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“Could this note be from Fairfax DePoy?” Officer Holly asked, pressing the matter. “Anyone?”

“Perhaps we could get a sample of Fairfax’s writing,” said Miranda, “from when he signed his books at the store earlier.”

“He doesn’t sign books, remember?” said Wanda. “The fop melts wax and uses a signet ring instead of signing his name. He’s insufferable.”

“He is a bit of a prat,” Penny conceded. It was one of the few things she and Wanda agreed on.

“Not the autograph,” said Miranda. “The personalized messages he wrote in the books. He must have written something for Harpreet.”

It was too late to call her, though, and Miranda hardly imagined Fairfax DePoy would have personalized his message to her in all caps.

“We could conjure the souls of the dead,” Inez suggested. “Ask them for guidance?”

Summoning the forces of darkness? Yes, you could say that, thought Miranda. That’s exactly what we are doing. A regular rogue’s gallery had been assembled. Was a killer amongst them? The only person missing was—

“Evening, everyone.” It was Ray Valentine, coming down in a bathrobe, with a vaguely disapproving look on his face. He peered at them over his glasses. “It’s 0100 in the morning. Why is everyone still up?”

“Various reasons,” said Miranda with the sliver of a smile.

Five little piggies went to market...

One came down to slip outside (Sheryl), one in search of alcohol (Wanda), one with a strange message in hand (Penny), one still with paw prints on her buttocks (Inez).

“And you?” Who will go wee-wee-wee all the way to jail?

“What brings you out of your chambers, Mr. Valentine?”

“I heard the fuss and bother—the pother, as it were—came down to ask about this.” He held up a torn piece of paper of his own. “A handwritten note, slipped under my door, but just nonsense vowels: i-a-e . I-a-e. It’s like a first draft of the chorus of ‘Old MacDonald.’ Any idea what’s going on?”

I-A-E?

“The two halves,” said Miranda. “Put them together.”

They did. It spelled out: Virginia Wolfe .

“Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor!” said Miranda.

“ Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. The play that became a movie, the movie that became a critique of the American marriage.

Not to drop names, but I was once asked by Sir Kenneth Branagh—Kenny, I call him—to audition for a gritty reboot of the original movie (they’d added more explosions during the car chase) in the same role Elizabeth Taylor played.

..” Taylor, which could also be spelled tailor.

.. tailor, as in a stich in time saves nine.

.. as in a cat with nine lives, as in Cat Ballou, starring Jane Fonda.

.. who also co-starred with Elizabeth Taylor in the musical spectacle The Blue Bird with —Miranda’s mind had entered a feedback loop, was spiraling down, but she managed to pull up at the last moment.

“You know, the note may have nothing to do with Elizabeth Taylor.”

As gently as she could, Penny said, “Or maybe it’s a reference to the actual author, Virginia Woolf?” She held the two halves of the note up again. “But the name has been misspelled. Should be Woolf . Not Wolfe with an e.”

“Huh,” said Wanda. “Go figure. I always thought it was spelled with an e.”

“It is spelled with an e,” said Ray Valentine. “I can picture the covers in my mind. Usually an ominous blood-spattered glass of wine that’s been toppled over, or a knife that’s been stabbed into a cutting board or through a playing card, or a blood-covered bullet casing and a broken window.”

“You’re thinking of Nero Wolfe, the character,” said Penny, “rather than Virginia Woolf, literary icon.”

“Kane Hamady!” Inez cried. “He was dyslexic! He could have misspelled the name.”

“I hardly think he wrote a note to us after he was killed,” said Penny.

“You never know,” said Inez darkly.

“And anyway, Kane wasn’t dyslexic,” said Wanda. “That was just a joke, something he used to say, that he was a ‘dyslexic existentialist’ who pondered the existence of dog.”

Inez didn’t get it. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s humor,” said Wanda. “Something you are incapable of comprehending.”

Before Inez could lash back, with voodoo hexes and charm bracelets no doubt, Miranda cut in. “We’re losing sight of the clue.”

“Yes!” said Inez. “The clue! Clues are my forte.”

“What are you talking about?” said Wanda. “There are no clues in your novels. Just gore.”

“Says the children’s author.”

“At least my clues line up!”

“You have clues, but no soul! ” said Inez.

Penny interrupted, “Please! People, we have a mystery to solve. We’re mystery writers; this shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Says the cozy writer,” Inez muttered.

Miranda Abbott was reconsidering her list of feuds. Easier just to put “everyone vs. everyone,” she thought.

“Virginia Woolf. Ha. Never could stand her stuff,” said Wanda. “Stream of consciousness crap. No tension, no suspense, nothing ever happens. Dull as dishwater. How could that book be so short and yet feel so long?”

“Which book?” Miranda asked, and in that instant the authors realized at the same time.

“To the lighthouse!” they cried, and they rushed for the front door in a veritable stampede, scrambling for jackets and boots. Sheryl was the first one at the door.

But Officer Holly got there ahead of her and barred the way.

“Get back! All of you. Don’t make me taser you!

” she shouted. “Or rather, please—make me taser you. It would be a pleasure. You guys are the biggest bunch of blockheads I’ve ever had to deal with.

Let me put an end to your shenanigans right now.

Under the authority vested in me by the State of Oregon and the Tillamook County Police Authority, I am hereby invoking Public Safety Ordinance 771.

The guests of this bed-and-breakfast are instructed to remain indoors, under direct order of a police officer, until such time as local law enforcement can ascertain whether or not the risk to public safety has passed.

Ignoring this directive may lead to your detention and/or arrest. Mr. Fairfax DePoy is out there, possibly armed and potentially dangerous, and having you cretins showing up yammering away could easily push him over the edge.

Lord knows, it almost did for me. Remain inside.

Lock the doors and windows. Remain calm. And stay. Right. Here.”

Chastised, they fell back as Officer Holly called it in. “The lighthouse, Ned. He’s at the lighthouse.”

Moments later, Ned’s vehicle flew past the window, lights blazing.

“Ned’ll need backup,” said Andrew. “As his official deputy, I could—”

But Officer Holly was already out the door, car keys in hand. Miranda and Andrew followed. They were not guests of the B&B, so technically the ordinance that Officer Holly had cited, and which Miranda assumed she had just made up, * did not apply to them.

Holly barked at the two of them over her shoulder, “Andrew, Miranda, I want you outta here! Go back to Bea’s and stay there.”

“We will!” Miranda promised, adding under her breath, “... eventually.”

Officer Holly dove into her cruiser and followed hot on Ned’s heels.

In the distance, the lighthouse at Laurel Point loomed against the night sky as the sweep of the police cruiser’s beams disappeared down the narrow road toward it, only to be swallowed up by the darkness.

A beat, and then Andrew said, “I assume we’re going to the lighthouse?”

“Of course!” said Miranda, striding back to the Jeep. “The game is afoot!”