“You!” Candy said in an accusatory tone. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”
Preston gave her a broad grin and waved an expansive hand. “Why, I’ve been here all along.”
“But we searched the house.”
“You missed a few spots. It’s a big house. It’s easy to do if you’re not familiar with it.”
That made Candy pause. She looked at him with scrutinizing eyes. “What kind of game are you playing, Preston?”
“Hmm. Interesting choice of words.” He took a few steps toward her, and she backed away.
“Come any closer and I’ll scream,” she warned.
But the smile did not leave Preston’s face. “Well. We wouldn’t want that, would we? With Ben so nearby, just outside?”
He held up a small, thin metallic object in his hand. It was a black key.
“Unfortunately, you see, I’ve locked the servants’ door,” Preston said. “But there’s no need to panic, Ms. Holliday. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just here to talk.”
Candy backed away a few more steps, casting a glance out one of the nearby windows, hoping to catch sight of Ben. But she saw no sign of him.
“The outbuildings are quite extensive,” Preston said by way of explanation. “It’ll take him a while to search them all. And as I recall, Ben Clayton is a very thorough individual. I’d say we have ten or twelve minutes, at least. That should be enough.”
“For what?” Candy asked warily.
“As I said. For us to talk.”
“And what do we have to talk about?”
“Well, a misplaced hatchet, for one thing. A hermit who encountered some sort of mysterious creature in the woods, which appeared to chase him and appropriately scared him. A mysterious donor who funded most of the ice-sculpting exhibition and lured all the participants here with visions of wealth and grandeur. An informant who’s been feeding inside information to that wonderful Ms. Boyle for her popular blog. An unsubstantiated rumor about a sponsorship award program promoted by a certain dubious international ice-carving organization. And, oh yes, an anonymous blog poster and instant messenger who pointed certain key individuals in certain key directions—including you, I might add. And you followed the clues impeccably—just as I knew you would. Your growing reputation is well founded, you know. You have definitely lived up to the hype, and it’s been a great joy watching you work this weekend.”
He had said all of this in a casual, lighthearted sort of way, but Candy knew there was nothing innocent about what he was telling her. She glared at him. “So you’re the one who’s behind all this.”
“Why, yes, I am,” Preston said proudly, “although that’s one mystery you haven’t been able to quite figure out yet. So if I were to grade you for this weekend, I’m afraid I’d have to give you a B minus. Not quite award-winning territory yet, but you’ll get there. You just need a little help every once in a while. So here’s another clue for you: not everything is as it appears.”
Something in the way he said it—a slight change in tone, a flicker in the eye, a word pronounced in a marginally different manner—made her look at him again, and this time she saw behind the persona, behind the public man who had been meandering not so aimlessly around town for the past few days. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Why, Ms. Holliday,” he said, his voice dropping and changing noticeably now, “you’ve finally found me out.”
He reached up and tugged at the corners of his moustache. They came away with some effort. She heard a slight tearing sound as he whisked the moustache off. The glasses next. And a prosthetic nose. The wig was the last to come off.
“You know,” he said as he dramatically removed his disguise, “I had Charlotte Depew make this little getup for me. A couple of years ago, I think it was. She was skilled at that sort of thing. I used it for a masquerade party once.”
He removed his fake teeth. “I went as Mark Twain to that particular event. I modified the costume a little for this weekend’s impersonation. Do you think it worked?”
When his disguise was fully removed, she saw a man in his early forties, with thick brown hair, an aristocratic nose, a rugged face, and piercing blue eyes. He gave her a devious smile. “It’s good to finally meet you for real, Candy. My name is Porter Sykes.”