Macgowan looked down at them, interested.
Laurel said, “Then we’re all nicely set,” in a perfectly flat voice, and she walked out.
Chapter Six
The night was chilly, and Laurel walked briskly along the path, the beam of her flashlight bobbing before her. Her legs were bare under the long suede coat and they felt goose-pimply.
When she came to the great oak she stabbed at the green ceiling with her light.
“Mac. You awake?”
Macgowan’s big face appeared in her beam.
“Laurel?” he said incredulously.
“It’s not Esther Williams.”
“Are you crazy, walking alone in these woods at night?” The rope ladder hurtled to her feet. “What do you want to be, a sex murder in tomorrow’s paper?”