“And he should know. He’s tried them all in his time,” Burt said, sitting down between Susan and Kathleen.

“It is good,” Susan admitted. “But-”

“But what? You find a place that has good rum punch, you drink rum punch,” Randy said. “Bring a glass for everyone at the table,” he called out to the bartender.

Apparently the order was specific enough. Six large glasses of rum punch appeared so quickly that Susan could only assume they had been poured and waiting.

“How about an assortment of those things on sticks?” Randy yelled out to the departing waiter.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband, Susan. Since he retired he’s decided that manners don’t matter,” Veronica explained, leaning around Kathleen to make herself heard.

“Spent thirty-three years doing what other people wanted me to do,” Randy explained. “Now I do what I want to do. Know I’m not gonna live forever, so I’m spending the time I’ve got left living for myself.”

“Perhaps you’re being just a little insensitive,” Burt suggested. “Considering that there’s been a death and all.”

“Sorry.” Randy took the cherry out of his drink with a shaking hand and managed to find his mouth. “Love these little buggers, even if they are full of sugar.”

Susan, thinking that Randy apparently had more than enough alcohol already, was glad when the selection of “things on sticks” arrived as promptly as their drinks. “How long have you four known each other?” she asked, picking up a skewer loaded with fruit and chicken.

“Over thirty years. We met when Ro and Veronica shared a room in the maternity ward at Sibley Hospital in Washington, D.C. Ro’d just had Ronald, our oldest boy. Veronica was there with her second: Molly. We talked about those two kids getting married one day.”

“And did they?” Susan asked.

“Fat chance. Little Molly-well, she’s not so little now-she’s been married three times, all of them losers. And Ronald, the apple of his mother’s eye, is gay. He’s been in a relationship with the same man for almost ten years. Nice guy, real nice guy. He’s an endocrinologist. Strange how things work out, isn’t it?”

Susan could only agree.

TWENTY-ONE

Considering the fact that murder was the topic of the hour, dinner was surprisingly festive. Susan thought that the large quantity of rum consumed undoubtedly contributed to the conviviality of the group. No one seemed to have any new information, but everyone had theories, which they defended energetically.

“I can see why they love playing bridge,” Susan said. “They’re the most competitive foursome I’ve ever met. I had thought the cards just might be an excuse to be social and drink, but I’ll bet they all play to win.”

Susan and Kathleen were strolling on the beach, killing time until the last guests went to bed.

“You know what was interesting?” Kathleen said. “Veronica’s husband-what’s his name?”

“Randy.”

“He didn’t drink.”

“Of course he did! He even ordered most of the drinks.”

“He ordered them, but he didn’t drink them.”

“Who did?” Susan asked.

“Veronica. She kept exchanging her empty glass for his full one. The first time I saw her do it, I thought he might not have noticed. But the second time she did it, he looked over at her and smiled.”

“So she was drinking two rum punches for every one that the rest of us had,” Susan said.

“Yes.”

“Lord, I’m amazed she can still stand up.”

Kathleen giggled. “Actually, she was sitting down when we left her. Perhaps they’ll just call James and he will carry her to her cabin.”

“It’s strange that Randy would pretend to be drinking,” Susan mused.

“Maybe he’s a reformed alcoholic and doesn’t want anyone to know.”

“I suppose that’s possible, although, in my experience, people who give up anything are unlikely to keep the news to themselves. The reformed alcoholics I know usually insist on talking about how their lives have changed in minute detail-usually while I’m enjoying a glass of wine.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe Veronica is the alcoholic-prereform-and Randy is helping her to hide her addiction.”

“Then he’s the codependent every addict dreams of finding.”

“Yeah, it’s probably too weird to be true.”

“But we really don’t know much about these people,” Susan said. “Almost anything could be true.”

“I suppose. Did you learn anything tonight?”

“Not really. What about you?”

“Nope.” Kathleen bent down to pick up a small white disk from the sand.

“What’s that?”

“Sea urchin shell. Funny that they’re so black and dangerous when they’re alive, and the shell is so pale, fragile, and elegant.”

“Hmm.” Susan examined the shell in her friend’s hand for a moment. “Think we should go back?”

“Probably. If everyone’s not in bed yet, at least most of the people who are still up have probably had enough rum punch not to pay any attention to what we’re doing.”

“Good. I’ll be glad to get this started. As anxious as I am to poke around Allison’s things, I can’t imagine how we’re going to do it in the dark. And we can’t risk turning on a light. The shutters on the windows offer a fair amount of privacy, but anyone outside would be able to see lights turned on in the cottage.”

“We’ll use flashlights.”

“Where will we get flashlights?”

“They are in the nightstands on either side of the bed. At least they are in our cottage.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. I guess the power goes out a lot here. Hadn’t you noticed all the candles scattered around?”

“Sure, but I thought of them as romantic.”

“They’re also practical.”

“I guess. So we’ll stop in your cottage, pick up the flashlights, and if no one is around, go see what Allison brought here.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

Allison’s cottage was immaculate. Two pairs of sandals lined up next to the door and folded beach towels lying on the couch were the only immediate signs of her occupation.

“Do you think someone’s cleaned up her stuff?” Kathleen whispered.

“I don’t know. The bedroom’s upstairs. Let’s go up.”

The bedroom looked more occupied, with clothing strewn about, books lying open next to the bed, cosmetics and creams crowded together on the small dresser.

“Do you think we can risk turning on a light?” Kathleen asked.

Susan walked over to the doors to the balcony. “I think it’s risky. Someone might see them. But the balcony faces the water. If we open these, the moonlight will shine in, and if we keep the flashlights aimed at the floor, I don’t see how anyone outside will know we’re here.”

Kathleen had picked up a little tub of moisturizer and was examining the label. “This stuff sells for hundreds of dollars an ounce. I guess Allison was doing pretty well financially.”

“Listen, it may have been years since I saw her, but I have no doubt that she had had every tuck, lift, peel, and injection ever invented. A few hundred dollars spent on cream would have been the least of it. She probably thought of it as protecting her investment.”

“Was she always gorgeous?” Kathleen asked, opening the dresser drawer and beginning to rummage through an extensive collection of lacy underwear.

Susan walked over to her side and offered to help. “Not even pretty. Wow! Looks like she was ready for a romantic evening or two.”

“Or a dozen,” Kathleen said, picking up a tiny thong made entirely from black Chantilly lace and dropping it back onto the silky pile.

“Jerry has nothing to do with this-this stuff,” Susan said.

“I-I don’t know anything anymore,” Kathleen said sadly.

“Kath-”

“I know. This is no time to give up. We’re just beginning. We have to help Jerry. Etc. Etc.” She slammed shut the top dresser drawer and opened the one below it.