The Best Man to Trust

CHAPTER Seventeen



When the wedding party shuffled into the dining room for breakfast the next morning, the first thing Meredith noticed was how small the group was. There were so few of them, she noted with a pang. Only four of them—Scott and Rachel, Alex and Greg—taking their seats at one end of the massive table.

Maybe she should ask if they’d like to eat in the kitchen, she thought. A smaller table and more intimate setting might make it less obvious how much smaller their group was now. But by the time it occurred to her, they were already taking their seats.

She mustered a smile. “Good morning.” She received a few muttered greetings in reply.

“Tom come down yet?” Scott asked, glancing around the room.

“He and Rick left already,” she said. “They were up early to get started with the plow. Tom tried it out and said the snow isn’t packed too hard. He’s hopeful they might actually get the road cleared by the end of the day.”

It was a lie, a necessary one to sell them on her plan. As long as they thought they wouldn’t be here much longer, it would work better. Tom and Rick would just reveal at the end of the day that it was taking longer than they’d expected.

As anticipated, the group seemed to perk up at the news. She examined the smiling faces closely, searching for the slightest indication any of them wasn’t as excited as they should be. All she saw was the expected relief.

She quickly served the meal and waited until they’d started eating before speaking again. “I wanted to talk to you all about something,” she announced, drawing their attention. “I was thinking it might be best if we all stayed in the living room today. I know you all have to be sick of staying in your rooms and it’s not really safe to be wandering around alone. There are plenty of books and magazines, and you can bring down any laptops or tablets. We can all watch out for each other, even protect each other if we need to, though it’ll be much less likely with all of us together. Safety in numbers, that kind of thing.”

“Wouldn’t we be safer in our rooms?” Alex asked.

“You can’t stay in your rooms all day,” Meredith pointed out. “The two of you—” she nodded to Alex and Greg “—don’t have bathrooms in your rooms, so you have to leave them several times during the day anyway. And then there are mealtimes. Every moment you’re alone is a moment you’re vulnerable. If we all stick together the whole time, nothing should be able to happen.”

She paused. “Unless there’s a reason any of you wouldn’t want the rest of us knowing where you are or what you’re doing....”

She saw from the narrowing of more than a few eyes that they got the implication—and didn’t like it one bit. They also couldn’t argue about it without looking suspicious.

The exceptions were Scott and Rachel, who could claim that they were better off in their room together, where they were already watching out for each other. Meredith waited for one—or both—of them to make the point.

Neither did. They both remained silent, as she’d thought they might. The tension between them was too obvious. Being around the others instead of sequestered alone together might be a relief at this point.

This time she didn’t have to fake her smile. “Great,” she said. “Then it’s settled.”

This is going to work, she assured herself as the wedding party began to eat again. With everyone in the same room, she would be able to watch over them, and they would be able to protect each other, if the killer was foolish enough to try something with all of them there.

Or crazy enough, she amended. Because being together didn’t just mean she’d know where they all were. It meant the killer would be there, too. A killer who might not be willing to let anything stop him—or her—from completing whatever evil plan they had in mind.

And it was up to her most of all to make sure nothing happened.

* * *

BY NOON, MEREDITH was beginning to suspect the day would never end.

Once she’d gotten the group assembled in the living room, she’d built a roaring fire in the stone fireplace. Under different circumstances the room would have felt comfortable, cozy. Instead it was nearly unbearable, the air charged with tension, the silence absolute.

Looking up from her notepad, she scanned the group. They’d all moved to separate areas of the room, occupying themselves with various gadgets and types of reading material. No one had said much of anything to one another in hours. She’d thought she sensed a few stolen glances, but hadn’t been able to look fast enough to determine who they’d come from or been directed toward.

At least they were alive and safe, Meredith thought. For that, she would endure the oppressive quiet that blanketed the room and crackling uneasiness in the air. Besides, it would be lunch before long. That would offer a brief, much-needed reprieve.

She lowered her gaze back to the pad in her lap. As soon as she saw what was on the paper, she flinched slightly. She’d been drawing without really paying attention to what she’d been doing, the impulse instinctive, her thoughts focused elsewhere. On the multitude of questions in her head. On keeping an eye on the group. On how long it might take to clear the road and how soon the police might arrive...

All while her subconscious had been focused on something else. Or someone.

Tom’s face peered up at her from the paper.

It was a good likeness, she had to admit. As she took in the image, her heartbeat kicked up, almost as if she was looking at the man himself. It wasn’t just the face, but the expression on it, that was instantly recognizable.

It was how he’d looked last night, peering down at her. His eyes were softened, the look in them intimate and achingly tender.

The memories, the emotions, of what they’d shared came rushing back. She didn’t want to read too much into it, didn’t want to ruin one of the best memories she’d ever made by trying to make it into something it wasn’t. Whatever else happened, she just wanted to cherish it—and never forget.

Staring down at the image she’d drawn, she knew she never would.

Grateful no one could see the sketch, Meredith quickly closed the pad and set it aside.

Restless, she pushed to her feet and walked to the nearest window. There still wasn’t much to see, just an unending sea of white. She was hoping to get some glimmer of Tom and Rick. The path they dug from the garage would take them by this side of the house, but she hadn’t heard any signs of the plow and couldn’t see any hint of it from this vantage point.

Turning away from the window, her gaze fell on the bar a few feet away. She automatically moved toward it, thinking it might give her something to do. She might as well get started at clearing out the empty bottles. There was likely to be more than a few after Greg had made his way through the liquor over the past several days.

Stopping in front of the bar, she reached for the nearest bottle and started to pick it up, only to stop and frown at the weight in her hand.

The bottle was full.

Looking closer she saw the seal hadn’t even been broken. Evidently Greg wasn’t a fan of gin. Sliding the bottle back into place, she glanced at the bar to see which were empty.

Her frown deepened. None of them were.

All of them were mostly or entirely full.

Meredith stared at the sight in front of her, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

It didn’t make sense. Greg had been drinking for days. He’d visited the bar at least a half dozen times this morning alone. She knew he didn’t have any bottles in his room; she’d looked yesterday when she was in there. And he’d said the other day he’d been refilling his flask with vodka, yet if he had, there wouldn’t be anywhere near as much left in the bottle.

Unless he hadn’t been drinking as much as he’d seemed to be. But then he wouldn’t have been as drunk as he’d seemed to be....

He had to have been faking it.

She suddenly remembered that look of fury in his eyes when she’d taken his flask. In the moment, she’d thought it was because she’d taken his liquor away from him. Now she had to wonder if there was another reason—because he didn’t want her finding out that there wasn’t any alcohol in the flask? Or because it was harder to maintain the charade that he was drunk without it?

And it was a charade. She suddenly knew it without a doubt. It was all an act to get them to believe...what? That he wasn’t a threat? But why—

There was only on explanation she could think of.

Cold, hard certainty settled over her.

It was Greg. Greg was the killer.

She didn’t know why. She only knew it had to be true.

“Meredith, is everything all right?”

A jolt ripped through her at the sound of his voice. She wondered if she was imagining the edge she heard in the casually spoken question, if anyone else heard it. He must have noticed how long she’d been standing there without moving, might have guessed what she’d figured out.

Damn. She never had been very good at lying or playing games. She cleared her throat. “Yes, of course. I must have zoned out for a second.”

Doing her best to keep her composure, she made herself turn around. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to risk betraying her thoughts. Then she realized how suspicious that would look, as clear a tip-off as accusing him outright. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

They were fixed firmly on her.

And coolly, chillingly, unmistakably sober.

The corners of his mouth twitched wryly. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

She didn’t know what to say. Deep down she recognized that it didn’t matter. The answer had to be written all over her face.

The rest of the room seemed to go still, as though the others were realizing something was happening. Meredith sensed eyes shifting from her to Greg and back again.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked warily.

Still words escaped her.

“I guess it’s over then.” Rising to his feet, Greg shrugged lightly. “That’s too bad. I was enjoying this.”

And with that, he pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed it directly at Rachel.

“Let’s finish this.”