Free Murder Most Maine by Karen MacInerney Page A

the occasional mournful call of a gull. “Let’s head back to the inn,” I called to the retreat participants, who shuffled back down the path, away from the lighthouse—and from Dirk.
    Vanessa kept looking over her shoulder as we followed the group back to the road. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she whimpered. I squeezed her thin arm and said nothing.
    ___
    “What do you think happened to him?” Elizabeth asked as we sat in the inn’s dining room forty minutes later. Once we got back, I’d brewed Vanessa a cup of chamomile tea; she’d taken it and retreated to her room, probably in part to avoid Elizabeth, who kept peppering her with questions. Bethany had disappeared as well, after traipsing back to the inn looking like the love of her life had just died. Which, in a way, I guess, he had. Despite my anger over John’s behavior toward Vanessa, I was more than a little concerned for both of them.
    I took a sip of my sugarless hot chocolate, wishing I’d spiked it with brandy—I could use a little fortification right about now. I had broken down and snagged a small stack of gingersnaps, figuring since I’d just seen a dead body and heard my so-called boyfriend use a term of endearment to address his ex-girlfriend, it was completely warranted. Sweetheart , he’d called her. I knew I should be more upset about Dirk’s untimely demise, but right now I was feeling numbed by what had passed between John and Vanessa.
    “I don’t know what happened,” Megan said from her chair by the window. She had managed to lower the zipper of her sweatshirt so that it exposed a good inch of cleavage, I noticed. Her daughter had disappeared—probably, like me, to find solace in something sweet—but Greg hadn’t; he was seated just inches away from her. “I didn’t see any blood.”
    “Me neither,” said Boots.
    “I didn’t look that closely,” said Cat. She shuddered. “Maybe he had a heart attack or something.”
    “What I want to know is, what was he doing out there?” asked Sarah. “I mean, we have like six exercise sessions scheduled a day.”
    “He is … was … pretty fit,” Cat said, swinging a heavy leg. “Maybe he was one of those exercise addicts, and it finally caught up with him.”
    “The big question is, what does this do for the rest of the retreat?” Sarah complained, crossing her arms over her ample stomach. The sun gleamed on her pale, gray-blond hair. “Now that the trainer’s gone, do we get our money back?” And I thought I was crass for being upset about John and Vanessa.
    “I’m more worried that there may be a murderer on the loose,” Megan said, inching closer to Greg. The wedding band on her left hand glinted in the light from the window, and I found myself wondering what Carissa thought of this new coziness between her mother and the portly man in sweats.
    “We don’t know he was murdered,” I reminded them. “Like Cat said, it could have been a heart attack or something.”
    “If he was murdered, that will probably change the slant of your article,” Boots said to Elizabeth.
    She gave us an enigmatic smile and said, “Perhaps.”
    There was a knock at the front door, and all of us jumped. A moment later, Charlene joined us.
    “Who’s manning the shop?” I asked.
    “Tania’s taking over for me. I wanted to come and help out.”
    “Marge is doing the rooms for me,” I said, “but I need to start on lunch. Why don’t you keep me company?” I asked.
    “Sure,” she said.
    “If anybody needs anything,” I said to the group in the dining room, “I’ll be in the kitchen. Just knock.”
    When we were safely behind the kitchen door, I fixed Charlene a cup of hot chocolate and pulled a package of cod fillets from the refrigerator. I hadn’t had the heart to cook the fish John had caught, and had ended up tucking it into the freezer. “Okay,” I said, turning to my friend. “What’s the scoop?”
    Charlene sighed and toyed with her spoon. “I haven’t