“I should have asked what you like to eat.” Ben gestured me inside. “I hope you don’t mind Asian.”

  I walked towards the large glass doors overlooking his back deck and the deep emerald Pacific beyond that. ‘No, that’s fine. I love Asian food. Where in Asia, specifically?”

  “Thailand. Well, with a touch of Vietnam.”

  “That’s fine with me.” I gestured out the window. “This view is absolutely gorgeous!”

  “Yes,” Ben busied himself pouring two glasses of pinot grigio. “I lucked into this place.”

  “This isn’t that far from Rosalie’s house, is it?” I paused. “Well, I guess what used to be her house.”

  Ben handed me the long-stemmed glass. “About a mile or so. She’s at the other end, close to the Provincial Park. The islanders call it ‘Millionaire’s Row’. I was lucky to get an old summer cabin that hadn’t been renovated in years; that’s the only way I was able to afford this address.”

  I sipped the flinty white wine. “Wynter is a beautiful island, isn’t it?”

  Ben moved to stand behind me, the hairs on my arms prickling as I felt the heat from his body reach mine. “Yes, but not always a beautiful place to live.”

  I turned around to face him. “Did you know Rose at all?”

  “No.” He stared down at my face, so close to his that I could watch his carotid artery hypnotically throbbing. “I moved here long after she left. But I heard the stories. I couldn’t believe she had the balls to come back and face everyone.”

  “I know. That’s the part I don’t understand. Why return to a place that held nothing but bad memories? I mean, she was wealthy enough. She could have retired anywhere.”

  “Yeah, I love Wynter Island, but if my budget extended to Bali ….” He waved goodbye out the window. “It would be bye-bye, Wynter. In all senses of the word.”

  He gestured me towards the table. A Vietnamese salad roll had been placed on my plate. The pale pink shrimp rested in a curling line beside the green onions in the semi-transparent molded rice paper. A small bowl of mahogany peanut sauce sat on the table beside it.

  “I don’t know what I was expecting, but whatever it was, Rosalie wasn’t it.” I sat down and dipped my salad roll in the thick brown peanut sauce before placing it in my mouth. A dribble of cooked rice noodles escaped one corner of my mouth, and I slurped them back in.

  “Why? What had you been expecting?”

  “I don’t know. A diva? A narcissist? Someone who just uses people and then throws them away. Basically, the bitch that everyone on the island described to me.”

  “I take it she wasn’t that? How long did you actually get to talk to her, though? Not that long, I’m guessing. The people on this island had known her for years, and not one had a good word to say about her. Well, except for Phil.”

  “Phil? What did he say?”

  Ben sighed. “He was waiting at the medical center this morning when we got there with the body. I got out of the ambulance and tried to talk to him, but he was hysterical.”

  “Phil?” I asked, my voice rising with surprise. “Fisherman Phil? The guy who would sell you a sardine for a salmon if he could get away with it? Hysterical?”

  Ben nodded his head. “He said someone had told him there’d been an emergency at the station. That Rose was sick. He begged me to tell him what was going on, to let him see Rose.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I tried to get him to calm down, but he wasn’t having it.” Ben ate his last mouthful of salad roll and chewed it meditatively for a few moments. “I finally had to put my hands on his shoulders and tell him she was gone.” Ben glanced down at his empty plate before looking up into my eyes, his own pools of sadness. “He was just … broken.”

  Phil. Broken. It seemed incongruous to compare the sharp-tongued, bad-tempered fisherman I knew with something delicate enough to break. But I had once believed myself to be strong, and I had broken, too.

  “I would never have guessed.”

  Ben cleaned away our plates and returned with two bowls of steaming Pad Thai. The sweet tanginess of the lemongrass and tomato sauce wafted up to me.

  “Me either. But one of the other EMTs said that Phil had been close to Rosalie’s dad. In fact, he’s the one who looked after his funeral. Phil notified her, but Rosalie didn’t come home.”

  “She didn’t come home for her father’s funeral, and yet she came back now. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does, other than perhaps that boyfriend/manager of hers.”

  “Jason.”

  “Yeah, him. How’s your dinner?”

  I dragged my thoughts back to the meal in front of me. “Lovely. This is all so delicious, Ben. Thank you for inviting me.”

  Ben smiled sheepishly. “Easy enough to cook for two as one.”

  I glanced to my side to see Jupiter staring at Ben with what could only be described as malevolent intensity. “I think Jupiter would prefer it to be three or,” I glanced over at Lucy stretched out on the sofa with her brown and white feathered forelocks spread over the pillows, “four.”

  “Jupiter, may I bribe my way into your affections?” Ben laughed and held out a small chunk of chicken.

  Absolutely not, said Jupiter with a silent glare. But he took the treat regardless. Lucy’s long-snouted head popped up over the sofa arm as she watched Jupiter, the interloper, get a treat.

  “Come here, Luce. I’ve got a piece for you, too.”

  Lucy scrambled off the sofa, her nails clicking frantically over the wood floor as she rushed to the table.

  “I thought vets say you shouldn’t spoil your dog.”

  “Yes, well, do as I say, not as I do.” Ben stood up and collected our dirty plates and cutlery. “Not too much, but I do. They’re like family, aren’t they?”

  I reached over to ruffle my hand over Jupiter’s silver-topped head. He leaned closer against my chair, his eyes tipping adoringly upwards.

  Yes, they were family. In some ways, more than family. You can’t pick your family, but you can choose your dog. Or rather, I thought to myself and smiled, they choose you.

  “Do you like games?”

  “Excuse me?”

  After placing the dishes in the sink, Ben pulled a four-foot-tall box from the bookshelf.

  “Games? You know, board games? Checkers, Parcheesi.” He gestured dramatically towards the box as he lifted it off to reveal a wooden block tower. “Mega-sized Jenga.”

  I laughed and walked over to where the wooden tower wobbled slightly in the middle of the living room floor. “That thing is huge! The Jenga I remember was small enough to put on your kitchen table.”

  “Why go small when you can go unnecessarily big?” His smile pushed out the boundaries of his face, brightening it with an almost childlike glow of happiness. “Do you want to play? I’m afraid I’m a bit of a game nerd.”

  “Game nerd? Like competitive chess game nerd or Dungeons and Dragons game nerd?”

  “I feel I will look more attractive to you if I say the former rather than the latter.”

  “Yes,” I nodded as I roamed around the tower’s perimeter, “you will. But I might not believe you.”

  “How about we leave it at equal opportunity game nerd. You go first.”

  Jupiter had skittered behind me, his lip raising at the living room’s unexpected structure.

  “It’s okay, Jupe. It’s just a game. It’s not going to hurt me.”

  Jupiter gave me some doubtful side-eye before sitting down to keep watch.

  “Okay, let’s try this one.” I gingerly plucked a thin block of wood from the structure and pulled it out cleanly. “Okay, one down.”

  Ben stepped up and nonchalantly pulled a brick out.

  “Show off.”

  I pulled another brick, but this time the structure trembled. “Okay, maybe not that one. Let’s try this.” I grabbed another piece further down the structure and began to inch it tentatively out.

  Jupiter growled as the piece got stuck in the tower. I walked around to the opposite side and tried to push it through.

  “It’s fine, Jupe. I can do this.”

  With another slight shove of my finger, the brick pushed out, hovering dramatically in mid-air before slipping out and dropping loudly to the floor. Jupiter barked suspiciously. Lucy joined him, the two oddly in-sync voices barking together.

  “C’mon, guys,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  But as I spoke, the edge of my sleeve brushed against the tower, and it began to sway like a hotel in a bad Seventies disaster film.

  “No! No!”

  I tried to steady it, but it swayed back in my direction again. That was all Jupiter needed. He leaped up and bit at one of the blocks, grabbing it in mid-air and throwing it viciously to the floor. Strong arms pulled me to the left, clearing a path for the wooden structure to cascade onto the wood floor beside me.

  “Oh,” I exhaled loudly, only realizing a moment later that Ben’s hands were still gripping my shoulders.

  He turned me around to face him, his skin’s warmth seeping into mine. His head dipped down, and his lips, tasting faintly of coconut and lemongrass, touched mine.

  I pulled back sharply, so much so that I almost over-balanced the other way, tipping Ben and myself back onto the tumbled Jenga blocks.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said awkwardly, letting go of me and stepping back. “I thought …”

  I stepped further away, searching frantically for my bag, “No, that’s fine. I mean, not exactly fine, but still nice. No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, where the hell is my bag?” I spotted it and grabbed it to my chest, my blathering stumbling to a stop. “I think I should go home, Ben.” I paused at the surprised and somewhat wounded expression on his face. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. Really, it’s me. God, I feel like such an idiot.” I covered my eyes with one hand, desperate to not embarrass myself by slipping into tears.

  His bare feet squeaked towards me over the wood floor, one tanned hand reaching up to pull my hand away from my face. “It’s okay. I’m sorry if that was too soon.”

  “It’s not that it was too soon; it’s just…that it was…maybe too soon.” I stopped jabbering and tried to catch my breath. “I mean, Rosalie dying this morning. And then there’s Daniel. He’s only been gone a few months.” I sighed and pushed the image of Michael from my mind. Would I have pulled away from his embrace? I didn’t know and didn’t want to think about that. “Ben, this is a bit embarrassing, but I haven’t been with anyone since Daniel,” I murmured. “Although it makes me sound like an overwrought teenager, I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

  He smiled with such sweetness and compassion that I suddenly regretted pulling out of his arms. “It’s okay. It is. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait. My guess is you’re probably worth waiting for.”

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s like rain on your wedding day.”

  I rummaged blindly on the side table for my cell phone, trying to turn off the chorus from Alanis Morisette’s Ironic. “I’ve gotta change that ringtone. It’s just not funny anymore.” I held the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hello? Kate?” Gwen’s voice rattled through the line, sounding weak and shaky.

  “Yes, it’s me. What’s up, Gwen?”

  “We have a situation.”

  “What kind of situation? I’ll need coffee before I can focus on anything this morning.” I sighed and glanced over at where Jupiter had rolled spreadeagled on top of the blankets; his legs stretched out like a canine centerfold.

  “It’s Rosalie.”

  “What about Rosalie?” I sat up straighter in bed.

  Shit, how could I forget about what happened to Rosalie!

  “Jason released a statement to the media last night.”

  “He said he was going to wait! We were going to write one together and include the station’s perspective!”

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t wait. And we have bigger problems than him cutting us out of the statement.”

  A slither of dread began to snake its way down my spine. “What did he say?”

  “A lot, but the main gist of it was that Rosalie was murdered, most likely by those evil, small-minded islanders who rejected her sincere efforts to make peace. In other words, she’s dead, and we killed her.”

  “That’s slander, Gwen.”

  Gwen sighed. I imagined her sitting by the old black rotary phone in her smoke-hued farmhouse kitchen. “Slander or not, that’s what he said. The volunteer fire chief just called me from the ferry. He’s on the first boat out of Tsawwassen this morning, and he’s far from the only one on it.”

  “Media?”

  “Yeah, thick with them. He says they’re roaming around trying to identify islanders so they can question them about Rosalie.” She paused as if reading from a newspaper. “They’re apparently saying that ‘Actress’s dramatic pleas for peace and quiet in retirement end in public bloodshed and death.’”

  “That’s a good lead,” I muttered to myself.

  “What?”

  “No, sorry, it’s just that headline will catch people’s attention. Editors will be all over this.”

  “It’s not just the press. T.V. and digital media are coming as well. Scott said they were talking about heading straight up the mountain to my place. I guess my name and address are linked with the station.”

  “Lock the doors and shut the curtains, Gwen. I’m on my way.”

  * * *

  The steep winding road to Gwen’s homestead on the top of Wynter mountain was not an easy drive at the best of times. This summer was definitely not the best of times. The months of constant grey drizzle had weakened the friable soil, creating small landslides at the slightest pressure.

  “Gwen’s gotta get this graded and secured somehow,” I said to Jupiter, who, as usual, was riding shotgun. “It’s much worse than the last time I was up here.” I swung the station truck through the farm gate and ground to a sliding stop. “And they aren’t helping things.”

  In front of me, Gwen’s front lawn and parking area was crammed with a mishmash of cars and trucks stuck in an oozing sea of mud and muck. Station logos were emblazoned across the sides of vehicles: CKOG—the voice of the Okanagan; CKNV—Vancouver TV. Camera operators busily propped satellites up on van roofs to beam the latest news from Wynter Island back to their stations.

  I turned off the ignition and pocketed the truck keys. “Head down and keep moving forward, Jupe. That’s the only way to deal with a press scrum like this one.” I shoved the jeep door open and stepped out with Jupiter behind me.

  Jupiter stopped in his tracks, torn between his need to stay close to me and his innate desire to avoid this noisy pack of humans.

  “It’s okay, Jupe. Come here.” I patted my stomach encouragingly, and Jupiter jumped into my arms. I adjusted his body to carry his weight over one shoulder and began pushing through the crowd.

  “Coming through. Coming through. Out of the way, please. Thank you. Thank you. Don’t want the dog to bite anyone.”

  The pack grudgingly parted, pelting me with questions. Eyes focused straight ahead. I barreled through them and up the front steps of Gwen’s house.

  “Who are you? Do you know Gwen Wynter? Do you have anything to do with CWYN? Were you there yesterday when Rosalie Morgann died?”

  Jupiter lifted his upper lip at them and growled menacingly.

  “You show them, Jupiter. Show them what a fierce pup you are,” I whispered.

  I had just raised my fist to knock on the side door when a hand reached out and pulled me into the kitchen.

  “Thank God you’re here.”

  Even though it was mid-July, Gwen wore a thick sweater hanging loosely over a pair of grey corduroys. In the dim light of the shuttered kitchen, her grey hair pillowed away from her face in a mass of messy waves. I put Jupiter down on the yellowing linoleum floor and unshouldered my bag.

  “It’s going to be okay, Gwen. Don’t worry. But we do have to make some kind of statement.”

  Gwen gestured towards the front lawn. “You mean, out there?”

  I nodded my head. “Yes, out there. We don’t have to say much. Just state the station’s viewpoint on what happened yesterday. I don’t know what Jason was thinking, or if he was thinking at all, but we can’t allow him to control this narrative.”

  “In plain language, that means what?”

  “That means we can’t allow Jason’s perspective to become ‘the truth’ or ‘the story’. And if we don’t provide them with another viewpoint, that’s exactly what will happen. I’m sure Jason feels that his press release is accurate, but he had just watched his girlfriend die. That’s enough to skew anyone’s perspective.”

  Gwen walked to the kitchen table and sat down with a thump in a chair. “What do we say?”

  I pulled my laptop out of my bag and sat down beside Gwen. “Luckily, you have a journalist on your payroll.”

  Gwen glanced out the window. The figures on the front lawn, shapeless grey blobs when seen through the protective screen of her white floral curtains, moved around like amoebas on a glass slide.

  “Alright, then. Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  “Good morning.”

  Reporters jostled in front of Gwen’s house, jockeying to get the closest to the front porch where Gwen, Jupiter, and I stood. DSLR bursts snapped with a rapid series of clicks that made Jupiter’s hackles rise.

  “It’s okay, Jupe,” I murmured and gave him a comforting pat. “Everything’s okay.” I straightened up and breathed deeply before starting again. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Kate Zoë Thomas. I am the station manager of CWYN. This is Gwen Wynter standing beside me, the station’s owner.”

  “Do you believe Rosalie Morgann was murdered?” a woman shouted from the back of the crowd.

  “Before we answer any questions,” I continued as if no one had spoken, “I have a statement that I would like to read.” I glanced down at the hurriedly printed document in my hand. “On behalf of the station, its staff, and volunteers, we would like to offer our sincere condolences to the family, friends, and fans of the late Rosalie Morgann. She was a beautiful young woman who should have had many years of life ahead of her. We are saddened not only by her passing but also by the fact that this tragic event occurred while she was a guest at CWYN. What we had hoped would be an historic first live broadcast for CWYN has become a nightmare for us all. We have no information regarding the cause or circumstances behind Miss Morgann’s death. We request that you address any such questions to the RCMP. Thank you.”