“Wha–what?” Jack said groggily.
“Something’s disturbing the horses.”
“The horses?”
“Yes, and the dogs are barking too.”
Jack switched on the light and sat up to listen but the animals had
fallen silent.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“They were making quite a racket.”
“Well, I’m glad they’ve stopped now so we can get some rest.”
“Don’t you think you’d better go see what the problem is?”
“Not really—and anyway who says there’s a problem? Horses
whinny, dogs bark. It happens all the time. Now, if you were to tell me
that the dogs were whinnying and the horses were barking, I’d definitely
think that was worth checking out.”
“Be serious. They don’t bark and whinny at night all the time.”
“I am being serious. It’s probably just a fox or something so the
horses whinnied and the dogs joined in. They’re bound to be nervous in a
strange place.”
“Jack, they’ll wake the guests.”
“They’re quiet as titmice now.”
“Dormice. But they might start up again.”
“You’re probably right—if I get up and disturb them.”
“Jack, you’re not being cooperative.”
“Not being cooperative!” Jack protested. “I’m just trying to get
some sleep.”
“Well, the sooner you live up to your responsibilities as the man of
the house the sooner you’ll be able to.”
“Responsibilities as the . . .” he paused midsentence as if realizing
the futility of further argument. “Oh all right,” he said and got out of bed.
Putting on a robe and Topsiders, he padded his way to the hall
where he was greeted by Buck and Sammy.
“Any problems here, men?” he asked. Receiving only tailwagging
for a response, he said, “I didn’t think so,” and shaking his head,
proceeded out the side door at the foot of the back stairs off the kitchen.
Outside, the air was cool and skies clear, with the Milky Way a
sparkling band of stardust overhead. In the light of a crescent moon, Jack
could just see the dark shapes of the horses in the paddock by the barn—
watching him silently. The grass was wet and cold with dew.

Scavenger Hunt  51
A wild goose chase just as I expected, he thought. He turned to go
back into the house and give Leigh a lecture about a hardworking man’s
need for uninterrupted sleep—but a sound caught his attention. Voices.
Coming from the direction of the barn.
Who could that be? he wondered. He looked at his watch. One
o’clock. A little late for a stroll. He crept forward.
As he drew closer to the open door of the barn, the voices grew
clearer. Two. A man and a woman. Struggling unsuccessfully to keep
their voices to a whisper.
“Why should I?” the woman hissed petulantly.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like being told what I can and can’t say.”
“I’m not telling you. I’m asking you. For a favor. For old times’
sake.”
“It didn’t sound as if you were asking for a favor a minute ago. It
sounded like you were threatening me.”
“I wasn’t. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”
“Just what? What is it you’re so worried about? That your
precious cousin and his hoity–toity friends will discover what you’re
actually like? A gigolo who couldn’t earn an honest dollar if his life
depended on it?”
“Why are you being so mean? I really cared about you.”
It occurred to Jack that now was the time to leave but somehow his
feet wouldn’t move.
“Oh stop. You never saw me as anything but an easy lay—or did
you think you might get some money out of me, too?”
“That wasn’t it at all. I liked you—a lot.”
“Well, even if that’s true—which I don’t for one second believe—I
never cared about you. You were just a way to pass the time.”
“OK, you don’t care about me. Just to be civilized then. Why
make trouble when there’s no need? I never did anything to you and, if I
haven’t been the most upright citizen, now I’m trying to get a new start.”
“Moving your act to a new location is probably more like it.
Who’s your target now? That Kendall bimbo, like every other man
around here? She hasn’t got two nickels to rub together either, believe
me—despite her airs and fancy clothes which she probably doesn’t even
own. Well, you can forget about it whatever your scheme is. I have no
intention of keeping quiet about who you are. If that’s an embarrassment
to you, you have only yourself to blame. And anyway, I have my friends
to think about. The sooner they’re on to you the better.”

Johnson  52
“You bitch.”
“I’ve been called worse,” the woman replied breezily, “And by
better people than you.” She paused. “What did happen with that Bagley
woman, anyway? Did she die before you had a chance to get her to
change her will? That must have been disappointing after all that effort—
and her rich as God.”
“Shut up about her.”
“Oh, sensitive, are we? This really is a new you.”
“Just shut up.”
“You know, now you’ve got me wondering. What are you so
uptight about? So you missed out with her. You’ll find another pigeon
somewhere. But I’ll tell you one thing. It won’t be here. Ta–ta.”
Jack ducked around the corner as Caroline Vernon strode out of
the barn and up the drive toward the Van Eycks’ cottage. Brian Driscoll
exited the barn seconds later. He watched Caroline’s fading form
briefly—then headed in the opposite direction.
Jack realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled in relief.
Now that the moment was past, it was hard not to feel ashamed of what
he’d done. He’d solved the mystery but had eavesdropped—there really
was no other term for it—on a very personal conversation. Still, there was
no help for it now—except to keep it strictly to himself.
He walked out of the shadow of the barn and toward the house.
“Who is that?” a voice demanded.
Jack jumped as adrenalin shot through him. A figure separated
from the darkness.
“It’s Jack,” he said, then added, “Jack Hewitt.”
The figure approached—Alan Huffington.
“What are you doing here?”
“Doing?” Jack sputtered, caught up in his own embarrassment.
“Yes. Were you with Caroline?”
“Caroline? Me? Uh, no.”
Alan came up to Jack and peered intently up into his face.
“You weren’t?”
“No,” Jack said defensively. “Honest.”
Alan relaxed a little.
“Oh. I thought maybe you were. I can’t find her.”
“I came out because I heard the horses whinnying.”
“I heard them too.”
“You see?”
“Have you seen her?”

Scavenger Hunt  53
“Who? Caroline? Uh, no.”
Alan frowned.
“I can’t understand where she might be.”
“Maybe she couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. I frequently can’t
sleep the first night I’m in a strange house.”
“You think that could be it?” Alan said hopefully.
“I’m sure of it. Why don’t you go back to your room and wait for
her. I’m sure she’ll be along any minute if she’s not there already—
wondering where you are.”
“Maybe that would be best.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“All right, that’s what I’ll do—but maybe I’ll walk around a bit
longer just in case.”
“Well, if I were you I’d go inside and wait but if you’re going to
look for her, I think the best spot would be up the drive.” He gestured in
the direction Caroline had gone. “Many people go walking there.”
“Oh, OK. I will.” Huffington started to go but stopped. “Thanks,
Jack,” he said. “I’m glad I spoke to you. I was beginning to think all sorts
of crazy things.”
I’ll bet, Jack thought as Alan disappeared into the darkness—and
maybe not so crazy either.

CHAPTER FIVE
Leigh and Mrs. Lindstrom were already in the kitchen and the
coffee was perking when Lena arrived at six the next morning. Kendall
came down shortly thereafter and together they put the final touches on
what Mrs. Lindstrom called a proper country breakfast—meaning one
with a decided Swedish tilt. Kendall couldn’t restrain her delight when
she saw what was being prepared.
“I can’t believe it. Gravlax and raggmunk. I haven’t had this stuff
since I was a kid. And these buns. Are they lussekatter?”
“Ja,” Mrs. Lindstrom said with a gratified smile. “And we would
have had agg i bla if the master hadn’t forbidden it.” She said the word
master in a tone that made clear her opinion of those benighted souls who
forbade the preparation of agg i bla.
“Well, they aren’t for everyone, you have to admit,” Kendall said
ingratiatingly.
Mrs. Lindstrom sniffed and concentrated on the pan in front of her,
obviously too well-mannered to argue with a guest no matter how dubious
her position.
“What are they?” Lena asked.
“Sliced hard–boiled eggs in a wine butter sauce with methylene
blue—which is basically a poison—added for color. It’s a traditional
honeymoon dish.”
Mrs. Lindstrom nodded.
“I had them on my honeymoon with Oscar.”
“Well, I think it’s all wonderful,” Kendall said, “and a very
pleasant surprise.”
They fell back to their tasks working quietly with little
conversation, concentrating on keeping noise to a minimum so as not to
wake the guests. But although they could keep quiet, they could not stop
the aromas of coffee and potato pancakes from creeping into the bedrooms
and rousing their occupants.
First to appear were Oliver and Paige who disappeared almost
immediately only to return dragging a drowsy looking Abby behind them.
“Let’s go see the horses, Abby,” Paige said as Abby poured herself
some orange juice.

Scavenger Hunt  55
“I think I should see what I can do to help here, Paige. Maybe
later.”
“Actually,” Leigh said, “getting the kids out of here would be a
tremendous help.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I know those kids.”
“Well, all right then.”
Soon the house was transformed from somnolence to bustling
activity. Doors opened and shut, showers ran, ‘good mornings’ rang out,
and freshly groomed denizens began making their way down halls and
stairs to the dining room with the fixedness of homing pigeons seeking
their coop. As Skip and Muffy, Jack, Chip, Cynthia, Dr. Proveaux, Brian,
Lawrence, and finally Christian helped themselves to coffee from the
antique silver urn on the Hepplewhite sideboard and joined the others at
the feast–sized 18th century cherry table, the room filled with the homey
sounds of clinking silverware, plates and glasses and the subdued murmur
of morning conversation.
“Has anyone seen Abby?” Christian asked as he sat down. “She
left the room early.”
“Yes, she’s outside with the kids,” Leigh said. “I think they went
to look at the horses.”
“You know, I thought I was missing something,” Muffy said, “But
I was afraid to try and remember what.”
“Speaking of missing, I wonder if Caroline and Alan are awake,”
Leigh said.
“They’re awake. They’re in the shower,” Cynthia sniffed.
“They’ve been in there for an hour.”
“Is that who that was?” Lawrence asked. “You know, I went to
perform my morning ablutions and heard the shower running and I waited
and waited but finally gave up and went down the hall.”
“Ah, young love,” Jack said. He leaned forward to look down the
table at Leigh. “Remember when we were like that, dumpling?”
“No, Jack, I can’t say that I do. Are you sure it was me?”
“Well, it was steamy but it’s hard to believe I could make a
mistake like that. And who else but you sings “Poor Little Buttercup”
when she’s turned on?”
“Jack! How could you!?!”
“Well, it’s never easy with that caterwauling going on, believe
me.”

Johnson  56
“Good morning, everyone.” It was Caroline, looking bright and
cheerful (and well-scrubbed) and accompanied by a sheepish Alan. They
poured themselves coffee and sat down.
“I have some disturbing news to report, I’m afraid,” Caroline
announced as she reached for a bun. “Pass me the butter, please, darling,”
she said to Alan. “Someone was in my room before.”
“In your room?” Leigh said.
“Yes, in my room.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, someone was snooping in my room.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Alan?” Jack asked. “I don’t mean
snooping, but. . . you know.”
“He was in the shower with me.”
Alan’s face grew red.
“Caroline, really,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Alan. We’re all grownups here. The
point is there’s a snoop in this house.”
“How do you know?” It was Leigh again.
“Because I stuck a piece of paper in the door to the hall when I left
and it was on the floor when I got back.”
“Why on earth did you do that?” Jack asked.
“I like my privacy and there was no key.”
“Maybe the paper just fell,” Muffy suggested.
“I was careful to make sure that couldn’t happen. No, someone
opened that door and went through our things.”
“How do you know they went through your things?” Jack asked.
“Maybe they just opened the door by mistake or something and left.”
“I have my ways.”
“Was anything taken?” Leigh asked.
“Nope. They didn’t find what they were looking for.”
“What makes you say they were looking for something?” Jack
asked.
“Why else would they go in?”
“Maybe it was one of the children,” Lawrence said. He turned to
Muffy. “Charming sprites though they are, of course.”
“Not that I put it past them, but they’re outside with Abby,” Skip
pointed out.
“Maybe one of them came back in.”
“Why don’t I go ask Abby?” Christian said.

Scavenger Hunt  57
“That’s hardly necessary,” Caroline said. “As I said, nothing was
taken. I simply thought Leigh and Jack should know.”
“I should get her anyway,” Christian said and rose to go but was
halted by the sound of the side door opening followed by the excited
voices of the children.
An instant later, the children raced in to Muffy and Skip and began
simultaneously filling them in on the morning’s adventures while Abby
appeared in the doorway behind them.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said.
Before anyone had a chance to answer her greeting, Christian
asked, “Abby, have the children been with you the whole time? Did
either of them come back into the house?”
“No,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“Caroline thought that someone might have been in her room and
we wondered if it could have been one of the kids.”
“Not might have been, was. Someone was snooping around my
room.”
“Well, I’m sure it was just a mixup,” Leigh said. “Someone forgot
which room was theirs and opened the door by mistake.”
“Why don’t they admit that then?” Caroline said.
“I don’t know,” Leigh said with a trace of annoyance. “But I’m
sure it won’t happen again, so why don’t we talk about something else?”
“I’m sorry,” Caroline said. “I’ve upset you. That’s me all over. I
simply thought you should know that someone was rummaging through
your guests’ rooms and I didn’t stop to think how it would make you feel
for people to know that someone like that was in your house. I am truly
sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Why don’t we turn to the day’s activities?” Leigh said. “We have
a beautiful day on our hands and although I have something planned for
this afternoon, this morning I thought we could simply do whatever. I, for
one, am anxious to watch this tennis match between Chip and that Callas
of the clay court, Jack “Bjorn” Hewitt, my husband.”
“Now, Leigh,” Jack said, “I’m not sure that it would be fair for me
as host to monopolize the court while others had to sit and watch.”
“Oh, sure it would. They can play as soon as you’re done. I’m
sure they’ll be inspired after watching you display your skills. Chip? You
want to play don’t you?”
“I’d love to. I kind of feel like I let Jack down by not playing last
night and I’d like to make up for it today.”

Johnson  58
“You didn’t let me down. I was just hoping you’d play was all, the
more the merrier and all that. You know.”
“I think I do, yes. But if you don’t want to play that’s all right.”
“I do, of course, but our guests. . .”
“ . . . want to see you play, Jack,” Leigh finished. “Kendall?
Christian? Lawrence?”
They nodded.
“Sure,” Christian said.
“Oh, go ahead and play, Jack,” Muffy said. “It’ll be fun to watch.”
“Yeah, go ahead, Jack,” Skip said. “We’ll play after.”
“Yeah, go ahead, Jack.” A rising chorus now.
“Sounds like it’s unanimous, Jack,” Leigh said. “A mandate of the
people. So why don’t we all convene by the court right after breakfast and
we can watch them play.

CHAPTER SIX
“You know, Jack, I thought you would lose, but six–love, six–
love?”
Leigh and Jack were in the master bedroom suite, Leigh in the bedroom
changing, Jack in the bathroom preparing to shower.
“Jack, did you hear me?”
Leigh walked to the bathroom door.
“Jack?”
Jack started the shower without responding.
“Oh, Jack! You’re not going to sulk, are you?”
Jack looked at her grimly then stepped into the shower enclosure
and shut the door behind him. His towel flopped over the top of the
enclosure and hung there in mute retort.
“You are sulking! Now don’t you think that’s a little childish? It
was just a silly game.”
Jack began whistling tunelessly above the rush of the shower.
“Now, Jack, I’ll admit it must have been painful when he hit you
there with the ball but you’ll recover, and it’s not like he did it on
purpose.”
The whistling continued, “Loch Lomond” now.
“All right, by the third time I was beginning to wonder myself.
And I know we shouldn’t have laughed but you looked so funny, bent over
and hopping around like that.” She giggled but quickly suppressed it.
The whistling grew louder.
“Come on, Jack.
“OK, I’m sorry I laughed.”
The theme from The Andy Griffith Show.
“And I’m sorry you lost.”
Whistling.
“And I’m sorry I convinced everyone to come and watch.”
She stood by the shower door.
“Come on, Jack, let’s kiss and make up, now.”
Leigh opened the door a crack and stuck her head in. The
whistling stopped.
“There now, give me a kiss and we’ll put it all behind us.
“Come on now.

Johnson  60
“There, that’s a good boy. Now doesn’t that feel better?
Fighting’s no fun.
“Oh, I see you agree—and you seem to have recovered completely
from your injuries. . . Jack! Jack, stop! My clothes will be ruined!”
There were a few moments of silence, then Leigh’s muffled voice
came from inside the enclosure.
“On the other hand, I have lots of clothes.”
The door swung slowly shut.
“So, what did you think about Caroline’s accusation?” Leigh asked
as they were dressing. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you before.”
“I think she’s a royal pain in the ass.”
“Yes, but do you suppose she could be right?”
“That someone opened her door? Sure.”
“And was looking through her things.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was probably her fiancé and he’s too embarrassed to admit it.”
“But he was in the bathroom with her.”
“So you believe her?”
“I believe she believes it. But I can’t believe that one of our guests
would do a thing like that.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s one or two whose character I might
question.”
“Who?”
“Chip Dawson for one. He’s a proven sneak.”
“Be serious, Jack.”
“I am being serious. His room’s upstairs. And what do you
actually know about him, anyway—or do you know him better than I
think?”
“Now, Jack, let’s not start that again. Chip is a friend, that’s all.
And he’s no sneak.”
“Hmmph.”
“Don’t hmmph me.”
“I wasn’t hmmphing you. I was merely going hmmph.”
“Meaning you disagree with me.”
“Meaning hmmph. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Hmmph doesn’t just mean hmmph, and I think when one person
disagrees with another person, particularly a person for whom they

Scavenger Hunt  61
assumedly have some degree of respect, they should have the integrity to
express that disagreement clearly and rationally and not just go hmmph.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And don’t ‘yes dear’ me either.”
“All right, dear—is “all right” all right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I see.”
“I hope so.”
“I do.”
“Now then, if someone did actually go into Alan and Caroline’s
room—and far be it from me to ever slander anyone—but just supposing
someone did and it was one of the guests, my money would be on
Cynthia.”
“Why her? She’s Caroline’s friend.”
“Exactly.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Don’t you see? They’re friends and so I put Cynthia next to
Caroline and Alan and because of that she was in the perfect position to
know when it was safe to go into their room.”
“But why would she?”
“Well, I don’t know that but I do know she’s a very strange person.
I practically had to hook her up to an intravenous line to get her to drink
something.”
“Well, that clinches it then.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course it doesn’t. But still.”
“She is kind of creepy, I’ll grant you that.”
“Creepy. Exactly.”
“But so what? I think we’re getting a little carried away here.
When you come right down to it, it could be anyone whose room is up
there. My guess is it’s all nonsense, just a way for Caroline to get
attention. I mean, what sort of person visits someone’s home and lays
traps on the assumption that people would go into her room? Obviously
she’s paranoid to begin with, so it would be easy for her to imagine that
what she suspected might happen did happen. A classic case of self–
fulfilling prophecy.”
“She seemed so certain, though.”
“But not particularly upset. She was almost smug about it.”
“Yes, that was strange. It was as if she wanted everyone to know
about it but really didn’t care.”
“Maybe because she knew it wasn’t true.”

Johnson  62
“Maybe. Oh well, if nothing was stolen, I guess it’s really no harm
done in any event. But it is unsettling to think that one of our guests might
be searching other people’s rooms. And you know, Jack, if you think
about it, it didn’t have to be someone whose room is upstairs. Anyone
could have gone up the back stairs or even the front stairs.”
“That’s the point. If you’re going to start suspecting people,
you’re going to have to suspect almost everyone, not only people you
think are strange. And that’s silly when the most likely explanation is that
Caroline is simply wrong.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I am right.”
By the time the lunch dishes were cleared, Leigh’s concern over
the morning’s contretemps had been swept away by the excitement of
organizing her grand event. The group was sitting on the patio in the
shade of the umbrellas as the sun baked away the last vestiges of the
morning cool. Leigh stood on the parapet at the patio’s edge, notes in
hand, while behind her the ducks on the pond raised a racket over some
important bit of duckish business.
“If I could have your attention please. This afternoon I thought it
might be fun for us to engage in an organized activity, one with which I’m
sure you’re all familiar, a scavenger hunt. Now, before we get started,
does everyone have a drink or whatever they might want? If not, please
let Lena know and she’ll get it for you.
“Now then, as I was saying, I thought it might be fun to have a
scavenger hunt. My idea was to divide us into two—
“Abby are you all right? Your eyes are incredibly red.”
Abby was standing at the back of the crowd hand in hand with
Paige and Oliver. She blushed furiously as all heads turned toward her.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she stammered, staring at the ground. “It’s just
my allergies acting up.”
“Oh, dear,” Leigh said. “It seems to be an epidemic.”
“Perfectly natural,” Dr. Proveaux said. “City dwellers suddenly
confronted with Mother Nature’s fecundity are almost bound to feel some
distress. Here, let me have a look at you.”
“No, I’m all right,” Abby said, with some force. “It will pass.”
“But, it’s poss—”
“Please. I’ll be all right.” She raised pleading eyes to Proveaux.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“I am.”

Scavenger Hunt  63
As attention returned to Leigh, she picked up where she had left
off.
“As I was saying, my idea was to divide us into two teams which
would set off in different areas of the property to find as many as they can
of the items I’ve included on these lists. For the most part, the items are
what you might call natural artifacts, plants or flowers or signs of animal
life, like bones or feathers, that can be found on our property. Some are
harder to find than others and for that reason I’ve assigned points to them
based on my estimation of the degree of difficulty involved. For example,
a daisy is only worth one point, while a skull is worth ten. In between, a
feather is worth three. Whether you go for hard or easy ones is up to you.
“Now, to make sure no one gets lost, I thought each team should
be headed up by someone familiar with the property, so I’ll take one and
Jack will take the other. Jack and I won’t participate in the game except
by helping to identify things because I think there would be a tendency for
us to dominate and the idea is to get everyone involved.
“After an afternoon spent emparadised in Nature’s arms, we’ll
reconvene here at 4:30, at which time Lena will serve mint juleps, and
we’ll add up the points and declare the winners.
“Sound like fun?”
There was a general murmur of assent.
“Any questions?”
“The mint juleps at the end are great, but what about liquid
refreshment to provide inspiration during the hunt?” Muffy asked.
“There are wine sacks in the refrigerator that each group will get
plus two others with iced tea for the kids.”
“Way to go, kid,” Muffy said.
“What are the teams?” Skip asked.
“Jack will take Alan, Cynthia, Skip and Oliver, Abby, Kendall and
Chip. The rest of you will be with me.”
“Couldn’t Caroline and I be on the same team?” Alan asked.
“Well, I tried to divide the couples up.”
“But we’re not actually a couple yet.”
“Alan, would you stop being such drip?” Caroline said. “You’re
embarrassing me. Honestly, we’re never going to make it to the altar if
you don’t stop being so possessive.”
“If you really want to switch teams, I can do that,” Leigh said as
Alan turned red.
“He can stay right where he is,” Caroline said.
“But it’s really no problem.”

Johnson  64
“It’s a problem for me. Alan, tell Leigh that you want to stay
where she put you.”
Alan studied the table before him, then raised his head and
shrugged. “I guess I’ll stay where I am.”
“Well, OK,” Leigh said. “If that’s what you want. But I can
switch you, no problem.”
“No, that’s fine. Thanks.” He dropped his head again.
“OK,” Leigh said, becoming all business again, “If there are no
more questions let’s get started before it gets any hotter.”
“Leigh,” Lawrence Finch said, “I hate to be a party pooper but I’m
afraid your scavenger hunt simply isn’t for me. With this heat and my
delicate constitution I’m afraid it would all be a little too much. Instead,
perhaps I could take this opportunity to place the lamp I brought for you.”
“Nonsense, man,” Dr. Proveaux said. “The best cure for a delicate
constitution is exercise and fresh air. Mother Nature didn’t design delicate
constitutions, they only become that way through neglect of their vast
potential. Atrophy sets in. But I assure you the natural man within you
can be revived if you but embrace yourself as a physical being endowed
with the capacity to thrive in the world.”
Finch regarded Proveaux with a chilly stare and said, “Yes, well,
I’m sure.” He returned to Leigh. “Nevertheless, I must decline, kind
madam.”
“Lawrence, may I help?” Kendall asked. “I’d love to see you work
and hear some of your theories on style. It was fascinating listening to
you last night. Interior decoration is a real interest of mine.”
“Oh no, Kendall, you can’t!” Leigh exclaimed. “You can talk to
Lawrence anytime, can’t she, Lawrence?”
“Certainly. I would be only too glad to share some of my ideas,
modest though they may be. And frankly, I prefer to work alone in order
to facilitate the untrammeled flow of creative inspiration. We can get
together some other time.”
“Good. That’s settled then,” Leigh said. “Why don’t we all meet
here in fifteen minutes for the commencement of the hunt.

CHAPTER SEVEN
After much bustle and scurrying about the teams were assembled
on the patio, each equipped with an object list, the wine sacks, and plastic
bags and jars to carry their ‘finds’.
“Is everybody ready?” Leigh asked. “The general idea is that
Jack’s group will head for the north side of the property while my team
will head to the south, at least to begin with. Our paths might cross but
that’s no big deal. We simply didn’t want the teams watching each other
rather than looking for things themselves. Any questions?”
“Are there poisonous snakes?” Cynthia asked.
“It’s possible there are a few copperheads on the property but
they’re not really anything to worry about. The only place we’ve ever
seen them is in the ravine—they like to sun on the rocks.”
“Sounds like maybe we should avoid it,” Chip said.
“Maybe so,” Leigh said, “Although I don’t think snakes are a big
risk even there if you watch where you put your hands.”
“Yeah, but that place is pretty treacherous anyway, Leigh, with all
that loose shale,” Jack said. “Why don’t we declare the ravine off–limits.
It’s no great loss. That way no one has to worry about it.”
“Fine,” Leigh said. “The ravine is off–limits. Any other
questions? All right then, let’s go.” She looked at her watch. “We’ll see
you back here at 4:30.”
That said, Leigh headed off around the corner of the house, team in
tow.
“Well, team,” Jack said, “I guess there’s nothing for it but for us to
get going although I have to be frank and tell you you’re at a disadvantage
with me as your guide. I really don’t know a fern from a tern. Leigh’s the
nature expert. She gave me some guides which I have here, but it’s not
like I know my way around them either.
“On the other hand, this is a fine looking crew and I have every
confidence that we can overcome all obstacles and drive on to victory.”
“Bravo,” Chip said.
“Yeah, hubba, hubba,” Skip added.
They headed for the front of the house with Buck racing around
them in joyous anticipation.
“So where would you like to start?” Jack asked.

Johnson  66
“I think we should go after the big point items,” Skip said looking
at the list. “If we get a couple of them, we’ll be in good shape.”
“Like what?” Chip asked.
“Well, a skull, that’s ten. Or a snakeskin.”
“How much is that?”
“Eight.”
“I think we should go after the easy stuff as quickly as possible,”
Kendall said.
“How come?” Chip asked.
“Because we might not find the other things and then we’ll have
nothing. If we go after the easy stuff first we’ll have that, and then we can
concentrate on the bigger point items. We may run into some of those
while we’re at it. It sounds like you’d have to be plain lucky to find most
of them anyway. I mean, fossils you could look for, but a skull?”
“Ah, the voice of reason,” Chip said.
“But most of the small point items are plants and flowers and
things that you have to be able to identify and personally I’m clueless,”
Skip said.
“They’re actually pretty basic though when you come down to it,”
Kendall said taking the list from Skip. “An oak leaf. A birch leaf. A
raspberry. A blueberry. Four kinds of ferns. Five types of mushrooms.
If we split up we should be able to collect a lot of these things fairly
quickly. Then we can focus on the bigger ticket items.”
“Skip,” Chip said, “I hate to bail out on you, but Kendall sounds
like she knows what she’s talking about. What do the rest of you folks
think?”
He looked from Alan to Abby to Cynthia.
“Well, if Kendall can identify the things on the list that sounds
pretty good to me, I guess,” Alan said. “But I don’t see how she can do
that if we split up.”
“Cynthia?” Chip prompted.
“I don’t think we should stay together. We’ll cover a lot more
ground if we split up.”
“True, but we’ll also be collecting the same things over and over,”
Chip said.
“Maybe so, but it simply doesn’t make any sense for the seven of
us to stay together,” Cynthia said.”
“Maybe we should divide the list and split into subgroups,” Skip
suggested.

Scavenger Hunt  67
“But Kendall’s the only one who knows what the things are,” Alan
said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Alan,” Cynthia said grabbing the list from
Kendall. “You don’t know what a feather is?”
“But Cynthia, there’s still the problem that we’ll all be collecting
the same things,” Chip said.
“So split the list like Skip said. Each of us has specific items
assigned to us.”
“Look, I have a suggestion,” Kendall said. “Why don’t we start
off together and try to collect as many of the easy items as we can. We
don’t have to stay right on top of one another but we should stay close
enough that we can keep track of what we’ve found. Then once we’ve
done that, we can split up to try and find whatever is left on the list. What
do you think?”
“Sounds eminently reasonable to me,” Chip said.
There were murmurs of approval.
“Cynthia?” Chip asked.
“Fine,” she said sullenly, “If that’s what everyone wants.”
“OK then, Kendall,” Jack said. “Where would you like to go?”
At Kendall’s suggestion, they went first to the duck pond where
they caught a frog and a dragonfly and placed them in jars. They then
worked their way across the meadow behind the tennis court and across
the drive to the edge of the woods behind the Van Eycks’ cottage,
collecting most of the wildflowers and berries on the list in the process:
the members of the party foraging about and bringing their finds to
Kendall for identification before handing them over to Abby and Oliver
who had volunteered to be the keepers of the collection.
As they stood at the meadow’s edge, Kendall said, “I think we’ve
about exhausted the potential of this area. Why don’t we head into the
woods?”
“How about a taste of this wine before we do?” Skip said. “It will
only get warm.”
“Amen to that,” Jack said.
Skip lifted the wine sack over his head and uncapped it and offered
it to Kendall.
“None for me, thanks,” she said.
“Keeping a clear head for the competition, eh? Probably a good
idea with this group.”
“Seems like someone ought to,” Kendall said laughingly.

Johnson  68
“Kendall doesn’t partake,” Jack said. “But she’s all right,
anyway.”
“Why thank you, Jack. Coming from you that is indeed a
compliment.”
“It’s only the truth.”
“Cynthia?” Skip said offering the sack.
“No thanks.”
“Abby?”
“I think I’ll have some iced tea.”
“Guys, it looks like the ladies are leaving the drinking to us,” Skip
said. “A difficult burden but one we’ll just have to bear.” He tilted his
head back and took a long draught before handing it to Jack.
“I certainly am glad you’re on our team,” Chip said to Kendall as
the beverage sacks made the rounds. “We’d have been nowhere without
you.”
“Yeah, you really know your stuff,” Skip said.
“I was quite a tomboy in my youth,” Kendall said.
“Well, I’m glad of it,” Chip said smiling, “although I can’t see any
trace of it now.”
A shadow of annoyance flashed across Jack’s face.
“Shall we get going?” he asked.
“What’s your rush, buddy?” Skip teased. “We’re drinkin’ here.”
“Shouldn’t we split up now?” Cynthia asked.
Kendall looked at her watch.
“Probably,” she said. “We’re almost halfway through our allotted
time and there are a lot of woodland items we should be able to find
quickly if we do.”
“I think I see people over there,” Alan Huffington said suddenly.
They looked to see him staring hard at the woods that lay beyond
the pasture behind the barn, then followed the direction of his gaze.
“It must be Caroline’s team,” Alan said.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Jack said. “It’s no problem, though. We’ll
just go in the other direction.
“Let’s go see them,” Alan said.
The others exchanged glances, then shrugs.
“Jack?” Chip said.
“Whatever you guys want to do.”
They started into the woods toward the other group, Alan in the
lead. As they drew closer, they could hear Paige’s excited chatter.
Leigh spotted them first.

Scavenger Hunt  69
“Hi there,” she said.
“Hi there,” Jack said. “We saw you through the woods and
thought we’d come say hello. How’s your team making out?”
“Quite well, I’d say.”
Muffy and Paige had gathered around Leigh, Muffy holding an oak
leaf and Paige clutching a bedraggled fern frond.
“Where’s Caroline?” Alan asked, looking around.
“She went back to the house a little while ago,” Leigh said. “She
said she had a headache.”
“Nothing really,” Dr. Proveaux piped up. “A temporary psychic
dislocation. She simply needs to rest.”
“Where’s Brian?” Chip asked.
“He went off to find a fossil,” Leigh said.
“How long ago did Caroline leave?” Alan asked.
“Oh, maybe fifteen minutes ago.”
“I have to go find her,” he said abruptly.
“She should be back at the house by now,” Leigh said.
“I don’t think you need to worry, Alan,” Muffy said. “It was just a
headache. Once she lies down and relaxes for a while she’ll be fine.”
“Yes, I examined her,” Proveaux said. “She’ll be fine.”
“Which way did she go? “Alan asked Leigh.
“Straight back that way,” Leigh said, pointing in the direction of
the house. “Although she may have gone around the pasture rather than
climb the fence.”
“What about Driscoll?”
“Brian?” Leigh said, puzzled.
“Yes. Which way did he go?”
“I’m not completely sure.”
Alan scowled as the assemblage stared at him, then marched off in
the direction Leigh had indicated.
As his figure disappeared into the foliage, Muffy said, “Wow.
Caroline better be back at that house, I guess.”
“Did he think Caroline and Brian. . .?” Chip started to ask, then let
his voice trail off.
“Sure seemed that way,” Muffy said.
“But that’s crazy,” Chip said.
“She did kind of throw herself at him, though,” Muffy said.
“What, Mommy?” Paige asked, looking up at her earnestly.
“Nothing, honey. Just grown–up stuff.”

Johnson  70
“Childishness is more like it,” Leigh sniffed. “Shall we get back to
the hunt?”

CHAPTER EIGHT
“All right, everyone. While we tally up the results, please help
yourselves to the mint juleps that Lena has prepared. Jack? Put your
team’s things on the table so we can go through them.”
Leigh went to the bar where Lena stood serving the drinks.
“Caroline Vernon wasn’t feeling well and left our group a while
after we got started. Did she make it back all right?”
“I don’t know. Her fiancé was here looking for her some time ago
and she wasn’t here then. He went back out to find her.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Quite a while, I’d say. An hour anyway. Of course they might be
back now. I haven’t been upstairs recently.”
“So you haven’t seen Alan again either.”
“No.”
“That’s odd.”
“Well, as I say, they could be here. I’ve been running the ice
crusher and you know the racket that makes. An army could have
marched through and I wouldn’t know it.”
Spying Muffy, Leigh made her way to her.
“Muff, could you do me a favor and go see if Caroline or Alan are
here? You might also knock on Lawrence’s door and ask if he’s seen
them. Oh, and tell him we’re back and ask him to join us.”
When Muffy returned, she came to the table where Leigh was
working with Jack and Chip to tote up the scores.
“I can’t find them, Leigh,” Muffy said, pulling Leigh aside. “And
Lawrence hasn’t seen them either—he’ll be right down, by the way. Do
you think they could have gotten lost?”
“I doubt it. We weren’t that far from the house. I think it’s more
likely they’re together somewhere, either quarreling or making up. I’m
sure they’ll turn up.”
“What are you two whispering about?”
It was Jack.
“Caroline and Alan are missing.”
“Missing?”
“Well, not here, let’s say.”
Leigh updated Jack on the situation.

Johnson  72
“Just how under the weather was Caroline when she left?” Jack
asked when she finished.
“Frankly, I suspected there was nothing wrong with her at all—that
actually she simply wasn’t into the hunt.”
Jack reacted with shocked disbelief.
“Not into the scavenger hunt! My God, she must have been
completely delirious.”
“Very funny, Jack. I knew I could count on you to be helpful.”
“I’m sorry. Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. If Alan hadn’t found
her he’d be back by now.”
“You’re probably right, but I wonder if we should look for them.”
“Would you like me to look around?” Muffy asked.
“Would you?”
“Sure. You guys finish up with the scavenger hunt results and I’ll
wander around a little and see if I can find them.”
By the time Muffy returned, the results had been tallied and Jack’s
team declared the winner by a solid twenty–four point margin, fueled by
Oliver’s (actually Buck’s) discovery of a woodchuck skull and Chip’s
snakeskin find.
“Any luck?” Leigh asked when Muffy came up to her.
“No. I didn’t see either of them.”
“Where did you go?”
“Just around the house and barn and down by the pond. Hans was
by his house so I asked him if he’d seen them but he said no.”
“I guess they must be in the woods.”
“I guess.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll turn up sooner or later.”
And they did, although not in the way Leigh expected.
Alan showed up first, about two hours after Leigh and Muffy’s
conversation. Jack and Skip were standing in front of the house, sipping
yet another round of mint juleps and making like Southern gentlemen
surveying the plantation. They watched as a battered pickup slowly made
its way up the drive.
“Ya’ll got some ugly lookin’ vehicles in these heah parts, Jack,”
Skip said in a horrible Walter Brennanish imitation of a southern accent.
“Ah’m surprised you let ’em near the big house.”
The truck rolled to a stop and Alan Huffington climbed awkwardly
down from the passenger side of the cab.

Scavenger Hunt  73
“Thanks a lot,” he said to the driver, a grizzled old–timer in a
greasy baseball cap, who nodded before putting the truck in gear once
more.
Alan was a mess, dirt smudges on his face, polo shirt and chinos,
one pants leg soaked and muddy almost to the knee, both knees dark
patches of mud. Glasses slightly askew, hair explosive with bits of leaves
clinging to it. The thin whip of a scratch on his left cheek.
“What happened to you?” Jack said with obvious concern. “Are
you all right?”
“I’m all right, yes. I got lost.”
“Looks like you got lost in a ring with Mike Tyson,” Skip said.
“I fell. Several times.”
“How’d you end up in the truck?” Jack asked.
“I finally wandered out to the road and flagged it down. He knew
your place and drove me here.”
“Where’s Caroline?”
“She’s not here?”
“No. We thought she was with you.”
“I never found her. I assumed she would be back by now.”
Jack frowned.
“That’s not good. She must be lost too.”
Alan’s face darkened. “Is Driscoll back?”
“Yes. Hours ago. He came back with his group.”
“We have to find her, “Alan said. “She might be hurt.”
“Maybe she’s just resting somewhere,” Skip said.
“It’s been almost four hours though,” Jack pointed out. “That’s a
long time to be resting out in the woods. I think he’s right. We better
look for her.”
“Oh God,” Alan said. “She’s hurt, I know it. I’ll never forgive
myself.”
“Calm down, Alan,” Jack said. “There’s no reason to think she’s
hurt. You’ve been gone all this time and you weren’t hurt.” He looked at
Alan’s scratched face. “Not too badly anyway. We’ll organize a search
and find her. It shouldn’t be too hard with all these people. And these
aren’t exactly the wilds of Borneo.”
“Where is he now?” Leigh said.
Jack and Leigh were standing at the butcher block in the kitchen
while Lena and Mrs. Lindstrom looked on.
“I sent him upstairs to change and clean up a little.”

Johnson  74
“Does he need a bandage?”
“I don’t know. But Dr. Proveaux was coming down the stairs
when we came in and he’s taking care of him. He’ll be all right.”
“So what do you think we should do?”
“Go look for her.”
“I know that. But how should we go about it?”
“I don’t know. Send everyone out to look for her, I reckon.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea, Jack. Then we can have ten lost people
instead of one.”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“I think that only people who are familiar with the property should
go. You and me. And maybe Hans.”
“Hans? You think we should get him involved?”
“Jack, she’s been gone for four hours and it will be starting to get
dark before long. I think we need all the help we can get. And Hans
knows the property better than anyone.”
“I guess you’re right. Well, this will certainly confirm everything
he ever thought about clueless city people.” He sent an embarrassed grin
Lena’s way.
“The important thing is to find Caroline,” Leigh said firmly.
“I know,” Jack sighed. “She sure is one royal pain in the ass,
though.”
They assembled in the dining room.
“OK,” Jack said. “The idea here is to cover the property as quickly
as possible. Hans, why don’t you take the north pasture and woods out to
the road. Leigh, you take the west woods where we met you today.
Check the area where you last saw her. I’ll take the southwest woods out
to the ravine. We should call for her as we go.”
“What about me?” It was Alan.
“We thought it would be best not to have too many people running
around and we assumed you would want to be here when she was found.”
“I want to go. I’m not going to sit here while my fiancée is out in
the woods possibly sick or hurt.”
“All right, then. You come with me.”
“What about me?” Dr. Proveaux asked. “If she needs medical
attention, I should be there. She’s my patient, after all.”
“And I could be helpful too,” Lena said. “Two years of nursing
school teaches you more than you might think.”

Scavenger Hunt  75
“My hope is she doesn’t need medical attention,” Leigh said. “But
if she does, it would be better for you to stay here so if you’re needed we
know where you are.”
“What do you think happened to her?” Lawrence Finch asked.
“She’s probably just lost,” Leigh said.
“Maybe she got bit by a snake,” Paige said.
“Paige, take Oliver and go play in the common room,” Muffy
commanded curtly. “There are games in the closet.”
“What about the rest of us?” Skip asked. “Mightn’t it help if some
of us tagged along with you guys? It seems to me the more eyes the
better. And if we stay close we won’t get lost.”
“I guess that’s true,” Jack said. “As long as it’s not too many.”
“That would be better if she has to be carried too,” Brian said.
“All right. Chip—no, Christian—why don’t you go with Leigh.
Chip and Brian, you go with Hans. Skip, you come with me. The rest of
you sit tight. Once again, she’s probably fine.”
“If for some reason she has to be carried,” Lena said, “it would
probably be better for someone to return here first so we can fix up a
stretcher and make sure we have enough people to carry her safely. Also,
that way Dr. Proveaux can have a look at her before she’s moved. And if
she is hurt, you should cover her to keep her warm and help avoid shock.
Shock is sometimes a bigger risk than the injuries themselves. Isn’t that
right, doctor?”
“Uh, yes. Absolutely. Exactly. She shouldn’t be moved until I’ve
seen her. And keep her warm.”
“OK,” Jack said.
“We should set a time for everyone to return,” Leigh said. “And if
she’s found before then we should signal it some way so the others know
to come back.”
Hans spoke for the first time.
“You can use my shotgun. If she’s found, fire it three times.”
“Does anyone know how to use it?” Jack asked.
“I do,” Lena said.
“OK, then. Fine. Let’s go.”
As it turned out, Caroline was not lost. Nor did she need medical
care. She was dead. Quite dead.
Jack found her. Coming to the edge of the ravine forty minutes
after they left the house, Alan and Skip a few steps behind. Down in the
jumble of boulders on the ravine floor, a flash of color.

Johnson  76
“I see something,” he said.
“Oh my God, it’s her,” Alan said, next to Jack now.
“Caroline?” Jack called.
No response.
“Oh my God,” Alan said again. “Caroline!”
He scrambled down the slope in a shower of rocks, Jack and Skip
trailing, then stood, stunned, a few feet from Caroline’s inert body. One
arm twisted around and under her. Scrapes on her arms and forehead,
brown red and crusted with dirt. Eyes wide and staring.
Alan hit the ground before Jack or Skip could react, his head
thudding dully on a rock.
“Jesus,” Jack said, springing to Alan’s side. He cradled Alan’s
head in his arms and peered at his scalp where blood streamed from a
gash.
Alan’s eyes opened and he tried to sit up.
“Just stay down,” Jack said.
“Caroline!” Alan said woefully.
Skip squatted by Caroline’s body and cautiously reached out his
hand and put it against her neck, then looked at Jack and grimly shook his
head.
“We have to get help,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“You want me to go?”
“No. I know the way better than you.”
“We have to get Caroline to a hospital,” Alan said.
“I’ll go get help,” Jack said. “You stay here with Skip.”
He laid Alan back down on the ground and went to Skip.
“What do you think?” he asked Skip quietly.
“She’s cold as ice. I think she’s dead.”
“Should we do CPR or something?”
“She’s dead, Jack.”
“We should cover her just in case.”
“Him too. We don’t want him to go into shock on us.”
“You’re right. Take this,” Jack said, stripping off his shirt. “It’s
not much but it’s better than nothing.
“OK. I’ll put mine over her.”
“Sorry to leave you here with this.”
“Just hurry.”
“I will,” Jack said. He scrambled up the rocky slope of the ravine
and disappeared over its crest.

CHAPTER NINE
The roar of Hans’ shotgun rolled funereally across the hills. Once.
Twice. Three times.
“There’s the signal, Alan,” Skip said with as much brightness as he
could muster. “Help will be here soon.”
“Help for what?” Alan said. He sat huddled, head down, a few feet
from Caroline’s body, Jack’s shirt draped across his shoulders. “She’s
dead. Anyone can see that. Dead. Dead. Dead.”
Jack had burst breathlessly through the kitchen door five minutes
earlier after traversing the distance between the house and the ravine at a
run. Lena was standing in the door to the cellar looking at the supplies on
the shelves above the stairs.
“We found her, “ he said between gasps.
“Is she all right?”
Jack shook his head.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She fell into the ravine.”
“Is she hurt?”
“Yes. Where's Proveaux?”
“Right here,” Proveaux said, appearing in the doorway to the
dining room. “She fell?”
“Yes. Into the ravine. It looks bad, real bad.”
“Oh my God. What does? Is something broken? We’ll need to
make a splint.”
“No. I mean, yes. Probably. But that’s not the problem. She’s
unconscious.”
“Is she breathing?” Lena asked. “Does she have a pulse?”
“Not that we could tell. She’s cold as ice.”
“Any obvious injuries to her head?”
Jack nodded.
“Some scrapes.”
“She must have been knocked out,” Proveaux said.
“Sounds like she’s in shock,” Lena said. “Or worse. We have to
move fast. I’ll bring the first aid kit. Jack, if you could grab those
blankets.”

Johnson  78
“Alan fainted and cut his head.”
“Can I help?” Muffy asked. She and the rest of the guests who had
remained behind had crowded into the kitchen.
“Yes, call an ambulance. Use 911.”
Muffy slammed the receiver down.
“The damn thing must be out again, Jack. There’s no dial tone.”
“Go to my house,” Lena said. She turned to Jack as Muffy exited
at a run. “We should bring a lantern. Do you have one?”
Jack nodded toward the cellar doorway. “Right in there.”
“And a couple of flashlights too. Do you have something to put all
this in?”
Jack looked blank.
“Never mind. We’ll use a blanket.” She turned again. “OK. Let’s
get going. Jack, why don’t you throw one of those jackets on? We don’t
need you sick. Anything else, Doctor?”
Proveaux shook his head.
“What about a stretcher?” Jack asked.
“It sounds to me like we’re not going to want to move her before
EMS arrives,” Lena said. “I think it’s more important that we get there
fast.”
“All right.” Jack addressed the remaining guests. “Leigh or Hans
should be back before the ambulance arrives. They can show them the
way. Just tell them we’re in the ravine.”
When they reached the ravine, dusk was already settling in over
the woods. The ravine was filled with darkness. Skip had heard them
coming and climbed up to meet them, leaving Alan sitting near Caroline’s
corpse.
“Any change?” Jack asked.
Skip shook his head.
“How’s Alan?”
He shrugged.
“All right, I guess. Blown away, like you’d expect.”
Down on the ravine floor, Lena knelt beside Caroline’s body as Dr.
Proveaux made his way unsteadily down the rocky slope.
“Let’s get that lantern going,” she said, as she checked Caroline’s
vital signs.
“What are you doing?” Alan asked suddenly, as the lantern flared
to life and white light bathed the scene.

Scavenger Hunt  79
“Checking her pulse,” Lena replied.
“Her pulse!?!” Alan said in a wild voice. “Her pulse!?! She’s
dead, can’t you see that!?!”
“We have to check,” Lena said calmly.
“Leave her alone!” Alan said, and throwing off Jack’s shirt, stood
up and staggered toward her.
Jack and Skip leapt forward and restrained him.
“Hang on there, Alan,” Jack said. “Let her do what she has to do.”
“She’s no doctor,” Alan said, as tears began streaming down his
cheeks.
“No, but I am,” Dr. Proveaux said arriving at last and breathing
heavily. “How does it look, Lena?”
She looked up and shook her head.
“Nothing,” she said softly. “Rigor has set in.”
“You mean . . .?”
She nodded then stood.
“You’d better check,” she said, then went to Alan. “Why don’t we
go sit down and relax?” she said in a soothing voice. “Everything that can
be done is being done. An ambulance will be here soon.” She led him
toward a large boulder low enough to serve as a bench. “Bring me one of
those blankets, would you, Jack? And the first aid kit?”
After he had done as she asked, Jack rejoined Skip.
Proveaux looked up, and after a glance at Alan, shook his head.
“Dead?” Jack asked quietly.
“She must have hit her head,” the doctor said. “There are several
lacerations and contusions. It’s simply unbelievable. Someone so young
and alive. She was one of my very best patients.”
“What should we do?”
“Cover her and wait, I suppose. I don’t know what else we can
do.”
Leigh arrived with the rescue squad, two men and a woman,
dressed in competent–looking white overalls and carrying a stretcher and a
bulky medical kit. Jack had covered Caroline’s body with a blanket, but it
otherwise lay as they found it. After a brief check to confirm Dr.
Proveaux’s assessment of her condition, the woman—Carol Brown
according to her nameplate—directed her attention to Alan while the men
placed Caroline’s body on the stretcher and strapped it into place.

Johnson  80
“He has a laceration that will require stitches, but I think he’s all
right otherwise,” Lena reported. “No nausea and he’s alert. Do you want
to take the bandage off?”
“No, that’s all right,” Brown replied, gingerly lifting the gauze to
peer under it. “It will do till we can get him to the emergency room.”
The two other attendants had hoisted the stretcher and stood
waiting.
“Ready?” Brown asked.
The lead man nodded.
“All right.” She turned to Jack. “If one of you would lead the way
with the lantern it would be a big help. I’m going to walk with. . . Alan, is
it?”
Lena nodded.
“We’ll take it nice and easy,” Brown added.
Once they got Caroline’s body out of the ravine, the trip went
smoothly. They made their way through the woods in the circle of light
cast by the lantern Jack carried and soon neared the meadow that lay in
front of the house. As they did, they saw lights coming toward them
which turned out to be two county sheriff’s deputies led by Hans. They
met at the woods’ edge.
“Hi, Carol,” one of the deputies said. Then nodding at each of the
other ambulance crew members, said by way of greeting, “Bob. Art.”
“Hi, Charlie,” Carol answered.
“So what have you got?” he asked. Behind him the other deputy
produced a pen and spiral notebook and started writing.
“One dead, probably of a fall,” Carol said. “Subdural hematoma
would be my guess. Hard to say at this point. This one’s got a laceration
of the scalp, possible slight concussion.”
“A fall?”
“Yes. There’s a ravine back in there. It’s a pretty good drop.”
“Him too?”
“No. He fainted. When they found her. She was apparently alone
at the time of the fall.”
The deputy regarded Alan who stood silent with his head hanging
down.
“Fainted?”
“At the scene and hit his head. He’s the deceased’s fiancé.”
“Whose place is this?”
“Ours,” Jack said, stepping forward with his arm around Leigh.
“Hewitt, right?”

Scavenger Hunt  81
“Yes. I’m Jack . . . John, and this is my wife, Leigh.”
“And you don’t live here, right?”
“No. We live in the City.”
“The deceased was a guest?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s she from?”
“New York also.”
“Why was she in the woods alone at night?”
“She wasn’t. We were all out this afternoon and she felt ill and left
to go back to the house. She must have gotten lost and fallen into the
ravine.”
“When was this?”
“When she fell?”
“No, when she left the rest of you. I assume you don’t know when
she fell.”
His tone indicated that he found Jack to be a little on the dense
side.
“No, I don’t, of course,” Jack said, obviously a little intimidated.
“She left. . . What time did she leave, Leigh?”
“About three.”
“And you found her, when?”
“About seven-thirty, maybe?” Jack said.
“It took you over four hours to find her?”
“We didn’t even realize she was missing until we finished the
hunt,” Leigh said.
“Hunt?”
“Yes. A scavenger hunt. That’s what we were doing in the
woods.”
“A scavenger hunt?”
“Yes, you know. Where you wander around in teams trying to find
things and score points.”
“What kind of things?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. Snakeskins, fossils, flowers. Things like
that.”
“And that’s what you were all doing?” He looked to Jack for an
answer, his tone indicating his opinion of scavenger hunts as an
occupation for adult men and women.
“Yes,” Jack said sheepishly, while a wave of crimson, visible even
in the lantern’s glow, marched across his face.

Johnson  82
Deputy Charlie glanced at his partner, who shrugged to signify his
shared bafflement at the mysteries of human existence in general and the
behavior of rich cityfolk in particular.
“OK. Well, I guess that’s about it for now.” He turned back to
Carol Brown. “You taking him to the hospital?”
“Yeah. He probably needs stitches and we should watch him for a
while. If he doesn’t have a concussion the doctor may want to prescribe a
sedative.”
“He looks pretty sedated already,” Charlie said dryly.
“That’s shock, I think. He’ll come out of it.”
Back at the house, a crowd gathered—everyone but Muffy and
Abby who were inside keeping the children occupied and Mrs. Lindstrom
who had retired to her bedroom—to watch them load Caroline’s body into
the ambulance, standing by the front entryway with the solemn but
fascinated expressions shared by all witnesses to tragedies that do not
directly affect them. Even Doris was in attendance, making a rare
appearance outside of her house, obviously unable to resist a drama almost
as thrilling as that offered by television, and dressed as for a festive
occasion in a brightly colored print dress twenty years out of style. She
had even applied a little makeup, to what end, it would be hard to say.
However, ultimately there wasn’t much to see. Within minutes of
the group's return, the ambulance doors had shut on Caroline’s body and
the police and ambulance squad prepared to leave. Through it all Alan
stood mutely wherever he was left, oblivious to the activity around him.
Carol Brown addressed the deputies. “Charlie, I think maybe it
would be better if you guys took him with you, so he doesn’t have to ride
with the body. Is that a problem?”
“Nope,” Charlie responded. “We’re going that way anyway.”
“Will somebody here be able to pick him up?” Carol asked Leigh.
“Sure. When?”
“He should be all right in the morning.”
“I can bring him back,” Charlie said. “We’re going to want to
come back out here anyway so we can write up a full report. I assume
you’ll all be here?”
“We’ll be here,” Leigh said.
“OK, we’ll see you then.”
In a matter of minutes they were gone, the lights on the vehicles
splashing red on the trees and then disappearing as they turned onto the

Scavenger Hunt  83
road with only the sound of their motors to mark their passage. Then that
too vanished.
“I could use a drink,” Jack said to no one in particular. “Anyone
care to join me?”
They gathered in the common room as they had the night before,
but with laughter now replaced by long faces, giving Jack their drink
orders in subdued tones, with scotch and other hard liquors predominating.
Although Hans had excused himself, Doris had extended her venture into
the outside world in honor of so momentous an occasion and stood with
Lena off to one side.
“Can I get you something, Doris?” Jack asked.
“I wouldn’t want to put you to no trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. What would you like? Beer, wine, scotch,
vodka. . .”
“I’ll have a highball, then.”
“A highball?”
“Yes, a highball—if it’s not too much trouble.”
“What’s in a highball?”
Doris looked at him blankly.
“I don’t rightly know. Rye, I think.”
“Rye? I don’t have rye. It’s whiskey though, right?”
“I guess.”
“Whiskey and what?”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever?”
“Ginger ale is all right.”
Jack mixed scotch and ginger ale in a glass and handed it to Doris.
“Lena, can I get you something?”
“I’ll have—”
“This needs a bigger glass,” Doris interrupted. “And not so much
ice.” She handed her drink back to Jack who took a tall tumbler, poured
Doris’ drink into it and topped it off with ginger ale.
“Now, Lena, what can I get you?”
“I’d like—”
“This could use a little more whiskey.” It was Doris again. She’d
taken two or three quick gulps so that the fluid now stood several inches
below the rim of the glass. Jack took the drink, added some whiskey, and
handed it back to Doris.
“White wine, please,” Lena said quickly.

Johnson  84
Jack poured it, handed it to her, and quickly abandoned the bar. “If
you want more, just help yourself,” he said.
“It’s hard to understand how she could have ended up there,”
Leigh was saying. “I mean, she left us when we were on the horse trail in
the woods behind the barn. All she had to do was follow the trail a short
way and she would have seen it.”
“Maybe she became disoriented,” Lawrence said.
A look of regret came over Leigh’s face at that suggestion.
“I shouldn’t have let her go back alone, particularly with her not
feeling well.”
“There’s no way you could have anticipated this, Leigh,” Kendall
said. “You’re not to blame.”
“I guess, but still. . .”
“Nonsense,” Muffy said, joining the circle. “We were all there.
She said she was all right.”
“I just wonder that she could fall in the first place, and kill herself
doing so in the second,” Jack said, putting his arm around Leigh.
“Well, it is dangerous,” Cynthia piped up from the edge of the
group. “Leigh said so herself before we left.” She blushed at being in the
spotlight as everyone turned to include her in the conversation.
“And stranger things have happened,” Lawrence said.
“Particularly with falls. You land the wrong way or hit your head and it
can be over just like that. I read about a fascinating case a few months ago
where a man hit his head on an open kitchen cabinet door and was dead
five minutes later. If he did that one hundred more times, he would
probably end up with nothing but bruises, but that one time . . .”
They fell silent again as each contemplated the vagaries of fate.
“I wonder how poor Alan is doing,” Kendall said quietly. “He was
so distraught.”
“The whole time we were waiting for Jack to come back he just sat
there crying,” Skip said.
“He really doted on her,” Muffy said. “You could see it in the way
looked at her.”
“He was so gentle and patient, too,” Kendall said. “Even when she
was being outrageous. Never a harsh word.”
“Hah!” It was Doris, who had drifted over while Lena tidied the
bar. “He had some harsh words for her last night, sure enough.” Her eyes
gleamed in a face grown rosy, whether from drink or the excitement of the
attention turned upon her, it was difficult to tell.

Scavenger Hunt  85
She took a gulp from a glass that Jack noted had been refilled.
“Yup, he had some harsh words for her last night all right.” Her
speech was slightly slurred.
“What do you mean?” Leigh asked. “Did they have a fight?”
“I don’t know that it would be ’propriate for me to say, her bein’
dead and all and him in the hospital.”
She paused as if waiting for urging to proceed. When none came,
she continued.
“Well, I guess it’s all right since it’s only the truth. It was last
night. I was sittin’ in the living room and I saw that man who went with
the police and the woman what died come down the drive.
“Well, they walked aways down the drive and then struck off
across the lawn over to by where the gazebo thing sits across from our
place. I couldn’t see ’em from where I was sitting then so I switched off
the TV and went out onto the porch. ‘Now, what are they up to?’ I says,
thinkin’ it was pretty funny them wanderin’ around late at night like that.
I better go find out.
“Well, there they was, out in the gazebo.”
“That certainly sounds suspicious,” Jack said.
“Well, it was and then I heard ’em arguin’ like. And he was sayin’
something about the way she’d been carrying on and that she was his
fiancé and shouldn’t be actin’ like that. And she said something I couldn’t
hear and then he says. . .” She stopped and looked at the faces around her
and said, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say, bein’ it’s mixed company and all.”
“Yes, perhaps you ladies had better leave,” Jack said.
“Just tell us, Doris,” Leigh said impatiently.
“Well, he calls her a bitch and not just a bitch,”—another quick
look around—“an ‘f–ing’ bitch, only he used the real word.”
“I’m surprised you even understood what those words meant,
Doris,” Jack said sarcastically.
“Jack, shut up and let her finish,” Leigh said.
“And then he says, ‘You’ve slept with every other man here’—
only he didn’t use those words—‘but you won’t even let me touch you.’
And he was really angry. And then he called her a goddamned tease, only
that wasn’t the only word he used, if you know what I mean. Well, she
stared at him a minute like she wasn’t sure what to do and then slapped
him in the face really hard and ran back to the house.”
Doris took another huge gulp of her drink and surveyed her
audience triumphantly while they stood in embarrassed silence.

Johnson  86
It was Doris who finally spoke, draining her glass and then
thrusting it toward Jack and saying, “C’I have another drink, please?”
Jack was lying in bed pretending to look at a magazine and
scratching his arm absentmindedly. “I wonder if I’m getting poison ivy,”
he said. He put the magazine down and examined his arm in the light.
“You wouldn’t be the only one. I gave Cynthia some calamine
lotion earlier. Do you want some?” She was sitting at the dressing table
in their bedroom in her pajamas and brushing her raven hair.
“No, I don’t even know if that’s why this itches. I’ll wait and see
what happens.” He picked up his magazine again.
“That was a terrible story for Doris to tell,” Leigh said after a
while.
Jack looked up from his magazine. “Yes, I noticed how you kept
trying to cut her off,” he said. “ ‘Jack, shut up and let her finish’,” he
mimicked.
“Well, you were being rude.”
“I was trying to be subtly discouraging which, in retrospect, was
pretty silly. I doubt a blow to the head with a two–by–four would have
fazed Doris in the condition she was in.”
“What did you serve her, anyway?”
“I served her what she asked for. A highball. It’s not my fault she
drank six of them.”
“Lena was so embarrassed.”
“Well, why not? Doris doesn’t have much of a singing voice and
her program choices were questionable under the circumstances. I mean
after all—a sea shanty? And I can’t say I can remember the lyrics, but
they certainly don’t go, ‘Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main, the
horse knows the way to carry the sleigh, o’er the white and drifting
snow’—I’ll admit there are certain similarities in rhythm and melody
between the two songs and the shared transportation motif is obvious, but
still. . .”
“What was she supposed to be when she was swooping around the
room with her arms out like that—an airplane?”
“An albatross, I thought. It was Lena’s fault really. She should
have been watching what her dear old mum was drinking.”
“I did feel bad though.”
“For Doris?”
“No. For Alan. For all of us. Gossiping about him at a time like
this. I feel terrible.”

Scavenger Hunt  87
She sat on the bed next to Jack and looked at him earnestly.
“You don’t think I’m a gossip, do you?”
Jack pondered her question, gazing at the ceiling as if deep in
thought, then said, “How do you define the term ‘gossip’?”
“Jack, be serious.”
“I think you take a lively interest in human affairs and are generous
enough to share that interest with others. But a gossip? Never.”
“No, Jack, really.”
“That is my official statement on the matter.”
“You do think I’m a gossip.”
“I refer you again to my official statement. I feel any further
comment on this subject at the present juncture could only be deleterious
to the state of marital bliss in which I am so comfortably ensconced.”
“No wonder Alan was so distraught.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, if they had such a vicious fight the night before.”
“They obviously had made up by morning. It’s difficult to take a
shower with someone if you’re not on speaking terms—how do you ask
for the soap?”
Leigh ignored Jack’s attempt at humor, intent on following her line
of thought.
“But words like those are not easy to forgive and Caroline didn’t
exactly seem like the forgiving type.”
“Frankly, I was surprised to hear that Alan expressed himself with
such vehemence. I didn’t think he had it in him. I don’t, of course,
approve of the use of profanity under any circumstances, but I have to say
that after watching her flirt with every man here, I had to applaud his
sentiments.”
“He must have been very angry to talk to her like that. And by the
way, what is this about Caroline flirting with every man here? Did
Caroline flirt with you, pumpkin? I don’t remember your telling me that.”
“I was speaking generally. No, I didn’t have the pleasure. If I had,
you can be sure a written report would have been on your desk at once.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” She grew serious again. “But you’re
right. She was outrageous. Particularly when Brian arrived. And did you
see Alan’s reaction when he found out that both Caroline and Brian had
left the group during the scavenger hunt?”
“But Brian went to find a fossil, right?” Jack said.
“Yes. He thought that would be more efficient than wandering
around together.”

Johnson  88
“Our whole team split up after we met you guys for the same
reason.”
“Yes, well, I don’t think that works, but having one person split off
to find a specific thing seemed like a good idea.
“Well, you may not think it works, but as I recall our team won
your little hunt quite handily.” He grinned sarcastically then said, “So did
he find one?”
“One what?”
“A fossil.”
“No, he didn’t,” Leigh replied distractedly—but then she looked
sharply at Jack. “Jack, you don’t think. . .?”
“What?”
“That he went to meet Caroline.”
“Why would I think that?”
“Because of his leaving right after her.”
“Oh. Now he left right after her.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. You mean your lively interest in human affairs is
perking up again.”
“Well, it’s possible.”
“Lots of things are possible.”
“But can you imagine if they had started up again and Alan
discovered them?”
“There would have been hell to pay. But their relationship was
finished. They despised each other.”
“Jack.”
“What?”
“What you said. Hell to pay.”
“All right, so I do use profanity now and then. Even I’m only
human.”
“No, no—are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I doubt it.”
“What if Alan did find Brian and Caroline together?”
“Yes?”
“You said there’d be hell to pay.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you see?”
“When the light’s adequate, yes.”
“What if Alan saw them together and. . .”
“And. . .?”

Scavenger Hunt  89
“Well, you must admit, it’s a little strange that someone would fall
into that ravine.”
Jack looked perplexed.
“You said yourself people should stay away from it.”
“But that was because of snakes and because someone might twist
an ankle or something, not die.”
“Yes, but things happen.”
Leigh looked at him meaningfully.
“What?” Jack said.
“Things happen.”
“So what?”
“Think about it. What if Brian did meet Caroline and Alan saw
them together. As you said, there’d be hell to pay. Who knows what Alan
might have done? Obviously he was very jealous of Caroline and angry
enough to say some very nasty things the night before. With a little more
provocation . . .”
“He’d throw her into the ravine?”
“It’s possible.”
“But highly improbable.”
“Sherlock Holmes always said that when you’ve eliminated the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable—”
“This is not some silly mystery novel.”
“Life imitates art.”
“I can see I’m going to have to cut back on your reading
privileges—and besides, you haven’t eliminated anything. You’re doing
what you always do: creating melodrama out of innocent events by piling
guesses on top of suppositions on top of speculations—and in the process
slandering someone who seems like a very nice guy to me.”
“It doesn’t strike you as odd that Alan was lost on our property for
three hours?”
“No, not particularly.”
“And that when he returned he was a mess—exactly the way he
would be if he had struggled with someone?”
“He was stumbling around in the woods.”
“And that while he was missing, his fiancée ended up dead under
highly unusual circumstances when they’d had a vicious argument the
previous night and he had reacted with jealous rage only a short time
before when he discovered his fiancée and her former lover missing?”
“Leigh?”
“Yes, dear?”

Johnson  90
“Didn’t this conversation start with you expressing regret about
having participated in a conversation where Alan was cast in a bad light
even as he was taken to the hospital in a state of shock over the sudden
death of the woman he loved?”
“Yes, but. . .”
“And do you recall that, unpleasant as that discussion was, it in no
way involved allegations of violence?”
“Yes, but. . .”
“But what?”
“Well, this is just us talking”
“Just you talking, you mean.”
She paused.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I am right. Now why don’t we get some rest?”
“All right.”
She patted Jack’s hand then got up and walked around to her side
of the bed. After she had climbed under the covers and gotten settled,
Jack doused the light on his nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.
Seconds passed. Then Leigh said, “Still, Jack, you have to admit
that the whole thing is a little odd.”
“Good night, Leigh,” Jack said.
Leigh started to say something then stopped. After a moment she
said, “Good night, Jack.”

CHAPTER TEN
That night the house was restless as the excitement of the day’s
events lingered like smoke from a fire now reduced to embers. Bodies
tossed in beds, blankets were thrown off then put back on, pillows were
fluffed and turned, lights switched on and books read. Even the dogs were
affected, pacing up and down the halls, their nails clicking on the polished
floorboards.
Leigh got little sleep. Caroline’s death was a direct challenge to
two of Leigh’s most basic instincts: proper hostessing and inquisitiveness.
What was the accomplished hostess supposed to do under circumstances
such as these? She was sure even the redoubtable Emily Post would be
put to the test. What would the mood of their guests be? Caroline was no
great favorite with most of them to be sure, but her death was certain to
cast a certain pall, particularly with Alan there. Should she attempt to
distract them or allow them to deal with things in their own way? And
what about Alan? What should she do to help him through his crisis?
And then there was the death itself. It was odd—no matter what
Jack said. He’d had the same attitude about Mrs. Lambert’s disappearance
at the Travers Stakes in Saratoga two summers before, and it turned out
that Leigh was right: Mrs. Lambert’s disappearance was suspicious. It
wasn’t Leigh’s fault that her sleuthing had resulted in the discovery of
Mrs. Lambert in flagrante with Bold Rider’s jockey in the thoroughbred’s
stall between the fourth and fifth races. How was she to anticipate that the
sixty year old Mrs. Lambert would take such an active interest in horse
racing? She’d never shown any liking for animals before.
And Alan had gone looking for Caroline with jealousy in his heart,
a jealousy whose viciousness had been revealed in the conversation
overheard by Doris. What if he had found her? Mightn’t they have
quarreled again with even more vicious results? Yes, Alan seemed
distraught, but wouldn’t he act exactly that way if he had been responsible
for Caroline’s death? Viewed in that light, his histrionics were more
indicative of guilt than innocence.
And if he had been somehow involved, wasn’t it her duty to do
what she could to bring the truth to light? Caroline was her guest, after
all. To go blithely forward without any attempt to ferret out—an

Johnson  92
unfortunate idiom—to discover the answers would be irresponsible in the
extreme.
And so her thoughts went. Round and round and round and round.
First on one track and then the other. Hostessing. Sleuthing. Hostessing.
Sleuthing. Until almost four–thirty, when unbeknownst to her, the two
tracks intersected. All she knew was that she had finally figured out what
she could do for Alan.
The house was dim and silent as she made her way up the stairs in
the pre–dawn light, the french doors at the front of the landing an oblong
of gray. The door to Caroline and Alan’s room was closed. It creaked as
she opened it and she paused waiting to hear if anyone stirred. The only
sound was the drone of Lawrence Finch’s snoring across the hall.
Why am I acting like a thief? she thought. It’s my house.
Because it would be rude to wake your guests, dear.
Ah, yes, that was it. Leigh was always considerate.
She closed the door quietly behind her.
As she had suspected, the room was in disarray, with clothes
hanging off of chairs, the bed unmade, wet towels in a pile by the door.
Caroline had not struck her as the tidy type. It certainly wouldn’t do to
have Alan return to such a mess in the state he was likely to be in.
Anything she could do to create a soothing atmosphere would be a help.
Leigh set to work. First came making the bed. She carefully lifted
the mattress up and looked under it. Felt in the dark recesses with her
hand. Nothing. She lifted the pillows. Nothing but sheet. Under the bed,
only a pair of suitcases. Empty by the feel of them. Sighing, she put the
bedclothes in order.
Next came Caroline’s clothes. Caroline truly was a slob. A
sleeveless silk print dress—a Dior, Leigh happened to notice—hung over
the back of the chair that served the Louis the Fourteenth secretary by the
door. No pockets. Leigh hung it in the massive Dutch wardrobe—a kas
she knew it was called—that stood between the eastern windows. The
cotton blouse Caroline was wearing when she arrived was under the dress.
Leigh hung that too, then paused. There were other clothes hanging in the
wardrobe. Shouldn’t she check those also, to make sure there was nothing
in them that would hurt Alan or embarrass Caroline? She did, quickly
running through the pockets. There was a movie ticket stub in the pocket
of the vermilion linen jacket—Armani as it happened, which only went to
show that labels were no substitute for taste—but nothing else. The kas’
drawers were empty.

Scavenger Hunt  93
On the overstuffed chair in the corner—the one with the floral
print that took Leigh forever to find and that so precisely echoed the
pattern in the wall paper—were more clothes in a heap. A bathrobe. She
hung it carefully. A tissue in one pocket, nothing in the other. Back to the
chair. An apricot Donna Karan sweater much like one Leigh had admired
in Bloomingdale’s but had finally decided was a little too orange for her
complexion. It had no pockets. She folded it and put it in the top drawer
of the bureau. Checked the other items in the drawer and in the one
below. Nothing.
Back to the chair. Another sweater. Dior again. No pockets. She
put it in the bureau.
The room was looking tidier now. Alan’s clothes were apparently
all put away. She might have guessed that too.
Was there anything else she should do?
Caroline’s Gucci purse was sitting on the open lid of the secretary.
Might as well check that. Knowing Caroline, it might be full of love
letters. Why subject Alan to that?
It wasn’t. It contained nothing of interest at all. A wallet with
credit cards, etc. A pen and checkbook. A set of keys. Somewhat
curiously, a roll of packing tape. A lipstick in the garish shade Leigh had
noticed Caroline favored, probably thinking it made her look exotic.
Leigh tried it, striking different poses in front of the bureau mirror—
definitely not her. She put the purse back.
What about the secretary? It was empty except for the pens and
Greenfield stationery Leigh kept in the top drawer.
There were, of course, Alan’s things. And although she really had
only come to tidy up for Alan’s sake, there was the little whiff of mystery
that Leigh had been obsessing about half the night. Wouldn’t it make
sense to check to confirm that there was nothing to validate Leigh’s
unease? Wouldn’t that be to Alan’s benefit in a way, too? She was
already in the room, after all. It would almost be irresponsible to pass up
this opportunity to clear him, and clear him without his ever even being
aware that there was the slightest suspicion about him.
It took her five minutes to search the room completely: Alan’s
clothes, the shoes and dirty clothes on the floor of the kas, the suitcases
under the bed, the toilet kit on the bureau, the wastebasket by the door.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing—almost as if someone was
purposely trying to hide some dark secret from prying eyes.
Oh well, Leigh thought, I did my best to clear him. It’s not my
fault that I didn’t succeed.

Johnson  94
She walked to the door and stooped and picked up the wet
towels—and a crumpled piece of paper fell to the floor.
“Jack, what does it matter why I was in there?”
Jack was sitting up in bed, his hair tousled from sleep. It was five
minutes past six. Sunlight streamed through the eastern windows.
“What does it matter? It matters a lot. It matters whether you
were snooping around in our guest’s room.”
“Well, I wasn’t. I merely went in to tidy up as any thoughtful
hostess would do under the circumstances and came across this piece of
evidence.”
“It’s not evidence, Leigh. It’s a crumpled note.” He shook his
head. “I can’t believe you were rooting around in their dirty laundry.
What would the girls from Kappa Kappa Sigma think?”
“Phi Sigma.”
“Phi Sigma then. What would they think?”
“Phi Sig girls never think, it wrinkles the forehead. But if they did,
they’d applaud my resourcefulness. And it is evidence, evidence that
Caroline planned to meet someone yesterday afternoon.”
“You don’t even know who wrote it. Maybe Caroline wrote it,
thought better of it, and threw it away.”
“It’s not her handwriting.”
“How do you know that?”
“There was a checkbook in her purse and I compared the writing.”
“Excuse me?”
“I compared the checkbook ledger with the note. It’s not hers.”
“In her purse? What were you doing in her purse? Dusting?”
“Of course not. But since I was in the room anyway it seemed
foolish not to try and clear up some of the mystery surrounding Caroline’s
death.”
“What mystery? There is no mystery. She fell in the ravine, hit
her head, and died. Period, end story. A tragic accident.”
“Oh, Jack you can’t possibly believe that now. Not after that
note.”
“What are you talking about? All this note says is,”—he held it up
to read it—‘I must see you this afternoon. No matter how you act, I can’t
believe that what we were means nothing to you. You can’t be that
shallow. Don’t disappoint me again.’ You don’t know who it’s from or
when it was written. And it isn’t even in script, it’s printed. Was the
checkbook ledger printed too?”

Scavenger Hunt  95
“No. But they obviously weren’t written by the same person. The
printing is much more masculine.”
“Of course it is. Printing is always going to look more masculine.”
“Oh, Jack, that sort of male chauvinism is so outmoded and
unbecoming. I wish you would try to be more enlightened—if only for
your own sake.”
“I’m not being sexist, it’s simply a fact. Printing is blockier, less
graceful. Besides, you’re the one who said the printing looked
masculine.”
“I really don’t wish to discuss it,” Leigh sniffed. “I’m not
interested in your rationalizations of your bigotry.”
“You’re cruisin’, Alice.”
“Oh. So now you’re threatening me? How typical. Confronted
with their inadequacies, they lash out in violence.”
“Inadequacies? What inadequacies? And who are they?”
“And all because I had the initiative to ferr. . . discover what might
be the key to Caroline’s murder.”
“Murder? What murder? There is no murder. There’s a note. It
says nothing.”
“Hah.”
“Last night you thought it was Alan who killed Caroline. Now you
say this note is somehow evidence that a murder was committed. Well,
it’s hard to believe Alan wrote it. It would have been easier for him to talk
to her while they were in the shower.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean ‘exactly’?”
“I mean, you’re right. Alan didn’t write this note. And that’s the
whole point. Alan didn’t write this note, someone else did, someone with
a prior relationship with Caroline. Someone who wanted to meet with
Caroline. Brian perhaps. Given the fight Caroline and Alan had the night
before, it’s not hard to imagine Alan’s reaction if he found out about it.”
She paused, then added, “Alternatively, the note writer could be our
miscreant.”
“Miscreant?”
“Miscreant.”
“You have been reading too much.”
“Hah.”
“The point is, this note signifies nothing.”
“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It signifies everything—we simply
don’t know what. That’s why we have to investigate further.”

Johnson  96
“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. What we have to do is stop engaging in
these irresponsible flights of fancy—if you can call slanderous allegations
of murder flights of fancy—and allow the police to do their job.”
“Show them the note in other words.”
“No, I don’t think you should show them the note. I think you
should never have gone snooping in Alan’s room, and now that you have,
I think you should put the note back where you found it and hope that no
one discovers what you did.”
“And let a murderer go free? Besides, I’m not putting dirty, damp
towels back on the floor. Those floorboards are irreplaceable.”
“Leigh. Listen to me carefully. There is no murderer. There is no
murder. There’s an accident. That note in no way suggests otherwise.”
“It suggests there’s more here than meets the eye on top of a very
odd accident. It suggests Caroline may have met someone the afternoon
she died. And if she did, don’t you think that would be relevant to any
inquiry into her death, particularly given Alan’s jealous state of mind?”
“Leigh.”
“All right, Jack. This is what I’m going to do. I’ll put the note
back. Exactly the way I found it except in the wastebasket where it should
have been in the first place. Hopefully, the police will find it and take the
investigation from there. But if they don’t. . . I’m not going to stand by
and let someone get murdered on our property and do nothing about it.”
The cruiser came to a halt in front of the house at about eight,
discharging the two deputies from the night before and a shaken–looking
Alan clutching a clear plastic bag filled with the sweater and blouse and
slacks and shoes Caroline had been wearing.
Leigh and Jack greeted them at the door.
“What we’d like to do is talk individually to anyone who might
have some information bearing on Miss Vernon’s death so we can start
filling out our reports.” As was the case the previous night, Charles
‘Charlie’ Locke was doing the talking, getting right down to business after
an exchange of greetings, while his partner, William Fishkill, stood by.
“Is there a room where that would be convenient?”
“The parlor would be best, I think,” Leigh said.
“It’s just a formality, mind you, no reason for anyone to get
excited. Obviously, it was an accident. But Pete would want us to talk to
everyone.”
“Pete?” Leigh asked.

Scavenger Hunt  97
“Peter Goukas, the sheriff. He usually handles the fatality
inquiries himself but he’s on vacation until after the holiday.”
Leigh looked at Jack ominously, then said to Locke, “I guess
you’ll probably want to look around her room, too.”
“Her room?” Locke said.
“Yes, I figured Pete would want you to look at that too.”
“Well, maybe you’re right. Yeah, we will, as soon as we’re done
with the interviews.”
“Could you possibly do it before? I was hoping to get in there and
tidy up before Alan went back in.”
“That’s not necessary, Leigh,” Alan said, speaking for the first
time.
“But I want to, Alan. It’s the least I can do.”
“Well, I guess we could take a look,” Locke said. “Billy, why
don’t you go check it out while I get things set up.”
“Fine. I’ll show you up,” Leigh said quickly. “Jack, would you
show the deputy to the parlor and then see about getting Alan some coffee
and breakfast?”
“I’m fine,” Alan said. “I’m not hungry.”
“But you should eat. Mrs. Lindstrom will fix you something.”
She turned to Fishkill. “Shall we?”
She stood in the doorway as Fishkill walked to the center of the
room, stopped and then turned slowly around surveying the room. That
done, he opened the wardrobe, looked inside, then shut it. He went to the
secretary, opened one drawer then another. Walked to the bureau, same
routine.
“You said they shared this room, right?”
Leigh nodded.
“Pretty tidy folks. Well, I guess that’ll about do it.”
He started toward the door.
“What about the wastebasket?” Leigh suggested. “Maybe there’s
something in there.”
She pointed to it.
Fishkill paused then shrugged and walked over and peered into it.
“Nope,” he said. “It’s empty.”
“Empty!?!” Leigh exclaimed. “It can’t be.”
Fishkill looked at her curiously.
“I mean, I was just sure . . .”
Fishkill chuckled.

Johnson  98
“Well, that’s why it’s best to leave the investigating to
professionals. After years on the job you get a feel for these things that
your private citizen just doesn’t have.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Leigh followed Fishkill down the steps in a state of shock. Gone!
She had been right. There was more going on here than met the eye,
something someone wanted to hide. She had been tempted to tell Fishkill
about the note right on the spot but had hesitated. Jack had been right of
course, the note had proven nothing. And now there wasn’t even a note.
And even if the deputies believed her story, what would it accomplish?
Deputies Locke and Fishkill weren’t exactly Holmes and Watson. Watson
and Watson was more like it.
By the time they reached the parlor, she had made her decision.
Located across the front entryway from the more informal
common room, the parlor was a bright and airy room dominated by an
elaborate crystal chandelier and two south–facing windows. Locke was
sitting, coffee cup in hand, on the brocade settee that faced the elaborately
carved marble fireplace. Jack sat in one of the wingback chairs that
flanked it.
They both stood when Leigh and Fishkill entered.
“Anything?” Locke asked.
“Nah,” Fishkill said.
Jack shot Leigh a questioning look which Leigh ignored.
“OK, I guess I’m through with you, Mr. Hewitt,” Locke said.
“Mrs. Hewitt, would this be a convenient time for us to chat?”
Jack was waiting for her when she exited the library.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? With the note.”
“Oh. He said they’d be looking into it.”
“That’s all? They didn’t think it was suspicious?”
“Not particularly. They said exactly what you said, that it didn’t
really prove anything.”
“You see?”
“I guess you were right.”
“Maybe you’ll listen to me next time you get one of those crazy
notions in your head.”
“Stranger things have happened.”

Johnson  100
“Perhaps—I’m just not sure when.”
The deputies had left promising to return that afternoon with the
preliminary medical report. They had interviewed everyone briefly and
then Leigh and Jack had taken them to see the scene of Caroline’s demise.
Leigh had hoped that she might spot something even if the police didn’t,
but was disappointed. The deputies glanced around cursorily at the
ravine’s edge trying to determine exactly where Caroline might have
fallen from, but soon gave up and went down to the ravine floor. There
was little to see there either. The stony ground showed little sign of the
human drama that had unfolded there less than twenty four hours before.
Still, Leigh thought the ‘professionals’ could have been more thorough.
Leigh’s hostessing concerns had taken care of themselves. People
seemed anxious to be active and had split off in various directions, Jack,
Skip, Brian, Kendall and Christian to go riding, Abby to go exploring with
the kids, Chip and Muffy to play tennis. Lawrence Finch was in the
library reading and Cynthia had gone for a walk with Dr. Proveaux. Alan
had gone up to his room to lie down.
The disappearance of the note had radically shifted Leigh’s
analysis of the situation surrounding Caroline’s death in that it pushed a
jealous Alan from the number one suspect spot. Although if Alan had
murdered Caroline he might have wanted to dispose of the note had he
been aware of it, he had no opportunity to do so. That pointed at the
author of the note as the most likely person to have taken it and more,
suggested that he was desperate to hide the planned tryst with Caroline.
Why? Most obviously, because he had murdered her. Other
answers were possible but in any event, the key was to determine who had
authored the note.
Muffy and Chip were coming off the court when Leigh arrived.
“Who won?” Leigh asked.
“Who won? Are you kidding?” Muffy said, flopping in one of the
courtside Adirondack chairs. “He tried to let me win, but he didn’t know
how to play badly enough.”
“We had some good rallies,” Chip said.
“Why don’t you play him, Leigh? You’re much better than me.”
“No, that’s all right. I’m not feeling very energetic today.”
“How is Alan doing?” Chip asked, taking a seat.
“He’s resting now.”

Scavenger Hunt  101
“I feel bad for him,” Muffy said. “Maybe I’m way off base, but I
get the sense that he’s pretty much of a loner. And now with Caroline
gone. . .”
“He told me he has no family,” Leigh said. “An only child and
both parents dead.”
“And friends?”
“He hasn’t even called anyone as far as I know.”
“Are Miss Vernon’s relatives coming?” Chip asked.
“I think her only living relative is her mother, who lives in Europe,
and Alan hasn’t been able to get in touch with her yet. He said he tried to
reach her from the hospital but was told that she was traveling somewhere
in Asia. Someone is supposed to get back to him when she gets in touch.”
“Who did he talk with?” Muffy asked.
“A servant of some sort, he said. She married a count or
something after Caroline’s father died and lives in a castle in Austria.
Alan’s never met her.”
“What a great way to meet,” Chip said. “How are Cynthia and Dr.
Proveaux holding up?”
“I think Dr. Proveaux is pretty upset, although he’s trying hard not
to show it. Cynthia is a physical and mental wreck. She and Caroline had
been a part of each other’s lives for a long time and I don’t get the sense
that there are a lot of other people in her life either. On top of it all she’s
got that poison ivy. She apparently gets it pretty bad.”
“Did the calamine lotion help?” Muffy asked.
“It seemed to. And Dr. Proveaux gave her something too. It’s that
damn ravine. It’s about the only place on our property that has it, but it’s
lousy with it. Did Skip get any? Jack did. He started itching last night
and woke up with it this morning.”
“Skip didn’t say anything, but he doesn’t get it much.” She
climbed to her feet. “I think I’ll go up to the house to get a drink and see
if Abby’s back with the kids. I tell you Leigh, that Abby is a godsend. I
haven’t been this free of those little lights of my life since my
honeymoon—and even then, just between you, me and the lamp post, I
wasn’t entirely free of little Paige. Anyway, can I get anyone anything?
Chip, would you like something to drink?”
“A glass of water would hit the spot.”
“You’ve got it. One water coming up.”
“So how are you doing?” Chip asked in a gentle voice once Muffy
was gone.

Johnson  102
“Me? I’m fine.”
“This has to be hard on you.”
“In some ways, but I wasn’t close to her. Certainly not like
Cynthia and Alan.”
“Maybe Cynthia and Alan should get together,” Chip said with a
rueful smile.
“Maybe,” Leigh said. “But my guess is that Caroline’s appeal to
each of them was her force of personality, making up for something they
lacked. I don’t think either one of them can fill that need for the other.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. I wonder what she saw in them?”
“Someone to push around?”
“I get the impression she had a knack for that. She certainly seems
to have pulled Brian’s chain.”
“He seemed pretty uncomfortable about seeing her again.”
“I think he was. Old bones and all that, I guess.”
“So are you and Brian close? I never heard you mention him
before we spoke on the phone the other day.”
“We are and we aren’t. In the summer when we were kids, we
hung out in the Hamptons a lot together, picking up girls and all that kind
of stuff. I haven’t seen him much since he went to the islands. Maybe
twice in the past ten years. But he called me up a couple of weeks ago and
said he was planning on moving back to the States and asked if he could
stay with me while he got established. I said sure and a week later he
showed up on my doorstep suitcase in hand. Since then I’ve been
introducing him to people and trying to give him some contacts.”
“It’s good of you to help him.”
Chip shrugged and they sat in companionable silence. Finally,
Chip said, “You know, Leigh, I don’t know if this is a good time for this,
or if there ever will be a good time, but there’s something I’ve wanted to
tell you for a—”
“I’m back,” Muffy sang out cheerily from behind them.
“Here you are, sir,” she said as she arrived before them. She
handed Chip his water then took a seat. “So. What have you two been
talking about?”
Leigh moved quietly through the soft noonday light of the house’s
interior, tidying up here, straightening a flower arrangement there,
checking to see that all was in order. At the back of the house she could
hear the clatter of plates and glasses as Lena set the patio tables for lunch.
Despite the preceding day’s turmoil, it was a house at peace.

Scavenger Hunt  103
Leigh’s mind was not at peace. There was a mystery here, an
important one—the theft of the note proved that. A mystery she alone
could solve. One she had to solve.
Who wrote that note?
A lover, obviously.
Brian? He and Caroline had been lovers and he was absent from
the group at the same time she was. Did he actually have time to go to the
ravine, throw Caroline in, and then return? Possibly. Had the fossil story
been a cover for a secret rendezvous? He didn’t return with a fossil. On
the other hand, their affair had seemed to be well over and the note
conveyed more immediacy to the relationship than that.
Who else?
Christian? He and Caroline knew one another, that was for sure.
But the notion of proud, handsome Christian chasing after someone like
Caroline was difficult to credit—although with men you just never knew.
More to the point, he hadn’t left the group. Could Caroline have been
pushed later, after the hunt had ended? Christian had left the post–hunt
party early but he was with Abby.
Lawrence? No—on several counts.
Dr. Proveaux? Like Christian, he hadn’t left the group but he did
leave the party. Where had he gone?
That left Chip. Jack’s team had split up. But Chip had hooked up
with Leigh’s group shortly thereafter and had hung around talking to
Leigh—despite her best efforts to move him along.
One of them, though—it had to be.
Well, actually there were two other candidates—simply in the
interests of objective analysis, of course.
Caroline had certainly shown interest in Skippy at the Christmas
party. Could Skip’s revulsion have been feigned? Jack, who knew Skip
better than anyone, had suggested as much just the other evening. Or even
if not feigned at the party, could Skip’s feelings have changed and he and
Caroline gotten together? Poor Muffy! But no, that was too much to
believe.
That left only Jack. Sweet, lovable Jack. But he despised Caroline
and made no bones about it, rarely referring to her without some sort of
crack. In fact, Leigh would be hard pressed to think of someone for whom
Jack displayed more contempt—his childish putdowns of Chip aside. But
that was interesting. Why did he make such a big show of disliking
Caroline? To hide his real feelings? To cover up a torrid romance? Or
maybe the revulsion was real, the bitter anger of a jilted lover, an anger

Johnson  104
that had boiled over as Caroline’s marriage to another loomed near,
causing him to kill in an insane paroxysm of jealousy! Poor Jack! Poor
Caroline! But no, Leigh couldn’t believe that either. There was no way
Jack was clever enough to hide a romance from her. He was her husband
and she loved him dearly, but truth be known, subtlety was not exactly a
strong suit.
She walked toward the front door intent on primping the flower
arrangement on the étagère and noticed a bag sitting half hidden by the
vase.
What was that? And then it came to her: the bag containing
Caroline’s possessions. Alan must have left it when he came in.
Well, there was no point in leaving it out in the open like that.
She’d return it to him when he came down for lunch.
Leigh walked into the bedroom as Jack was about to step into the
shower.
“How was your ride?” she asked.
“Fun—but hot.”
She placed the bag on her dresser.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“The bag of Caroline’s things Alan brought home from the
hospital. He must have put it on the étagère when he came in. I’ll give it
to him when he comes down.”
“You’d think they could at least put the stuff in something
opaque.”
“Yes, I know. It’s a bit gruesome.”
She froze, staring, then picked the bag up and pulled out the top
garment. She held it up.
A sweater. A blue cardigan sweater.
“Jack!” she said breathlessly.
“What?”
“Caroline wasn’t wearing a sweater.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she wasn’t wearing a sweater.”
“She was so. I saw it.”
“No, she wasn’t wearing a sweater when she left our group.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there, remember?”
“You probably just forgot.”

Scavenger Hunt  105
“No, because she shivered at one point and I looked around to see
if anyone had a sweater to give her and they didn’t. She was wearing a
sleeveless blouse and slacks.” She reached into the bag again. “These.”
She held them up.
“All right, maybe you’re right. What of it?”
“Don’t be dense, Jack. Where did she get the sweater?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she went to the house and got it. Felt better
and decided to come back out but got lost along the way.”
“Decided to come back out to meet her lover, more likely, but I
don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, Lena didn’t see her. But for another—look at
the color of that sweater.” She held it up again.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the color.”
Jack stared at it, his incomprehension evident.
“What about it?”
“It’s blue, Jack.”
“Yeah, so?”
“The slacks are olive.”
“So?”
“So, you don’t wear a blue sweater with olive slacks.”
“Oh, come on, Leigh.”
“I’m serious. No woman, and especially not one as vain as
Caroline, would walk around in public like that. I mean, I never thought
much of her color sense but that would be ridiculous.” She checked the
label. “In addition, it’s a ‘Miss Teena’. Caroline wouldn’t be caught dead
in such a cheesy brand. She may not have had much taste when it came to
fashion, but she was definitely a snob.”
“Obviously she was—caught dead in it, I mean.”
“Yes, but only because that was the only thing available.” She
spoke as if she were thinking as she went along. “Because someone gave
it to her. Because she was cold and somebody gave it to her.”
“Who?”
“The person she was going to meet. The person who wrote the
note. The secret lover.” She hesitated. “Or possibly Alan.”
“Oh, we’re back to that again. I thought you’d given up on that.”
“But it makes perfect sense.”
“So does saying the sun circles the earth. It’s merely wrong.”

Johnson  106
Leigh laid the sweater on the bureau and started pacing the room.
Suddenly, she stopped.
“I’ll bet it’s a man’s sweater,” she said excitedly. She snatched the
sweater up and checked the buttons.
“They’re on the left,” she said in disappointed tone.
“So much for that theory,” Jack said.
Leigh flounced dejectedly on the bed clutching the sweater.
“I was sure I was right,” she said.
“I’m sure you are. It’s the facts that are wrong.” He paused—then
exclaimed, “Hey, I’ve got it! There’s only one explanation. Caroline’s
heartbroken lover is a woman.”
Leigh stared at Jack as his words registered. Then her eyes opened
wide.
“Jack!”
“What?” he said, still smiling at his joke.
“That’s it.”
“What?”
“The ex–lover is a woman.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Of course. It’s obvious. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Caroline’s lover.”
“You know who it is?”
“Of course.”
“Who?”
“Think about it.”
“Think about what? I have no . . .” He paused.
“Exactly.”
They sat looking at each other—then Leigh spoke.
“Cynthia was on your team. Was she wearing a sweater? A blue
sweater?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think she was. A blue sweater over a white blouse with jeans.
And you guys split up.”
“Yeah. And come to think of it, I think it was Cynthia who first
suggested we do it that way. She said with all of us together we weren’t
making full use of our resources.”
“And how long were you separated?”
“Quite a while. We broke up after we ran into to you guys.”
Leigh’s eyes gleamed.

Scavenger Hunt  107
“Plenty of time for Cynthia to meet Caroline.”
“Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean anything happened or Cynthia
was anywhere near the ravine. Cynthia might have met Caroline, lent
Caroline her sweater, and then headed back to us while Caroline tried to
either go to the house or get back to you guys and got lost and fell.”
“If it was all so innocent, why didn’t Cynthia say she saw her?”
“She was afraid. Or embarrassed.”
Jack scratched absentmindedly at his poison ivy while Leigh sat
lost in thought, her attention slowly focusing on what he was doing.
Suddenly, she smiled and shook her head in wonder.
“How could I have been so dumb?” she said. “She was there, all
right.”
“How do you know?” Jack asked, no longer a skeptic.
“Poison ivy. She has poison ivy. She asked me for the calamine
lotion last night, before you even realized you had it. And the only place
we have poison ivy is. . .?”
“The ravine,” Jack said grimly.
“Right. And as far as we know, she was never there. I was there.
You were there. Skip was there. Lena was there. Dr. Proveaux was there.
Alan was there. That’s all. So how did Cynthia get poison ivy?”
“Maybe she got it somewhere else. Before she came. Or maybe
we have it somewhere else we don’t know about.”
“Maybe. But not likely.”
“What should we do?”
“First, confirm that the sweater is hers.”
“How do we do that? She might simply deny it.”
“I’ll check with Kendall. She’ll remember what Cynthia was
wearing. Then we confront her.”
“Confront her? Why not just tell the cops. They’re supposed to be
here with the medical report, anyway.”
“Because she might just clam up with them. I want a shot at her
first.”
“But Leigh, they have the note. They can compare the handwriting
on it with Cynthia’s. We should let them handle it.”
“Oh, well, that’s a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“They don’t have the note.”
“They don’t? Why not?”
“It was gone. Cynthia must have taken it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Johnson  108
“I was going to. I simply didn’t get the chance.”
Jack looked at her skeptically.
“Well, Jack you know how you are about these things. I merely
thought it would be better for me to consider the implications of it before I
told you so you wouldn’t accuse me of going off half–cocked the way you
always do.”
“I see.”
“But now we have something concrete. All we need to do is
confront Cynthia.”
“Let the police confront her.”
“Tweedledum and Tweedledumber? Besides they’ll have to give
her warnings and all that. I don’t have to.”
She headed for the door.
“Where are you going? You’re not going to talk to her now?”
“No. I’m going to see if Kendall’s back. I’ll talk to Cynthia after
that, before the police come back with the medical report this afternoon.
That way I can present her to them on a silver platter and they can whisk
her away with a minimum of embarrassment to our guests.”
“But . . .”
“Jack, I have to know.”
“OK then. Talk to Kendall. But then come right back here so we
can discuss what to do next. Deal?”
Leigh sighed.
“Deal.”
Jack was dressing when Leigh returned.
“Bingo!” she said. “Kendall said Cynthia was wearing a blue
sweater before your team split up.”
“Was she sure?”
“Positive. Now let’s figure out how we’re going to do this.”

CHAPTER TWELVE
The lunch dishes had been cleared when Leigh pulled Cynthia
aside and asked if she might speak with her privately in the parlor.
“What is it?” Cynthia asked once Leigh had closed the door behind
them.
“Why don’t we sit?” Leigh said. She guided Cynthia across the
oriental carpet to the settee by the fireplace.
“It’s about Caroline.”
“What about her?”
Leigh rose and went to the windows, now partly shuttered against
the midday sun, and opened the drawer of the Pembroke table that sat
between them.
“You made a mistake,” she said.
“A mistake?” Cynthia said, twisting her body to watch Leigh.
“Yes,” Leigh said. She turned and lifted the sweater into view. “A
mistake.”
Cynthia’s gaze faltered.
“I see you recognize it.”
“Why, yes,” Cynthia stammered. “It’s mine. I loaned it to
Caroline.”
“You admit that. Good. It saves us time.”
“Why shouldn’t I admit it?”
“I thought you might not. When did you lend it to her?”
“Who knows. We loaned each other things all the time. We were
best friends.”
“You have a bad memory. You loaned it to her Saturday.
Yesterday. The day she died.”
“I did?”
“Yes. Aren’t you going to ask me how I know that?”
“All right. Tell me.”
“Surely you can figure it out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. But that’s all right. We can go through it. What did
you wear for the scavenger hunt?”
“I don’t know. Jeans. A blouse.”
“That’s right. And one thing more.”

Johnson  110
Cynthia stared at Leigh as if sizing her up, then reaching a
decision, said, “All right, I was wearing that sweater. What of it?” There
was no longer any trace of puzzlement in her tone.
“Oh, please. What of it? How did Caroline get it?”
“I gave it to her.”
“Exactly. And when did you give it to her?”
Cynthia scowled sullenly.
“Well?”
“All right. I ran into her on her way back to the house. She was
cold, so I gave her my sweater.”
“Why didn’t you mention that to anyone?”
“Why should I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. If I were the last one to see someone alive, I
guess I’d mention it. It might shed some light on what happened. I’m
sure the police would have been very interested. So why didn’t you tell
them?”
“It didn’t seem important.”
Leigh snorted dismissively.
“Oh, come on. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“It was. . . Well, with her dying and all. . .”
“You didn’t want to be implicated.”
“There was no point.”
“I doubt if the police will see it that way. Particularly since you
didn’t run into her. You met her. By arrangement.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. You were in love with her and she was giving you
the cold shoulder, so you wrote her a note saying you had to see her.”
“In love with her! That’s ridiculous.”
“I saw the note. Your note.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course, you do.”
“If you’re looking for a lover who wrote Caroline a note, try
Christian.”
“Christian?”
“That’s right. Didn’t know that, huh? Well, there’s a lot you don’t
know. They’d been carrying on for years. But then all of a sudden he
marries little miss trust fund and wants to break it off because he’s afraid
she’ll cut him off if she finds out about Caroline. Well, Caroline fixed his
wagon. She told him he better jump when she says to or she’d make sure
his wife did find out. They had a big fight about it just the other day.”

Scavenger Hunt  111
“Nice try—but this note isn’t from Christian, it’s from you.”
“OK, let’s see it.” There was a note of triumph in Cynthia’s
voice.
“Ah, you think you have me, don’t you? Because you stole the
note.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was foolish of me to put it back. But luckily, I was smart
enough to take a photograph of it before I did. I don’t think there will be
much problem matching the handwriting with yours.”
“Bull. You didn’t take a picture of it. You’re bluffing.”
“Why should I bluff?”
“To get me to admit something. Well, I’m not going to.”
“I’m not lying.”
“All right, let me see it.”
“There’s nothing to see. My camera’s not here.”
“Right. There’s no picture.”
“Time will tell. And anyway, you’ve already told me what I
wanted to know.”
“What?”
“That you knew about the note.”
“I did not.”
“Of course you did. Think about what you just said.”
Cynthia did think. Then she said, “So, you didn’t take a picture of
it.”
“Yes, I did. But in case the handwriting isn’t conclusive, you’ve
now admitted to it.”
“I’ll just deny it.”
“Well, you can do that,” Leigh said, “but that will open you up for
a perjury charge.”
She unbuttoned the three middle buttons of her blouse and pulled it
open so Cynthia could see the small black box taped to her stomach.
“Jack’s dictation recorder,” she said.
Cynthia’s eyes grew panicky. She took a step toward Leigh.
“Easy, girl,” Leigh said. “Jack is right outside the door. Now,
then. Why don’t you tell me about it.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Yes, I met her. I had to talk to her. . . The
way she was treating me. . . Like I was nothing. We were lovers, don’t
you understand? And then she got engaged and it was like I was
yesterday’s paper. I couldn’t stand it.”
“So you sent her the note.”

Johnson  112
“Yes, I sent her the note. At first she refused to see me. . . But then
she agreed.”
“You threatened to make trouble?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Why should I stand back and do nothing when
she kept treating me like dirt. If she was even nice to me. . .”
“So she agreed to meet you.”
“Yes, during the scavenger hunt. She said she’d make an excuse to
get away.”
“So what happened?”
“We met and talked. She was cold—she was always cold, even
when we were kids—so I lent her my sweater. Then I left to go back to
my team. She said she was going back to the house. And that’s the last
time I saw her alive.” She sniffed and her eyes grew moist.
“Where did you meet?”
“Right out front.”
“What did she say?”
“About what?”
“About your relationship.”
“She said it was finished. That she was marrying Alan.”
“And you just accepted that?”
“What else could I do?” She sniffed again and a tear rolled slowly
down her cheek. “Oh, Leigh, I’ve been so upset. I knew I should have
spoken up but I was in such a state of shock and I wanted to protect Alan
too, from. . . you know. I’m glad you found out though. You don’t know
how good it feels to get this off my chest.” She smiled bravely through
her tears.
“You know something, Cynthia?” Leigh said. “I truly admire
you.”
“Oh, don’t admire me, Leigh. I don’t deserve it.”
“But you do. To be able to lie like that with tears and all. I have to
hand it to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s only one thing wrong with all that malarkey you
just threw at me. You were at the ravine.”
“Me?”
“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout Mother Teresa.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure, it is.”
“How . . . What makes you say that?”

Scavenger Hunt  113
“No, you had it right the first time. How do I know that? Poison
ivy. You’ve got it. And it only grows in one place on this property.”
Cynthia stared at Leigh, looking stunned.
“So, let’s try it again. You were in a jealous rage over her
relationship with Alan and the way she was treating you. You demanded
that she see you. She agreed to meet with you to prevent you from making
a scene. You met by the ravine, probably because that was off–limits for
the hunt.
“So, what happened then, Cynthia? I think I can guess. She
wasn’t nice to you at all. She told you she never really cared for you.
That you bored her. That she wanted you out of her life.”
“After twenty years.” Cynthia spoke as if transfixed by the
memory. “She said I was ugly and stupid.”
“You started crying . . .”
“And told her I loved her—and all she did was laugh. And I said,
‘But you loved me once!’ and she said, ‘You? I never loved you. Who
could love a pathetic freak like you?’ ”
“And then you—”
“And then I hit her,” Cynthia said savagely. “I hit her. As hard as
I could. And she staggered back and called me a bitch. And I hit her
again. And again.” Cynthia’s voice was a screech now, her arms raised
and twisted in sympathy with the reenactment in her mind. She froze, her
eyes wild, and Leigh thought she might strike at her, but then the frenzy
went out of her eyes. “And suddenly she was gone. Over the edge.” She
slowly lowered her arms as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I think I’ll go to my room and lie down now,” she said in a dead
voice. She walked zombielike to the door, opened it, and floated past Jack
toward the stairs leaving the door open behind her.
Leigh went to Jack’s side. They watched as Cynthia slowly
ascended the stairs then disappeared. Her door shut.
“Well?” Jack said.
“She did it, all right. It happened just about the way we figured.
They met at the ravine and had a fight. Cynthia struck Caroline and
knocked her into the ravine. I have it all on the tape. I just hope it comes
out.”
“It sounded as if it got pretty hairy in there. I almost came in.”
“She wasn’t happy, that’s for sure.”
“You did good, kid,” he said, giving her a squeeze. He smiled at
her affectionately.

Johnson  114
“Aw, shucks, ’twarn’t nothin’,” Leigh said in a mock drawl,
blushing despite herself.
“So, now what? Do you think she’s all right?”
“I’m not sure. I think she’s in a state of shock right now, but when
she comes out of that, who knows.”
“Sounds like we should keep an eye on her until the cops get here.”
“I think we better.”
“What time are they—”
He was interrupted by the doorbell.
Leigh smiled.
“Perfect timing,” she said.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Leigh was hardly able to contain her excitement as she ushered the
deputies into the parlor.
“So,” she said gaily as Jack shut the door behind them.
“We’ve got the preliminary medical report,” Locke began when
Leigh and Jack stood before him. “Is Mr. Huffington here?”
“Yes,” Leigh said. “But there’s something we have to tell you
first.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Caroline’s death was not an accident.”
She looked expectantly at Locke then Fishkill and was gratified to
see that they looked suitably startled—after taking their general dull–
wittedness into account.
“It wasn’t?” Locke said.
“No,” Leigh said with a smile. “She was pushed, or, more
accurately, knocked, into the ravine.”
“But—”
“I have proof,” Leigh interrupted. She held Jack’s recorder up.
“Right here.”
“Who—”
“Cynthia.”
“Miss Greeley?”
Leigh nodded.
“They were lovers, you see—”
“Who were?”
“Cynthia and Caroline.”
“Miss Greeley and Miss Vernon?”
“It happens, guys, it happens. Anyway, they were lovers, but then
when Alan came along that was the end of that, so Cynthia became angry
and demanded Caroline meet her the afternoon of the scavenger hunt
which she did, but then they argued and Cynthia hit Caroline and knocked
her into the ravine.”
“Hmm,” Locke said.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, you see—”
“How about ‘Where is she now?’”

Johnson  116
“But—”
“The answer is, upstairs—but for all we know she could be
escaping this very moment while we stand here talking.”
“Mrs. Hewitt, Miss Greeley did not kill Caroline Vernon.”
“She did, I’m telling you. I have it right here. . .” She paused as
the import of Locke’s words sank in. “Why do you say that?” she asked
cautiously.
“Because Caroline Vernon died of a heart attack.”
“A heart attack?” Leigh said in disbelief. “You mean, from the
fall?”
“Well, more accurately,”—he opened the folder he was carrying
and read—“hymenoptera anaphylaxis.”
“What on earth is that?” Leigh asked incredulously.
“An allergic reaction to bee venom.”
“. . . hymenoptera anaphylaxis,” Deputy Locke said. He was
standing in the common room near the piano facing the assembled
company, Deputy Fishkill beside him. “Death estimated to have occurred
between three and six pm.
“You mean she didn’t fall?” It was Alan.
“Oh, she fell, all right. But the injuries she sustained were minor.
Relatively speaking anyway.” He looked at the report he held in his hand.
“Lacerations and contusions to the cranial area. Fractures of the third and
fourth ribs and humerus.”
Leigh snuck a glance at Cynthia who stood stunned, seemingly
unable to comprehend what Locke was saying.
“But how . . .?” Cynthia stammered.
“Whether she was stung and fell, or fell and was stung, the medical
examiner couldn’t say, although I’ve now been informed that we may be
able to resolve that question.”
Cynthia looked away as Locke’s eyes met hers.
“Oh my God. Anaphylaxis,” Proveaux said in a shocked tone. “I
might have saved her.”
“Did you know she was allergic to bee sting?” Locke asked.
“Yes. We’d just started on a protocol of weekly injections to build
her resistance. This was her third week.”
“What was she doing wandering around outdoors if she was
allergic to bees?”

Scavenger Hunt  117
“That was her decision. She was a woman full of life, who refused
to be intimidated by the illusions of frailty she had yet to overcome. We
talked it over and concluded that with me here the risk would be minimal.”
“Guess you were kind of wrong on that one,” Locke said.
“She was going back to the house,” Proveaux said somewhat
defensively.
“You knew she could die if she was stung?” Alan said
incredulously, staring at Proveaux.
“There was a chance, of course. But we all die, Alan. What’s
important is how we live.”
“You pompous quack! You killed her!”
“I don’t think that’s fair, Alan. Of course, in hindsight, her
decision was regrettable but—”
“Shut up!” Alan shouted. “Just shut up.”
“Alan, I know you’re upset, but you have to understand, it was
what she wanted.”
“She wanted to die!?!”
“Well, no, of course not—”
“All right, that’s enough,” Locke interrupted. “Mr. and Mrs.
Hewitt, I’d like to impose on you one more time if we might. Doctor, I’d
like to speak with you in private. Oh, and Miss Greeley, I’m going to
want to speak with you also. The rest of you can go about your business.”
“What about me?” Alan said.
“You’ll get a full report when we’ve completed our inquiries. In
the meantime, just try to relax.”
“What on earth are you looking for?”
Jack had entered their bedroom to see Leigh stretched out on the
floor on her stomach with her head and the upper half of her body in the
closet. About twenty pairs of her shoes were strewn about her on the
braided rug.
She poked her head out of the closet.
“Shhh,” she said putting her finger to her lips. “And shut that
door.”
Jack did as he was instructed then came over.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a stage whisper.
“Shhh,” came the muffled response.
Jack frowned. “Why are we whispering?” he whispered into the
closet.
“SHHHHH,” came a more emphatic response.

Johnson  118
Nonplused, he stood patiently as a full minute passed, then grew
impatient again.
“Leigh!” he said.
No response.
“Leigh!” Louder this time.
Leigh kicked her legs in response.
“Don’t force me to drag you out.”
No response.
“That’s it, last warning.”
He bent to grab her leg—and Leigh popped back into view.
“Don’t you dare, Jack Hewitt,” she said.
“Extreme situations call for extreme measures, kitten. What were
you doing in there anyway, catching mice?”
“I was listening.”
“I gathered that. To what? Your shoes?”
“No. To Dr. Proveaux’s interview.”
“I’m sure I must be mistaken.”
“About what, dear?”
“I almost got the impression you were suggesting that my wife had
her head in our closet because she was eavesdropping on the discussions
the police are conducting with our guests.”
“Jack, what an outrageous thought. I am truly shocked.”
“Ah. I knew there was another explanation.”
She looked up at him mildly.
“Which is . . . ?” he added encouragingly.
She smiled and shrugged.
He shook his head. “Leigh Constance.”
“There’s no call to call me names, Jack.”
“What would your mother say if she could see you?”
“She’d say I better get those shoes put away or I’ll get a hot
fanny.”
“I didn’t mean the question quite so literally, but the idea is
intriguing.”
“Oh, please, Br’er Fox, don’t throw me in the briar patch.”
“Be careful or I will.”
“You don’t see me puttin’ any shoes away, do ya?”
Jack stared at her dazedly as if thumbing through french postcards
in his mind.
“Oh no you don’t,” he finally said.
“What?”

Scavenger Hunt  119
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Moi?”
“Vous. I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“What?”
“Eavesdropping.”
“Oh, Jack. What’s the big deal?” she said, standing up.
“What’s the big deal? It’s an invasion of privacy.”
“What privacy? It’s a police investigation, Jack.”
“It’s also undignified and indecorous.”
“Indecorous. That’s a good one.”
“Well it is.”
“You seemed to be contemplating my lack of decorum with
approval a minute ago.”
“Leigh.”
“Jack.”
“Why don’t you let the police handle things from here on out?”
“What fun is that? And besides, who said I wasn’t? I’m merely
listening.”
“But why?”
“What do you mean why? Somebody died on our property, Jack.
I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to know how that happened. Who
knows, we could be sued. And even if Cynthia didn’t kill Caroline, I want
to hear what she has to say so if there are any inconsistencies between
what she tells the police and what’s on the tape, I can point them out.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.”
“Besides, the whole thing is so intriguing.”
“It’s not intriguing, Leigh. It’s tragic. Someone—someone who
was supposedly your friend—has died. In a terrible accident.”
“And I’m terribly upset about it—but it’s still intriguing. I mean,
think about it. Here’s someone who gets knocked off a cliff by her
insanely jealous lesbian lover and dies. But amazingly, it’s not the fall
that kills her. No. What happens is that in falling she somehow manages
to get stung by a wasp or bee and it just so happens that she’s one of a
small percentage of people who are deathly allergic to bee venom and the
sting kills her. And as if that isn’t bizarre enough, the whole thing is made
more ironic by the fact that she not only has just commenced treatments to
eliminate exactly that risk, but brought her allergist along with her just in
case the unthinkable occurs, all to no avail. You don’t find that weird?”
“The only thing that seems a little weird to me is you. Accidents
happen. That’s reality—in this case a tragic reality.”

Johnson  120
“I agree with you, Jack. It is tragic. Proveaux told the police that
although maximum resistance is a long term process, even a few more
weeks of treatment could have lessened Caroline’s reaction and she might
have been saved. But the shot he gave her Fri—”
Leigh froze midsentence.
“What?” Jack asked.
“Jack.”
“I don’t like that look on your face, Leigh.”
“No, wait. Bear with me a second. We both agreed it was an
incredible coincidence that Caroline would get stung by a wasp or bee
when Cynthia knocked her into the ravine.”
“I don’t remember saying that at all.”
“Oh, come on, Jack. The odds must be a million to one. But
maybe the police are wrong. Maybe she wasn’t stung.”
“Leigh, I realize this isn’t the City, but do you really think the
medical examiner could make a mistake like that? And wouldn’t it be an
incredible coincidence for him to mistakenly come up with a finding of
death from allergic reaction to bee venom when Caroline just happened to
be, and I believe I quote, ‘one of a small percentage of people’ deathly
allergic to bees?”
“Yes, that would be an incredible coincidence. But that’s not what
I’m saying. I don’t doubt that she died from an allergic reaction to bee
venom. But what if she wasn’t stung? What if the venom got into her
system another way, a way that doesn’t involve incredible coincidence?”
“Another way?”
“Yes. Do you know what the treatment for an allergy to bee
venom is?”
“No.”
“Well, Dr. Proveaux just described it to the police. They inject
you with bee venom in gradually increasing amounts until you develop a
tolerance.”
“So?”
“That’s how Proveaux was treating Caroline. She received her
third injection on Friday.”
“So?”
“So that means he brought venom and syringes with him.”
“Leigh, please don’t tell me you’re suggesting that Dr. Proveaux
overdosed Caroline with bee venom.”
“He could have.”
“He was with you.”

Scavenger Hunt  121
“We don’t know exactly when Caroline died. The police said
between three and six so it could have been after the hunt was over. Dr.
Proveaux disappeared from the party shortly after we tallied up the
results.”
“So did Abby and Christian. That doesn’t prove anything. And
why would Proveaux want to kill Caroline? And why do it here? If he
wanted to kill her, he could do it any time. He’s her doctor.”
“But it wouldn’t look like an accident and even if it did, he could
be found at fault.”
“So you’re saying he waited until Caroline got herself invited to
the country, got her to bring him along, and then made his move. That’s
preposterous.”
“Is it? Caroline said he urged her to come.”
“He said it was her decision.”
“What would you expect him to say? And even he admitted he
was involved in the decision, a decision based on the notion that he would
come along with her.”
“You still haven’t told me why. Why would he want to kill
Caroline?”
“I’ll tell you why. He’s in her will. Caroline said so the day they
arrived. And not only that, Jack. Remember when Alan returned after he
was lost? Remember you said you ran into Dr. Proveaux coming down
the stairs? Well, I didn’t think anything of it then, but let me ask you:
what was he doing upstairs? His room is downstairs.”
“Maybe he was using the upstairs bathroom.”
“Why would he be doing that?”
“Because the downstairs ones were ocupado?”
“Both of them?”
Jack shrugged.
“Who knows what he was doing there? There’s no rule that says
he can’t go upstairs. Maybe he went to see someone.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s the one who went into Caroline’s room
Saturday morning and went back once he knew Caroline was dead and
couldn’t return to disturb him.”
“Leigh, you’re being ridiculous. Disturb him doing what? And
what about Alan returning to disturb him? Or did he get Alan lost too?”
“Someone went into Caroline’s room.”
“We don’t know that. Caroline may have been wrong.”
“And now she’s dead. Jack, we have to do something.”
“Do what?”

Johnson  122
“Tell the police.”
“Tell the police! Tell them what?”
“What we know—so they can investigate.”
She leapt to her feet.
“But Leigh, we don’t know anything,” he said as Leigh headed for
the door.
“Leigh, wait a second.” Jack’s tone was serious.
Leigh paused.
“At least promise me you won’t accuse Dr. Proveaux of anything.
Just tell the police your theory about the injections. All right?”
Leigh’s mouth was set in a stubborn line.
“Promise?” Jack said.
“Oh, all right,” Leigh said at last and turned and walked out the
door.
Proveaux was leaving the parlor when Leigh reached the hall.
Smiling weakly as she passed him, she went in and shut the door behind
her. The deputies had placed the wingback chairs side by side in the
center of the room, a wooden side chair facing them.
They rose when she entered.
“Mrs. Hewitt,” Deputy Locke said, surprise evident in his tone.
“We were expecting Miss Greeley. Is she . . .?”
“She’s waiting across the hall. But I need to speak with you.”
“About Miss Greeley? We’re going to look into your allegations, I
assure you. And we have your tape right here.”
“No, not about Cynthia. About something else.”
Locke and Fishkill exchanged looks.
“Shall we sit down?” Locke said.
They sat.
“Look,” she began, “my husband doesn’t even think I should be
talking to you, but I don’t see how I can let you leave without at least
bringing some things to your attention. It has to do with this bee sting
business. I have to say it struck me funny from the moment you said that
was the cause of Caroline’s death. I mean, to be knocked off a cliff and
die of a bee sting seems like such a bizarre accident. And so I’ve been
thinking: what if it wasn’t actually a bee sting? What if someone injected
her with the venom? Dr. Proveaux told you he brought venom and
syringes with him so he could give Caroline her shot on Friday. What if
they were used to kill her?”
“But Mrs. Hewitt—”

Scavenger Hunt  123
“I know, I know, you have no reason to think that’s what
happened. But it’s possible. And there’s things you don’t know. Now, in
theory—at least until we investigate further—anyone could have stolen a
syringe and some venom and injected Caroline with it. But how likely is
that? Not very. No, I think you have to start by examining the possibility
that the most obvious suspect might be the actual perp. That’s simply
sound investigative technique. And although I certainly think it’s
premature to point fingers, there are, as I say, things you don’t know and
thus can’t have considered and other things that you may know but
haven’t considered in the light that all may not be as it seems.”
“But Mrs. Hewitt—”
“Now just hear me out. Please. Item one: Dr. Proveaux is a
beneficiary under Caroline’s will. Did you know that?”
“No, but—”
“Item two: Dr. Proveaux not only participated in Caroline’s
decision to risk her life by coming to the country as he said, but actually
encouraged her to do so. She said so on the day she arrived in front of
several witnesses.”
“Mrs. Hewitt—”
“Item three: it’s possible that Dr. Proveaux was the person who
broke into Caroline’s room Saturday morning. My husband Jack—”
“Someone broke into Miss Vernon’s room?” Locke interrupted.
“Oh, well, yes—at least according to Caroline they had, although I
hate to think of such a thing occurring under my roof. And they didn’t
actually break in, it was more they just opened the door because the doors
in this house don’t have locks. Well, actually they have locks, Carpenter
box locks to be precise, but they’re very old and we don’t have keys and it
never seemed important to replace them. I mean, who would expect that it
should be necessary, but I guess maybe it is and that’s what brings us back
to the fact that my husband Jack—”
“Was anything taken?”
“No. But that’s not really the point. Someone went in there—at
least if Caroline is to be believed—and that’s why it’s so important that
Jack saw Dr. Proveaux coming down from upstairs on the day Caroline
died when he had absolutely no reason to be there that we can determine.
Given his ready access to syringes and venom, I think you would be
totally remiss in the ex—”
“Mrs. Hewitt—”
“—ecution of your sworn du—”
“Mrs. Hewitt!”

Johnson  124
“—ty. . . Yes?”
“The medical examiner found three stingers embedded in Caroline
Vernon’s skin,” Locke said. “The species was positively identified as . . .”
He looked at Deputy Fishkill, who consulted the open file on his lap.
“Apis mellifera,” Fishkill said.
“Honey bees, Mrs. Hewitt,” Locke said. “Honey bees.”
Leigh sat speechless, her face crimson with embarrassment.
“Now, will you please leave the investigating to us? We
appreciate your help, we truly do. But I think it’s time that you let us
handle things.” He smiled. “Don’t you?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“So? What did they say?” Jack asked a glum Leigh when she
returned to their room.
“Not much,” Leigh said, busying herself with returning her shoes
to the closet.
“What does that mean?”
“The medical examiner found honey bee stingers embedded in
Caroline’s skin.”
“No injections, in other words.”
“No.”
“No murder, in other words.”
Leigh concentrated on tidying her shoes.
“No murder, in other words,” Jack repeated.
“No,” Leigh said in a sulky voice.
“Dr. Proveaux is exactly what he appears to be, in other words: a
sweet, good–natured bumbler who wouldn’t hurt a fly—in other words.”
“Jack, if you would find some other words to say than ‘in other
words’ I would be very much in your debt.”
“You already are very much in my debt.”
Leigh looked up.
“How so?”
“Because at least I stopped you from embarrassing yourself
completely by accusing Dr. Proveaux.”
Leigh swallowed hard as roses bloomed in her cheeks.
“Oh, Leigh,” Jack said in dismay. “You promised!”
“Well, I didn’t exactly accuse him,” Leigh said in a tiny voice.
“I see. But the notion that the police might live another moment
without the benefit of your observations about Dr. Proveaux was more
than you could stand.”
Leigh struggled to keep her eyes on Jack’s but couldn’t. She
nodded.
“Wonderful. Leigh, when are you going to learn?”
“As of this very moment?” Leigh suggested contritely.
“Absolutely, positively?” Jack said.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Johnson  126
Deputy Fishkill found them seated at a table on the back patio with
Kendall and Muffy half an hour later.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt, might we speak with you in the parlor,
please?”
“Jack and Leigh exchanged looks.
“Sure,” Jack said.
“We have a bit of a situation here,” Deputy Locke began. “Thanks
to Mrs. Hewitt’s—”
“Look, I’m very, very sorry about that,” Leigh said, blushing
again. “I was a complete idiot. You see, it’s simply that I get a bit carried
away sometimes. I don’t know why but I’ve always been that way. Even
when I was a child. Do you know, when Grammy Matilda—Matilda
Chadwick née Parsons, that is; she was my great aunt on my mother’s
side—died at the age of 96 of a heart attack, I was sure she’d been—”
“Mrs. Hewitt, please,” Locke interrupted. “As I was about to say,
we have a bit of a situation here. Thanks to Mrs. Hewitt’s efforts, we now
know that prior to her death, Caroline Vernon was the victim of a
felonious assault—and I must say it was a pretty clever bit of detective
work that.” He smiled at Leigh as she struggled unsuccessfully to
suppress the grin that began to dawn on her face.
He nodded his head.
“Yup. Pretty clever.”
Leigh looked over at Jack and smiled brightly. Her smile was not
returned.
“The thing is this, though. With the situation being what it is—I
mean Ms. Vernon being dead of other causes and all—I’m not sure what
the county prosecutor is going to want to do about it.
“What I was wondering was whether you’d be willing to let her
stay here until I can consult with the powers that be. I mean, I could arrest
her but that seems a little unnecessary at this point, if you know what I
mean.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Jack said.
“What I mean is, do you have any problem with her staying here
until I can get the situation clarified? I realize it’s a bit of an imposition.
I’ve told her that if you’re not willing to accept responsibility for her I’ll
have no choice but to take her in.”
“What do you mean accept responsibility for her? You mean make
sure she stays here?”

Scavenger Hunt  127
“Well, you wouldn’t have to hold her here or anything, just report
it immediately if she tries to leave.”
“Like house arrest?” Leigh asked excitedly.
“I guess you could call it that,” Locke said.
“For how long?” Jack said.
“Only until Pete gets back on Wednesday.”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “We’ve been having a lot of trouble
with the phone and cell’s don’t work here.”
“But it’s working again now,” Leigh declared, “and if it goes out
again, we can use Van Eyck’s. Will she wear one of those signal
bracelets?”
“Uh, well, no. We don’t have anything like that.”
“Would we be deputized?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Oh,” Leigh said, her disappointment palpable.
She brightened.
“Imagine, Jack, our very own prisoner!”
“Well, she wouldn’t exactly be a prisoner,” Locke said.
“And one that I brought to justice! Certainly, she can stay here,”
Leigh declared. “She’s our guest, after all, regardless of what she may
have done.”
“Hang on a second, Leigh,” Jack said. “I’m sure Cynthia will be
very appreciative of your hospitality, but there’s also a teeny–tiny chance
she’ll be a bit resentful, don’t you think?”
“Yes, there is a chance of that,” Locke said. “That’s why I want
you to be completely comfortable with the situation before you say yes.”
“Well, I’m not comfortable with it.”
“Jack, don’t be ridiculous,” Leigh said.
“I’m not being ridiculous. What if she decides you’re to blame for
all her problems and pushes you down the stairs?”
“Cynthia?!?” Leigh exclaimed. “She hasn’t got it in her.”
“Leigh, dear, the whole reason we’re discussing Cynthia is because
she does have it in her—as you so cleverly ascertained.”
“Oh, fiddle–fiddle, Jack.”
“Ah—a point I hadn’t considered.”
“Now let me ask you, Deputy,” Leigh continued. “Are there any
special regimens we’ll need to enforce while she’s detained here? Diet?
Exercise? Curfew?”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. If you could just report it
if she leaves.”

Johnson  128
“Are you sure you don’t want us to stop her if she tries? Hans has
guns and we could learn how to use them.”
“Sure, we’ll mow her right down,” Jack interjected. “From the
guard tower I’ll be building. Just say the word.”
“No. Please,” Locke said. “Just call us.”
Clouds began to roll in from the west, darkening both the skies and
the fragile mood of the Hewitts’ guests as they sat down to dinner.
Only Alan was absent, having retreated once again to the solitude
of his room after his outburst at Dr. Proveaux. Cynthia had tried to beg
off too, but Leigh would have none of it.
“Now Cynthia,” she had said, standing in the doorway to Cynthia’s
room, “I know the situation is a bit awkward, but you can’t allow life’s
vicissitudes to take precedence over your duty to act appropriately
whatever the circumstances. To do so only invites morbidity and creates
social tension. Neither Jack nor I have any intention of relating either
your past actions or your present situation to the other guests but it is
incumbent upon you to maintain appearances. And appearances aside,
while you are in my charge, you are going to eat properly and that means
attendance at all meals. Under the circumstances, I don’t think you’re in
any position to expect room service. Do you?”
Seated on the edge of her bed, Cynthia shook her head, her eyes
glued unwaveringly to the floor.
“Very well, then. Dinner is at seven. We’ll see you there.”
Leigh paused, her hand on the doorknob.
“And Cynthia, do try to cheer up. There’s no point moping about.
Maybe you should try putting on a little makeup before you come down.
You have good structure if you would only show it off. And looking good
is half way to feeling good, I always say.”
Cynthia continued staring at the floor.
“Well, think about it anyway,” Leigh said cheerily. “See you
later.”
Dinner itself was quiet, with long lulls in conversation punctuated
by subdued requests for someone to pass this or that. The foie gras terrine
with veal aspic Leigh had been so excited about was hardly touched. All
those present had spoken of Caroline at one time or another during the
day. But in the presence of the assembled group, such talk seemed
somehow inappropriate, as if Caroline’s ghost hovered over them
demanding silence as a sign of respect.

Scavenger Hunt  129
It was Leigh who broke the silence.
“Could I have everyone’s attention, please?” she began. “Alan has
been unable to find the keys to his car. I suspect he may have lost them at
the ravine—and I’m going to look there later—but if anyone does see a set
of keys, I’d appreciate it if you would bring it to my attention. If we can’t
find them, it’s going to be a real pain in the neck, as I’m sure you can
guess.”
“And the last thing Alan needs at this point,” Muffy said.
“Where is he?” Abby asked.
“Resting in his room,” Leigh said.
“I must say I think the whole thing is a shame,” Lawrence
declared. “Miss Vernon and I had our disagreements, but for her to die the
way she did after all she’d had to overcome is truly tragic.”
“What do you mean?” Leigh asked.
“Well, the drugs, the prostitution. A past that sordid is not easily
surmounted, and think what one may of her as a person, for her to have
reached the position she did under those circumstances is quite an
achievement.”
“What are you talking about?” Cynthia asked dazedly.
“Yes, what on earth are you talking about?” Dr. Proveaux echoed.
“You didn’t know?” Finch said.
“Know what?” Cynthia said, her voice rising.
“Well, obviously, she managed to keep her dark secrets from even
those closest to her. But then again she’d have to. If it got out she would
have been ruined.”
“She didn’t keep any secrets from me,” Cynthia said, her voice
edging towards hysteria. “None.”
“And there is no way she could have kept that sort of spiritual
discord from me either,” Proveaux asserted. “The tonalities would have
been dissonant, completely dissonant.”
“You really didn’t know,” Finch said wonderingly. “She blamed it
all on other people, of course, they always do, but as adults each of us
remains responsible for our own actions, I’ve always believed. It was the
addiction that compelled her to sell her body, I’m sure, but it was she who
made the decision to turn to drugs as an escape from her problems, no one
else.”
“Sir, this is outrageous!” Dr. Proveaux sputtered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I only meant to point
out what an accomplishment it was for her to get past all that. The stay at

Johnson  130
the Betty Carter Institute helped no doubt, but ultimately she must get the
credit even as she deserves the blame.”
Suddenly, Cynthia vaulted to her feet, sending her chair toppling
over.
“Stop it,” she cried. “Stop it! It’s not true any of it. I’ve known
her all my life.”
Dr. Proveaux leapt from his chair and rushed to put his arm
protectively around a now sobbing Cynthia.
“Shut up, you fool,” he hissed at Finch. “What are you trying to
do?”
“Nothing. I was only pointing out what—”
“Lawrence, please,” Leigh said sharply. “No matter what you
intended, the results have been unfortunate.”
“Yes, that’s enough of that, Finch,” Jack said heatedly as Brian
righted Cynthia’s chair.
Finch made as if to retort then thought better of it. Instead he
turned to Leigh. “Madam, a thousand pardons. I have erred most
egregiously. Perhaps it would be best if I simply attended to my dinner.”
Without further ado, he picked up his knife and fork and began
dissecting his crown rack of lamb.
“Leigh,” Dr. Proveaux said, “I think perhaps I should take Cynthia
to her room. If you’ll excuse us?”
“Of course,” Leigh said.
Arm still around her, Proveaux led Cynthia from the room.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Lawrence, that was some pretty heavy gossip you were passing
around there,” Jack said when Dr. Proveaux and Cynthia were gone.
Lawrence paused, knife and fork in hand.
“I assure you sir, that however regrettable my timing may have
been, what I said was not gossip.”
“What do you call it then?”
“Information.”
“Pretty slanderous information,” Christian said as Abby nodded in
agreement beside him. “Caroline was no angel, but a prostitute? That’s
absurd.”
“What’s a prostitute, Mommy?” Paige asked down at the other end
of the table.
“Someone who’s smart enough to get paid for doing chores,”
Muffy answered quickly. “Now hush up and eat your dinner.”
“Statements are not slanderous if they are true,” Lawrence said.
“And my source is authoritative. If you mean that the information I shared
is scandalous, I agree—but the fault for that is Miss Vernon’s not mine.”
“I don’t think supposed truth is any excuse for malicious gossip, no
matter what you call it,” Kendall said quietly.
“I agree with Kendall,” Abby said.
“And so do I,” Jack declared.
“You misjudge me,” Lawrence replied. “If you will but recall, my
whole point was to express my regret that one who had overcome so
much—and one, I might add, who herself never hesitated to speak ill of
others living or dead—should die so tragically. However, I do admit that
the time and place were perhaps inappropriate and I apologize—humbly—
again to all of you, and in particular to Mrs. Hewitt, my gracious hostess.
Leigh, I hope you will forgive me.”
“Of course, Lawrence. But now maybe we should change the
subject. Would anyone like coffee or espresso?”
Jack looked at his watch.
“I think I’m going to skip the coffee. The Yanks/BoSox game is
about to start and I’d like to catch it. Any one care to join me?”
“Sounds good,” Skip said.
“Count me in,” Chip said. “I’m a diehard Sox fan.”

Johnson  132
“That figures,” Jack muttered.
“I’m in, too,” Brian said.
“Leigh, before we go do you need any help here?” Chip asked.
As Jack shared a look of wide–eyed consternation with Skip,
Muffy said, “You know, I’d heard there were men like that, but I’d always
thought that was one of those myths women made up to keep themselves
going, you know, like ice cream diets.”
“We’re really gonna to have to talk to that boy,” Jack said to Skip.
Leigh sighed.
“No that’s all right. You boys go play. We’ll take care of
everything. Lena, I think we’re ready for coffee now.”
After coffee, Muffy and Abby and the kids adjourned to the patio
for a game of parcheesi while Leigh, Kendall and Christian hiked to the
ravine to search for Caroline’s keys. Admonished by Leigh to watch for
poison ivy, they searched the area thoroughly, but found nothing and
returned to the house as dusk began to fall.
Entering the door off the kitchen, they heard raised voices—or
rather a raised voice—coming from the front of the house.
“That is absolutely asinine!” Jack said, anger and frustration
obvious in his tone.
Striding quickly through the kitchen and dining room, Leigh
entered the common room to find a red–faced Jack on his feet and
glowering at Chip who was seated on the couch in front of the television.
“What on earth is going on here?” Leigh demanded.
Jack straightened as if a bucket of water had been thrown on him.
“Uh, just a little sports discussion, hon,” he said sheepishly.
“I must have missed the discussion part,” Leigh said acidly. “All I
heard was someone yelling.”
“Yes, well, we got a little carried away,” Jack said, studying the
pattern in the oriental carpet.
“We got carried away?” Leigh said, looking at the seated Chip
pointedly.
“Well, it wasn’t only me,” Jack said. He looked to Skip and Brian
for support. They answered his plea by examining the walls.
Leigh glowered at Jack, tapping her foot as she did.
Jack returned her gaze silently, then unable to restrain himself any
longer, pointed at Chip.
“He says we’ll never know how good Yankee hitters truly were
because of the short porch at Yankee Stadium. That’s ridiculous. We’re

Scavenger Hunt  133
talking some of the best hitters of all time. Mantle. Maris. Babe Ruth, for
God’s sake, and he was even on the frigging Red Sox!”
“Well, thank goodness,” Leigh said. “Here I was afraid you were
making a spectacle of yourself in front of our guests for no good reason.
But if Chip was saying the Yankees had an undersized porch, I can only
admire your restraint.”
“It was my fault too,” Chip said, rising to his feet. “I shouldn’t
have been so assertive—especially with the Yankees losing so badly. I’m
sorry, Jack, really I am.”
He proffered his hand.
“Shake?”
Grudgingly, Jack took his hand.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too. I take my baseball too seriously sometimes,
especially the Yankees.”
“I know what you mean. I live and die by the Sox, and when
they’re playing the Yankees it’s die more often than live, unfortunately.”
“Hey, the Sox have had some tough breaks over the years,” Jack
said magnanimously.
“Tell me about it. That’s why the short porch was so frustrating ,”
Chip said. “The Yankees were so good at beating us anyway, the last
thing they needed was an advantage.”
“It wasn’t an advantage,” Jack snorted. “Both teams could use it.”
“But the Yankees were built to use it.”
“So what?”
“So it gave them an advantage.”
“It did not.”
“Of course it did.”
“There’s no of course about it. What—”
“Jack!” Leigh said. “I thought we were done discussing this.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jack said lamely. “I’m tired of baseball anyway.” He
brightened. “Anyone up for a drink?”
“That was some show you put on, honeybear,” Leigh said as they
readied themselves for bed.
“I know, I know. But that guy is so annoying.”
“Jack, it’s just baseball.”
“It isn’t just baseball. It’s everything. The way he hangs all over
you. ‘Leigh, before we go do you need any help here?’ “ he mimicked.
“He gives me the creeps.”
“Jack, he doesn’t hang all over me. He’s simply considerate.”

Johnson  134
“Considerate, my ass. He’s in love with you.”
“We’re friends, that’s all.”
“Men don’t want to be just friends with beautiful women—not if
they can help it, anyway.”
“Why thank you, Jack.”
“Thank you? For what?”
“It sounded as if you were suggesting that I was beautiful.”
“Oh. Well, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I probably do, but if you don’t mind I’ll continue deluding
myself. So is this the voice of personal experience I’m hearing again?”
“About what?”
“About men not wanting to be merely friends with beautiful
women.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was simply wondering. The way you fawn all over
Kendall. All this time I thought you merely wanted to be her friend. Was
I wrong?”
“Kendall?”
“Yes, Jack. Kendall. You know. About so tall, blonde and blueeyed, with that All-American-fresh-from-the-country supermodel look?
Oh and I forgot, about fifteen years your junior.”
“Nine and a half. But that’s different.”
“Different than what?”
“Different than what we were talking about in the first place which
is the way the little Chiparoon follows you around like a lap dog.”
“I thought we were talking about your boorish behavior this
evening during the baseball game.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
“So what about Kendall?”
“What about her?”
“How is Chip’s attraction to me any different than your attraction
to Kendall?”
“So you admit he’s attracted to you.”
“Why shouldn’t he be? I’m smart, talented, good–looking,
charming, and have a delightful sense of humor.”
“Oh, really. Well, it’s too bad we didn’t meet before I was
married. I could really go for a gal like you.”
“Got a real ball and chain at home, eh?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Ever considered an affair?”

Scavenger Hunt  135
“Considered it—but rejected it every time. But with you . . .”
“Oh, Mr. Hewitt!” Leigh exclaimed as Jack stepped forward and
put his arms around her. “Think about your wife!”
“I am,” he said, burying his face in her neck. “I am.”
“Jack?” Leigh said as they lay naked in the darkness. “I’ve been
thinking.”
“You know, Leigh, a less secure man might find that statement
somewhat unflattering in the present context.”
“No, seriously.”
“Oh, I believe you.” He propped himself on one elbow. “OK.
Fools rush in and all that. What have you been thinking?”
“Well, there weren’t any flowers.”
“Leigh, there wasn’t any time. I mean the way you threw yourself
at me so suddenly.”
“No. In the ravine. There weren’t any flowers. So how did she
get stung?”
“Leigh, please.”
“Think about it. She was supposedly stung three times. That
means three bees, because they lose their stingers. What were they doing
there?”
“First of all, it wasn’t ‘supposedly’. It was definitely. As to what
they were doing there, who knows? Maybe they were just passing
through. Or maybe there’s a nest.”
“There’s no nest.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t see one. And because if there was a nest, the
bees would have attacked us when we were there too.”
“Maybe she landed right on it.”
“Honey bees aren’t ground nesters.”
Jack sighed.
“So what’s your point?”
“How did she get stung?”
“What do you mean how did she get stung? Who knows? Who
cares? She did. That’s what counts.”
“I care, Jack. It simply doesn’t make any sense.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. Maybe somebody used the bees to make it look
like an accident when it wasn’t.”
“What? They carried the bees there?”

Johnson  136
“It’s possible. Brian caught one during the scavenger hunt.
There’s no reason someone else couldn’t have done the same—Jack!”
“What?”
“Brian.
He caught one during the scavenger hunt, then
disappeared at the same time Caroline did.”
“But there were three stings.”
“So, he caught two more. They’re easy enough to find—where
there are flowers. And as a matter of fact, I don’t think he turned his bee
in at the end.”
“Leigh, you’re getting carried away again.”
“How do you know, Jack?”
“Why would Brian kill her?”
“Because he was jealous.”
“Of Caroline? He hated her guts.”
“Well, there you go.” She paused. “You know, Jack, that’s the
second time you’ve suggested that Brian despised Caroline.”
“He called her a bitch didn’t he?”
“He did?”
“Yes, when she threatened to tell . . .” The sentence drifted off.
“Tell what?”
“You know,” Jack said lamely. “About the Bagley woman.”
“Jack, why am I getting the sense there’s something you haven’t
told me?”
“Because you have an imagination that knows no bounds?”
“Actually, I think it’s more the way your face has turned a
fascinating shade of crimson.”
“You can’t even see my face.”
“I don’t need to. And yes, I heard Caroline mention something
about a Mrs. Bagley. But no, I didn’t hear Caroline threaten to ‘tell’ about
her or hear Brian call Caroline a bitch. So why don’t you tell me about
it?”
Silence.
“Jack?”
“Well, you remember the night the dogs and horses were kicking
up a ruckus?”
“Yes.”
“It was that night . . .” he began, and related the conversation
between Brian and Caroline he had overheard.

Scavenger Hunt  137
“And you didn’t tell me this?” Leigh said when he had finished.
She switched on the lamp on her nightstand. “Why not?” she demanded,
sitting up with the sheet wrapped around her.
“You know how you are, Leigh,” Jack said in a meek voice. “I
didn’t want to get you all worked up.”
“All worked up! Jack, a murder has been committed and you
almost let the murderer go free!”
“Now, Leigh—”
“Don’t ‘now Leigh’ me, Jack Hewitt.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no ma’am.”
“This is unbelievable. There obviously is something about this
Mrs. Bagley’s death that Brian doesn’t want anyone to know. We have to
determine what.”
She reached for the phone that sat on the nightstand.
“What are you doing?” Jack said.
“I’m going to make some calls to St. Maarten and find out what
went on down there.”
“But Leigh, it’s almost one a.m. God knows what time it is there.”
Leigh paused with the phone in her hand.
“I guess you’re ri—” She froze as the sound of a car door being
surreptitiously closed came through the open front windows—then her
eyes widened.
“Cynthia!” she exclaimed. “She’s making a break for it!”
She leapt out of bed and reached for the pile of her clothes that lay
on the floor.
“Do something, Jack! She must have stolen the keys!”
Urged into action, Jack ran to the closet and grabbed his robe from
the hook on the closet door and stepped into his Topsiders as Leigh
struggled to pull on her jeans—jeans whose tight fit were flattering to
Leigh’s curves but made hurried installation problematic.
“Hurry! She might be getting away,” she cried as she began to
bounce up and down stiff–legged while tugging futilely on her jeans.
Leaving Leigh to her struggle, Jack dashed to the front hall and
threw the front door open as the dogs scrabbled wildly to catch up with
him. To his right, in the light cast by the garage spots, he could see a
figure—a woman’s figure—lurking in the drive in front of the carriage
house.
“Hold it right there!” he said, striding forward.
The figure froze.
“Who is it?” he demanded.

Johnson  138
“It’s only me,” came the reply.
“Cynthia?” Jack said as he came up to her.
“No, Jack, it’s Kendall.”
“Kendall?”
“Yes. Is everything all right?”
“Uh, yes. We heard a door shut, and thought . . . and wondered
who it might be.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry I woke you up. I just came out to get a
toothbrush.”
“Oh, you didn’t wake us up. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“Only a little.” She laughed. ‘I don’t frighten that easily.”
“So did you get it?”
“Get it?”
“Yes. Your toothbrush.”
“Oh, that. Yes, I did.”
“Gotta keep those cavities away,” Jack said in a teasing singsong.
“It’s a neverending battle,” Kendall replied.
Jack chuckled heartily.
“You shouldn’t have tried it,” Leigh said breathlessly as she
arrived at Jack’s side. Her jeans were on but she was barefoot and her v–
neck sweater was on backwards and inside out. Her hair was a mess.
“Tried what?” Kendall asked.
“Kendall!”
“Yes, Leigh, tell her. Tried what?”
“Um, well, we thought you were someone else,” she said
hesitantly, then added more briskly, “but obviously you’re not.”
“That’s my girl,” Jack said.
“Oh,” Kendall said, clearly none the wiser for Leigh’s explanation.
Leigh fidgeted then stretched and yawned extravagantly.
“Well, I suppose we should all hit the hay,” she said gamely.
“Now there’s a notion,” Jack said. Then he added, “And maybe
this time we could even consider staying there.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Slowly but insistently, overcoming all resistance, the woman’s
whispers dragged Jack kicking and screaming from the depths of a dream
where a stunning blonde clad only in black spike heels and a hot pink
negligee trimmed with black fur—and who greatly resembled Kendall
Jorgenson—stood in a brilliant white bathroom vigorously scrubbing her
excruciatingly white teeth with a huge foaming toothbrush.
Jack cracked open one sleep–weighted eye to peer at the
clock/radio on his nightstand. Seven twenty–seven.
What the . . .?
“Driscoll,” the voice was saying. “Just like I told the other three
gentlemen to whom I spoke. D–r–i–s–c–o–l–l.”
Oh, God. It was Leigh.
“No. D. As in dog.”
“Of course you don’t know the word ‘dob’. I said dog. D–o–g.
Woof–woof. You know the thing that goes woof–woof don’t you? You
have them there, I’m sure.”
“All right, I’m sorry. There’s no need to bark at me.”
“Thank you. I’ll wait—again.”
Jack rolled over.
“Leigh. You’re on the phone. In our bedroom. At eight in the
morning.”
“I know, sweetcakes. I’m sorry. But wanted to get going on this
and I didn’t want to wake the guests.”
“No, that wouldn’t do.”
“I knew you’d understand.” She smiled pertly and leaned over and
kissed him on the nose. “You always do.”
“You’re confusing the loss of all hope with understanding, dear
heart.”
“Well, it’s very much to your credit in any event,” she said
brightly. “Oh. Hello? Yes?”
“Really. That’s very interesting.”
She smiled grimly at Jack and gave him the thumbs up sign.
“But a warrant hasn’t been issued?”
“I see. Well, thank you very much.”
She hung up.

Johnson  140
“Bingo!” she said. “Brian is wanted for questioning on St.
Maarten in connection with Mrs. Bagley’s death. Apparently, she died
under suspicious circumstances, leaving Brian as her sole beneficiary.
When Mrs. Bagley’s daughter arrived and began questioning the situation,
Brian packed up and left without ever collecting his money.”
“How did Mrs. Bagley die?”
“Oh, that’s the good part. She died of something called
hymenoptera anaphylaxis. Sound familiar? There’s a reason for that. She
died of an allergic reaction to bee sting, Jack. Bee sting.”
“Remember, it’s only a theory,” Jack said from the doorway.
Leigh had gotten hurriedly dressed and now stood before the bathroom
mirror brushing her hair.
“Yes, but it fits.”
“You’ve had other theories that fit, dumpling.”
“I was right about Cynthia.”
“Except for the part you were wrong about.”
“I was right about her trying to kill Caroline.”
“Yes, it was only the detail of how Caroline actually died you
missed.”
“That’s not fair, Jack.”
“I just don’t want you to go off half–cocked.”
“I’m not going to. But it certainly bears further investigation.”
“Yes. I agree. And happily the reclusive Sherlock—I mean,
Sheriff—Goukas will be here Wednesday.”
“That gives me two whole days then.”
“Leigh.”
“Forget it, Jack. We have an incredible opportunity here. You
can’t expect me to simply let it pass by.”
“An opportunity for what?”
She faced him.
“To solve the mystery of Caroline’s death.”
“And that’s an opportunity because . . .?”
Leigh looked at him blankly.
“Because it is,” she said finally.
“Leigh, these are real people, and a real death, and real police who
may put someone in a real prison. It’s not a parlor game.”
“You know, Jack, my next husband is going to have a lively sense
of curiosity and adventure. But in the meantime, I don’t see how my
attempting to sort things out a little is going to hurt anything. First of all,

Scavenger Hunt  141
as you are so fond of pointing out, we don’t know that there was any
murder committed.”
“Yes, but what if it was murder and what if the murderer doesn’t
appreciate your efforts to sort things out, as you put it?”
“Well, then you’ll inherit all my money and with that and the
insurance proceeds you should have no trouble getting some cute young
thing to fold your underwear for you until she gets as old as I am when
you can replace her.”
Jack considered that then said, “So what is it you’re going to do?”
Leigh found Muffy sitting cross–legged on the side lawn watching
Paige and Oliver play a modified version of croquet that did away with
any rules save those that occurred to Paige as they went along. Paige was
winning handily.
“Hi,” Leigh said as she approached. “Mind if I join you?”
“I think we can fit you in,” Muffy said, gesturing at the lawn.
“Where’s Abby?” Leigh said as she sat beside her.
“Gone for a walk with Christian, alas. Said something about
spending some time with her husband.” She nodded in the direction of the
pond where an obviously bored Christian sat on the bench watching Abby
toss bread to the ducks. “The nerve of some people. Leaving me to take
care of my own children. I think sacrificing one’s figure should be
enough—although to be honest in the case of my figure it wasn’t such a
sacrifice.
“So, how are you doing?” she continued. “Breakfast was a little
more peaceful than dinner, thank goodness. And it was nice to see Alan
starting to come around some. It was just such a tragic accident.”
Leigh was silent for a few seconds, then said, “Muff, what if
Caroline’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“What do you mean, not an accident?”
“Well, some things have come to my attention that make me
wonder whether it truly was.” Leigh glanced around, then said in a
conspiratorial whisper, “I think it may have been murder.”
“Murder!” Muffy exclaimed.
“Shhh,” Leigh said as Oliver and Paige looked over.
“But Leigh, that’s crazy. Who would want to murder Caroline?”
She paused, then said, “Let me rephrase that. Who among the people who
wanted to murder Caroline would actually do it?”
Leigh shook her head.

Johnson  142
“I don’t know yet—but I’m going to nail him before he kills
again,” she said fervently.
“You think he’ll kill again?”
“Well, maybe not—but that’s what they always say.”
“Leigh, honey, have you discussed this with Jack?”
“Yes, I have—and I’m proceeding nevertheless.”
“But what got you thinking this way?”
“Well, it started with the bizarre way she died. I mean, to fall into
the ravine and just coincidentally get stung by bees when you’re deathly
allergic to them.”
“Yeah, that struck me as bad luck with a capital B—no pun
intended.”
“Oh, but it’s even unluckier than you know. There aren’t any
flowers there.”
“No flowers?” Muffy said, her face creased in puzzlement.
“Right. So why were there bees there?”
“Leigh, aren’t you getting a little carried away? I mean, sure bees
like flowers but you find them other places too. We have yellow–jackets
all over our screen porch at home and there’s no flowers there.”
“Yellow–jackets are wasps, not bees. Caroline was stung by
honeybees. Honeybees eat nectar. And she wasn’t stung by just one bee
either. It was three. So what were they doing there? There’s no nest.”
“Maybe she was stung by one bee three times.”
“No. That’s the thing about bees as opposed to wasps. Bees lose
their stingers when they sting which is how the medical examiner was able
to identify the species. And that means they can only sting once.”
“I still don’t understand. So how did the bees get there?”
“Maybe somebody brought them.”
“Brought them!?!”
“Yes. Captured them and brought them.”
“How?”
“In a jar. They’re easy enough to catch. All you have to do is find
some flowers. Brian caught one during the scavenger hunt. Remember?”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Then once you have them you simply hold them against her skin
in such a way as to irritate them, under a cloth maybe, until they sting.
Three stings would be more than enough to kill someone with Caroline’s
sensitivity.”
“But Caroline would have fought back, wouldn’t she? Or is that
how she ended up in the ravine?”

Scavenger Hunt  143
“Oh. Well . . .” She glanced around again. “Can you keep a
secret?”
“I have in my lifetime. I mean, I think I must have.”
“Yes, but this is important. I told her I wouldn’t tell—well,
actually I told her I had no intention of telling, which was true, but now
. . .”
“Who? What?”
“Well, it’s like this . . .”
“So you think Cynthia knocked Caroline into the ravine then went
and got some bees and killed her?” Muffy asked when Leigh had finished.
“No, I don’t. I think she was telling the truth.”
“But who then? And if they wanted to kill Caroline and she was
helpless why go to all the trouble of using bees?”
“As to why, the answer is simple. So it would look like an
accident. As to who—well, that’s where it gets interesting.”
She proceeded to relate the conversation Jack had overheard and
the results of her inquiries to the St. Maarten police.
“And to top it all off,” she concluded, “not only did Mrs. Bagley
die of the same causes, but Brian disappeared right after Caroline left the
group—to find a fossil he never did come up with.”
“Wow,” Muffy said. “So you think he killed Caroline to keep her
quiet. That’s unbelievable.”
“Oh it’s believable, once you realize that Brian isn’t the cuddly,
happy–go–lucky guy he appears to be.”
“Poor Chip.”
“Yes, I know,” Leigh said gravely. “Believe me, I’m not happy
about it. Chip is a good friend. But what can I do? I can’t keep it secret.”
“No, of course not. And Chip will understand that when he hears
the facts. He certainly can’t blame you. So what are you going to do?
Tell the police?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to. But first, I want to nail down all my
facts. My husband, bless his little heart, says I have a tendency to go off
half–cocked. Well, I’m going to make sure I’m completely cocked before
I say anything. That’s why I wanted to talk with you. You can confirm a
lot of what I’m saying.”
“I’ll try.”
“You remember about the bee?”
“Sure. As soon as Paige saw it she wanted to catch one too, but
needless to say I discouraged that in a hurry. And you know, hearing all

Johnson  144
this, I remember that it struck me at the time that Brian was gone an
awfully long time on his fossil hunt and looked pretty frazzled when he
got back—although it never occurred to me to think that he might be
involved in anything like this.”
“How long would you say he was gone?”
“I don’t know. Forty-five minutes, maybe?”
Leigh smiled triumphantly.
“Plenty of time to get to the ravine and back. Are you positive?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly when he left but I know when he got
back because I looked at my watch.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. Like I said, it struck me that he’d been gone quite a while
and I was just checking to make sure I wasn’t completely out to lunch.”
“That’s great,” Leigh said. “Positive recollection like that is
exactly what we need to convince the police.”
“Yup. Three–twenty.”
“Three–twenty, what?”
“Three–twenty. That’s when Brian got back.”
“No, you’re wrong.”
“I’m positive. Why? What’s the matter?”
“Is that the watch you were wearing?”
“Yes.”
Leigh reached out and shifted Muffy’s wrist so she could see it,
then checked it against her own.
“It can’t be. I just checked with Cynthia. She said she last saw
Caroline at three–thirty. If that’s tr—” She froze open-mouthed as a wail
shattered the morning quiet.
“That came from the house,” she exclaimed. She leapt to her feet
and bolted for the patio as wails continued to rend the air.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Leigh raced across the patio, through the library and into the front
hall to find a hysterical Lawrence Finch at the bottom of the stairs
clutching the newel post with one hand and his face with the other, while
blood streamed off his chin onto the Abyssinian carpet at his feet.
Lena stood next to him trying to see the source of his injury. Dr.
Proveaux hovered behind her nervously while Cynthia watched from the
open front doorway and Kendall looked on from the landing above.
“Mr. Finch, I can’t help you if you don’t let me see,” Lena said
with a trace of impatience. She reached cautiously to pull Lawrence’s
hand from his face only to be repulsed by another wail.
“What happened?” Leigh asked as Muffy and the children crowded
behind her.
Cynthia shrugged.
“Lawrence, what happened?” Leigh asked commandingly.
“I was attacked,” he moaned.
“Did someone strike you?” Lena asked.
“Yes. Oh, God, yes. Right in the face.”
“Let us see.”
Lawrence calmed himself and lifted his hand from his face, while
Lena leaned closer.
The whole lower half of Finch’s face was awash in blood.
“Gross!” Paige exclaimed.
“Yeah, gross,” Oliver echoed as Muffy shushed them both.
“It looks like it’s your nose,” Lena said. “Does it hurt?”
“Of course it hurts!” Finch cried.
“Someone bring me a wet towel please,” Lena said.
“I will,” Kendall said and ran to get one from the bathroom at the
top of the stairs.
“Now, tilt your head back,” Lena said. She took the towel from
Kendall and began dabbing at Finch’s face. Finch flinched and moaned
but let her continue her ministrations.
“No lacerations that I can see, Doctor,” she reported. “I think it’s
just a nosebleed.”
“Could it be broken?” Proveaux asked.

Johnson  146
“It doesn’t appear that way,” she said, “although you never can
tell. Mr. Finch, I need to touch it. All right?”
Finch nodded.
“That’s very good. Now you let me know if it hurts,” she said
reaching for his nose gingerly.
Suddenly, Finch screamed.
“Is it broken?” Cynthia asked breathlessly.
“I don’t know, I never touched him,” Lena said. “Now Mr. Finch,
please try to be a brave little boy so I can find out what’s wrong. Can you
do that for me?”
Finch sniffed then nodded again.
This time Lena was able to probe gently without interference.
“Does that hurt?” she asked.
“I can handle it, “ Finch said through gritted teeth.
“How about that?”
“Yes,” Finch said.
“OK,” she said. “All done and the bleeding’s slowing. We need to
get him lying down. And Doctor, I think a sedative might be in order if
you have one, don’t you? He’s had a bit of a shock.”
“Uh, yes, I think you’re absolutely right. In fact, why don’t we
just have him lie down in my room.”
“Attacked!?” Muffy said wonderingly, as Lena and Dr. Proveaux
disappeared into Proveaux’s room.
“Did either of you see anyone?” Leigh said to Kendall and
Cynthia.
Cynthia shook her head. “I was out front when I heard him.”
“I was in my room,” Kendall said.
Leigh frowned.
“I have to tell Jack. Muffy, will you do me a favor and keep an
eye on Lawrence’s room until I get back? Don’t go in—just make sure
nobody else does either.”
“Sure. You kids go back to your croquet game.”
“But we want to stay with you, Mommy,” Paige said.
“Yeah, we want to stay with you,” said Oliver.
“I know. You’re such devoted little cherubs. But I think outside is
the place for you.”
“We never get to have any fun,” Paige said sulkily.
“No, we never do,” Oliver said.
“Not if I can help it, anyway,” Muffy said. “Now you two scoot.”

Scavenger Hunt  147
“We’ll keep an eye on them, Muffy,” Abby said from the hallway
where she and Christian now stood. “Won’t we, Christian?”
“Uh, sure. Delighted,” he said.
“Can I help, Leigh?” Kendall asked.
“I think everything’s under control for the moment anyway,” Leigh
said. “But thanks.”
She found Jack driving golf balls with Skip.
“Jack, may I see you for a minute, please?” she said.
When he came over she said, “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About the fact that we have a murderer in our house.”
“But you don’t know that,” Jack said as they walked slowly toward
the house. Leigh had explained what she knew about the attack on
Lawrence. “There still is no concrete evidence that Caroline’s death was
anything other than an accident.”
“The assault on Lawrence was no accident, Jack.”
“But—”
“And I think we have to assume that whoever murdered Caroline is
the same person who attacked Lawrence.”
“All right, who? I mean they’re your friends and God knows
they’re a bunch of Fruit Loops, but it doesn’t strike me offhand that any of
them are murderers, the little Chipster excepting perhaps. He’s clearly a
sadistic bastard.”
“Well, I may know more after I’ve had a chance to speak to
Lawrence, but it seems to me that to determine who it might be we have to
examine each of the three unexplained untoward events that occurred this
weekend.”
“Leigh, that’s a job for the police.”
“Jack, I will never understand how a woman as vital and vibrant as
me ended up with a man with so little imagination and zest for life.”
“The fact is, my little porcupine, I have both those qualities in
abundance. I can well imagine that poking around into things could result
in further violence and I have too much zest for life to want to lose mine—
or even yours—doing the police’s job for them.”
“A very clever retort, Jack, but there’s one thing you haven’t
considered.”
“What’s that?”
“This.” She directed a loud raspberry at Jack.

Johnson  148
“Oh,” Jack said, “That does cast things in a different light.”
“I thought you might see my point. Besides, we’ll be careful.
Even if I’m right about Caroline’s death, it’s not as if we’re dealing with a
professional killer here.”
“Gee, I wonder if Caroline knew that. It would have been such a
comfort, I’m sure.”
“Zest, Jack, zest,” Leigh said reproachfully.
“Oh, yes, forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven. Now, as I was saying, the first thing we need to
do is analyze the three unexplained events.”
“Three?”
“Three. The intruder in Caroline’s room, Caroline’s death, and the
attack on Lawrence.”
“Analyze them how?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I already have analyzed them.”
“In the last ten minutes?”
“Yes. It’s not all that complicated. Let’s take the intruder into
Alan and Caroline’s room first. Who could have done that?”
“I don’t know. Anyone in the house?”
“Wrong. Anyone in the house except the people who were
downstairs at the time, namely me, Kendall, Mrs. Lindstrom and Lena,
plus Alan who was in the bathroom with Caroline.”
“I see.”
“Good. Now keep your eye on the bouncing rubber ball. Who
might have attacked Lawrence?”
“Who?”
“Everyone except Muffy, Christian and Abby, all of whom were in
my sight at the time.”
“Hang on a second. Your definition of innocence is all based on
whether people were with you or not. What about me?”
“You’re a suspect.”
“That’s ridiculous. What if I decide that anyone who wasn’t with
me is a suspect?”
“Jack, this is no time for childishness.”
“I’m not being childish, I’m trying to make a point.”
“And I’m proud of you. Now, if I may finish. We come now to
Caroline’s death. Excluding Mrs. Lindstrom and the Van Eycks—”
“Why are we excluding them?”
“Because they didn’t know Caroline.”

Scavenger Hunt  149
“Oh. I suppose you’re right. Even a personality as odious as
Caroline’s required some contact for dislike to develop.”
“So anyway, excluding them, who could have murdered
Caroline?”
“I give up.”
“You’re not even trying but that’s all right I’ll tell you: putting
you and your little friend Skip aside, Alan, Cynthia, Abby and Kendall
because they were on your team and your team split up—”
“What about Oliver? You forgot him. He was in our group and
behaving very suspiciously now that I think of it. He kept asking about
the whereabouts of some character he called ‘Mommy’.”
“—Lawrence,” Leigh continued, ignoring Jack, “because we don’t
know where he was while the hunt was on; and finally Christian, because
he and Abby left the party afterwards.”
Jack looked puzzled.
“What happened to Brian? I thought he was your number one
suspect because he left your group right after Caroline.”
Leigh grimaced.
“Well, he did and he was. But Muffy’s positive he returned while
Cynthia was still with Caroline. And he never left the post–hunt party
long enough to have done it.”
“How about Proveaux then? I realize your syringe theory went
down in flames—”
“Now, don’t be catty, Jack.”
“—but didn’t he leave the party too?”
Leigh sighed.
“Yes. But as it turns out, he was at the Van Eycks’ using the
phone. Lena said Doris was positively gushing about what a wonderful
man he was because he stayed and watched wrestling with her.”
“So that accounts for everyone?”
“Yup.”
Jack’s brow furrowed as he reviewed what Leigh had told him,
silently ticking off the names on his fingers.
“Hold it,” he said suddenly. “What about Chip? He was in my
group.”
“Oh—he couldn’t have done it.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing he doesn’t really know Caroline.”
“Maybe not, but his cousin does—very well.”

Johnson  150
“Jack, I know you have this childish obsession with Chip and see
him as some sort of romantic rival, but surely you can’t think Chip would
murder anyone.”
“What does that have to do with it?” Jack exclaimed. “We were
analyzing who could have done it, not who we think did. Or did you
include me in your analysis because you thought I might have done it?”
“Of course not. You’re being silly, Jack—you always are where
Chip is concerned.”
“I am not. But I want him included in the suspects.”
“Jack, you’re acting like a child again, but fine: I suspect him
too.”
“Good.”
“Now, can we move on?”
“As long as there’s no more nonsense about Chip being excluded
because he’s not the murdering type.”
“Fine. Now where does all this leave us?”
“I have no idea.”
“Who’s the only person who could have been involved in all three
of our mysterious happenings?”
“I don’t know. Chip?”
“No.”
“I give up. Who?”
“All right, I’ll tell you. Aside from you and Skip, none other than
little miss lovelorn.”
“Cynthia? You’re kidding.”
“Nope. If you track it through, she’s the only one who could have
done all three. And to think I bought her song and dance. She’s a clever
one all right—but not clever enough.”
“But why would she attack Lawrence?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because he surprised her in his room.
That’s why I want to search it. It may be that she was looking for
something and was interrupted before she found it. Muffy is keeping an
eye on the room right now to make sure no one goes in there before me.”
“Does she know it’s Cynthia she’s watching for?”
“No. I only realized it myself a few minutes ago.”
“Cynthia,” Jack said contemplatively, then quickly frowned.
“Hold it. What about Chip? He could have done all three things, too.”
“No, he couldn’t, Jack.”

Scavenger Hunt  151
“He certainly could. He wasn’t downstairs when Caroline’s room
was broken into. He wasn’t with you—or me—when Lawrence was
attacked. And he was on my team for the scavenger hunt.”
“He couldn’t have done it, Jack.”
“Why? Why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not protecting him. He just couldn’t have done it.”
Jack peered at Leigh.
“Leigh, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Well . . .”
“Let’s have it.”
“Well, the fact of the matter is, he was with us after your team
broke up. He happened to run into us while he was wandering around and
stayed with us almost until we came back to the house.”
“Oh he did, did he? He just happened to run into you and then
somehow simply couldn’t break away. Doesn’t that sort of undermine the
integrity of the hunt?”
“Well, you can’t get too serious about these things.”
“Which things are those?”
“You know very well what things. Rules.”
“No, I didn’t know, but I’m beginning to get the picture.”
“Now Jack. You’re being silly.”
“Silly, you call it. In some states it’s legal justification for
homicide.”
“Jack, you’re taking this all wrong. It was completely innocent.
We were surrounded by people.”
“How inconvenient.”
“Jack, that’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“If it was so innocent, why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Well, because.”
Jack smacked his forehead with his hand.
“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that instead of getting all
worked up over nothing.”
“I don’t know,” Leigh said primly. “It’s just the way you are.
Always flying off the handle. And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell
you but you forced me to, and if you’re upset you have no one but yourself
to blame.”
“Leigh, you’re right,” Jack said after a pause. “Can you ever
forgive me?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Leigh sniffed. “I can only try, and I will,
but right now I really must get going. Muffy’s waiting. Why don’t you

Johnson  152
find Cynthia and keep an eye on her. She may make a break for it. I’ll
come and find you when I’m done.”
In a moment, she was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Muffy was sitting on the top step of the staircase.
“All quiet?”
“Alan came back and then left again.”
“I’m glad he missed all the commotion.”
“Yeah. Fortunately, he didn’t notice the blood. Lena moved the
downstairs rug and wiped the blood off the stairs and foyer floor but
there’s more up here. She found Alan’s keys, by the way.”
“Where?”
“Right there on the whatnot in the foyer. Alan has them now. He
said he was going for a drive, in fact.”
“Well, that’s one good thing anyway. And it will probably do him
good to get away for a while.”
“Is Lawrence all right?”
“It seems so. He’s resting in Dr. Proveaux’s room. Proveaux gave
him a sedative.” She nodded at the open door to Finch’s room. “Is that
how it was?”
“Yup.”
“OK. Well, thanks.”
“Do you want help?”
“No, I think I better handle this alone.”
Avoiding the drops of dried blood on the sill, Leigh stepped
through the open doorway. The room was neat and orderly—the bed
made with military crispness, Leigh noted—with one exception: the
clothes tree that stood behind the door had been knocked over. Finch’s
broad-brimmed straw hat and canary jacket lay on the floor.
The front shutters were closed. Leigh opened them to let in the
southern light then examined the scene again.
It seemed likely that Cynthia had hidden behind the door, perhaps
because she’d heard him coming, and then struck him as he came in,
knocking the clothes tree over in the process. If she had been searching
the room, Leigh could see no sign of it.
Noting the position of the door, Leigh picked up the clothes tree
and hung Finch’s coat and hat back up. If Cynthia had hit him with

Johnson  154
something she must have taken it with her. There was no blunt object at
hand.
She headed for the bathroom for something to clean up the blood.
Lawrence Finch was lying on the bed in Dr. Proveaux’s room with
his eyes closed when Leigh and Jack arrived at the door. Kendall
Jorgenson sat nearby in a chair that had been moved from the corner.
“Is he asleep?” Leigh whispered.
“No, I am not,” Finch said, opening his eyes.
“I’ve been boring him with my chatter ever since Dr. Proveaux and
Lena left for lunch,” Kendall explained, smiling ruefully.
“Charming me with her conversation, would be a more apt
description,” Finch said gallantly. “She has been a ministering angel
throughout my ordeal, remaining steadfast even as others gave in to the
demands of the flesh.”
“Well, since even ministering angels should eat, perhaps we can sit
with you a while,” Leigh said. She smiled at Kendall. “The others are just
finishing up, but if you go into the kitchen I’m sure Mrs. Lindstrom can
fix you up.”
“So what exactly happened, Lawrence?” Leigh asked when
Kendall had left.
Leigh was sitting in the chair by the bed, Jack leaning against the
window frame.
“Well, there’s not much to tell. I had just returned from my
morning constitutional. I take one each morning after breakfast, rain or
shine. I find it tremendously beneficial, and of course perambulating
through this lovely countryside in all this fresh air only makes it all the
more invigorating.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You truly should try it—and I’m sure Dr. Proveaux would agree.
I must say that when first I encountered him I was inclined to consider him
a bit of a flake, but as this weekend has progressed I have discovered that
despite some seeming oddities, he is quite perceptive when it comes to the
connection between a sound body and a sound mind.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, anyway, where was I?”
“Returning from your constitutional.”
“Ah, yes. Well, I opened the door to my room and stepped in and
was just about to shut the door when suddenly there was a commotion

Scavenger Hunt  155
behind me. I whirled, startled, only to see someone lunge at me from
behind the door and strike me full in the face. I fell to the floor stunned,
then mustering all my strength of will made my way down to the stairs and
called for help.”
“Do you know who struck you?”
“No, I am sorry to say I do not.”
“Do you know whether it was a man or a woman?”
“Oh, a man I’m sure. He must have been hulking, positively
hulking. No woman could have delivered a blow like that. I think it’s
only because I’m in superb physical condition that I survived it at all. I
exercise every day, you see. Calisthenics. Plain, simple calisthenics.
Jumping jacks, sit ups, squat thrusts. I have a complete routine—and one,
mind you, I can do anywhere, at home or on the road. No equipment
necessary beyond a disciplined mind. These spandex–infested Nautilus
emporiums are for exhibitionists, not those serious about a sound body.”
He took another sip of his soup.
“A man?” Leigh prodded. “Are you sure? It couldn’t have been a
woman?”
“Well, I suppose. I didn’t really see. But the blow, madam, the
blow. The pain was excruciating, simply excruciating.”
“But maybe you were hit with something. Even a woman could do
some damage with a weapon.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would be in your room?”
Jack asked.
“No. None whatsoever. To rob me I suppose.”
“Did you leave anything of great value in your room?”
“No, not particularly. Several watches, of course. Oh, dear. I
hope I haven’t lost the watch dear David gave me. A Boucheron. Simply
exquisite. David had such a good eye. It was really the thing that drew us
together, our shared good taste. I suppose it was the same person who
went into poor Miss Vernon’s room.”
“That’s our assumption,” Leigh said. She leaned forward.
“Lawrence, I have to ask you something now and I want you to really
think about it before you answer. Jack and I are just as eager as you to
find out who attacked you, actually even more so if the truth were known,
because of certain things we know that you’re not privy to, but despite
that, or maybe even because of that, we, I mean not only Jack and I but
you too, have to be extremely careful not to leap to any conclusions or

Johnson  156
make any accusations without being absolutely sure of what we’re saying.
Are you with me?”
She peered at Finch.
“Is that the question?” he asked timidly.
“No, I haven’t asked it yet.”
“Oh. Good.”
“No, the question is—”
“Leigh,” Jack cautioned.
“Jack, we have to get to the bottom of this—before someone else
gets hurt.” She turned her attention back to Finch, who sat staring wide–
eyed. “The question is this: Is it possible that Cynthia Greeley was the
person in your room, that she was your attacker? Is it possible that what
you thought must be a man was actually a large woman with short–
cropped hair, one who waited craftily behind your door, interrupted in
God–knows–what felonious activity, and then struck you with all her
strength, leaving you for dead in a pool of your own precious bodily
fluids!?!”
“No.”
“Now take your time,” Leigh continued hurriedly, not even hearing
Finch’s response. “A rush to judgment is to be avoided at all costs.”
“He said ‘no’, Leigh.”
“Jack, just let him answer.”
“Leigh, he did.”
Leigh looked at Finch for confirmation.
“What did you say?”
“No. It is not possible that Miss Greeley was the person who
assaulted me.”
“But Lawrence, you said yourself that you didn’t get a good look
at your attacker, and I realize that your injury was very painful but that
doesn’t mean that a woman couldn’t have inflicted it. Cynthia might
easily be an honors graduate of one of those women’s self–defense
programs.”
“But she couldn’t have done it. She passed me on the stairs as I
was going up.”
Leigh slumped back in her chair in dismay, her mouth open.
“She did?” she said finally.
“Yes, as I was going up. We exchanged pleasantries. I was
gratified to see that she had abandoned her entirely misdirected anger over
her discovery of Miss Vernon’s unsavory past.”
“Is it possible that she turned and followed you?”

Scavenger Hunt  157
“Oh, come on, Leigh,” Jack said. “Why would she do that?”
“For the very reason Lawrence said. You saw how angry she was
at him last night. The pleasantries might easily have been a cover.”
“Perhaps,” Finch said. “But I heard her go all the way down the
stairs and open the front door just as I was going into my room. It
wouldn’t have been physically possible for her to be my attacker. No,
whoever it was, it wasn’t Miss Greeley.”
“I simply can’t understand it,” Leigh said when they had closed the
door to the master bedroom suite behind them. “She was the only one
who could have done all three. Unless . . .” She paused and looked
sharply at Jack. “But no, that simply couldn’t be.”
“Oliver? Is that who you were about to suggest?”
“Don’t be silly. But you have to admit there was no love lost
between Caroline and either you or Skip and either of you could have been
responsible for all three incidents. As much as it pains me to do it, sound
analysis requires me to consider all possibilities with an objective mind.
After all, as Sherlock Holmes said, when all other possibilities have been
eliminated, whatever remains, no matter how improbable—”
“Yes, we’ve been through that,” Jack interrupted. “But he also
should have pointed out that its highly improbable that wives who accuse
their husbands of heinous crimes will long remain married.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything. I’m merely considering all the
possibilities. Besides, I’m not married to Skip, and although through all
the years I’ve known him he has always seemed to be among the gentlest
of souls and although his wife is a dear friend of mine, one can’t say
categorically that he might not have done these things.”
“But he was with me when Lawrence was attacked and for that
matter during the scavenger hunt, even after my team broke up.”
“Well, there is that.”
“Maybe you need to change your mode of analysis, starting with
an acceptance of the police’s entirely reasonable conclusion that
Caroline’s death was an accident and moving along to the concomitant
conclusion that our problem is not that we have a murderer in our house—
however disappointing that may be to some—but that we have a thief or at
least a snoop.”
“Jack, I simply don’t understand how you ever failed freshman
English. ‘Concomitant conclusion’. That’s excellent. You should have
been a lawyer. And not only that, I think you’re right.”
“Well, thank goodness.”

Johnson  158
“The person who murdered Caroline must not be responsible for
all three incidents.”
“But that knocks your whole theory into a cocked hat.”
Leigh paced the room, brow knit with concentration—then
suddenly whirled.
“That’s it!” she exclaimed. “Jack, you’re brilliant.”
“Not that I’m arguing, but—”
“Now that I see it, it’s obvious. The attack on Lawrence didn’t fit
into my analysis because it didn’t occur. You heard him. He didn’t
actually see anyone. And for all his carrying on, his injury was nothing
more than a nosebleed.”
“Yes, but it was real. Are you saying he just made up the rest of
it? You said there were signs of a struggle.”
“He didn’t make anything up, not in his mind anyway. It was what
you said about my theory being knocked into a cocked hat that made me
think of it. The only sign of a struggle was the clothes tree lying on the
floor. Well, think about that. There was a jacket and a hat hanging on it
and it stands in the corner by the door. What if Lawrence came in and in
opening the door knocked the clothes tree over? They can be very
unstable, particularly when there are clothes on them. Turning at the
sound of its falling, he catches sight of what he thinks is a person but
which is actually only the clothes tree before he feels a blow to his face—
the clothes tree falling right into him. Thinking he’s been attacked and
being a very high–strung individual, he goes into hysterics.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You have to admit it’s possible.”
“I don’t have to admit any such thing.”
“Well, that doesn’t change the facts.”
“What facts? You’ve made the whole thing up to fit your crazy
theories.”
“Jack, if you can’t discuss things without resorting to verbal abuse,
we simply won’t discuss them.”
“Verbal abuse! What verbal abuse?”
“I’m certainly not going to repeat it. You know what you said.”
“I didn’t say anything about you.”
“You said something about my theories and that’s the same thing.
And I also think that if you for some pathetic reason feel the need to insult
me, you could at least have the decency to do so without slurring those
unfortunate enough to be victims of mental illness.”
Jack rolled his eyes then sighed.

Scavenger Hunt  159
“All right, all right, I’m sorry.”
“And I accept your apology—not only for myself but on the behalf
of all the millions wronged by your insensitivity. Now then, before our
conversation disintegrated into mud–slinging, I had hit upon an
explanation for the failure of my previous analysis to accommodate the
known facts, that being that the facts must be wrong. You scoffed—but
think about it. You know it’s perfectly possible that Lawrence blew the
whole incident out of proportion. And the fact of the matter is the
supposed assault on Lawrence does not fit the pattern of the other two
incidents—if we can call murder most foul an incident—in that it did not
involve Caroline. I therefore propose to put aside the questionable third
incident and look afresh at the other two on the entirely reasonable
assumption that the two are connected. So. Who could have perpetrated
the two incidents in question?”
“Leigh—” Jack began.
“Well, for one: Cynthia. I tell you, Jack, I don’t know why she
wasn’t Lawrence’s attacker—not that I believe it actually happened—but
where there’s that much smoke there must be fire.”
“Perhaps,” Jack said. “But I have a question. If Cynthia wanted to
go into Caroline’s room, why would she use the hall door? Why not use
the door from her room? There’s no lock. Why risk having someone see
her by going in through the hall?”
Leigh opened her mouth to retort but then snapped it shut.
Encouraged, Jack continued.
“Maybe it’s time to switch off of Cynthia,” he said tentatively. “I
mean she wasn’t the person in Finch’s room and it doesn’t seem likely that
she was Caroline’s intruder either.”
Leigh stared.
“I’m not saying you were wrong to consider her—” he continued,
but Leigh raised her hand to shush him and closed her eyes in
concentration.
“You’re right,” she said. “Absolutely right. I should have seen it.
Now let me think.”
Her eyes opened.
“OK. Cynthia’s out—for now at least. That leaves Christian,
Abby, or Lawrence—excluding of course, you and Skip. Now, that’s
interesting: Christian.”
“Why so?”
“Well, when I accused Cynthia of being Caroline’s lover she tried
to throw me off by saying Christian was Caroline’s lover.”

Johnson  160
“Christian and Caroline?”
“Yup.”
“You know, Caroline must have had some qualities that were lost
on me.”
“And that’s not all Cynthia said. According to her, Christian had
tried to end the relationship because he was afraid Abby would cut him off
and Caroline had threatened to tell Abby all about it.”
“Now that sounds like the Caroline I know.”
“At the time, I dismissed what Cynthia said as a desperate attempt
to elude the noose I was inexorably tightening around her neck, but now I
wonder. What if it was true? What if Caroline had threatened to tell
Abby? That might be enough to push Christian to murder.”
“Or at least cross her off his Christmas card list. But why would
he go in her room?”
“Maybe because she had proof, a letter or something, and he was
trying to get it back.”
“And she brought it here?”
“Cynthia said Caroline and Christian had quarreled just recently.
Perhaps Caroline had threatened to use this weekend to spill the beans. I
may know more after I’ve had a chance to search Caroline’s room
thoroughly.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll speak more clearly.” She spoke in a loud clear
voice as if Jack were in a rocking chair with an ear trumpet stuck in his
ear: “I MAY KNOW MORE AFTER I’VE HAD A CHANCE TO
SEARCH CAROLINE’S ROOM THOROUGHLY.”
“It’s not Caroline’s room. It’s Alan’s room.”
“Yes, and fortunately he’s gone for a drive.”
“Leigh, you can’t keep searching our guests’ rooms.”
“As hostess, I clearly have the right—the obligation even—to
inspect my guests’ quarters to ensure that they are satisfactory.”
“And their possessions?”
“Hopefully that won’t be necessary.”
They exchanged a long look.
“You know what, Leigh?” Jack finally said. “You go ahead. But
before you do, do me one favor.”
“Nothing would please me more, dear one.”
“Under your analysis, and assuming that Lawrence wasn’t
completely out to lunch when he said he was attacked, who could have
been responsible for the two room intrusions?”

Scavenger Hunt  161
“The two room intrusions?”
“Yes, incidents one and three as you might put it.”
She contemplated the question.
“Why, Dr. Proveaux, Chip, and his cousin Brian—and you and
Skip, of course. Why do you want to know?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. Because I don’t think Caroline was murdered
but I do think there’s a good chance someone was in both Caroline’s and
Lawrence’s rooms—and I think I better try to find out who it was.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN
Acting like the thief Jack believed was afoot, Leigh listened
carefully to make sure no one was about before cautiously opening the
door to Alan’s room, stepping inside and closing the door silently behind
her. Alan was still on his drive and Cynthia was out at the duck pond so
Leigh was relatively comfortable that she could accomplish her mission
undetected, but she was nervous nonetheless. Peering out the eastern
window, she checked to make sure the pond was visible. It was. She
could see Cynthia standing at the pond’s edge.
With a sudden premonition, she whirled to stare out the front
window at the portico balcony, sure she had felt eyes upon her—but the
balcony was empty. Cool it, Leigh, she told herself.
It was time to search. But where? She had already searched
Caroline’s and Alan’s things and found nothing. But perhaps that was
exactly the problem. She had searched the obvious places. If Caroline
was threatening to show Abby some artifact of the relationship between
Caroline and Christian and had brought it with her, she might well have
suspected that Christian would try to retrieve it and go to some lengths to
hide it. And certainly her actions in marking the door and her statements
at the breakfast table indicated that she had anticipated precisely such an
attempt.
So where? She looked around the room. In a wall or under a
floorboard would be best of course, but hardly practical in a house as
well–maintained as this one. And she couldn’t believe that Caroline
would go to that much trouble. It wasn’t the Hope Diamond she was
hiding, after all.
That basically left the furniture. But she had already searched that
too.
And then she spotted Caroline’s purse—and the light went on.
Four minutes later she was sure there was nothing hidden in the
secretary. She had removed the drawers and looked inside, gotten down
on her hands and knees to peer underneath it, and pulled it from the wall to
examine its back panel. There was nothing there.
Pausing to confirm that Cynthia was still at the pond, she focused
on the kas. In contrast to the desk, the kas was relatively simple. Two

Scavenger Hunt  163
doors of painted tulipwood opened to reveal a space for clothes to be
hung—originally from brass hooks but now also from a wooden rod
installed at some later date—and below that a pair of stacked drawers.
She peered behind it. Unsurprisingly given the effort that would
be required to move the piece, there was nothing there. Dropping to her
hands and knees again, she peered underneath. Aside from a few dust
mice—she’d have to talk to the cleaning service about that—there was
nothing. Perhaps the top. She carried the ladder–back chair—she’d
already checked it—from the secretary to the wardrobe and stood on its
seat. No way to treat a precious antique of course but sleuthing had its
exigencies that must be met. Even more dust—well, if nothing else, she
was learning about the inadequacies of her current cleaners—but that was
all.
Next stop was the drawers. She removed each in turn and peered
at their bottoms, backs and sides as well as the cavity into which they slid.
Nothing.
She stood back in puzzlement—and then had a notion. Sticking
her hand into the main cavity, she ran it along the back of the panels to
which the doors were hinged.
There was something stuck to the left panel.
Yesss!
She pushed aside the clothes and peered at what she had found.
Tape. Packing tape. Used to fasten something to the panel. Not a hidden
object, but a sure sign that one had existed. And judging from the
rectangular pattern of the tape, that object might easily have been a letter
or something of that sort.
Leigh honey, you truly are something, she thought.
Why thank you, she responded. I’ve often had the same thought
myself.
A rattle at the doorknob cut through the haze of self–congratulation
into which she was fast descending.
Alan!
Without pausing to rearrange the wardrobe she dashed for the door
to Cynthia’s room, opening it even as the hallway door swung open—
closing it behind her even as Alan stepped into the room.
Had he seen her?!?
She froze on the other side of the door, heart pounding.
“Cynthia?” Alan queried.
Steps approached. He knocked.
“Cynthia, is that you?”

Johnson  164
The doorknob turned and the door swung open—but Leigh was
already gone.
“Chip, have you seen Kendall?” Leigh asked.
Leigh was standing on the patio, her hand shielding her eyes from
the sun, her breathing, out of control a minute before, now measured. Chip
sat in the shade of an umbrella at one of the tables in sweat–soaked tennis
whites, an iced tea on the table before him. On the court, Brian and Dr.
Proveaux were engaged in a decidedly one–sided duel to the death.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. She came out of the house as I was
coming off the court. The last time I saw her she was over there speaking
with Cynthia. My guess is they went into the orchard.” He paused. “Nice
girl that Kendall.”
“Isn’t she, though?” Leigh said with enthusiasm. “And unattached.
You should get to know her better. You’re too good a catch to be a
bachelor. I wouldn’t want you to wake up one morning with an exotic
dancer in your bed and a ring on your finger.”
“You know there’s only one girl for me, Leigh,” he said lightly.
“Now that’s just silly, Chip.”
“Silly maybe, but true nonetheless.”
“Well, I think Kendall might be just the cure for that and I would
take it as a personal favor if you would at least spend some time with her.”
“Madam, your wish is my command—but I don’t expect you’ll get
rid of me that easily.”
It was cooler in the shade of the apple trees, their boughs already
heavy with swelling fruit. Leigh paused as her eyes adjusted to the gloom.
She didn’t see Kendall or Cynthia.
She moved forward, then paused again.
Voices, a short distance ahead. She headed toward the sound.
Paused again. The voices were clearer now. Women’s voices—edged in
acid.
Forward again and now she saw them, the conversation apparently
at an end as Cynthia strode away toward Leigh, her face a cloud of anger.
She pulled up in surprise when she noticed Leigh.
“Mrs. Hewitt!” Although the scowl had disappeared, her face had
turned a bright red.
“Hello, Cynthia.”
“Were you looking for me?” Cynthia said with a touch of
bitterness in her voice.

Scavenger Hunt  165
“No. I actually was looking for Kendall.”
“Oh,” Cynthia said. “She’s over there.” She gestured with her
head. “Well, I guess I’ll be moving along then,” she said after an
awkward pause.
“See you later,” Leigh said.
Kendall approached Leigh as Cynthia drew away.
“Hi, Leigh,” she said brightly. She gave no sign that her talk with
Cynthia was anything other than a pleasant chat beneath the bowers.
“Looking for me?”
Glancing over her shoulder to confirm that Cynthia was out of
earshot, Leigh said, “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’d like to speak with you
about something if I might—confidentially.”
“Of course,” Kendall said, her face serious. “What about?”
“Well I’m not sure where to start,” Leigh began. “It’s about
Caroline. Caroline and Christian. I’ve heard something, a rumor I guess
you’d call it, and I wondered whether you knew anything about it. Not
personally necessarily, but since your job requires you to be out and about
on the social circuit so much, it occurred to me that you might have heard
something.”
Leigh peered at Kendall with a look that pleaded in advance for
forgiveness for asking such questions.
After a further hesitation, Leigh plunged ahead.
“The question is this: have you heard anything about Caroline and
Christian having an affair? I mean, I know it seems like I’m being
incredibly nosy and I hate gossip, but I have my reasons for asking.
Important ones.”
“I know you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t, Leigh.” Kendall smiled
reassuringly. “The answer to your question is yes. I have. Quite a few
times, actually.”
“Do you think it was true?”
“I really have no way of knowing. I’d always assumed it was true,
I’d heard it so often.” She smiled ruefully. “Not a particularly nice thing
to do.”
“It’s only natural. But do you really think Christian would do that?
I mean, Abby is so devoted to him and Caroline doesn’t seem like
Christian’s type.”
“Apparently she had her appeal. As for Christian and Abby’s
relationship, I can only tell you that whether the rumors about him and
Caroline are true or not, he’s definitely a hitter.”

Johnson  166
“He hit on you?”
She nodded gravely.
“Several times. I started avoiding him, especially when Abby was
around. I was so afraid she’d notice.”
“He never hit on me,” Leigh said with a trace of dismay.
“You’re married, and obviously very happily so. Besides he can’t
afford to jeopardize his relationship with you, since you’re on his board.”
“So everybody knew about this affair between Caroline and
Christian?”
“It was pretty common knowledge. Apparently it started when
Caroline and he worked together on Dance in the Park. They were
discreet at first I suppose but after a while it just became obvious. People
would see them together in different places and things like that. At
parties, if Abby was there, everyone was always on edge wondering when
she was finally going to clue in. Caroline, in particular, became incredibly
brazen toward the end. It was almost as if she wanted Abby to know.”
“Do you think Abby suspected?”
“Personally, no. She would tell anybody who’d listen about how
wonderful Christian was, and how lucky she was that he chose her out of
all the women he could have had, and things like that. It was pretty sad to
tell you the truth, given what everybody knew—or thought they knew
anyway.”
“You said ‘toward the end’. What did you mean?”
“The word was that Christian was trying to break it off.”
“Do you know why?”
“Some said it was because he was afraid Abby would divorce him
if she found out and he’d lose out on the money he married her for. I
don’t know about that. It’s hard for me to imagine Abby letting Christian
go under any circumstances. She’s too in love with him. But that’s only
my opinion, of course—and it doesn’t mean Christian wasn’t afraid she
would.”
When Leigh didn’t follow up with another question, Kendall
asked, “Has something else happened?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just trying to follow up on some things.”
Kendall gazed at Leigh wonderingly, obviously torn between a
desire to know more and a reluctance to be pushy.
“Well, if I can help, let me know.”
“Thanks. I will. Heading back to the house?”
Muff, could we take a walk? I need to talk with you.”

Scavenger Hunt  167
Leigh had found Muffy getting some drinks for Paige and Oliver.
“Why sure, hon. Let me just give these to the kids.”
“What’s up?” Muffy asked as they made their way out the back
drive past the Van Eycks’ cottage.
“I need to make sure I have my head screwed on straight and
hoped you could help me do it.”
“Is it about Brian?”
“Brian?”
“Yes. Before Lawrence was attacked we were talking about your
discovery of his problems in St. Maarten and your fear that Caroline’s
death wasn’t accidental.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s been such a day. That seems
like ages ago.”
“It’s been some weekend.”
“Tell me about it. No, this isn’t about Brian. From what you told
me there is no way he could have killed Caroline. And although I still
have to decide whether to tell Chip about him or not, it’s Caroline’s death
that troubles me most. I still have this nagging feeling that there’s more
there than meets the eye.
“Jack thinks I’m letting my imagination run away with me, that
what we have is a thief or snoop and nothing more. That’s why I need to
make sure I’m thinking straight about this thing.”
She proceeded to fill Muffy in on all her investigations and
analysis since the, as she put it, ‘alleged’ attack on Lawrence—glossing
over her interim suspicions of Cynthia somewhat—while Muffy listened
gravely.
“So what it comes down to is this:” Leigh concluded, stopping and
facing Muffy, “does it make any sense to suspect that Christian killed
Caroline to prevent her from revealing their affair to Abby? I mean, I
know there are some weak spots . . .”
She looked at Muffy expectantly as her voice trailed off.
“Frankly, no,” Muffy said.
“No?”
“Well, there’s something you don’t know. Abby knew about
Christian’s affair with Caroline before Caroline died.”
“She did?”
“Yes. I know because she told me. Saturday morning. I went
looking for her to give her some time off from the kids and found her
crying. She wouldn’t tell me why at first, but then she finally did.

Johnson  168
Christian had spoken to her earlier. He told her it was finished between
Caroline and him but Caroline was upset and was going to tell Abby out of
spite. He wanted to tell her first.”
“How did she take it?”
“She was very upset. She idolizes him.”
“So Christian would have had no reason to kill Caroline at that
point,” Leigh said, thinking out loud.
“No.”
“At least not to prevent her from telling Abby,” Leigh continued.
“But he must have been very angry.”
“You would certainly think so.”
“Angry enough to kill her, do you suppose?”
“Maybe—but if he was going to kill her it would have made a lot
more sense to do it earlier, and avoid having to tell Abby.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Leigh said, her disappointment palpable.
“Sorry,” Muffy said.
“Oh, it’s not your fault. It’s mine—for being such a busybody and
letting my imagination run away with me.”
“You’re not a busybody, Leigh. Even if Caroline’s death was an
accident, there’s something going on around here.”
“Yes, there’s a snoop on the loose—just like Jack says.”
“Maybe so—but in addition, a woman who had a lot of enemies
died under fairly bizarre circumstances. When you take it all together, it’s
natural to wonder if her death wasn’t simply an accident.”
“Thanks, Muff. You’re a friend. But you know, I think maybe it’s
time for me to quit the sleuthing and get back to something I actually
know how to do or at least did once, which is being a good hostess. Over
the past few days I’ve managed to suspect almost everyone here of
murder, and every time I’ve been wrong. No sooner is one cleared than I
suspect another. And just now, when you shot down my Christian–is–the–
murderer theory for the fantasy that it was, do you know what my first
thought was?”
Muffy shook her head.
“My first thought was, then it must have been Abby, that Abby
must have killed Caroline in a jealous rage after Christian told her what
had been going on. Sweet, little Abby, who is one of the nicest people
you’d ever want to meet. But that doesn’t stop me, oh no. I tell you
Muffy, it’s like a disease. And it’s plain rude when you come right down
to it—something there is never any excuse for.”
Muffy frowned sympathetically.

Scavenger Hunt  169
“And even if Caroline was murdered,” Leigh continued, “the fact
is, it’s not my job to catch the murderer even if it did happen on our
property, and even if she was our guest and my friend. That’s a job for the
police. And if they don’t have a clue, that’s certainly not my fault. It’s
simply the way things are. People get away with murder all the time. It’s
simply not my problem.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes fixed
on the distant horizon, then said with enthusiastic resolve, “Come on,
Muff, let’s head back. I have guests to take care of.”

CHAPTER TWENTY
“Pssst.”
Paige and Oliver looked toward the shrubs that formed the border
between the croquet court and the garden, then wonderingly at each other.
“Pssst.”
Mallets in hand the children advanced warily toward the greenery,
stopping about ten feet from the lawn’s edge.
“Who is that?” Paige demanded.
“It’s Aunt Leigh, honey. Will you and Oliver come here, please?”
“Aunt Leigh?”
“Yes.” Leigh poked her face out from behind the branch of a
rhododendron and smiled brightly. “Will you come here please?”
“What are you doing in the bushes, Auntie Leigh?” Oliver said.
“Hiding?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Who from?” Paige asked.
“Well, nobody really.”
“Then why are you hiding?” Oliver asked.
“And why are you whispering?” Paige asked. “Is it a game?”
“Yes, it is. Wouldn’t you like to play?”
“We’re playing croquet,” Oliver said.
“Yes, I know, but wouldn’t you like to come talk to your Auntie
Leigh?”
“I want to play croquet,” Oliver declared. “And Mommy said we
weren’t supposed to go anywhere.”
“Where is your mommy?”
“She’s right over there,” Paige said. “Do you want to talk to her
too?”
“No, no. That’s all right. And I don’t really want you to go
anywhere, only to come here for a minute.”
“But why?” Paige asked.
Leigh flushed in frustration.
“Because I s—” she began heatedly but then finished sweetly, “—
certainly would appreciate it if you would.” She smiled again.
“OK,” Paige said.
“Yeah, OK,” Oliver echoed.

Scavenger Hunt  171
“Should we hide in the bushes too?” Paige asked.
“Yeah, should we hide in the bushes, too?” Oliver asked.
“No, that’s all right. Just walk around that way and into the
garden. Do you know where the fountain is?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“What is it you want to talk about, Auntie Leigh?” Paige asked.
“Yeah, what is it you want to talk about, Auntie Leigh?” Oliver
asked.
“I just want to ask you a few questions.” Leigh sat on the nearest
bench and took a hand of each of the children in her own as they faced
her. “But first I wanted to know whether you guys can keep a secret.”
“What kind of a secret?”
“Yeah, what kind of a secret?”
“A secret secret. About this little chat we’re going to have.”
“You don’t want us to tell anyone about it?” Paige asked.
“That’s right.”
“How come?”
“Yeah, how come?”
“Well, just because.”
“Oh,” Paige said, in a tone that suggested that she wasn’t sure that
Leigh’s response explained everything. “You mean even Mommy?”
“Yeah, do y—”
“Yes. Even Mommy,” Leigh interrupted with a soupçon of
impatience.
“But why?”
Leigh sighed.
“Because it would be embarrassing to your Auntie Leigh if people
found out about our conversation.”
“Why?”
“Yeah, wh—”
“Because it would. Now can we agree you won’t tell anyone I
spoke to you, even your mommy?”
Both children nodded solemnly.
“Good. Now, do you remember the other morning, when you went
out first thing with Mrs. Barstowe to look at the horses?”
“You mean Abby,” Paige declared. “She said we can call her that
and Mommy said it was OK, too.”
“Yes, that’s fine. Abby. So you remember?”

Johnson  172
They nodded.
“Is that all you did, look at the horses?”
“We fed them apples, too. We went and picked some and brought
them to them. Abby said it was OK as long as it wasn’t too many.”
“Yeah, and I picked a really big one and fed it to the horsie and he
munched it all up,” Oliver proclaimed stoutly.
“It wasn’t so big,” Paige said disparagingly.
“It was so. It was the biggest.”
“Was not.”
“Was so.”
“Was n—”
“Children, please. And Abby was with you the whole time?”
“Uh–huh.”
“Uh–huh.”
“You’re sure?”
“Uh–huh.”
“Uh–huh.”
“Absolutely positive?”
Heads bobbed vigorously.
“Uh–huh.”
“Uh–huh.”
“All right then,” Leigh said, releasing their hands and standing.
“That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Except when she went in to go to the bathroom,” Paige said.
“Yeah, except when she went to go potty,” Oliver said.
“Mrs. Hewitt.”
Leigh heard the voice but it didn’t immediately register.
“Mrs. Hewitt.”
She was sitting on the garden bench lost in thought. The children
had returned to their game.
“What?” she said, startled.
She turned to see Alan standing uncertainly a few feet away.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hewitt, but I saw you from my
window and there’s something I really think I should speak to you about.”
“Of course,” Leigh said gathering her wits. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit
distracted. Won’t you sit down?” She gestured at the bench.
“Yes. Maybe I will.”
He sat.
“What is it, Alan?”

Scavenger Hunt  173
“Well, I first noticed it this morning, or at least I thought I did but I
wasn’t sure. I thought it might just be my imagination.”
Leigh gazed at him expectantly, her mouth delicately ajar.
“Yes?” she prompted finally.
“Well, as I say, I first noticed it this morning after I got back from
breakfast, but I wasn’t completely sure.”
Leigh nodded encouragingly.
“Back?” she said.
“Yes, to our—I mean my—room.”
Leigh smiled sympathetically at the unspoken reference to
Caroline.
“Anyway, it seemed as if someone had been in my room.”
“While you were at breakfast?”
He nodded.
“Yes, but as I say, I wasn’t certain. There was nothing I could
concretely put my finger on, only a feeling. That’s why I wasn’t sure.
With Caroline’s death and all, I haven’t exactly been myself.”
“You’ve done wonderfully under very difficult circumstances.”
“Thank you. I’ve tried my best. But as I say, I wasn’t sure—until
this afternoon, that is.”
“This afternoon?” Leigh said weakly, mentally using chair and
whip to chase a blush back into its cage—to no avail.
“Yes, when I came back from my drive. Someone was in my
room.”
“You saw them?”
“Not exactly. Whoever it was ducked into Cynthia’s room when I
came in.”
“But if you didn’t see anyone, how can you be sure there was
someone there? As you say, you’ve been upset. Understandably so.”
“Because I saw the door shutting. And because the door to the
wardrobe was open.”
“Isn’t it possible you left it open?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh.”
“The thing of it is, apparently they found something. It appears
that something was taped to the inside of the cabinet. The tape was still
there.”
“But not something of yours.”
“No.”
“Caroline’s?”

Johnson  174
“I don’t know. I wondered if maybe you or Mr. Hewitt had
something taped there.”
“No. Something of Caroline’s seems most likely. Something she
hid there.”
“But what?”
“Jewelry perhaps. She seemed to be concerned about someone
going into your room since she marked the doors.”
“She didn’t have much jewelry of any value. Her engagement
ring, but she always wore that. And the pendant I bought her. But she
usually wore that too.”
“What about some personal papers? Letters or something like
that.”
“Why would she bring them here?” he said, his forehead wrinkling
in puzzlement.
“To give them to someone, maybe.”
“Who?’ he said, a trace of suspicion in his tone.
“I don’t know,” Leigh said hurriedly. “It was only a thought.”
“Oh.”
“So nothing of yours was taken?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear about it anyway, but I’m sure it won’t
happen again.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Oh. Well. Because I don’t see why it would. I mean, whoever it
was apparently found what they were looking for. You said so yourself.”
“You don’t think we should report it to the police?”
“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. I mean, if nothing of
yours was taken.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
“Lena, I’d like to speak with you if I might,” Leigh said.
They were standing in the dining room where Lena was setting the
table for dinner.
“Sure,” Lena said, setting down the stack of plates she’d been
distributing. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s just that it seems that someone may have
been in Alan Huffington’s room this morning.”
“Again?”
“Yes. While he was at breakfast.”
“After all he’s been through.”
“Yes, it’s terrible,” Leigh said with only a twinge of guilt. “And
I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”
“Of course.”
“The problem is, because we had a buffet breakfast this morning,
it’s hard to know who was where when. And as you know, I was done
early and left to go speak to your father about retrieving the tennis racket
Jack threw into the pond yesterday.”
“Jack takes his tennis so seriously.”
“Yes. What I was wondering was whether you could fill me in on
some of the comings and goings this morning after I left, particularly after
Alan came down. You did stay and serve, right?”
“Yes.”
“So what can you tell me?”
“You want to know who might have gone into Mr. Huffington’s
room while he was down here?”
“I guess that about sums it up.”
Lena considered the question.
“That’s hard to say. I mean, I can remember some people speaking
to him, but that doesn’t mean they were here the whole time he was.”
“Who, for example?”
“Well, Mrs. Taylor for one. And Dr. Proveaux. Cynthia Greeley
too, I think. But as I say, I can’t swear they were here the whole time Mr.
Huffington was. Dr. Proveaux was here for quite a while, though. That
man can eat.”
“Anyone else?”

Johnson  176
“Who spoke to Mr. Huffington?”
“Or who was here.”
“Well, Brian—I mean Mr. Driscoll.” She colored slightly.
“Was he here long?”
“Quite a while, yes.” She colored again.
“With Chip Dawson, I presume.”
“I didn’t see him come to think of it.”
Leigh paused as if in thought.
“Let’s see,” she said casually. “Who else? Oh, I know. What
about the Barstowes?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Barstowe?”
“Just in the interests of being thorough.”
“Yes, of course. Well, they were here for a time, but I can’t say
how long. Mrs. Barstowe isn’t much of an eater.”
They were silent. Then Lena said, “Leigh, there’s something else
you maybe should know. Maybe I should have told you before now, but I
didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“What is it?”
“You know the afternoon of the scavenger hunt?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure someone was in Mr. Huffington’s room that
afternoon too.”
“During the hunt?”
Lena nodded.
“I was in the parlor straightening up right after everyone left and I
heard what sounded like footsteps and furniture being moved overhead.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Leigh asked incredulously.
“Well, I just wasn’t sure. At first, I thought maybe it was Mr.
Finch in his room.”
“But his room is across the hall.”
Lena shrugged helplessly.
“That’s why I went upstairs to check. I mean, since Miss Vernon
said someone had been in their room I thought I better.”
Leigh nodded her agreement.
“And?”
“There was no one there. I knocked and when no one answered,
looked in, but it was empty.”
“Well, of course not,” Leigh said, unable to hide her frustration.
“He must have gone into Cynthia’s room.”

Scavenger Hunt  177
“I thought of that, so I went and knocked on the connecting door
and then looked in. There was no one there either, so I figured it must
have been my imagination.”
“Finch!” Leigh said. “It must have been him. There was no one
else in the house. That must be why he begged off on the hunt. Where
was he this morning while Alan was downstairs?”
Lena shook her head ruefully.
“I’m not sure. He definitely ate. But I don’t think it was Mr.
Finch on the afternoon of the scavenger hunt. When I went upstairs to
investigate, he was in his room. I asked if he’d heard anything and he’d
said no that he’d been making noise himself; that he’d moved the
wardrobe in his room to get a better look at its construction—and anyway,
it couldn’t have been him the second time.”
“Of course he was in his room. When you knocked on Cynthia’s
door he ran back across the ha—What do you mean? What second time?”
Lena winced.
“Well, I thought I heard someone up there later on, too. After Mr.
Finch had gone out.”
“It wasn’t Alan?”
“I don’t think so. He had gone looking for Miss Vernon.”
“Who could it have been then? Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. I heard the front door at one point and went to see
and while I was in the front hall a floorboard creaked upstairs.”
“But you didn’t check?”
“No. I didn’t bother.”
“I take it you didn’t see anyone else around, though.”
She shook her head.
“I was in the kitchen with Mrs. Lindstrom most of the time. But
you know who might have some idea? My mother. She sees quite a bit of
what goes on. She might have seen someone.”
Leigh had been knocking on the screen door for several minutes
trying to be heard over the blare of the television before Doris Van Eyck
finally shuffled out of the interior gloom.
“Hello, Doris,” Leigh said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hnnh,” Doris said.
“I was wondering if I might speak with you.”
“Kinda busy right now. Makin’ supper.”
“This won’t take but a minute.”

Johnson  178
“Don’t really have a minute. My man likes his supper on the table
six o’clock sharp.”
“Perhaps I can help.”
“Hnnh,” Doris said.
“Please,” Leigh said.
“I can’t be doin’ no entertaining,” Doris said warningly.
“No, of course not,” Leigh said, trying to envision what form
Doris’ entertaining might take had she the time for it.
“I gotta keep workin’.”
“That’s fine.”
“OK then.” She pushed the door open. “Kitchen’s back here,” she
said, having apparently lost sight of the fact that it was actually Leigh’s
house or perhaps imagining that, despite owning it, Leigh had never
actually been in it. Leigh had been of course—on at least two occasions
that she could remember, although one of them had been when they were
looking at the place before they bought it.
She remembered the kitchen distinctly. Homey, with venerable
though functional appliances, serviceable linoleum floors and counters, a
spacious double sink, and cheerful red and white gingham curtains
framing sun–filled windows. Looking at it that first time, she had
imagined herself hard at work in it, a bright apron around her waist and
kerchief on her head as she prepared a simple but delicious home–cooked
dinner for Jack—couscous crusted quail with warm goat cheese and five–
bean ragout, perhaps (Jack’s favorite dish at Simone’s)—while chocolate
chip cookies (not ones ordered from a bakery—the kind you had to slice
off the roll and cook yourself!) cooled on the counter for dessert.
This was no longer that kitchen. This kitchen was dirty and dark
with dingy gray and red check curtains framing windows through which a
feeble light made only modest headway. Dishes were piled high in a sink
filled with greasy water. An unidentifiable piece of meat frying in a pan
gave off a thick odor that made Leigh want to gag.
“Chicken fried steak,” Doris said as she stuck a large two pronged
fork into the meat and flipped it over. A cloud of greasy smoke enveloped
her then slowly dissipated.
“It certainly smells interesting,” Leigh said brightly.
“Can take it or leave it myself, but Hans loves it. Lena won’t go
near it of course, but then she hardly eats anything anyway.” She poked at
the meat again then cast a sidelong glance at Leigh. “What was it you was
wantin’ to talk to me about?”

Scavenger Hunt  179
“Oh. Well, nothing all that important actually. I was merely
curious to learn who might have been around the house Saturday
afternoon, and Lena suggested you might be able to help me out.”
Doris glanced at Leigh again. “Somethin’ happen?”
“No, not particularly.”
Doris stared at her blankly.
“Well, possibly.”
“Something to do with that Miss Vernon’s death?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
Doris waited for Leigh to continue. Leigh hesitated then with a
little sigh plunged ahead.
“It’s been suggested that someone has been going into the guests’
rooms and Lena said she thought she heard someone in one of them that
afternoon. She’s not sure, and even if it is true it’s probably completely
innocent, but as hostess I at least have to look into it.”
Doris stirred a pot of peas that sat steaming on a back burner.
“The fact is,” Leigh continued, “that almost everyone was out on
the scavenger hunt so it’s hard to understand who could have been
roaming around the house. So actually, I’m only looking to confirm that
you didn’t see anyone around.”
“Hnnh,” Doris said.
“You didn’t, did you? I know Alan Huffington came back to the
house and Lawrence Finch didn’t go on the hunt, but I mean anyone other
than that.”
“Alan Huffington is the dead lady’s fiancé?”
“Yes.”
“And Lawrence Finch is the scrawny one with the pinched face?”
“Well, yes, I guess you might say that.”
Doris gazed at the wall thoughtfully, fork poised in the air.
“Yup,” she said finally.
“Yup what?”
“Yup I saw them. Saw the fiancé go running into the house and
back out, into the barn and back out, then head off across the front
meadow. A while later saw the scrawny one come out with a walking
stick and head down the back drive. “
“But did you see anyone else?” Leigh persisted.
“Sure.”
“Who?”
“The handsome one with the mustache and the curly hair.”
“Brian Driscoll?”

Johnson  180
“Yup, Brian. That’s the one. Lena pointed him out to me.”
“You saw him? When?”
“Saturday afternoon. He was over by the tennis court.”
“After we all left?”
“After you all left.”
“What was he doing? Did he go into the house?”
“Couldn’t say. Got more to do than sit around watchin’ people
walkin’ around your property. I do all the housework here myself, you
know.”
“Brian,” Leigh said wonderingly, ignoring Doris’ last remark.
“Was that before or after Mr. Finch left?”
“Before the scrawny one went out, before the fiancé came back,
before the girl with the dog showed up. The mousy one.”
“Abby? The woman with the cocker spaniel?”
“Don’t know her name, but I guess it was one of them cocker
spaniels. She gave him water from the faucet by the paddock.”
“Did she go into the house?”
“Not that I saw, but like I said I can’t be sittin’ around all day
watchin’ the world go by. And besides bowling was on.” She paused,
then added, “Now, the other one I’m almost sure did.”
“The other one? The other one what?”
“The other woman,” Doris said.
“Which one?”
“The dumpy one what tries to look like a man.”
“Cynthia? She was here too?”
“Don’t know if that’s her name but if it is, that’s the one I mean.”
“Where was she?”
“Over by the patio. Lookin’ pretty sneaky too.”
“But you didn’t see her go in?”
“Can’t see the doorway even from the upstairs front bedroom so I
couldn’t say for sure, but if I was a bettin’ woman, which I’m not—them
lotteries are nothin’ but a ripoff and casinos the same thing—I’d say she
did.”
“And this was before or after the others?”
“Which others?”
“Brian, Alan and Abby.”
“Oh. After. Bowlin’ was just ending.”
“I see.”
“And before the good–lookin’ one showed up.”
“The good–lookin’ one?”

Scavenger Hunt  181
“Yeah. The blonde who looks like Jacqueline on Days of Desire.”
“Kendall?”
“Don’t know her name.”
“What was she doing?”
“Just hanging around as far as I could see although I couldn’t
spend much time watching her being as I have to do—”
“Yes, yes, I know. But where?”
“Over by the corner of the porch—then she disappeared around
front.”
“Anyone else?”
“Anyone else what?”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“Well, of course, eventually everyone started showing up—just as
wrestling was starting. JJ Kull versus Strik9 and Mordred versus Dirk
Danzig. I don’t like that JJ Kull. He fights dirty.”
“So that was it, then?”
“That was what?”
“You didn’t see anyone else?”
“Not until that nice Dr. Proveaux came to use the phone. He’s a
real gentleman, he is. Don’t put on airs like some. Said I should call him
Victor. And he likes wrestling too.”
“What time was that?”
“Well, the tag teams was on. Abominable Showmen versus The
Crush. Mordred had just nailed Harry Zeus, Jr. with a moonsault. In fact
they was showin’ the replays when the Doctor came in.”
“So that made it . . .?”
“Oh, maybe five–thirty.”
“And he came to use the phone?”
“Yup. Said he had to call his service—that’s the people what takes
his calls when his office is closed. And then he stayed to watch some
wrestling when he got done. Deathbed versus Pretty Boy Lloyd. I don’t
like Pretty Boy either—always struttin’ around like he’s God’s gift or
somethin’. Well, it’s all a big act anyway—but it does pass the time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO
“At last,” Jack said, turning from the window as Leigh entered the
bedroom. “I thought you’d never get here.”
“I told you I would be a while. I had to change the menu for
breakfast. Now what is it that you’re so eager to tell me about—and what
is that ridiculous outfit you’re wearing?”
“To answer your second question, it’s a smoking jacket with
cravat. All the best detectives wear them. To answer your first, I’ve
solved the mystery.”
“You don’t own a smoking jacket and your cravat bears a striking
resemblance to a certain Hermes scarf that usually resides in my top left
drawer—and just which mystery is that?”
“The only mystery,” he said loftily. “The mystery of who has been
snooping in our guests’ rooms. The mystery that is no more.”
“What’s a mystery to me is what makes you think that’s the only
mystery.”
“I’ll tell you what makes me think that’s the only mystery: simple
deductive reasoning applied to the known facts without regard to
emotionalism or flights of fancy.”
“I see.”
“And having correctly identified the mystery, I proceeded to solve
it using exactly the same technique.”
“I see.”
“Frankly, I’m a little astonished at how easy it was. Elementary,
you might even say. I think I may have found a calling.”
“That certainly would be nice after all these years, but I’m afraid
I’ll be calling an architect to design a new wing for your ego in a minute.”
“Ah. The green–eyed monster rears its ugly head. No matter. It is
always thus with genius. I’m sure the great Holmes himself experienced
the same thing.”
He picked up a Meerschaum pipe from the top of the dresser, took
a pinch of tobacco from a pouch lying next to it, and began to pack the
bowl.
“It is always thus with pompous creeps is more like it. Where on
earth did you get that?”

Scavenger Hunt  183
Jack shook his head in sham dismay. He took a stick match from
his jacket pocket and, lighting it with a casual flick of his thumb, held it to
the bowl and sucked vigorously on the stem, sending fat puffs of smoke
into the air.
“Now, now, my little kumquat,” he said, exhaling a great cloud of
smoke. “There’s no call for that kind of talk. I’m perfectly willing to
share the credit with you. After all, it was your own modest efforts at
sleuthing that inspired me to take a shot at it myself. As for the pipe, it
was in the trunk we got from my grandmother when Grandfather died. I
think it fits me, don’t you?”
“I’m thinking a strait jacket would fit you even better,” Leigh said
grimly. “What is it you think you’ve learned?”
“Right to the point, eh? Well, I appreciate your eagerness, but I
think it would be better to begin at the beginning.”
“Perhaps I had better sit down,” Leigh said, moving to her dressing
table chair.
“If it will aid with your concentration, by all means. Now then.
We start with the fact that we have had two reported intrusions. The one
into Caroline and Alan’s room on Saturday morning, and the one into
Lawrence’s room yesterday.”
“But—”
“Leigh, please don’t interrupt. In the case of the former, it was
reported that nothing had been taken. A question immediately came to
mind: was the same true of the latter?
“To answer that, I spoke to the victim himself and asked him to
check whether anything had been stolen. After due investigation, the
report came back: no. There were signs that things had been disturbed
but nothing was taken. He assured me that if something had been he
would know and I believe him. To suggest that nothing escapes his
attention is to engage in gross understatement.
“You should have heard him. Every piece he owns had to be
described in excruciating detail and in relation to its proper historical
setting and when he was finished with his things he moved on to ours,
having apparently decided that I needed educating about the furnishings in
my own house. The empyrean—not blue or even sky blue, mind you, but
empyrean—drapes in his room, the Hampson clock in the downstairs hall,
the George Dixes pier glass in the parlor, the Louis something–or–other
something–or–other somewhere else. By the time he was done I was
ready to attack him myself.

Johnson  184
“However, when the dust settled, the suggestion was clear:
although the intruder had been interrupted, he had passed over numerous
valuables in his search. He was not a thief, but a snoop—not someone
driven by economic distress, but rather by a perverted need to pry into the
affairs of others.
“Having established a likely motive, I next turned to the question
of who our snoop might be, which is to say, who might be responsible for
these despicable acts.”
“Jack, is there any chance we could speed up this fascinating
presentation, perhaps by skipping the ham–handed analysis and overblown
rhetoric?”
“Patience, my little beanpod, patience. Now, where was I?”
“Using simple deductive reasoning untainted by emotionalism to
determine who the ‘pervert’ who committed these ‘despicable acts’ might
be.”
“Ah, yes. Exactly. The question was, who could our pervert be?
You will recall that we had already established—and I must credit you
with that analysis—that only three people had the opportunity to commit
both acts: Chip Dawson, Brian Driscoll and Victor Proveaux. You had
also reported that those first on the scene when Lawrence staggered
downstairs after the vicious and cowardly attack on his person were
Kendall, Lena, Dr. Proveaux and Cynthia Greeley. It stood to reason that
they were the ones in the best position to possess information that could
lead us to Finch’s attacker. I decided to talk to Kendall.”
“Picking one at random, I suppose.”
“Not at all, although despite your less–than–subtle imputation of
my motives, the considerations that led me to this decision were entirely
objective: she was upstairs at the time of the attack and thus closest to the
scene of the crime. The fact that she is beautiful and charming and has the
good taste to admire my many positive qualities had nothing to do with it.
I would have spoken to you under the same circumstances.”
“Jack, dear,” Leigh purred, “does the name Bobbitt have any
significance to you?”
“That martyr to the cause of abused males everywhere? I should
say he does.”
“Yes, well at the rate you’re going you could soon be making a
contribution to the cause yourself.”
“Now, now, my little seamstress, let’s keep those sadistic
tendencies under control. I was only teasing. So, where was I? Oh, yes.
Kendall. I found her in the kitchen eating her lunch. She had some

Scavenger Hunt  185
interesting facts to relate. Although she saw nothing, those delicate ears
may perhaps have been witness to the crime. She said that she was resting
in her room when she heard a thud in Lawrence’s room as if something
had fallen. A few seconds later she heard what might have been footsteps
in the hall moving quickly past her door from the direction of Larry’s
room. She said in fact that it occurred to her that Lawrence may have
spilled something and was running to the bathroom at the head of the
stairs for a towel or the like. She decided to see if she could be of
assistance and began making herself presentable but before she could
finish, Lawrence cried out from the bottom of the stairs. At that point she
ran out onto the landing, where you saw her.
“I next spoke to Lena.”
“You seem to have a penchant for interviewing attractive women.”
“No sacrifice is too great in the pursuit of justice. Anyway, what
she had to say was even more fascinating. It seems that both the
Chipmeister and Brian were in the kitchen before the attack on Lawrence.
They had come in, dressed in their whites, to get ice water to take to the
tennis court. Lena filled a pitcher for them but before they could go,
Dawson said he had forgotten something in his room and went up the back
stairs to retrieve it. He urged Brian not to wait for him and said he’d see
him on the court, but Brian remained in the kitchen with Lena for several
minutes anyway—I get the impression there’s perhaps some animal
magnetism at work there—finally going outside less than a minute before
Lawrence started his caterwauling.
“Several thoughts presented themselves to me immediately upon
hearing Lena’s tale. One, if Lena is correct about the timing of Brian’s
departure, it is highly unlikely that he was Lawrence’s assailant—a
conclusion supported by the absence of thefts in connection with the
intrusions. It’s hard to believe that a man of Driscoll’s character in his
financial situation would resist such an opportunity.
“Second, the opposite can be said of Dawson. He disappeared
under the pretense of fetching something, but was gone for several
minutes, much longer than it would take to go to his room and return, and
was upstairs when the attack occurred. The footsteps Kendall overheard
might well have been Dawson heading back to his room after assaulting
Finch. Note too, that although he was upstairs, Dawson did not respond to
Lawrence’s cries.”
“Jack, that is absolutely ridiculous. First of all, Chip wouldn’t
assault anyone.”

Johnson  186
“Ha! Having been subject to an assault of an extremely vicious—
and I might add blatantly Freudian-nature on the tennis court in full view
of numerous witnesses I can only guess at the violence the man is capable
of. It’s always the quiet ones, you know.”
“Second, why would Chip go into peoples’ rooms? Clearly, not
for money.”
“I think I made it abundantly clear that money was not the motive.
As to the dark impulses that might motivate him I can only guess, but I
would point out that your own researches have revealed the criminality
that runs in his family. Blood will out, after all.”
“Jack, you have allowed your childish jealousy of Chip to lead you
to sully the name of one of the kindest, gentlest, most—”
“—covetous—” Jack interjected.
“—generous men I know. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Sadly, I anticipated this reaction on your part and for that reason
among others I did not stop my investigation with Lena, although the
writing was clearly on the wall. Instead, I approached the remaining
candidate for our intruder, Dr. Proveaux, who as it happens was the only
one of the three to immediately appear on the scene. And let me assure
you that although I approached Proveaux as if he were above suspicion to
put him at his ease, I did not consider him such despite the overwhelming
evidence pointing at Chip Dawson. My mind was open.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“Sarcasm ill becomes you, my little crumbcake. In any event,
what the good doctor had to say was illuminating if not earthshattering.
He said that he had been in his room mixing an herbal preparation for
Abby when Lawrence cried out; that he had been in there for some time, at
least fifteen minutes by his estimation, the preparation being a fairly
complex one; that he had heard Brian and Lena talking in the kitchen, thus
confirming Lena’s account and lending further credibility to his own; that
he had heard no noise from upstairs. I found him completely believable.
The bottom line? The Chipster is our man. Driven by some unholy
compulsion, he has been searching our guests’ rooms.”
He stared expectantly at Leigh.
“Why on earth was Proveaux mixing a preparation for Abby? Is
she his patient now?” Leigh asked.
“Well, that’s interesting. It seems that Abby has had a lifelong
phobia about bees and wasps that Caroline’s death has brought to full
flower. He was preparing a mixture designed to, as he put it, ‘soothe the
fearful child within her’.”

Scavenger Hunt  187
“Hmm,” Leigh said.
“Hmm, what?”
“It wasn’t Abby then.”
“Abby? Of course it wasn’t Abby. You said yourself it could only
be Proveaux, Driscoll or Dawson. And Dawson is our man.”
Leigh gazed into the distance, lost in thought.
“A Louis something or other, he said? Louis the Fourteenth?”
“Who? Finch? Yes—but no, something French.”
“Louis Quatorze?”
“That’s possible.”
“A Louis Quatorze secretary?”
“No, I don’t think so. It was something weird. I didn’t ask what
he was talking about. I didn’t want to encourage him. Something French
probably.”
Leigh frowned—then smiled with grim satisfaction.
“How about escritoire? A Louis Quatorze escritoire.”
“That could be it. But what difference does it make? That’s not
the point.”
“But it is. There’s no Louis Quatorze escritoire in his room or any
of the public rooms.”
“He didn’t say there was. Christ, I think he must have mentioned
every piece of furniture in the house. He was trying to explain the
different styles to me.”
Leigh nodded slowly to herself as if confirming her own thoughts.
“Now, that’s interesting. I’m going to have to have a talk with Mr.
Finch first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But what about lover boy?” Jack demanded.
“What about him?”
“He did it.”
“Oh Jack, don’t be ridiculous. Take off that silly robe and scarf
and come to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–THREE
“Thank you so much for coming,” Leigh said as Lawrence Finch
entered the parlor the next morning. Leigh had asked Finch if he would be
willing to consult with her on some decorating ideas for Greenfield.
“I’m delighted to be of assistance in any way that I can, of course,”
Finch said.
“Let’s close the door, shall we?”
“Why certainly.” He did.
“We can sit here,” Leigh said, indicating the settee. “There’s hot
coffee on the table.”
“Now then,” Finch said once they were settled. “How can I help?
And may I say again before we begin that I think you have done a
wonderful job here with this place, given the absence of any formal
training. Indeed, I believe that many of my so–called peers in the
profession would have difficulty producing such condign results.”
“Why, thank you, Lawrence. Coming from you that is indeed a
compliment.”
Finch smiled and shrugged delicately in acknowledgement of the
obvious truth of her statement.
“And I also want to thank you for placing the lamp you brought.
The Pembroke is a perfect setting.” She directed her gaze to the Pembroke
table between the windows.
“I thought so. A piece as sublime as the Handel requires a setting
that shows it off. Placed there it catches the natural light from the
windows while the pier glass behind it permits the viewer a multi–
dimensional, almost Cubist, appreciation of its artistry.”
“I couldn’t find the vase that was there before, though. What did
you do with it?”
“The Ming? I put it in the hall closet. Ming is so overdone, a
woman of your discrimination should really avoid it.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you.”
She gave her best imitation of a smile then continued.
“I’m not sure how to begin. It’s simply this sense I have that
things aren’t quite right, that they don’t hang together the way they should.
I wonder if perhaps I’ve been too eclectic.”

Scavenger Hunt  189
“There are dangers in eclecticism to be sure, but on the other hand
nothing reveals a paucity of creative imagination more than a narrow
adherence to a particular style or period. And imagination and creativity
are after all what interior design is all about.”
“So you think that what I’ve done is all right?”
“Oh, I’m not saying there couldn’t be improvements here and
there—there could be of course. A gesture here that is a bit rough, an
accent there that perhaps counters rather than augments the mood. But
overall I think it’s marvelous and some pieces are quite spectacular.”
“But you haven’t seen the whole house.”
“Well no. I haven’t had the pleasure. But what I have seen gives
me confidence that good taste prevails throughout.”
“But what about anachronistic pieces?”
“Personally, I consider the so–called sin of anachronism to be a
bugaboo of narrow minds. Homes are living organisms not museums.
And even where one properly looks to evoke the historicity of the home in
decorating it, it is inevitable that pieces that reflect changed technologies
and living patterns will be incorporated. This is of course particularly true
in the case of bathrooms and kitchens.”
“But what about other rooms, and pieces that are not a reflection of
changed technologies? For example, I have a Louis Quatorze escritoire in
one of the guest rooms despite the fact that the original structure of
Greenfield dates from the 1780s and the Louis the Fourteenth revival
occurred a century later. I could just as easily have gotten a desk
contemporaneous with the house, but I simply fell in love with that one.”
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Indeed, to adhere
strictly to the construction date in furnishing a historic home would in my
view be to commit to an unforgivably wrongheaded and decidedly
unhistorical approach. The Handel lamp is a good example. Perfect for
the house, yet early twentieth century in origin.”
“So you think the escritoire is all right?”
“I think that escritoire is fine. And by the way it is an exquisite
piece. The detailing is marvelous. A François Linke, no?”
“So you have seen it?”
“Yes, and I think it’s perfectly appropriate.”
“Oh, good. I didn’t know you’d gotten a chance to see that room.”
“Oh. Which room was that?”
“Caroline and Alan’s.”
“Oh yes. The one across the hall. I probably saw it through the
open door.”

Johnson  190
“You have a good eye.”
“Natural aptitude and years of study have I think given me one of
the best.”
“The secretary is on the wall behind the door.”
“It is?”
“Uh–huh,” Leigh said, gazing at him deadpan.
“That’s odd,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
He ran his fingers through his hair as if struggling to remember,
then suddenly raised his head and snapped his fingers.
“I have it,” he said, then added, “It’s a little embarrassing
actually.” He smiled ruefully. “I saw it through the window. I was out on
the portico balcony getting some air and I happened to look into that front
room. I know you warned us about that and I should have kept my eyes
averted but I didn’t. Fortunately, no one was in the middle of dressing.”
“And you could tell it was a François Linke from there?”
“Well, as I say, years of experience . . .” He shrugged modestly.
“That is impressive. There’s only one problem: you can’t see it
from the window either.”
“That’s strange,” he said falteringly.
“Yes,” Leigh said. Her eyes were locked on his.
“I wonder when I saw it. Maybe I’m thinking of some other
piece.”
Leigh stared.
“I guess that’s not likely,” he said lamely.
Leigh slowly shook her head.
“No, it isn’t. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”
“I’m just not sure.”
“Not sure what to tell me, you mean.”
“I can’t think.”
“You were in their room.”
“I may have been, I’m just not sure.”
“There’s no may about it. What did you find?”
“Find?”
“Yes. You found something, something that contained secrets
about Caroline, secrets that you revealed at dinner the next night. Secrets
Caroline had kept so hidden that even her lifelong friend Cynthia was
unaware of them. What was it? A diary? A packet of letters? Did you
see her hide it in the kas?”
“I—”

Scavenger Hunt  191
“You did, didn’t you? You were out on the portico balcony and
saw her hide it, then went into her room to see what it might be, hoping no
doubt that it would be something you could use to hurt someone you
despised.”
“But Vernon herself said nothing was taken,” Finch spluttered.
“Yes, she did. And she was right. You didn’t take it then—that
was too risky. But you went back during the scavenger hunt when every
one else was gone. That’s why you didn’t want to participate, not because
of any supposed delicate constitution.”
“That’s not true. I wanted to place your gift. After that, I never
left my room.”
“Another lie. Lena heard someone up there shortly after we had all
left. And later she saw you leave. Where were you going? To find
Caroline? To tell her what you knew?”
“No! I had no reason to think she would be alone.”
“Sure, you did—once Alan came back looking for her. I’ll bet he
asked if you’d seen her.”
“But I—”
“So what happened? Did you find her? Did you see her fight with
Cynthia? Did you see Cynthia push her into the ravine and leave her for
dead?”
“No. I—”
“That must have been some moment—to realize that the woman
you hated had been destroyed once and for all, that the exposé you had
planned was no longer necessary. I can see you now, standing in triumph
on the ravine’s edge after Cynthia had fled, looking down on your fallen
foe, crushed and seemingly lifeless below.” Leigh paused then continued
in a softer voice. “But then something happened. She moved perhaps,
something that made you realize that she wasn’t dead after all, that like
some hideous nightmare creature, she was coming back to life, that she
would be free to practice her evil once more. It was more than you could
stand, wasn’t it? To have victory snatched from your jaws. But then an
idea occurred to you: maybe it didn’t have to be. You knew about her
allergies. Maybe you could take advantage of her helplessness to do the
job right. How did you do it, Lawrence? How did you get the bees to
sting her?”
“Leigh, please believe me—”
“Believe you? You’ve done nothing but tell lie after lie.”
“I know. I know. But please believe me now. I didn’t kill
Caroline. I never even found her.”

Johnson  192
“So you admit you went looking for her.”
“Yes. I wanted her to know I knew every sordid detail of her
miserable life. To threaten her with an exposure that would ruin her.”
“And how had you come by those details?”
Finch took a deep breath.
“It was like you said. I was on the balcony and saw her hide
something in the kas. It was an accident though. I hadn’t intended to spy.
But then I began to wonder what it might have been. And the next
morning when I realized that Alan and Caroline were in the bathroom
together, my curiosity overcame me. I snuck into their room and looked at
what she had hidden. It was a diary. I glanced at it quickly and then put it
back. I had never intended anything other than to satisfy my curiosity and
now that I had I was terrified I would be discovered. When I made it back
to my room safely, I thanked God and swore I would never do anything
like that again.
“But then I began to think about what the diary might contain. I
had seen enough to know that Caroline’s background was a scandalous
one. I began thinking about how she had treated poor David, and how
exposing the truth about her might somehow do him justice. And when
you announced the scavenger hunt I saw it as my chance to unearth more.
I begged off and waited for everyone to leave, retrieved the diary, and read
it in my room.
“It was better than I could ever have dreamed from the standpoint
of destroying her: a journal kept as part of her treatment at the Betty
Carter Institute in St. Louis that revealed a history of mental instability,
drug addiction and prostitution. I read it cover to cover—pausing only
when Alan knocked on my door to ask if I had seen her—and when I had
finished, hid it and went to find her. Even now, I’m not sure what I was
going to do. I only knew that I had her in the palm of my hand and
couldn’t wait to let her know it.
“But I didn’t find her. I wandered out the drive and back but never
saw her and eventually gave it up as a hopeless undertaking. By then, I
had calmed down enough to realize that there was no reason to rush, that I
would have plenty of opportunities to speak with her before the weekend
was out. In that I was wrong, needless to say.”
“So where is the diary now?”
“I put it back. Yesterday morning. I waited until everyone had
gone down to breakfast.”
“You put it in the kas?”
“Yes. Precisely where it was.”

Scavenger Hunt  193
“But it wasn’t there yesterday afternoon.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No.” She peered at Finch closely. “Lawrence, if you’re lying to
me . . .”
“Leigh, I’m not. I behaved badly, I know that. But I’m through
with lying now.”
“Where is it then?”
“I have no idea. Someone else must have taken it.”
“But who would do that?”
Finch shook his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe Alan found it.”
Leigh narrowed her eyes in concentration.
“Was there anything embarrassing to anyone else in the diary?
Anyone who is here this weekend?”
“Well, the diary doesn’t use names but no one leaps out at me.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t use names?”
“When she discusses other people she doesn’t name them, simply
refers to them as Miss X or Mr. Y. And although it didn’t use dates it
didn’t seem particularly current. There were some scandalous revelations
about her fellow patients, however.”
“Like what?”
“She talks about a drug addict from Sarasota, Florida who shot and
killed three people in a convenience store robbery, another man who’d
done time for child molestation.”
“My God.”
“Well, most of the others are less sensational. A teen–ager from
New York busted for pot, an alcoholic from Minnesota.”
“From Minnesota? A man or a woman?”
“A woman, I think. Yes, that’s right. From Minneapolis.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–FOUR
Leigh sat on the love seat in the master suite sitting room.
Through the lace curtains on the French doors she could see Dr. Proveaux
talking with Muffy on the patio. As she had hoped, Jack was out. She
needed to think—and think without distraction.
Her talks with Lena and Doris and Alan and Lawrence had
changed her analysis of the situation radically in several respects.
It was now clear that her prior ‘opportunity analyses’ had failed for
a very simple reason: there was more than one agent responsible for the
weekend’s events. Lawrence was one. But there was another. The person
Lena had heard in the room after Finch had left. The person Alan
suspected had been in his room during breakfast. The person who now
presumably had Caroline’s diary, the diary that may well have been the
motive for murder.
Leigh had her suspicions about who that second person was—
strong suspicions in fact—suspicions she wished she didn’t have. That
was why she needed time to think, before she made accusations that could
destroy the life of someone for whom she felt an almost sisterly affection.
Doris said she had seen three people at the house after Lawrence
left to go find Caroline during the scavenger hunt: Cynthia, Abby—and
Kendall.
And Kendall was upstairs at the time Lawrence was attacked.
‘Resting’ she had told Jack. Afterward she had been conspicuously
attentive to Lawrence, helping Dr. Proveaux and Lena as they ministered
to him then staying with him until Jack and Leigh arrived to speak with
him. Was that solicitude a cover for the fact that it was she who had
struck him? It was possible. Or maybe she wanted to be on hand when
Finch gathered his wits to make sure he hadn’t seen her.
But did she have the opportunity to take the diary the second time?
According to Lawrence, he had returned it right before breakfast. It was
gone when Leigh searched the room after lunch. Where had Kendall been
during that time? With Finch after he was attacked. Then in the kitchen
for lunch which was where Jack had spoken to her while Leigh was
searching Caroline and Alan’s room. She had been at breakfast. But she
was unaccounted for from breakfast until the attack on Finch, a period

Scavenger Hunt  195
during which Alan had been away from his room. She could easily have
slipped into Alan’s room then—before moving on to Finch’s.
And last but not least, Kendall had been in Jack’s group so she was
unaccounted for at the time of Caroline’s death. Was Kendall capable of
murder? Two hours ago Leigh would have said no, the idea was
preposterous. But what if Caroline had been threatening to reveal
Kendall’s past and destroy the new life she had built for herself, a life so
full of promise. Or blackmailing her even. Leigh suspected Caroline was
more than capable of either, particularly if she had been aware of
Christian’s pursuit of Kendall.
And although a ‘cured’ alcohol
dependency wasn’t the most shameful past one could have—less so in fact
than Caroline’s own history of prostitution and addiction—perhaps the
diary contained other more scandalous information about the woman from
Minnesota that Finch hadn’t reported.
Kendall. It was a terrible thought.
The phone was answered before it could ring a second time.
“Meyers,” a youthful, male voice said.
“Ricky? This is Leigh Hewitt.”
“Hey, Mrs. Hewitt. What’s happenin’?”
Eric “Ricky” Meyers was a twenty–six year old entrepreneur
whose stock in trade was information—information of the sort that could
be wrested from the bowels of information systems, including those not
eager to give up their secrets. He was, to use common parlance, a
“hacker”, one who had turned an uncanny knack for electronic prying into
a lucrative business, albeit one that sometimes strayed across the line into
illegality. After graduating from MIT at the age of nineteen he had spent
several years in Navy intelligence before deciding that there were more
profitable ways to use his talents. He had opened a consulting firm that
catered to deep pocket clients eager for information—from the supposedly
secure information systems of others. One of those clients, import/export
czar Ladislaw Dubcek, had recommended Meyers in connection with
Leigh’s investigation into the attempted pirating of Beatrice Crowther’s
estate by her nephew several years earlier.
Although Leigh liked Ricky—his unflagging good humor was
difficult to resist—she strongly disapproved of his business and
accordingly availed herself of his services only in cases of dire need—
which was to say several times over the last few years.
“Ricky, I need some information.”

Johnson  196
“Well, you’ve come to the right place: Ricky’s my name and
information’s my game.”
“Patient records from the Betty Carter Institute.”
“The one in St. Louis?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem. What do you need?”
She told him.
“How soon?” he asked when she had finished.
“How soon can you get it?”
“Rush rates?”
“Whatever.”
“Well, it’s ten–thirty now. Let’s say four.”
“Great. Take down this number.” She gave it to him. “If I don’t
answer, leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Don’t say what it’s
about though.”
“Righto.”
“Oh, and use an alias too.”
“Roger.”
“OK. That’s a good one.”
“Good one what?”
“A good alias.”
“No, I meant roger as in OK.”
“Oh. Well, it’s still a good one. I could possibly know someone
named Roger but in reality I don’t so there’s no chance of confusion.”
“Huh?”
“Just use Roger. And thanks, Ricky.”
“No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jack came into the bedroom as she hung up.
“Ricky who?” he asked, pulling a sweat soaked tennis shirt over
his head as he walked into the bathroom.
“Hang that up so it can dry, please,” Leigh said.
“I will,” Jack said. Water hissed as he turned on the shower.
Suddenly the water stopped and his head appeared in the doorway.
“Ricky who?” he repeated, his voice now edged in suspicion.
Leigh sat staring at him.
“Please tell me it wasn’t Ricky Meyers,” he said.
“All right. It wasn’t Ricky Meyers.”
“But you promised you wouldn’t call him again.”
“I did not.”

Scavenger Hunt  197
“You did so,” Jack said, his voice rising with exasperation. “After
the last time he stole information for you and the DA threatened to charge
you with conspiracy. You said you wouldn’t do it again.”
“That was a predictive statement of fact that turned out to be
incorrect, not a promise. I never said ‘I promise’.”
“And even if you had, you would no doubt have had your fingers
crossed behind your back and be arguing that as an excuse.”
“We’ll never know, will we.”
“Leigh, that guy is a crook. Don’t you understand that? What he
does is wrong—and more than that, he could get you into trouble.”
“Jack, you’re being melodramatic. I admit that some of his
inquiries may be technically against the law, but in the real world you
sometimes have to bend the rules a trifle if justice is to prevail.”
“Industrial espionage is not justice and in the real world people go
to jail if they’re caught doing what Ricky does—or conspiring with him to
do it. Conjugal visitation is not a promising basis for a marriage.”
“Whatever Ricky may do for other people, he certainly isn’t
engaging in industrial espionage for me.”
“What is he doing for you?” Jack asked sullenly after a moment.
“He’s simply getting me some information.”
“What sort of information?”
“He’s finding out whether Kendall Jorgenson was at the Betty
Carter Institute.”
“The rehab place?”
“Yes.”
“Why on earth would you think that Kendall was at the Betty
Carter Institute, and even if she was, why on earth would it be any
business of yours?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Leigh said, and proceeded to fill him in on
what she had found out.
When she finished Jack said, “So you think Kendall was the
alcoholic from Minneapolis that Caroline described in her diary and that
somehow ties in with what’s been going on here, including the attack on
Finch which you formerly didn’t believe in but now apparently do and a
murder no one but you believes happened.” He shook his head in
exasperation. “Leigh, you’ve really gone too far. Kendall doesn’t even
drink.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, come on. That doesn’t prove anything.”

Johnson  198
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Jack. But facts are facts.
And the facts point to Kendall. She had opportunity, and if Caroline was
threatening to reveal Kendall’s past, motive.”
“If, if, if. Ifs aren’t facts.”
“I agree with you completely—that’s why I called Ricky.”
Jack stared at Leigh, his mouth a grim line. She stared back.
“If you’re wrong . . .” he warned.
“I’ll be the happiest woman on earth.”
“And you’ll promise not to call Ricky again?”
“And Ricky will have proved his usefulness once more.”
There was a silence.
“And then what?” Jack asked finally.
“Then what what?”
“What happens when you discover that Kendall was never at the
Betty Carter Institute?”
“I guess we’ll have to rethink things.”
“We will, will we? I won’t have been thinking Kendall was the
person who stole Caroline’s diary and slugged Lawrence Finch in the first
place—to say nothing of being the perpetrator of a mythical murder.”
Leigh stared at Jack wide–eyed, mouth what in another might be
called slack.
“What?” he said.
“What you said. Kendall stealing the diary and slugging Finch. It
doesn’t make any sense.”
“Of course not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s
ridiculous to think she would.”
“That’s not what I mean. Nobody would.”
“I don’t get you.”
“If the theory is that whoever slugged Lawrence was there looking
for the diary, it means they didn’t have the diary.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“So if that person is the one who took the diary from Alan’s room
they must have done it after they slugged Lawrence.”
“Yeah . . . ?”
“So my theory that Kendall took the diary from Alan’s room after
breakfast is wrong. If she believed Finch had the diary, she would have no
reason to look for it in Alan’s room. And if she had searched Alan’s room
and found the diary she would have no reason to be in Finch’s room.
Either way it makes no sense. And after Lawrence was attacked, Kendall

Scavenger Hunt  199
had no chance to go into Alan’s room. She was with Lawrence until we
came to talk with him. And then she was in the kitchen getting lunch.”
“Where I found her after we were done with Lawrence.”
“Exactly.”
“So it wasn’t Kendall.”
“It seems not.”
“Who then?”
“I don’t know. Who else would care about an old diary of
Caroline’s?”
“Who knows? Alan? Cynthia?”
“Cynthia couldn’t have been the one who attacked Lawrence.
Lawrence said she was on her way out the front door when it happened.
But Alan . . . That’s interesting. We don’t know where Alan was when
Lawrence was attacked. Supposedly out for a walk. But it’s possible he
could have snuck back inside.”
“But why would he be searching Lawrence’s room if the diary was
in his?”
“Because he didn’t know Lawrence had returned it. He didn’t
discover that until later.”
“But he came to you to tell you someone had been in his room and
taken something from the wardrobe. Why would he do that if he had the
diary?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he knew it was me who’d been in there and
was trying to throw me off the scent by pretending he knew nothing about
the diary. Or maybe he didn’t know it was me but wanted to put as much
heat as possible on whoever it might be by alerting me to the fact that we
still had an intruder afoot. Or maybe he merely wanted to throw some
smoke.”
“But why would the diary be so important to him?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe he doesn’t want the memory of his
deceased fiancée tarnished by its contents. Or maybe there’s something
more.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But Alan also has no alibi for the afternoon of the
scavenger hunt.”
“So?”
For an answer, Leigh simply gazed at Jack.
“Don’t tell me you’re back on that again,” Jack said.
“All right, I won’t. But the truth is, I’ve never been off it. And if
you look at all the events that have occurred, excluding now the acts to

Johnson  200
which Lawrence has confessed, Alan is the only one who could have done
them all. And that includes murdering Caroline.”
“He murdered her but now is desperate to preserve her good
name?!?”
“It sounds a bit strange I know, but as Sherlock Holmes always
said, once all other possibilities have been exhau—”
“Yes, yes. Please spare me. And maybe you should remember
that Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character not a real person. A figment
of someone’s imagination.”
“I only wish that absurd visitation I had from him last night had
been a figment of my imagination. My scarf would be the better for it.
The point is it does seem a little strange, but it is possible. But other
explanations are possible too. We won’t know until we see the diary.”
“Leigh, I absolutely forbid you to search Alan’s room again. This
has gone far enough.”
Leigh suddenly shook her head as if to dislodge flies then pressed
her hands over her ears briefly before pulling them away and freezing,
head cocked and listening intently.
“Wow, that was strange,” she said. “I think I just had an auditory
hallucination. For a second, I thought I heard you forbid me to do
something.”
“Well, you always have had a vivid imagination.”
“I know. But to imagine something as crazy as that, I must really
be losing it.”
“What can I say. But seriously Leigh, I think it’s time to put an
end to this nonsense. You’ve been running around like a chicken with
your head cut off for days, suspecting anyone and everyone of crimes both
real and imagined and getting nowhere. The good news is your activities
have for the most part gone unnoticed, but our luck can’t hold up forever.”
“What do you mean getting nowhere?” Leigh said indignantly. “I
admit there have been some missteps along the way but we now know a
lot more than we did when we started.”
“Fine. Then tell the police what you know and let them handle it.
But I think you better consider first whether you truly want the police
investigating your friends over a bunch of shenanigans involving a very
personal diary. I mean, I’m not condoning the snooping that’s gone on or
the attack on Finch—although I will say he kind of had it coming—but do
you really want the police involved? If Alan has the diary now it strikes
me that it’s basically back where it belongs and Finch’s bloody nose aside,
no harm done.”

Scavenger Hunt  201
“Caroline is dead, Jack.”
“Goddamn it, Leigh, that was an accident!”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Then tell the police!”
“I did—and they didn’t believe me.”
“Tell them again.”
“They won’t believe me now, either. I have to lay it on a platter
for them.”
“That’s not your job.”
They stared at one another.
“Promise me you won’t search Alan’s room again.”
“All right, I promise.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? I promise.”
“Promise what?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“Not to search Alan’s room again.”
“Let me see your hands.”
“Oh, Jack, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Let me see them.”
She held them up, fingers splayed.
“Now say it.”
“Jack, you’re being absurd.”
“Humor me.”
She sighed then said, “I, Leigh Constance Hewitt, do hereby
promise not to search Alan’s room again. Satisfied?”
Jack scowled.
“I guess,” he said uncertainly, then added more briskly, “But no,
not really. What are you going to do? Promise me you won’t do anything
without talking to me first.”
“Sorry. One promise per customer,” she said primly. She stood
and walked to the door.
“Leigh.”
“Jack.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Who says I’m going to do anything?”
“I do.”
“Well, then it sounds like you’re the person you should be asking.
Au revoir, mon cher.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE
“Search his car?” Muffy said.
Leigh had found Muffy in the Taylors’ suite getting changed for
lunch.
“Yes,” Leigh said.
In the back bedroom, the kids were acting up.
“Because you think that’s where this diary is?”
“It’s possible.”
“Not in his room?”
“That’s possible too. But it was taken from there once already. I
have a hunch he may have decided to put it someplace more secure. I
would.”
“But isn’t the car locked?”
“Yes.”
“So you need the keys.”
Leigh nodded.
“How are you going to get them? Do you know where he keeps
them?”
“Not for sure. His pocket I assume.”
“So how are you going to get them?”
“Well, that’s the tricky part.”
“I would think so.”
“I need to get him to take off his pants.”
“That wouldn’t be much of a problem with most men, but Alan
could be a challenge even for a looker like you.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to seduce him.”
“Oh, too bad. I would have enjoyed watching that.”
“No, you’re going to play tennis with him.”
“Why don’t you play with him?”
“Because I have to get the keys and search his car.”
“But does he play?”
“I’m not sure. If he doesn’t you’ll have to try something else.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t care, as long as it requires that he take off his pants. Go
swimming.”
“What if he doesn’t want to do anything?”
“Then we’ll have to move to Plan B.”

Scavenger Hunt  203
“From what I’ve heard of Plan A, Plan B must be a doozy.”
“You’ll have to dump something on him.”
“The old drink on the lap ploy, eh? Well, it always works in those
old screwball comedies.”
“Yes, but I don’t think we can count on it in this case.”
“I don’t get you”
“Well, he might just change his pants.”
“So you want me to . . . ?”
“Dump something on his head. Something oily I think. Or sticky.
Sticky would be all right too. So he’ll have to take a shower.”
“How about something oily and sticky? A mayonnaise sundae
perhaps. Of course it will be tough to be casual about that. Does it have
to be casual?”
“Muffy, I’m serious.”
“Seriously disturbed if you ask me. You actually want me to dump
something on his head?”
“I want you to do whatever it takes to get him to take his pants off
and leave them off long enough for me to get the keys and search his car.”
Muffy shook her head.
“I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
“Oh great, thanks a lot!” Leigh gushed. “I knew you’d come
through.”
“I didn’t say yes, Leigh,” Muffy said. She paused. “All right, yes.
When?”
“How about right after lunch?”
“OK,” Muffy said resignedly. “It will be interesting anyway.”
But it turned out to not be particularly interesting. Although Alan
was reluctant at first, citing limited skills, by the end of lunch, Muffy had
cajoled him into playing tennis with her on the basis that he was a fair
match for her.
Leigh watched from the library as they walked down to the court
and, after a seeming eternity, took their places, and began to hit practice
rallies. Then she headed for the front stairs.
She paused when she reached the upstairs hall. There was no one
in sight. Moving as quietly as possible on the ancient pine floorboards,
she approached Alan’s door, noting with some surprise that Lawrence’s
door was open. It almost immediately became clear why. Lawrence was
in his room. Frozen midstep, she watched as he crossed the room, passing
into and out of her view.

Johnson  204
Fortunately, he hadn’t noticed her. But his presence presented a
problem. Given that his door faced Alan’s, there was a serious risk that he
might spot Leigh if she went directly into Alan’s room. Going through
Cynthia’s room would solve that problem, but was Cynthia there? The
safe thing to do would be to determine where she was, but Leigh hated to
waste precious time doing that. No, better to risk embarrassment by
knocking and making up some excuse if her knock was answered.
It wasn’t. Grateful for her good fortune, she slipped into Cynthia’s
room.
Finding the keys was no problem. The pants Alan had been
wearing at lunchtime were laid out neatly on his bed. The keys were in
the right hand front pocket.
She put them in her pocket and retraced her steps through
Cynthia’s room to the hallway door. She was about to carefully open it,
when a noise froze her once more. Voices! Near the top of the stairs. In a
panic, she tried to sort them out. One was a woman’s. Could it be
Cynthia returning to her room?
But she quickly realized it wasn’t. It was Kendall. Kendall and
Lawrence Finch. Chatting at the top of the stairs. She breathed a sigh of
relief. There was no imminent danger. On the other hand, she was stuck.
Deciding she would be safer waiting them out in Alan’s room she moved
back into it and took up a post at the door to the hall, waiting for Lawrence
and Kendall to end their conversation. She assumed it wouldn’t take long.
She was wrong—or at least it seemed that way. Lawrence kept
prattling on and on, first about his injury, then about Leigh’s hospitality,
then about the house and its furnishings, then about his work, offering to
decorate Kendall’s apartment should she so desire.
Leigh’s frustration mounted. Although presumably Muffy and
Alan ought to be at their tennis for a while, Leigh’s time was limited and if
she encountered delays at every turn that time would eventually expire.
Finally, however, the voices began to fade as Kendall and Finch
moved down the stairs. Leigh cautiously opened the door, confirmed that
no one was in view, then made her way downstairs and out the front door.
The cars of the guests sat gleaming in the sun, Alan’s Lexus in
front of the carriage house. She moved towards it, constantly checking to
confirm that no one was in view. There was of course a chance that
someone inside the house might look out the window and see her, but it
was a chance she was willing to take. As long as it wasn’t Alan, she
doubted that anyone watching would be more than mildly curious even if
they saw her going into Alan’s car.

Scavenger Hunt  205
As she neared the carriage house, she was comforted too, by the
pinging thwack of ball meeting racket drifting from the tennis courts
behind the house. All was proceeding as planned.
And then Victor Proveaux strolled out of the carriage house.
“Hello, Leigh,” he said.
“Hi,” Leigh said, turning abruptly away from Alan’s car and
toward Proveaux.
“I was just admiring your carriage house here. What a splendid
old building. Those beams—they’re fantastic.”
“Yes, aren’t they?” she said uncertainly.
“Absolutely. When was it built?”
“1810, I think.”
“Wow. Well, it’s a beauty. So what are you up to?”
“Up to?”
“Yes. Were you on your way somewhere?”
“Um, no. I was just wandering around.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful day. I suppose I shouldn’t perhaps be
finding it so enjoyable what with Caroline’s death and Lawrence being
injured, but life must go on. Did you ever figure out what happened with
Lawrence?”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Well, it’s a strange thing.”
“Yes it is.”
“Well.”
Leigh smiled weakly.
“So may I walk you somewhere?” Proveaux said after a moment.
“Oh no, I guess I should be getting back inside. I should talk to
Mrs. Lindstrom about supper.”
“I think I’ll head that way too. This sun has got me a bit thirsty.
How those folks can play tennis in this heat is beyond me.” He gestured at
the house. “Shall we?”
“Um, sure. I guess.”
Together they headed for the kitchen door.
It took ten minutes for Leigh to rid herself of Dr. Proveaux and
make her way back out the front door and over to Alan’s car—time spent
getting Proveaux a drink and then discussing dinner arrangements with a
bewildered Mrs. Lindstrom—who already had received the same
instructions—until Proveaux finally tired of listening and moved off to
join the growing crowd watching Muffy and Alan from the patio.

Johnson  206
Checking one last time to make sure no one was watching, she put
the key in the trunk lock and twisted it. Before her were two nylon zipper
bags, a cardboard box and the spare tire. Moving quickly, she unzipped
the first bag. It contained what appeared to be dirty clothes of Alan’s.
She removed some and felt through the rest. There was no diary. She
replaced the things she had removed and zipped the bag up, then glanced
back toward the house. Still clear. She moved to the next bag. It
contained footwear of various types, both men’s and women’s, shoes for
the most part. No diary. That left the box. She opened its flaps. The box
was full of files. She pulled some out. They contained business papers of
Alan’s, trust investment reports and the like. She flipped through them
quickly. Nothing. The tire? She felt under it. Nothing.
Her relief at having finished without being seen outweighing her
disappointment over her failure to find the diary, she carefully closed the
trunk then slipped to the ground on the driver’s side of the car, where she
sat with her back against the rear door, chest heaving with nervous strain.
Cool it, Leigh, she scolded. Even if he does have the diary, it
doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a murderer, and even if he is, it doesn’t
mean he’ll murder you if you’re caught. More likely, you’ll merely be
embarrassed, and that’s a definite ‘been there, done that’.
Her pep talk hadn’t really reassured her, but she twisted herself to
her knees and faced the driver’s door, unlocked it, and slid in.
The glove compartment first. No diary. Then under the front seat.
Nothing.
Scowling, she crawled back out then searched the rear.
Nothing.
If it was in the car, it was well hidden. Too well hidden.
Although Muffy and Alan were likely to be playing tennis for a
while yet, it was time to get back.
She carefully shut the doors and crouched by the rear fender. She
saw no one.
Standing quickly, she headed for the house at a brisk walk—and
never even noticed that she could no longer hear the reassuring sounds of
a tennis match in progress.
Muffy quickly realized that Alan was a terrible player. Although
he tried hard and was very energetic—chasing balls all over the court and
flailing at them wildly—he had no control. Accordingly, she decided that
it would be best to play even below her own limited abilities. She didn’t
want him getting frustrated and quitting. Although it shouldn’t take Leigh

Scavenger Hunt  207
long to search the car, it was better to be on the safe side, and Leigh had
said that if she drew a blank on the car, she wanted to take another shot at
searching his room.
It all went well for the first twenty minutes or so. With Muffy’s
cooperation the games were close, with Alan winning three of four. Even
more important his enthusiasm was growing, ensuring that he wouldn’t
want to quit prematurely. The spectators on the patio were getting
involved too.
But then disaster struck. On game point, Muffy placed a nice shot
down the line intending to hit a winner and keep some competitive balance
in the match. Alan was way out of position and had no chance to return it
but he tried anyway, racing across the court and lunging to reach the ball
as it bounced past him.
As he returned from out of bounds, he suddenly stopped, then felt
the back of his pants cautiously.
“Oh no,” he moaned.
“What is it?” Muffy asked in alarm, thinking that he had perhaps
hurt himself.
“My pants. I split my pants. I’ll have to change them.”
“Do you really have to? I can’t see anything from here, and we
were having such a good match.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back. I have another pair of shorts
upstairs.”
“But it seems like such a bother.”
“No, I’ll just run in. You wait here.”
He started for the gate in the fence that surrounded the court.
“I’ll come up too, then,” Muffy said.
“No, don’t bother. I’ll only be a minute.”
“I want to fetch something from my car anyway.”
“OK then,” he said, and headed up the slope to the patio.
As he did, Muffy moved up the hill toward the west side of the
house, moving as quickly as possible without revealing the urgency she
felt. When she reached the corner of the house, she threw caution aside
and ran toward the cars.
No Leigh. She must have finished and could even now be
searching Alan’s room. Whirling, Muffy raced across the front lawn and
halted breathlessly below Alan’s window.
“Leigh!” she hissed. “Leigh! He’s coming!”
Leigh’s face appeared at the window.
“What?”

Johnson  208
“Alan’s coming! Hurry!”
Alan!
Awash in a flood of adrenalin, Leigh threw herself back from the
window and towards the door to Cynthia’s room as the sound of footsteps
reached her ears.
He was here!
The doorknob rattled as she pulled Cynthia’s door open. Too late!
But Alan’s door didn’t open. Instead, he spoke to someone in the
hall outside.
Thanking her lucky stars, Leigh slipped into Cynthia’s room and
quietly pulled the connecting door shut then tried to quiet her pounding
heart.
In the hall, Alan was still talking, something about his pants. The
woman he was speaking to answered, her voice too low for Leigh to
discern the words—but not too low for her to recognize the voice.
Cynthia! She cast her eyes about wildly. The bed?!? No, the
closet! She ran to it and buried herself behind the clothes even as Cynthia
opened the bedroom door.

CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX
Still struggling to control her racing heart, Leigh listened as
Cynthia entered the room and shut the door. The closet door was louvered
and she could see the play of light and shadow as Cynthia crossed the
room. Coming closer. Leigh adjusted her position to a semi–crouch so
that her head was hidden behind the clothes.
The door opened and Leigh braced for discovery—but Cynthia
merely removed a hanger, cleared a space between the clothes, and hung a
jacket up and shut the door once more. Leigh heard the creaking of
ancient springs as Cynthia sat heavily on the bed and switched on the
radio. Classical music—Vivaldi, Leigh thought—filled the room then
diminished as Cynthia lowered the volume. The bedsprings creaked
again. She’d stretched out, Leigh guessed.
Leigh relaxed somewhat. It appeared that her sojourn in the closet
would not be a brief one. Might as well make herself comfortable. She
slowly slid down the back wall until she reached a sitting position among
the shoes on the floor then pushed the clothes in front of her face to one
side so she could see and breathe.
In doing so, her hand hit a hard object in the pocket of the jacket
Cynthia had hung up. Curious, she felt the object again. It was
rectangular, a book perhaps. Reaching up cautiously, she removed it
from the pocket and brought it into the light passing between the louvers.
It was a book, but not a published book. Its brocade covers bore
no title or author. Trying to suppress her excitement, she opened it. Its
pages were filled with undated, handwritten entries.
A diary.
Could it be?
It was. A quick examination of the entries left little doubt that this
was the diary Lawrence Finch had described. Caroline’s diary.
Why did Cynthia have it? Obviously she must have taken it after
Lawrence returned it to Alan’s room. But why?
She began reading.
The first entry had been made on the third day of Caroline’s stay at
the Institute. It began by stating the reason for its existence: the keeping
of a daily journal was a part of her therapy. In it, she was to record her
thoughts and feelings and reactions to the treatment process she was to

Johnson  210
undergo as well as attempt to come to grips with the history that had
brought her to her current state.
Leigh read on—and as she did, came to know a woman beset by
the demons of her past, demons that included an orphaned childhood,
abuse at the hands of a variety of foster parents, drug addiction, and the
eventual descent into prostitution to feed that addiction. Shame and guilt
were frequent themes coupled with an almost obsessive determination to
finally free herself from that past and reclaim a future of “dignity and
respect”.
This sort of painful self–examination aside, the journal was filled
with reports of the author’s daily individual and group therapy sessions.
After Leigh had finished, she went back and read one section with
particular interest, a portion of the entry from the third day of the author’s
stay:
Labor Day has brought a new nutto to the menagerie, an alkie
from Minneapolis of all places—we’ll call her Miss M—who somehow
thinks she’s the cat’s meow. Says she doesn’t really have a problem, just
likes to have a good time. Well, the boys certainly hope so. You should
see them pant: like they’ve never seen a pretty, blue–eyed blonde before.
Personally, I find her preening and flirting despicable . . .
Could it have been Kendall? The description certainly fit.
But putting that question aside, there was a problem. That problem
was Caroline’s mother, the one living in Europe, the one Alan had been
unable to reach. Orphans didn’t have mothers, and the author of the
journal specifically referred to herself as an orphan. It was possible that
the author was using the term figuratively, to symbolize the abandonment
to foster care that had characterized her childhood, but Leigh didn’t think
so and further review left her even more convinced that the use of the term
was literal.
There was only one possible conclusion: it wasn’t Caroline’s
diary.
Whose was it then? An obvious answer suggested itself. Cynthia
was an orphan and Cynthia had the diary. Could Caroline have gotten
hold of it and been using it to torment Cynthia, torment her to the point of
murder? There were problems with this theory, notably the attack on
Lawrence, but maybe Leigh had been right to suppose there had been no
attack at all, or better, nothing more than an attack of clumsiness on the
part of Lawrence who then converted his ineptitude into high drama. And

Scavenger Hunt  211
there was Cynthia’s strong reaction to Finch’s comments about what he
thought was Caroline’s background. That reaction made more sense if it
was Cynthia’s past he had been discussing.
And then she remembered something else: the acrimonious
exchange between Cynthia and Kendall in the orchard. Maybe now there
was an explanation for it. Maybe it had to do with the diary, or perhaps
simply Kendall’s knowledge of Cynthia’s past, gleaned from group
therapy sessions back at Betty Carter. Cynthia had been tormented by
Caroline and finally decided to rid herself of her tormentor only to be
faced with a ghost from the very past she was trying to bury.
In the room the bedsprings creaked. In a panic, Leigh shoved the
diary back into the jacket pocket.
Footsteps approached. Had she been heard? The closet door
opened.
But she hadn’t been heard, nor was she seen. Cynthia reached in
and removed the jacket in which the diary was hidden, then shut the door.
The door to the hallway opened and closed and there was silence.
Leigh waited for a full minute before cautiously poking her head
from the closet then tiptoeing across the room to the hall door. After
listening carefully, she opened it, checked to see that the coast was clear,
and made her way down the front stairs.
She reached the master suite to discover the phone ringing. Racing
into the bedroom she picked up.
“Mrs. Hewitt, it’s Ricky Meyers.”
“Great. What do you have?”
“I’ve got a hit and a miss. Which do you want first?”
“Ricky, just tell me what you found out.”
“Hey, were you running or something? You sound kinda out of
breath.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I was. Now what did you find out?”
“Oh, I get it. You’re in a rush.”
“You could say that.”
“All right, here goes. Bad news first:—I always like to do that
because then you build up to a happy ending.”
“Ricky.”
“Oh yeah, you’re in a hurry. Sorry. The bad news: there’s no
record of a Caroline Vernon being admitted at any time in the last fifteen
years. To make sure she didn’t use an alias, I also checked under her
Social Security number, date and place of birth, and mother’s maiden

Johnson  212
name. No matches. The good news: Kendall Jorgenson spent six weeks
at the Betty Carter Institute in 1999, from September 4th to October 19th,
to be precise.”
“OK.”
“You don’t sound too surprised.”
“I’m not. Now I need you to check another name for me, ASAP.
Cynthia Greeley.”
“You got an SS# for me?”
“No. Not even a middle initial. She’s currently residing in
Florida, though. Gainesville, I think. Approximate age, thirty–five. If I
get anything else I’ll call. In the meantime, you get cracking.”
“Rush rates?”
“Yes. Now get moving.”
After she hung up the phone, she stood in the middle of the
bedroom considering her next step. Prominent in her mind was the
question of where Cynthia was going. To get rid of the diary, perhaps?
Leigh wished she had thought to follow her, but she had been too intent on
escape.
But maybe it wasn’t too late. She looked out of the windows that
faced the garden and croquet court. No Cynthia. She then dashed into the
sitting room to check the patio. Jack, Tom, Alan and Dr. Proveaux sat at
one table and Christian, Abby, Muffy and Lawrence sat at another,
chatting and watching Oliver and Paige playing something resembling
tennis down on the court. No Cynthia. Then, across the front hall to the
common room and looked out across the front lawn and drive and the
meadow beyond.
Finally, to the side porch.
There was a figure by the cars parked in front of the garage. A
woman, but not Cynthia: Kendall. As Leigh watched, Kendall unlocked
her car, ducked in briefly, then locked it once again. She surveyed the
house and grounds then marched swiftly up the drive and into the meadow
at the far edge of the front lawn.
Odd, Leigh thought. Where could Kendall be going in this heat by
herself? With a mental shrug, she headed for the kitchen where she could
hear voices.
The voices belonged to Lena, who was julienning fennel on the
center island, and Brian who stood leaning against the cabinets. Brian
quickly straightened as Leigh entered.
“Lena, have you seen Cynthia?” Leigh asked without preamble.
“No, I haven’t.”

Scavenger Hunt  213
“I did,” Brian said. “About ten minutes ago. I was leaving my
room and saw her go out the front door.”

CHAPTER TWENTY–SEVEN
Leigh stuck her head out of the french door that led to the patio.
“Jack, would you come here a minute please?”
“What’s up?” he asked as he entered the sitting room.
“I’m worried.”
“Worried? About what?”
“Kendall.”
“Kendall!?! Don’t tell me you’re back to suspecting her again.”
“No—at least not exactly. I found the diary.”
“Where?”
“In Cynthia’s room.”
“You searched Cynthia’s room?” he asked, his disapproval
obvious.
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, not exactly, but approximately,” he said sarcastically.
“Where was it? In her suitcase?”
“In her closet.”
“Where you just happened to be.”
“Of course not. I had to hide in there when Cynthia came into her
room.”
“Where you just happened to be.”
“Well, not exactly. I had to duck in there when Alan came back
into his room.”
“Where you just happened to be. Leigh, you promised.”
“I didn’t search his room.”
“Because you were interrupted you mean.”
“No, I was only there to return his keys.”
“Why would you have his keys?”
Leigh winced.
“To search his car.”
“Leigh.”
“Jack, what does it matter? The point is this: I don’t think the
diary was Caroline’s at all. She had it, but it wasn’t hers. I think it’s
Cynthia’s.”
“Cynthia’s!”

Scavenger Hunt  215
“Yes. The person who wrote the diary was an orphan. Caroline
has a mother in Europe. Cynthia on the other hand was an orphan. And
what’s more, Ricky called back: there’s no record that Caroline had ever
been at the Betty Carter Institute.”
“And Cynthia was?”
“He’s checking.”
“What does this have to do with Kendall?”
“Kendall was at Betty Carter. At the same time as whoever wrote
that diary.”
“Ricky confirmed that?”
“Yes. So I was right. She is the blonde woman from Minneapolis
mentioned in the diary.”
Jack digested that information then said, “OK. Say you are right.
What of it? What is it you’re worried about?”
“I’m worried that Cynthia might hurt Kendall.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m not sure. But it seems that for whatever reasons, she’s
desperate to not have her past revealed. It’s pretty gruesome. That may
be what led her to attack Caroline.”
“I thought that was because Caroline had rejected her.”
“That’s what Cynthia said, but there may have been more to it than
that. Caroline had the diary for some reason. She may have been
blackmailing Cynthia or simply tormenting her with it. Caroline could be
a bully at times.”
“You don’t say.”
“It may also have been a motive for murder.”
Jack made as if to object, but then said, “So you think she may be
after Kendall now?”
“Well, they were arguing over something in the orchard. And if
Cynthia was willing to kill Caroline to keep her quiet. . .”
“I don’t know, Leigh. I mean, it’s so hard to believe. Where is
Cynthia now? You say she came in while you were in her room. I assume
she left.”
“Yes, and she was last seen going out the front door. But there’s
something else. A few minutes ago, I saw Kendall head across the south
meadow. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but now I wonder.”
“You think they’re meeting someplace?”
“It’s possible.”
Seconds passed while Jack considered what Leigh had said. Then
he said, “Maybe we had better go find them.”

Johnson  216

They decided to split up in order to cover more ground, both
heading across the south meadow, but Jack directly south and Leigh more
to the southwest. They were to meet in the woods by the ravine and assess
the situation if they hadn’t found Cynthia or Kendall by then. If they did
encounter either of them, they were simply going to say they had seen
them going out and were in the mood for a stroll. Not particularly
convincing perhaps, but good enough.
Although the sun was no longer at its peak, the day was still very
warm and Leigh was relieved to enter the shade and relative coolness of
the woods. As she walked, she continued to consider the facts before her.
Although she was convinced that something was going on and that it
revolved around the diary and its recounting of events at the Betty Carter
Institute years before, the facts simply didn’t hang together well enough to
suit. She needed a theory, and none that she had come up with fit all the
facts, even with the application of some fairly contorted reasoning.
That Cynthia was capable of violence was beyond doubt. Her
knocking Caroline into the ravine proved that, and the rage in her eyes as
she recounted that encounter left no doubt in Leigh’s mind of her
murderous intent. It was no stretch to believe that she followed up on that
abortive attempt at murder by taking advantage of Caroline’s helplessness
and hypersensitivity to bee venom.
So far, so good. Caroline had the diary and had threatened to
reveal its contents, and Cynthia had killed her and gotten it back.
But Cynthia had a problem. Kendall had been at the clinic too and
also knew of Cynthia’s past. Kendall not only was another source of
information about Cynthia’s past, but also held the key to the motive for
Caroline’s murder. Harsh words had been exchanged, a threat perhaps of
the consequences to follow if Kendall did not keep silent.
A question: Why hadn’t Kendall acknowledged her prior
acquaintance with Cynthia?
Possible answers: Either or both did not recognize the other, at
least at first, due to the passage of years or the totally different context.
Alternatively, neither acknowledged the relationship out of
embarrassment.
Another question: Who struck Lawrence? Answer: Unknown,
since by Lawrence’s account, it couldn’t have been Cynthia. Best guess:
He wasn’t struck – he accidentally knocked the clothes pole over and it hit
him. Unfortunately, a not terribly convincing explanation.

Scavenger Hunt  217
Still another question: What had Kendall removed from her car
before heading across the meadow? Answer once again: Unknown.
Possibly, nothing of importance. But then—
Leigh stopped her train of thinking mid–thought, as the image of
Kendall unlocking her car rose in her mind’s eye. There was something in
that scene clamoring for her attention. What? A woman standing by her
car in the hot sun. An unremarkable event. Leigh had done essentially the
same thing with Alan’s car earlier—albeit a lot less innocently.
But something about that bothered her.
What was it?
And then she knew—or thought maybe she knew. Kendall had
been standing near Alan’s car Sunday night when Jack accosted her. She
hadn’t been fetching a toothbrush from her car. In retrospect, the very
thought that someone with Kendall’s impeccable grooming habits would
go two days without one was ludicrous! No, she’d been searching Alan’s
car using the keys she had stolen. For what? The diary? Was it possible
that Caroline was blackmailing Kendall as well as Cynthia?!?
Or was Leigh getting carried away again? But why would Kendall
care about the diary anyway? It wasn’t particularly damning. All it said
was that she had arrived on Labor Day for treatment of an alcohol
dependency—September 4th according to the Institute’s records.
And that drew Leigh up short. September 4th! That wasn’t
possible. Labor Day was September 4th this year. She was positive
because they’d received an invitation to spend the weekend with the
Weissmans on the Vineyard right before they left and she’d been looking
at the calendar.
Kendall wasn’t the woman from Minnesota!
But if that was true . . .
Jack!!!

CHAPTER TWENTY–EIGHT
Jack moved slowly through the woods, pausing periodically to
watch and listen. He wasn’t exactly sneaking, but he did think it would be
better if he spotted his quarry before they spotted him. That way he could
assess the situation and if it seemed that Leigh was barking up the wrong
tree—as she so frequently did—he could withdraw without embarrassment
and then try to head Leigh off. He was wearing khaki shorts and a green
polo shirt, an outfit he had chosen purposely. Not exactly deep woods
camo, but at least he wouldn’t stick out like a beacon.
He was nearing the ravine when a glimpse of color caught his
attention. He moved toward it, employing extra care to avoid stepping on
sticks and using the trees for cover.
Before he had proceeded too far it was obvious that Leigh had
been right about one thing anyway: Cynthia and Kendall were meeting.
Moving with extreme care now, he drew closer. They were
talking, standing perhaps ten feet apart, Cynthia with her back to Jack, but
both far too intent on one another to notice him. He strained to hear what
they were saying, but couldn’t, only snatches of their exchange. One thing
was certain, however: it was no casual conversation. There was venom in
every word.
Closer now, grateful for the cover the thick woods afforded.
Twenty feet away, he stopped behind a massive maple. He could
hear them clearly now.
“You’re finished, Kendall,” he heard Cynthia say.
“Cynthia, please,” Kendall replied. “I’m no threat to you.”
“Hah!” Cynthia said.
Jack peered around the tree: it was bad. Leigh had been right after
all. Cynthia was holding a pistol, her arm extended, pointing it at a
terrified Kendall.
“Please,” Kendall repeated.
“Forget it. You had your chance and you blew it,” Cynthia said.
Clearly overwrought, her arm was shaking, causing the gun to wobble.
Jack decided he could wait no more. In Cynthia’s state she might
do anything.
He gathered himself, then rushed from behind the tree toward
Cynthia. As she saw Kendall’s eyes shift in Jack’s direction and heard the

Scavenger Hunt  219
noise of his approach, Cynthia angled her head toward Jack, eyes wide,
while keeping the pistol trained in Kendall’s direction.
“Jack!” she exclaimed, as he closed the final distance between
them. “Hel—” she began, but her words were cut off as he piled into her
bodily, his arm chopping hard down on hers, sending the gun flying.
“Get the gun, Kendall!” he cried, as Cynthia struggled below him.
“Got it,” Kendall said.
Jack looked to see Kendall standing a few feet away, gun pointing
at Cynthia.
“Hey, careful with that thing,” he said as Cynthia ceased her
struggles. “I’ve got her.”
Cautiously, he took his weight off Cynthia and climbed to his feet.
“Just behave yourself now,” he said as Cynthia stood. “It’s all
over.”
“She was going to kill me,” Cynthia said.
“Cynthia, you’re upset. You need help.”
“No, it’s true. She pulled a gun and was going to kill me.”
“You were the one holding the gun.”
“I got it away from her. She was going to shoot me in the head so
people would think it was suicide, but to make it work she had to get
close. I surprised her and grabbed it.”
“That’s a total fabrication, Jack,” Kendall said.
“I know, I know,” Jack said, raising his hand to urge her to keep
out of it. “Look, Cynthia, it’s not going to work. Leigh found the diary
in your closet and read it. That’s why we came looking for you. Leigh
realized from your diary that Kendall had arrived at the Betty Carter
Institute while you were there and that in your desperation to hide your
past, you might try to hurt her. Obviously Leigh was right.”
“Obviously, Leigh’s a total idiot. It’s not my diary, it’s that
psycho’s,” she said, pointing at Kendall.
“My wife is not a total idiot. And as for Kendall being a psycho,
you’re not exactly a model of mental health yourself. You weren’t at the
Betty Carter Institute for a vacation.”
“I’ve never been to the Betty Carter Institute in my life, you
moron.”
“Then why does your diary say you were?”
“I told you,” Cynthia said through clenched teeth. “It’s not my
diary. It’s hers.”
“But it describes Kendall’s arrival after the diary begins.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnson  220
“Well, maybe you had better find out, so you can get your story
straight.”
“My story is straight, you—”
“Calling me names isn’t going to help,” Jack interrupted. “I
suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head.”
“All right, let me ask you this: if it’s my diary, how come I don’t
know what you’re talking about?”
“Obviously, you do.”
“But I don’t.”
“That’s easy to say, but harder to prove.”
“It’s impossible to prove!”
“Exactly.”
“But this is insane!”
“The only thing that’s insane is your pulling a gun on Kendall.”
“She pulled it on me! Look, do you want to know the truth? I’ll
tell you the truth. It’s Jorgenson’s diary. Caroline found it when she was
at Jorgenson’s apartment for a party and decided to pay her back for trying
to steal Christian from her by making sure the whole world knew
Jorgenson wasn’t the goody–goody she pretended to be. But Caroline
died instead.
“That might have been the end of it because I had no idea where
the diary was, but then I heard someone in Caroline’s room, cracked the
connecting door, and saw Finch hiding it in the wardrobe. I took it
without any clear idea of what I was going to do with it but ultimately
decided the right thing was to return it to Jorgenson. That’s why I’m here:
to return it to her. But she wasn’t satisfied with that. Because I knew
about her, she was going to kill me. She’s insane.”
“Well, if that’s your story, fine. You can tell it to the police.”
“I may never reach the police.”
“Oh, please.”
“Look at her.”
Jack did. Kendall stood with the gun aimed at Cynthia.
“Kendall, lower the gun, please. We don’t need any accidents.”
As Kendall did, the sound of someone crashing through the woods
reached their ears. They turned to see Leigh racing toward them.
“Leigh, you were right!” Jack said, as Leigh arrived, gasping for
breath. “Cynthia had a gun trained on Kendall when I arrived but I took it
away from her.”
“No, Jack, I was wrong. It’s not Cynthia’s diary. I realized it
when I remembered that night when Kendall was out by the cars. She was

Scavenger Hunt  221
out by the cars – but she wasn’t by her car. She was by Alan’s. So that
got me thinking: what was she doing that night? Was it possible she had
gone into someone else’s car? Like Alan’s?
“And then I wondered, why would she do that? Because she was
looking for something. But what? And that made me think about the
diary. And then it struck me. The diary said the blonde from Minneapolis
arrived at the Betty Carter Institute on Labor Day. But Ricky reported that
Kendall arrived at the Institute on September 4th!”
“So?”
“Kendall can’t be the woman from Minneapolis!”
“Leigh, I think you need to calm down. You’re not making any
sense.”
“Jack, Labor Day is September 4th this year.”
“So?”
“Kendall was at the Institute in 1999.”
“All right.”
“That’s seven years ago.”
“Leigh . . .”
“Jack, a given date can only recur on a particular day of the week
in the fifth sixth, or eleventh years from the original year, depending!”
“Depending?”
Leigh nodded.
“Yes, on where the date in question falls in relation to leap years.”
“Oh,” Jack said uncertainly.
“Yes. You see, the weekly and solar calendars are one day out of
whack. A year is 365 days and 52 weeks is 364. That means if a given
date is a Monday in one year, the next year it will be one day later in the
week, i.e., Tuesday, except of course in leap years when it will be two
days later.”
“Of course.”
“Well, that means a given date will be a whole week later from a
day in the week standpoint in five years, if that period encompasses two
leap years, or six years if that period encompasses just one leap year. If
neither of those apply, you have to wait eleven years, when three leap year
gains of two days each plus eight other years of one day gains results in a
fourteen day, or two week, gain and the original day of the week recurs on
that date.”
“Gee, I didn’t know that,” Jack said pensively.
“It’s simple arithmetic,” Leigh said modestly.
“Arithmetic, maybe. Simple, no. But what does it mean?”

Johnson  222
“It means Kendall is not the woman who arrived at the Betty
Carter Institute on Labor Day of 1999.”
“She isn’t?”
“Jack, didn’t you hear what I just said? That was seven years ago,
not five, six or eleven years ago, ergo the 4th of September could not have
been a Monday which means it could not have been Labor Day. The fact
is that in 1999, Labor Day was September 6th, two days after Kendall’s
arrival.”
Jack looked quizzically at Kendall who stood expressionless near
the ravine’s edge.
“All right, say you’re right: Kendall isn’t the woman from
Minnesota. She still was there and presumably knows about Cynthia’s
past.”
“I don’t have a past, you idiot!” Cynthia exclaimed.
“I certainly would call being a crack addict and engaging in
prostitution to support your cravings a past,” Jack retorted. “But whether
you call it a past or not, you obviously were ashamed enough of your
history to pull a gun on Kendall, the woman who knew about it.”
“I didn’t pull a gun on her. And I have never been to the Betty
Carter Institute. It isn’t my diary. Even your wife says so.”
Jack turned back to Leigh.
“Whose is it then?”
For an answer, Leigh glanced at Kendall.
“That’s exactly what I told him,” Cynthia said.
“You, be quiet, Cynthia,” Jack snapped, then said to Leigh,
“Kendall’s?!? But you said it was Cynthia’s.”
“Well, I know. But the fact is, the journal coincides precisely with
Kendall’s stay there. The diary says the woman from Minneapolis arrived
on the author’s third day at the Institute. That’s why I came running to let
you know. I realized that Kendall was the dangerous one. She’s been
after the diary all along—and killed Caroline over it.”
“You mean Cynthia was telling the truth about the gun?”
“Probably, but as long as you have it, it doesn’t matter.”
“But he doesn’t,” Kendall said, icily. “I do.”
She was holding the gun at waist level once again. She pointed it
at Leigh and motioned her toward Jack and Cynthia. “Over there,” she
commanded. “Stand by them.”
“Kendall, what are you doing?!?” Jack sputtered.
“What I have to do.”

Scavenger Hunt  223
“What’s that? Kill us all?” Leigh asked. “You’ll never get away
with it.”
“I did once. But no, I’m not going to kill you, this blackmailing
bitch here is going to. And then she’s going to kill herself.”
“I certainly will not!”
“But why?” Jack said.
“Why? Because it’s the only way things can turn out right.”
“Kendall, Jack’s right,” Leigh said. “This isn’t necessary.”
“You’ve made it necessary, Leigh.”
“No, I haven’t. There’s no clear proof that you killed Caroline.
With a good lawyer, you could walk away.”
“Walk away and do what?”
“Live your life.”
“What sort of life? Will you welcome me into your home with
open arms?”
“There’s other people.”
“What people? Who will have me once it all comes out, even if I
am acquitted?”
“Lots of people, people who don’t know.”
“Not people who count. The people who count will know.”
“What do you mean, the people who count?” Jack asked.
“You know who I mean, people with taste and money. They’ll all
know, you know they will—it will be talked about at every party from
Manhattan and the Hamptons to Palm Beach—and they won’t have me.
Maybe if I had money of my own, but I need a husband, and no man will
want me.”
“There’s life outside of society,” Jack said. “In fact, if you ask me
so–called society is a crock anyway.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve never lived any other kind of
life. But I have. And I’m not going back. I’ve worked too hard to escape
life among life’s losers. I want to be a winner, I want to have the good
things in life, the money, the clothes, the beautiful homes, I want to be
envied and invited to parties with the best people.”
“And you’re willing to kill for that?” Jack asked incredulously.
“I already did, Jack.”
“They were both blackmailing you, weren’t they?” Leigh asked.
“Yes. Vernon went snooping around my bedroom one night when
I hostessed a party for Ian Stensler and found the journal in my closet.
She called me later that week to tell me she had it and she would tell
everyone about my past if I didn’t give her $25,000. She said I deserved it

Johnson  224
for trying to take Christian away from her—she accused me of sleeping
with him. But I don’t think she actually cared about Christian or the
money. She was just an evil person who enjoyed tormenting people and
she was jealous of my popularity.
“She told me to bring the money this weekend. But I don’t have
$25,000. What little I make I have to spend. I didn’t know what to do. I
bought a gun on the street—you’d be surprised how easy it is to do—and
brought it. I didn’t really plan on using it, but I thought that maybe I could
scare her into giving me the diary and keeping quiet about it.
“But then during the scavenger hunt, I came upon Vernon and
Greeley arguing at the ravine and watched as Vernon fell. And after
Greeley left, when I went and saw Vernon lying unconscious at the bottom
of the ravine, an idea came to me, a way to rid the world of a despicable
person and protect myself. I ran out to the meadow and used the jar I’d
brought for specimens to collect several bees from the flowers growing
there, then ran back to the ravine. I shook the jar to get the bees agitated,
then took the lid off and held the open mouth of the jar against her skin. It
was easy. I felt no guilt. It was no better than she deserved.”
“But you didn’t have the diary,” Leigh said. “Wasn’t that a risk?”
“Yes. But to the degree I thought about it, I assumed retrieving it
would be a simple matter with everyone out on the scavenger hunt. But it
wasn’t. I found where she’d hidden it, but it wasn’t there. I didn’t know
what to do. The next night I searched Alan’s car but it wasn’t there either.
“But then Lawrence said some things about Caroline that made me
suspect he had it. I had just finished searching his room when he came.
Luckily, I was able to escape by hitting him with the clothes tree.
“Now, I was at a total loss—but not for long. Having seen
Lawrence return the diary, this sweet thing had decided to take over where
the other bitch had left off.
“Well, I decided I’d had enough, that I was going to put an end to
it. I told her to meet me here today to discuss it. And here we are. The
irony is, if Leigh hadn’t seen me go to my car to get my gun, it all would
have gone fine. The two blackmailers would have gotten their just
desserts and I would have been home free.
“But now we have a different situation.”
“There’s no way you can get away with it,” Leigh said.
“Maybe not, but it’s worth a shot—or three, if you’ll pardon a little
black humor.”

Scavenger Hunt  225
“I can’t believe this,” Jack said. “Look, Kendall, let us help you.
We’ll get you a good lawyer. Maybe you can plead that Caroline’s
blackmail drove you temporarily insane.”
“I’m not insane, Jack.”
“Of course not. What you did is understandable under the
circumstances. Everyone hated Caroline, but they played up to her
because she was important.”
“I did not play up to her because she was important, Jack Hewitt,”
Leigh said. “Nor did I hate her—although she certainly had her faults.”
“Oh, and the fact that she was the Commissioner of Cultural
Affairs had nothing to do with that?”
Leigh’s face colored.
“I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss this, Jack.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“You brought it up.”
“I didn’t say anything about you.”
“I didn’t hate her or play up to her because she was important,
either,” Cynthia said. “Nobody knew her like I did. She was a good
person underneath.”
“Shut up, Cynthia,” Jack and Leigh said in unison.
“It really doesn’t matter,” Kendall said.
“But Kendall, what about us?” Jack said. “We’ve been your
friends.”
“I appreciate that, Jack—and I’m sorry it has to be this way. But
of course you were only my friend because you didn’t know the person I
really am.”
“That’s not true.”
“And because I happen to be good–looking. You wouldn’t have
paid the slightest attention to me otherwise.”
“What’s the matter, Jack,” Leigh said when Jack didn’t respond
right away. “Cat got your tongue?”
“That’s not true, either,” Jack said.
“I think it is, Jack,” Kendall said.
“That’s how men are,” Cynthia said.
“Shut up, Cynthia,” Jack and Leigh chimed.
“Yes, shut up,” Kendall said. “Or I’ll shut you up. In fact, that’s a
good idea. We might as well get started.”
She pointed the gun at Cynthia.
“You, on your knees.”
“But I thought I was supposed to be shooting them.”

Johnson  226
“What, you thought I was going to hand you the gun?”
“No, but shouldn’t you kill them first?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I can’t let you do this,” Leigh said. She stepped quickly toward
Cynthia and placed herself between Cynthia and Kendall’s gun.
“Leigh, get out of the way.”
“Why should I? You’re going to kill us anyway. Cynthia, run.”
“But she’ll shoot me.”
“Her whole plan falls apart if she can’t make it look like you
committed suicide. Even our local constabulary will have trouble
concluding a bullet in the back was self–inflicted. Now run!”
“A bullet in the back?”
“Would you prefer one in the head?”
“I can’t. I’m afraid.”
“Last warning, Leigh,” Kendall said. “A bullet through your chest
will suit my purposes just fine.”
“Well, shoot then. You’re going to anyway.”
“But you’re going to have to shoot me first,” Jack said, and
stepped in front of Leigh. “Cynthia, run goddamit!”
“Can’t you see? It’s never going to work,” Leigh said, stepping
out from behind Jack and standing next to him. “You’ll never get all three
of us. Shoot me and Jack rushes you. Shoot Jack and I rush you. And
even if you’re lucky enough to get both of us, Cynthia will be long gone.”
“Hopefully,” Jack murmured.
They stood looking at one another.
“Why don’t you give me the gun, Kendall?” Jack said, stepping
forward.
“Stay back, Jack,” Kendall warned, taking a step back herself.
“Yes, Kendall, it’s your best bet,” Leigh said moving to Jack’s
side.
“Stay back.”
“We can’t do that,” Jack said, moving forward again joined by
Leigh.
Kendall raised the gun to point it directly at Jack’s face.
“Jack, you’ve always been kind to me but I will shoot.”
“I don’t think you will,” Jack said. “What Caroline did was
wrong. She was a spiteful, evil woman. But we’ve done nothing but be
your friends.” He held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You can get past this. We’ll help you do it.”

Scavenger Hunt  227
“I don’t believe you.”
“My word is my bond, Kendall.”
He stepped forward again so that his hand was only inches from
the pistol, then leaned slowly forward reaching for it.
“No!” Kendall cried suddenly, and pulled the gun up and away,
stepping back from Jack as she did.
“Now, Jack!” Leigh shouted and lunged for the gun.
But Kendall reacted too quickly, scuttling back out of reach—back
to the edge of the ravine. A look of surprise crossed her face as she felt
the ground give way beneath her. Arms flailing, she tried to catch her
balance, teetering on the ravine’s edge for a long moment.
Then with a scream she was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY–NINE
“So what will happen to her?” Muffy asked.
She, Skip, Jack and Leigh were sitting at one of the tables on the
back patio as dusk turned to darkness. On the lawn below the house,
Oliver and Paige were supplementing the flashing of the fireflies with
sparklers. The other guests had all left, departing rapidly once the police
had told them they could go. The police were gone now too, taking
Kendall and the diary with them.
“She’ll be indicted and tried for Caroline’s murder, I assume,”
Leigh said.
“Will her leg keep her in the hospital long?” Skip asked.
“I don’t think so,” Leigh said. “It was just a simple fracture.
“I wonder if she’ll be permitted bail,” Jack said. “It’s not as if
she’s likely to hurt anyone else.”
“Not unless they get in her way, anyway,” Leigh said.
“I thought you liked her,” Jack said.
“I did—and in a way I guess I still do—but discovering someone is
a murderer and having them threaten to kill you too has a tendency to
temper one’s enthusiasm somewhat. At this point, I feel sorry for her
more than anything else.”
“I still find it hard to believe she was capable of murder,” Muffy
said. “She seemed so nice.”
“She was a good actress.”
“And good–looking,” Skip said.
“What on earth does that have to do with it?” Muffy snorted.
Skip colored.
“Well, nothing really, I guess,” he said lamely.
“It was still a good point, Skippy,” Jack said stoutly. “Don’t let
her intimidate you.”
“You hush, Jack,” Leigh said. “Actually her looks are relevant in
one respect: they were part of what enabled her to manipulate people,
males in particular, so successfully. Men were so entranced with her
outward appearance that they never noticed that she was empty inside.”
“Hold it,” Jack sputtered. “You were as taken in by her as anyone
else. Was that because your vision was clouded by her beauty?”

Scavenger Hunt  229
“Women are affected by appearance too, even in other women.
But not to the degree men are.”
“So what’s your excuse then? You’re the one who invited her
here. You were even trying to hook her up with the Chipmeister. That
would have been interesting.”
“I think she took everyone in,” Muffy said quickly.
“She certainly fooled me,” Skip added.
“Actually, her diary made it clear that she’s been fooling—and
manipulating—people for a long time. Her parents were killed in a car
accident when she was just eight and she spent several years bouncing
from one foster home to another. Although her beauty attracted potential
adoptive couples to her initially, she had serious emotional problems that
quickly became apparent and she was repeatedly returned to the system.
Over time she learned to control her outbursts, however, and eventually
she was adopted by a Minneapolis surgeon and his second wife.
“Her new father adored Kendall and lavished attentions and gifts
upon her, much to the discomfiture of his wife. Before long, she and
Kendall were in active competition for his attentions, a battle Kendall
ultimately won. Funded by a generous allowance, Kendall learned to
enjoy a lavish—and wild—lifestyle, at least by Minneapolis standards,
with parties and drugs and drinking.”
Leigh paused to take a sip of her drink.
“Oliver, those sparklers aren’t supposed to be used as weapons,”
Muffy suddenly shouted. “And Paige, stop teasing him.” She lowered her
voice. “Sorry about that, Leigh.”
“Anyway,” Leigh continued, “her adoptive mother grew to despise
Kendall and Kendall returned the favor, a situation that might have
resulted in divorce but for the unexpected death of Kendall’s ‘father’.
Unfortunately for Kendall, the will left the bulk of his estate to the
‘mother’ who hated her, and Kendall, now eighteen, found herself out in
the cold financially, yet hooked on a lifestyle that required money and lots
of it.
“With nothing to hold her in Minneapolis, she moved to Chicago
and gradually slid into the life of a party girl and finally high–class
prostitute, depending upon the favors of men to support an increasingly
voracious drug habit.
“It was an overdose that finally brought her to Betty Carter—and
caused her to change her life. She kicked the drugs and moved to New
York where we eventually met her,” Leigh concluded.

Johnson  230
“So Kendall tried to change her life, but Caroline wouldn’t let her
escape her past,” Muffy said.
“Well, she changed it in some ways,” Leigh said. “Outwardly
anyway. But her anger and contempt for people were still there. And her
approach for getting what she wanted out of life hadn’t changed. Her
charm and beauty—and brains—were her chief assets and she used them
without conscience to manipulate those around her. Men especially,” she
added with a pointed glance at Jack. “But when charm wouldn’t work—
as with Caroline, and Cynthia, and finally us, she was perfectly willing to
do whatever was necessary to achieve her ends. She was totally ruthless.”
“Not totally, I don’t think,” Jack said. “She didn’t want to kill us.”
“But she would have.”
“I’m not so sure. She didn’t shoot when you went for her. She
tried to step out of reach—and fell into the ravine for her trouble.”
“Her trouble! I risk my life and you call it her trouble.”
“It’s only an expression, dear.”
“I think you just don’t want to acknowledge that I saved you.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to?”
“I don’t know. Male ego?”
“Me, ego?”
“Well, go ahead then.”
“Go ahead what?”
“Acknowledge it.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Oh, come on, nothing. Acknowledge it.”
“OK, I do.”
“Do what?”
“Acknowledge that what you did was very brave—though no less
than what one would expect a loyal spouse to do.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“I was trying to reason with her. It’s often the better way.”
“You might have reasoned us right into the grave.”
“Perhaps, but I think not.”
“Well, maybe you should leave the thinking to me then.”
“I hesitate to point this out, but leaving the thinking to you is
exactly what brought us to the unfortunate situation we were in.”
“Children, children,” Muffy protested. “Enough. You both
behaved splendidly and all turned out well in the end.”
“Hear, hear,” Skip said.

Scavenger Hunt  231
“And now if it’s safe to leave you two alone I think it’s time for
the Taylors to turn in. I’m exhausted and I know you must be too.” She
stood. “Paige! Oliver! Time to come in!”
When the Taylors had gone inside and silence had fallen around
them, Jack said, “It certainly has been a day.”
“It certainly has,” Leigh said tersely.
“I thought you were magnificent this afternoon, by the way.”
“Hmmph.”
“You were.”
“You certainly didn’t sound like you thought that before.”
“Well, I don’t want you to get a swollen head. It would mar the
perfect proportions of your lovely visage.”
“Hmmph.”
“And I’m proud of the way you pursued the mystery—even if you
did take a few potentially disastrous wrong turns.”
“Keep talking, Jack,” Leigh warned.
“Now, now, my little prickly pear, the point I’m making is that you
were wonderful.”
“And you’re sorry you ever doubted me?”
“Well, you have to admit you were wrong about a few things, but
overall, yes, I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“That’s better.”
“Good. Now there still is of course the matter of our little bet.”
“Bet?”
“Yes. Remember? I bet you that Kendall wouldn’t have the
slightest interest in Chip Dawson. And I think you have to admit that I
won.”
“That’s not fair. Your point was that she wouldn’t find him
attractive. Given what was going on, that was never put to the test.”
“Nonetheless, the bet stands. And as I recall the stakes were
winner’s choice.”
“All right. Name your prize.”
“How about a nice restful weekend for two next week at a location
of your choice. I think we both could use a little vacation.”
“Deal.”
“Where shall it be?”
“How about The Point?”
“That place in the Adirondacks?”

Johnson  232
“It’s supposed to be wonderful. Great food and wines. And most
important of all, totally isolated.”
“We’ll trade loonies for loons.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Sounds great. Now why don’t we hit the hay?”

--------------THE END--------------