But no one got any sleep that night. When Sheriff Patterson and his men were finally finished inspecting the house, they sealed off the tower as a crime scene, and finally withdrew outside. Daphne noticed Christopher nodding off on the couch, and nudged him awake, getting him to follow her upstairs. She put him into bed and asked him if he needed to talk, but he just looked at her and said, “I agree with Suzanne. I think you killed Donovan.”
Daphne told him to go to sleep, and left the room.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She admitted she wasn’t sorry that Donovan was dead. But it was an awful thing, nonetheless. She hoped he hadn’t suffered. Did one die slowly or quickly when one’s throat was slashed?
What did it mean? If it was a copycat killer, someone obsessed with the original crimes, then how did he get in here? And how did he get out of the tower?
And if it was the ghost of Pete Witherspoon Senior. . . then were any of them safe?
In the morning, bleary-eyed, they all ate breakfast together, except for Louella, who remained sedated in her room, and Suzanne, who had gone into town to make arrangements for Donovan’s funeral. It was unusual that the clan all ate together, but an unspoken bond seemed to unite them now. No one spoke much, but Daphne had recalled something as the dawn broke, and she turned to remind Ben of it now.
“That day in the study, do you remember?” Daphne whispered, so the others wouldn’t hear. “I saw a man, a man who looked like Mr. Witherspoon, only it wasn’t.”
“I remember,” Ben said quietly.
“You tried to tell me it was one of the stable hands, but then you showed me the photograph of Mr. Witherspoon’s father. That’s who the man I saw looked like. And he was covered in blood.”
“Daphne,” Ben said, but he seemed to have no argument left.
“You can’t say I hallucinated that, not when my other so-called hallucinations have turned out to be true. I believe I saw the ghost of Pete Witherspoon Senior that day. And maybe the first day I was here as well, at the inn and again in Christopher’s room!”
“So you think my grandfather came back from his grave to kill Maggie and Donovan?”
“How could someone flesh and blood get out of the tower?”
“Daphne, it’s very possible that what you thought you saw in the darkness in the tower was not a clown—”
“Then what was it? Ashlee saw the exact same thing!”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “But I’m sorry. I just don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I’m not sure I do, either,” Daphne admitted, sitting back in her chair. “But I just don’t know what else to think.”
The murder headlined the newspapers, as everyone expected.
CLOWN KILLINGS RESUME IN POINT WOEBEGONE. COPYCAT KILLER STRIKES AT ORIGINAL KILLER’S FAMILY.
Helicopters flew over the estate, snapping photographs. A couple of reporters snuck past security forces and banged on the door of Witherswood. Pete had them arrested. There were no televisions in the house, of course, but Ben showed Daphne on his computer how sensationally the story was being picked up by all the media outlets.
Late in the afternoon, Sheriff Patterson came by with a request he’d received from Boston. Mother Angela, unable to telephone Daphne at Witherswood, had phoned the local police. She was worried. The sheriff told Daphne she could use the radio phone in his car out front to call her.
“Maybe I was too rigid last time we spoke,” Mother said, after Daphne had settled into the cruiser’s front seat and a deputy had placed the call to Boston. “Maybe, at least until the person who committed this horrible deed is apprehended, you could come back to us.”
“No, Mother,” Daphne replied calmly. “I’m not leaving here.”
“What? Last time we spoke you were desperate to get out!”
“Correct. And you told me that I needed to face the challenges that were given to me.”
“Daphne, dear, but I had no idea there was a murderer at large... .”
Daphne was firm. “My destiny is here in Point Woebegone. I could not leave now even if I wanted to. To abandon Christopher at this point would be irresponsible on my part. He might still fight me, but in fact, I’m all he has. Besides, I want to know what’s really going on. Who killed Donovan? And what connection does it have to me?”
“Why do you think there’s a connection to you?”
“Because whoever the killer is—or
what
ever the killer is—he has shown himself now to me four times. I’m part of this, Mother, whether I like it or not. And I intend to find out exactly
what
part.”
As she stepped out of the sheriff’s car, Daphne’s arm was taken by someone from behind. She expected it to be a policeman, helping her out of the car, but to her great surprise—and delight—it was Gregory.
“I figured I shouldn’t show my face at the house again so soon, but I had to see you,” he said, slightly out of breath. He wore faded jeans and a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt. “The sheriff understood my dilemma and so he just called me, telling me if I hurried, I could make it up here and catch you before you went back into the house.”
Behind him, Daphne saw his motorcycle.
“You’re fast, Mr. Winston,” she said.
“I can be, when I want something.”
She smiled. “And what is that you want?”
“To know that you’re all right.”
Daphne’s heart melted.
“The sheriff told me that Donovan assaulted you,” Gregory said.
Daphne looked past him toward the house. From this angle, bushes blocked the view from any window at Witherswood. She supposed she had to be grateful to Sheriff Patterson for his strategic parking.
“He tried,” she admitted to Gregory, “but he didn’t get very far.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Daphne reached up and touched Gregory’s cheek. He hadn’t shaved today. His skin was rough like sandpaper. Daphne loved how it felt. She could have caressed Gregory’s cheek all day long.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she told him.
“Well, he got what he deserved then,” Gregory said.
Daphne removed her hand. She thought it was cold of Gregory to say such a thing. Yes, he was trying to be supportive of her, defending her against the horror of Donovan’s assault. But while Daphne wasn’t unhappy that Donovan was dead, no one deserved to die like that, and she told Gregory so.
“Once again, you are the sensitive, compassionate one,” he told her, laughing a little. “You’re really too good to walk this earth, Daphne, too gentle to live among us wolves.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said.
“Any idea who did it?” Gregory asked.
“The sheriff’s saying a copycat killer, someone obsessed with the original murders. But inside, some of us are starting to think it’s a ghost.”
“You’re not serious.”
“How else could the killer have gotten out of the tower?”
“The ceiling hatch. As a kid, I climbed in and out of there all the time.”
“That must have been before Mr. Witherspoon sealed it shut.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was sealed as long as I can remember. Or at least the adults thought it was sealed. But I discovered it was easy to jimmy the boards up, keeping the nails in place as I did it, and then climb out and press it back into place.” He grinned. “That way no one knew I’d ever been there. And in those days, Pete was spry enough to get up on the roof and check.”
“Then do you think that’s how the killer got out?”
“Who knows?” He took her in his arms. “Maybe the killer was just trying to protect you from a very bad man.”
“Stop, Gregory, don’t tease,” she said. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“I do. I think I want you out of that house.”
“No,” Daphne said, repeating what she had just told Mother Angela. “I’m not running away.”
The sheriff had come up behind them. “Sorry, lovebirds, but I’m going to have the move the car. Another officer’s coming up to relieve me, don’t worry. We’re keeping a twenty-four-hour watch on the house.”
Gregory and Daphne broke their embrace.
“When will you be able to get away?” Gregory asked her.
“I don’t know. Not for a while. There’s going to be a funeral and then ... well, I just don’t know.”
“Have Ashlee call me. I’ll go crazy if I don’t know you’re okay.”
Daphne smiled, then hurried back up to the house.
That night, when Daphne told Ashlee how Mother Angela had called, pleading with her to come back to Our Lady, her friend told her she was being foolhardy to refuse.
“You should get out of here now, Daphne, while you still can,” Ashlee said, grabbing hold of her by the wrists.
“What do you mean, while I still can?”
“I’m terrified that Donovan won’t be the killer’s only victim. Whoever the killer is, some copycat nut job or an avenging spirit, it is targeting this house. Why stay here and be in danger? I’m already trying to convince Pete we should leave. He owns a condo in Florida. We could go there. You should go back to Boston, where it’s safe.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Daphne replied. “The sheriff has men posted outside. We’re safe here.” She looked Ashlee squarely in the eye. “And I’m not sure it’s just this house the killer has targeted. He killed Maggie, too, remember? And she had no connection to the Witherspoon family.”
Even though the sheriff said he wasn’t drawing any conclusion that the same person had killed both Maggie and Donovan, Daphne was certain they were indeed the same. After all, she had seen the same clown both times.
“Well,” Ashlee said, considering this, “Maggie did
sort of
have a connection to the family. She was an old friend of mine. So maybe this monster is going to try killing all of us and everyone we know.”
“Well, that’s a rather big order,” Daphne countered. “Really, Ashlee, I feel I belong here now. I’m going to stick this out, see it to the end.”
Her friend just glared at her. “Have it your way then.” She seemed near tears. “I just hope I never have to say that I warned you.”
Another night passed without Daphne getting much sleep. Gregory’s words had come back to haunt her. What was more frightening? A ghost or a real-live killer? Because now it seemed as if it could be the latter, if a real-live killer had known the secret of getting out of the tower room without being noticed.
And who would know that? Someone who had lived here. Someone who had played in the tower room with Gregory.
Someone like ... Ben.
Daphne sat up in bed. What she was thinking was crazy!
Could Ben have killed Donovan? Dressed like a clown, to throw everyone off the track?
But Ben was in Portland at the time of the murder.
Or so he said.
Ben was the only one in the family not present and accounted for that night.
But Ben had no motive to kill Donovan.
Then who did?
The answer came to Daphne even as she tried to push it away.
Gregory.
Gregory had the motive. Even if he hadn’t known at that point that Donovan had assaulted her, Gregory had come up to Witherswood, raging with anger, to defend Daphne’s honor after hearing how Donovan had lied about her. In his rage, had he decided to kill him?
Well, he got what he deserved then.
Gregory’s own words.
Maybe the killer was just trying to protect you from a very bad man.
Daphne suddenly felt sick to her stomach.
Had he been confessing the crime to her?
Was all this part of Gregory’s vendetta against the Witherspoon family? The sheriff had said a copycat killer would have an obsessive interest in the original case. That certainly described Gregory.
But why would Gregory kill Maggie then? And he
couldn’t
have killed Maggie that night—he’d been with Daphne!
Except ... not the whole time. He’d left and gone into the kitchen. During the time he was gone, Daphne had spotted the clown. And when Gregory came back, the clown was gone.
What she was thinking made no sense.
But it did make sense, too.
This is crazy
, Daphne thought, near tears.
I’m suspecting the two men I care most about!
She fell asleep as the sun was beginning to edge the horizon. She dreamt strange and twisting dreams in which nothing made sense; she was lost in a long corridor of doors that, when she opened them, had nothing but dark empty space behind them.
For the time being, Christopher’s lessons were halted. Ben appealed to his uncle to let the boy see a counselor. There was a good one in town, a Dr. Duane, recommended to him by friends in Portland. After Donovan’s murder, it was imperative that the boy get some professional help. Once again, Pete said he’d consider it, but made no decision.