I marveled at the calm of her Madonna-like face. She had just been rudely shut down by Selesia and didn’t seem offended at all. In fact, it felt as if she had been expecting it. Perhaps the expectation was understandable, but the calm with which she faced it was surprising.

  “Rosalie, we need to get you miced up. Nate?”

  Nate walked over. “Hi, Rosalie. It’s nice to meet you. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to attach this microphone to your dress.”

  He gestured her towards the guest’s chair and then clipped a small lavalier microphone onto the neckline of her dress.

  “Is there anything we can get for you?” I offered. “Water? Soda or coffee?”

  “That’s very nice of you, but I brought my own drink. Pro-energy. I think Jason left it with my bag out there.” She pointed vaguely towards the office area.

  “I’ll go and get it,” Dougie volunteered and dashed out the studio door. Within a couple of minutes, he returned holding the glass bottle. “Here you go, Rosalie. I mean, Miss Morgann. I mean, Rosalie Morgann,” he stuttered to a stop and handed her the bottle.

  “Thank you. Is your name Dougie?”

  Dougie nodded like a spring-necked dog on a Cadillac dashboard.

  “Well, thanks, Dougie. You can call me Rosalie.”

  “Dougie,” I inserted, “you should get back to your camera. And remember, you’re going to count Selesia in for me, right?”

  Dougie nodded once more before turning and dashing back to his camera.

  Selesia eventually returned from the washroom and seated herself in the host’s seat. She did not look up at Rosalie. She did not speak. Nate quickly attached a mic to her blouse as she focused all of her attention on the piece of paper she was holding in her lap.

  Well, this is going to be fun, isn’t it?

  I returned to the control room, hooking my mic and earpiece over my right ear.

  “Okay, everyone. We’re coming up on the hour. Is everyone ready?” I glanced up at the large clock in the control room. It read 9:59 am. Shea and Jason settled themselves down in seats on either side of me.

  Thumbs up from everyone, including Selesia.

  “Okay, count her in now, starting on five, Dougie.”

  Dougie stepped away from the camera, moving his fingers from five to two. On one, he pointed at Selesia to start reading the teleprompter.

  I flipped the switch. We had done it! CWYN was now live on televisions throughout Southwestern British Columbia!

  “Good morning, everyone. My name is Selesia Sixto, and I am your host for Vox Pop, Wynter Island’s live call-in show. Welcome to the inaugural broadcast for our TV station, CWYN, the voice of Wynter Island. Today’s guest,” She glanced over as Rosalie took a quick drink while still off-camera, “is Hollywood actress and Wynter Island native, Rosalie Morgann.”

  “Camera two, close-up of Rosalie,” I said from the control room. “And then Camera one, go to a two-shot.”

  “Thank you, Selesia, for having me here today. I do appreciate it. I have several things I need to discuss.” Her voice cracked, and she reached down to grab the bottle and take another quick sip. “Sorry about that. What I was trying to say is,” Rosalie hesitated, and a spasm swept over her face like a wave breaking and then retreating over a sandy beach.

  “Camera two, close up of Rosalie.”

  Rosalie swallowed a few more times and then smiled determinedly at Selesia. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s up with me today. I must have a bug.”

  Rosalie’s features spasmed again. Her hand suddenly reached out to grab Selesia’s. In horror, Selesia attempted to shake it off, but Rosalie would not let her go.

  “Okay, Camera one, go to a wide shot. We may have to cut to a break if she’s sick,” I said as Jason leaned forward toward the glass separating the control room from the set.

  “Selesia,” Rosalie repeated, her words barely discernible. “Listen to me.” She kept her hand on Selesia’s, using its strength to pull herself closer. “Selesia—”

  Before she could say another word, a gush of blood and vomit shot from her mouth, covering her and Selesia in a crimson-splattered mess.

  “Rose!” Selesia screamed and leaned forward to grab Rosalie’s body as it crumpled to the floor, foam oozing between her lips, her eyes sightless.

  Chapter Five

  “What happened, Kate?”

  People pushed past me to join the volunteer EMTs working on the prone body on the floor. She wasn’t Rosalie anymore. She was just a body.

  A body.

  “Kate, I asked you what happened?”

  Stewart, his RCMP chief constable jacket hastily pulled on over his uniform shirt, was breathless from the dash over to the station from the detachment. His normally stoic face, bracketed by his short russet-colored hair and neatly trimmed beard, was red from lack of breath.

  “I don’t know.”

  Someone was screaming and sobbing. I turned to see Jason sitting on the floor, Shea and Nate kneeling beside him. Shea reached out a hand to rest comfortingly on the young man’s heaving back as she murmured something in his ear.

  “Shea tried,” I said to Stewart and then paused to breathe. “She tried to resuscitate her.”

  The images flashed back into my memory. Selesia screaming, holding on to the bloodied, unconscious body of Rosalie as she slipped to the ground. Me, flipping the switch to stop all video transmission from the station and then racing out of the control room. Shea taking Rosalie from Selesia’s arms and placing two fingers against her neck.

  There was a pause as we waited. Any desperate hopes we still clung to were dashed as she began CPR on Rose’s lifeless body. One and two and three and, Shea said as she pressed urgently on Rosalie’s chest. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Two breaths into her tilted mouth, and then back to the compressions again.

  “Shea tried, but she couldn’t resuscitate her.”

  The EMTs had taken over as soon as they arrived, one doing chest compressions while another searched for any vital signs. I suddenly realized that it was Ben’s delicate-fingered hand checking for a pulse, Ben’s narrow, sensitive face leaning forward to listen to Rosalie’s chest, and that gave me a measure of comfort. At least Ben was here.

  “Did she give you any sign that something was wrong?” Stewart asked.

  “Well, she said she wasn’t feeling great when she arrived. And then…”

  “Then what?”

  “Once she got on the set and started the interview, she looked like she was in pain, or nauseous, or something.”

  “And how long did that last?”

  “Not long, maybe five minutes. She tried to catch her breath and take a drink, but it didn’t help. She reached forward, grabbed Selesia’s hand, tried to say something, and then threw up this massive amount of blood and was…gone.”

  Stewart and I examined the inert body, her pale pink dress covered with congealing blood and vomit. Her golden hair spilled out onto the floor behind her head, looking in the stage lights like a glistening, metallic trail. Ben sat back on his heels, staring at the young woman’s face, before glancing at his watch and then shaking his head. The other EMT stopped the compressions.

  “No! No! Don’t stop! You’ve got to save her!” Jason screamed and tried to get to his feet, but Nate and Shea held him down. “Don’t let her die! Rosalie!”

  Ben walked over to where Stewart and I were standing. “I’m afraid she’s gone. There was no pulse when we got here, and we’ve had no signs of life since then. I called it at 10:55. We’ll have to get Dr. Lee to check her and sign the paperwork.” Ben turned his attention to me. “Kate, are you okay?”

  I reached out a hand to grab onto his arm. “Ben,” I whispered, “not another death.”

  “I know.”

  He reached over and wrapped his arms around me, his fluorescent emergency services jacket encasing me in a wet hug. I felt the ends of his waist-length russet hair brush against the back of my hands. His grasp was warm and lovely, like a strong cup of hot tea on a cold winter’s night. I wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms, but knew I had to push myself away.

  “What caused this, Ben?”

  He shrugged his shoulders in confusion. “I don’t know. Someone said the onset of symptoms was rapid?”

  “Yes. When she arrived, she was feeling a bit off, feverish, but nothing more. And then, within twenty minutes, she was dead.”

  As I said the words aloud, I realized they seemed almost laughable. How does someone mysteriously pass from youthful vim and vigor to death in that short a period? In front of half a dozen witnesses? Live on television, damn it!

  It’s ridiculous!

  “It looked like things suddenly got worse about five minutes before she collapsed. She looked like she was in pain and took another drink to try and calm her stomach …”

  “Drink?” Stewart asked. “What drink?”

  “That energy drink over there. The bottle got knocked over and smashed when she fell out of her seat.”

  Stewart walked past the body to the pieces of glass on the floor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and a specimen bag. He gingerly picked up the shards of the empty bottle and held them up to his nose before placing them in the bag and sealing it shut.

  “Ben, don’t let anyone touch this,” he gestured to the pool of liquid on the floor. “I’m going to dash out to the car to get a specimen swab and bottle.”

  “Okay.”

  Within a few minutes, Stewart was back, scooping up the remaining drips of liquid enmeshed with the drying vomit and blood.

  “Do you think it was something in the drink?” I asked.

  “Who knows,” Stewart answered, “but I have to try and collect any evidence I can. Lesley is over in Sidney today at the Provincial courthouse. She won’t be back until the late ferry.”

  “But if it was the drink,” Ben said and then hesitated, “does that mean she was poisoned, Stewart? Intentionally poisoned?”

  “Yes!” Jason dragged himself to his feet and staggered towards us, with Shea and Nate each holding one arm to keep him upright. “She was murdered!”

  “Jason, you don’t know what you’re saying,” Shea scolded gently.

  “I’m aware enough to know a crime when I see it!” he screamed. His face was blotchy, a mottled mess of crimson and white, his eyes swollen from the tears. “She was feeling a little feverish when we got here, but that was it. And look at her now! She’s dead! Oh, Rosalie!”

  He staggered forward toward her body.

  Stewart moved towards him, blocking his path. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He hesitated and glanced over at me.

  “Jason,” I supplied for him.

  “Jason. I’m very sorry for your loss, but I’m afraid I can’t allow you to touch anything.”

  “Just let me say goodbye to her,” he sobbed.

  Stewart sighed. “You can’t. We have no idea what caused her death, so I have to work under the assumption that a crime may have been committed. I need to protect a possible crime scene. When the coroner releases her body, you will get a chance to say your goodbyes then.”

  He swung around to face Stewart, drool dripping from his open mouth as he choked with sobs. “You’re in on it, aren’t you? All of you,” he swung around wildly, Shea and Nate trying to keep him on his feet. “You all wanted her to die. Everyone did. And all she wanted to do was finally come home.”

  “Take him out of here and find him a seat out in the lobby.” Stewart gestured towards the studio door.

  Shea and Nate led him shakily off the set.

  “Who else was here?” Stewart asked as Ben returned to assist the other EMTs with lifting Rosalie’s body onto a stretcher. They would take her to the small morgue at the local emergency medical center where Dr. Lee, the island’s resident doctor, could confirm her death.

  “Other than the people you’ve already seen, I guess there’s only Selesia and Dougie. Selesia was the host of the show. She caught Rosalie’s body as she collapsed. Selesia’s pretty upset, so I had Dougie take her into the control room to try and calm her down.”

  “Okay, let’s go and have a chat with her.”

  The control room door was closed, securing Jupiter behind it. I turned the handle and pushed it open as Jupiter rocketed across the room to me.

  “I’m back, Jupiter. It’s okay.” I knelt down and rubbed his black and white fur back and forth between my hands as he circled round and round in joy at my reappearance.

  “Selesia,” Stewart said as he stepped past me. “I’m sorry, but we have to talk.”

  Selesia was sitting in the director’s high-backed chair, where I had been sitting only a short while ago. Dougie had pulled another seat next to her and was holding her hand while keeping the chair turned away from the grim scene through the control room window.

  Her crying had slowed to ragged breathing, her breath occasionally catching on a soft sob. Selesia’s chic chignon had tumbled down to hang in random chunks around her face; her stylish blouse and skirt covered in bits of drying vomit and blood. Her hand, gripping tightly to Dougie’s, was stained with a rusty wash of blood, deepening to dark brown around her nail beds.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Selesia asked, her voice quivering with shock.

  Stewart stared at her for a moment. “Yes, I’m afraid she is.”

  Her breath became more ragged as she slipped back towards hysteria. “Why? I don’t understand why?”

  “We don’t know that yet, but it may not have been an accident.”

  Selesia’s hazel eyes opened wide. “Are you saying someone murdered her?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know yet, but we’ve got to be open to all possibilities. She appeared to be a healthy young woman. They don’t usually just keel over and die. Jason seems to think she was murdered, perhaps by the drink she had.”

  “Her drink?” Dougie said. “The one I picked up in the lobby for her?”

  “You got it for her, Dougie?’

  “Well, yeah. But I didn’t do anything to it!”

  “It was her own drink, " I inserted quickly, “not something she was given here. She brought it into the station herself.”

  “Where was it?”

  I pointed to the office/hangout space. “She left it by her bag out in the lobby. A green leather tote.”

  Stewart walked over to the door, opened it, and gazed over at the open seating area. “I can see it. Was that where you found it, Dougie?”

  “Yup, but I didn’t touch anything else,” he replied, panicked. “‘I promise.”

  Stewart closed the door and turned back to face us. “Nobody touches anything. I’m going to have to bag all of that stuff. Kate, is it possible that someone may have been able to get in here while the rest of you were busy on the set?”

  “I suppose so,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t lock the door. But I didn’t hear the door alarm go off. You know, that tinkling sound.”

  “Perhaps you were too busy to notice.” Stewart hesitated before continuing. “What about people already here in the station? Did anyone have an opportunity to tamper with the bottle without being seen?”

  I thought about this for a moment. “Well, I suppose it’s possible. But after Rosalie arrived, everyone can be accounted for by someone else. Nobody left except Dougie and ….”

  “And who?” Stewart asked.

  “Me,” Selesia finished for me. “I stormed out when Rose arrived. By myself. I went to the bathroom and swore at the mirror for five minutes. No one saw me. No one can vouch for what I did during that time. No alibi.”

  Chapter Six

  “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

  My voice warbled along with the radio while I drove down the winding road to Coho Bay. I remembered my mother singing along to this old Seventies hit from the Canadian band Trooper. How old would I have been then? Six? Or seven? I couldn’t have been much older, as Mom left two weeks before my eighth birthday.

  I turned the volume up and focused on the song. “So have a good time; the sun can’t shine every day.”

  Well, isn’t that appropriate.

  I pulled into a long driveway that ended at a tiny white cabin. It was a simple square box with a peaked cedar-shingled roof and an oak front door. The trim around the door and the windows had been painted a bright, clear sky blue, which, when matched with the white cotton curtains, gave the small home an old-fashioned charm.

  “C’mon, Jupe. We’re here.”

  I climbed out of the jeep and headed up to the front door, Jupiter right beside me. The honeyed scent from a bed of sweet peas wafted over to us.

  A sharp bark from inside followed my knock, and Ben, dressed in a casual t-shirt and faded jeans, opened the door. A brown and white springer spaniel quivered excitedly beside him. The dog ran out the front door, skidding to a stop a few feet behind Jupiter. She paused, her coat shining from a recent brushing, and then sidled up beside Jupiter.

  Jupiter stood stock still, eyeing her with wary suspicion. She casually stepped towards him, nose sniffing, working her way from tail to head. He endured her entreaty to become friends, only relaxing when she turned and trotted back into the house.

  “Now that the dog introductions are over,” Ben said, opening the door wider, “C’mon in.”

  The cottage itself was surprisingly rustic. I didn’t know what I had expected, but it hadn’t been this. For such an exclusive part of the island, there was nothing grand or expensive about Ben’s cottage. The front door led straight into the main living space. On my right lay a small kitchen. Monastically simple, it held a fridge, hot plate, toaster oven, and microwave. There were only a few simple pine cupboards and a strip of butcher block countertop. The cups and dishes were stacked neatly on a thick timber shelf secured into the wall, its rough edge left unfinished.

  A loveseat and club chair were set to my left, angled towards the wood stove. A bookcase stretched across the rest of that wall, holding a hodgepodge of everything from Veterinary texts to Bernard Cornwell novels. The kitchen’s two-seater table sat beside the glass doors at the back of the room, a small vase of wildflowers brightening it up.