“But murder isn’t exactly a game.”

“Certainly not. But I believe I’m beginning to see evidence of an emerging group of Miss Marples and Hercule Poirots.”

“I don’t see how I can help that. If the other guests want to-to pretend to be detectives. I don’t see that anything I can do will stop it,” Susan protested, feeling a bit guilty about the notes stuffed in her pockets. She was, in fact, planning to encourage the guests who had sent them to become involved in her investigation.

“You misunderstand me. I’m not trying to discourage them. That’s the last thing on my mind. Many of the guests I’ve talked with seem to be quite well informed about your past, and they assume you will be working hard to make sure your friend is freed.”

“Of course, but-”

“And apparently many of the guests want to help,” Lila continued before Susan could explain that any knowledge of her past had not come from her. “Your waitress told me of the notes sent to your table during lunch. And I believe there are more in your mailbox in the office.”

“I don’t see what I can do to-to discourage them. And, to be honest,” Susan added, “I was hoping to talk to any guests who may have seen something unusual the night of the murder, or who spoke with Allison the week before she died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You misunderstand me. I want you to include-or at least make the other guests feel as though they’re being included in your investigation.”

“But I thought-”

“I confess that my original feeling was that the guests should not be involved in all of this. And I was worried about the police being around, although the local police are always exceptionally considerate in their attempts not to annoy the guests.”

Why should they? They’ve already made an arrest, Susan thought.

“But there is so much sympathy for Mrs. Gordon and, of course, for her husband. I believe many of our guests want to help them. I’m asking you to accept their kind offers of help-if you possibly can.”

Susan contemplated what Lila was saying. She was sure that Lila didn’t think she-or any of the guests-would find the murderer, and she wondered at Lila’s apparent willingness to add some sort of murder weekend theme to the resort’s list of activities. On the other hand, she was going to talk to some of the other guests as soon as Lila left her alone. She didn’t need Lila’s permission to talk to anyone about anything. But if she could get Lila’s assistance… “I’d be happy to include anyone who’s interested,” she said. “And it would help if I could speak with some of the staff about all this.”

Lila looked at Susan, seemingly considering her statement. “I keep the staff busy. They have very little free time, although it does not always appear this way to the average guest. The staff understands that they are to be pleasant to the guests, so they are willing to stop and chat and answer questions anyone might ask, but not at the expense of their work.”

Susan realized immediately that while Lila was perfectly content for her guests to be occupied in some rather strange murder game, she didn’t want her employees distracted from their work. She was about to ask for permission to look around Allison’s cottage when Kathleen walked in. “How is everything?” Susan asked immediately. “Who was on the phone?”

“It was Jed,” Kathleen answered, glancing over at Lila. “He says everything’s fine. The lawyer was there for a bit and talked with Jerry. He’s gone on to the police station. Apparently he has some friends there or something.

“Jed also said our bank at home is going to wire money directly to a branch here on the island-apparently it isn’t that difficult to do-and that he’s going to hang around with Jerry for a bit.” A frown appeared on her face for the first time. “He said they were playing cards.”

“Wow! They must be bored! That doesn’t sound like them at all.”

“I was thinking the same thing. How is everything going here?” Kathleen asked, including Lila in the question.

“Fine. We were just-” Susan began.

“I’m sure you and Mrs. Gordon will be able to handle this. If I can do anything, please let me know.” Lila was walking toward the door of the cottage as she spoke. Had she not been forced to go around Kathleen to get outside, she would have been out of sight before finishing her sentence.

“Thank you.” Kathleen’s response was polite, but her voice puzzled.

Susan waited until the door had swung shut and they were alone before speaking. “She wants us to include the other guests in our investigation. She came here just to make that point.”

“Really? How odd.”

“The strange thing is that she hasn’t even considered the possibility that it might be dangerous.”

“Of course not. Because she thinks Jerry is the killer. You and I know that he would never kill anyone. So we know the one thing she doesn’t. We know there’s still a killer loose at Compass Bay.”

A timid knock on the louvered door to the cottage interrupted their discussion. “Mrs. Henshaw? Mrs. Gordon?”

“We’re both here. Come on in,” Susan called out as Kathleen opened the door to admit a mousy woman in her mid-fifties.

“Hi. I don’t want to bother anyone, but I think I might be able to help you-I mean, your husband. I’m Rose Anderson? I wrote you a note?”

Rose Anderson had a bad haircut, topped by an even worse highlighting job, and styled by someone who thought curlers were still in fashion. Her skin was dry and uncared for. Her blush was too bright and her lipstick too dark. And her clothing was an example of the very worst of some designer’s “cruise line.” She wore wrinkled periwinkle linen capri pants with a hideous pastel plaid gauzy big shirt, and brown leather sandals adorned with clunky gold rings. Gold earrings, three copper bracelets, a watch, and two silver and turquoise necklaces completed her ensemble. She was a mess. An expensive mess, but still a mess.

“Of course. It’s good to see you,” Kathleen said.

“I was wondering if we could talk for a few minutes,” Rose said. “There’s something bothering me. Something that doesn’t make sense and in so many mystery novels-especially the English ones-what doesn’t make sense is what turns out to be important, isn’t it?”

Susan realized the smile on her face was beginning to fade. Jerry was under arrest. Their vacation was supposed to end in less than a week. Regardless of Lila’s wishes, they didn’t have time to listen to the theories of people playing detective. It might meet with Lila’s approval, but for the first time, she realized just how difficult it was going to be to get credible information from people she didn’t even know. But what else could she do? “We certainly never know what will turn out to be important,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell us about it?” Susan pointed to the batik-covered rocking chair in the corner and sat down herself on the edge of the bed. Kathleen leaned against the dresser and waited for Rose to begin.

“First, I should tell you that I am the type of woman people confide in. Complete strangers tell me about their lives. It happens in the strangest places. Just last month, I was in the Amsterdam train station waiting for my train to Germany when a woman came and sat down next to me. It turned out that she was waiting for a train to take her to Zürich. Her schizophrenic daughter was in a clinic there and she was going to visit her.”

“Heavens, people really do tell you about their lives,” Kathleen said.

“Exactly. So I can’t say I was at all surprised when Allison sat down next to me the day after I arrived and started talking about herself.”

“What did she say?”

“I’ve been going over this in my mind all morning long trying to remember exactly. I do want to get it right.”

“Just take your time,” Kathleen urged, in her best police-officer manner.