I sat on the arm of Cassie’s chair. “What’s happened? Is it the reporter? Has he come after you already?”
“Reporter?” Cassie said blankly, then shook her head. “No, it’s nothing to do with him. Mrs. Muggoch told him that her rooms were full up. He’s spending the night on his boat.”
“Bravo, Mrs. Muggoch,” Sir Percy boomed. “She knows a rat when she sees one. It’ll be a rough night, too. Ha!” He raised his glass, grinning gleefully. “Serves him right!”
“What is it, then?” I said to Cassie. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Peter.” The young woman’s voice broke. “He hasn’t come back. Anything could have happened to him.”
My stomach clenched with fear as the reason for Cassie’s distress struck home. Had Peter asked one question too many? I wondered. Had the islanders decided to rid themselves of their meddlesome guest? I looked anxiously at Damian, who shook his head minutely, knelt before the frantic girl, and clasped her free hand in both of his.When he spoke, his deep voice was as kindly as a priest’s.
“Where did Peter go, Cassie?”
“To the monastery,” she answered shakily, and twisted her head to look up at me. “He wanted to hear the monks you told us about, Lori, the ones who’d been killed by the Vikings.”
“When did he leave?” Damian asked, drawing her attention back to him.
“Around four o’clock,” she replied. “He wanted me to come with him, but I didn’t fancy a hike in the fog, so I stayed at the pub. He said he wouldn’t be long, but he’s been gone for nearly four hours.”
Damian chafed her hand. “What route did Peter take to the monastery?”
“The coastal path. It’s the only route we’ve ever taken.” Cassie’s pretty face crumpled, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “If only I’d gone with him . . .”
“Then we’d be searching for both of you.” Damian pulled a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and handed it to her.
Cassie mopped her cheeks and blew her nose. At Sir Percy’s urging, she took another gulp of brandy and tried to collect herself.
“I’ve rung him a dozen times,” she said. “No answer. I thought of going to look for him on my own, but—”
“You did the right thing by coming to us,” Damian interrupted. “We’ll find Peter. In the meantime I want you to go back to the pub.”
“I want to look for Peter,” she protested.
“I know you do,” said Damian soothingly, “but someone has to stay at the pub, in case Peter turns up there. Otherwise we could find ourselves running in circles all night. Kate and Elliot will go with you. You can wait with them in your room.” He pressed her hand. “Please, Cassie, for Peter’s sake . . .”
“All right,” she said, with great reluctance. “I’ll go.” She wiped her eyes, returned her glass to Sir Percy, and began unwrapping the cocoon.
“Take the blankets with you,” said Sir Percy. “And take the car, Elliot.”
Elliot rushed ahead to bring the electric car to the main entrance. Kate put her arm around Cassie’s blanket-draped shoulders and guided her out of the library. When the door had closed behind them, Sir Percy turned to Damian.
“Young scamp’s sprained an ankle, I’ll wager, or wandered off the path,” he said. “Shall I raise the alarm? Form a search party? I can have twenty local men here in a twinkling.”
It suddenly dawned on me that Damian was in an impossibly awkward position. Sir Percy assumed that Peter was injured or lost in the fog. He had no reason to suspect foul play. No one had explained to him that his island was inhabited by a species of lowlife that made paparazzi look like cuddly kittens. How would Damian find the words to tell him that a search party made up of islanders would be more likely to lead us away from Peter than toward him? Even if he wished to acquaint Sir Percy with our suspicions, he couldn’t hope to do so without wasting precious time.
“I’d rather not complicate matters, sir,” Damian said smoothly. “Visibility is poor tonight. I don’t want a search for one man to turn into a search for twenty. I’ll look for Peter on my own.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t think you are,” said Damian, frowning.
“Think again,” I stated firmly.
Damian squared his shoulders. “Lori, you are not—”
“I’d save my breath if I were you, old boy,” Sir Percy interjected. “I’ve known Lori longer than you have.”
I squared my own shoulders and calmly explained the situation to Damian. “Peter’s parents aren’t just my neighbors. They’re my best friends. They’d dodge bullets to help my sons, and if you think I’m going to sit around wringing my hands while their son is in trouble, you’re incredibly mistaken.”
“Don’t waste time arguing with her,” advised Sir Percy. “She’s as stubborn as a stoat.”