But it wasn't the woman in the picture that had caught my attention. It was the narrow black line barely peeking out from the bottom left corner.

That thin line was something I'd never noticed before. As I sipped the hot tea, I realized that the reason was that the painting was slightly askew. It could have been the result of the house shaking from all that thunder--or perhaps a miracle had occurred and Gwennie had decided to do some dusting.

I leaned closer to get a better look and saw that there were actually two lines that formed an L. In fact, from where I stood, it almost looked as if someone had cut into the wall--and that those cuts had been carefully laid out so that they'd be hidden by the painting.

With my free hand, I reached up to touch one of the lines. And discovered that that was exactly what had happened.

This wall opens! I thought in amazement, pulling back my hand as if I'd just made contact with something hot. Behind this painting there's a door!

I guessed that it most likely opened onto a safe. That certainly made sense, given the fact that on the other side of this wall lay the bowels of the house, rather than the exterior or another room. I could picture the huge chunk of metal nestled among the pipes and electrical wires, practically bursting with the family's treasures. Maybe jewels, maybe stocks and bonds, maybe stacks of cold, hard cash.

Or maybe something else that Linus or someone else in the household had felt was important.

By this point, my heart was beating as fast as if I'd been hitting the coffee urn rather than sticking with herb tea. I glanced around furtively, wondering if I dared dig a little deeper.

It appeared that no one else was around. At least at the moment. Yet the other members of the household were just a few rooms away. I knew that if someone popped out of nowhere, I'd have a hard time coming up with a convincing reason for why I'd taken down a huge painting and was desperately trying to pry open the wall behind it.

So I filed my discovery away in the back of my mind--but not so far back that I couldn't retrieve it the next time an opportunity arose to do a little more poking around. In the meantime, I decided to head upstairs to see if that husband of mine was still awake. But as I left the dining room, I determined to find the earliest opportunity to test my abilities as a safecracker.

Chapter 16.

"Some people lose all respect for the lion unless he devours them instantly. There is no pleasing some people."

--Will Cuppy By the time I crawled into bed, Nick was fast asleep, just as he'd predicted.

So much for a romantic getaway, I thought with disappointment. I pulled the blankets up to my chin, which involved slightly displacing one half-asleep Dalmatian and one Westie who had been awake only thirty seconds yet already looked ready for an impromptu game of s...o...b..r All Over the Tennis Ball.

Despite the alleged soothing effects of herb tea, I expected that once again I'd have trouble falling asleep. But it turned out that investigating a murder was even more exhausting than putting in a long day treating animals. I'd barely found a comfortable spot on the pillow before I felt the pleasant sensation of being sucked into unconsciousness.

In fact, I fell into such a deep sleep that when I finally snapped awake, I was completely disoriented. After only a second or two, I remembered where I was. But I had no idea what time it was--or what had woken me up.

A nightmare? I wondered, puzzled by the tightness in the pit of my stomach and the disturbing feeling that something was wrong.

I was still trying to remember what I'd been dreaming about when I heard the sound of barking dogs.

I knew immediately that they weren't my dogs. Max and Lou were both still lying down, but their heads were up and their ears twitched as if they, too, wondered what was going on.

It must be Corky and Admiral, I thought.

It sounded as if they were somewhere downstairs. And from the crazed way in which they were both barking, it seemed as if something was very wrong.

"Nick?" I whispered without turning my head. "Do you hear that?"

The silence that followed told me he was fast asleep. Either that or he was too frightened to speak, by something he knew and I didn't.

"Nick?" I cried. I looked over, anxious to see which of the two scenarios was correct.

Neither, it turned out. He was gone.

"Nick!" I leaped out of bed, not sure what alarmed me more: the dogs going nuts downstairs or the fact that my husband had vanished.

As if on cue, the frantic barking started up again. Instinctively I rushed to the window, vaguely aware that the wooden floor beneath my bare feet was so cold that it felt as if I'd gone ice-skating without any skates. But I ignored the discomfort as I pulled back the drapes and peered through the fog hovering outside the windows. Dawn had started to break, providing me with enough pale gray light to see the property surrounding the house.

My eyes quickly lit on two figures hurrying across the lawn.

"It's Jonathan and Gwennie!" I cried. "They're fleeing the island!"

I squeezed my bare feet into the sneakers I'd left by the side of the bed. Then I grabbed my Polarfleece jacket off the back of the chair and pulled it on over my flannel pj's.

My heart was pounding as I raced along the hallway and down the stairs. I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the front door. While Gwennie and Jonathan had left it unlocked in their haste, my hands were shaking, which made forcing my fingers to function in even the simplest way nearly impossible.

I finally managed to turn the k.n.o.b. I threw open the door and encountered a wall of thick fog. I also realized for the first time that a light drizzle was dripping through the dismal gray clouds.

But I wasn't about to let a little rain get in my way. I zipped up my jacket and charged out the door.

I immediately started jogging toward the dock--the same direction in which Gwennie and Jonathan had appeared to be headed. As I ran, I focused on the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of the rubber soles of my sneakers. .h.i.tting the irregularly shaped slabs of slate, which told me I was going the right way. The cold, damp air made the insides of my nostrils tingle. I had to strain to see through the fog, so thick in some areas that I felt as if I was running through a steam room. Up above, seagulls circled, their raw screams cutting the silence.

As I neared the edge of the island, the fog cleared enough that I could see the waves of Peconic Bay. They lurked just a few feet away, so dark and turbulent and ferocious they seemed to be daring anyone to try to get across them.

But I wasn't the one who was planning to leave. I scanned the sh.o.r.e, searching for the dock. I finally spotted it, a low rectangle jutting out into the swirling waters with the dilapidated boathouse at the end. Gwennie and Jonathan were already trudging across the ragged planks of wood, from the looks of things making their way toward the dinghy docked next to the ferry.

Now that I was closer, I saw that Gwennie was dragging a large suitcase behind her, its wheels b.u.mping across the uneven wood of the dock. In the other hand she was hauling what looked like a canvas gym bag. From the way she struggled with it, it must have weighed forty or fifty pounds. In fact, both bags were so stuffed they looked ready to burst.

As for Jonathan, he was carrying a suitcase that was even bigger than Gwennie's. Just as full, too. But it appeared that he was also bringing along a few souvenirs of his stay on Solitude Island. A small Oriental rug was rolled up and tucked under one arm, and sticking out of the oversize tote bag slung over his shoulder was a Chinese porcelain vase that I could only a.s.sume was a valuable antique.

The idea that they were not only running away but also stealing from Charlotte made me run even faster.

"Hey!" I cried as I grew near enough for them to hear me. "Stop, you two!"

Automatically they froze, looking back over their shoulders with panicked expressions. But as soon as they saw it was me--as in only me--they turned away and kept heading toward their getaway boat.

Still, they were weighed down by their suitcases and the rest of their booty, which gave me enough time to catch up with them before they reached the dinghy.

"Stop!" I demanded one more time. I grabbed Gwennie's shoulder and pulled, so that she had no choice but to face me. Out of breath, I asked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"We're just going to Long Island for the day!" Gwennie whined. "We've got a bit of shopping to do."

I didn't bother to point out that the only retail establishment likely to be open at this hour was 7-Eleven. Instead, I lunged toward the gym bag she was carrying.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she cried. "That's not your--"

But before she had a chance to stop me, I'd pulled open the zipper far enough to see that stashed inside were clothes folded so loosely and unevenly that they'd obviously been tossed in. But I was much more interested in what was sitting on top of them: a small burgundy-colored rectangle that I immediately recognized.

"Since when do you need a pa.s.sport to go shopping?" I demanded, grabbing it and holding it up in front of her face.

"When you use traveler's checks?" she replied meekly.

"You give that back to Gwennie!" Jonathan ordered, without a trace of his usual British gentility. Instead, he sounded like a d.i.c.kens character. One of the really nasty ones, like Bill Sykes or Uriah Heep.

"I don't think you two should be going anywhere," I insisted. "Not when the police explicitly said that no one should leave Solitude Island."

"We don't care what you think," Jonathan sneered, yanking Gwennie's pa.s.sport out of my hand. "Why don't you mind your own business and go back to bed?"

"I'm not letting you leave this island!" I exclaimed. My eyes darted around as I searched for the means to prevent them from escaping. I'm not sure what I had in mind--a rope, a drill I could use to put a hole in the dinghy--but I certainly didn't spot anything that might be helpful.

I didn't even have a cell phone on me. Then I remembered that it wouldn't have done me any good, anyway.

"Come on, Gwennie," Jonathan barked. "If we're going to make that flight, we'd better get a move on."

I had just opened my mouth once again, hoping some argument I hadn't yet thought of would come flying out, when I heard what sounded like voices in the distance.

At first I thought they were only those annoying seagulls again. But a second later I realized they were human voices. Male ones.

I heard dogs barking, too. And then: "Jessie! There you are!"

That was a voice I recognized.

I turned, still trying to process the fact that I wasn't alone out here with Gwennie and Jonathan after all. A few more seconds pa.s.sed before Nick emerged from the thick swirls of fog, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wild. Brock, Tag, and Townie followed right behind him. Nick had brought Max and Lou with him, while Corky and Admiral trotted along behind the group.

"What's going on?" Nick demanded. "The front door is wide open. What are you doing out here?"

He'd barely gotten the words out before his eyes--and everyone else's--traveled over to the dinghy and the two people who were dumping so much luggage into it that it would be a miracle if the thing didn't sink as soon as they climbed in.

Which I had no intention of letting them do.

Gesturing at Jonathan and Gwennie with my thumb, I cried, "They're the ones you should be asking! But before we give them a chance to answer, I suggest that you gentlemen escort these two back inside."

"I can't believe Jonathan and Gwennie were trying to escape," Nick said as we sat side by side in front of the fire he'd built in our bedroom fireplace.

The tattered Oriental carpet was just big enough and just soft enough to provide a comfy cushion. And leaning against the bed kept our backs from suffering. Our canines sat beside us, Lou dozing with his chin resting on his paws and Max gazing at the fire like some prehistoric cave dog who couldn't get over such a wonderful invention.

"They're not going anywhere now," Nick commented. "Not with Brock and Tag keeping them practically under lock and key until Falcone gets here. Imagine poor Townie having to take the boat over to Long Island just to use his cell phone."

"Trying to sneak back to England while everyone was asleep doesn't do much to make them look innocent," I noted.

"Neither does Gwennie's claim that the only reason they were trying to leave is that they didn't do anything wrong," Nick added. "All they'll say is that they had nothing to do with Linus's murder and they didn't want to be accused."

"Thanks for helping me reel them in," I said. "You and the other guys showed up in the nick of time--no pun intended."

Nick grinned. "Glad I could help. When I came back here and saw that you were gone, I got nervous. That message that was left for you in pretend blood sure didn't help."

"Hey, where were you, anyway?" I asked. "When Corky and Admiral's barking woke me up, I looked over on your side of the bed and you were gone."

"I went down to the kitchen to get something to drink," he replied. "You were fast asleep when I left, and I did my best to be quiet."

"And here I was afraid you'd been spirited away by poltergeists," I said.

"Nothing that dramatic," Nick a.s.sured me. "Now, why don't we try to get a little more sleep? I'd say we earned a couple more hours."

A minute or two after we climbed back into bed, Nick's breathing became low and even, a sign that he was already asleep. A few seconds later, Max began making wheezing sounds, and soon afterward Lou started to snore.

But I wasn't even close to falling asleep.

I couldn't stop thinking about how Gwennie and Jonathan's attempt to sneak away from Solitude Island--to head back to England, no less--made them look as if they were the ones who had killed Linus.

Yet as guilty as they appeared, I couldn't conclude that they were the killers. Not when there were so many other people in this house who could have been at least as motivated as those two.

The fact that I still couldn't put my finger on Linus Merrywood's murderer made me more determined than ever to put all my energies into finding those missing diaries.

After all, I was running out of options.

And given the fact that it was now Sunday and I had a life to get back to, I was also running out of time.

I spent the next two hours searching for the missing diaries. I brought Max and Lou with me as I sneaked around from room to room, once again planning to use them as my excuse if anyone happened upon me in a place where I didn't belong. How else could I keep them from getting into mischief--such as treating some innocent needlepoint pillow or other family heirloom as a chew toy?

As for why their owner was prowling around all the common areas and bedrooms, opening closed doors and rummaging through the occasional drawer, that was something I hadn't yet found a way to explain.

Still, I hoped that if I did my snooping quickly and quietly, I wouldn't find myself in that difficult position. And as my search progressed, that part was going fine. The part that wasn't going even close to fine was tracking down those darned notebooks.

Where are they? I wondered for the thousandth time.

I wasn't ready to accept the possibility that they could have been destroyed, since that would mean giving up on the one good lead I had so far. Instead, I stubbornly clung to the belief that they still existed--and that I could find them, if only I looked hard enough.

Yet I finally decided I had no choice but to admit defeat.

I've looked through this entire house, I thought. Every shelf, every cabinet, every closet. Short of prying up the floorboards or rummaging around in the bas.e.m.e.nt, if there even is one, I don't know where else to look.

I was about to head back upstairs to snuggle in bed beside Nick. But then I realized that I wasn't quite out of options.

I had yet to look in the safe--or whatever it was--hidden behind the oil painting hanging in the dining room.

Frankly, I'd had high hopes that those missing notebooks would turn up somewhere else. My resume might include a few unusual skills, but safecracking wasn't one of them.

Still, now that the idea had popped into my head, I wasn't giving it up. I'm kind of like a terrier in that way: unable to let go of something once I've got it in my jaws, even if I'm starting to feel as if it will pull out all my teeth.

"Come on, Max," I said quietly, knowing that Lou would follow. I was about to try something that would be really hard to explain away, and I was going to need all the help I could get.

The dining room wasn't the easiest spot to conduct a treasure hunt, since anyone could venture in at any time, through either the doorway that opened onto the hallway or the one that led to the kitchen. Taking down a huge oil painting and tapping on the wall behind it wasn't exactly standard operating procedure for houseguests.