“You know, I hadn’t considered the possibility that someone on the staff killed her.”
“I think it’s unlikely. I spoke with James and he said it’s against the rules for staff to fraternize with guests and that everyone here wants to keep their jobs. If there’s no connection to Allison, why would one of them kill her?”
“Perhaps someone who works here is a psychotic killer and Allison just happened to be the next victim.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Susan spoke slowly. “Allison was here alone.”
“But she and Jerry had a connection. So Jerry’s the only suspect.”
“Unless we can find someone else she had a connection to. She might even have been here to see someone else.”
“That’s true,” Kathleen agreed. “But isn’t it possible that the killer thought he or she was killing someone else, that Allison’s death was a case of mistaken identity? Doesn’t one woman lying on a lounge in the dark look pretty much like another?”
To Susan, this sounded less like a serious possibility than wishful thinking on Kathleen’s part, but she had two tasks here: to find out who had killed Allison McAllister and to keep Kathleen’s spirits up. “It’s possible. Let’s go get that lunch and check out the other women here, see who might resemble Allison under those circumstances.”
“That’s a great idea!” Kathleen stood up, and Susan had to hurry to keep up so they arrived at the restaurant together. “We’d like a table for lunch,” Kathleen told the hostess who was seating guests.
“Of course, Mrs. Gordon. Would you like your usual spot overlooking the water, or would you prefer something a little more… ah, a little more private?”
“A table overlooking the water,” Kathleen stated firmly.
Susan smiled. For the moment, at least, Kathleen was all right. “My husband might be joining us. So perhaps we could have a table for three?” she asked.
“Naturally.”
If Madonna or Hugh Grant had arrived for lunch, they would have been seated at the table Susan and Kathleen were led to. Set right next to the seawall, it offered a stunning view of the horizon, while allowing other diners an unobstructed view of its occupants. Susan glanced across the table at Kathleen, now studying the menu the hostess had offered her. “We seem to be attracting a lot of attention,” she said quietly.
“Not surprising,” Kathleen responded without looking up. “Do you see anyone who resembles Allison?”
Susan scanned the room. “I suppose… one or two. The young woman here on her honeymoon is tall and thin and has long hair. From behind, I suppose, someone might confuse the two of them.”
“I don’t think I know who you’re talking about.” Kathleen put down her menu and looked around.
“The good-looking couple sitting at that small table by the bar,” Susan said.
Kathleen glanced in the direction Susan indicated and raised her eyebrows. “Allison was good-looking, but not that good-looking.”
“Of course not. That girl-young woman,” Susan corrected herself. “She’s about twenty years younger than Allison. But they both have long blond hair and they’re both tall and thin. From behind… in the dark… it’s possible they might be mistaken for each other.”
“You could say that about the groom, too,” Kathleen pointed out. “He’s also tall with long hair.”
“He is, isn’t he? On the other hand, if we’re looking for a lone woman-or man-lying on a chaise lounge, we can probably eliminate them both. I don’t remember seeing one without the other, do you?”
“True.” Kathleen looked out at the room again. “You know what’s interesting about being stared at? When you stare back, everyone looks away.”
“So who else is tall with long hair?” Susan asked, getting back to their search. “There are three women at the table to our right-I think they’re here together-and all three of them have long hair. And if they’re not tall, at least none is incredibly short.”
“But they weren’t even around when the murder happened. They just checked in this morning. They were busy at the front desk when I was on my way to see Jerry. And I don’t see anyone else who could be mistaken for Allison.”
“Except…”
“Except who?”
“You. You’re tall and you have long hair.”
Kathleen offered her friend a rueful smile. “But the only people I know here are you and Jed and Jerry, and I don’t believe any of you would kill me.”
“So I suppose we can eliminate the mistaken-identity theory,” Susan said. “Which means we have to find the connection between Allison and someone other than Jerry.”
“Let’s order our lunch and eat quickly,” Kathleen said. “Sounds like we have a lot of people to meet and a lot of questions to ask.”
FIFTEEN
Lunch turned out to be more successful than Susan had anticipated. The bread basket arrived along with a note from someone named Rose Anderson, who wished to speak with Kathleen “concerning a matter of some importance.” Susan and Kathleen were still discussing that rather stilted statement when their main courses-seared swordfish Caesar salad for Kathleen; conch chowder with cornmeal croutons for Susan-arrived. The note that accompanied this course suggested that the women meet for drinks at four P.M. with the writer and her husband, who wanted to help in “this unfortunate situation.” That note was signed “Peggy and Frank from Connecticut.”
“Connecticut,” Susan repeated. “This is great! They may have some relationship with Allison! This note may have been written by the killer!”
“Who are these people?” Kathleen asked. “Do you recognize their names?”
“Nope, but they’ll be waiting for us in the bar at four. We’ll figure it out when we arrive. Now, how about dessert?”
“I don’t think-”
“I think we should ignore the calories today. The longer we sit here, the more likely it is people will contact us.”
“Then I’ll have key lime pie,” Kathleen said.
“And I’ll have the coconut flan and some iced coffee. I could use the caffeine.”
“That’s a good idea. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Did you leave your cottage?” Susan asked, leaning closer to her friend.
Kathleen looked down at her plate. “Maybe there are some things we should only talk about in private.”
Susan had no trouble with that. “Of course!” She picked up her spoon and sipped the chowder. “We’re going to have trouble keeping all these people straight. I mean, we don’t know any of them. I don’t suppose you brought a notebook to the island with you?”
“No. I never thought about it.”
“I have my journal. I suppose I could rip some pages out of the back, but…”
“The gift shop probably has paper,” Kathleen suggested.
“Good, let’s go there right after we’re finished here. I hate to wreck a perfectly good journal, especially since this one is almost new.” Susan had been keeping journals for decades, nothing organized, writing in them when she had time, ignoring them when life was busy. As a result, she sometimes thought that she had recorded only the low points. On the other hand, at least she had some record of her life. The journal was in the top drawer of the built-in dresser in her cottage. “I wonder what’s going to happen to Allison’s things.”
“Her things? You mean, like has she left a will?”
“No, I mean here. In her cottage.”
“Good question. Which cottage was she staying in?”
“I’m not sure. But I’ll bet every single member of the staff knows.”
“Do you think we could get someone to tell us?”
“We could try. James was pretty forthcoming this morning. And why shouldn’t he tell us? Anyway, Allison arrived a while ago; probably a lot of guests could tell us where she was staying.” Susan turned and looked out to sea. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.