“I don’t understand,” she said. “After Michael ran out the back, I went after him while the rest of you were out front.”
“Russ must’ve come to and hid in the cellar because he had nowhere else to go,” Jason said.
Michael nodded, but Patrick stared at the body like he was seeing it for the first time. “Wait a minute. That’s the blanket from the sofa.”
Carrie frowned. She hadn’t noticed the wool blanket’s distinctive striping.
Patrick wet his lips and jabbed a finger at Michael. “The rest of us split up to look for you, but you came back, stabbed Russ, and hid him with the blanket!”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “You’re being awfully persistent, trying to persuade the others thatI’mthe killer. Methinks he doth protest too much. How do we know it’s notyou?”
“That’s preposterous,” Patrick sputtered, but Carrie seized on to the thread, as thin as it was. Michael was right. Patrick had just as much opportunity to be the killer.
“What happened to Jen, Patrick?” she said shakily.
Patrick ran a hand through his hair, flustered. “I don’t know. We got separated. Come on, guys. You forget I was chased by the Slasher, too.”
“Did anyone else witness this?” Michael glanced at Jason and Carrie.
Jason shook his head, reluctantly. Carrie bit her lip and put some distance between herself and Patrick. She would have never believed he could be a suspect. But the pieces were falling into place. Not the places she’d thought they’d fit, but they made a damning picture.
“I went to the cabin first, before I found Tiffany,” she said, her voice trembling. “I saw you through the window. You were standing under Freddy’s body, holding a knife.”
“He was already dead when I came in! I picked up the knife because I recognized it as mine.”
“See, you even admit it!” Michael said.
“They’re chef’s knives!”
“Why would you bring your own knives to the cabin?” Carrie squeaked.
Sweat beaded at Patrick’s temples. “I was planning to surprise you all.”
“Goal achieved,” Michael said.
“With dinner! I was going to cook a nice dinner. I—” Patrickscrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve been taking classes in French cooking at a culinary school.”
Carrie stared at him. Prim and proper Patrick, putting down the spreadsheets and getting his hands messy? Flipping burgers on a barbecue was one thing, but haute cuisine was another.
“When would I have taken the knife that killed Russ anyway?” Patrick protested.
“Maybe during all the times you were in the kitchen?” Michael said, puffing out his chest. “Maybe your newfound love of cooking is just a front! An excuse to handle all those knives!”
“Mikey, don’t be ridiculous.” Jason held his hands out defensively, even now the peacemaker. He never wanted to think the worst of anyone. Carrie had once found that attractive, but had realized it was why he’d stayed with Tiffany for so long. He’d always been in denial about her cruel side. “That’s as ludicrous as Carrie being the Slasher.”
“Freddy and I saw the man with the axe in the woods. It definitely wasn’t me,” Carrie said.
“And she was on the beach with Jen when Tiffany almost drowned,” Patrick said, glaring at Michael. “As was I. Unlikeyou.”
Gooseflesh rippled over Carrie’s skin as she realized what Patrick had forgotten. “Jason wasn’t on shore, either,” she said, slowly.
Jason looked hurt. “You don’t think I’d try to kill Tiff?”
Carrie buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said truthfully.
Michael squared his shoulders like he was about the throw a punch at Jason. “Someoneunlocked the shed and took the axe. Maybe you got the keys from your mom.”
Carrie drew in a sharp breath. Michael’s resentment of Jason was almost pathological, but what the heck was he doing? Accusing him just because he could? It was the wrong position to take. All this finger-pointing was wasting time, when there was a real killer afoot.
