Free Dare to Die by Carolyn Hart

traveled in coming to the island, she’d carried little with her except perhaps memories and sadness. As Billy had made clear, there was no mystery about Iris Tilford.
    Envisioning a lurking assailant in her rented cabin made no sense.
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    A NNIE CLUTCHED HER CELL PHONE AND REMINDED HERSELF to be patient, but she paced restlessly as she listened to Pamela Potts’s high, sweet voice: “…good of you to call and I supposeyou are right. Emma could have suffered that bruise another time. I’m afraid we’ll never know for sure. Emma doesn’t remember anything about being at Nightingale Courts. Although it seems an odd coincidence and I thought,” Pamela’s tone was faintly accusing, “you were always suspicious of coincidences.”
    Once again Annie felt uneasy. Was the bruise a coincidence? If Emma had lost her balance in the cabin, she could have lost her balance another time. Annie brushed away the memory of Ben describing the author as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Pamela began to reiterate everything they’d discussed. Annie looked yearningly at the open car trunk and sacks waiting to be carried inside. Her patience expired. She interrupted. “Tell Emma I’m glad she’s feeling better and we’ll miss seeing her tonight. Oh, golly, Pamela, I have to run. I’ll talk to you at the picnic.” She clicked off the cell, feeling vaguely guilty. But she had much to do and little time.
    As Annie retrieved the last of the groceries, Iris rode up on her bike.
    Iris braked. She stepped off the bike and asked softly, “Is the lady okay?”
    Annie balanced the sack as she closed the trunk. “Emma’s doing fine. She’s conscious and none the worse except for a headache.”
    Iris looked relieved. “I’m glad.” She looked toward her cabin. “Has anybody asked for me? An old friend said she’d come and I hope I’m not late.”
    â€œNo one has been around for the last hour or so.”
    Iris nodded and swung onto the seat. Dust puffed as she rode on the crushed oyster shells.
    In the office, Annie unloaded the sack. As she placed the last Sprite in the refrigerator, tires crunched on the oyster-shelldrive. Annie hoped no one was arriving to check in. There was no reservation for the night. She hurried to the window and saw Cara Wilkes’s late-model white Lexus convertible. Cara had represented the buyers of Annie and Max’s previous house on Scarlet King Lagoon. Annie wondered if there was some kind of problem with the new owners. The car didn’t stop at the office. Cara drove straight to Cabin Six.
    Annie smiled. It was nice that someone was welcoming Iris home.
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    W HEN THE LAST CLEAN TOWEL WAS SHAKEN AND FOLDED and the fresh stack placed in the housekeeping closet, Annie brushed back a limp tendril of hair. She was hot, tired, and thirsty. She glanced at her watch. A quarter to five. She intended to arrive at the pavilion at a quarter to six. It was going to be a great party. She didn’t have to worry about having a good time. She always had a good time with Max. That morning she’d unpacked a new Irish linen shirt trimmed with open-work embroidery and a long swirly skirt with matching embroidery above the hem. The shirt and skirt were the delicate light blue of a robin’s egg. Her new sandals were a perfect color match. Max would reach out and take her hand and tell her she was beautiful and his eyes would tell her more.
    She locked the housekeeping closet and hurried across the hummocky grass toward their cabin. She had time for a swim before she showered and dressed. The cabins at Nightingale Courts curved in a semicircle near the marsh. Three years ago Ingrid and Duane had built a pool in the center of the grassy area in front of the cabins between the palmettos that lined the oyster-shell drive and a stand of pines.
    In the cabin, Annie changed into her swimsuit, slipped on thongs. She