"But that's only one side of the coin," she continued. "I can't tell you how many times he came slinking into this house with his shoulders slumped and his head down, begging Daddy for money to pay off his gambling debts. A lot of money. And he'd swear up and down that he'd give it up if only our father would bail him out. 'Just this once!' he would always say. By this point it's practically become his slogan. He probably means it, too, at least when he's saying it. But before you know it, he's back at it again."

"And did your father bail him out?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"For a while. But even then, it was never without making Tag grovel. Daddy would give him a stern lecture every time. He also made it clear that the only reason he was helping him out was because the characters Tag owed money to were so--well, they were pretty unsavory. They meant business, too."

"But you make it sound as if Linus stopped paying back Tag's creditors," I observed.

"Only lately." Missy frowned. "Finally he'd had enough. So the last couple of times Tag came begging, Daddy told him he was on his own. I imagine he got the money he needed somewhere, but I don't have a clue as to how or where."

Shaking her head disapprovingly, she added, "They say gambling is an addiction, one that's as hard to break as an addiction to drugs or alcohol. Believe me, I've done tons of reading on the topic. And I have to admit that that certainly seems to be the case with Tag. But it doesn't make it any easier to deal with."

My mind was racing. Tag's fear of loan sharks could explain why he might need a lot of money fast, which he could get hold of most efficiently by killing Linus and benefiting from a large inheritance--at least, the one he a.s.sumed he'd be getting.

I was about to change the subject, now that I had the answer I'd been looking for, when Missy let out a wistful sigh.

"I've tried having Harry talk to him," she said. Her voice sounded far away, as if she was talking to herself rather than to me.

"Harry?" I repeated.

"That's right," she said, still distracted. "But it hasn't done a bit of good. I swear, whatever advice anyone gives Tag goes in one ear and out the other. You'd think he'd listen, especially to someone like Harry, who's such an incredible role model!"

Your loyalties are showing, I felt like telling her. You're supposed to be saying things like that about the man you love, not the one you're secretly visiting in the middle of the night. At least in public.

But her claim that Harry was the ideal role model for her wayward brother was one more sign that the two of them were, indeed, an item. Which led me to move her name, as well as her big brother's, a little bit higher up on my list of suspects.

Given what I'd learned about Gwennie and Jives's true ident.i.ties earlier that day, I was curious to find out more about them. After all, just because Missy and Tag were looking more and more suspicious, it didn't mean I'd ruled out anyone else--especially two imposters who'd traveled all the way across the Atlantic to play their con game.

My first impulse was to run upstairs to the bedroom, pull out my laptop, and do a little Googling. But then I remembered that there was no Internet access on Solitude Island.

The more time I spent here, the more I understood how well named the place was. And there were no computers, cell phones, or even electricity, for that matter, back when Epinetus Merrywood came up with the name.

I considered asking Nick if he had any ideas, some secret technique he'd learned during the years he spent as a private investigator. But I knew, deep down, that being stranded on an island didn't leave me with a lot of options.

Which meant that if I was going to find out more about the duplicitous duo, I would have to do it the old-fashioned way: with a face-to-face confrontation with the Merrywoods' bogus butler.

So I took a few deep breaths and started checking all the rooms on the first floor. I realized that I didn't know what a butler did when he wasn't b.u.t.tling--not that Jonathan had ever exhibited much skill in that department, anyway.

Given the low level of job satisfaction he was undoubtedly experiencing, especially now that he knew he hadn't even gotten a mention in Linus's will, I wasn't surprised to find him in a back room. The TV was on, his feet were propped up on an ottoman, and the liquid in his iced-tea gla.s.s looked like something other than iced tea.

I cleared my throat as a way of announcing my arrival. Jives immediately jumped out of his chair and stood at attention.

"Dr. Popper," he said, doing a really good job of not sounding the least bit surprised. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Jonathan," I said impatiently, "you can drop the formality. Gwennie told me all about you."

A look of astonishment crossed his face. But he insisted on staying in character as he added, "I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about--"

"Your acting skills are actually pretty good," I interrupted. "But I know that you're no more a professional butler than I am."

His shoulders slumped. "What exactly did Gwennie tell you?"

"Everything," I replied. "That the two of you are out-of-work actors who decided to put your training to good use by getting some poor unsuspecting rich guy to write you into his will."

"That's not quite accurate," he said tartly. "I merely suggested to Gwennie that since we were both between acting jobs, we might find employment as servants. That way, we'd be free to leave our jobs when another opportunity to ply our craft arose."

I sighed. Getting Jonathan to give up his Jives act was turning out to be a lot harder than I'd antic.i.p.ated.

"I know even more," I said, looking him in the eye to hide the fact that I was bluffing. "I know about your ... past."

His shocked expression told me I'd been correct in a.s.suming that, in addition to having a collection of eight-by-ten glossies, somewhere along the line he'd also posed for a couple of mug shots.

"I sincerely believed I had enough money to cover those checks," he insisted. "I wasn't trying to defraud anyone. As for that old woman who fell down the stairs, it was entirely coincidental that I was in her house at the time, collecting money for the Actors' Relief Fund. Scotland Yard was never able to prove any connection whatsoever, mainly because there was none."

I was pleased that he'd fallen into my trap. While he'd made plenty of excuses, I now knew that he was previously involved in schemes that involved stealing money--and possibly even crimes directed at senior citizens. And I'd learned all that without using the Internet.

"But when it came to our positions here, Gwennie and I weren't doing anything dishonest," Jonathan continued. "It's true that we told a fib about having work experience of this type, and I did give a different name on my job application, just in case Linus turned out to be one of those compulsive people who do background checks.

"But everything else was on the up-and-up," he insisted. "Gwennie and I did the jobs we were paid to do, and we extended every possible kindness to Linus and his family. Except for that vile a.s.sistant of his," he added.

"What's up with you and Scarlett?" I asked.

I'd noticed that he seemed to have more disdain for her than he did for the rest of the world in general.

"She's a sn.o.b," Jonathan sniffed, "unlike the members of the Merrywood clan. I must say, they all treated us with respect. Especially Charlotte. Now there's a real lady. And Brock has always gone out of his way to make all the servants feel as if they're his equals."

"What about the other Merrywoods?" I asked. "And Townie?"

"Tag treats everyone the same," Jonathan observed. With a wry smile, he added, "He basically thinks everyone on the entire planet was put here to serve him. As for Townie, he was clearly well brought up. He seems to have learned from childhood that a gentleman always acts kindly toward the hired help. That's true of Missy, as well, although she's so self-absorbed that she probably doesn't notice there's anyone else in the room most of the time.

"But Scarlett--that's another matter entirely." Scowling, Jonathan said, "She can be downright rude. The night of Linus's birthday party, for example. She was a holy terror, ordering all of us around like there was no tomorrow. And she's not even a family member."

"Maybe she was just tense," I commented. "She probably wanted to make sure everything went smoothly, since it was such an important day in Linus's life."

Studying his face for his reaction, I added, "From what I've observed, she seemed to think the world of him."

"Hmph," Jonathan sniffed. "Or maybe she was tense for another reason--like she had a few tasks on her to-do list that had nothing to do with planning a dinner party."

I stared at him. I was learning that maybe the walls in this place didn't have ears but the servants certainly did. And they seemed to know plenty about what went on with the Merrywoods and their a.s.sociates.

I knew I'd do well to pay attention to whatever observations Jonathan had made about the dynamics of the household.

"Are you saying you think Scarlett is responsible for Linus's death?" I finally asked. "That she's the one who switched the birthday cakes?"

"I'm just saying that I'm convinced there was more to their relationship than her making his plane reservations," Jonathan said dryly. "Much more. And when strong feelings come into play, especially in a situation that's bound to be a dead end for one of the parties ... well, that person could decide it should become a dead end for the other."

Wait a minute, I thought. Jonathan is trying to make it sound as if Scarlett killed Linus, yet he's one of my prime suspects.

"I suppose everyone who was in the house that night had a motive for murdering Linus," I said. "Including you and Gwennie."

"Well, we didn't kill him," he said with a little pout. "And the police have no reason to suspect us. After all, we weren't even in the will."

"Yes, but--" I quickly cleared my throat, wanting to disguise the syllables that had jumped out of my mouth. I'd started to point out that Jonathan and Gwennie hadn't learned that they weren't in Linus's will until just a few hours earlier.

Which meant there was a good chance that the phony butler's attempts at casting suspicions on Scarlett could well be a way of deflecting them from himself and perhaps from his pal, Gwennie.

After all, if there was one thing actors were good at, it was acting. And being considered a murder suspect was undoubtedly the best time for someone to muster up all of his talent.

I dashed across the main floor of the house, anxious to tell Nick about my conversation with Jonathan--especially with respect to his comments about Scarlett. I a.s.sumed he was holed up in our bedroom, studying away. But as I reached the staircase, I saw that the man who played Romeo to my Juliet was heading in the same direction. So were his two furry sidekicks, who lit up like fireworks when they spotted me.

"Nick!" I cried, stopping in my tracks. "I was looking for you!" I immediately crouched down to give Max and Lou the greeting they deserved.

"That's funny," he replied, "because I was looking for you."

Nick's serious tone caused me to glance up. His voice, combined with the expression on his face, gave me the feeling there was nothing funny about his decision to seek me out.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, still scratching two furry necks, one with each hand.

Nick's frown deepened. "Jess, I just found something I think you ought to see."

Chapter 13.

"What the lion cannot manage to do the fox can."

--German Proverb What is it?" I asked, my mouth already dry.

"You should probably see for yourself," Nick replied mysteriously. If he hadn't looked so earnest, I'd have thought he was playing a joke.

I followed him through the house. Max padded along happily beside me, his eyes bright and his red tongue hanging out as if it were a necktie, while Lou kept darting ahead to sniff things that, to me, were invisible.

I expected Nick to lead our little parade to Linus's study or the kitchen--or at least the conservatory. Instead, he stopped when we neared the front door.

"Are we going somewhere?" I asked in confusion. Max kept glancing up at me expectantly, as if he a.s.sumed we were all going out for a walk. I scooped him up in my arms and gave him a hug, which I figured was the next best thing. As for Lou, he plopped down on the floor, no easy feat given how slippery the marble was.

Nick shook his head, then pointed to one of the two dusty, tarnished suits of armor standing against opposite walls. "This is what I was talking about."

So much for clearing up my confusion. "What about it?" I asked, examining the decrepit metal structure. It was in such bad shape that it looked as if it really could have been used in the Middle Ages.

"Look inside it."

"Why would I do that?" I asked. "Better yet, why would you do that?"

"I didn't intend to," he replied. "Actually, I was staring at it, wondering how the whole thing stayed together. I got up close to study it better. That was when I noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the visor. That prompted me to look a little further."

I frowned. Paper and suits of armor were definitely two things that did not go together. So I plopped Max back down on the floor and watched him embark on a sniff fest. Then, as Nick suggested, I reached for the visor designed to protect the wearer's face--one of the few pieces that appeared to open and shut--and lifted it gently.

"Oh, my!" I cried.

While I'd expected to encounter empty s.p.a.ce, instead I found paper. Not wadded up, exactly, but not stored with any sense of order, either. In fact, what I saw appeared to have been stuffed in there, either carelessly or because someone was in a hurry.

"What is all this?" I wondered aloud.

"I didn't get that far," Nick replied. "I didn't think I was in a position to start taking stuff out."

I, however, did not possess his sense of responsibility. Certainly not his self-control. I couldn't resist reaching into the imaginary knight's head and pulling out the first thing I could grab.

I just stared at it, blinking.

"What is it?" Nick finally asked, peering over my shoulder.

"It looks like an electric bill," I said. "According to the postmark, an electric bill from two years ago."

Nick frowned. "It was mailed to this address. And the name on it is Linus Merrywood."

"Maybe Linus started paying his bills online," I suggested. "Or at least having Scarlett do it that way."

"That would explain part of it," Nick commented. "But what about the fact that Linus, or whoever did this, decided that a good place to store his unpaid bills was inside a suit of armor?"

"Hiding his unpaid bills is more like it," I said. "After all, whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to make sure these were out of sight."

"That's true," Nick agreed. "Which means there's bound to be other stuff in there that's much more interesting than an electric bill."

"Love letters?" I suggested, thinking of Jonathan's claim that Scarlett and Linus had been more than employee and employer.

Nick cast me a questioning look. "What do you think? Should we try to find out?"

I thought for a few seconds. "If someone comes out here and finds us, we're going to have some serious 'splaining to do," I said, quoting the late, great Ricky Ricardo.

"In that case, we'll have to act fast," Nick said, glancing around nervously. "Look, at least we can get an idea of what else is hidden in here."

I didn't wait another second. I reached into the no-longer-errant knight's face and pulled out a bunch of papers.

It immediately became clear that most of them were bills, as well. But there was also plenty of junk mail--envelopes full of coupons for car washes and pizza parlors, credit-card offers, and all the usual detritus that somehow finds its way into everyone's mailbox.

How it had subsequently found its way into someone's personal suit of armor was another matter entirely.

"What does this mean?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Maybe someone mistook Sir Galahad for Sir Garbage Pail," Nick suggested.