Hugo glanced over his shoulder toward the sound.
“Someone’s got their knickers in a twist,” he said. “Suppose I ought to go down and make sure no one is about to bludgeon Jack with the fire poker.”
“Good luck.”
He took a melodramatically deep breath and started to turn.
“Hugo?”
He looked back at her.
“Why did you give me a hint?”
He furrowed his brow. “I didn’t.”
“You asked me if I remembered the name of the man who drove me here.”
“I asked. I didn’t tell you the answer.” He shrugged. “Just curious if you were a contender or not. Turns out you are.” Someone suddenly yelled out, “Shit!” from downstairs. Hugo glanced over his shoulder. “Right. That’s my cue to save Jack’s life. Night, Lucy.”
“Hey, just a sec.”
She got up and opened her bag. From it, she pulled out a scarlet redscarf she’d finished knitting on the airplane. “Here,” she said, offering it to him.
He took it and looked at it. “Pretty. But—”
“I make and sell scarves on Etsy. You lent me your coat. You can keep the scarf as collateral until I leave.”
“Thank you.” He wrapped it around his neck and suddenly looked very sexy wearing something she’d made. Lucy felt a blush beginning and sat down to eat again before he noticed.
“Anyway, good luck down there,” she said. “Please don’t let them kill Jack.”
“No promises.” He paused in the doorway. “Keep your door locked tonight. As of now, you’re in the lead. Don’t let them put you in cement shoes.”
“I’ll sleep with the harpoon just in case.”
An actual, if small, antique harpoon hung on the wall over the door.
“Good thinking.”
With that, Hugo left. Lucy got up and shut the door, locking it as ordered.
Then she finished her lobster bisque, took a long shower in theen suitebathroom, put on her pajamas, and crawled blissfully into bed. The sheets were luxurious, soft, and scented with lavender.
Ten o’clock in Maine was only sevenp.m.in Redwood. She didn’t know if Mrs. Bailey would pass on the message, but she couldn’t help herself—she sent a text message.
Can you please tell Christopher this message? I’m winning so far.
Lucy waited. She’d almost given up when her phone vibrated in her hand.
He’s screaming.
So was Lucy, on the inside. Lucy wrote back,When you gotta scream, you gotta scream.
There was no reply after that. Now seven-thirty. Christopher would probably be getting his bath and into bed soon. But that was fine. Lucy needed to sleep anyway. And she would sleep well tonight. She’d not only won the first game, she’d won it easily. The others were still downstairs racking their brains.
A lawyer.
A doctor.
