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“So, you like your character?” I ask.

“Yes. This will be so much fun. Go in and get yours.”

My fingers linger on her wrist as I swipe the sensitive skin with my thumb. She blushes again. If I could only have one photo of Becca to keep forever, it wouldn’t be a sexy boudoir shot or a photo in a bikini. It would be a portrait of her blushing.

I leave the soundproof room just as thrilled. The world may be aligning for the next chapter of life. I play a world-renowned chef with a temper. Pretty sure this mystery was made for me.

As we all sit down to dinner, everyone introduces themselves to each other’s characters. Becca is the personal assistant of Emmaline, a social media influencer who graces the covers of magazines.

Oakley crosses her arms, sneering at Emmaline. “Looks like you’re the big cheese, but don’t forget you’re where you are because of me. If it weren’t for my money and paying people to follow, share, and comment, you would be just another pretty face.”

Well, I guess the murder mystery has begun.

Emmaline takes her role seriously, but Bryce doesn’t seem to have gotten into character when he kisses her cheek and rubs her back, caring for her as he would in real life.

The waiters present the main course and suddenly, it’s my turn. Corbin leans forward. “This looks delicious, John. Didn’t know you could cook.”

I slam my hand against the linen-covered table. “Cook? Cook? I own five Michelin-rated restaurants across the world. It’s Chef John to you.”

Corbin’s head jolts backward. I lose my temper sometimes but not like this and not at him. I’m just playing the part. The table is silent as they cut into the beef Wellington paired with a side of au gratin potatoes.

It doesn’t taste right. Someone has sabotaged my dish, and I’m ready to find out who. But I have to be sneaky. I saw Corbin,the resort manager, exchanging a vial in the wine cellar last night.

It’s obvious, there’s more going on than meets the eye. As the evening progresses, the characters reveal the secrets or gossip, not knowing they’re advancing the mystery.

It’s more complicated than I originally thought a murder mystery would be. As dinner ends, dessert is served in various locations. Each one of us is told to go to a different place and when we come back together in the ballroom, we realize Emmaline is gone.

The host drops hints and asks us to scour the grounds. Bryce yells when we get to the pool, “Emmaline. Emmaline.” He jumps in the pool and carries her out, laying her on the blue tiles. He crouches down beside her. “Who did this to her?”

Emmaline plays a dead person as well as any opossum in Texas.

Becca runs to her side. “No, it can’t be Emmaline. Her star burns too bright to be offed in a pool.” She looks around. “Corbin, did you do this? I saw you in her room before dinner, removing something from her desk.”

All hell breaks loose with everyone blaming each other.

“She got drunk and drowned. End of story.” I roll my eyes.

“Oh really?” Becca stands, folding her arms over her waist. “Why is your handkerchief the same material as Emmaline’s dress? Did you have a struggle?”

Becca is one hundred percent invested in this game, taking on the role of trusted assistant to Emmaline.

The group’s eyes follow the banter back and forth until Oakley says, “There’s foam coming from her mouth. What the hell? Emmaline, are you alive?”

Bryce walks around the pool deck lit with only soft lights strung from the trees, finding a crumpled-up piece of paper. He opens and reads it aloud, “Pay what you owe me, or the world will know your secret.”

A collective sigh seeps into the night. Was this meant for Emmaline, or was she giving it to one of the other guests?

The host asks us to search for clues. I go in the same direction as Becca. We weave through the cobblestone pathways, as shadows dance across the manicured lawn. “I don’t see anything, do you?” Becca asks.

“No, but maybe the clues are well hidden and not in plain sight, unlike the one Bryce found. Who could Emmaline owe money too?”

“Umm, me? She always says I pay for your travel and food. Why do you need a paycheck? Sometimes she throws me a few hundred. Honestly, she’s not as good of a person as her followers think. She’s a media whore.”

“Ummm, I think you may be the prime suspect.” I open the ornate French doors and immediately find a closet and shove her inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching you for clues.”