“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.”

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.

Kathleen turned and feigned an identical interest in the horizon. “That having a look around her cottage just might tell us something significant about Allison McAllister. Something that might lead us to her murderer.”

“You got it! So first we find out which cottage it is and then we figure out a way to get inside.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kathleen said, turning back to her meal.

Susan did the same, somewhat reluctantly. The food was wonderful, but they had things to do and people to see. Kathleen apparently felt the same way, but, as agreed, they took their time, enjoyed their desserts, and were just about to leave when Lila strode across the room toward them.

“There’s a phone call for you,” she informed Kathleen. “You can take it in the office if you like.”

Kathleen got up immediately. “Of course.”

“And I wonder if I could possibly speak to you for a moment, Mrs. Henshaw.”

Susan repeated Kathleen’s words, albeit a bit less enthusiastically. “Of course. Why don’t you sit down?”

“I…” Lila looked over her shoulder. Most of the guests who had stopped eating to watch her passage across the restaurant and Kathleen’s retreat in the opposite direction, now turned to their plates and their lunch companions. “I think perhaps we should speak someplace more private. You see, it’s my job to make sure our guests are satisfied with the time they spend with us.”

“Of course. We could go back to my cottage,” Susan suggested.

“Good idea. If you’re done with your meal?”

Susan grabbed the notes that still lay on the table, stuffed them into the pocket of her slacks, and, followed by Lila, walked back to her cottage. Their progress was slow as Lila stopped at table after table to check on her guests or just to chat. Susan stood by awkwardly. Now that Kathleen was gone, Susan was the focus of many curious looks, and she found herself wondering which of the diners had sent the notes-and why.

Lila finally disengaged and they continued on their way to the Henshaws’ cottage. Once inside, Lila wasted no time getting straight to the point.

“The murder-and the arrest of your friend-has become something of an amusement here and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“An amusement?” Susan said. “I don’t understand.” And I don’t know what I can do about it in any case, she added to herself.

“It’s just one of those things that happen in a resort,” Lila explained. “This is a small place and we’re somewhat isolated. So the guests themselves can have quite an impact on everyone’s vacation. For instance, we once had four cottages of competitive chess players staying here. By the end of the week they were in residence, more than half of the other guests had learned to play the game, and there was talk of a resort chess tournament. And then the players left, and everyone lost interest and went back to lying in the sun, swimming, and beachcombing-our more usual offerings.”