“Okay,” Turner said as they all dripped across the lobby. The mansion had such a large foyer, it was used as a check-in area. He went behind the large mahogany desk, rummaged around, and produced a printout. “Here’s the guest list for the weekend. Everybody on the island is on this. There’s—”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Aaiigghh!” they all cried, including Turner, who straightened so fast he clutched his head. Todd actually jumped behind Caro.

They all spun around to look. The manager of the resort was blinking at them from the doorway leading to the kitchen. He was dressed in a tan linen suit and looked like a sleepy Colonel Sanders with his closely trimmed beard and short white hair. His eyes were very blue as he stared at them. “Why are you yelling? And isn’t it getting a little late for all this charging around? I was just about to retire for the night. And why are you all wet? Do you know what these carpets cost?”

“That’s the owner guy,” Jana said suddenly. “He checked us in this morning.”

“I remember, miss. Richard Calque,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Rich, you’ll never believe this,” Turner said. “One of the guests is dead. I’m glad it’s not you. Best boss I ever had,” he added in a mutter to Lynn, who had sidled over to him.

“Dana killed him…remember from lunch? Short, red curly hair, wicked swing? And locked herself in and won’t come out.”

“What?”

“I know, I know,” Caro said. “But it’s true.”

“But who is dead?” Richard asked, looking bewildered.

“That’s just it. We don’t know. I mean, we know it’s not you,” Caro said, “and we know it’s not Turner. We came up here to get the names of the other guests. We figured we’d track them down and make sure they’re okay.”

“But the police—”

“Aren’t coming. Not for a while, anyway. Stupid private island,” Todd mumbled. “Seemed like a good idea at the time…”

“But there is a police officer among the guests,” Rich said.

“Get out of town!” Caro hadn’t expected some good news, not the way things had been going so far. “Really? Who is it?”

“Okay,” Turner said as Caro, overcome with curiosity, went to him and read over his shoulder. “We got Dana…check. We got Jana.”

“Check,” Jana said, dimpling.

Caro glared at the teenager while Turner continued. “We got Lynn, we got Caro, we got Todd. We got me, we got the boss.”

“Please,” Rich said modestly, flicking an invisible speck off his spotless sleeve. “Call me Rich.”

“That leaves the honeymooners—”

“Right, and the husband’s a Brit,” Todd added. “Great shoes.”

“I remember,” Lynn said excitedly. “Not the shoes, but I remember because they looked so odd together…he’s this big strapping fellow, and she’s this little tiny elfin thing; but he’s a little starchy, and she’s got this amazing foul mouth. They disappeared after lunch.” Lynn colored. “You know, honeymoon business.”

“The cook, Anna Barkmeier—”

“Room eight,” Caro said, still shamelessly reading over Turner’s (broad) shoulder.

“And that’s it,” Turner said, looking around at all of them. “Ten of us.”

“What about the rest of the staff? There’s, like, fifteen bedrooms in this place. There must be more than this.”

“With only seven guests, I really only need two other people to help me run the mansion,” Rich said mildly. “I haven’t been the owner very long…it’s a bit of an experiment.”

“Keep owning it,” Turner ordered.

“If dead people keep showing up, I’ll likely sell as soon as possible and go see what my niece and nephew-by-marriage are up to,” Rich retorted. “How do we know this person is dead, by the way?”

“They’re dead,” Todd and Caro said in unison.

“Well, I hope it’s not one of the honeymooners,” Turner said. “They seem like they’re really in love and happy. I don’t want to tell either one of them that the other one is dead.”

“So let’s go find them,” Caro said.

Corinne Bullwinkle Daniels was on the brink of a truly profound…revelation…when someone started hammering at their door.

“Ignore it,” her husband, Grant, panted beneath her.

“Way ahead of you,” she gasped back, but the pounding, if anything, speeded up. Followed by the shrieking.

Her husband cursed as she climbed off him, then cursed more when she tossed a blanket over him, shrugged into her robe, and yanked the door open. “What?”

“You’re alive!” the stunning blonde answered. She was wet, muddy, and completely bedraggled…and looked better that way than Corinne had looked on her wedding day. Not too annoying. “That’s so great!”

“Thanks. We don’t need any towels. Good-bye,” she said, starting to swing the door shut, but the blonde stuck her foot out.

Corinne looked down at the foot, then looked up—up, up!—at the tall woman. “Good way to get a fracture, bee-yatch,” she warned.

“Is your husband all right?” she asked, trying to shove past Corinne.

“No, he’s not all right, he’s pissed off, and so am I.” Corinne started leaning on the door. “We’re on our honeymoon, fuck you very much, now go away.”

“Pissed off,” the owner said, peeking over the blonde’s shoulder, “as in, not dead?”

Corinne gave up, and the door swung open the rest of the way. Grant sat up and tucked the blanket demurely around himself. “What in the world is going on? Corinne, darling, let them in.”

“Bad idea. Don’t feed any of them,” she said, stepping back, “or they’ll never leave.”

“We’re dreadfully sorry to bother you, Mrs. Daniels—”

“Not as sorry as we are,” Corinne grumped.

“But there’s been…a murder.”

Even though Rich said it with the appropriate dramatic pause, it was still hard to believe.

Corinne and Grant blinked at each other, then blinked at him. “There’s been a what?” Corinne asked.

Quickly, the tall blonde—who would be breathtaking once she dried off and washed her hair, and her clothes—explained.

“Seriously?” Corinne asked when the blonde finished. “It’s not a joke?”

“If it was, it would be in extremely poor taste. I understand you’re a police officer,” Rich said, “so if you could just—”

“Simmer down, Colonel Sanders,” Corinne said, making the time-out motion with her hands. “One, I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator—I quit the force when I got engaged.”

“But—”

“Two, even if I was a cop, which, if you missed the memo, I’m not, this isn’t my jurisdiction. In fact, we’re about fifteen hundred miles from my jurisdiction.”

“But—”

“Three, where’s the killer?”

Their room was just full of people, Corinne saw to her annoyance, and they all stared at each other and then gaped at her. Oh, SUPER helpful.

“In her room,” the blond woman finally said. “She locked herself in a couple hours ago when she told us what she did.”

“And she’s still there?”

“Uh…I think so.”

“Did you—is anybody guarding the door so she doesn’t get away?”

“Uh…”

Civilians. Lord help us. “Mmm.” Corinne grabbed a pile of clothes out of her suitcase and marched to the bathroom. “Nobody go anywhere,” she ordered. “I’ll be right out.”

A short silence fell, while everyone in the room tried to look everywhere but at the obviously mussed Grant Daniels. (Everyone except Todd.) Finally, the blonde said, “My name’s Caro. This is Turner, Jana, Lynn, Todd, and Rich.”

“Grant Daniels,” he said, shaking her damp hand.

“So. Uh. How do you like Maine?”

“It’s…exciting,” Daniels said, eyeing the group with something close to wariness.