“Well, Pink,” Adele said finally, “is Izabelle going to make it back from the hospital in time to do her workshop?”

“Not exactly.” Did I really say that? How lame. Once I actually said she was dead, everyone would realize what a bad comment it was. Better just to be direct. I was about to say it when Sergeant French came into the dining room and glanced around until he saw our group. As he walked toward our table, he put on a somber expression. I might as well leave the job of telling the group to him. He certainly had far more experience. And, maybe, it was the coward’s way out.

“Ms. Pink.” He acknowledged me with a nod when he stopped next to me; then he greeted the rest of our group. He turned back to me with a question in his eyes: “They don’t know, do they?” I guess it was pretty obvious. All the smiling and cheerful conversations didn’t go with having just heard someone had died.

Sergeant French checked out the group some more. I suppose he was sizing them up, trying to figure if anybody was going to faint or anything. His head stopped moving when his gaze reached Bennett. It was obvious, from the perplexed squint of his eyes, that he was trying to place Bennett, as if maybe he had seen him on the Ten Most Wanted list.

Nora apparently was used to people staring at her husband that way and volunteered that he was on Raf Gibraltar.

Sergeant French studied Bennett’s face and then brightened. “That’s right. He plays the older brother. What’s his name?”

“Buzz Gibraltar,” Nora said. “If you watch the show, you probably realize the story always turns on his assessment of the situation. Nobody understands, but he’s really the star.”

Nora always seemed to be playing the manager, talking up her client. Did she have any life of her own? Did she want any life of her own? Or was she content to be an extension of Bennett?

By now everybody was staring at the craggy-faced policeman in the dark uniform-and not in a good way. I had to do something. How would it look that I hadn’t told them?

“Look, everybody, I need to tell you about Izabelle,” I said quickly. “You all know she got sick on the beach last night. There isn’t any soft way to put it. She isn’t coming back. She died right after she got to the hospital.”

The group gave a collective gasp, and a few people made comments that got lost in the din.

Bennett’s voice was heard over the noise. “What happened? The last time I saw her, she looked fine.”

“And when was that, Mr. Franklyn?” Sergeant French asked, taking out his notebook.

“I don’t remember the exact time, but everyone was checking out the s’mores bags Commander Blaine set out. I think she was picking out one.”

“And then?” Sergeant French said. Bennett just shrugged and said he’d walked away after that. “Got to keep trim for my show, so I passed on the snacks.” Nora gave Bennett a little shake of her head, as if she was upset that he’d said anything.

Before Sergeant French could ask any more questions, Jeen asked for details about what had happened. She pursed her lips and gave me a disparaging look. “I don’t think saying she died is enough. We want to know how she died.”

I started to explain that Dinah, Commander, and I had found her on the beach and that we’d called the paramedics, but Jym interrupted me.

“I think what my wife was asking was what happened to her. Was it foul play?”

Sergeant French took over the floor and put up his hand in a reassuring gesture. “From what the ER doctor said, it looks like Ms. Landers had a severe allergic reaction to something in the s’mores, so there’s no reason for you people to worry about being in danger.”

Commander Blaine popped out of his chair. “There was nothing wrong with the s’mores,” he protested.

Sergeant French kept an even tone. “I’m not saying there was. We’re investigating her death as being from natural causes. Did any of you happen to go to the beach with Ms. Landers?”

There was a hum of conversation and a lot of head shakes.

Miss Lavender Pants raised her hand and jumped up. “If I were you, I wouldn’t rush and be so sure it was natural causes.” Her tightly curled brown hair bobbled as she swiveled and pointed directly at Adele. “She threatened the vic.” When Miss Lavender Pants got weird looks for her word choice, she put her hand on her hip. “All right, I watch CSI NYC, and they always call them vics.” She rolled her eyes and continued, “Like I said, she threatened Izabelle, and the next thing we hear is the woman is dead. It sounds a little too coincidental to me. If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to be sure it isn’t murder.”

Now all heads turned toward Adele, whose eyes bugged out as she stood up. “Are you crazy? I didn’t kill Izabelle. I didn’t even threaten her. What I said was something like it wasn’t over, and maybe I said something about her not getting away with it. But that didn’t mean I intended to kill her. I meant I wasn’t going to give in just because she denied stealing my work,” Adele said. Her demeanor changed slightly. Obviously she didn’t like being accused of killing someone, but she liked having everyone’s attention. She began to address the group. “You can understand why I’d be angry. She used my work to figure out the stitch I created, and then added on to it and had the nerve to wear it.”

It was obvious Adele wasn’t going to let up, so Sheila and I got on either side of her and acted as a human hook to get her away from the table. “Why are you dragging me out? She’s the one who started it.” Adele pointed an accusing finger at Miss Lavender Pants, who gasped.

“You heard her. Now she’s threatening me.”

I noticed Sergeant French was following us out. “Ms. Abrams, I’d like to talk to you.”

I felt Adele grab my arm with such force I knew she was leaving marks.

“Pink, stay with me. He’s going to haul me off to some interrogation room and shine bright lights in my eyes until I give in and confess to something I didn’t do.”

I tried to tell Adele she was being overly dramatic, but she was too busy being overly dramatic to listen. Typical Adele. One minute she’d be lobbing zingers at me, but as soon as there was some kind of problem, I was suddenly her best friend and savior. Even if the rhinestone clipboard hadn’t put me in the position of being responsible for her, I wouldn’t have abandoned her.

Sergeant French led Adele to a bench and then told Sheila and me that he wanted to speak to her alone, but Adele set up such a ruckus he finally agreed to let us stay.

“Am I a person of interest?” Adele demanded. There was just the tiniest curve to her mouth, and I wanted to roll my eyes. Only Adele would think being a person of interest made her special.

Sergeant French didn’t know Adele, so he took her seriously and said he was just trying to find out what happened to Izabelle.

“Well, I certainly don’t know. I was so upset after the workshop-there she was wearing that choker made with the stitch I came up with. Do you have any idea how upsetting that was? Here I had been putting her on a pedestal as this crochet goddess, and then she turns out to be a stitch thief.”

Adele went on and on after that, giving Sergeant French probably far more information than he wanted about the ins and outs of crochet. When she got to explaining how she needed the choker back because she couldn’t remember how many yarn overs she’d done before pulling the yarn through all the loops, his eyes glazed over.

“I really need to get that piece of my work back. Is it with her things?”

I wanted to throw up my hands. Adele was outdoing herself. Was she actually asking Sergeant French to go through Izabelle’s things?

“I can prove it’s my work,” Adele said. “I spilled a little drop of pink pearl nail polish on the inside. So all you have to do is check it and you’ll know it’s really mine.” Adele turned to me. “You know, Miss Rhinestone Clipboard, you’ve got another problem. The retreaters are arriving this morning, and at least some of them are expecting to have workshops with Izabelle this afternoon.”