“Did you hear something?” Moira sat up in bed. “Grace? Are you awake?”

Grace sat up and swung her feet out of bed. “I am now. What was it?”

“It sounded like something crashed into the living room wall. I think I’d better take a look.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Grace got into her robe and slippers and followed Moira into the living room. They switched on the lights, but there didn’t seem to be anything out of place.

“Maybe one of the animals fell over,” Moira guessed. “We’d better check.”

Grace lagged behind a bit as she followed Moira to the storage room. When her father had died, she’d wanted to sell off the whole collection, but Moira had been delighted with the variety of species her father had preserved. Grace never liked going to the storage room, but it was even worse at night. Paul had designed a huge temperature-controlled room to house and preserve her father’s legacy. It had a rustic look, almost like the inside of a log cabin, and Moira had arranged the specimens in a manner that was much too realistic. It frightened Grace every time she saw the big upright Kodiak bear, huge paws extended to rake her into his deadly embrace.

The black panther was another animal Grace avoided. His yellow glass eyes glittered savagely in the light and his lips were pulled back in a vicious snarl, exposing his long, sharp incisors. He looked ready to pounce on her and rip her flesh into shreds.

“Everything seems to be all right.” As Moira walked down the rows of animals, she reached out to pat the lion’s head. “Check on Penny, will you, Grace? If she fell over, she’d make an awful racket.”

Penny was Moira’s nickname for the giraffe, and Grace dutifully headed to the back of the room, giving the bear and the panther a wide berth. At least the giraffe didn’t scare her. She’d never heard of anyone being attacked by a giraffe.

“Penny didn’t tip over.” Grace’s voice quavered slightly and she was ashamed of her timidity. She’d never mentioned her fears to Moira, but she was very glad when they closed the door on her father’s menagerie and went back into the living room again.

“Your picture’s crooked.” Moira pointed to the publicity photo of Grace in her first role as a featured dancer. “Something must have bashed against the other side of this wall. That’s the elevator shaft, isn’t it?”

Grace nodded. “Maybe it got stuck and someone pounded on the wall to get our attention.”

They hurried out into the hall and pressed the elevator button. In a moment, the doors slid open. Moira was about to step in even though the inside of the cage was dark, when Grace pulled her back.

“Oh, my God!” Moira’s mouth dropped open as she peered into the empty shaft. “Thanks, Grace.”

Both women looked at each other for a moment and then Moira took charge. “Get the flashlight, Grace.”

Light in hand, Moira got down on her stomach and leaned over the shaft. When she spoke, her voice echoed hollowly. “There’s something down there.”

“Does it look like a . . . a person?” Grace wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but perhaps knowing was better than imagining.

Moira got to her feet. “More like a bundle of clothes. Come on, Grace. We’ve got to warn everyone so they won’t use the elevator.”

They ran down the stairs as quickly as they could and rang Alan and Laureen’s doorbell. When no one answered, Grace turned to Moira with fear in her eyes. “You don’t suppose . . .”

“Don’t be silly,” Moira interrupted. “I heard Jayne invite them to stay in her guest room.”

The third floor was Hal and Vanessa’s, the fourth floor Johnny Day’s. By the time they got to the fifth floor landing, Moira’s legs were trembling with fatigue.

“There’s no use stopping here.” Grace grabbed Moira’s arm. “We know Clayton and Rachael aren’t home. Come on, Moira. You can make it.”

“Oh, sure. That’s easy for you to say. You’re the dancer in the family. My legs will never be the same.”

“Only one floor to go.” Grace pulled her up the stairs. “Jack hooked up a battery intercom in Betty’s unit. We can call everyone from there.”

Sabotaging the elevator had worked perfectly. Naturally, some of them had been hysterical, but they’d pulled themselves together enough to carry the bodies to the freezer which was fortunately, only one floor up. He hadn’t found the earring, it must have fallen out of Alan’s pocket when he fell, but that didn’t really matter as long as it was out of the rose garden. And now they were all back in their own apartments, trying to sleep after the latest tragedy.

The Caretaker clicked through the closed-circuit channels, checking on everyone, watching Betty out of the corner of his eye. She was wide-awake, staring at the television screen, even though she’d eaten three pieces of tranquilizer-laden candy.

“Sleepy, Betty?” He reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away, almost as if she knew what he’d done. It was such an unexpected reaction that he turned to look at her closely. Of course that was impossible. He must be even more tired than he’d thought. The Caretaker sighed as he took the little gold vial out of his pocket and laid out a couple of lines. This whole thing was growing much too complicated.

What would the police do when the road was cleared and they were faced with a suicide and five accidental deaths? Not even the Old Man and his big-name friends had enough juice to stop an investigation. They’d go through this place with a fine-tooth comb and some eager-beaver young cop would discover something. Given the odds, it was inevitable. Perhaps it would be better to clean out the building floor by floor since they were all sitting ducks. Then he could arrange a convenient explosion.

He forced himself to think carefully. He didn’t want to make a mistake. A gas line weakened by the avalanche was a natural, and by the time they’d finished sifting through the debris, he’d be someone else. Their plastic surgeon had plenty of practice. The whole setup was even more thorough than the federal witness program. A couple of days from now he’d be recuperating at the resort, eating lobster, and reading about the terrible accident that had killed him.

But what about Betty? He looked over to find her watching him. Unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. Since the Caretaker had come up with the scheme to keep Betty alive, the Old Man would never suspect he’d killed her.

He stood up to look out the window. The winds had died down and he should be able to get through tonight. He’d call the Old Man to tell him that his beloved daughter had died peacefully in her sleep, heart failure or some such thing. And how he’d busted his ass to protect the family after the soldiers had botched the job with Johnny. There was no need to fill him in on the details, he’d just say it was impossible to cover any longer, that they were too close to the truth. The Old Man would have to agree that blowing up the building was the only way out.

There were tears in Margaret Woodard’s eyes as she punctured the top of the vial and filled the syringe. She’d done her best not to get personally involved, but she hadn’t been able to harden her heart against Betty completely.

As she punctured the top of a second vial and drew back the plunger, she considered the man waiting in Betty’s room. Once she’d administered Betty’s lethal shot, he wouldn’t need her services any longer.

The Caretaker wasn’t sure what had warned him, perhaps the expression in her eyes or the way her fingers tightened around the syringe. He whirled just in time; one well-placed blow was all it took to guarantee that she would never move again.

Turning back to Betty, he found her staring at him in horror. He smiled to reassure her and patted her hand. “It’s all right, Betty, just a bad dream. Now close your eyes and I’ll make it all go away.”