“If only we could figure out when Maxwell recorded it, we'd know the time of death,” Buff said. “Too bad it wasn't recorded on some modern device like a smart phone; there would be a time stamp or some data that would tell us-”

  “Brent was murdered just after eleven o'clock,” Aunt Sam said.

  We all stopped and stared at her. “How could you know that, Sammie?” Sheriff Landon asked.

  “Studley Oscar Simpkins.”

  “Who?”

  “The clock. Play the tape again and turn up the volume. Now listen closely while Brent's talking about the movie deal.”

  I could barely make it out at first, but sure enough there in the background was the unmistakable vocal stylings of Studley Oscar Simpkins singing “Stayin' Alive” which was quite ironic under the circumstances.

  “That's the song the clock plays at eleven,” Aunt Sam said. “You can wind it to eleven o'clock now and hear it for yourself if you want.”

  “That's great!” Sheriff Landon said. “Do you know where everyone was at eleven last night?”

  “Teri and Dodie and I were in the kitchen, and the guests were all upstairs in bed.”

  “Wait, not all the guests were upstairs,” I said. “Remember, Vanessa and Kristi were in the library having a slanging match until well after eleven.”

  “Oh, that's right! To be honest, they fight so much it's hard to tell one fight from another, but yes, they were in the library tearing into each other like the do.”

  “I know what you mean,” Buff said. “Last year I had to break up a cat fight between the two of them over at the karaoke bar. It had something to do with who was going to sing a certain song first. I was almost ankle deep in hair extensions before it was all over. So, it sounds like we've just got three suspects then; the wife, the brother and the lawyer.”

  “The fiancee, the son and the lawyer, you mean,” Sheriff Landon said, “but yes, it must be one of those three. We'll question them and find out who doesn't have an alibi, and we'll have our murderer! Easy as pie! Let's go! Oh wait, Brad, can you see to the body?”

  “Sure, leave it to me,” Dr. Brad said.

  “I'd better gather up the evidence so we can present it at the trial once you crack the killer's alibi,” Buff said.

  “Fine, I can handle the questioning myself,” Sheriff Landon said.

  She left the room and started downstairs, and Aunt Sam and I followed her. When we reached the bottom of the stairs we could hear raised voices from the dining room. “Of course this is my table! Everyone saw me sitting here at breakfast! Are you blind?!” “No, but you must be, judging from that outfit!” “Shut up, you two! You're giving me a headache!”

  The argument died off abruptly when we entered the room, and everyone turned to look at us. “All right, everyone, as you probably guessed, this is a murder investigation now,” Sheriff Landon said. “Obviously I'll have questions for all of you and no one should leave the house until I say.”

  “Well, for heavens' sake, Sheriff, I hope you aren't going to focus your investigation on us!” Charlie protested. “We're all family and friends of Brent Maxwell and none of us would even consider doing him any harm!”

  “Charlie's right,” said Kristi. “We all loved Brent; positively adored the man! We're all in a state of shock and grief.” She dabbed at her dry eyes with a tissue. “It's beyond belief that any of us here should be treated as suspects!”

  “Yeah, why are you wasting your time with us?” Gavin chimed in. “You should be arresting Nick Delaney before he gets away. Everybody knows he has a history of violence, and Brent made a pass at his girlfriend last night.”

  “His girlfriend?” asked Sheriff Landon.

  Gavin pointed at me. “I don't know her name but it's that one. Of course, she might have done it herself, for that matter. She had already been dumped by some guy called Webbly, and this was the last straw!”

  I didn't know what to say. I was definitely starting to feel like murdering someone.

  “I don't need you or anyone else to tell me how to do my job,” the sheriff snapped. “The fact is you're all suspects and you're all staying right here until you've given a statement!”

  Aunt Sam leaned close to me and whispered, “Why don't you go out and get some breakfast? I can manage here without you for a while.”

  “Do you think the sheriff is going to arrest the murderer now?”

  “I fear this won't be quite as easy as she thinks. I've got a feeling we've got a long road ahead of us with this one.”

  As much as I hated to admit it, I had the same feeling. I excused myself and headed for the kitchen. Dodie had been pretty upset about finding Brent Maxwell's body and I wanted to see how see was doing before I left. When I reached the kitchen I found her sitting at the table, staring into a cup of cooling coffee.

  “Hey, Dodie, are you okay?” I asked.

  “No, I'm not! I killed him!” Dodie wailed. “I killed Mr. Maxwell! I didn't mean to! I just made a mistake!”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Dodie, are you saying you're the one who hit Brent Maxwell on the head?”

  “No, no, I didn't touch him! It's the tablecloth! Didn't you see it?”

  “Uh, the tablecloth?”

  “That white tablecloth on the side table in Mr. Maxwell's room! I put the cookies on the side table for him last night before the party! I was going to take the plate and the tablecloth away before he went to bed, but he was up so late that I fell asleep and left it! Everyone knows it's bad luck to leave a white tablecloth on a table overnight! If you do that, someone in the house will surely die! I can show you in the book Brody gave me-”

  “I think the person who bashed Brent Maxwell over the head with his stupid trophy is more to blame than you are,” I said.

  “Of course, but it's still a factor,” Dodie replied. “You can't deny that!”

  Actually I could have denied that, but I thought it would be better to just let it go. I said goodbye to Dodie and went outside. The weather was warm but not hot, and the crisp salty breeze off the ocean was like a breath of fresh air in more ways than one. All the adrenaline from the morning's excitement had drained out of me and I was just glad to out of the house and away from the dead body and the scene of the murder.

  I went out to the road and started walking toward Archibald Village. I hadn't been to the town yet and this seemed like a good time to have a look around. I hoped that the walk would help settle my nerves and get my appetite back.

  I had only been walking about fifteen minutes when I saw the rooftops of Archibald Village through the palm trees up ahead. It was a quaint little town with brightly-painted storefronts lining the main street and an old-fashioned bandstand in the town square. My plan had worked and I was plenty hungry by now, and the sign boards up and down the sidewalk boasting shrimp-burgers, sweet corn on the cob, fried sardines, tacos, popcorn and international sodas told me I'd have plenty of good options.

  However, the first shop I reached was selling swimwear, and I remembered that I still needed to replace my bikini top that Nick had left somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. They had a nice selection and surprisingly reasonable prices, and after a few minutes I had a nice kelly green top in my bag and I was ready to hunt down some breakfast. Just beyond the swimwear shop was a tall block building with the words Davey's Donuts painted in big faded red letters across the side wall. Below was written “Coffee, Sandwiches and more!” That sounded like a good place to get breakfast, so I made a beeline for the door.

  When I stepped inside, instead of seeing a restaurant counters and tables as I expected, I saw a long mirror running along the wall and a line of barber's chairs in front of it. A middle-aged woman with pink highlights in her big blonde beehive hairdo came up to the counter and said, “Welcome to the salon! I'm Marlene. What would you like, a trim or some color?”

  “Um.... I thought this was a doughnut shop....” I said.

  Marlene laughed. “Oh, the sign! Yes, this used to be a doughnut shop but my husband Jerry and I bought it a few years back when Davey retired and turned it into the beauty salon I've always dreamed of owning. Unfortunately that big sign Davey painted on the wall really sunk into the blocks, and even though Jerry painted over it three times it just keeps showing through. We wanted to put up a new wall to cover it, but the price was just way out of our range, so we had to wave the white flag. Now we're Davey's Donuts Beauty Salon and Spa!”

  “Well, at least you don't have to worry about customers confusing you with other salons.”

  “That's for sure! Now I'm guessing you're looking for breakfast and not a new hairstyle, so I'll recommend you try Becky's Bagels. Becky's a friend of mine and she has a wonderful breakfast spot just down the street by the bookstore with lots of different kinds of bagels, sandwiches and spreads including my favorite which is lobster salad on an everything bagel.”

  That sounded good to me so I said goodbye to Marlene and started down the street. When I reached the bookstore I saw a big display in the front window with dozens of Dirk Nightshade novels surrounding a sign which declared “Author signing tomorrow at noon! Get your copies now!” with a large publicity photo of Brent Maxwell just below the words. I wondered if I should go in and tell them that they were going to need to change their plans. I decided to keep walking; a chill came over me as I thought again about Brent's murder and how the dead body looked and that there was a murderer in the house, until finally I shook my head and made myself stop. I tried to remind myself that I was on vacation and this really didn't concern me and I should just ignore it, but it didn't make me feel much better. I hoped the sheriff really would arrest the murderer right away and maybe the whole group would just leave.

  Becky's Bagels was a cute powder blue cottage with white trim, that looked more like someone's home than a bagel shop. The inside was cool and smelled like fresh bagels, with white picnic tables to sit on and a long wooden counter in the back with baskets of bagels and rolls lined up on the wall behind it. A white-haired woman in a flowered dress sat at one of the picnic tables, reading a Dirk Nightshade novel while she ate.

  The woman behind the counter was about my age, with long red hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore shorts and flip-flops and a sleeveless t-shirt with “The Original Becky” airbrushed on the front. She waved and smiled when I stepped inside. “Hey, welcome to Becky's! Take a look at our menu and lemme know what you want!”

  “Thanks,” I said. The menu was a chalkboard on the wall behind the counter and it didn't take me long to find what I wanted. “I think I'd like to have a Becky's Bagel Burger on a cheddar cheese bagel with garlic spread, and a French toast bagel with whipped butter and maple syrup. Sort of breakfast and lunch combined.” I was almost drooling as I said it.

  “Good choice,” Becky said. “And what would you like to drink?”

  “The lemon grass iced tea sounds good.”

  As she started fixing my food, Becky said, “I haven't seen you here before? Is this your first time coming to Admiral Archibald Falls?”

  “Yes, I'm staying with my aunt at the bed and breakfast.”

  “Oh, you're Sammie's niece, right? The one who....”

  “Yep. Ohio. Teacher. Walter. Dumped. That's me.”

  “Wow, it must be crazy at Sammie's right now! I heard that Brent Maxwell died there! Is it true that he hung himself from a tree with one of those expensive ties that he wears?”

  Before I could answer, the old woman at the picnic table said, “No, it wasn't suicide, Becky, it was murder! I heard it at the bookshop; two thugs from the Doldrums dragged poor Mr. Maxwell down to the pier and threw him into the shark-infested waters! He didn't last a minute before he was eaten alive!”

  I wondered if the Doldrums really had thugs and shark-infested waters. Probably best not to ask.

  “That's not what I heard,” Becky said. “How would anyone in the bookshop know what happened anyway?”

  “Well, Flora who works the morning shift heard about it from her son Teddy who had just come from the docks and had gotten the news from Brody, and he would know, seeing as how close he is to Dodie who saw the whole thing happen right in front of her. Oh, it's a real shame about Brent Maxwell; he was such a talented writer and with so many books!”

  “Yes, there certainly are a lot of them,” I agreed.

  “He had a way with words, you know? Like a poet! Listen to this...” Vera opened the Dirk Nightshade book in front of her and flipped through the pages to find a certain passage. “Here it is: '”Oh Dirk! You're exceptional! You make my dreams come true!” Brigitte gasped huskily. “Ditto, baby,” Dirk hissed as he sauntered over to her and took her in his powerful embrace. His heart was burning with the fiery passion of ten thousand suns.' Can you think of anyone else who writes like that?”

  “I certainly can't,” I said. Surprisingly I still had an appetite after hearing that, and when Becky brought my food I dug right in. It was as delicious as it had sounded on the menu, and I made a mental note to come back for breakfast as often as I could before I went home.

  Vera stood up from the table. “I just bought a copy of his new book and I was hoping he'd sign it for me. Oh, well, it can't be helped. Be sure to say hello to your aunt for me and tell her that she's welcome to borrow the book if she doesn't already have a copy.”

  “I'll do that.”

  After she left, Becky said, “Well, Vera sure solved a mystery for me.”

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “I've always wondered who in the world would ever read Dirk Nightshade books and now I know.”

  I laughed. “I hear they sell well at airports.”

  “Just another danger of flying,” Becky said.

  After I finished eating the best breakfast I had had in a long time, I bought a couple of bags of bagel chips to snack on later, said good-bye to Becky and went back out into the afternoon sun. I made my way down the street at a leisurely pace, looking in the windows of all the cool little shops as I went. There was one that sold every variation of sandals that you could imagine, and another had a seemingly endless variety of gifts made from sea shells and drift wood along with decorative bottles of small shells and beach sand mixed together. There were shops filled with every inflatable pool toy you could imagine, and shops selling weird shirts and shorts that only a vacationer would wear.

  I was halfway down the street when I noticed the wine bar that Nick had mentioned. I decided to go inside and see what they had to offer. The wine list was extensive: guava, mango, watermelon, cranberry, strawberry, blackberry, blueberry, banana, tangerine, black cherry, passion fruit and a lot more. I tried a glass of the honeydew wine. It was a sweet and refreshing, and according to the description had something called bioflavonoids in it that are supposed to be good for your health. What more could you ask for?

  As I went back outside I looked up and down the street of the quirky little town with its colorful cottage shops and bright flags strung between the street lights that gave the place a festival atmosphere and, maybe it had something to do with the wine, but I felt like I could easily fall in love with Admiral Archibald Falls- well, if not for the whole murder thing. But hopefully Sheriff Landon would wrap that up quickly like she said.

  At the end of the main street I came upon a sandy trail shaded by palm trees which led to the beach. And at the end of the trail was a big wooden sign with an arrow on top reading “Captain Delaney's Fishing Trips and Live Bait Shop this way!” And just beyond the sign I saw none other than Nick himself down on the beach. He had a rake in his hands and was standing at the edge of the surf, and when the waves rolled out he began raking the sand where they had been. I had seen a show once where Oprah had gone to some Zen retreat and raked sand for a while which was supposed to help a person relax. Nick was a very relaxed kind of guy, so maybe he had seen the same episode.

  As I got closer though, I could see that what I thought was a rake was actually a sort of box with a grating in it like a sieve on the end of a pole. After Nick dragged the box through the sand he would lift the end so that the water and sand would drain out, and then he would dump whatever was left into a large white plastic pail beside him.

  He looked up and saw me approaching and said, “Hey, teacher, what are you doing down here? I thought you'd be up at the B&B knocking off the rest of the psychopaths before they get you. You should start with Gavin if you want my advice.”

  “I'll keep that in mind. But I thought you were out on a fishing trip all morning. How did you hear about the murder so fast? And what are you doing with that er, pole thing, anyway?”

  “Dodie called Brody while we were out in the boat to tell him that she killed Brent Maxwell with a tablecloth. I was busy helping one of my customers haul in a 40 pound black fin tuna, so I didn't get all the details, but Brody filled me in later. And I'm catching sand fleas with this 'pole thing'.”

  “You're catching fleas? Wouldn't a little bug spray be easier?”

  “You've never heard of sand fleas? They're little mole crabs that live right under the sand and when the waves go out you can scoop them up in a sieve and use them for bait. Have a look in the bucket and you'll see.”

  I looked in the bucket and there were dozens of tiny crabs about an inch long crawling all over each other. “But they're so cute. Doesn't it make you feel bad to use them as bait?” I asked.

  “Not when I can sell a bucket full of them for almost $300 in the shop. I get almost as much money selling live bait as I do with the fishing trips,” Nick said. “Besides, everything that lives in the ocean eats something else that lives in the ocean to stay alive. Nobody goes out with a box of fish food to feed all the ocean creatures every day. Call it the cycle of life or the eco-system, but that's the way it is.”

  I had never thought of it that way before. “How do you know where to find them if they live under the sand?”

  “Well, when the waves go out you can see tiny air holes in the sand and if you're fast enough you can scoop them up. C'mon, take your shoes off and give it a try. I'll show you how to do it.”