Page 44

Had Diana written about Andrew in the book? Which note? She’d written about the value of a house in Arizona, and that’s where Andrew and Brie lived. I couldn’t remember the details. Could she have been blackmailing Andrew? Or his girlfriend?
“This is my girlfriend, Sherry Morrison,” he said. “Mia came over on the ferry with David and Doug,” he added to Sherry. “You met them yesterday.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said automatically. “I don’t know where my head is. I’m not usually so distracted.” I knew exactly where my head was—thinking about murder.
“I daydream a lot around here as well,” Andrew said.
I realized then how much Andrew and Brie looked alike, with the black hair and vibrant blue eyes. He seemed so nice and genuine and was very attractive. I wished he was a few years younger. I wished he didn’t have a girlfriend.
“Honey, we don’t want to be late meeting the Stocktons,” Sherry said. Her tone was pleasant, but she possessively laced her fingers with Andrew’s.
“We’re on island time,” Andrew said lightly. “Would you like to join us?” he asked me.
The offer surprised me—and clearly it surprised Sherry, though she hid her irritation well. If I hadn’t been looking at her, I would have missed it.
“Yes,” she said with a fake smile, “why don’t you?”
Her voice was definitely more pleasant than her expression.
“Oh, well, thank you, but I can’t.” Though I suddenly wanted to. I didn’t know why Sherry had this almost... jealous?... vibe. Ofme? Why? “Maybe later?” I said.
“Absolutely,” Andrew said. “See you at the luau tonight?”
“Sure,” I said, though I had no idea what he was talking about since I hadn’t looked at today’s resort schedule. “See you then.”
They walked away, and I caught Sherry looking over her shoulder at me. Then she made a point to kiss Andrew on his cheek as they walked hand in hand toward the Blue Dahlia.
I never wanted to be that girl—a woman so territorial over her boyfriend that she had to make a point of PDA to flex her feminine muscle. Sure, the Kents’ PDA was over the top, but I didn’t think the wife was jumping on the husband as a sign for all the other women to back off.
I pushed the encounter aside and continued down the path to my cottage.
My door was open.
For a split second I worried that someone had broken in, that they were searching for my book, or waiting to kill me like Diana Harden...
Stop it!I told myself. Imagination in overdrive, I approached cautiously, just in case.
Then I saw the housekeeping cart and two maids in black shorts and white polos efficiently cleaning my room. “Hi,” I said.
“Ms. Crawford,” one of the maids said, “we’ll be not ten more minutes.”
“Don’t rush,” I said. “I’ll sit on the patio.”
I walked through my room and picked the book up from my nightstand, along with the notes I’d taken the night before when I couldn’t sleep. My spine tingled as the housekeepers watched me exiting through the sliding doors. Had they read what I’d written? The first page was pretty damning:
Diana Harden: arrived Friday on St. Claire. Who else was here? Was anyone on the ferry with her Sunday morning? Did she return to the island before she was killed? Who is her girlfriend?
Even last night I’d thought murder, not an accident. Now I was positive she was killed even though Tristan said they didn’t have the report from St. John authorities.
Last night, I’d copied everything Diana had written in my notepad, using her shorthand, then my thoughts on what she might have meant—including passages and words she’d highlighted within the text. I reread the comment about the house in Arizona.
Money or love? Money, of course—he’s worth a small fortune. Does he know all the dirt on his new girlfriend?
Then, written with a different pen:112 ~ est. net $80–90m, AZ residence $5m+, vacation house $3m
AZ residence. That had to be Andrew Locke, right? Unless someone else on this small island was from Arizona. Andmaybe the comment above about dirt on a new girlfriend was about someone completely different... like Trevor’s girlfriend CeeCee. What did the 112 mean? A room number? I could easily check that out.
“We’re done, Ms. Crawford,” one of the maids said.