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If I made a bigger deal about the book, she would be even more curious, so I tried to divert her attention and asked, “What do you want to know?”
“The police—what they said, what you said, what they know. I need the deets.”
“The police weren’t there.”
“What do you mean they weren’t there?” Brie looked up from the book, and I judged whether I could grab it away before she could pull it out of my reach. I decided no. “Isn’t that why Kalise grabbed you? To talk to the police about the body?”
“Tristan told me that St. Claire has its own security because it’s a private island. St. John is doing an autopsy, but Gino Garmon is investigating here on the island, supposedly working with the police.”
“No shit?” Brie snorted. “Like he’s ever investigated arealcrime.”
“Tristan said he’d been a cop.”
I didn’t know where Garmon had worked before he came to St. Claire. Maybe it was some small department in the middle of nowhere, or maybe he’d been fired because he was incompetent. Or he lied on his resume, or maybe...
“What are you writing? Weird.” Brie frowned as she flipped through the pages.
I remembered the semicoded comment that might be about her father. Would Brie figure it out? Maybe.
I finally grabbed the book from her and held it in my lap. “Not me,” I said. “I think—” I hesitated just a second. Should I clue her in? Brie was a kid—okay, she was starting college, but shewasa teenager. Still, she had been here at the same time as Diana, and she’d already proven herself to be observant. She might be able to fill in some of the blanks.
She looked at me with suspicion, so I just blurted it out. “I think the book belonged to Diana Harden. The missing woman.”
“The dead woman,” Brie corrected me bluntly.
“Yes.”
Brie nodded. “I saw her with a book. I thought she was writing in it—you’re saying she wrote inthatbook.” She reached for it again, but I held it away from her. She pouted. “Geez.”
“Let me explain first.” I wanted someone to confide in, but how did I explain my theory? “Diana was writing about people here at St. Claire. Staff and guests.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?Now youhaveto show me.”
“She wrote in sort of a code, and I don’t think it’s appropriate.”
Brie stared at me in disbelief. “I’m eighteen,” she said flatly.
I opened it to the middle and read one of the comments.
“‘A trophy wife and juggling a bimbo. Viagra much?’ Then she has a year, 2012, and drew what looks like a row of houses.” As I saidyear, I wondered if I was wrong about that. Maybe the number meant something else.
Brie snorted. “Maybe the guy has a couple wives in different parts of the country.”
“Or multiple mistresses,” I said.I turned a couple pages and then read, “‘How much will he pay to keep his secret?’”I looked at Brie and said, “That comment doesn’t have a drawing, but it has a number, 522. I thought maybe a room number, so I tried one of the numbers, and it’s not a room.”
“Good guess,” Brie said. “We’re in a cabin. We don’t have a number. It’s called the Jasmine Suite.”
“It’s like she’s writing whatever comes to mind when she sees someone. There are several notations that appear to be tracking individuals’ net worth. They’re vague, but I’m a financial planner. I recognize some of the shorthand.”
“No names?”
“No, just these numbers and a few doodles.” I turned to the front of the book and read the comment that I had been mulling over all night. “She circled a passage about the book’sheroine, then wrote, ‘Sounds just my type. I hope she’s nottoomad at me...’”
“Holy shit,” Brie muttered. “That sounds personal.”
“There’s a heart next to it, so I’m thinking it’s about a girlfriend, or maybe she just likes redheads? The heroine is a redhead.” I bit my lip. I had been thinking of a possibility all night, and now it seemed so obvious that I wondered if I was embellishing the thought in my head.
“What?” Brie asked. “You thought of something.”