Free Death in a Beach Chair by Valerie Wolzien Page B

them?”
    “To help us. To make sure Jerry isn’t accused of Allison’s murder.”
    “I don’t think that’s their job, Sue. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t go over to the office and make some calls. I thought cottages without phones were such a good idea when I read about them in the brochure, but it’s turning out to be a real inconvenience.”
    “Who would you call?”
    “Friends at home. Lawyers. Anyone who might know the law down here and what we’re becoming involved in—”
    “Yoo-hoo! Henshaws! Up here!”
    Susan and Jed turned and looked up. Standing on the top of the breakwater was a heavyset woman Susan recognized as one of the card-playing group. She smiled weakly.
    “I need to speak to you and it’s a lot easier for young people like you to come up the steps than for an oldster like me to waddle down.”
    Susan and Jed exchanged glances.
    “Now I might be interrupting a romantic moment or I may not, but I really think we should have a little chat. It has to do with the murder.”
    The Henshaws acted as one, moving up the stairs as quickly as their “young” legs could carry them.
    “What do you know?” Susan asked.
    “What’s happened?” was Jed’s question.
    “I know that you’re going to need my help here. Why don’t we find someplace to sit down and talk—preferably in the shade. In all the excitement, I’m not sure I applied sunscreen evenly before I left my cottage this morning.”
    “There are some umbrellas leaning up against the wall over there,” Jed said. “I could find James and ask him to set some up for us.”
    “Oh, my. You could try, but I imagine James is somewhere with the rest of the staff, gossiping about this horrible thing. He’s one of the best of the staff, but under the circumstances, I think we will have to fend for ourselves.” She looked Jed up and down and then turned to Susan. “Perhaps you could ask your husband to bring us an umbrella or two.”
    “Of course. Jed . . .”
    “I’d be happy to set up an umbrella for you both, but then, perhaps, I should go make those phone calls we were discussing.” He looked at his wife, and Susan realized that he had decided she was better off dealing with this woman alone.
    “That’s a good idea,” she agreed. “In fact, why don’t you go do that and . . . and we can go over to the restaurant, sit in the shade, and we can talk there.”
    “Better yet, we’ll go back to my cottage, order room service, and sit on the porch. Number 16 with a seagull by the door, down by the breakwater. Your husband can find us there if he needs to.”
    Susan couldn’t think of any reason to refuse. “You’ll let me know if Kathleen needs me, or there’s anything else I can do, won’t you?” she asked her husband pointedly.
    “Sure,” he agreed, hurrying off.
    Susan suspected he had missed the point. She was stuck talking with this woman whether she liked it or not.

 
    TEN
    “Now, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Rowan Parker. Most people call me Ro and you should, too.”
    “I’m Susan Henshaw, but you seem to know that already.” Despite Ro’s previous statements, she was no frailer than Susan, and moved quickly over the cobblestone walkway toward her cottage.
    “I make it my business to learn the names of all guests the very day they arrive. My husband says I’m nosy, but I’m just interested in the people around me. And, over the years, you wouldn’t believe the fascinating people I’ve met here.”
    “So you’ve been here before,” Susan said, following Ro up the steps to her place. The cottages at this end of the resort were comprised of two floors. Ro headed for the stairs on the far side.
    “There’s an intercom upstairs we can use to call for food. Damn inconvenient—we have to climb up and down a dozen times a day—but what can you do?” she said, starting up the stairs. “And, yes, to answer your question, this is our fourteenth year here. My husband likes continuity. I’m