Anne Perry s Christmas Mysteries Page 0,69

died."

Peter frowned. "Do you not think perhaps it was an accident more than deliberate, and someone panicked, felt guilty for provoking a quarrel, and so denied it, even to themselves?" His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "We can be at our ugliest when we are frightened. I have seen men act quite outside what one had believed their character to be."

"Certainly," Dominic agreed. "But there is a cowardice in that, and a certain brutality in allowing him to lie there undiscovered, which speaks of a terrible selfishness. I don't intend to allow that to go unaddressed. It...it would seem as if I were saying it doesn't matter, and it does."

"Of course it does." Peter lifted his eyes and met Dominic's levelly. "What can I do to help? I have no idea as to who could or would have done such a thing."

"Or why?" Dominic asked.

Peter's mouth pinched very slightly. "Or why," he conceded. He drew in his breath as if to add something, and then changed his mind and remained silent.

Dominic wondered what he had been going to say. That it must be a secret the Reverend Wynter had learned, possibly even by accident, but that someone cared about so passionately, with such fear of loss, that they had killed rather than risk it being known? It was the obvious thing, if a priest was murdered. Could Peter have failed to say this for any reason except that he knew, or feared, it was true?

His own secret, or someone else's?

What secret could the elegant, charming, and secure Peter Connaught care about enough to commit murder? Or who was the friend for whom he would condone such an act?

Anything? Anyone? The most ordinary countenance could hide stories of pain the outsider would never imagine. Peter had quarreled with Wynter himself to the point that, despite their very real affection, he had suddenly stopped calling at the vicarage, and Wynter had put away the chess set and apparently never played again.

Dominic considered challenging the man but decided not to, at least not yet. "I might be able to narrow it to some degree by knowing who called on him after the last time he was seen alive," he said aloud.

Peter relaxed fractionally. The difference in his posture in the big chair was so slight, it was no more than an easing in the tiny wrinkles in the way his jacket lay. But Dominic was aware of it.

A log settled in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Peter stood up and added another, then waited a moment to make certain it was balanced. The flames reached higher to embrace it.

"That seems like a good idea," he said, taking his seat again. "If I can help, I should be happy to. I might even be able to make some discreet inquiries myself."

"I should be most grateful," Dominic replied. He had no idea how far to trust him, but sometimes one could learn as much from a lie as from the truth. Even omissions could tell a person something. "Thank you," he went on with warmth. "I hope that, as you say, it may turn out to be no worse than a grubby accident someone failed to report."

Peter smiled. "A weakness not easy to forgive, but not impossible."

Dominic remained another fifteen minutes, and then took his leave out into a fading afternoon, now even more bitterly cold. Some of the clouds had cleared away, and it had stopped snowing. The light was pale, with the amber of the fading sun low on the horizon. Shadows were growing longer. The edge of the wind cut like a blade, making his skin hurt and his eyes water.

His feet slipped a little on the ice as he trudged down the drive. Other than the thud of the mounded snow on the evergreens overbalancing onto the ground below, there was silence in the gathering gloom.

Beyond the trees the village lights shone yellow, making little golden smudges sparkling against the blue-gray of twilight. Someone opened a door onto a world of brilliance. A dog scampered out then back in again, and the light vanished.

Dominic's hands and feet were numb. Hunching his shoulders from the cold, he stopped for a moment to retie his scarf.

That was when he heard the footsteps behind him. He swung around, his breath catching in his throat from the icy air in his lungs. The figure was there, crossing the village green only a few yards away. She was bent, shivering,