Free Slay it with Flowers by Kate Collins Page B

camera,” Ursula finished for Jill.
    Bertie scoffed at that idea. “First of all, Flip wouldn’t leave an expensive camera behind, and second, Punch couldn’t take photos in the dark.”
    “So you’re saying it vas Flip?” Ursula asked Bertie, seemingly intrigued by his opinion.
    “He shouldn’t be ruled out.”
    “Let’s think about this carefully,” I said. “Jillian called me at eight thirty, and it was nearly dark then. She told me Punch had found Flip’s car but not Flip. Right, Jill?”
    “I guess.” She was pouting.
    “If Punch had come across Flip at the blind sometime after eight thirty, it would have been dark, and without the right equipment, I doubt anyone would have been doing any photographing at that point. And like Bertie said, Flip wouldn’t walk away from a good camera just because he was interrupted.”
    “Perhaps Flip was already gone when Punch was murdered,” Claymore offered, still looking a little green.
    “Then why was his camera still here?” Bertie asked.
    “Maybe Punch borrowed it earlier to take photos of his girlfriend,” Jillian offered, her arms folded defensively, as if daring me to contradict her again.
    “In that case, Punch would have found Flip here,” I said.
    “Wouldn’t he have called you back to tell you? He knew everyone was worried.”
    “Perhaps he was attacked before he could make the call,” Claymore said.
    “We need to find Flip,” Jillian said. “He’ll know if there’s a mystery woman.”
    “Maybe we should get the film out of the camera,” Bertie said, rising to his feet. “It might show us who was here.”
    “Not a good idea,” I told him. “The police dislike evidence tampering.”
    “Should I call Pryce?” Claymore asked, rubbing his temples. “In case we need a lawyer?”
    “Why would we need a lawyer?” Sabina asked instantly.
    Bertie paced in the sand behind us. “I suppose we’ll be considered suspects.”
    “Why?” Sabina asked, screwing up her face in preparation for another sobbing session. “It was Flip’s camera.”
    “Any of us could have borrowed it,” Bertie reminded her. “You were in our hotel room yesterday, too.”
    “But we were all together this evening,” Sabina protested.
    “Not true,” I said. “All of the women were together.”
    “And Claymore,” Jillian added, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.
    “By the way,” I said, “ did any of you borrow the camera?”
    They looked around at each other and each one said no. It would be interesting to see what was on the film, not to mention whose prints were on the case.
    “Maybe Onora killed Punch,” Ursula said to me, with the cock of an eyebrow, as if she were enjoying the prospect. “She did leave to go back to her room alone.”
    “Do you think she’s capable of it?”
    Jillian sniffed, as if the whole idea were ridiculous. “Onora can barely lift a camera, let alone heave it at someone hard enough to kill him.”
    “She’s stronger than she looks,” Sabina said. “At school, when she heard that I went out with Punch, she picked up my desk chair and threw it across the dorm room.”
    “Sounds like she has a temper,” I said, and Sabina nodded emphatically.
    “This is just wonderful,” Jillian snapped. “My wedding party is turning on each other. Isn’t it like Punch to pull something like this?”
    Claymore turned his head to stare at her.
    “What?” she asked.
    “I doubt he purposely got himself murdered, Jill,” I said quietly.
    “At least this solves the best-man situation,” she said morosely.
    Across from me, Sabina started to weep again, and Bertie put an arm around her. The rest of us stared at Jillian in disbelief.
    “What?” my clueless cousin asked again.
    “I’m sure of one thing,” Claymore said. “Flip isn’t a murderer.”
    “Then where is he?” Bertie asked.
    There was a rustling behind us, and I looked around, hoping to see the missing Flip. Instead I found myself staring straight into the beams