phone, but there was no answer. She checked the bar, the coffee shop, and the main dining room, all without success. Then she headed for the skating rink.
The rink, like the rest of the hotel, was plush. The roof was open to the icy sky, but walls of tinted glass held off the wind. There were lots ofspectators, and Nancy guessed that many of the Overlook guests passed by just to watch.
She leaned against the rail and studied the skaters for a moment. With a start, she realized that one of them was Michael. An idea popped into her mind, and without a second thought, she rented a pair of skates herself.
Nancy laced them up, stepped onto the ice, and began a few warm-up tricks. She liked the music that was playing. It had a beautiful Latin beat to it. Gradually, Nancy added a few spins and easy jumps to her graceful movements.
Pretty soon a small group was watching Nancy and applauding. But all she saw was another skater at the far end of the rinkâMichael Price.
As if feeling Nancyâs eyes on him, Michael looked up. Then he bowed, his eyes glinting with mischief, and skated smoothly over to her.
âShall we dance?â he inquired.
âSure. How do you feel about talking after we skate?â
âWhat do you want to talk about?â
âLuke Ericsen.â
âOkay,â Michael said. âBut Iâve already told you what I know about him.â
Nancy had to admit that skating with Michael was great fun. He had a natural sense of grace and ease, and he knew a lot of tricks. But she was much more interested in getting some answers.
After a few minutes, she took Michaelâs hand and skated over to the railing. âSo letâs talk,â she said.
âWhat do you want to know?â Michael asked.
âWell, for starters, why have you and Luke been pretending you donât know each other?â
Michael grimaced. âQuite frankly, after what happened with my friend, Luke and I canât stand the sight of each other. Neither one of us ever wants to see the other again, and I guess we both feel the less said, the better.â
Nancy nodded. âOkay, Iâll buy that. But thereâs something else. Weâve had a prowler around our lodge, a prowler who leaves some very frightening messages in the snow. . . . You wouldnât happen to know anything about that, would you?â
Michael coughed. âIâI donât know what youâre talking about, Nancy.â
There was a moment of awkward silence. Nancy could tell by the look in his eyes that Michael was lying. She understood why. Creeping around someoneâs yard in the middle of the night wasnât the kind of thing youâd want to own up to. What puzzled Nancy was why, if neither Luke nor Michael ever wanted to see each other again, Michael had gone to all the trouble of leaving that message. What did he hope to gain by it?
Nancy was beginning to get the feeling that Luke and Michaelâs history was just a bit more complicated than Michael was letting on.
Nancy saw Michael glance over her shoulder. âSpeak of the devil,â he said, âhereâs Luke now.â
Luke marched up to the railing, his face grim. âYou have some nerve helping yourself to my Jeep,â he said tersely to Nancy. âItâs meant foremergencies only. Coming over here doesnât count as one, so hand back the keys!â
âI donât have them,â Nancy said hastily. âI left them with Ned. I think heâs in the coffee shop.â
âFine. Iâll get them. I do not want you driving the Jeep back to the lodge.â Luke swung around.
âJust a minute,â Michael called. An odd smile touched his mouth. âLukeâEricsen, is it?â
Luke turned back and fixed his eyes on Michael. A peculiar expression was on his face. Hostile? Not exactly. It was more like . . . confusion, as if he were looking beyond Michael, seeing someone else.
Nancy
Tracy Hickman, Laura Hickman