<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(226, 80, 65)"><b>Abby Daniels</b></span><br/><br/>"I  argued with him about cutting his children out of the will.  I know that must sound strange, given I was just his waitress, but we'd talk about so much.  I knew something was wrong when his will became an obsession over our last couple of weeks of conversations.  Prior to that time, he'd never talked about wills.  I knew he was in poor health and figured that was the reason.  But I never got the impression he was suicidal.  Did I talk too much about myself and miss the warning signs?"  Abby sadly shook her head.  The question was more for herself than Lucia.<br/><br/>The commotion in the hallway had begun to arouse her curiosity, so excusing herself from Lucia, she headed in that direction.  Listening from the fringes of the gathering to Audrey, Rikkie, Grace and Greg fight about the sudden change in the weather and a stuck front door, she smiled sadly.  It sounded like a typical family squabble, though poorly timed.  When the group dispersed back to the parlor, worried about a pregnant guest, Abby went over to look at the front door.  The hinges seemed to have some gooey substance on them. Had someone tried to put glue on them to seize up the hinges?  When she touched the substance, she felt a chill run through her body.<br/><br/>"That's strange," she muttered to herself, shivering.  "There's quite a draft coming through here."<br/><br/>Still,  the mansion had plenty of exits.  Such as the French doors leading from the parlor to the garden.  There were way too many exists for someone to be able to lock this group inside.  Heading back to the parlor, Abby noticed Karl moving from the corner of the room and in her direction.  She realized she'd failed to introduce herself to the man.  He might end up being her nemesis at some point upon the orders of Grace, but politeness required that they exchange names.<br/><br/>Laying her hand on his arm as he started to pass, she said, "Karl.  I'm Abby."  But her words were drowned out by the sound of slamming doors coming from all directions.  And another chill ran through her body.<br/><br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(226, 80, 65)">Gregory Widcombe</span></b><br/><br/>Greg was enjoying antagonizing his sister.   She made it too easy with her hair-trigger temper.  But the thought of someone giving birth at this event had him as concerned as it had her.  Especially since he felt a chill in the air like he'd never felt before.  The chill didn't seem to be uniform, but in patches here and there throughout the room.  And the patches seemed to be moving, like they were alive.<br/><br/>Going back to the library, he retrieved a blanket that normally lay over one of the couches.  Wrapping the pregnant woman in it, he turned to suggest to Karl that he deal with the front door.  After all, contrary to what Grace said, it would be a half hour drive to the nearest hospital.  And that door was the nearest exit to the cars.<br/><br/>But as he opened his mouth to call to Karl, doors started banging closed all over the mansion.<br/><br/>"What the devil . . . . ." he muttered.  "Why do I get the feeling someone is having fun with us?"  He turned to look at his sister, because if there were any shenanigans going on here, it was either he or his sister who had to be involved.  And he knew this was not his doing.