It was one of ninety vacation cabins tucked into the scenic mountain valley, each on an acre or half-acre of its own. They were all built along the south shore of the lake and were reachable only by way of a private, gated, gravel-surfaced road that curved around the water. Some of the cabins were made of logs, like the one Paul and Carol had bought, but there were also white clapboard New England models, modern A-frames, and a few that resembled small Swiss chalets.
At the end of her own graveled drive, which branched off the community road, Carol parked the car near the front door of the cabin. She and Jane got out and stood for a moment in companionable silence, listening to the stillness, breathing the wonderfully fresh air.
“It’s lovely,” Jane said at last.
“Isn’t it, though?”
“So quiet.”
“It isn’t always. Not when most of the cabins are in use. But right now there’s probably no one here except Peg and Vince Gervis.”
“Who’re they?” Jane asked.
“The caretakers. The homeowner’s association pays their salaries. They live year-round in the last cabin, out at the end of the lake. In the off season, they run a couple of inspection tours every day, just keeping a lookout for fire and vandals and whatnot. Nice people.”
Above the distant north shore of the lake, lightning blazed across the malevolent sky. A clap of thunder fell from the clouds and rolled across the water.
“We better get the suitcases and the food out of the car before we have to unload everything in the rain,” Carol said.
Grace expected to be attacked on the stairs, for that was where she would find it most difficult to defend herself. If the cat frightened her and caused her to lose her balance, she might fall. If she fell, she would probably break a leg or a hip, and while she was temporarily stunned by the shock and pain of the fall, the cat would be all over her, tearing, biting. Therefore, she descended the stairs sideways, with her back against the wall, so she could look both ahead and behind.
But Aristophanes did not show up. Grace reached the downstairs hall without incident.
She looked both ways along the hall.
To reach the front door, she had to pass the open door of the study and the archway that led to the living room. The cat could bolt out of either place as she was passing by and could leap for her face before she would have time to spot him, aim the pistol, and pull the trigger.
To reach the other door, the one at the back of the house, she had to go right, along the hallway, past the open dining room door, into the kitchen. That route didn’t look any less dangerous.
The rock and the hard place, she thought unhappily. The devil and the deep blue sea.
Then she remembered that her car keys were in the kitchen, hanging on the pegboard beside the back door, and that settled it. She would have to leave through the kitchen.
She moved cautiously along the hall until she came to a wall mirror, beneath which stood a narrow, decorative table. There were two tail vases on the table, bracketing the mirror. She picked up one of them in her injured left hand and sidled toward the open dining room door.
She paused before reaching the doorway, listened.
Silence.
She leaned forward and risked her eyes by peering into the dining room. She could not see any sign of the cat. That didn’t mean it wasn’t in there, The drapes were half drawn, and the day was gloomy; there were lots of shadows, many places where a cat could hide.
For the purpose of creating a diversion in the event that Aristophanes was in one of those shadows, Grace pitched the vase inside. As it landed with a loud crash, she stepped across the threshold just far enough to grasp the doorknob, then pulled the door shut as she backed quickly into the hallway again. Now, if the cat was in there, it would bloody well have to stay in there.