announced, “We are now entering the Grand Drawing Room. This is where the wedding ceremony is to be held.”
Four light fixtures reflected against the gold-painted ceiling. A gas-powered fire flared in the massive stone fireplace, fronted with green-veined marble tiles. The furnishings were antique, mostly hunter green, mostly Queen Anne style with high-backed chairs.
A whispery voice floated, disembodied, through the air. “Please be seated.”
The wedding party shared a single gasp. Each of them glanced nervously at the others.
“Please,” the voice repeated. “Everyone find a seat.”
Thea found herself looking toward Spence. Arrogant as all hell, the man made a natural leader. At the moment, she wanted someone to tell her what to do.
“Let’s do it,” he ordered, looking about the room for speakers. “Must be an audio tape,” he said. “Possibly activated like the lights as we came into the room.”
“Are you sitting?” the disembodied voice asked.
“Radical,” Travis mocked, all nervous, angry energy. He planted his hands on his narrow hips and shouted to the proverbial rafters, “Where is my sister, you bastard?”
“Travis, for heaven’s sake, shut up and listen,” Thea urged, troubled by his expression, his haughty attitude of entitlement which not only set off alarms inside her that she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but would almost certainly enrage Rosemont. “Maybe we’ll learn something if you knock it off.”
Travis glared at her, but, with the exception of Lawrence who stood posed in front of the mantle, they each found a spot, Thea beside Spence on a brocade sofa. She whispered, “This is too weird, Spence—”
The mysterious voice interrupted her. “I am your host, Gregory Rosemont. Welcome to Castle in the Clouds.”
There was a pause, as if to allow them to respond. No one spoke, though Travis looked as if he was eating ground glass to keep quiet.
“The world is such a lonely place,” the voice of Rosemont continued, “and yet, it’s been said that we’re all connected. Each of us knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. Within six degrees of separation, each of us may be connected to every other person on the planet by those we share in common. All of you, for instance, know Jenny, but not necessarily each other.”
No one seemed confused by Rosemont’s reference to the infamous “six degrees of separation.” Thea supposed everyone had heard of the theory by now. And as far as Thea could figure, she and Spence were the only members of the wedding party who were previously acquainted.
“Each of you also knew one other special individual—a sensitive but tortured soul. Each of you, in your own cruel way, wronged this person.
“This weekend is for reparations. This weekend is your last chance to repent,” Rosemont said. “You have forty-eight hours to admit to your crimes and betrayals. At that time, a helicopter will arrive to transport the survivors down from the mountain. If you refuse to face the wrongs you have done, you will die.”
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