“Thank you,” Kathleen said again, closing the door behind her.
Susan didn’t even bother to wait until the door was closed to grab the bag from her friend’s hand and dump it in the middle of the bed. She scrounged around in the mess of paperbacks, sunscreens, scarves, combs, and small makeup bags, finding what she was looking for in just a moment. “The key!” She held her treasure up in the air. “The key to Allison’s cottage. Now all we have to do is wait until dark.”
“But it won’t be dark for hours. What will we do until then?”
The question was answered for them the moment they stepped off the deck in front of Kathleen’s cottage. The bridge-playing brigade enveloped them.
“Oh, Mrs. Henshaw.” Ro Parker led her three companions to Susan and Kathleen. “I’ve been wondering where you were. We’ve been talking and we have a theory.”
“And we have reservations for dinner, as well,” the man by her side added. “We hoped your husband would be able to join us, Mrs. Henshaw.”
“I-we-” Susan glanced over at Kathleen. “We aren’t actually sure what we’re doing for dinner,” she said slowly. “Do you think we should wait for Jed?”
“If you don’t think he would mind us going on without him, I think we should accept these people’s kind offer,” Kathleen said.
“Well, that’s just fine. Let’s go to the bar and order some rum punch and get to know each other better.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t remember your name,” Susan confessed to the man by her side.
“You can’t remember it. Probably never knew it. My name’s Randy Burns.”
“Burns-but I thought you were married to Ro.”
“Nope. You’re thinking of Burt. I’m married to Veronica-that foxy redhead in the green dress who’s standing next to the man who is married to Ro.”
“Do I hear someone talking about me?” The gray-haired man walking on the other side of Veronica peered around her and grinned at Susan. “Ah, Mrs. Henshaw. Good to see you again. Although, of course, the circumstances could be better.”
“Call me Susan, please, and it’s nice to see you again. And particularly nice of you all to think of us when you were making reservations for dinner.”
“Hell, we’ve been thinking of you all day long. The girls are keeping themselves amused trying to figure out this murder thing. Cardplayers are good at puzzles, you know. We think we have an edge on the rest of the guests here.”
Susan smiled. Lila’s prediction that guests would get involved in trying to figure out who murdered Allison had been right on the mark. “I’m sure Kathleen and I will be interested in what you’ve all come up with,” she said.
“Then let’s find a place to sit, get us some drinks and something to munch on, and have a nice chat.”
“I’ll have a white wine spritzer,” Susan said.
“You’re not in Connecticut, for heaven’s sake. Have a rum punch,” Randy said. “This place makes the best rum punch in the Caribbean.”
“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.”