He’s learned to trust his instincts after all these years as a criminal lawyer. And he knows it’s not actually that easy to die from a fall down a flight of stairs. Unless the neck is broken. And he’s pretty sure Dana’s neck was not broken. He thinks the cause of death was the blow to the head. And to die from a blow to the head from falling down the stairs, you have to fall in a particular way. You have to strike your head hard against the newel post, for instance. But it seems to him that she struck her head hard against the edge of the bottom step in a peculiar way.

It doesn’t look like an accident at all. It looks to him like murder.

Matthew, simply as the dead woman’s fiancé, is the most obvious suspect. David considers Matthew’s reaction. Either it was completely genuine, or Matthew is a very good actor. David knows better than to underestimate anyone. He knows that people are complicated; life is complicated.

His own life is complicated. He’d intended to stay away from Gwen once he learned that her friend Riley had been a journalist with the New York Times. He didn’t need the trouble. But then she’d sought him out in the library – and it was the most pleasant evening he’s spent in years. It seemed so natural, so right, when she came upstairs with him. He unlocked the door and closed it behind them, and then it was inevitable. Somehow they’d found the bed. He’d felt himself come alive after years of being alone. He somehow sensed that she felt the same way.

He’s been so lonely since his wife died.

Saturday, 6:55 AM

Beverly follows her husband to the staircase. They’ve hastily thrown on some warm clothes and are on their way to the dining room. Her heart races in time with her quick footsteps on the stairs. Despite her deep pity for the dead woman, she almost feels like they have been saved. This crisis has sidelined their own troubles. It’s as if they’ve both been pulled back from the brink they’d faced last night. It’s awful to think so, but she’s hoping that it will prevent them from focusing again on their marriage in the cold, empty light of day. She does not want to go there, now that she knows just how precarious her position is.

And then, when they are home again, with all this drama and tragedy behind them, they will slip into old patterns, avoiding what’s important, carrying on the way they should. The way they must. She’s a little surprised at how, even in the face of something as calamitous as a young woman’s unexpected death, she still considers her own interests first. But then, she didn’t really know her. She suspects Henry is grateful to have something to distract them from themselves this weekend, too, rather than spending it arguing with his wife and blowing his comfortable existence apart.

They arrive at the landing and she recoils when she sees the body still lying at the bottom of the stairs, covered by the sheet. She hadn’t expected it to be there. Why haven’t they moved her, taken her away somewhere, where they don’t have to see her? She shudders involuntarily. They make their appalled way down and step around the corpse, deliberately looking elsewhere, and hurry to the dining room.

When she and Henry enter the dining room, everyone turns towards them. Lauren is standing by the coffee, pouring herself a cup from a carafe. Beside her is her boyfriend, Ian, who for once isn’t smiling. Gwen is standing by herself, but Riley is hovering nearby. Beverly doesn’t see Matthew anywhere. The woman writer, Candice, is off in a corner by herself, drinking coffee and observing everyone with a sharp eye. She’s not hiding behind a magazine this morning. The attorney stands quietly away from everyone else, looking troubled and sipping coffee.

Candice walks up to everyone near the coffee things and says, quietly, ‘Are any of you aware of who Matthew Hutchinson is?’ The rest of them look at her in surprise. ‘No? He’s from one of the most prominent and wealthy families in New England.’

Beverly had no idea, and looking around at the others, it seems that nobody else had any idea either. At that moment Bradley brings out plates of rolls, croissants, and muffins from the kitchen. He sets them down on the long side table where the buffet had been laid out the night before. ‘Please, help yourselves,’ he says.

Bradley seems quite different this morning, Beverly thinks. He has a distracted air, and he’s missing his charming smile. Well, no wonder.

He glances around the room and says, ‘I’m really sorry about the power. There’s not much we can do about it but wait for them to fix the lines. I’m sure they’re working on it. We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible in the meantime.’

Beverly is relieved that Matthew isn’t there. He must have returned to his room. She imagines the others must feel as relieved as she does. No one would know how to act around him. A handsome young man in the prime of life, evidently the heir to a great fortune, engaged to such a lovely young woman – his happiness destroyed in an instant by this terrible, tragic accident. How sad and difficult the weekend will be, tiptoeing around his grief.

She wishes now, her own marriage hanging in tatters, that she’d never heard of this place. If only they could leave. She wants nothing more than to go home. She wants to go home with Henry and patch things up and carry on as normal.

The guests mill about awkwardly. Some step up and reach uneasily for croissants and muffins. Bradley soon returns carrying a big platter of eggs. ‘Fortunately, we have a gas stove,’ he says. He places the platter on the table and invites everyone to dig in. But many of them seem to have lost their appetite.

Finally James appears from the kitchen and says, with appropriate solemnity, ‘This is such an awful thing to have happened. I am so sorry. And’ – he hesitates – ‘I apologize – but unfortunately, I have been advised that we must leave the body where it is for the time being.’

The guests shift uneasily where they stand.

‘Advised by whom?’ Henry asks.

‘By me,’ David answers.

‘Are you sure you can’t … move her?’ Beverly asks, dismayed. It seems awful just to leave her there. Disrespectful, somehow.

‘And no, we can’t.’

‘Why not? Surely it was an accident,’ Lauren says.

‘Better to wait for the coroner to determine that,’ David says.

‘You’re not suggesting it wasn’t an accident!’ Gwen says.

‘I’m saying it’s for the coroner to decide.’

Suddenly Beverly wonders if the attorney suspects Matthew of pushing his fiancée down the stairs. She studies the others; she’s pretty sure one or two of them just had the same thought. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wonders if any of them heard what she heard, the argument between Matthew and Dana late last night. Should she say anything? Surely it was just a lovers’ quarrel. Matthew wouldn’t harm Dana. They seemed so in love.

There’s an awkward silence, and then Riley says abruptly, ‘I thought I heard a scream last night.’

‘When?’ David asks.

‘I don’t know. I thought I’d imagined it.’

‘Did anyone else hear anything?’ David asks, looking around the room.

Beverly feels her whole body tighten. She doesn’t want to get the young man into trouble if he hasn’t done anything wrong. Perhaps someone else heard them arguing. She doesn’t want to be the one to tell. But no one else offers anything. She looks down, uncertain, and lets the moment pass.

‘What about the police?’ Henry asks now.

James speaks up. ‘As you know, the power’s out and the phones are dead. We haven’t been able to reach the police.’

‘I know, but what about snowmobiles?’ Henry asks.

James shakes his head. ‘We don’t have them here. They’re noisy. We like to focus on nature – hiking, skiing, snowshoeing. We’re old-fashioned.’

Henry rolls his eyes in disgust. ‘I can’t believe you don’t have a generator,’ he mutters.

‘The police will get here eventually,’ James says, ignoring him. ‘Once the power’s restored and we can use the phone. Or they clear and sand the roads and we can get out.’

‘How long does it usually take,’ Riley asks uneasily, ‘to restore power up here when there’s a storm?’

Bradley says, ‘It all depends. But I imagine it’s a pretty widespread outage. Ice is much worse than snow. It brings down the wires.’