allowed herself an appeal for assistance from a higher power. “I could use some backup, here. I can’t do everything myself.” As she passed between the rows of tables in the dining hall, she saw girls eyeing the platter of chicken with doubt.
“Please,” she murmured, with a harried glance heavenward. “At least make the chicken taste good.”
“DAMN FOOL, that’s what you are, going out in the snow.”
Wrapping a scarf around his neck, Chris smiled to himself. “It’s not snowing yet, Charlie. The weather report says the snow won’t even start till after dark.”
“What do they know? I’ve lived my whole life in these mountains and I tell you it’ll be coming down hard and fast by four at the latest.” Still with a full head of hair, gray now instead of brown, his grandfather scowled at him.
“Well, I should be back here long before the roads get bad. I just want to ask some questions.” He’d told Charlie about yesterday’s encounter.
“You showed me that picture on your phone and, yeah, she does look like Juliet. But don’t you think I would have heard if Juliet Radcliffe had returned? There’s been neither hide nor hair of that girl seen around here since the two of you crashed up on the mountain.” The old man grabbed Chris above the elbow and stared at him through round, rimless glasses. “She died that night, Christopher. You’ve known it for twelve years. Why would you suddenly start doubting?”
Chris patted the chilly fingers. “Because…because I feel it. There’s something in this woman’s face that I know as well as I know my own. And she’s so close to what Juliet might have looked like now. How could that be?”
“They say everybody has a double.” Still as tall as ever but on the thin side, after losing fifty pounds to illness, Charlie looked even older than his seventy-eight years.
“Maybe. But in the same North Carolina mountain town? Not likely.” He grabbed his helmet off the kitchen table and turned to look at his granddad’s worried face. “I’ll be back for dinner. Put that meat loaf I bought at the market in the oven with a couple of potatoes. We’ll have a good meal, a few beers and watch the ball game on TV. Okay?”
Charlie growled low in his throat. “You’re asking for trouble.”
That, Chris thought as he fired up the Harley, was probably true. If this Jayne Thomas wasn’t who he thought, she might call the Ridgeville police on him. Or the sheriff’s department, with Deputy High-and-Mighty. He might end up spending Christmas in jail instead of hanging out with his dying grandfather, storing up memories for when Charlie was gone.
If she was Juliet Radcliffe…well, then he had questions to ask. And he wouldn’t be leaving her alone until he got the answers.
The drive to Hawkridge School took him fifteen miles along winding, two-lane mountain roads bordered by dark evergreens and bare hardwood trees. Heavy, ash-colored clouds blocked the sun, creating an early twilight. True to Charlie’s prediction, snow began to dust the pavement only a couple of miles out of Ridgeville.
Chris grinned as he watched the small white flakes sifting over the surrounding forest. He’d always loved spending Christmas here in the Smoky Mountains with Charlie. Not every Christmas had been a white one, but he recalled streaking down the hill behind Charlie’s cabin on a blue plastic disk sled, hearing Juliet scream as she flew beside him, and then the two of them landing in a tumbled heap in the drifts at the bottom. They’d emerged breathless, crying with laughter, then picked up their sleds and trudged back to the top to do it all over again. Charlie had resorted to bribing them with food to get them inside for even a few minutes.
Chris shook off his memories to realize the snow had picked up and was beginning to coat the road. In the next moment, he saw tall iron gates and a sign flash by—The Hawkridge School.
Damn, he’d missed the entrance.
A set of switchbacks took him farther up the mountain, but then came a long, straight stretch of road suitable for a U-turn. With no traffic in sight, Chris eased the bike around and headed back the way he’d come, slower this time and with his mind on his driving.
The trees along the hairpin curves arched out over the road, blocking most of the snow and also the waning light, until he might as well be driving at night. He’d worn a sweater under his leather jacket, plus a scarf, knit cap and gloves with liners. But even the leather chaps over his jeans didn’t cut the frigid wind. His knees and thighs felt like blocks of ice. Inside heavy boots and wool socks, his toes could have been chipped off with an ice pick.
Because of the cold or the darkness, or both, the entrance again came up faster than he expected. Chris started the turn too late, too sharply, just as the tires slipped on the slick asphalt.
He muttered a single swear word.
The bike tilted, then fell over, sliding sideways with Chris’s leg pinned underneath. Metal screamed, and he got a glimpse of approaching tree trunks on the other side of empty space. He had just enough time to send up a fervent prayer before wood started to splinter. Then the world went black.
Chapter Two
By midafternoon, the usual bustle in the hallways of the Hawkridge School had dwindled to complete silence. Students, teachers and staff had left the premises as fast as possible, all anxious to be out of the mountains before the snowstorm hit. Only eight individuals remained behind in the mansion—Jayne and the seven girls who had no other place to go.
They’d gathered in a room that students rarely saw, the private library designed for the wife of magnate Horace Ridgely, the builder of Hawkridge Manor. Mrs. Ridgely—Emmeline—had fancied herself a history scholar, and furnished her retreat with comfortably deep leather sofas and chairs surrounded by library tables wide and sturdy enough to hold stacks of books and provide plenty of work space. At each end of the room, walnut bookshelves packed with gold-tooled leather volumes lined the walls from the floor to the fifteen-foot ceiling. On one side, casement windows with diamond panes looked out into a private walled garden where Emmeline might refresh her mind without being disturbed. Across the room, the fireplace could have roasted an ox whole.
The manor had been wired for electricity from the beginning, and the only change made to this room in the last one hundred years was the addition of a discreet mahogany cupboard which, when opened, revealed a large TV screen and all the necessary components for movies and music. As the light failed outside Emmeline’s diamond windows, the girls spent the first afternoon of their winter break sprawled across two sofas and four chairs, swooning over handsome actors and cackling at sly jokes.
Jayne had joined them during the first half of the film, but found her attention more attuned to the weather than the antics of a gang of con artists stealing from Las Vegas casinos. Standing by the window, she pulled her sweater close around her as she watched the snowflakes falling faster and harder as the minutes passed. The wind seemed louder and stronger, too.
“It’s going to be a real storm, isn’t it?” Sarah Minton, a senior who had volunteered to stay and help Jayne with the other girls, came to join her at the window. “It looks kind of scary out there.”
Jayne smiled. “But we’re safe and sound inside, so we don’t have anything to worry about. We’re warm and dry and there’s lots of food. Lots of firewood, too—I asked Mr. Humphries to leave us a good supply within easy reach.” She glanced at the fireplace, where the blaze had gotten low. “Maybe
