Leavitt had followed Jane’s tracks to the edge of the woods, searching the snow for the lost pistol. He cursed quietly under his breath when he couldn’t find it and realized that he would have to follow her footsteps into the trees. The light was failing as the shortening day faded. What visibility was left was broken up by the branches. He pushed a branch aside and peered into the forest. The footprints were blurred and indistinct, but he thought he could follow them, at least for a short distance. And he needed the gun. That was the pistol Jane would have to turn on herself.
They had never figured that Jane would run out into the mountains rather than shoot the man who had come to kill her. The plan was simple. Kay had flown over from Paris, leaving a well-documented trail of ticket stubs and credit slips in the name of Selina Royce. It would appear that she had come back to be with her lover, ample motivation for Jane to take action. The wronged woman had killed her husband and then shot herself. It was all to happen in the house, with the same gun. But Jane had run, spreading the crime scene out over the countryside. And then she had lost the gun they needed to kill her with if the murder-suicide charade was to be credible.
Now Leavitt worried that the pistol might be lost. Jane might have tossed it away as she fled, in which case it wouldn’t be lying in her footsteps. He wouldn’t be able to find it in the dimming light. There would have to be a change in plan. Maybe just take her back into the woods and ram her head into a tree trunk to knock her unconscious. She was half frozen when she came back to the house. She would never survive a few hours lying in the snow.
He pulled up abruptly. Something was moving just ahead of him, snapping twigs and crunching snow. He backed up a step. Finding the gun was suddenly less important than his fear of confronting a bear or a wildcat. Branches moved and there was William Andrews, staggering toward him, supporting himself against the tree trunks, his shirt red and his jacket stained black. Leavitt backed away, looked about hurriedly, and spotted a broken branch on the ground. He rushed for it, pulled it out of the snow, and wielded it like an axe as he turned back to Andrews. Only then did he see the gun rising in Bill’s hand. He didn’t hear the shot, but noise exploded in his ears as he fell backwards into the snow.
Kay circled the room, keeping the shotgun pointed at Jane. “Get away from the window,” she ordered.
Jane moved away slowly and Kay came closer so that she could see who came out of the woods and crossed the clearing to the front door. She was no longer cool and calculating, but plainly rattled by the sudden turn of events. If Robert had to use a second shot to finish off Andrews, they might still be all right. It was plausible that Jane would have used two shots to kill her husband. But if William had lived and found the gun, then everything was wrong. Then her partner would be dead, and what choices would be left to her? Kill the two of them and run for her life? That would leave behind a scene of senseless slaughter. The same trail she had left to suggest a woman returning to claim her lover would now point to a jilted woman bent on revenge.
“Are you going to kill everyone?” Jane asked directly. “And then what? You can’t get out of here.”
“Shut up!” She stole a glance at Jane, but her attention was on the edge of the woods.
“You’ll have to shoot at the police when they come to investigate,” Jane taunted. “And then what?”
“I said shut up,” Her eyes widened. William Andrews came out into the open ground, clutching the pistol across his chest. He was hunched over, clearly in pain, but was walking steadily along the footsteps that led to the front door.
Kay gasped. “Oh God, no!” escaped from her lips. Then louder, “Robert…”
Jane saw Bill cross in front of the window, making no effort to conceal himself nor taking any precaution against what might be awaiting him inside. Then she watched Kay move away from the window, set herself at the entry, and aim the shotgun at the front door. When Bill opened the door, he would step directly into the line of fire. Jane screamed and raced across the living room.