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There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him.
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