Page 14

“Uh, sure,” Ellery said. “Right this way.”

As the others vanished into their rooms, Ellery turned and led the way down the hall in the opposite direction.

Chelsea was asking, “I guess it gets pretty cold here at night?”

“It does,” Ellery admitted. “But the bedrooms all have fireplaces—which reminds me. I need to chop more wood. I wasn’t expecting snow.”

“You mean there’s no heat?”

“No, there’s central heating. It’s just sort of at will.”

“Whose will?”

“The house’s?” Ellery opened the door across from the master bedroom. “How about this room? Will this do?”

Chelsea didn’t bother to glance inside the room. “Perfect!” She stepped inside the room. “I’ll be down to grab the rest of my bags in a few.” She smiled sweetly and shut the door in Ellery’s face.

Ellery did not actually chop his own firewood. He had wood delivered, like most of the island’s inhabitants. He did, however, chop his own kindling, and after delivering Chelsea’s luggage to her door, he spent a very damp forty minutes makingsure his guests would have everything they needed to warm their bedrooms before turning in for the night.

With the arbitrariness of island weather, the rain finally let up as he was finishing. The damp air was sweet and cold. He carried the kindling into the house, asked Watson if he wanted to go for a quick walk—a rhetorical question if there ever was one—and headed out again.

As they started down the drive, he spotted another hooded figure up ahead. Watson began to bark. Ellery whistled sharply. The figure stopped, turned, and waved. Ellery relaxed. Flip.

Who had he thought it was? Axe murderer Edwin Dolph?

“I thought I’d stretch my legs.” Flip’s breath hung in the air as he reached Ellery and Watson.

Watson, already losing interest in any visitor who wasn’t Jack, darted off across the sodden meadow.

Ellery smiled. “We’re just walking down to the beach.”

“You want some company?”

“Sure!”

In accord, they started across the meadow, sticking to the path, unlike Watson who could be seen bounding his way over—and through—goldenrod, fading bayberry, wild field roses, and the scarlet flashes of bittersweet.

“It really is beautiful,” Flip acknowledged.

“It grows on you.”

“Mm.”

The rain pattered down around them, whispering on the hoods of their parkas. Their boots thudded on the sodden trail.

Yards ahead, Watson did his best to keep them abreast of current events.

Arf! Arf! Arf!

Ellery glanced at Flip’s unusually solemn profile.

Flip had brown hair, green eyes, a pointy chin, and a wide, mobile mouth that curved easily and frequently into a genuinelybeautiful smile. He was not classically handsome, not like Freddie, but he had the kind of attractiveness that did not fade with time.

He stared ahead at the now flea-sized Watson “It doesn’t feel cold enough for snow.”

“It’s pretty cold.”

Flip had never been one for long walks in the rain, so Ellery was pretty sure he was trying to work himself up to broach something he didn’t want to broach. There was only one such topic Ellery could think of, and he wanted to hear it as little as Flip wanted to say it.